Thursday, March 31, 2005

Picking Up

Someone chatted me up by the magazine rack yesterday. I'd been flipping through FHM, and he looked over my shoulder and said something like, 'that's a lovely bikini, don't you agree.' I looked at him, raised an eyebrow and shook my head. 'It's too tame.'

Among other things, i just realized that someone has a subscription to Esquire in my family. That someone is apparently my mom.

And Martine is begging me to bear with him; although I must say I'd rather bear him upon me. Hmm.


Manolo Blah-whatever

Rainy afternoon, date with Martine that got fucked up because too-many-people-look. Young girl, older white guy kinda problem, what a pain in the ass. He’s so gorgeous I cannot possibly see why it should be a problem in the least. So what if he’s old-er, if you really want to be shallow, at least he falls into the category of the tres chic and very desirable.

I hate being in public with him, or with Chris, or with any decent guy I like for that matter, because I’m still bothered (note, not concerned. Bothered. ) with what other people think. With M it’s not so bad, because he is good-looking, and I feel proud when I walk about with him. Like I got a good catch, ya know? But with the other blokes…; It’s just like wearing a pair of super-comfy shoes that are slightly worn out and don’t really go with your outfit. People look at them and stare at you weird, and that bothers you a little, but you’re happy nonetheless. Your happy with yourself, just a little tiff-ed that their opinions should matter.

Anyway, I suggested a number of things rather off-handedly to M today. First off, I hope he breaks up with Liz before I leave the country, then I wish greatly that I can spend some time in Europe with him, alone, in the summer, and then I hope he will leave Singapore soon and go back to the States because at this point in time, it seems like that would be the most sensible course of schooling decision for me.

Speaking of which I need to run off right now to do a TON of work! God-damned.


Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Desire Junkie

Boy would I love to snort him till I'm dead.

<>But I cannot promise all of it exclusively,
Unless you can gurantee that,
All I give,
You will take.

If he'd just...

Not meeting me tonight because he needs to sort out his brains with Liz. That evil, insecure, childish woman.

Oh my, my, my.
I'm jealous.

Maybe I should thank her for making him desirable.

Get it?

Fuck me. I have paternal tranference issues.


The Sweetest Thing

So the plane landed about an hour ago and I remember thinking to myself, man I'm very pleased with my life. I had a great easter weekend with Chris, and aside from the ocassional moments where I felt a little too much like Doleres for my own comfort (look, he's just about several decades older then I am, and we were in the U.S... especially so when he suggested a road trip in the Summer after the summer school terms ends); and aside from that, I had a really fantastic time.

San Francisco is amazing, and Chris is just so sweet. He'd actually taken the time off to make a detour from Rio to his home state to come to San Fran to meet me because he thought it would be very useful for me to visit some of the art schools there in order to facilitate my college program decision process. And trust me, it is a very interesting way to tour a city, especially something as dynamically artsy as SF.

He's offered to pay for summer term and rent a cool apartment for me in North Beach (a place he had previously) if I wanted to spend the summer in the SF art institute. Now that place is cool beyond belief. A little too fluffy for an entire graduate program in my opinion, but very kitch art-community on the base of a hill kinda thing. He did have one condition though, I had to be sexually exclusive, even when he was to go travelling while I stayed there.

'It's more a health issue then anything. Maybe in Singapore it's not so much of a concern, I don't know how the gay-bi-sexual community meshes there, but this isn't a safe place to have sex in.'

'Oh yeah, sure no problem. I actually think I've passed my wild phrase. I got sick of sleeping with new people to be honest. Anyway, a couple of months isn't going to kill me, and I'm not to fond of spending my time with boys.'

'You've got to be careful with the girls too. They get around.'

'I see. But you can't expect me to be mutally exclusive if you do gurantor me and I do end up int he U.S for the next three years.'

'We'll see how this works out first. Being your gurantor is no problem, I'll love to help you out, but you'd have to prove to me why I should sponsor your next four years in school, if that's what you want me to do. You've got talent, and you really must get down to it. You can. You must decide first which state you want to study in, and what exactly you want. Art school is a whole lot of tuition money and you can't afford to fuck around.'

So I'm going to Colorado at the end of the March. Brilliant. I get to do some skiing, check out the industrial design program and Chris's apartament (he's got a totally whacko double storied loft... apparently he's this thing for restoring old buildings and warehouses. That's part of what he does).

That he's rather a-bit-too-old-for-me bothers me ocassionally. Not because it's weird, or because it's too much of a humbert-humbert for my comfort, but just because of the nature of age. I look at him and feel depressed sometimes. It reminds me how you can try to cheat time in a zillion ways, but something will come through, whether you like it or not. And of course it shouldn't bother me what other people think when they see us on the street, or when I wait at the store for him to come and sign the check, but it does. It's weird smiling at the girl across the counter, going, 'gimme a sec, my dad will be around in a moment.'

I suppose alot of the places we went to, especially the schools, kinda conferred the guardian with an asian girl from a thrid world country presumption upon us.

I need to go, will update more later!


Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Dropping In

I definitely have no inspiration to write about much today, although (as usual) in the course of the last few hours, many nice things have happened. I really do think there are two kinds of people in this world, the people that live activity filled lives, and the people that don’t. I mean, how is it possible that without trying, 6 hours out of any day of my existence can be more exciting then an entire week of someone else’s.

Dee broke up with her boyfriend recently. I’ll not say anything about it because frankly, I didn’t know him all that well. I knew him as a friend, and he is a nice person, but I suppose things are different when you’re dating and responsible in a way for one another. It was hard for D. I’d been feeling rather guilty recently actually, for what I feel was basically taking advantage of my girlfriends, and especially her. It’s like, what have I done for her anyway. She’s given me a few good modeling contacts, she’s always met me in town when I called her up; course I felt guilty. And tonight… *grin* Oh yes, yes, yes. Tonight shall be so much fun. I’d wanted to do a little SM, but I’m sure as fuck Martine would be so freaked he wouldn’t like it one bit. So we shall do something less… as the princess put it (when I asked her to join) ‘Don’t want le, too kinky!’.

Someone emailed me today about how he’d like more social commentary and things like that. The truth is, I’m tired of giving social commentary. Writing it into my daily musing is fine, but I don’t really think I’m all that interested any more (at least not for now) in writing entire essays about being an SPG. The thing is, there’s nothing about being an SPG, that’s the whole point, and that’s what I’ve been trying to say and what I’ve discovered in the past few months.

I’m so normal. I’m attracted to men that are white, rich and contemporary, but at the same time, I have really great local boy-friends, and at the same time, I treasure my girlfriends just as much, or even more. My life doesn’t revolve around a sexual/romantic preference, for crying out loud.

Maybe a year ago, it did. And it wouldn’t be my fault. This society’s obsessed with it, and who can blame a class-conscious, subtly racist culture for it. You can argue that Singapore is not the only class-conscious, subtly racist culture in the world, and you know what? You’re right. We aren’t, and the whole treating certain foreigners and minority groups with special privileges and higher… respect perhaps… happens in a few other countries too, They’re all different in a way, minority special treatment in the UK isn’t the same as what it is here, but that regardless, everywhere in the world, it does exists.

And desiring the foreign isn’t a peculiar ‘dissatisfied, bourgeois, government educated, licentious Methodist school girl’ phenomenon. It’s all over the world, and especially in Asia. I recommend you go to Cambodia and ask the tour boys how many of them date their customers, take them around town, get themselves taken out to dinner and fuck them thereafter. I asked just about three of them why do they like white women, and they are so fucking honest I almost feel ashamed. They like European women because they are different, they can help them improve their English, and they have money. (Even if you’re freshly graduated, you’re still considered to have a lot of money when you’re in Cambodia).

I don’t think there’s absolutely any need to justify a romantic preference, and I cannot stand girls that clearly would rather date an expatriate over their local counterparts, and marginalize their ‘frivolity’ with ‘oh, but I’ll just as well give a local boy a chance’. Maybe there are some of them out there like that, I’m not one of them. I wouldn’t and I can’t be bothered. In fact, at this point, I can’t be bothered with any one, unless they are to be bothered with me.

And here’s the truth. White guys in Singapore get laid more, and by prettier women too because they are pushy as hell. At first I thought it was because some girls (i.e. SPGs or whatever you wish to call them) have their morals more easily comprimized with white guys. True… but my morals have always been the compromise-able sort. And yes, I supposed in my case since I like the way Caucasian men look, I’m more willing to engage myself with them, then with local dudes. But that’s not only it. If a guy is calling you out all the time, inviting you to lunch, dinner, coffee, ‘let’s meet up before I leave for this business trip’… Most girls will eventually have them grown onto them, and ta-dah, they have their catch. Honestly, they are more pushy.

I know I’ve grown up. I’m no longer the same person that started this diary 1 year ago. I’m more self-aware, and the truth is, I think I’ve finally begun to learn how to love people instead of romantic ideals. And that’s why Martine is so important to me, and that’s why I want to do this and I want to make it work. If only because I know I’ll learn something from it. He’s a person, I know him well enough to be comfortable with the way I am around him, completely, and we’re comfortable saying the most absurd things to one another.

It’s like, after I came back from Vietnam, I realized that I’d been chasing after figments of my imagination in so many cases for nearly two years. I literally realized it. The kinky sex, the stupid make believes that one-day-I-shall-be-as-rich-as-them-and-own-my-own-fancy-apartment, and one day I shall be as independent and as free. Because the truth is, that was what it was all about. I’m sick of living with my parents, I’m sick of depending on them, and fucking around with rich, independent guys was one way out of that god-awful boring reality. (It was a bonus that all of them were very nice, and most of them pretty much good in bed.)

I suppose I’ve always known it; but knowing it, and snapping out of it are two completely different things. And it really isn’t something you can just snap out of.

Somehow, I have this strange feeling that most other girls here feel the same way too. We’re just god-damn sick of being … communalized. Living with our parents, having everything you do watched and judged and knowing that you’d have to conform to their judgment and do what pleases them. Like some kinda fucking concentration camp. Of course I love my family, but sometimes you just want to be able to have the ability to say fuck off, and to get what you want.

The Asian pussy is not such a bad thing to have, really.


Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Absorbed, Single-Minded... Bleh.

Being in love is the biggest joke. Sometimes I wish he would just tell me to sod off already, so I don’t have to go through all the insecurity. It’s completely unbelievable. So what if he doesn’t send me a text? I don’t send a billion other guys texts, even though they’d want it, and I don’t care for texts from them either. They’re good looking, rich, intelligent; what is it with this one bastard. Maybe I just want to be in love, and he’s just better. Why? Because he can tell me the story of his life like it was so very melancholy, because he doesn’t treat me like a let’s-just-see-each-other-for the-sex kinda girl, because of a billion other things. Because he’s the best sex I can remember having, and because he makes me feel sad.

‘You’re in love with being in love.’
‘So?’ I snapped back. ‘Even then, I cannot be in love with nothing. I’m in love with being in love with you, can’t you see. You know these things, deep inside you know. The girl you wanted to marry a year back, you knew she felt too mediocre compared to you, that’s why she couldn’t.’

I could die, god-damnit.

The joke gets even better. I’m embarrassingly obsessive and close-minded when I’m in love, and I actually like it. I wouldn’t like it at all (and that’s putting it very mildly) if he said no more. I started working on a comic for his birthday, and everything breathes the sort of psycho mind-fuck he plays with me without knowing it. Bullshit.

Anyway, I met Dee yesterday. She’s lovelier then ever, especially after a long week-end at the beach, getting stung by jelly-fish non-withstanding. I was walking up the escalator thinking about both Martine and her, and I wondered why I wasn’t able to feel the same way. I adore her, certainly, but there was never anything sad about it all.

I’m in an incredibly lousy mood.

I spent the night with some guy I didn’t know who was old enough to be my father. We didn’t do anything, unless you count a Lost in Translation, where we lay down on the bed and talked about how people could never ever be satisfied.

‘Please stay.’ He’d asked me, when I was putting on my shoes just slightly after one in the morning.

‘I’ve got so much to do… And I want my own bed…’

‘I really like you. Just… stay.’


‘I’ll pay you.’

‘No! Jesus. I don’t do that kinda nonsense with people I barely know.’

‘I’m sorry. What do you think of me.’

‘You’re a dirty old pervert.’

I laughed. He wasn’t really, and I told him so. I like him enough as an individual, but that was it.

He tired to slip his hands down my panties in the middle of the night. I said No three times before rolling over onto my front and moving a foot away from him.

I have no idea why I actually stayed. I wasn’t even vaguely drunk, and I wasn’t even vaguely attracted to him. He was just… nice.

In the morning, he tried to eat me out.


I was beginning to like saying it actually. I’ve nearly never said no to men, and I told him so.

‘Why’s that?’

‘I’m in love.’


Sunday, March 20, 2005

Rush Rush Rush

I cannot think. Most of my thoughts are all inwards on Martine, and those feelings I cannot describe. There’s too much. What an incredible, amazing lover he is, he’s not sent me a single message all day. I know he’s obsessed with Jeffery Sachs and Bono, so it’s excusable, but how marvelous. He’ll kill me.

I went out to meet a photographer this afternoon, he likes calling himself Video, so let’s just call him that. He’s the dude that spends 6 months each year sleeping around Asia, and plans to do it till he’s 80. I thought at first I’d try to find out why he did what he did. I mean, what was the fucking point? Don’t you feel empty? But then I realized that it was none of my business, and that I didn’t want to care. Maybe he feels empty, but it’s all buried so deep inside it doesn’t matter very much anymore.

My sister had a parents are away so lets trash the house party last night. It was fun. One whole lot of drunk 14 year old girls making out with each other. I got one to give me a hickey. When I got sober today and saw it in the mirror, I though, damn man, if I told Martine the truth, would he believe me? Incredible, but I actually feel beholden to him. I tried to loan two of the girls my new vibrator (it’s very, very slender. One of those clit pencils), but they didn’t use it eventually.

I had bought it in the afternoon because I’d wanted to do some kinky shit with Martine. I was reading the story of O for much for the day, and therefore was feeling very horny and very BDSM all day.

Arriving at his place in the afternoon, I asked him if he was feeling well. (Quite allright, better, but I’m still god-awfully exhausted).

‘Um… can I still give you a massage?’
‘If you want to, of course!’
‘Um… and can I lick your balls.’
‘Yeah.’ (He said it like, what kind of question is that.)
‘And your ass.’
He laughed. ‘Yes.’
‘I was afraid I might kill you. Anyway, can I do it while you’re blindfolded.’
‘Yes.’ But he said this bit with a little, sounds like fun, but I’m really sick, could we save if for another time, sort of tone.

I really did want to stick the vibrator up his ass. The only other person I’d ever wanted to do such a weird thing to was Mr. Big. What a long time ago that seems like now!

I spent the day illustrating a kinky comic in the café, with lots of people watching on. How amusing. And some dude who picked me up at the club called. He wants to lay me.

‘All women want to get attached to men they sleep with, I’m afraid of that.’
‘I’m not into attachment, don’t worry.’
‘Yeah, you and the rest of the male species. Men will say anything to get laid, you didn’t even get what I was trying to say.’
‘ I’m really not into attachment. I like having fun, you know. Don’t worry, I won’t be a problem.’
‘Huh? Well, we can meet for coffee if you want to, but I must tell you, I’m a lot of work.’

I don’t think I’ll respond to him any more. He doesn’t even have a job, for Christ sake’s. And besides, I cannot think of anything But you-know-who.


Friday, March 18, 2005

I Should be Exploding

See that thing over there? It’s an emotion coordinator. It comes with a little transistor thingy you can stick up your boyfriend’s ass that you can use to coordinate his feelings with yours. That way you can make him feel like you’re feeling. It’s rather simple to use. You stick in songs and poems that bring out a certain emotional sensation, a certain way that is just Martine (or whatever your lover’s name is), and adjust the dial depending on the intensity of that certain way you feel, so that he feels the same way too. And the memory holder… Throw in his old photos, T-shirts, stolen love letters from his ex-lovers, and it’ll access what scents, what facial expressions, what clothing, what words make him feel the way you want him to.

He’ll love me exactly the way I wish.

Forget it.


‘Don’t move your legs,’ He told me while I was snuggled by his side. ‘Look at them, they’re so beautiful. Look at the way the light falls on your calves, gorgeous. Your skin glows golden.’

I look up at him, my cheek pressed against his chest. ‘How do I make you feel?’

‘I don’t know. Too much.’ He said, pausing for awhile, looking as if he were trying to grasp at something. ‘You make me feel too much.’

I swallowed. Too much. Was that possible? Was it possible that he felt like I did; Too fucking much. I can embrace him, snuggle into him, fall asleep between him, and breathe all of him, and it’s still not enough. I can fuck him, and it gets me a little more then anything else I could possibly do, but it’s just not… right. It’s more than, but still not enough. Perhaps it’s because part of his is still Liz, but that’s not all of it. Maybe it’s because part of his will always belong to someone else, and maybe a significant portion will always be completely his, this I am highly certain. But that’s not fucking it.

I no longer think I make anything up about him, I know too much for that.

There was a whole stack of old photographs and ageing love letters in his little library, and he showed me some of them.

‘That’s Her.’ He said, pointing out to a girl from another decade.

‘Oh, ok.’ I said as I shrugged my shoulders. A year ago, he would have married her if she had just asked. I know it’s insensible, but I felt nearly cheated, along with the strangest sense of relief. How could she have deprived me of him? How could he have dared to even consider not giving me at least a portion of himself? It’s nearly unimaginable, but there’s something about our relationship that makes me feel secure. Sometimes I feel as if he cannot experience the exuberance and the urgency I feel about him, and maybe he can’t, maybe he feels something else. But I trust him. I trust so much in the fact that his desire is faithful to my person. My character and… my body.

I was standing around in the dining area drinking some soya milk, when he came out of the bedroom and stood by it’s doorway, giving my proportions some thought.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he said. I felt like he was demanding me to realize that I was.

‘What?’ I said, with a little bit of a half laugh. Partially thankful, partially incredulous. Did he really think so? I worship my own body, it’s usually good enough for me, but when you desire someone so much, you never think anything about you is good enough. And whenever he tells me that I am, I cannot dare to believe it. I feel like I have to work hard to give him something, not because I think I’ll lose him if I didn’t, but rather because I think he deserves me so much that I don’t ever think I can give him enough.

I cannot for the life of me think why he should deserve me. Maybe the fact that (I feel) he doesn’t care whether he deserves me at all is precisely why I want him to have me. It’s simple; unexpected gifts are the best things to give.

(And in all honesty, God I am so sick and tired of guys trying to sell themselves on the basis of their apartments, their earning power, their smarts. Vainglorious bullshit. Oh hey, someone last night told me he had a good job, a nice place, and lots of money. I don’t care for money unless it’s in my hands. How piteous. How can you possibly put yourself into that ‘I’ll pay, then you deliver’ approach?)

‘We have to go.’ Martine said to me when I started getting to comfortable in his bed.


‘Didn’t you say you wanted noodles?’

‘If you want them.’

“If you do, yeah. I suggested because you said you’d like to.’

‘Ah forget it, I like being in your bed too much. And you looked rather uncomfortable sitting up on the couch even’ (He’s sick). ‘Anyway, I don’t really like being out with you in public… it’s difficult. I can barely keep my hands of you, and we can hardly misbehave in public.’

He laughed.

‘Oh yeah? When you’ve so little time for me, you can’t expect me to compete over you with social protocol.’

I looked up at his face and felt like I wanted to eat all of him. But I didn’t, I didn’t even try to kiss him. It was as if I knew that I’d be disappointed; that need wouldn’t be fulfilled by anything… not there and then anyway.

Doing my run today, I realized something that made me go, ‘how queer’. There was only one point in time when I felt ambivalent about Ethan, and that was when M came back into my life. And it’s queer because the relationship with E was built nearly solely upon my imagination, and usually nothing is more charming to me than what I can dream up of. Perhaps I’m dreaming about something else altogether with M, but if that were, I can’t imagine, or figure out what. He has usurped my imagination.

I told him I really loved talking to him, because I could tell him anything, and he wouldn’t judge me or think me silly for it. Even if it were the most childish thing in the world. It’s as if I know he knows I’m young and should be allowed to be silly sometimes.


I watched Closer last night on the G-Spot’s insistence and I though, after I watched it, how odd it was that he just knew me. No I’m not Alice, not Anna; I felt I was in the script while watching it. It had the same effect on me as Anais’s Henry and June. In fact, I thought it was very much like Henry and June. The I realized that all the great stories have already been told, and they all come from one source, and Salman Rushdie realized it in one of his greatest novels ever. Great because it was simple and thoroughly enjoyable and had a secret. All stories come from the great source from which run the stream of stories into the sea of stories

People are so alike it’s amazing. Jesus, think about all the love stories you’ve read and watched. What do we all ultimately want!

And just for fun.

Bitches are just unfulfilled sluts. Oh god, I could I come up with something more unoriginal.


Damn it.

So a guy I fucked exactly 2 years ago emailed me though this blog without knowing he fucked me, and I met him at a club 10 minutes ago, without arranging anything. Is this a fucking small world or what.

I love Martine. I'm sorry to everyone else that wants to fuck me, but I love him. I can't, oh I just can't. It's insane, no one has gripped me in such a long time. Gripped me so hard even my capricious little pussy wants to be good.

I am drunk. Fuck that. Oh, by the way, I love the G-Spot too. I went back to one of his regular hangouts while he was still in Singapire, just for 'old times sake'. He able to know me so well on so little information it's freaky.


Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Situational People

Most people really are very nice. I think only insecure people are horrid. And as I meet more and more people, I realize that people these days are mostly pleasant and rather decent. Maybe it’s because I grew up on the good old ‘wait till you grow up, then you’ll appreciate the life you have as a kid. Because the world is cruel, and the only people that’ll ever show you love is your family.’ Well, true, blood will always be thicker then water (and transient preferences), but that doesn’t mean they won’t be nice. I know people are selfish, and if it inconveniences them, sometimes they’d just rather not, even though it can make your life a lot easier, but honestly speaking, they’ve turned out to be a hell lot nicer then I thought they’d be.

So the world really isn’t cruel, and people do not necessarily get more cynical as they grow older. In fact, cynicism is a nature, not something you can acquire.

A number of things have happened. Rather inconsequential to the progress of time (actually everything is, time doesn’t give a flying fuck anyway) but nonetheless, they happened. I got met Dee at Jeff’s studio yesterday, and told them about Lady Deathshag. (I’ll draw a picture of her for you in the coming days) So my super hero character’s Lady Deathshag. She’s got this cool strap on with interchangeable dildos, and she’d fuck you in the ass if you tried anything nasty (because nothing is nastier then getting fucked in the ass in my opinion). For recreation, she helps out lonely teenage girls. No prizes for guessing what she does to them. Her lab’s the sex shop just a couple of blocks away from Jeff’s studio. He wasn’t kidding when he said we were going to try and pull the shoot off.

I also got really drunk at CU last night and possibly pissed a few people off. Dee got really sick because she didn’t drink in a long time and is quitting all her vices cold turkey (save kinky sex). Poor girl, I hope she gets better. I feel bad for making her drink.

Chris called me at 2 a.m. as I was stumbling through the 7-11 in search of some low-calorie comfort food. He seemed to find it rather amusing that I was drunk and having to shout to him over the phone in the convenience store while waving a banana around. I had to shout because the line was bad, and that usually triggers a fair amount of unnecessary gesticulation. Apparently he’s gotten window seats for the flights to and from SF (I was a little disappointed, because I prefer aisle seats for flights over 5 hours) but he really did think I’d like them and put in some extra effort to make sure I did get them I couldn’t bear to tell him otherwise.

And this morning, the fucking G-Spot called me! I’m still rather excited about it, I can’t believe he did, he’s so cool that way. I’d been thinking about him quite regularly recently, mostly because I’ve been wandering around town alone in the afternoon for the past couple of days, and usually when I did that while he was still around, I’d drop him a text asking if he’d like to meet for coffee or a late afternoon movie. He didn’t normally have the time, but still it was nice to have someone to call up when you felt like it. He had one of those cool super-flexi jobs that allowed him to go to work at about noon time and back home after lunch, a schedule that compliment my college schedule then. There was once he called me up at 7 a.m. just before I entered the school and asked me to make a detour and take the cab over to his place. I liked all of that. There was something about not having a schedule that I miss.

These days with Martine, it’s always on a weekday after a certain time… we nearly never do anything else like going to the movies or have lunch together because he’s so busy. And of course I love fucking him, but sometimes I can’t help but feel that’s all there is to our rendezvous. It’s pretty much the same with Dr. Seuss, although we do meet strictly for lunch and drink quite regularly, but then, there’s still and always a date. A plan. A schedule.

I do miss him, the (s)wanker *laughs*. He was cool. Completely laid back, chill out kinda guy. I am almost certain I remember him better then he really is, but that’s how memories of people we liked, overall, turn out at the end of the day. Even if we didn’t quite liked them much when they were around a bugging you, you think about them in a pleasant sort of way when you’re missing them, nonetheless. Memory is a strange thing indeed.

I was writing an email today, and I mentioned that people in my life weren’t really people, they were situations. For example, Chris is my highly paid escorting job, Martine is my illicit affair, Ethan is the oatmeal and cream, comfort boyfriend. Of course I cannot imagine doing the same things with someone else, just because I’m satisfied with the way things are, and these people seem to be very well suited for their roles in my life. Yes they are people to me, but somehow when I think about how I could have other people fill in the same roles as well, then I realize that the situations they create are of more importance to my life in the long run as experiences. Will these people drop out of my life at some point in time? I used to think they all would, eventually. But considering how Ethan and I have known each other for about 2 years now, and seeing as how people like the G-Spot can be miles away and still trying to contact me every once in awhile (he did try, but my phone was out of order while I was traveling through Cambodia). Maybe they don’t. One day I’ll know the answer, but that’s a long way from now.

But back to memory. And the thing I realized (with pertinence to my character and the way I process my recollections of relationships with people) is that they become more of a person when I remember them, then a situation. Sure, the circumstances under which we conducted our affair could have been highly inappropriate and therefore very exciting, but all that’s done and over; what’s left is the character of the person. What happens is that I stop thinking about how exciting the state of our lives were when we conducted our friendship, but rather why we did it, or why he did it. And what he liked about it, and about me. When I talk about past loves, I don’t talk about what we did, I talk about how these people were and are.

You can think about it and tell me if it’s true, but I think it is. I’ve spent the last half an hour thinking about it and imagining how I would remember all the people that seem to matter to me now.

I really miss the G-Spot because he made my life feel normal without being boring. I mean, he’s possibly the only guy that I ever shared a bed with without fucking (allright, there was Élan’s best friend, but that was only because he was a very good boy). I enjoyed watching DVDs with him in bed and he was the only person ever to have read me a poem, personally. It was about trees I think, nothing too sappy.

Anyway, I finished a painting. It’s 26 in” by 30 in”, Gouache on Canvas. If you want to buy it you can, because I’ve decided that my portfolio has got to start funding itself. It’s starting at $200, and email me only if you’re really certain you want it. It’s called Entering Wonderland and I like red cars.

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Who Says I'm Jaded

The headmistress looked at me with pity.

‘You’re so cynical you know. So… jaded. For a girl your age, you behave like your 30, like you’ve been through it all.’ She said to me, as if telling me would change anything. After all, if I’ve grown up, I can hardly recede back into the juvenile mindset she expected all girls my age to have.

‘Then how should I be behaving?’ I asked.

‘Like the rest of the students! They date one another, or at least people their age, with our values, and they are enjoying it!’

I felt punched in the head. Did she think I was stupid? Or was she the one that didn’t have any clue. That the other students dated one another didn’t mean that they were less ‘jaded’ then I was; did she really think all of them believed they were going to get married to their current flavour of the year? There were people cheating on one another as it were already, and I wasn’t the only one that was shagging around town anyway. And I wasn’t the only one that was had varied sexual preferences (i.e. gay).

‘The frame of mine you are referring to, the ‘un-jaded’ state of mind is stupid, useless and a liability. It gets you hurt when things don’t work out, because you don’t know that there will always be other people that are just as good who would want you just as much. It’s like believing in The One, it makes no sense for your well-being. Emotional or otherwise.’ I told her as a matter of fact-ly. Otherwise of course referring to the fact that fucking a few people in your life time, I believe, is good for you physically. That way, you know what to level of competency to expect in bed.

‘That’s exactly what I mean! You’re cynical!’

‘I don’t think so. But it’s better to be cynical then naïve.’ I said. ‘I’d rather expect disappointment and be pleasantly surprised, then expect good things and be knackered over by life. You’re wrong, I am not jaded, and I have no reason to be. I don’t believe in the things 14 year old girls that read Sweet Valley on a regular basis believe in, but I have faith in the goodness of people. And you know what? I’ve never been disappointed.
‘Jaded people do not bother with the subject of their faithlessness. I’m still a romance junkie.’

‘Ah, everyone wants romance, but it isn’t just like that. It’s not so easy, and if you want it, why are you living the way you live your life. You’re never going to find romance this way. And you’re doing it all wrong. Sleeping around is not going to find you romance.’

‘I live the way I live because I like it. And it does find me romance it would seem.’ And if not with people, at least with the act of romancing itself, but I didn’t add that in, it would have hardly been possible to explain it to her.

‘People like you, my dear head mistress,’ I had wanted to say, ‘are the sort that never really live.’ I bet you’re husband’s cheated on you before, but you just don’t know it. Why should you be sad that I know better then the dim-wit still thinking a kiss to a perfect stranger should mean something? And why should I be frowned upon with pity when I kiss someone new I really like, even though I’ve already lost count of the people I’ve kissed?

I’m not able to feel less, I’m just incapable of feeling wrongly.


And by the way, my mom asked if there was any possibilty that I may marry Ethan in the near future. Apparently she thinks he's a really nice boy, and rather good looking too. And she's dying for pretty grandchildren.

Uh, yeah mom. Of course that's possible. How should I know better in order to say otherwise?

The headmistress looked at me with pity.

‘You’re so cynical you know. So… jaded. For a girl your age, you behave like your 30, like you’ve been through it all.’ She said to me, as if telling me would change anything. After all, if I’ve grown up, I can hardly recede back into the juvenile mindset she expected all girls my age to have.

‘Then how should I be behaving?’ I asked.

‘Like the rest of the students! They date one another, or at least people their age, with our values, and they are enjoying it!’

I felt punched in the head. Did she think I was stupid? Or was she the one that didn’t have any clue. That the other students dated one another didn’t mean that they were less ‘jaded’ then I was; did she really think all of them believed they were going to get married to their current flavour of the year? There were people cheating on one another as it were already, and I wasn’t the only one that was shagging around town anyway. And I wasn’t the only one that was had varied sexual preferences (i.e. gay).

‘The frame of mine you are referring to, the ‘un-jaded’ state of mind is stupid, useless and a liability. It gets you hurt when things don’t work out, because you don’t know that there will always be other people that are just as good who would want you just as much. It’s like believing in The One, it makes no sense for your well-being. Emotional or otherwise.’ I told her as a matter of fact-ly. Otherwise of course referring to the fact that fucking a few people in your life time, I believe, is good for you physically. That way, you know what to level of competency to expect in bed.

‘That’s exactly what I mean! You’re cynical!’

‘I don’t think so. But it’s better to be cynical then naïve.’ I said. ‘I’d rather expect disappointment and be pleasantly surprised, then expect good things and be knackered over by life. You’re wrong, I am not jaded, and I have no reason to be. I don’t believe in the things 14 year old girls that read Sweet Valley on a regular basis believe in, but I have faith in the goodness of people. And you know what? I’ve never been disappointed.
‘Jaded people do not bother with the subject of their faithlessness. I’m still a romance junkie.’

‘Ah, everyone wants romance, but it isn’t just like that. It’s not so easy, and if you want it, why are you living the way you live your life. You’re never going to find romance this way. And you’re doing it all wrong. Sleeping around is not going to find you romance.’

‘I live the way I live because I like it. And it does find me romance it would seem.’ And if not with people, at least with the act of romancing itself, but I didn’t add that in, it would have hardly been possible to explain it to her.

‘People like you, my dear head mistress,’ I had wanted to say, ‘are the sort that never really live.’ I bet you’re husband’s cheated on you before, but you just don’t know it. Why should you be sad that I know better then the dim-wit still thinking a kiss to a perfect stranger should mean something? And why should I be frowned upon with pity when I kiss someone new I really like, even though I’ve already lost count of the people I’ve kissed?

I’m not able to feel less, I’m just incapable of feeling wrongly.


And by the way, my mom asked if there was any possibilty that I may marry Ethan in the near future. Apparently she thinks he's a really nice boy, and rather good looking too. And she's dying for pretty grandchildren.

Uh, yeah mom. Of course that's possible. How should I know better in order to say otherwise?


Monday, March 14, 2005

Self-Loving Darling

‘Did you miss me?’ Asked the doctor.
‘I did actually.’
‘I thought you were in deeply love with your boyfriend, whatever his name is.’ He accused.
‘ I thought I was. And I think I am, but you know what? I think when I’m allowed to love a person completely, which means to say I have that love returned in some way, eventually, I just stop loving in that obsessive manner. Nah, I think I can only ever love myself.
And I didn’t miss you, I missed hanging out with you. Go figure. Same, same but different, la.’

The truth is, I don’t think I can only ever love myself. But I’ll never know how correct that is until I have a child. Maybe our own children are ever the only people we can love more then ourselves, I’ve no idea. I’ve never been deeply in love with anyone. And I did miss hanging out with him, although I didn’t particularly miss him. I missed the solitude of our afternoon lunches, the heat and the breeze. The cold wine, the intellectual conversations and the ones about his children. The empty promises which cannot really disappoint me, since I grant them the benefit of the doubt that they are empty (that’s why I’m so frank about asking for cash).

But all that aside, I feel like talking about masturbation today. It’s odd, but I don’t think I’ve ever discussed it, and it’s such an important part of my existence (and probably yours). It was one of the things I really missed while traveling with Ethan. I simply didn’t have a moments peace to myself to jill off in perfect solitude. It was annoying. I have my best orgasms jilling of alone, because I can really, really concentrate. He kept on demanding that I looked into his eyes when I came, and when I didn’t, he’d pinch my grasp my chin in his hands and forced my head back so that it was horribly… uncomfortable, and he wouldn’t let go until I opened my eyes. I did it anyway, to amuse him. I supposed I could have told him to fuck off just as easily, but it’s just not something I do.

It was horrible. Maybe I can never love him properly because he can be such a jerk in bed. I didn’t tell him how annoyed I felt with his behaviour until the second week when it became too much and I played dead when he fucked me.

It felt good to jill off alone again the moment I got back. It felt good to jill off alone when Élan had left for work the next day (the day I came back, I stayed at his place), it felt good to be with men that didn’t feel the need to fuck you every second. And lying naked in bed with Martine, without his hands all over me continuously was wonderful.

Can you imagine being touched every fucking second? It got so bad I turned on the television whenever I got out of the shower to ensure he didn’t bother me too much. I had to put on all my clothes the moment I came out of the bath, and there was never any such thing as just cuddling without him trying to get into my panties. It was terrible.

Dr. Seuss supposed that the sex was good. On a purely physical level, there was absolutely nothing I could complain about. But otherwise? It was frustrating.

In KL, we stayed at my uncle’s place, and he didn’t feel comfortable using his bathroom unless I allowed it and I thought I’d take the opportunity to be alone. For the first time, in too many weeks, I felt really liberated. When I came with the pressure of the water against my in betweens, I really felt myself thinking that it was the ultimate act of self-love, and that I really missed being able to show myself that.

Oh yeah, masturbation.

It’s a big thing with me, a big big big thing. I do it too often, but like it anyway. I’m comfortable with my need for it; maybe because I didn’t grow up with anyone thinking it was a big deal. Hell, somehow everyone just knew it if someone else was doing the good old self love routine, and no one cared. In fact, if anyone bothered any one else, they deserved to get yelled at.

I remember how Tori was whacking away in the shower once, when my brother started making fun of her, and she yelled back, ‘Well, it’s not as if you didn’t have a dick.’

I’ve no idea how it is with men. They don’t seem to prefer masturbation to sex; I won’t say I do, but I won’t say I like sex more then masturbation either. They’re both important, and I cannot do without either for even too short a time.


Sunday, March 13, 2005

Godly Speculations...

I thank God that my life is so pleasant to live.

I thank the fact that there is no God, therefore my life is so pleasant to live.

I thank Destiny for alloting me a pleasant life to live.

I thank Myself for giving myself such a pleasant life.

Who ever says anything but the first statement?

Everything the brain of a normal person can do has a purpose that enables her to live conveniently. Certainly the ability to believe in God makes life alot more convenient for most. Before modern science, no one knew that conciousness was really just some mechinics of human biology. That means theoractically, the soul has been around much longer then the fact that there is no soul, and that the soul is simply, really, only neurons passing on electrical impulses. The fact that we know what the soul is composed of doesn't deny the fact that there is a soul.

I think there is a reason for believeing in God. I'm not too sure which God though, I've no idea how I can find such a violent act as the cruxification tender, but I do.

I've believed in God all my life, and I've never said, I have only myself to thank for the life I'm living. I am quite pleased with my lot in life really, but cannot say I thank my way of living for the goodness and diversity in my life, simply because shit can happen if I live my life the way I want. But I believe that shit hasn't happened because I believe in God.

Until I don't believe in God, but my life still carries on smoothly, then can I say that.

There's not much of a point I'm trying to make really. I just noticed how people don't often thank themselves for the good life they are living. Perhaps because they'll always suppose they can do more, or because they think it's not yet that good. You can chide yourself for not giving yourself the best, but you can hardly chide God. I know people do it, I've done it, but that's only when things are obviously bad, not when things aren't as good as they could be.

Maybe it's allright to believe in God because it makes life more convenient, maybe it's allright if it makes you feel like a more satisfied person.


I was talking to an old friend from the church I was from today about lust. And it occured to me that everyone should indulge in it, simply because it's such a human thing. And on the cosmic time scale of eternity, you're only going to be human for so long, and something else for far longer.


Crossword Coincedence

Sometime ago there were a bunch of rather bored metaphysical scientist who got a rather sizable sample size of human beings and made them do crossword puzzles. They made them do the puzzle in the daily paper regularly for half a year, then they made them do the puzzle in the daily paper that belonged to yesterday (yesterday’s paper as opposed to today’s paper) for the next half a year. The crossword puzzle that millions of other people had already done, and their scores were improve by a significant, un-ignorable margin.

Today out of some weird metaphysical coincidence, I bumped into Jan. Jan. Of all the people in the world I could bump into, I bumped into Jan. I was leaving the mall when he entered at the main exit. It wasn’t like we were browsing in the bookstore, or waiting for each other at the café, hoping that one of us may eventually turn up (apparently he did just that this afternoon. He had some an almond croissant lunch at the café, thinking, what the hell, maybe I’ll bump into her).

I’d spent a rather long while browsing through CDs at my favourite record store –it’s got very current albums at super great slash prices. (I personally think it’s a very good business model. I’ve never known a CD store that got me to purchase more then 2 cd-s in one visit) And as I was leaving the mall, we caught sight of each other, and got rather excited about it.

I thought I’d never ever see him again, and the night before I was just telling my sister what a pity it was that he was so damn good-looking and not ever coming back to Singapore. Apparently tomorrow is his last day here; which makes the coincidence even all the more what-a-friggin-surprise. And to make it even weirder, he was in Vietnam for the last two weeks as well, and visited the same places I did. What was even odder was that he’d apparently spent the full-moon in a small coastal town in Vietnam, which was what E and I had done, although we didn’t go there because it was full-moon (because a lot of people did. They’ve some sort of very charming ritual where they float little paper lanterns down the river). I reckon only one full moon as passed since, so it must have been just about the same time. God damn it is weird.

He remembered just about everything I told him, down to Ethan’s nationality and the Art school I want to go to. For a near one night stand –spent one afternoon and one night with him- I thought it was pretty damn good. He just called me and asked me some more weird questions about my life and got me to tell him how good looking he was again. I thought he was pretty nice on the whole. Any guy that calls me just to talk to me is nice, not many of them do it (up to the point where I’m not very comfortable talking on the phone sometimes).

‘What are you doing tonight?’
‘I’m packed, but if you’ll agree to give me a blow job… I can make arrangements…’
‘You’re weird. I think you’re a really decent guy, and hell you are really decent; maybe it’s just me. I mean, what with asking me to bring a cucumber over the first time I decided to go over to your place, and always trying to get me to give you a blowjob.’

He is nice. The first time I told him I wouldn’t bring over a cucumber, and he shouldn’t pressure me into anything I don’t want to do, and he didn’t. Up to the point where he suggested sitting on the couch for dinner if I felt uncomfortable sitting on the same bed with him.

‘Hey, so you had sex three times a day everyday while you were with your boyfriend, and noe you haven’t had sex for a week, and you’re really horny. So tell me you masturbated with me on you mind last night.’
‘Jesus. I wasn’t masturbating with you on my mind last night. I was thinking about you, and talking to Tori about how good looking I thought you were, that’s all. But I can jill off to the thought of you tonight if you want me to.’
‘So how good looking do you think I am.’
‘You’re really just calling me to stroke your ego, aren’t you. Well, you are very good looking, one of the best looking guy’s I’ve fucked. The rest were just cute, or charming, or statuesque. You’re good looking. Although I did think you gained some weight.’
‘No way!’ (He sounded really outraged and proceeded to repeat it a few times). ‘You honestly think I gained some weight?!’
‘I think you had too much for lunch when I met you. Anyway, I’m kidding. I just can bear to proffer compliments without some er… constructive criticism. I’m kidding, honestly.’

I asked him if he got another girl in the meanwhile and he said he did. She had picked him up at Insomnia a few days ago.

‘So you going to see her tonight?’
‘Nah, got too much stuff to do.’
‘Well, I’ve told you so much about my life, it’s your turn. Tell me something about her.’
‘She’s nothing to talk about. Not as whacko as you are.’
‘You’re lying. You’re going to see her tonight because she gives blowjobs and I don’t.’

Of course I was just kidding.

Got to go jog now, I got a really cool new pair of magenta X-country Nikes, and The Gotan Project’s CD to work out too.


Saturday, March 12, 2005

People are Selfish

Whether they greatly desire you, they love you or they just plain like to shag you, they are all selfish. They’d like to do nice things for you, certainly, but they’d just rather not do it if they could, for whatever reason. Like say, they feel lazy.

I was SMS-ing Dr. Seuss today; rather, he texted me first and asked me if I was game for some bondage on Monday. I didn’t have a reason to refuse, and being rather cash-strapped, I didn’t want to either. He told me to meet him at this one particular hotel that was allright in all standards, but one that I wasn’t particularly fond of. I suggested another one, and he said it was much more expensive, and he’d rather not, although in all honesty, I didn’t think it was that much more expensive. I don’t really care, to be honest, but I it rather amusing how someone can say they really miss you, and not want to do some little favour when you asked for it.

Ethan is even weirder. He is nice to me (obviously) and does little things that I appreciate, but I think he only does them as long as they make him feel good about himself at the same time. There was once I fell really sick (blasted Pill); that was in Saigon, and he offered to stay with me that day to make sure I didn’t die or anything, and brought nice things for me to eat and made tea, so on, so forth. Of course I appreciated it, but I found it rather annoying as well because I had wanted to be left alone. But I think it strokes some sort of self-consciousness in him and makes him feel rather good about himself. He probably also liked telling me what to do. ‘You should eat something’ and he kept on bugging me to do it. Almost as if, if I did it, and became better, he could be proud of himself. Then oddly, when I had a god-awful backache one night, which really hurt like hell but could be ignored in certain positions, he didn’t particularly see the need to give me a massage and didn’t. I got pissed of course but pretended that I wasn’t and carried on watching the news on TV. If I’d looked at him, I knew I’d just get more upset. He went to bed then, and asked me to give him a kiss; I sneered at him.

The next morning he said he really loved me, and I went, ‘really? Then it’s not really worth much. How much of a sacrifice anyway is giving me a massage. Especially when I really needed one.’

What can I say, whatever it is, nothing will surpass self-love. And I can tell you frankly the only time I do nice things for people is when doing nice things for them make me feel like the paragon of giving.


Right Wrong Who Cares

It’s only been one day, and everything seems to have fallen into place already. I’m rather strapped on cash, which doesn’t make me very happy, but that aside. Chris has replied my email, and is rather happy that I can make it to San Fran for the weekend after next (I think) and I have a painting to complete, and being occupied always pleases me because it reaffirms my self-importance as a productive individual. I am god-awfully tempted to make a copy of the Vietnamese artist Dao Hai Phong’s work, but think I’d really rather not waste my time and a good canvas for an imitation that of course cannot be as good as the original.

My parents have decided that they wouldn’t support me any longer until the school term started, so I’ve decided to get by with a little modeling, some sugar-daddying on the side, and maybe selling one or two paintings to some of the guys that are looking for wall decoration. I know Élan is, anyway. Worst come to worst, I’ll just buy all the stuff I like to eat when my dad does the Sunday grocery routine, and cook them all myself. (Truth is, even when not on holiday, the largest portion of my budget is spent on food). Who knows, maybe I’m pretty darn good with a frying pan as well.

Things have gotten a little whacko with my current family arrangements. All the women are currently unemployed –my mom went on a three month hiatus with her job and my sister is suspended from school till the end of the term I think- and I’m well, I’m graduated.

Tori’s story is awfully interesting though, and a little outrageous. Try not to feel incredulous, but she’s suspended for kissing a girl in school and for having had it publicized over the internet to no doing of hers. Apparently someone took a photo of her straddling another girl on a school desk while necking her and hitching her skirt nearly up to her waist. She’s suspended for a good while under the allegation of having disgraced the school and tainted the image of it’s belt white purity of moral integrity within the girls. They are now not allowed to embrace each other (can you imagine that! Disallowing 14 year old girls to cuddle each other. Who knew John Wesley advocated that.) My parents of course think they are making an absolutely unnecessary fuss, as would much of rest of modern society, but they couldn’t care less. My sister is doing better under suspension. She’s getting better grades, playing a better piano, and just becoming too damn smart it’s unfair.

We watched Constantine today, and after the movie I asked her what she thought that was all about. (I know it’s sole purpose was to entertain and not present very deep theological hypothesizes; I watched it solely for Keanu Reeves. I swear, I’m normally not a movie star junkie, but Reeves is just one of those people that incite an uncontrollable lusting within my loins. I almost get frustrated, watching him on screen with the itching in my pants.)

According to Tori, the very simple message behind the movie was that all these religious things, Heaven, Hell, God, Lucifer, demons, they were all subjected to interpretation. That you could never be sure who was playing at what. Good can be cruel and therefore evil as well.

As for me, I simply liked it. I loved the absurdity of some of the scenes, and I have a thing for the devil being portrayed as a perfectly calm individual, and for angels, just because there’s something so sexy about their androgynous quality.

The movie has a great deal of cool fantasy comic book elements, and I really liked that. The bar that served only ‘gifted’ people… ah ARIA.


Friday, March 11, 2005

Mode of Living

Ethan left, and I don’t feel very much to be honest. May be because this time I know I’ll be seeing him in a matter of months, so there’s not much for my imagination to speculate upon. It’s difficult to feel sad or lonely because I was traveling with him, and now I’m grounded, without it. The situations are too vastly different for me to feel like I’ve lost someone that was an essential part of a regular routine. He was something I wanted and still want to do, and did and will carry on doing. There’s nothing much to think about. I care for him very deeply, and feel very tender towards him, and his emotions scare me sometimes –he’s got quite the imagination honestly, and god-awfully melodramatic. I think he’s got a rather fine capacity for self-pity… in too many ways he’s like me. Especially when it comes to playing on other people’s feelings. For a boy, I dare say he’s quite… well, he doesn’t believe that hiding how he feels is particularly masculine. I’m glad though, it makes me feel like I’m a really comfortable person to be with, and I like that. I hate people trying to hide things for me. What ever in the world for, I’ll accept it anyway.

I thought finally getting to meet him, the boy I thought would get my life in order (at least stick my promiscuity on a stick or hold it on a leash). It didn’t. The things is, my life is not not in order, it’s the way it is, and it’s the way I like to live. Promiscuity is a lifestyle I suppose, and I don’t want to help it, because honestly, there’s nothing to be helped. I’m not self-destructive, just a little without self-control.

Allright, what happened was that the morning after E left, I decided to ring up Élan (because I was hanging around his neighborhood the night I had to send Ethan off, and he saw me and invited me over to his place. I told him I wasn’t free. Then the next morning came, and I didn’t feel like going home yet, so I asked if I could stay over. We had a good conversation on the couch, and some drinks; he did not even so much so as try to hit on me. He never really wanted to fuck me in the first place from the start anyway, and even after I’ve slept with him a couple of times, he still felt and still feels platonic.

The sex was allright, nothing to go oh yeah about. For some reason, he just doesn’t perform well with me, and I think that may be bruising his ego a little. He got his best mate to ask me if I thought he was good in bed, I suppose when that happens, all is not well.

I was hanging around his apartment till late in the evening, when I felt like seeing Martine –whom I feel really close to at this point in time, despite him attempting to create a distance.- and he said I could drop by, after I took my luggage back to my parent’s place (you’re going to have to see them eventually!). I spent most of the afternoon writing and planning my novel (whether or not I eventually finish it is inconsequential. But I’m quite desperate to do so actually), and I realized that I wasn’t so much in love with particular individuals, as I was fascinated with them, and as I was in love with the situations they create within my life. It’s a mode of living that I’m in love with, and it doesn’t matter who enters my life and help me live that way; I appreciate all of them, but to quote Milan Kundera, with any individual and in any circumstance, ‘It could just as well be otherwise’. I could just as well live a mad-capped salacious life with Tom Dick and Harry as with David, Ronaldo and the dude from Kung Pow.

I thought that being with Ethan would help things along, would make me live more sensibly. You know, more like a teenage girl. As society thinks teenage girls should live. Of course chicks like Dee and the Princess and some other sirens some of the guys I’m dating are also simultaneously dating (I’m kidding, I’m not seeing anyone regularly these days, Martine aside. In case you know me and think that the guy you’re sleeping with is also sleeping with me, he isn’t. Élan doesn’t date, he drinks, fucks, and has a generally rather good time) anyway, these girls prove that dating one guy and practicing abstinence is just what the powers that be want everyone to believe in. Simply because they frown upon uh… libertine behaviour and want everyone to frown upon it as well. Although I cannot possibly see what good that does. Because people are so often proud of sinful deeds.

Goddamn, Ethan coming back into my life didn’t change me. It made me know what a silly twit I was to believe he could anyway. There was one particular album by Zazie that always made me feel nostalgic for him before my Indochine sojourn, and I listened to it today while walking to Martine’s, and I realized it didn’t make me feel very much anymore. Because you can only be nostalgic for things that you think may never be.

I always though maybe if I wrote a book about the past couple of years, I’d end it like a fairytale. Like getting grounded for good and being offered a EU citizenship or something (I’m being sarcastic; I’ve said it before, I will not and do not date for the sake of a foreign passport). Bullshit. People do not change, and I will never compromise the way I like to live for anything. Maybe when I decide to have children, I would say it would be very much preferable then of course, but before that? I don’t think so.

Martine was very pleasant today, although the sex wasn’t as great as it once was, for some reason I don’t know what which upset me a little bit while we were at it. I though maybe he saw me so often I wasn’t as charming anymore. My feelings for him are completely irrational, I know it and anyone would tell me so too. I find him completely sensual, and he captivates me, always. I don’t know what sort of effect I have on him. He’s so odd, his life is all rather odd. I have a feeling he’s mostly attracted to women he can’t have, and I know that’s a very normal thing, but I think it’s really something else with him. It’s almost as if now that I’m around rather a little too often, I’m not as psychologically desirable, and it bugs me. Of course I also found it all the more physically exciting when I couldn’t have him either…

But it was all quite odd today. He took a rather long time to come, and I though maybe it was my
fault, maybe I wasn’t that desirable anymore. I probably wasn’t particularly so today, and didn’t feel so either, but then again, that’s how I always feel when I invite myself over, as opposed to being invited by him. And he seemed all rather stressed up over Liz; and I felt a little jealous that she should have him helping her though school and through realizing her dreams and that my own damn biological father wanted to suppress mine.

I got terribly emotional talking to him about it; but it was really good to hear him tell me what I should do, because he’s just so real about these things. So real about doing what you love, and making the converse –doing what you don’t care for just for the sake of a guaranteed job thereafter- sound not only completely bland, but extremely stupid.

‘How do you know art is what you want to do? May be you won’t like it, may be you won’t be good at it.’
‘How do I know anything else is what I want to do? I’ve never attempted to study for a degree in business or philosophy or anything else for that matter, how do I know what is what I want to do? At least I’m sure about art, at least I know I want to do it now.’

M presented an even better argument. Aside from my art and creative writing, I didn’t do anything else unless I’m forced to. I’m immensely dedicated to them, and immensely bored of everything else.


Saturday, March 05, 2005

It's A Small World

Guess what? Ethan and I came back to Singapore for a couple of days so I could collect my A Level certificate (in case you’re wondering, I did manage to get a decent enough score to enter the Fine Art and Design course I wanted) and he decided to meet a few of his friends he’d gotten to know back, oh, a year or so ago. He probably went on a rather lengthy exposition of the more decent aspects of our exploits, and one of the girls asked if I wrote a blog. I was thoroughly embarrassed. I’d hate for him to read it, and he promised he wouldn’t (and he’d rather not anyway), and he’s not, for over a year now, so I suppose I’m safe. I think honesty would be the healthier alternative to all the dodging around with previous partners and all that, but when a guy doesn’t even want to give you a rough estimate of how many women he’s fucked previously, I simply do not think it’s possible. His psychological makeup’s probably not designed to comprehend frankness of such-like.

Well, it is a small world.

I met Martine last night while E was out having dinner with people I didn’t know who knew me (and thank god I didn’t go). It was weird at first, after spending the last 5-ish week with only one person. I entered his apartment, and he pulled me into an embrace, and I started wondering, ‘does he think I’m pretending to adore him?’ and I started wondering myself if I was just pretending. Meeting him for the sake of meeting him. It was all well and over in a couple of minutes though, and I realized why I liked him so much.

Maybe it’s because Patrick Susskind’s Perfume was fresh in my mind, and maybe because there’s some truth in his writing. Martine smells lovely to me. I told him so. To me, everything about him is erotic, I cannot not feel like making love to him, I cannot not want to touch him, stroke him, breathe him as often as I possibly can. I really missed him, and he was dying to see me… or so he said, and I certainly believe it. He gave me a CD (graduation gift, he forgot the exact date of my birthday, but no matter, I forgot his as well) it was an album he grew up with, and he’d never gotten over the songs. I like it, both the gift on it’s own –it’s a good CD- and the thought behind it. Perhaps I’m making things up, but perhaps he knew I would really appreciate things that gave me better introspection into his. Into him as a person, into something that was a part of him at some time.

He made love to me rather roughly, and it was all over very quickly, to much disappointment. But it was nice. We spent an hour after that cuddling, and I’ve no idea why, but I didn’t feel like pushing him away. That happens with Ethan sometimes. Initially I thought it was because I was loosing ‘it’. Whatever ‘it’ was supposed to me. Heightened eroticism, my capacity for sensuality, perhaps. But last night I realized that just wasn’t it. Maybe Susskind is right, and there’s something more then just how a person looks on the outside that matters. Maybe it’s not even how a person smells. I think it’s an aura. And Martine leaves off a completely sensual, absolutely erotic visage. I love melting into his arms, and breathing him, and kissing him, and lying on his belly and taking all of the way his skin smells into me. He thinks he needs to loose some weight, but I personally don’t care. Everything is perfect; it probably isn’t – the Princess doesn’t think he’s attractive in the least. I told him, and he was probably insulted, and behaved like, ‘if she doesn’t want me I don’t care’. I suppose he thinks himself very attractive sometimes. I agree of course, but he’s just one of those people you’d either find you lust for or you don’t.

He asked me about Ethan (how’s the your Swiss boy?). I told him quite honestly that I am indeed awfully fond of him as a boyfriend, despite the fact that I don’t find him very sensual. Partly maybe because he attempts to get me laid so often I find it a chore sometimes to get myself turned on sufficiently (And not that this is of much relevance, but he’s just around always, such that I can’t Jill off in peace, and that infringement of something so privately pleasurable started to get on me a few weeks back –a few weeks without private jilling off time is a big deal to a girl that does it twice a day normally).

Ethan likes the little game we play. All the psycho mind-fuck. It gets me off always, the name calling, the belt collars, the weird role-playing. He likes it, I need it. Not all the time, but more often then I think is natural. But then again, what’s really natural. It’s not like I’m only able to have sex under the circumstance where someone’s making me say I’m a slutty, cheap whore. It’s actually rather fucked up when I’m semi-drunk. That happened a few times, and I’m no longer able to distinguish between role play and reality, and for awhile I got really mad at him making me say dirty things about myself.

Martine says I’m a rather peculiar girl, and for some strange reason, he said he wasn’t going to marry me. I thought it was weird, but maybe even men have biological clocks. I think it’s likelier that he brushed the though lightly because his girlfriend has been pestering for the pointless tedium of marriage. (What the hell is it for anyway? A guarantee to a good life forever and forever? I’ve been reading Tom Robbins, and am very convinced that Time is the cause of many unnecessary problems and irritating systems, like marriage. Time gives the sense of the possibility of an ending, and –I think- some women need marriage as a ticket to bypass that ending. There’s something about the false sense of ‘eternity’ –even though it is completely stupid since we all die anyway- that matrimony prescribes that they really, really like.)

‘Why won’t you marry me?’ I ask, not particularly insulted, but rather upset at the fact that I wasn’t perfect for everything.

‘Because you’re peculiar. Not in a bad or good way, just in a way that I can’t satisfy.’

‘I don’t think so. I love talking to you, and you’re very sensual… so sensual I could satisfy my mind with trying to feel all of it. And you have a comfortable bed.’

‘I couldn’t role play.’

‘Why not? How hard is it to call a girl a slut?’

‘I couldn’t. I’d just say it, then laugh.’

‘It’s no problem anyway. I’m not a role play junkie, I just have to do it sometimes when I don’t feel turned on enough, and I have to. You’re so sensual I don’t need any of it.
You know, there are only 2 guys I’ve fucked whom I can say I really, thoroughly, desire making love to again and again. And if they were gone, I would be sad, because I couldn’t. And you’re one of them. I’m not saying it to make you feel pleased about yourself. In all honesty, I mean it.’

‘I didn’t think I would be…’

‘You are completely erotic to me. In every sense. I never realized it until I spent all this time with Ethan. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with him. He is cute, biologically made to be good in bed, fresh smelling before latex burns, but there’s something missing. I don’t feel like enjoy kissing him for very long periods of time, I don’t like being coddled for too long. I love looking at him… maybe Susskind is right.’

He gave me this odd theory about how women either liked the way he smelled or they completely did not. He doesn’t smell bad at all, in any possible way, He finally came to the conclusion that some women can simply smell the infidelity within his nature. Maybe.

The date ended not too good unfortunately. Liz called him sometime while I was rubbing my cheek against his stomach, and he freaked and had to go and talk to her for a long while. After half an hour, it suddenly occurred to me that my phone was not set on silent and could ring while he was talking to her, and I started getting freaked out and peeked my head out of the door trying to figure out a good time to get out and obtain my phone.

I stood at the door naked, and slightly afraid. Ooh, Martine would really kill me if I left his bedroom. I did eventually, better that, then my phone ringing because I was for certain going to be late for my date with E. I got out, and he looked at me and made a face ‘fuck you!’ Not like he was pissed, but slightly irritated I suppose. Of course he got over it in a few minutes and apologized after that.

I felt a little awkward listening in onto his conversation with Liz. He was begging her not to be angry with him for not wishing to commit, or pleas-ing her about trying to be happy with her life at present and enjoy his company and support.

I’ve no idea why they’re taking so long about it. For certain he was not going to commit for a long time (i.e. till death do us part), and that was all she wanted, and wanted now. It’s quite a no-brainer to me, but according to him, it’s just so much more difficult when an individual doesn’t have the sort of self-assurance that comes from being born into a comfortable bourgeoisie family.

I’ve a whole lot of university deadline applications to read up on, so I’ll leave it here for now. My apologies for not writing more often, but the connections in Vietnam were really terrible after we left Saigon, and there was simply no time between rushing for airplanes, trains and boats and attempting to manage the laundry… I can’t answer emails either (then) because for some reason, g-mail doesn’t seem to work properly without DSL.