***
Perfectly Horrid.

Stayed at home all day having comfy conversations with pretty Polynesian women.

Well, no that's not horrid; What's horrid is the fact that I have a stomach flu and the only occupation I am currently capable of is stripping to my panties and getting my maid (now more like my personal masseuse and juice grinder –apple and ginger’s really quite lovely-) to give me hour long full body massages. She’s quite good at it too, and does it in exchange for my stories. Which really is the only price I can afford at the moment, between cab rides to the doctor’s and outrageous treatment fees for drugs and injections.

Seem to be having a fair number of encounters with Filipina women lately, and for once in my life, they’re starting to become pleasant. The past of having them as totalitarian baby-sitters whose only altruistic behaviour afflicted upon us was to feed us a lot of milky desserts chock full of yam is over.

Now they still feed me milky desserts chock full of yam, but with loads of good conversation instead of chastising –stop hitting your brother/ don’t play in the mud/ you’ve got shit on your feet I told you not to play in the rain/

Talking about breasts is a great deal more fun, really.

She told me mine were quite small, and I told her hers were too, relative to the size of her gut. We had an argument over the fact that the colour of nipple was not wholly subjected to the colour of a person’s skin. And with no relation whatsoever that could possible pertain to our conversation, she was rather keen on the idea of showing me her nipples. But another time, perhaps. Maybe when I’m working on my ambition of turning into a fetish photographer myself. (Look, a couple of hours pays her more then a month’s wages, and she did seem rather amused, and turned on, by the idea!)

Ah she is quite young, not much older then me. The youngest my parents have employed so far, and boy am I glad for it.

***

<>Singaporean kids really do have certain entrenched prejudices towards Filipinas, because most of them have been their bosses since they were, well, born. It’s terribly annoying.

Not serving someone at HMV just because she speaks with a tangalogue laden accent is just so wrong. She’s your customer, if she listens to everything you said as a child, wouldn’t it be time to return the favour?

I won’t deny I had similar partiality towards the treatment of people we so often deem come from the lower rungs of the social ladder in their countries. I don’t dare deny that I’ve rid myself thoroughly of them either, but talking to them and finding out that they are just as human, with a taste for excitement, endowed with sex drives and curiosity for the unknown and opinions on things you’d think are beyond the comprehension of their Mills and Boon literary diet? It’s really quite worth the time. My eyes feel opened.

We are both eager anticipating the screening of Oprah’s interview with Clinton this Sunday as I try my best to ignore the devil in my gut.

The only safe position right now is the one in which I recline in my fake IDEO designed chaise longue.

Ouch.

xoxox