Tuesday, May 31, 2005

Back in Saigon

More then anything, it's the people that are the reason to visit Vietnam.


It was raining at breakfast, and they had run out of anything beyond citrus fruit, which I normally love but can't have early in the morning cuz it fucks up my stomach. I mention it and tell them to put it back in the 'fridge and not waste it. The girl asks me what I'd like instead, and I said 'Mangoes' but it was allright since they didn't have it anyway.

So it was raining like anything outside, and I told her really not to bother. She came back a couple of minutes later with the rest of my breakfast, left, and came back again, later on, soaking wet with a huge plate of mango.

Too.. bend-over-backwards sweet.

I've been having a great time taking photographs. The sun rises much earlier here, and by 6, it's on full and the lighting was too great to pass up on. I'd woken up to go to the bathroom and saw a whole row of women sitting across the street from the hotel selling raw produce. It was too lovely to pass up on, so I ran out in my PJs and snapped a couple. They thought I was funny, jumping right out of bed to take their picture. I think I'll walk around at dawn tomorrow just to get a feel of the place before the city wakes. (It wakes pretty damn early though, and goes to bed early too. Still stuck within that agricultural biological clock work ethic thing)

Chris and I are doing great. He's been great, just... lovely... and for once I feel like I don't have any stupid problems to be arsed about. And he doesn't try and fuck me the whole time (thank god).

He's going to take me around this afternoon to find places that make things and help me get some stuff made. A couple of bags and shoes. I really do want to get stuff made. Everyone's got to start somewhere, and I need someway to finance my lifestyle. And there's no way I'll agree to work like a dog so that someone else can benifit. Fuck that.


Sunday, May 29, 2005

Man of Action

I finally met up with Élan once again, after having not seen him since I stayed over at his place for a couple of nights after Ethan left the country. It’s the end of May now, that was at the beginning of March. Two and a half months, I think.

He’s lost a ton of weight on a stress filled diet, but no matter, he looked pretty damn good. When he’s a little fatter, he reminds me of Ewan McGregor, when he’s not, he looks like how I would imagine Puck from a Midsummer’s Night Dream would kinda look like. We never actually have dates, he doesn’t go on dates. He only goes to work and goes drinking, and when I meet him, it’s normally at his place over a movie and Barcadi Breezers. I always never want to do anything sexual with him when I’m not around him, but when I am, I just can’t help it. He drives me crazy. I love grabbing onto him and snogging him, and I love it when he kisses down my back and strokes me all evening. Guys in their mid-twenties are normally not up my avenue, but he’s the only one that I can actually say I like. He’s actually really decent. Can’t stay attached for nuts, but at least he doesn’t lie. And while for all the rest of the world, cigarette smoke on a person’s breath stink, I can’t think of a sexier way to have anyone’s kisses smell. It’s probably something back from my adolescent years… all the cutest boys smoked, and I’d kissed all of them.

His roommate came in at about just before midnight fucking shit faced and offered me some frozen bruchettas. He was so drunk he didn’t even bother to re-heat the shit up. Élan asked him how did his date with that girl go.

‘She was a nice chick, had some interesting things to say, but you know, I’m not up her chute. If you know what I mean. She’s messaging me now, asking me where I’d gone, but I really can’t be bothered. I’m a man of action ya’know.’

If I weren’t there, Élan would probably have laughed with him about it, but I was. And I thought what that bloke just said was fucking stupid. Man of Action? Good god. He ran off without even trying, I mean, come on, what the hell do you expect? A girl to screw you on the first date? Get real. Anyway, he’s certainly not going to get any action, so what the hell.

I was sitting beside Élan in my dress with my legs propped up on the couch, my panties in clear view. And His roomie was just staring down between my legs. I quite enjoyed it. It was fun. Later we went back into his room and he started making out with me again. I told him I really couldn’t fuck him, or I’d feel too guilty and too filthy when I meet Chris tomorrow in Saigon, and the lovely boy didn’t.

He’d pulled out a bullet vibrator instead and used it on me till I came. I made as much noise as I could, firstly because I turn myself on hearing myself sigh and moan and scream, secondly because I knew his room-mate wasn't getting any, and I know Elan wanted secreatly to taunt him as well. It turned him (E) on enough it took all of five minutes of stroking his before he came. I like guys like that. Guys that can come without sex, oh good. It just annoys me to no end when sex becomes the be all end all, and the orgasm is so important it starts to feel (for me) like a fucking chore.

Like, come, already.

Élan smoked a whole lot in his bedroom that night, so I couldn’t go to sleep. Cigarette smoke is a devil’s that more horrid to my sleep then a double shot espresso, so I ended up reading half of Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code in his living room till what must have been 3 in the morning. Then I slept naked on the couch till about 8 or 9. I have no idea if the roomie saw me, but if he did, I’m sure he’d certainly liked what he saw.

Did loads of crazy art things today and got my entire body painted. If all goes on well, I may go back to Siem Reap, but not with Chris, and for purposes not related to anything romantic. Although one of the guys that’s going, I’ve wanted to shag for… oh nearly a year and a half now.


Saturday, May 28, 2005

The Ways I Dump Thee

You know how it is with women and every magazine, movie and just about every book in the world. I’m not talking about how the female of the species reacts to these things, I’m talking about how they view the female creature.

Confusing, irrational, neurotic, dysfunctional, psychotic, insecure, possessive.

What nonsense.

Men are crazed. All of them, whatever race, religion, dick size and social status, they are all as difficult, if not more so (for lack of literature surrounding crazed men).

Over the past three years, I have fallen out of relationships for three reasons.

1) I’m a free spirit. I do what I want and I get out of it when it’s too much. I’m nearly never jealous, and I’m definitely not possessive. But I will get mad if a guy lies and says he is completely faithful to me and I find out that he isn’t. It’s the deceitfulness that’ll bother me. But I get dumped anyway, because I’m too much of a free-spirit, and they ‘don’t see where it’s leading to’. They’re crazy about me, partially because they cannot possess me, and because they cannot, they don’t want to have anymore to do with me.

2) I’m obsessive. On very rare occasions, I get obsessive over certain men. I’m not possessive, mind, obsessive. But somehow, that translates to stifling their time and their space. Possessive I suppose, but not in the sexual sense. They feel stifled, although I swear to God, I’m really low emotional maintenance. Even when I’m obsessive. But they break if off anyway, because they feel stifled, or because their freaked out that someone’s totally in love with them. And also perhaps because it’s just no challenge, a girl that they have already captivated.

3) I’m indifferent. He’s not my type, I’m not his type, we’re just sleeping together and having a good time, but no one really cares, so we eventually drift apart.

Okay, so given the three limitations as to what you can be when you are with a guy, give me the solution to a healthy relationship that works.

You’re damned if your relaxed about it, damned if your infatuated, and damned if you don’t give a damn.

Well, damn those dicks.


I Am Loved

I woke up beside him, and he was already awake, gazing at me, a hand across my chest.

'You're so perfect', he said. 'So perfect. Everything about you just is. Your face, from your eyes to your nose to the way your lips part when you yawn. Your body, your breasts, your ass, the way your shoulders move when you stretch. (Your hair... allright, it's not perfect, but that's not your fault.) I don't know anyone else that can look so perfect at the moment just after they've awaken. But... you are.'

'I can’t fall in love with you. You know that. This is crazy. I would love to, you're perfect, only I've just met you, and you don't even live here.'

'I'll be back in due time.'

... and so we shall see, then...

Artist, poet, tattoos, linen shirts, dread -locks, fantasist, perfect line work, wacky imagination, sweet to bits and tiny little itty bits.

He bought me a huge gothic crucifix before he left the country. And has sent me two poems since. Grabbed my breasts in departure lounge of the airport for everyone to see, and my ass, and, just about every other part. Too funny.

Poem One

<>Words cover the air with images of a strange line
and all that recalls that moment is that it really felt fine

the laugh, the joke, the stare of life and fun

the fools in the corner who struggle to see what was done

us two crazy kids, two mad fuckers of life

dancing through the streets with our asses in a bee hive
leting go in our stiff fucked up world

as i have tried with my head stuck in a whirl

and no one can see the stupidity of it all

those judgmental barstards with their hands on their ball

as in their life all they see are the rules

living by their blindness, writen by greedy fools.
for life is for living and it is for the free

us, who know who we are and who can plainly see

the joke of the stiffs and the joy of the fucked

in this socially screwed up messed up rutt.
i am in memory, i am insane

being me as me should be, all so deranged

and there looking with hands and hugs in the back seat

i see the fucked up world enjoying our ways down beneath our feet

with envy, with shock, they stare with their jaw on the ground

as we dance without a fuck to all that is around
two of a kind separate to the norm

two of a kind living and hugging warm

meeting by change, having a good time

who know when it began, who know when its the end of the line
no end will ever be there

for the two who are never here

touching a dream that most can not reach

dancing naked in the middle of the street

for all to see and all to touch

are we individuals really to much

i dont give a shit, i dont care

i am me, you are you, and thats the way of our air.

bad fucked up farts who laugh.

Poem Two

<>Recall a moment in life, in time
when the rythms go far beyond the rhyme

where life starts to breath a joy

and all that is real stands like a toy.

for alone one can dance

and alone one have a glance

with people he meets under sunday street lights

recalling insane moments alone, with those of passing street nights.

but with two the beat is strong

and the moments then are never wrong

for the truth hold dear to the hands of that fear

and the crazy energies brings out that laughing tear

and like the 100 dollar bill that flies through the air

everybody wants it and no one will dare

to catch that moment and play it for real

they just keep it in silent and try to feel

two dance better then one

so the story holds, and so it is done.


Wednesday, May 25, 2005

I Dont Believe This!

Oh My God, what ridiculousness. Why am I not in Saigon at the moment taking photos of people selling shit of the street in District One?

Let’s see, thirty minutes before check-in at the airport, Chris called me to cancel the date. Why? Because he though I was slotting him into my life just like how I slot everyone else. Sure, if they’re slotting me around the rest of their lives too, like say, a wife and kids, their work or another girlfriend, I’m gonna have to do that too right. Fair’s fair. But he’s only treated me like the be all end all person in the past month or so I couldn’t do otherwise for him.

But as life will have it, the weirdest things will happen at the weirdest times.

Two nights ago, I called up Issac … fellow science-fiction, fantasy fiend, and asked him if he’d like to catch Star Wars with me last night. I had been busy the whole damn day at the TV studio with Tori until about 4 , when Chris called to ask me to book my tickets to Saigon as soon as I possibly could. Which I did. Then in about an hour, he texted me his flight details and the hotel resies when I was back home, by which time I was feeling extremely stressed while having an argument with my mother about why Tori should not be forced into a bad school system just because it was ‘the way the system works’. Now I love my little sister more then anyone else in the whole damn world, and trying to help her out when my parents are mad at her never ceases to get me going.

After that argument was done (something along the lines of, ‘put a talented free-spirit into a shitty school system, run by people who were mostly too stupid to make it to NTU and walked over to NIE instead, who know they are in a dead-end job… People who have not been taught all the ways in which they can teach, and the ways in which the most successful Secondary level classes are run; and even if they were, it makes not difference, because they certainly act as if they have not been taught them… And you want to mould Tori into that system and ruin her?’)

It was quite heated. But anyway, after that was done, the first thing that came to my mind was, I’d better stop shitting around and get the flight details and hotel resies recorded down somewhere so that my parents can have a copy and not worry about my where-abouts.

Chris texted me over some stupid shit, and I replied with some stupid shit like, ‘I’m not wearing any panties now, ha, ha, ha.’ And he replied with something just as pointless back, and I didn’t bother to carry on the conversation after that and started on packing.

And when I pack, I pack such that no one will know I will be leaving for a few days. Not because I didn’t want anyone to know, but because I don’t like to carry anything more then what can fit into a regular a4 backpack. But for some reason, the bag seemed pretty tight and stretched, and that pissed me off so I decided to go down to Plaza Sing with Tori to get a new one, before I met Issac for the movie.

Now one would wonder why the fuck did I bring out stuff for three days worth of holiday to the movies when my flight was in the afternoon the next day? The answer’s simple enough, I just really didn’t want to have to leave when my mother was working in the living room with a bag that clearly looks like I was going overseas for a couple of days. I know I have a responsibility to my parents that they know where I am when I am overseas, but I’d simply rather not go through the lectures they have for me each damn time before I leave.

I was planning to stay over at someone’s place I guess, not Isaac’s definitely, because I’d never slept with him before and I know that without a doubt, he’d certainly want to try, and I was definitely not in the mood. It would hardly have done Chris any justice after all the effort he had made to get this thing in Saigon going, and I’m really quite sick of sleeping with people I don’t really feel for in that romantic sort of way. I like being in bed with my friends, certainly. I would want to cuddle all of them to sleep at night, naked, if I could. But the damn problem’s that, if they’re male, they’d all try to get on to full-base, and I really don’t like people fiddling with my pussy. I hate saying no, because sure, once I start playing with myself, I feel like it too, but I know I’d just feel shitty about it all the rest of the time. So I’d say no, but I’d sooner they just not try.

After the movie, I must have gotten an sms from Chris saying something like ‘can’t wait to see you tomorrow’, and I think part of the reason why I didn’t reply was because of the fact that I was carrying a 5 kilo sling sack and had my hands full with trying to maintain the weight comfortably on my hips.

I asked Issac to take me home, which he did. Unfortunately, of all the bloody things that could happen, I found myself locked out of the house. I could have knocked or called my sister to open it up, but he had suggested his place, and I thought, what the heck. We had been talking about SF previously and I thought, what the hell, I’d like to see his collection.

When I’d gotten out of his car, I saw I’d missed a call, but it was so bloody late at that time I didn’t wish to disturb him by calling, and I didn’t see any bloody reason to do so. Besides, I was engrossed with talking to someone else, and you know how it is with things like text messages and emails. You really do want to reply, but something else was tying you up so you go, ah later, later, and before you know it, you’ve forgotten about it.

Then the next morning, the funniest shit happened. I woke up and realized I was locked in. I had been locked in Isaac’s bedroom. He was outside, and I thought he’d locked me in because his ex-girlfriend or grandmother had turned up or something, and it wouldn’t do to have whoever it was to see a girl in an over-sized T-Shirt and a pair of panties walking about the house.

The main thought on my mind was, shit! How the fuck am I supposed to get out of here to make it in time for my flight. Like, for heaven’s sake I’d worry about a missed call.

By the time the people had managed to get us out, I had to be on my way to the airport already. Then I got some weird shit sms from Chris telling me some weird shit like he was canceling the resies in Saigon.

That freaked me out, and I called him, and he started accusing me of not treating him the way I would like him to treat me, and all sorts of stupid things. And I kept on swearing to God that I’d been such a good, good girl the last week, and that I really did want to make this whole thing work. But he did relent and went ahead and cancelled all his reservations anyway. Which really pissed me off and made me cry. In Isaac’s car. He was there beside me being really nice and offering to talk to Chris for me, because I had indeed slept with him in the same bed, but that was it. And I had been very good at saying no too.

I finally managed to explain everything to him of course, and I was really mad at him for putting me in such a spot. But of course he thought I didn’t care anyway; what really hurt was the fact that here I was, trying to be good for once in my life, and trying to make a fucking relationship work, and he didn’t acknowledge it. In fact, to the contrary, he’d accused me of not treating him right.

I mean, for heaven’s sake, I’ve never been in a relationship where I had been made to have responsibilities. No one cared, previously, who else I’d slept with, or what the hell else I did. I could tell them, and it wouldn’t bother them one bit.

One more blow up between Chris and I, and I swear it will be over. Mostly because it is emotional hell, and I won’t do it to him any more, and I certainly won’t do it to myself. Not that I think I’ve been at fault here, at all, but that’s hardly the matter. The thing is that, if it doesn’t work out now, it’s not going to work out either in the next few months. If he can’t understand me now, he’ll never understand me, ever.

But I don’t think it’ll blow up. I really do think I’ve grown up some.


Tuesday, May 24, 2005


It suddenly occurrred to me that life is really a blip in the greater scheme of things. In the realm of Eternity. Occording to orthodox Christian belief, when we die, our soul lives on for all Eterrnity, and if you're Christian, your soul will be realized in Heaven (a place that is eternal). And Eternity is such that there is no beginning or end, so when you are in it, you have exsisted before you lived, and you will exsist long after you have died on this Earth.

In which case, why should this life really matter all that much? Is it some kinda cosmic joke; God decided to put us on a crossroad called life, where if we chose the right path, we'd spend eternity in Heaven, and if we chose the wrong one, we'd spend it in hell?

And if we did choose the right one, and we will have all Eternity to know God, why are we all so anal about trying to seek him in this short period of time, unless it is to improve the condition of our lives in this little blip of Eternity?

We take ourselves too seriously, don't you think. Why should it matter? What is this life and what is this body, if we have all Eternity ahead and behind us when we die.

Ah well.

You may be seeing my litttle sister on MTV soon, she's so fucking funny you can't help but love her.

I am going to Saigon tomorrow!


Monday, May 23, 2005

Burn out

At 3 pm, my brain was just about fried from forcing myself to write and edit a 10k word story in about 5 days. I wrote the whole thing in 3 days and edited it in 2, I am feeling accomplished but exhaused. So far, it's gotten good response. Writing a novel would prove much more difficult then I though, mostly because I tend to forget the parts I have already written and end up repeting them later on.

Ugh. Too tired to say anything of worth now, I've exhausted my capacity for introspection and explaination. The story was titled Serangoon North, after the place I'd grown up in, and was all about suicide, drug-abuse and pre-adolescent lesbian love. I hope I get something out of it. I never do anything without expecting to get nothing from my efforts, and so far, that strategy has proved a good enough recipe for success.

So there you have it, today's moral lesson.


Saturday, May 21, 2005

Quick Update

Been very busy the last couple of days working on a few projects.

A few people have sent me rather nasty emails that basically go along the lines of, 'what's with the sudden change in attitude towards sex'.

The answers are clear in my blogs, these people are just too stupid to think.

Casual sex is fun when you don't really care for anyone, and it's fun when you don't have anything else to do. But after awhile, you realize that sleeping with people you don't really know is not an activity that is particularly engaging. If there are no feelings, and the men whom you're already comfortable with as steady partners are better in bed, why even bother?

The other reason why I said sex isn't for playing around with is this. Someone eventually is going to want that extra step. It can be emotionally unhealthy, and your feelings for another individual is always accelerated because of sex.

Cupido asked me why I had been in Bangkok when he called me on Wednesday, and I said I'd been horrible to someone that loved me.

'Why were you horrible to him?'
'Because I was in love with someone else.'
'That's absolutely no excuse to be horrible to anyone. You should still be nice to people. Especially if they sleep with you. '

I suppose so. In most cases, I'm sensible enough to be nice to everyone, whether or not I sleep with them, but when feelings get involved in the equation, being nice is not enough. You have to know how to be nice, in just the way the other person demands it. And sex will always complicate situations like that.

I personally have no problems sleeping with someone I feel like sleeping with, and if the feeling is close to mutual. I.e, where do we go from after we sleep with each other and all that shit. With people you don't know, it's no big deal. It doesn't matter if you ever see them again. But then like I said, it would be just a waste of time, time I would rather spend enriching myself. But with friends... if I'm attracted and if the sex proves great and they don't bore the hell out of me, I'm fine with that. Only, what if they feel weird the next day. I never feel weird, but what if they did. What if they started developing feelings?

So you see, it's quite a little bit of a Catch-22 isn't it. Sexy strangers adn aqquaintences were great, but that got boring after awhile and turned into a waste of time. Booty calls are good, but usually, if I really enjoy sleeping with someone, I'm probably attracted to that individual beyond the sex, and vice-versa. And then things start getting complicated.

So how?

So stick with someone, or maybe two or three, but make sure you know where your feelings lie, and don't lead them to believe otherwise. Good sexual relationships I suppose, are all about being truthful to yourself and to your partners, and not abusing their feelings or playing games with their emotions.

It's probaly different for men, but as a species of the female race, I don't think there's really much point in sex for fun. Having the occassional fling or orgy or whatever can be fun, but I think I've had so much of that in the last two years, I'm just getting... *gasp* bored. But nonethelss, I don't regret any body I've slept with. They have all been an interesting ride, all puns intended.

(probably a whole lot of loopholes in my statement/s today, but I'm too exhausted to figure them all out.)


Friday, May 20, 2005

Of Course it's Fine...

I would post Martine's letter to me, only I don't think it's right to splurge other people's feelings on the internet. If I want to do that with mine, that's my business, but not with other people's. Not if they matter to me anyway. If you're a half-wit dumbass, oh well, that's kinda more your problem then mine if I choose to use it for laughs.

Basically, he said he'd not developed the same feelings for me and my rather passionate letter paralyzed him because he hadn't developed the same feelings for me as I had did towards him. (Well, duh. He should have said it to my face much earlier...) And that there was no reason for it at all, but that's the way things are. It sucks, but that's the way they are.

And my response...

I've always known all of that I suppose, I just couldn't admit it to
myself. I mean, in all honesty, you're the only person in a long time
who isn't completely head over heels obsessed with me. Bummer, I'll
live with it I suppose.

All of that really sucks doesn't it, I don't know a single couple who
are both equally madly in love with each other, and perhaps that's
just plain human stupidity.

I know I can't say you should have told me earlier, you probably did,
I was only attentive to the phrases like, 'maybe in the future'. Women
really only ever listen to the shit they wanna hear, even if their
intuition tells them otherwise. You really do have to be cruel to be
kind, it will seem!

Of course we all wish we could feel more passionate about the
wonderful partners that are passionate about us. People that don't
want to change us, people that will enrich and support and inspire.
And of course ones that are great to make love to... that's important
I suppose. But we can't all the time; I don't know what your take on
that is, but I know I can't be fussy, there's no time and I don't have
the capacity for it. And we all hate hurting people that offer us the
world. We can't be wishy-washy forever, it's absolutely unhealthy.

So in short, I'm glad you finally told me you couldn't see me anymore.
I'm glad I've finally come to a decision, one that I should have made
earlier I suppose. But in a way I'm happy I didn't because, as
troublesome as it was, being in love with you was a rather delightful
experience, particularly when you did make time to see me :)

I bet if I wrote down everything I felt from the time I met you in
good prose, you'd have a good time being amused. I amuse myself
anyway, thinking about it all. I hope anyway, one day I'll find
someone I love deeply, passionately, crazily and many senses, loyally,
as I loved you, and to have that returned. Maybe that has to be worked
for, who knows. Bugger. Whatever it is, I certainly wish you the same.

God Bless, my dear.


Thursday, May 19, 2005

What A Laugh.

I really should take a shower, but I ran through my e-mail inbox, and thought a couple of emails I'd gotten in the last two days are too funny to pass up sharing.

Note that I normally do not do this, unless you're presumptious and stupid.

email no. 1:

Why the sudden recent change in outlook, in perspective, in you?
I think you've tested positive isn't it?

My Answer: Positive for what? AIDS? Pregnancy? If I were, I'd say it. It doesn't matter if it's something to be ashamed about or not. Loads of people read this blog, and if I do get something like AIDS from my lifestyle, then I'd better say it, shouldn't I. So that everyone will get freaked out of their pants and realize that casual sex, no matter how protected and selective you are, can result in AIDS.

I am protected and selective, and I sure as hell don't have AIDS. Or for that matter, any other sort of disease.

Look, STDs exsist, there's a risk in anything you do, there's a bloody risk in living. It's just that people get more freaked out over something like an STD even if it's less of a pain then say... an eating disorder... just because they've got all these moral curses attacted to them.

e-mail no. 2

First things first. You must be wondering who I am. Well my name doesnt matter now does it? As Shakespeare said - What's in a name? Well I have been following your blog for sometime now. I am really intrigued by it. I am an Canadian Indian and no, I dont have an ED. I have been here for quite sometime now and boy! Never have I come across someone like you.
I am really impressed by your blogs. Really, by the manner in which you constantly describe yourself as good in bed. Even though I am prety young, I have had my share of some women from varied backgrounds. But you have intrigued me like none other. I will be honest with you. I would like to be in bed with you, even if its just for once. I have put it bluntly being inspired from your own blogs.
I can show you that white men arent the only ones good in bed. I ethnically come from the land of Kamasutra and I am good at it - trust me! I can show you what I say here and also can see what you've got. Mind you, I am not another one of those desperate bastards who hog the bars every night so that there might be a remote chance that they get laid - someday. I am very happy the way I am but after reading your blogs, as I said, I am really intrigued.
I hope I have put my message across and you have had the chance to read it. I dont have anything more to say. Just once will be enough. Maybe after reading my mail you are right up there. But I assure you, you wont regret this in case you wish to accept. I will keenly look forward to your reply. Even if you decide against my request, I would nevertheless like to meet up with you for a couple of drinks/coffee. It would be nice - really. That's all.

I won't even bother to comment.


Woo Hoo.

Great! Really, just, Great. I’m very happy now, in fact, I am extremely pleased with myself and how things have turned out. I shocked the shit out of Chris when I turned up at his suite yesterday afternoon allll the fucken way in Bangkok, which is not to say very far, but is nonetheless a 2 hour plane ride away and the whole hassle of getting tickets, and shit like that.

He couldn’t stop telling me what a complete nut I was. That of all the nutty things that has happened to him in his life, this was way up there on the list, next to the X-rated Mr. and Mrs. Santa costume his ex-girlfriend decided to show up in at a charity benefit.

Every thing’s worked out. I’ve finally managed to tell Martine to fuck off. This one was weird. I had to make the oh so difficult decision of meeting him on Wednesday afternoon for lunch, or boarding the plane to Bangkok. Also the difference between spending a few mediocre hours with a guy whom I knew no longer loved me or cared very much (despite him saying that it wasn’t true when I accused him of not caring very much for me at all) and spending the next 12 hours in a completely cool city with a guy that was completely distraught because I had been thinking about M when he came down all the fucking way from Washington half a week earlier just to spend time with me.

The thing, or person rather that really did it for me was this cool artist/creative person I met a few days ago. We hit of pretty damn quick, and he had advice for my life that I actually wanted not only to listen, but to use. I nearly never bother to listen to half the advice people give me, because most of them have pretty boring lives; so their lives may be working out fine upon whatever internal belief system they may have, but when listening to it is already boring (can’t you come up with something else then what the advice column in Teenage has said just about several million times over several thousand issues?) executing them would probably be doubly boring, and having them work would be tragedy, to put mildly. Flying to Bangkok and spending the evening having beers on Khao San Road followed by an oil massage in Siam Square and a movie… I made a good choice.

Jake and I were sleeping together and he was horny all night until he told me I could ask him for anything and he would do it (hoping I would ask for something like a triple orgasmic muff job) and all I asked for was a few hours of undisturbed sleep. The next morning when we woke up, he told me I was perfect. That everything about me was absolutely perfect, I was the epitome of physical perfection, and that I was too super cool and would be a dumb-ass for going after anyone that wasn’t crazy about me.

He had the simplest rules, but some of the most sensible relationship advice I had heard in a long time. 1) Don’t bother with anyone that isn’t crazy about you 2) Don’t bother with anyone that doesn’t support the person you are 3) Don’t ever dare even try it with someone that would want to change you and 4) Don’t bother with someone that’s bad in bed.

I thought about it for 5 seconds and decided after that that I would fly to Bangkok to see Chris. All-right, so he is a great deal older, what should that matter? You’re never going to get the world to love you, no matter how hard you try, and even when you manage it, it’s not going to last very long, or return you any love in kind. He’s absolutely great. And I’m finally glad I’ve stopped seeing him as a cash machine or a frequent flyer card, came clean with him on every damn thing, and made the decision to love him, period.

And I realized why I have problems sleeping with him, or for that matter, with any other guy in fact when I’m completely sober until Martine finally told me he couldn’t see me anymore, and I said ‘thank you for telling me so’. Up till then he had a grip on me I couldn’t get loose from. When I slept with someone else, I felt like I was being unfaithful, well, no longer.

Oh I doubt I’d be faithful to Chris, but one thing’s for sure, after this whole fiasco, I think I’m going to do a lot less sleeping around. Just because… what the hell for? Sure, all the people I’ve slept with are nice, and I don’t regret knowing or spending time with anyone of them, but my time these days has started becoming worth a great deal more, so why waste it with people that won’t enrich your life. I’ve already gotten all the enriching I need from all that sleeping around previously, and it was all cool, but when it’s time to move on to better ways to spend your time with, you better move on.


Tuesday, May 17, 2005

I am going to die!!

I've just been nothing but sad the last couple of weeks. Sometimes I'm happy, but mostly not. Which doesn't really bother me, as long as I get to run off parts of it and talk about it the rest of the time and recieve good advice.

Here is a piece of advice for any very, very, very beautiful girl who is also very, very crazy and very talented.
1) If there's someone that's normally rational that's crazy about you, don't blow it.
2) Don't date someone overseas. Unless he can pay for you to visit him often. Like often often. Like once a week.

I've been an idiot, oh I've been such an idiot. But I've finally told Martine NO. No oh no oh No, No, No. I cannot be expected to wait for him to fix himself up. I cannot allow him to just expect me to wait around forever, I cannot deny the people that love me anymore. I'd be the biggest most selfish idiot to do so.

I'm going to Bangkok to find Chris tomorrow.


Monday, May 16, 2005

Here's a Piece of Advice.

Don't have sex for money. Don't ever pay for it. If you are like most normal people, and not just seeing a prostitute for the heck of it, Don't. Feelings are bound to get involved, eventually, and love is not supposed to be a deal. It was never supposed to be a deal. Not a finiancial one.

I am too exhausted, but in the last few days, I've just learnt so much. I'll write about it soon, and I hope you'll learn from my great big fuck up. I'm not sorry for it. I'm sorry for the people I've hurt, certainly. So sorry.

I love Chris, I really did, but the sex and the money ruined everything. I'm going to make things right with Dr. Seuss before I lose another wonderful friend. It's just not worth it. I'd rather be broke then have behaved the way I did because it was simply completely untrue to myself.

You can lie over dinner, lie over a conversation, but you damn well can't lie in bed.


Thursday, May 12, 2005

Once Again

I met Martine. I’d wrote him a long, long letter last night for no other reason then because I felt like writing a long, long letter to him. It was pointless of course. I’ve written so many blasted love letters all my life, but never sent them out. The problem with these bloody things is that they’re normally written under certain assumptions or impressions. And while you’re writing them, I don’t know about other people, but I tend to get so much into it I end up writing things I’m not completely sure about. And M is beyond cynical about love, sure as hell he’ll know I’m just being sappy for the sake of being sappy.

So eventually I decided to draw him a card and stick a short note behind it. Basically, I miss you, and I cannot stop thinking about you. I told him today that whenever I’m with another girl, I wish he was there, when I’m sleeping with someone else (especially when I’m not drunk) I’d rather I was sleeping with him. Sure, Greg was lovely, so are like, all of the rest of them, and I’m very fond of them, but there are people who you know are transitory, and people you really, greatly desire.

When I look at M, I don’t see cute or pleasant looking, or whatever. I see someone I want to spend all day in bed with, someone that turns me on instantly, someone that… oh he kissed me in public and that made me feel so good.

I am crazy. Completely insensibly crazy over him. But he says I’m too young. The goddamned mother fucker. I want to be with him all the time, all bloody day long (well, allright, not that much, but certainly regularly enough). Sadly, I doubt he feels the same way. Liking me a great deal is one thing; but he’s certainly not dying to be with me. I told him I really was desperate, but I try my best to act otherwise.

Him, ‘We’ll see each other soon okay.’

Me, ‘You’ll have to sms me or call. Please. Don’t you dare make me look desperate. One more time I’m rejected… It’s just very bad for my health.’

Him, ‘For heaven’s sake, you aren’t desperate.’

Me, ‘Yes I am. I’m a very good actress.’

Him, ‘You’re crazy! And the poems you sent me. Why the hell did you say they weren’t for me?’

Me, ‘You read the bloody email I told you not to read!’

Him, ‘Yeah of course I did.’

Me, ‘And you didn’t email me back. And you blame me for being out of contact.’

Him, ‘…’

Him, ‘Why should it have mattered if I read that email or not. I loved the poems.’

Me, ‘No it doesn’t matter, who said it mattered.’

Him, ‘You!’

Me, ‘Now that you’ve read it and liked them, it doesn’t.’

Oh lord, my stomach totally sucks. I’ve no idea what I ate last night. Mr. Big asked me if I was anywhere around his place last night when S had been driving me around. It’d been a long time since I’d see him, and he’d been messaging me a little bit more then often lately, so I thought maybe it was time to say hi. I missed his teddy.

Believe it or not, we’ve now known each other for 2 years. Scary huh, how time really flies. 2 bloody years. So much has changed since. He’s still the same sort of guy I remember him to be, and will probably always be the same, as I’ll probably be the same for a long, long time. Which is good, because he was quite nice from the start anyway. But I think I can understand him better now. I’m definitely no longer insecure around him, which is great, because I was insecure a lot when I first started dating him. It was nice cuddling up and thinking about what a damn bloody long time it’s been. And everything in his place is still the same, ‘cept a whole lot messier. Ah well.


Wednesday, May 11, 2005

Untangible and problematic.

I’m completely incapable of writing down everything I feel at this moment, so I won’t. I get a bloody headache every time I think about anything that concerns my love/sex life at all, so I’ve decided to simply not think about it. Not too much anyway.

But I’ve discovered a few things. That people normally take other people more seriously then I do, and that just about everyone I’ve dated in the past few months has taken me more seriously then I will dare acknowledge to myself. It is a great big fuck up in the world, but people are fucked up like that. There are so many other girls out there who will give up everything for them, and they have to pick me. I will give what I feel like, and like I said, am an extremely volatile emotional investment. But they’ve decided to pick me instead. I’ve a feeling it’s precisely because of that. I’m just more fun.

I finally broke and sent Martine a text. He replied very promptly. I said I missed him, and he retorted, if I did, where had I been the last month? (Then he added a take it easy, okay) I told him I’d been too fucking proud to say anything, and bet he was too, because as far as I knew, I didn’t receive any word from him either. Then I realized I’d told him I left the country without a fixed return date when I did leave the country, but with a fixed return date. But I still don’t understand why he didn’t even try. But all that’s inconsequential now, I broke and made the first move. And I’m glad I did. He said he wasn’t too proud, he just thought the whole fiasco with him between Liz and myself was very unhappy and unhealthy. But of course I wouldn’t know. I couldn’t have known how She would have felt, could I? He didn’t tell me anything.

I don't know why I keep thinking about him. I want him so much I could die. I really hate him, or at least I try, and I had a very sad, pathetic dream about him last night where he played a coward in the Kingdom of Heaven, in which I was trying to kill people with a blunt spear. And I woke up this morning and thought it was time to hopefully clear things up and make things easier so he can call me when he wants to, because I would really like it.

And men and women are infinitely different. Women will get back and cry and beg and accuse almost immediately and do so continuously. I think men just put down the phone and sit on it for a long time, years even; then maybe one day, when they decide they really want the person back, they call.

We are having lunch tomorrow. If he cancels out on me, I will be very disappointed if he didn’t have a bloody good reason. I stick to my appointments, always, and I think everyone else should too. (Just like I normally keep my promises, and think every one else should too. But it’ll take a lot more promise keeping from myself to make me believe that I still can.)

Greg’s written me a couple of times, letters, a poem and a few sms-es. I just don’t know what to do. I wish people would stop thinking I’m sad, because I really am not. I’m very sad when I think about my situation with him and slightly sad when I think about how things have gone with Martine, but the thing is, I don’t think about them all that much, and certainly not all day. I’ve got better things to do.

But people are weird. They get really annoyed when they’re sad and they hope the other person feels it too, so I always end up trying to feel what they feel, and when I tell them oh I’ve made myself sad now, I hope your happy, they tell me to fucking just be happy and can I not be sad. And in Martine’s case, it’s even weirder, because he generally just assumes I’m sad, even though I’m pretty darned sure I give him not cause to think that whenever I go out with him.

I’m extremely confused. Everything is hopeless, and we are all fucked. Great.

I’m going to stuff my face with almond croissants from Canele’s, you know, the pastissier (is that how you call the people that make pastries in some fancy pants foreign language…) in that little courtyard somewhere along Mohammed Sultan. I’ve a terrible weakness for good almond croissants, and I get really mad when I’m given a bad one. They’re so simple to make, how can anyone possibly fuck it up?

Then I am going to stay in the pool for several hours and go for a jog for even longer and hope I don’t have to make any stupid decision concerning any stupid thing as un-tangible but yet so darned problematic, like love.


Monday, May 09, 2005

I Tried!

I have behaved so badly and felt so shit the last few days. After Greg turned me out of his place (he didn’t exactly, but the atmosphere was so bad and I was so ashamed I left when he went to take a bath) I called up Élan, but he turned down my call (no idea what’s wrong with that dude, but I’m sure he’s got a good excuse, he’s not that childish) then Cupido, who didn’t. He picked me up and took me to his new place and tried to shag me. I was just not in the bloody mood. I like hanging out with him because he makes me laugh, but we’ve got no chemistry whatsoever between the both of us.

Anyway, I went around all day feeling like I was the crappiest, most unworthy worm in the whole wide world. For a whole lot of reasons, but mostly because I’d really hurt someone I truly cared for, and also cuz I felt like I couldn’t trust my self any longer.

At about 8 pm this evening, I decided I was going to apologize properly, and whether he wanted to return forgiveness in kind, that would have been completely up to him. But I just knew I had to apologize, it wouldn’t have been right for him to call me back first, since I was the one that ruined everything. And I just knew it was the right thing to do. I’m sure it made him feel a lot better; I really took an effort to put something together (don’t cringe. Chocolates, flowers, a card and a novel).

Whether he can ever trust me enough again, that really doesn’t matter. I understand enough. He’s been such a gem I would be the world’s most cruel person to not have wished him goodbye before he left the country for a few weeks elsewhere. I don’t know how these things work out, but man, I can’t believe his feelings actually matter so much to me, because normally, most people’s feelings don’t. And I suppose it’s because I don’t feel what they feel; this is actually kinda different, and I’m quite… it’s a good relationship, and I couldn’t allow myself to have fucked it up without trying to do what I could so at least, if nothing else works out… at least I could have said I did what I could. Heh.

But hey, it taught me a very valuable lesson, one that I’m not going to forget anytime soon, and I’m pretty damn sure it cleared up somethings with him too. Like for instance, I am a very unreliable emotional investment.


I Am One Big Comprimise

Oh I am so bad at lying. Greg totally knew someone came over, and I couldn’t have kept it away from my face at any rate. Sure, I’m not honest all the time, I eat grape from the grocery store that I haven’t paid for, and spit the seeds out on the floor or something like that, but that’s just it.

Oh well, we all learn. I haven’t broken my word in a long, long time. Yes I was drunk, but that I suppose isn’t much of excuse. But when you’re drunk, well, a lot of things get comprimized in the bid to get laid. It’s not excuse, and I couldn’t have helped it, but I didn’t which also meant that I couldn’t, because if I did, I would have. But why didn’t I? I’d be damned if I knew.

Maybe it was fate. Maybe it really is better this way. He shouldn’t be messing around with me anyway, his wife was starting to get suspicious. Perhaps that’s just an excuse, and perhaps that’s the will of God. I breeched his trust, but he’s no longer cheating on his wife. Whom in a way I guess, he loves. Perhaps he doesn’t mean a lot to me in the big scheme of things, and I did matter to him, no one took Sue into the equation. Sure women know when they’re being cheated on, everyone the hell knows when their being cheated on, people are just bad with cheating, especially when it goes beyond ‘just sex’.

What does anything matter? I couldn’t have gone back to his place anyway. Not after what I did. I felt too much like one big unscrupulous compromise. I don’t normally break my word, not when I say it when I really mean it (all those times where I said I would in school just to get out of trouble does not count, because I didn’t want to say it in the first place). I had mostly myself to answer to, and of course I cannot do that. And I can’t run away from myself, can I. The best I can do is to forget anything happened at all.

And once again, isn’t it just amazing how people come into your life, and then leave, and it was as if all that you shared didn’t exist. And the future you thought might materialize because you did share something… fire catches on easily, doesn’t it, and everything burns so completely.


Sunday, May 08, 2005

Protective Rationalization

The Chaplin had sinned and it was good. Common sense told him that telling lies and defecting from duty were sins. On the other hand everyone knew that sin was evil, and that no good could come from evil. But he did feel good; he felt positively marvelous. Consequently, it followed logically that telling lies and defecting from duty could not be sins. The chaplain had mustard, in a moment of divine intuition, the technique of protective rationalization, and he was exhilarated by his discovery. It was miraculous. It was almost no trick at all, he saw, to turn vice into virtue, and slander into truth, impotence into abstinence, arrogance into humility, plunder into philanthropy, thievery into honor, blasphemy into wisdom, brutality into patriotism, and sadism into justice.

Anybody could do it, it required no brains at all, it merely required no character.

- Catch-22

Piss Drunk and Guilty.

Crazy rants aside, I went chilling out (i.e. getting drunk) with a few friends from college in a wanna-be ultra bar last night, and bumped into Luke. I thought it was weird, because the men I normally sleep with never go to the places I go to when hanging out with the people my age. But perhaps it was the weather, and the street was quite empty for a Saturday night, and any bar with enough people was sufficiently good to spend the evening in.

Sitting around in a bar trying to have a conversation at the top of my voice was quite taxing, not to mention boring, because you normally find that you can’t talk about anything worthwhile while shouting. So I was glad I bumped into Luke. It also helps that I find him really attractive, sweet, and possessed with one of those characters to which we would describe as having depth. I don’t know him well, at all, but I get a feeling about people, and most times, I’m right.

<>I went up to him and pinched his nipples.
'So is this what you do? You don't call girls the morning after, after you've spent the night fucking them. Is that right.' I said to him, teasingly.
'No, no..! Honestly, I've been (bla, bla, bla -excuses that I didn't quite hear, understand or care for) and my girlfriend just got back from Johannesburg, she's at home now. I spent the whole morning picking up your red hairs all over the apartment.'

'So now I'm the evil one, leaving evidence about to piss your girl off.'

'No! Sheesh.'

'I'm teasing la.' I said, and pinched his nipple again.

He asked me to do it again.

I gave him a lap dance (I gave a few people lap dances last night, it was fun) and at one point, I stood up on the couch he was sitting on with one foot on the seat and the other on the arm-rest, with him in between, and shoved my thigh in his face (I have very sexy 8 km run a day legs, so it wasn’t an unpleasant thing for him to have my thigh shoved in his face, in case you start thinking, ‘ugh, how rude’) and he bit me just there. At some point, and this is quite incredible, and I have no idea how it happened, I found myself thrown across his knee and he administered a playful smack on my ass.

As the night progressed, I got increasingly drunk on wine and tequila, and therefore got increasingly horny by the minute. It was very good Luke showed up. I feel so shitty for taking him back to Greg’s place, because it was something like, across the street, and shagging him there. It’s just not me to breech someone’s trust, and I woke up feeling shitty about it, but you know, it’s just one of those things about sex that just is. It was an opportunity that I thought was too good to pass up then (his girlfriend was staying in his place, so we couldn’t go back there), but upon waking, started thinking that perhaps I should have passed it up, because it was just not worth the guilt. But then again, there’s of course the difference between the guilt that comes from shagging someone you know in an inappropriate circumstance (I wish we’d done it in the washroom, to be honest. He knew the owner of the bar anyway) and the problem that comes from shagging someone that gives you an STD.

The worse thing’s that both of them are colleagues. Great oh fucking great.

Ha. Ha. Luke seemed to think it was god-darned funny though, and he kept on making fun of me until I told him to shut up or I would have cracked the glass photo-frames over his head.


Ego-tis-ti-cal Idiots.

There are all sorts of idiots in the world, and the one that I cannot stand the most is the sort that think they can bribe you. I HATE getting emails from men who think just because they’re white and rich, I should want to meet them. (‘I drop by in Singapore often for business, we should meet for a drink’ –go to hell, who told you that we should?) I hate emails from people I do not know offering me pretty girlfriends to experiment with. Sexual experimentation is a pain, way too tiring and just so wrong with people you don’t know.

I will never solicit for any sort of sex over the internet, because my previous experiences with it have mostly been pretty damn bad. The rational is simple, if you’re so great, why resort to the internet? Possibly because you’re insecure in real life or you’ve got something to hide, who knows. But whatever it is, I will never agree to meet anyone that suggests anything sex over an email. You’re insane.

I’m not and never will be the sort of person who’ll sleep with a rock star just because they are a rock star. In fact, I’ll hate their guts if they use the fact that they are rich and good-looking as a right to get laid by anyone they want. I know loads of people who are rich, good-looking, and modest. And modesty is by far the most important trait.

I was watching some silly MTV show yesterday while doing warm-ups, and in it, there were these two guys who were vying for a date with this really fit girl. Both of them were good looking, but one was better built and wore fancier stuff. But she went for the other one anyway. You know why? Because no girl will ever want to feel like she can be bought. The loser dude was consistently, throughout the show, going, ‘I’m smarter, sexier, more romantic…’ All the girl heard was, I bet, ‘I’m full of myself, I love myself and you should too, oh I am so full of my self I bet you’ll feel so full of me when I stick my…’ Never-mind.

For Christ-sakes, grow up. Yes, if an individual is affluent, intelligent and good looking, I will be more inclined to want to spend time with him, just because most people are not rich, smart and fit if their stupid and lazy; and stupidity and laziness are things that are equally as irritating as arrogance. (Although I sometimes do feel that arrogance is worse, because at least stupid and lazy people listen, although they don’t know, or can’t be bothered, to do anything with what they hear). But all the money, good-looks and fame in the world cannot solicit my love. I need money, good-looks, fame and undying reverence.

No, not really. What I really appreciate is the admiration of a person I hold in high regard. But you know how it is with me and sex and people. As long as an individual is fun to be with and treats me with respect (which means he or she cannot be presuming in the first place that I have such base values for he/she to presume I can be bought with fame, or whatever) and is clearly charmed by my company, I will be relatively pleased and find that time spent with that person is time worth spending.

But the thing, you see, is that you cannot just tell someone (me in this case) ‘I’ll love you, I’m fun to be with, and am really experimental, and come with a hot girlfriend with cup C boobs who’s really into bondage with a pussy that tastes like sour plum’ and expect me to buy that. Maybe you really are, but if you really are, then you wouldn’t be so darned ostentatious. Showy is not what I call fun. It’s what I call fucking irritating.

I am not sorry if I have insulted a few people out there, because these few people have insulted me first. And if I have, which I know I have, it’s not my fault you’re the head job you are. And you should thank me for pointing out whatever silliness you have up there. And don’t even bother sending me nasty emails that go, ‘You think you’re so good meh’ because that will only prove I am so good, because I’ve hit the nail on your annoying little head. And no silliness about typo errors either (‘you think you’re so smart but can’t even spell oydessy’) My spelling may suck, but you’re an anal prick. (Although I will admit at this point that my typo errors bother me; but this is a hobby, not a job, and I don’t have a whole lot of time to edit everything I put up).

Anyway, what I’m trying to say is this. Fame, money and looks alone will never and can never buy you the love of anyone that is worth loving. I think the thing that really does it for me is the inherent philosophy an individual has for his life, and that’s what I’m most drawn to. Are his/her values worthy of admiration? And I just so happen to particularly fancy the values that make an individual a good person and bring along, at the same time, all the other lovely things. Like money, intelligence and a fit body.


Saturday, May 07, 2005

Swing Me

I was invited to a swing party last night, it was fun getting to meet and talking to some of the people there, especially the married ones. Especially when I’m so hung up on the whole marriage issue these days, courtesy of my mom. I was right, there are so many different sorts of marriage, and a couple can stay together regardless, for as long as they want to.

Singapore is really very small, and I actually do believe in the whole attraction thing. I seems as if whenever I’m hung on one thing, like I want it to happen, it will. The other day when I was at the café with Evan (I have decided to start addressing my parents by their first names to everyone else but them because I need to see them as people instead of Mom and Dad, but still want to show them the respect they deserve as parents) we sat beside a couple having a business meeting on the table beside us. The guy was relatively attractive, good looking, but not normally the sort I would go for, and the girl was tall, sexy but terribly plain with bad complexion. That man was looking at me, I knew it and flirted with him a little.

So at this party, he approached me and said he met me a couple of days ago. And in my head I was like, Oh Shit, have I been giving my number out to so many people I don’t even recognize their faces anymore? The lighting was bad I suppose, but I remembered after a little jog of my memory. Small world. Maybe it’s some kinda force that just draws people who want the same things together.

A few weeks ago the local paper did an article on swinging in Singapore. Well, it was my first time, but it was nothing like whatever they wrote. But I suppose the experience is generally different for everyone. I met tons of long terms and married couples, people who are in steady relationships for months, and it did not end in a complicated, messy, filthy orgy. I ended up at Luke’s apartment (he was a guy I picked up at a club a few weeks ago along with his girl-friend and another friend of his. We went back to the latter’s apartment and I made him whip me) with the guy that invited me (Mr. Manhunt. From a long time back, when I first started out with the whole nude photography thing, he’s a great photographer) and his girl. She was really hot, completely, but I had a little bit of a problem eating her out because she was so darned wet, and her pussy tasted like treacle sauce… it should have been a turn on, but I will admit I have never ate anything quite like it before, and it freaked me out a little.

I think Luke has one of the sexiest lips anyone could ever kiss, and he’s very sweet looking too, and would have been great in bed if he wasn’t so un-used to fucking on the same bed along with two other people. I actually got a little jealous watching him kiss the other girl. Mr. MH ravished me for a bit, but the thing is… I’m really just not into Chinese guys. Just completely not into them. It is a physical impossibility for me to get turned on, and we’re talking about a Manhunt contestant, cute butt, great physique, lovely grip on your tits kinda guy. You know, it’s just like how some people cannot help but be gay? I cannot help but be only sexually attracted to everything foreign. Unless they are women, but that is really beside the point.

Allright, yes, so the eventual outcome of a swing party would be for it to cumulate in kinky sex, be it in a few hours or in a few weeks. That’s the whole darned reason why it’s called a swing party and not It’s-Just-Lunch. But what I actually do like about it is this: That talking about sex doesn’t mean you’ll shag the person. It’s just the way the whole atmosphere’s set, and I quite like how everyone there’s comfortable with themselves. And no one has a problem with picking anyone else up. So at least at one of these, I know for sure I won’t be confronted with a lame ass pickup line.

And to tell the truth, most of the people there are pretty good looking, the women, anyway. The guys were… not too bad. But I was glad I brought along a cute partner, and will do so in subsequent parties.

Oh it’s quite shallow the first time round I suppose. But then again, I’m generally quite shallow when it comes to the people I bonk. Of course I would love someone like Martine again. Good-looking, great in bed, very intelligent, affluent, and the fact that I was completely crazy over him for all of that and yet just because he Just Is. But like I’ve said before, my time is too precious to waste on people that have nothing to offer and nothing I’m attracted to.

Shallow, I believe, is a word that people who cannot acquire the things they want call those that can. My definition for that word is as a descriptive for people who peruse useless things that do not enrich them; a person to me, is shallow when time and happiness become second to material wants and status anxiety.

But anyway, I don’t think I’m being shallow to want to shag gorgeous men, and watch pretty girls have sex. It is certainly preferable to watching ugly guys and fat whores have sex.

What can I say. It was great. Promiscuity shouldn’t be a word that exist. Any sort of sex is liberating, and group sex is fun, period. Of course these parties can be a ‘watch and be watched’ thing if you only want to watch and be watched. I’ve been in tons of group sex situations and I never had a problem drawing my own boundaries, and people are usually very receptive to this kinda things, most people don’t like forcing their way into sex. What I cannot understand is that, if you actually went to one of these gatherings, how can you possibly call the activities they engage in thereafter promiscuous? I mean, yeah sure, the word ‘Swing’ exudes with monogamous virtue.

Give me a break.


Thursday, May 05, 2005


If anyone’s wondering where to purchase Astroglide, apparently the sex shop in The Arcade has it. I’ve been looking all over town for it and haven’t been able to find it at an pharmacy or anyone of those places that one would presume carried good lubricant. They carry lubricant all-right, just very bad ones. The fact that all these places only has that glue shit stuff Durex comes up with is proof that either the bulk of Singaporean women are so horny and wet all the time no one really needs a good lubricant, or that people are just too cheap to want to pay more for a good lubricant. Because sex isn’t all that important, as long as the guy can get it in, come and starve off declining birthrates… that’s all we really need of our pharmacies, really.

I’ve been shagging Greg all night and all day long, and it was great. He’s very sweet, adores me to bits, and smells lovely all the time. I woke up at 7 a.m. and caught him looking at me. Just doing nothing but staring at me from the other side of the bed (I dislike the whole bodies pressed together thing, it’s just not practical). I went back to bed and woke up at 8 a.m. and he was still at it.

‘Did you get out of bed at all?’ I asked him, knowing full well that staring at me couldn’t possibly have been the most engaging activity in the world.

‘Course I did, I bought things to make breakfast with. Eggs, basically. Do you want me to make you some tea? And you were sleeping like a brick, as usual. Did I snore?’

I laughed. He did, but for about five minutes in the middle of the night, and that was it. I’ve only ever slept with a guy once that snored, and it was there and then I decided I was never ever going to sleep with him again. I beat him on the head about three times during the night, he didn’t wake up, didn’t stop snoring, and only pressed himself closer and held me tighter. It was horrible. I wasn’t even physically attracted, but I’d been bored then and there was no one else.

That aside; I went to get a hair cut today, after a long time of not getting my hair cut. It’s lovely now, not as boring, a lovely bright red, and it moves. Shorter hair bounces and moves, longer hair doesn’t. That’s what I like about having my hair relatively short. I would have cut it all off if not for the fact that a whole lot of people would be quite sad. I never knew the importance of long hair until I started to have it, men really do treat a good head of hair like a completely individual entity.

My mother and I had a very lovely talk over lunch yesterday. She was a lot more accepting of the person I am then I thought she was. I finally got her to see that sex to me was not a big deal at all, and that the only problem she had with me was that I wasn’t hung up on sex as something so terribly precious to be given only to the one you love. She said some things that I’ve always wanted to tell her was wrong, and I finally managed to put it all together coherently yesterday over paneer panini (dense sandwiches filled with spinach creamed with cottage cheese), completely yummy.

‘You’re being materialistic by dating Chris.’

‘I’ll be materialistic if I went to work too. Because either way, I would be working to pay for my material wants. Technically I have everything I would need at home. The only difference is that I am spending my time far more productively with him then working at some dead end desk job. To me, dating him makes all the sense in the world.

He takes care of me and takes me around the world. And it’s not like I don’t like sleeping with him, the sex is great, and if I want to get out of it, I can. And most guys really don’t like sleeping with women who aren’t interested in sleeping with them. Sex is really not such a big thing to most people in the world and you know it. Chris isn’t just doing it for the sex, it’s part of why he’s crazy about me, and I am consciously aware of the fact that sex is a power card I am instinctively playing, but it’s not all there is to it. He likes me for who I am. There are loads of other girls he could be with, who are much less of a maintenance in terms of cost, and who are surely much more faithful and less of a hassle, but what can I say? He really does like me.’

‘You are missing out on so many things by dating him!’

‘No I’m not. I’m missing out on dating stupid, immature, selfish, bastardy boys who’s redeeming factor to you is that they are my age and they are marriageable material. I couldn’t’ click with them, I’d eat them alive if I don’t beat them to death first with my shoe from sheer frustration that they are all so idiotic and full of themselves. And anyway, our values would never click, I’m too different from most of them.

‘And for heaven’s sake, marriage is something over a decade away for me, what am I missing out in the meanwhile? Of course every hour I spend with say, one of my guys is one hour less I could be meeting someone I could marry. But are the people I could marry, these… boys… worth my time more then anyone I’m dating now? If I dated one of them, I could have missed out on another one, and the story goes on forever doesn’t it. That’s really the problem with so many people these days. There’s always someone better.

‘Well, there isn’t. If you’re having a great time with that person, there is no one else better. I’d rather spend my time with someone whom I’m fully comfortable with then with many people I’m not. I’d rather take care of myself now then take care of my future, because that doesn’t yet exist, and you can only take care of the things at hand because you know where everything is. It’s not only easier, but more practical.

‘And you have to understand that we are very lucky as a family. Daddy’s a great guy, you met him early, and things just worked out. Marriage to you is like the ultimate recipe for happiness, because things worked out for you. But it’s not the same for everyone, there are people who find it a torture to keep the marriage together, to not cheat, to stay together for the kids. There are people who are happy wife swapping, who are happy living together and raising children while having other people in the story. People with shitty marriages who see other people secretly and are better off doing that then attempting to try to keep things together. There are gay couples and lesbian couples and to you they shouldn’t be happy because it’s just not the route in which you have found happiness with. It’s what’s in the bible, and it’s suppose to bring happiness, well there are people who follow that who aren’t. You’re lucky you had an easy route that fell into place easily with your value system. Not everyone will have that.

‘If God created all of us with different personalities, and we respond differently to things so insignificant as what sort of food we enjoy, surely all of us would respond differently to the bigger things in life, like marriage and how we are all eventually to find our own happiness.

‘Not everyone is like you, not everyone is like our Pastor, not all pastors are like our pastor. You will never see things from my view, it’s just like how a colour blind individual will never understand the colour red or green or whatever it is he cannot see. You’re blind to the way I see things, I can explain, and you might see the logic, but you’ll never understand. And I’ll never understand you either.’

My mother is also obsessed with passionate courtships and quick marriages. My father courted her for about three quarters of a year before they got married, bought an apartment together and then had sex. She thinks long courtships with sex in it equals failed marriages, marriages that get boring, equals both parties getting bored with each other, because after all, they’ve already had sex, why get married. (Because part of the reason she got married was so that she could do it, and wake up with my dad beside her, and all that romantic stuff.)

Apparently there are people who get married, and the sex and sleeping together turns out bad, and then what? (Like for example, he’s too small, or she stinks down there all the time, or one of them breathes through their mouth, or sniffles all the damn time in bed). Then there are people (my cousins for example, whom my parents certainly know personally) who have slept with other boys before, slept with their fiancés for years, both casually and then because they were passionate for each other, who have gotten married and given up everything (and I’m talking about a lot of things. Like their medical practice and a good business) to raise a family in an economically insignificant place. Are they any less happy because they have slept with each other previously?

I got her to admit that she believed that people should get married because they just know. And when marriages break up, it’s got nothing to do with how long the courtship is, or what has happened previously, or even who the other person has cheated on with. It’s a matter of whether there and then, they mutually want for it to keep together, or they don’t. It’s like coming to a cross road, and no matter what other crossroads they have taken together before, it’s where they go from there and whether they decide to go down it together or not that matters.

If every individual were different, then every marriage must function differently.

Our morality today is not the same morality we had back in the Middle Ages. Nudity is bad, sex is bad, for heaven’s sake, back when people still lived in the jungle, what did either of that matter. I bet a lot of religion was just cooked up when people stopped having to be on constant alert for predators and in the need to scavenge for food all the time that they started getting bored and using their creativity to do silly things like why I’m more superior then you are. And morally superior people are all the same. They are too stupid to think (if they did think at all, they wouldn’t be holding some of the things they’ve deemed as truths and roads to happiness) and are generally just too lazy; keeping to a strict moral code is easy if you don’t like to think. You just have to stick to it.

And I am not reasoning my sins. I don’t even feel any guilt as to what I’m doing, if I don’t feel any guilt, then I must not be sinning (I trust my instincts better then a book I’ve not read the original manuscript for, and even if I did, there are too many puzzles in it for me to ever know if I’ve put the pieces (verses) together right for this or that piece of advice). And even if you think I am, I cannot possibly be reasoning them because why would I need to reason them if I don’t even think they are sins in the first place? I just come up with perfectly logical reasons for people who think I’m perfectly illogical in my immorality. And I think my arguments are mostly sound. In any case, they are more sound then the silly reasons people give me as to why they are not.

Before Greg left today, he asked me if I needed any money to tide me through the week.

‘For Christ’s sakes, I don’t want your money. You’re so lovely I wouldn’t ask for it, and I’m too fond of you. But you can pay for the lubricant if it’ll make you feel better, that stuff’s bloody expensive in my opinion.’

‘Hah, it’s not as outrageously priced as C’s beauty products, God knows what they’re supposed to do for anyone. Skin-rejuvenation, Extra action cleanser, what the hell.’

‘And you don’t even know if that shit works, at least I know the Astroglide does.’


Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Girlfriends are Better.

I texted Greg while I was nearly half asleep a couple of nights ago. The sms basically went along the lines of, ‘I thought about shagging you several times’. 30 minutes later, for some unknown reason, I sat bolt upright in bed and realized that it wasn’t 7 a.m. in London, his message had come across late, and his wife could have taken his cell. I was freaked out of my pants (would have been if I was even wearing any to start of with in the first place) and sent him something like, ‘Yikes, ignore the previous message, my phone book’s all fucked.’ That was too freaky. I am glad he’ll be in tomorrow, he shags good without hurting me too much.

I came home today with a hickey courtesy of one of the girlfriends. We were fooling around in a secluded little café, and I started biting her ears and she started biting my everywhere back. I didn’t notice it but my mom did.

‘Oh my god. Who gave you that? Was is H or one of your ang mo boyfriends. Actually H better, because…’

I knew what she was going to say: more sincere.

‘What do you know anyway? How do you judge sincerity? You don’t know the people I’m sleeping with. And what makes you think I wouldn’t know it before you if they were not sincere? Anyway for that matter, have you even considered the possibility that I may actually be lesbian.’

‘That’s terrible! That means there’s no hope for you.’

‘Huh? What in the world do you mean there’s no hope?’

‘It’s just terrible!’

Good lord.

I told Greg once that if I was not dependant financially on the opposite sex, and had my own place, I would most certainly acquire a full-time bi-sexual girlfriend. Wouldn’t that be lovely? I’m attracted to pretty girls, especially if they happen to be my friends and happen to be very sweet. Dee and the Princess are two of the most fantastic girls I’ve ever met; I wouldn’t be bothered if they weren’t. But they are. Most of my girlfriends are, in fact. I’ll never understand men who complain about shitty, crazy girlfriends, there are just too many good ones around. I have loads, so nyahhh *grin*

Girlfriends are great.

Sure we’ll forever have this thing about our appearance going on between us. She’s sexier, but I’ve got nicer legs, her eyes are bigger… but my face appeals in this particular way and hers in another so there shouldn’t be competition in the first place, and so on. But they’re better because they’re sexier then the other guys I’m dating, it’s lovely to be able to touch someone without having them attempt to pressure you into fucking them, and most of all, they looks so sweet like they need to be taken care of. I have a strange feeling a couple of the girls I’ve been to bed with feel like that about me while I was feeling like that about them at the same time. Shell is a definite, mostly because she’s a little older, I suppose.

After I’d left her place a couple of nights before I went to HK (the night when I was supposed to have sworn off Martine, but got persuaded into giving him a call at half past midnight, because we needed dick, and he’s just great in bed, plus it was an excuse for me to see him, because I was dying to, then). Anyway, when she was sending me off, she kissed my forehead, insisted I took money for a cab, and asked me to call her when I got back home. Safe. That night was weird. We tried calling her neighbor (who taught mathematics in a primary school) to drop by. After he didn’t answer, we finally settled on the fact that everyone sane was asleep by midnight on a Sunday night, and that it was completely ridiculous for two perfectly gorgeous women to be running through their black books looking for dicks.

Time for a workout.


Monday, May 02, 2005

My Greatest Fear

There exists in the world, a number of negative emotions. Sadness and melancholy, anger, jealousy and envy, disappointment, etc… Fear. I have a few favourite observations about human behaviour, and one of them is from Linklater’s Waking Life, which I am very sure I have alluded to several times previously. That in our existence, there are only two real forces that can rule our lives, fear or laziness.

Why do you work so hard or why do you take leave whenever you can? Why do you spank your kids (although it’s such an emotional effort on your part), or why do you ignore their shortcomings even though you know you shouldn’t. Why study or why choose to cheat and get caught or just fail. Why live actively, or why watch TV all day long, or sit in bed with an undemanding novel.

You get the idea. The more you think about it, the more you realize that people really do live either in fear or laziness. Even in the great themes that run through the story of mankind’s existence; Hope, Love, Religion… the desire to live the way we wish to live. Our entire lives are spent wanting, do we fear lack enough to do something, or is attaining the things we desire not as important as our own comfort, given you are already in a state you’re comfortable with, which in most cases, most people aren’t.

I was running yesterday evening (like I was the evening before that and the one before the one before that) and I thought how funny it’ll be if someone were to write a play titled, ‘We Shall All Die Unsatisfied’. For heaven’s sake, I don’t know a single individual who is above 40 who has all their shit together. My parents are as close as they get, but they are greatly unsatisfied with me, although I have no idea why they should even be. It’s their fault of course. I cannot even change them and they cannot ever change me, and until they choose to accept what I am, they’ll always be unhappy with the way I am.

My father said something that basically went along the lines of, ‘no one loves you more then we do, no one will give you more than us’ while we were arguing about the next few years of my life (me, ‘For God’s sake, I don’t want to study in Singapore, and I shall do everything I can to make sure I get out.’) I looked at them and told them I loved myself more then they did, I owned my own life and I was not going to sacrifice it for their happiness, because they clearly were not going to sacrifice theirs for mine. ‘All my life, I’ve wanted to leave. Now that I can, you’re not going to support it because it’s too expensive. That’s fine, but if I find a way out myself, you should at least be happy for me, because it’s what makes me happy. Otherwise, you’ll never be happy with me, and that’ll be your problem, even if I feel guilty for it. You cannot say you love me if you keep on doing this to me. I unfortunately do not love you enough to sacrifice my happiness, and you apparently do not love me enough to sacrifice several thousand dollars for mine.’

I was buying some fruit at a stall in a food court yesterday and there was this little boy looking at the slices of rock melon, clearly wanting them. He told his dad (who come along a little while later) and his dad said no.

‘So expensive, not worth it. The watermelon cheaper, two of that can buy one of those, we’ll get the watermelon instead.’

And I felt myself thinking, Jesus, it’s just 70 cents for Christ’s sakes. You think by the time people are 40, they’d have their shit together and know what’s important and what isn’t. But they don’t.

Loosing my cell phone has reminded me of one of the things I’ve nearly begun to forget. Money really is there for your enjoyment and for the enjoyment of the people around you. Sometimes shit happens and you loose something expensive, and you think, God-Damn, I could have spent all that money lost on say, giving my kid what he wanted to have that day for lunch. The way some people behave is just ridiculous.

My parents have not denied me most things in life, they’ve really only given me the best in most cases, with the exception of a few human failures I can understand… Sometimes I wish they could just see how satisfied I am with myself. They’ve been great people and they’ve raised me well, I just wish they could see that. Because it’s getting to become a pain in the ass being unable to talk to them without antagonism. They’re always blaming me, and I’m always defending myself these days. In fact, that seems to have been the way ever since I hit adolescence, and it’s just not right.

But my greatest fear is not loosing them, and it’s not loosing people I love. Love is important, feeling accepted is important, but I can always easily find people to love that will return the sentiment. Being unaccomplished is the worst thing that could ever happen to me, and it won’t because I shall make sure that it won’t.

It’s like, all my life, I’ve always known what I wanted to do. Which is really to do things that are meaningful that’ll last in society. I’m not the Mother Theresa sort, there is no way in hell I’ll forfeit my happiness for anyone, and I’ve never really been the sort to attain pleasure from being charitable. Donating money and volunteering at the orphanage occasionally (my parents used to do it, and I quite enjoyed playing games with the kids and reading them story books) is great, but that’s where it ends.

I’ll never be able to realize anything here. I know it, and most of the time, with these things, I’m right. I’ve learnt more, seen more, and grown up much, much more in the past 1 and a half years outside school than for all the hours I’ve spent in it. It’s always been a waste of time; studying here has been a waste of time. The hours in school are mostly hours wasted, unless you consider the fact that they gave me something to do while I waited for myself to grow up. The only hours that were not wasted were those spent on getting to really know the people I studied with and the people that taught me who were worthwhile to know. Which is to say, very few, because I have this strange feeling that some of the teachers here are people who failed to get into the universities and got filtered off to the teacher’s institution instead.

I just had a fabulous photo shoot with one of my photographers, Jeff (you can find his gallery in the MICA building, the one opposite the BMX bungee thing, the works on show are not his though. Although he’ll have one at the end of the year, and Dee and I are bloody hell gonna star in it). I painted a backdrop in an hour; a good friend of mine took me out to brunch and brought me down, it must have been terribly amusing for him to have seen me paint half naked. But like I told him, I like being naked and I’m more comfortable without clothes then with. It was great. And we did a few micro shots with a pieces of sushi and my pussy.

*sigh* He’s the third artist this week who’s complained about the art scene here, and it’s just terrible. Everything’s still censored more then they should be (censorships is really annoying when you specialize in portraiture, especially mine –teasing-), it’s impossible to make a living out of photography, not if you don’t want to whore your camera out to projects that’ll bore you half to death, like taking pictures of jewelry or second hand cars. He got pretty worked up talking about it too. To me, it’s like, if we’re really want to do anything at all, it’s time to help people from the down up instead of splurging million of dollars on international acts (which I believe is also worthwhile, but do we really need so many?) we should spend some locally. Well, allright, we are spending some, spend more. In fact, wait, you don’t even have to spend more. Why don’t just let censorship… go. As long as it’s not promoting bad values, why harp on it? The last time I checked, 100% of the population have seen genitalia before, so what’s the big friggin deal. Is someone else’s pussy so much uglier then yours you cannot bare to see it blown up 40 by 40? Give me a break.