Bulk

I've officially joined the group of people who pump iron and drink protein shakes. I am on my way towards becoming a gym-bunny who screams at the sight of chicken skin and cowers in fear with the scent of cheese cake.

Yesterday I bought a 1.32kg tub of Horleys protein shake from a shop along Swanston St and I had it with yoghurt and milk. Super huge amounts of protein, more than 60g (with the protein from yoghurt and milk included), all the essential amino acids and vitamins needed for healthy muscle growth. Not to mention deliciously wicked in taste and smell. I love the taste.

Feeding the worn muscles in my body with all the nutrition and essential minerals that it needs to repair itself and multiply in size. Food for the muscles, food for bulk.

I have been pumping more and more iron and stacking up the weights on the bars. I can now bench press 40kg and I'm constantly adding weight to the Lat Pull and Triceps Extension. The weights which I used to find difficult to handle are now manageable and I find myself having to increase resistance to keep up with my eager muscles.

I have lost all the baby fat around my hips and put on a much leaner, toned build.

Yes, I've improved quite a lot from my skinny adolescent built. But I'm not going to stop there.

My aim is ultimately to be like the cover boys on Men's Health, and until I get there there's no telling what lengths I'll go to or what I'll consume. I'm increasing my protein intake, eliminating heavy carbs such as rice and pasta or eating only a bare minimum, and doubling the intensity of the workout regime as set up by my instructor.

Some of my friends say that I'm extreme but I'd like to see it as a change in lifestyle and eating habits. After all, it is time I started watching what I eat. I am getting older anyways so it's time to say goodbye to pizza-with-cheese-and-salami for breakfast, fish-and-chips-fried-in-oil-until-golden-brown-with-a-side-serving-of-mayonaise-and-ketchup for lunch, apple-crumble-with-honey-and-cream-on-the-side for tea, or stir-fried-hokkien-noodle-in-lard for lunch. Hello celery carrots lean beef green peas steamed corn chicken breast broccoli kidney beans lentils avocados beetroot and all that tastes bland and disgusting.

Sacrifices have to be made. It’s not that difficult to decline that ambiguous piece of chocolate toffee when you persistently remind yourself that there's a million calories in there waiting to get back at ya. Nor is it difficult to abstain from eating pastries and oh so yummy chicken skin with the lard still sitting comfortably under it.

Then again, I must add, sometimes the craving just beats you to it.

Warmth

Funky music drowning our voices made a lasting impression on me. Flinders La like I’ve never seen it. To begin with the day was fucking cold and there were hooligans on the street courtesy of the Greeks and the Aussies at the G, but otherwise a normal Thursday night.

A very polite drink, according to him. I personally think that Bourbon and Coke is anything but polite. As far as I can remember, my mates have always associated Bourbon with cranky old women stressed up with their pre-menopause life.

Maybe that’s why I like bourbon so much.

When I first came to Melbourne my first impression was that this city was fucking slow. Everything moved like it was in a different dimension of time.

In a country where four different forms of identification is required just so that they can confirm that you are actually who you actually say you are and Statuary Declarations needed to prove that your Chinese name really is just your Surname, you’d never get past much if you want things done fast. Everything goes at snail pace here, even the restaurants and MAJOR SHOPPING AREAS close at 5pm. Pathetic and unheard of in Asia. You’d be losing billions if you ever considered closing at 5.

And then comes this man full of passion for life, full of energy. I grew up in a city where you’d be lost if you were too slow. Everything is happening around at light speed. Buzzing with life, constant with change. Energy flowing from every crack and corner. People “coming to life” after 11pm and “calling it a day” at 4am.

“Keep up or you’ll find yourself lagging far behind” is our policy etched in stone.

Tales from a faraway land called Vietnam where people rode on motorcycles and lived in small neat huts on the countryside. Beyond the harsh demands of everyday Capitalists societies and high-profile lifestyles, beyond the glitzy real estate and expensive four-wheels, to understand that mud and sand can bring more joy than gold and glitter. To understand that sex without love is violence, and that happiness without goals is fiction.

Amidst the Ikebana that are on display all around his apartment, I took it all in, the sights, the old record playing in the background, the drawings on the walls and Astroboy models on the shelves.

It felt safe to be in that place. It felt great to be alive.

Telling tales from our deepest realms of memory and experience, all I could think about was stopping time and capturing that moment so that I would never forget that feeling that came about when I was around him. Nothing sexual or perverse or anything of that sort. Genuine feelings of safety and comfort, genuine gestures of compromise and understanding, genuine body language of interest and intrigue. I wanted to preserve all that because it was so beautiful.

Hugging at the end of a long day with no feral agendas on either party was worth its weight in gold.

On my way home at 2am I realized how warm I felt, even in the 9 degree wind.

Gay Porn

Number of times the term "Gay Porn" was searched on Google.




Number of searches for the term "Gay Porn" on Google, according to location.


Just a thought :)

Encounter

I awoke to the sound of rain outside the window. Soft trickles of water hitting against the zinc gutter and making its way down into the drain. I have become accustomed to this form of precipitation. Rain, as it is known in Victoria, is really just a drizzle.

Walking down the alleyways of my area, one can get lost in the maze of bricks and mortar. These pre-war houses were designed to be quaint and small, with tiny unnamed alleys in between blocks of residence. I have learnt that there is always a hidden surprise at every corner for the observant explorer, be it a wattle bush bearing flowers or the scent of Pumpkin soup wafting from the nearest kitchen window.

And there he was, the person whom I have become emotionally attached with. There he was clad in the most simple of clothes, a wool sweater and bleached jeans. It just took my breath away; the simple and humble way in which he walked towards me was anything but extravagant.

He exhibits a human side that is lacking from many boys I know. Most of them want to be a Plastic. Don tight fitting clothing, Versace blow-fly glasses and a LV bag to match. Walk as though you've got a dildo up your ass and casually fling your hands hysterically in all directions when you speak. Not this one though. Brandless jumpers and jeans from Thailand which look better than the Hugo Orange-Label one that I've been wanting to buy.

Walking through the cold wind is bearable when you have someone by your side. It helps even more if you've been secretly admiring him from a distance. With his hair carelessly parted with light wax and his hands in his pocket, I looked cheap in my Mohawk hairstyle and dodgy gloves. I would feel warm even if it was snowing, just looking at him smile.

He's got an amazing smile.

I would have frozen that moment in time if I could.

Cold pies and coffee felt more special than the grand dinners I had at expensive restaurants. Amid the frantic pace of city life, there we were, sitting on one of the many coffee shops in the city of Melbourne, sipping away at our Latte and enjoying the view of passers by. It was more his hobby than mine; looking at people and admiring those who stood out. I tend to look at how people dress more than how they look as a person.

But anyway.

Screeching trams running in all directions. He is a kind person, will never evade tram fares. I on the other hand am rebellious. I refuse to pay for the exorbitant rate of $3.20 imposed upon me just because I am a foreigner. But today I swiped my Metcard albeit grudgingly. I don't want to get slapped with a fine while he's around me; I'd be too embarrassed.

Fucking cold winds again. The smell of the Yarra in the background, city lights to illuminate the dark sky. And just the two of us, standing there, feeling as though the whole world belonged to us.

I could have hugged and held him affectionately if not for my conscience that told me to hold back.

Silence is pure. No words needed to be said, no speeches needed to be drafted. No jokes needed to be told, no experiences needed to be shared. Just standing there, looking at each other was more meaningful than hours of conversation.

Silence is pure

He disappeared on Platform 7 at Flinders, but not before waving goodbye. The rain started to fall again, as though it wanted to show me some sympathy.

I heard the Connex take off and I wondered if he felt the same way about me.

I must see him again. I must.

Autumn

Leaves falling from the sky

One by one to the ground

As if to welcome autumn

I miss summer already... :(

Fog

Getting up wasn't difficult even though I only had a few hours of sleep. The night was long and distasteful, as I can recall, because of a sequence of events that had plagued me earlier in the day preceeding my slumber.

I kinda missed the sun. Luckily for me it was generous to let down a bit of sunshine and display little patches of blue sky, albeit the unforgiving cold Melbournian wind whisking away heat from my body and telling me to bugger off.

But funnily enough today there was this eerie fog that clouded the skyline. Just before dusk there was enough of fog to make any Malaysian remember those hazy days when our dear neighbour Sumatra couldn't stop her smoking habit.

And funny how that fog was as night descended upon the city. It felt like one would be trapped in it. You could almost feel its grip on the tall glistening skyscrapers along Collins St that disappeared above the thick layer of fog. I swear I could see water vapour from my breath, something I've only seen out of the movies until now.

93% humidity and 10 degrees air. Thank God for internal heating.

Somehow the pace of life was slow today. Cars were slow, the leaves were falling off their brances at their own pace...

I could get use to this life.

I kinda like the fog. It makes me long for more sunshine in my life.

A Letter, Part 2

Dear God,

Help me to understand that there is a huge difference between a person loving you and a person having lustful desires for you. Just because you crawl into another person's bed it doesn't mean that they are willing to share your problems with you. It doesn’t mean they want to know about how you are going in school or whether you are getting enough to eat. It doesn’t mean that they will provide you with a shoulder to cry on during the toughest of times. It doesn’t mean that they are willing to provide you with protection and a safe place to hide even though it feels so warm and secure under those sheets.

It just means that they are sexually attracted to you. Period.

Help me to know the difference between someone who is willing to pull out his Visa because he's feeling good today, and a person who wants to buy his way into your crotch.

Just because he offers to pay for the bill, it doesn't mean that you have to oblige. I have learnt a valuable lesson; that expensive dinner you just ate and that movie ticket he just bought you all came with a price; and that price is you.

He is paying for YOU, not the dinner, not the movie.

He is willing to invest in YOU because he thinks that his cash can buy him your cock.

Help me to understand that I do not need to be splurged upon in order to feel happy. I do not need another person’s money in order to feel loved. Help me know that I should be treated with so much more dignity and not like a rent boy.

Have I become a rent boy? A rent boy is one who takes things from people in return for his charm, in return for sexual favours, in return for providing some form of happiness to the investor. Am I like that???

Help me to be less selfish when it comes to the people whom I call friends. I am very good at taking but never knowing when and where to return the favour. I have become a taker and a pusher. I do not know how to be generous and I do not know how to make another person happy. I am too busy rambling about my own happiness, or lack thereof.

Give me hope that despite my imperfections, despite my stubborn nature and opinioned views, there is still a chance for change.

Please hold me tight and keep me safe so that I may sleep at night knowing that at least someone out there loves me just the way I am.

Someone who loves me even though I am less than perfect.

Therapy

AUD$165. That is the amount that I spent to take my mind off things for a while. At least for now, I feel much better.

Retail therapy helps.

Love the new jacket. Wouldn't trade it away for the world.

A Day

Cold feet in the morning coupled with ghastly winds coming from the window. Forgetting to remove the latch on the window can be a horrible thing to do at 8 degrees.

Warm shower to warm me up, and to stimulate my brain to wake up for the day. Sweet scent of soap to keep my nose happy and a dry warm towel to keep my skin dry.

Red Jonathan apples and cold milk from the fridge to keep my tummy happy. It has been growling all night, it needs some food to play with

Slow walk to University, past the falling amber-coloured leaves strewn all over the floor and occasionally the failing scent of Eucalyptus coming from a nearby tree.

Sitting in lectures can be daunting if you don't know that many people to begin with and there are 400 other people being attended to by the lecturer. You don't feel all that special anymore. You don't get all that attention you did as a kid in primary school. You just sortta fit in there.

Cold packed food jammed into the microwave to heat it up and kill all the bugs that may have grown from the time I removed it from the freezer up till now. Doesn't taste very fresh nor very delicious; I've never been good with cooking anyway. But the prices of food in the Union House is enough to make any mediocre meal feel like a feast.

Further lectures and tutorials to zap away whatever remains of my already tired mind. Scribbled notes which I myself doubt will read. Provides some movement for my hands though, keeping me awake. Hideous diagrams of mitochondria and flagellates to keep my notebook filled up so as to give the impression that I am actually doing some work.

Sleeping in the library to pass time, with saliva over the Chinese literature notes I made with a blunt pencil. Clock ticks away annoyingly in a distance, not many cute guys to see. Freaking cold library; why can't they turn on some heating? The air-conditioning is buzzing even as the air outside is a chilly 12 degrees. Huddling in a corner with the book to cover my face, doubting I'll ever remember the difference between oxides of sulphur and oxides of carbon.

Sun sets by 5pm. Darkness. Cold darkness.

Slow walk home with the street lamps and crazy drivers shouting profanities because they can. Its a free country. We all do whatever we want just so long as we don't get into any shit. It's always someone else's problem.

Nice warm bath for the night and a cuddly pillow to hug. Priceless.

Blocked mind

I can't write a post

I can't make any articulate statements

I have become brain dead from studying too much of Calvin-Benson's cycle, too much of non-cyclic photophosphorylation, too much of chemiosmosis.

Too many organic molecules in my head, too many figures and too many Hess Law diagrams.

Exams are coming soon, and I'm getting worked up.

Yellow Gold

Ah sweet banana.

Miss you loads.

If only you were more affordable.

I guess you're just too much of a luxury for now.

Stupid cyclone Larry.

Give Peace A Chance

Everybody's talking about revolution
Evolution, The Everly Brothers, mastication
Euston Station, fladulation, flatulation
Regulations, integration, mediation
United Nations, congratulations

All we are saying
Is give peace a chance
All we are saying
Is give peace a chance

~Elton John

Worry

There is a fine line between being dreamy and being a good planner.

I guess it is pretty normal to want to have a stable life after graduation. To have enough money in the bank account and to pay off the credit cards, to have a car to drive and to have a roof under which you can build your home.

To have a relationship that you can lean on during the toughest of times, and to enjoy during brighter days.

To have a garden where roses and daisies can grow in it

To have a stable career that pays you not excessively but sufficiently, and one which you thoroughly enjoy.

Perhaps it is in everyone's interest to aim for a white-picket fence life because that's what we are; idealists.

And yet some times along the way we find that we are nowhere near what we imagined life to be. Dreading bills that arrive in the mailbox, eating peas off cans to help stay within budget, renting a shabby cramped but expensive room to call a home and crawling to work on it-takes-two-freaking-hours-standing-on-the-bus-and-one-freaking-hour-sitting-on-the-train public transport.

Sometimes it just doensn't turn out the way we wish it would be

Which probably explains why the insecure people tend to worry far ahead about things which are beyond their control rather than focus on what can be changed at present moment.

Yet, it doesn't hurt to dream to improve one's life especially if the past has been ardous and painful.

When presented with opportunities I cannot help myself from overplanning. Maybe, put some money into a trust fund. Maybe, invest in stocks. Maybe, check out the latest housing loan rates so that I'd know how much I'll be in debt by the time I actually get a house. Maybe, check out property and car prices, calculate inflation factors and predict market conditions. What about jobs? Maybe, think about migration to another country and settling there. Maybe, having a diswasher and a 5kg front load washing machine. Maybe an expresso machine to churn out my morning coffee. Maybe seeing a Mini-Cooper in my garage. Maybe, the colour scheme for the house so that it looks cool in the kitchen and romantic in the hallway. Maybe plant roses to line the fence, or conifers to add foliage to the backyard. Maybe a wardrobe of Zegna coats and Ferragamo shirts. Whether to have a cat named Tom or a dog named Bob.

And at times I lose sight of what I should be concentrating on RIGHT NOW, which is my studies.

I can graduate with the best degree ever but will that stop me from worrying about tomorrow? Worrying about interest rates? Worrying about the cost of oil or the price of household goods? Worrying about managing my first paycheck? Having a boyfriend? Worry whether I'll ever own those Hugo Boss boots? Worry about being able to afford a holiday to Europe? Worry worry worry

People can throw caution to the wind and say safely that they don't give a rat's ass about tomorrow. So what if the credit card is eating up that 3-month bonus that just got credited in last week. So what if the house is re-morgaged. So what if the daffodils in my garden die or the neighbour is a freaking old lady who can't keep her dirty nose out of my gay-ass business.

Some people can do that. Enjoy now and worry later.

And I wish I could do that, I sincerely do. I wish I didn't have to worry about whether I could afford next month's house rent, or whether I should buy that mince beef that expires tomorrow because it costs 40% cheaper, whether I should save 15 cents by walking an extra km to get my groceries. I wish I didn't need to worry whether I'd score the required minimum grade to satisfy my freaking scholarship providers, or whether I look good in purple and blue.

Point is, I worry too much.

Sometimes, it can be a good thing to plan your way towards a better life but maybe, just maybe, I plan too much. And that has got me nowhere but into this shit-hole called S T R E S S

Mom was right. Too much of a good thing is a bad thing.