Drained

I am very tired these days. Getting out of the bed has become a chore, feeding food into my mouth has become a hassle, and taking a shower to wash myself has become a burden.

I have become lazy and I think it is because of all the stress that I put myself into.

Cocktail Party

I must be really early because none of the guests scheduled to arrive is in sight. Funny though, I was invited at 6.00pm whilst other guests were told to come between 6.30pm and 7.30pm. I should have just played Malaysian and arrived fashionably late. So much for courtesy.

The first thing I notice is the piping hot food on the table, with intricate carrot cut-outs arranged around platters filled with lemon slices. I think the design is far too exquisite for a normal party, but that's the way he works. Everything is a presentation; everything has to be done the difficult way. Simplicity is not a verb he's familiar with.

The aroma coming from the fish cakes, the Tom Yam, the prawn crackers... I'm tempted to dig my fingers in and sample a few pieces of fish maw but I guess that the Malaysian etiquette isn't appropriate at an almost exclusively Whitey party.

(Then again, I was soon to discover that I bloody should have followed my tummy’s intuition because I never got to eat the fish maw in the end. Everyone else gobbled it up while I was busy doing whatever it is I was doing.)

Sadly though, I can't give him any credit for the food on the table. All of it, down to the little purple orchid flower one of the dishes, was prepared by his Thai friend who willingly came over to help out. I suspect the Thai boy has a thing for this old Whitey, I mean, lets face it; very few people are willing to cook and clean for someone on a regular basis, sleeps with someone in the same bed, bathe with someone in the same shower and work out with someone in the same gym "without having any agendas". The Whitey friend of mine doesn't seem to get it though. He just thinks the Thai guy is being polite.

Yeah. Damn fucking polite, I'd reckon, to cook up all that food "voluntarily".

I've never seen Ikebana in such wedding colours. With Gypsophila paniculata (Baby's Breath) flowers and purplish pink roses, you'd be forgiven if you thought this was an engagement party. Ikebana arrangements screaming attention; again, characteristic of his style of presentation. Mediocrity does not exist in this world, only extravagance.

I hear the doorbell. A few unfamiliar faces start streaming into the room doing their Aussie "Hihowareyougoing" greeting. I was already doing the salting for the Martini glasses; too busy to remember names. One month ago, I had seen these glasses on display in Myer going for only $5 a piece; a bargain if you consider that the original price was something to the tune of $30. The glass did not have any intricate patterns or detail on them; it was plain and simple but nonetheless elegant. Talk about cheap. I was the one who took him to Myer and thanks to my auntie-radar for cheap goods on sale I saved him tens of hundreds of dollars.

Again, the anal creature talks. He insists on using a sponge with lime juice to "soak" the tips of the glasses before dipping them into salt, and I insist on doing it the manual way by rubbing the lime across the tip. So the challenge was on, two control freaks trying to prove their point that their way was the best way.

No prizes for guessing whose martini glass looked better. And in case you are wondering, no it has nothing to do with my ardent self-gratification; I did four glasses in the time he took to make one, and I didn't even spill a single grain of salt. Being efficient doesn't go hand in hand with being anal.

Tom Yam soup and some weird mince chicken with rice, with glasses of Martini in one hand and half-spent ciggies in the other. I've not seen 3/4 of these people in my life; who are they? The Thai boy is busy showing off his skills tossing the bottles and shaking Martinis. That's alright, I don't always have to be the centre of attention, especially when I can’t bounce bottles onto my shoulder or cook good Thai food.

Thai sausages that were made from scratch by the Thai guy, spicy as hell possibly to keep you awake and sober from all that drinking. I've always had the impression that Thai food wasn't very spicy as compared to Malaysian food, but the Thai guy must have wanted to get his message across to me. Boy were they hot on the way in, even for someone accustomed to spicy Rendang and Assam Laksa with Cili Padi that made you cry.

Margarita free flow. I’ve never really tasted a Margarita before so I was new to all the tangy flavours that didn’t go so well with Tom Yam. He was pouring drinks at full force now; Thai guy in action spinning Margaritas for the ladies. Again, feeling small and insignificant is something I must learn to deal with. I have to constantly remind myself that sucking my finger is not a constructive way to deal with insecurity, but then again, my fingers had Tom Yam all over it so I had a legitimate reason to resort to baby antics.

More ciggies to intensify the alcohol. All that shot glasses with the two Japanese boys in the room didn't do the trick for me. I guess granddad would have been proud to know his grandson doesn’t get drunk easily. We would have been such great drink buddies.

Names and faces I won't remember, waving goodbye to me. A hug to reassure me that my presence was significant though I didn/t really buy it. A breath of alcohol to keep my emotions in check, and a subtle reminder that those Thai Sausages are going to burn a hole in my pants when I do my usual toilet rounds in the morning. Anecdote for the day: Hot on the way in, hot on the way out.

Damn. I knew a dozen pieces was one too many.

Hope I’m not out of toilet paper.

Bear Pride

I have been receiving a couple of emails regarding the Bear Pride badge. So I decided to upload a picture of the flag for you guys...

Badges

Which badge suits you today?

Take a pick.

Fuck

Someone has stolen my hotmail account from me. The passwords have been changed and the security question edited so I can no longer access the account. I've been trying to log on to MSN for about an hour, trying to figure out how to get into my account but I've been banned by Microsoft for trying too many times.

I cannot remember if I've left my account password anywhere because I'm very careful with it. I've never committed it to pen and paper so I don't know that person managed to hack into my account and change my password.

That person now has unlimited access to my MSN and all the contacts under my name. Also, all the private emails that I saved in my hotmail account. That person is impersonating me on MSN, saying things I'd never say and doing things I'd never do.

And there's nothing I can do to stop it from happening.

I'm so irritated and fucked up. I don't understand how this can happen, especially since I'm very careful with my passwords. I don't know anyone who has any reason to want to take revenge on me, and I don't have any known enemies.

I just don't see who would get a kick out of annoying me and hurting the people I've come to know on MSN.

I wish that person is struck by lightning in his/her sleep or eaten by a cow.

I won't be able to sleep tonight.

Someone please offer me comfort and advice, because I think I'm about to lose my head.

Semester

Lectures running simultaneously. People streaming in and out of lecture theatres. Books and manuals being shoved into bags, the never ending sound of chatter and laughter...

Its that time of the year again when everybody goes back to uni for the next round of executions. I'm not prepared!

Today I decided I was going to eat something different for lunch. I've been feasting on frozen food and dry bread for the past semester and so I thought it was time to reward myself with a bit of sushi.

The sushi bar in my university is always full. I reckon the owners are millionaires; one roll costs around $2.20 and they can sell more than a thousand rolls a day. Just look at the queue outside the shop and you'd understand. The place needs no publicity; it sells itself!

Of course, you have to take into account the insatiable Aussie appetite for Japanese cuisine albeit a very mediocre reproduction of Maki sushi. Oh, and the wasabe is bland too.

But anyway, I decided to go for a salmon roll and a prawn roll. Setting me back at $5, I thought it was reasonable and healthy too. I've been bingeing on chocolate and fried finger food lately, so a bit of seaweed and rice would do me good.

Just as I as biting into the rolls and having a hell of a good time shooting wasabe up my nose, I somehow started to think about The-ex.

Probably because the most memorable meal I had with him was in a Japanese restaurant in Singapore, having sushi together with his mother.

It's not one of those pleasant moments where one remembers all the lovey-dovey stuff that one did with his partner. It's not one of those enlightenment moments where you feel warm inside and you feel like you want to give every person you see a nice big bear hug.

Somehow I was reminded of the times when we argued. When we bitched about each other, when I cheated behind his back. When we spent hundreds of dollars on phone calls to gain an opportunity to scream at each other over the most ridiculous of things, from who will die first to who will be richer in 30 years.

We never really did have any good times towards the end of our relationship, and being confined 350km away across different countries did its damage. We weren't capable of sticking together in a relationship where the physical presence of the other half is fictional.

And then I bit onto the prawn tail and cut my tongue. Ouch.

I sort of wonder how he's doing now, where he's headed to, how his studies and love life is progressing. Wonder whether he's still the cute guy I fell in love with or he's changed completely, whether he still practices Reiki or goes to temples to seek help from fortune tellers, whether he still finds guys who wear glasses sexy.

I've never really appreciated him enough to miss him, but I've known him long enough to remember him.

Loved the cool winds towards the end of the day. It felt liberating to sit on the south lawns gazing up at the setting sun, with nothing but comfort at my side.

矜持

王菲
矜持

我从来不曾抗拒你的魅力
虽然你从来不曾对我着迷
我总是微笑的看着你
我的情意总是轻易就洋溢眼底

我曾经想过在寂寞的夜里
你终于在意在我的房间里
你闭上眼睛亲吻了我
不说一句紧紧抱我在你的怀里

我是爱你的
我爱你到底
生平第一次我放下矜持
任凭自己幻想一切关于我和你

你是爱我的
你爱我到底
生平第一次我放下矜持
相信自己真的可以深深去爱你

Love

Today I realised that I was walking down Swanston St alone. All around me there were couples holding hands, people kissing in public, kids playing together... married couples chatting vigorously; I was the only person on the five foot way that was without a partner.

I've not been in a relationship for well over a year. Since I last broke up with my ex, I've never met anyone who was worthy enough for me to consider pursuing in a relationship.

Sure, there were the occasionally flings and crushes, coupled with emotional attachment and sex-capades, but they never developed into love. They were always just experimental periods in my life, and nothing serious came out of it. I liken it to window-shopping; working the eyes and fingers but not buying anything that's up for sale.

I remember the dinners, the dances, the candle light and the jazz music. I remember the hands that held mine and the hugs that kept me warm. I remember the soft kisses on my cheek and the constant attention that I received from all the people I had crushes on.

But I didn't feel the spark, the love, the desire to turn a friendship into something more meaningful. I didn't feel the need to love another person more than just a friend.

I know deep down inside that I'm a very lonely person. I don't know how to deal with being alone and yet I despise making my face pronounced at social events such as parties or clubbing events.

But I guess for me the problem isn’t finding the right partner, or compatibility issues. It's not about the lack of money, or not having enough time to pursue a relationship.

It’s about my inability to love.

I've forgotten how to truly love another person.

Sunnies

Maybe I overdid it this time; I’ve never worn sunnies at night and certainly not with the ridiculous looking shirt that I got from some little alley in Malaysia. It has small pictures of whales on it, straight out of a nursery rhyme book I presume, though I don’t remember hearing any rhymes about whales as a child.

The chimes of happy bells greet me as I press the doorbell. I hear the eccentric looking wooden door spring open to reveal a familiar face that I've been accustomed to ever since I was in high school, smiling at me and doing the hand-waves characteristic of Queen Victoria herself.

Casually beckoning me into your apartment, I notice how you've brought over your traits of extremism to the Southern Hemisphere. There's not one speck of dust to be seen on any table top, and even the Men's Health magazines have been arranged chronologically on the shelf. Nude art strung over the walls coupled with amber lights and candles puffing up some hideously strong essence into the air; I could tell instantly that you've not changed one bit.

You're still the Steve I used to know.

Dinner served on the table immediately catches my attention. I notice that you went great lengths to put out your finest China coupled with your spoons that were more reflective than the mirrors in my bathroom. With Bree-van-der-Kamp style serving protocols, you make sure that everything is in order, even the napkin across my lap feels warm. First the champagne. Then the entree of potato and leek puree, followed by generous servings of roast duck and some weird looking sauce that tastes like heaven.

Looking into your eyes I sense a tinge of loneliness, perhaps from the hours spent behind the desk each day toiling over spreadsheets. Your hair, as always, is casually ruffled up in a Japanese-Mohawk style, perhaps to suit your thinning eyebrows so characteristic of your ancestral traits.

Casually walking around in your tank top, you seem to have no qualms about flaunting your physique. I have always admired your ability to maintain a tan in this impossible weather. I'd like to see the bills for your solarium to put me off from pursuing the same kind of obsession that you have for your skin, though I’d imagine I’ll never have the same form of discipline as you to climb into a cave and get shot by a million UV-rays two times a week. I notice that you've left your underwear area untanned, was that deliberately done to tease me, because you certainly got my attention.

I don't get your whole fetish for cats. The way the bloody pussy fans her tail across your face will put off any man wanting to kiss you. Luckily for you, I don't particularly like the whole act of kissing; I seem to find it repulsive.

I catch sight of a fish bowl on the mantle piece. I wonder if the cat has noticed a fat juicy orange goldfish bubbling inside. Or perhaps your cat is a Buddhist. Nothing like a religious cat for the eccentric owner.

Your bed is warm and the sheets are carefully folded to perfection. I feel bad jumping all over it and telling you how comfortable your bed is. That look of disgust on your face makes me smile. Don’t worry. I’ll tidy up the bed rearrange the pillows pick up the table clock that I accidentally kicked onto the floor and straighten the lampshade that carelessly knocked with the pillow just a few moments ago.

Blueberry pie on the bed with the telly switched on in a distance. All I hear is some fat lady broadcasting the latest news. Who employed her must have a fetish for fat women, she looks like a puffed up China doll with fat cheeks. I feel your hand stroking against my legs as I chew away at the delicious pie your grandmother baked two days ago. What is that feeling? What does it mean?

I don’t want you to advance on me in the same way I wish you’d do towards your boyfriend. I am merely a companion to you, and I cannot flirt with you no matter how much I’d like to jump into your pants and scream H-A-L-L-E-L-U-J-A-H

I don’t want you to smell differently when he comes back and I don’t want to be responsible for the ruckus that will result from my ignorance and your flirtatious nature. Sorry if I pushed your hand away too hard, I didn’t mean to make you spill a few crumbs on your satin sheets.

I catch you shooting a look of disdain across the room as you get up and stampede out of the room. I stare at the open door with disbelief that you can so casually look me in the eye and mentally undress me right under the portrait of your late father hanging over the mantelpiece. With a small nod of approval, I’d unleash a beast that has been waiting to assault every part of me ever since the few glasses of wine we had on our first date.

But not today. The beast will stay caged.

8 degrees outside and you prompt me to stay, but I cannot. It is getting late, and I have other commitments in the morning. You bend over to give me a peck on the cheek but I gently disapprove. You have to watch your manners around me, and no, it has nothing to do with the brand of mouthwash you use.

I pretend not to look at you staring back at me as I leave your humble home. I walk towards the tram stop across the street from where you live and I hear the door shut softly behind you as you retreat back into your love nest, wondering if you’d ever learn to appreciate the person whom you share the mortgage with.

It amazes me that you guys have lasted this long, but then again as they say, love can be blinding sometimes.

Luckily for me, I had my sunnies on.

Get Out

Fuck you

Get out of my head

Get out of my sanity

Give me some space to breathe

I don't need you to tell me what I don't want to hear

Expectations

I hate it when people try to hold me back, and use age as an excuse not to do things. People of that character are weak in mind and thought, and those who commit themselves to something but later back out for unreasonable excuses should be cut into pieces with a salad knife and be turned into dog food.

Don’t invite me to something then later inform me that it’s not going to happen, especially if I’m already on my way there and you call it off.

And no, it has nothing to do with the fact that I bothered to get myself dressed up for the occasion only to be told later that there wasn’t going to be one.

I'm not asking you to take care of my feelings or expectations; I'm just asking you to be polite.

So get that in your head.

Goodbye

When I was a kid, mum used to ask me the most ridiculous of questions. She would ask me what I would do if I knew she was dying.

She'd want to know how I'd cope with losing her as a mother, and she'd want me to be prepared for her death when I was only 8 years old. Whilst other kids were growing up on cartoons and video games, I was growing up in a household that told its members to prepare for death.

Survival, she said, only belonged to those who were fit.

Of course, as a child, I would call her a silly woman. What sort of mother asks her kids what they'd do if she was dying? What sort of mother would want to hear the plans of her 8 year old in dealing with the loss of a loved one? What sort of a parent expects her child to be able to cope with a death in the family when other grown-ups many years older couldn't do the same? Even some of the bravest adults I know find it difficult to deal with death, let alone a kid who has just begun to memorize his multiplication table.

She had the PERFECT timing for such questions; whether I was having fun playing board games or happily banging some tunes on the piano, she'd pull me aside and ask me the same question all over again. She'd ask me what I'd do if she was dying.

I never gave her an answer not because I didn't think about it but because I really didn't want to answer it. I wasn't prepared for it. I was prepared for my exams, my piano classes, prepared to harvest the vegetables from the veggie patch that I made, prepared to take in the laundry when the sky didn't approve of sunshine... prepared to do anything but give her an answer

I just told myself that it would never happen, not for a very very long time to come.

After all, that's what normally happens in the cartoons that I watched on the telly. "Death of a family member" was just another phrase that never really got used in daily conversations.

One cold night I was playing scrabble with my cousins and it was such fun. I had a very good command of English and had no qualms about acing the game. Then out of the blue she did it again, she called me up to her room and asked me what I would do if she was dying. I was so annoyed at her estranged behaviour that I became erratic. I started to shout at her calling her a stupid mother and I started to cry. I started to hurl insults at her and tell her what an evil person she is, to always surround me with the notion of death even when I'm having the best of times with my cousins; even when I was in the capacity to smile.

She did her motherly gesture; smiling at me, she called me close and gave me a hug. I continued to cry and rant my unhappiness to her until I fell asleep, waking up in the morning only to find that the space on the bed next to me was empty.

That night was the last night I had a hug from mum. The next day, the 8 year old boy who had previously wanted bad things to happen to his mother got his wish. She was sent to the hospital because she was "sick", so to speak, and I never saw her again.

Throughout the course of her "treatment", I was never allowed visits. I would buy her breakfast and ask my aunt to bring it over to her in the hospital before I went off for school, and that was the best I could do. Flowers were not permitted; hospital policy, my relatives said. I believed them with the innocence of a boy, not sensing that they were hiding a great many things from me.

Not sensing that my mother was on a cocktail of antidepressants. Not sensing that some dumb nurse would decide to take a nap and leave my mother unattended in her ward. Not knowing that in the absence of proper medical supervision and while she was high on the drugs she would later hang herself.

But that's not what the relatives told me; they said she was very ill and died, as means of protecting me. I was only told the truth about what really happened to my mum 8 years later.

I was 10 when I saw my mother being put into a wooden box and taken away.

What would I do if I knew mum was dying? The question came running back into my head as I held the bouquet of roses in my hand and followed the procession; even before the whole realisation about “losing-your-mother-to-mysterious-circumstances” had a chance to sink in.

I hadn't thought about it hard enough but at that very moment I realised I had known the answer to her question all this while.

I'd give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, I'd say sorry for all the bad things I did and the things I didn't do, I'd treat her to a good meal and take her to the places she'd like to see before she left the world, and give her the love she'd need to prepare herself for the inevitable...

But most importantly I'd want to say goodbye to her. I'd want to tell her how much I loved her and how much I'd miss her when she was gone.

I never managed to tell mum the answer to her question.

I never even got the chance to say goodbye.

Faye Wong

I've received a request to put down the lyrics of the song that is playing on my blog now, so here they are, as requested.

Enjoy.

王菲
給自己的情書

請　不要灰心　你也會有人妒忌
你　仰望到太高　貶低的只有自己
別　蕩失太早　旅游有太多勝地
你　記住你發膚　會與你慶祝鑽禧

(*)
啦啦啦　慰藉自己
開心的東西要專心記起
啦啦啦　愛護自己
是地上拾起的真理

(#)
寫　這高貴情書
用自言自語　作我的天書　自己都不愛
怎麼相愛　怎麼可給愛人好處

這　千斤重情書　在夜欄盡處
如門前大樹　沒有他 倚靠
歸家也不必撇雨

請　不要哀傷　我會當你是偶像
你　要別人憐愛　先安裝一個藥箱
做　什麼也好　別為著得到讚賞
你　要強壯到底　再去替對方設想

(*)(#)

啦　拋得開手裡玩具
先懂得好好進睡
深谷都攀過後從泥濘尋到這不甘心相信的金句

(#)(#)

Translation:
(forgive me if I make any mistakes)

Faye Wong
Love Letter To Myself

Please don't be discouraged
You will also have someone who is jealous of you
You search too high
You are the only one who can bring yourself down

Don't drift off now
Traveling, there are too many scenic places
Don't forget you made your skin
Will celebrate digging into auspiciousness with you.

(*)
Lalala
Comfort yourself
Absorb the memories of happy things

Lalala
Cherish yourself
It is the truth taken from this world

(#)
Write this elegant love letter
Use the words I say to myself
Write my letter
If you don't love yourself
How can you love other people
How can you benefit the person you love?

This 1000 kilo love letter
Like the big tree in front of the door
Don't have him to depend on
Going home doesn't necessarily mean the rain will cease.

Please don't grieve
I will think of you as an idol
You need the love of other people
First get a medicine cupboard installed
Doing anything is good
Don't do it for praise
You must be strong
Go again to substitute the other party's consideration.

(*)(#)

Left in the hands of toys
First to fall asleep
Ascending out of the deep valley after finding the object
Do not believe the object is genuine

(#)(#)

Bed

Whoever invented the bed was a very smart human being.

Yesterday I had the rare privilege of having a double bed all to myself. I slept over at a friend's place and since his housemate was away I could use his bed for the night. I must admit, I've grown quite fond of his bed, though I know I was probably pampering myself too much on the pillows and rolling under the soft quilt that he had.

But that bed was gorgeous. I've never slept like a pig in months.

When I was a child, the first bed I ever received (apart from my baby cot) was a single bed. Mom had purchased it from the local furniture shop and it was pretty basic. Made out of solid wood and void of any intricate designs or patterns, it didn't look luxurious. Whilst other school kids my age had ridiculously expensive beds, mine was simple and straightforward. Four legs. A beam as a head rest. Wooden boards to support the mattress.

My mom never saw the need for extravagance anyway.

Those days large shopping complexes were not very popular in KL. There were very few department stores where you could buy everything under one roof. There was no Carrefour, no 1-Utama, no Mid Valley. Jusco was still in its old premises in Taman Tun and that was the closest thing you could get to a shopping mall. You could still find small shops around town that were family run businesses, and had excellent quality items for very low prices. None of the goods were made in China, and the salesperson knew you by your first name. And this was only 15 years ago.

It was in such a shop that my mom bought me my first set of bed sheets from one such shop. It was blue and had little bunnies on it, carrying baskets laden with food for a picnic. It had some words on it as well, though I don't remember them. I also had several other recycled bed sheets from goodness-knows-where that smelt of mothballs and had ugly geometric patterns on them, but the blue bunny bed sheet was my favourite.

Even as a kid I never had my own room. Mom and dad could never afford a house with enough space to house me and my brother in separate rooms of our own. We had to share the room and it didn't really bother me much; as a kid you can live your whole life publicly and not have to worry about privacy.

But as I grew up and started shifting houses between relatives and between states, I always found myself sharing a room with my brother. Even through high school I had to sleep on the same double bed as him. There were no hard feelings about it, no complaining. No arguments. There was just no other choice. We had to make do with what little we had those days, even if it meant having to share the same small space in which we could rest our heads at night.

It soon became a privacy issue as I started to meet other guys and had "duties" to perform in the morning. I remember back then, using various ways to obtain privacy. I don't know if my brother ever saw me doing my thing with my right and left hands, because I certainly never saw him doing it. It was out of the question, letting him know about my preferences and thoughts. I must have done a good job though; he only ever found out I was gay when I was 18.

Until today I still share a room, but I plan to get my own by next year. I really need the privacy, especially when every now and then I browse the net for a certain "type" of picture and watch a certain "type" of movie.

I've never had a huge issue with a single bed although I do admit it can be challenging to have sex on one. Back when I was a child it didn't make sense for me to have so much space. I'd still sleep on one side even though I was on a King bed. The extra space was just dead space, and extra pillows just a nuisance. But now I dread having any physical relations with a person who doesn't have anything less than a double bed. I've found myself in very awkward positions, dangling from the edges of a bed, straining my calf muscles to get a good grip, hurting my hips to keep myself balanced.

Extra space is definitely extra comfort.

Queen

The Queen Tree. Planted by the Queen herself, dedicated to all the "queens" of the world.

I don't think I'm a Queen though.

Are you a queen?

Freak Show

Once more, I have located traces of my my dad. He has a profile on a particular channel that I use, and I was browsing through when I saw his picture.

Is he competing with me or something???

I sooo do not need this right now. I can't breathe.

I can't make sense of this, I just can't.

I need some time to be alone.

I need some time to let go.

Foong

Physical Exercise was the most favoured of all subjects because it gave the boys a chance to roll in the mud and chase after a ball. For me it was the opportunity to see sweaty boys grabbing each other and doing all sorts of things that made me aroused.

Our playing field was vast, not like the ones we have in the city. Back then I had been whisked off from the city into the country and was enrolled in an all-boy's school in a small town. The field was so large you could park six Boeing 777's side by side and still have space.

The preferred game was soccer and the boys loved it. I on the other hand was more content sitting in the substitute’s bench. Of course back then when you are condemned to the substitute’s bench it means you'll never get to play. I didn't really mind this exclusion, though. I was afraid of the ball so instead of running for it, I ran away from it.

It was sweet watching the guys get silly over a ball and getting their pretty faces into the smelly mud. I didn't know it at that time but I had begun to develop my first crush on another person. I began to feel strongly about someone other than myself.

His name was Foong, and he had one of the most gorgeous faces in the entire school. His skin was smooth and boyish, with little hair and muscles but lots of boy fat. His nipples were particularly odd for an Asian; they were light pink and fleshy. My eyes used to trail him in the field, constantly looking at that pretty-boy face.

After our Physical Exercise lessons we would strip in class and change into our uniform before the next class. That was the time I used to look at him with the most evil of looks; that was when he was most vulnerable to my stares. My gaze was like bullets firing directly at him, and he made no attempt to dodge it. It was as though he WANTED me to stare.

He always wore pastel coloured briefs, usually light blue or green but occasionally had little patterns on them that reminded me of the diapers my mom used to strap on me when I was a kid. He didn't have much of a bottom or a chest, but he was oh-so-desirable nonetheless. All I wanted was to hold him, touch him, and kiss him on the lips. He would flirtingly rub moisturiser all over his chest before putting on his singlet; he always wore one under his carefully pressed blue collared shirt.

I always wondered why he had an erection when he was changing, though I may have been imagining it at that time.

Thai

Latest addiction?

Thai songs.

ผู้หญิงกลางสายฝน
Poo Ying Klang Sai Fon
Girl in the middle of the rain

เสียแรงที่รัก เสียแรงที่ไว้ใจ ไม่นึกว่าจะทำได้ลงคอ
sia raeng tee rak sia raeng tee wai jai mai neuk waa ja tam daai long kor
Wasted the efforts loving you, wasted the efforts trusting you. Never thought that you would be able to do such things, so shamelessly.

ช่วยตอบสักคำ ทำไมไม่รู้จักพอ ทำไม ใจเธอถมไม่เคยเต็ม
chuay dtop sak kam tam-mai mai roo jak por tam-mai jai ter tom mai koie dtem
Please just answer one question; why didn’t you realize when it is enough? Why is it that your heart can’t be satisfied?

เสียแรงที่หวง เสียแรงที่ทุ่มเท
sia raeng tee huang sia raeng tee toom tay
Wasted the efforts worrying about you, wasted the efforts devoting to you.

ไม่เห็นใจกันบ้างเลยหรืออย่างไร
mai hen jai gan baang loie reu yaang rai
Don’t you sympathize with me at all, or is it otherwise?

เธอทำอย่างนี้ ฉันจะมองหน้าใครได้
ter tam yaang nee chan ja mong naa krai daai
You did it this way, how then shall I face others?

ทำไมใจเธอร้ายเหลือเกิน
tam-mai jai ter raai leua gern
Why is your heart so excessively bad?

ไม่เห็นกับตา ก็คงไม่เชื่อ
mai hen gap dtaa gor kong mai cheua
Don’t see with my own eyes, maybe I won’t believe.

ไม่เจอกับตัว คงโง่ไปอีกนาน
mai jer gap dtua kong ngoh bpai eek naan
Don’t encounter it personally, maybe I’ll be ignorant even longer.

คนรักกันไม่น่าจะทำได้ลง
kon rak gan mai naa ja tam daai long
People in love should never be able to do such things.

ความซื่อตรงไม่มีบ้างเลยหรือไร
kwaam seu dtrong mai mee baang loie reu-rai
Sincererity, there isn’t anymore, or what?

ถ้าแม้วันนี้ เราต้องตายจากกันไป
taa mae wan nee rao dtong dtaai jaak gan bpai
Even if today we should die and be seperated,

ยังไม่เสียใจ เท่านี้เลย
yang mai sia jai tao nee loie
I would still not be as sad as this!

เสียแรงที่หวง เสียแรงที่ทุ่มเท
sia raeng tee huang sia raeng tee toom tay
Wasted the efforts worrying about you, wasted the efforts devoting to you.

ไม่เห็นใจกันบ้างเลยหรืออย่างไร
mai hen jai gan baang loie reu yaang rai
Don’t you sympathize with me at all, or is it otherwise?

เธอทำอย่างนี้ ฉันจะมองหน้าใครได้
ter tam yaang nee chan ja mong naa krai daai
You did it this way, how then shall I face others?

ทำไมใจเธอร้ายเหลือเกิน
tam-mai jai ter raai leua gern
Why is your heart so excessively bad?

ที่เสียน้ำตาวันนี้ ไม่ใช่เพราะเธอทิ้งฉันไป
tee sia nam dtaa wan nee mai chai pror ter ting chan bpai
That I shed tears today, it’s not because you had abandoned me,

แต่เสียใจที่ลืมเธอไม่ลง
dtae sia jai tee leum ter mai long
but I’m sad that I’m unable yo forget you.

คนรักกันไม่น่าจะทำได้ลง
kon rak gan mai naa ja tam daai long
People in love should never be able to do such things.

ความซื่อตรงไม่มีบ้างเลยหรือไร
kwaam seu dtrong mai mee baang loie reu-rai
Sincererity, there isn’t anymore, or what?

ถ้าแม้วันนี้ เราต้องตายจากกันไป
taa mae wan nee rao dtong dtaai jaak gan bpai
Even if today we should die and be seperated,

ยังไม่เสียใจ เท่านี้เลย
yang mai sia jai tao nee loie
I would still not be as sad as this!

คนรักกันไม่น่าจะทำได้ลง
kon rak gan mai naa ja tam daai long
People in love should never be able to do such things.

ความซื่อตรงไม่มีบ้างเลยหรือไร
kwaam seu dtrong mai mee baang loie reu-rai
Sincererity, there isn’t anymore, or what?

ถ้าแม้วันนี้ เราต้องตายจากกันไป
taa mae wan nee rao dtong dtaai jaak gan bpai
Even if today we should die and be seperated,

ยังไม่เสียใจ เท่านี้เลย
yang mai sia jai tao nee loie
I would still not be as sad as this!

Flower

I cut this flower from a bush that grows in my front yard.

I didn't know that the bloody bush had such nice flowers.

Blurry

I woke up today sweating and panting. Red eyes and shivering fingers. I couldn't hold the clock in my hand to see what time it was. I couldn't feel my toes; they were numb and cold.

Cold bread from the freezer and milk from the fridge to soothe my ailing stomach. It is late now, and every one has gone out of the house. What am I doing here all on my own? I have not been eating well; I can see all the bones on my fingers and the lines on my forehead. I am starving myself just because I can.

Images of naked sweaty men in my head. Doing the things that I want them to do, acting out the scenes that I want to see. Boys running around playing with one another, fucking one another, just the way I like it to be.

What is happening to me?

I remember a time not long ago when I could suppress my feral instincts and go about without a thought of sex. I could walk down a street of seemingly gorgeous naked men, and not get aroused. I didn't need manly affection, and didn't have to think about spare condoms in my pocket. I had the ability to block out my inherent need for masturbation and pornography. Prozac was just another word in the dictionary. I could ignore that oh-so-gorgeous man checking me out in the showers, and not want to hurt him with my violent fantasies.

But now I am no longer within that capacity to withhold myself from doing the things I like to do. I know that I am a very dangerous person when I let my hormones rule; look at all the acne on my face, doesn't it tell you something?

I am a dangerous boy.

Strepsils to soothe my ailing throat. Some gunk has made its way up my oesophagus and I can feel it sticking to the back of my mouth. No amount of regurgitating will get the gunk out of my system; the body just makes more and more of it, trying to drown me in my own fluids.

A quick phone call to my friend to tell him that I am in need of a coffee. He's not answering the phone; he must be busy with other affairs. I sink into the cushion and touch myself. I've forgotten how good it feels to have physical stimulation.

An apple from the fridge for Vitamin C and all that crap. Can't remember what the bloody vitamin does but I know it's gotta be good for me. The apple has gone stale. I remember buying it just two days before I left for Perth. It has been sitting in there for two weeks with all the other rotten veggies that my stupid housemates don't want to throw out.

The slam of the door gives me a shock. He's back, that pesky old room mate of mine. I can smell the evil scent of mud from his shoes. He’s been doing his thing again. Good for him.

I flip onto the weather forecast and I hear what I don't want to hear: cloudy skies and the possibility of rain in the evening. Just the right conditions to keep me in the bloody mood.

God I miss the sun in Perth.

Long Days

Time and time again you find that you are growing older. Those wrinkles under your eyes seemingly enhanced, the elasticity of your skin waning by the day. Silver strands of hair replace the black ones that adorn your head, and your memory isn't what it used to be.

The sun has been setting earlier with the advent of winter, and rain clouds have been looming across the horizon for days with no drizzle in sight. Seemingly to tease the hell out of the cold dry earth below.

People on the street look depressed and I can hardly blame them. Melbourne has become icy cold and gloomy. The sun has gone into hiding and the trees look as though their leaves have been ripped off their branches.

You can no longer hear the sound of the birds in the morning, and the last autumn flowers are beginning to wilt. There is no hope for the coming months, no life, no desire.

I no longer have the vitality that I had when I first came here. The fire that kept me warm has been put out and I am merely living the days by feeding my body with the stuff it needs to survive. I don't live for anything anymore.

The days are just hours to pass by. The nights are just minutes for me to cry.

Tell me

Tell me when it's time to change

To be someone I am not

To know someone I don't

To do the things that lovers do

To love because I can

And to live because I must

Tired

I am back from Perth and I am exhausted

Haven't been sleeping well. Plane landed at 5am.

Sigh

Landing

I've never seen what Western Australia looks like from the air. When I first came to Melbourne I was placed on a night flight and hence the whole "Big Dry Continent" was not so apparent from air.

I was expecting a few large rocks here and there, some sand and dirt, probably an oasis; nothing like what I saw from the air. There were farms that stretched as far as the eye could see, houses, vast empty lands filled with Eucalyptus trees...

Perth was a balmy 20 degrees Celsius when we landed. A friend of a friend had volunteered to pick me up from Perth International Airport and I happily obliged; it would save me $13 in airport transfers. He's a young white guy, really cute, nerdy looking but nonetheless with the same boyish charm that made me fall in love with “The-Ex”. The first thing I noticed about him, of course, was his eyes. Such innocence coupled with the brilliant blue that we Asians were never blessed with.

He was, like many other twinks I’ve met, slim built and had very little body hair as I could judge from the flattering shirt that he wore, as though to suggest a certain set of ideals that would certainly make him more appealing to me...

Guilty as charged. I was conjuring images of him in my head from the Airport all the way to my accommodation, albeit suspicious looks every now and then from his father who was KIND enough to be the driver.

I can’t be blamed if I like apple green shirts with the words “Undress me if you don’t like what you see” printed in pink on either sides.

I am placed in a residential college and the place where I stay is fabulous. There are gothic looking buildings, 1960's retro architecture buildings, newer 21st century architecture buildings... I think that Perth is a very diverse city in terms of architecture. There's never a time when you’ll find yourself surrounded in a ghetto of similar looking buildings. Unlike Melbourne, historic buildings here are more run-down and smaller in stature, but I feel that these qualities gives the city more character than an over-hyped up expensive city like Melbourne.

But the oh-so-gorgeous scenery... I was Oooh'ing and Aaah'ing as the friend's friend gave me a verbal tour whilst we passed places in the city on our way to the residential college.

And I must say, much to my disappointment, NONE of the conference delegates are cute. Not that it’s a big deal or anything but anyhow…

Then again, that just means less eye candy and more ugly fat nerdy unsophisticated smelly straight guys to sleep with you in the same building for seven days.

Of A Journey

Nobody said that student life should be boring.

I took up this challenge because I felt that it was within my capabilities as a person to engage in political debates as well as enjoy the comfort of a residential college. Not to mention the free food and free flights.

I am being sent to Perth to attend a conference and my entire trip will be sponsored. The only extra expenses that I will incur would be additional transport costs and one night's accomodation as I will be staying overnight after the conference ends to tour the city and to meet up with some of my friends.

When first presented with the idea three months back I thought that I wasn't going to enjoy it. There was no thrill, no passion, no desire to go into the program and get myself involved, and the whole notion of a city that dies after 5pm just didn't do it for a bitch like me.

Furthermore, it is a very isolated city, the conference will be very hectic and the people will have many political agendas (which give rise to a whole lot of bickering during policy submission and ammendments)

Not long after I was faced with several rejections for a relationship, mostly due to my incompetence. I know that I have been campaigning for the "right-to-remain-single" all this while but I guess that the "Mr-Bachelor" title is starting to get to me and I have thoughts about settling down. To love and to be loved, to have someone to care for me and someone to care for, to give myself an opportunity to experience monogamy and a whole set of restrictions which come along with the "I-have-a-boyfriend" package.

I took this decision to go away not because I'd like to "run away" per se, but because I feel that I need some time to be able to process these feelings within me and give myself a chance to heal inside. Man, rejections are never easy especially if someone tells you everything you didn't think they'd find out about.

I told myself that this would also be the opportunity for me to get away from the hustle and bustle of Melbourne, and it would also enable me to reexamine myself as an individual. I want to experience something other than MaxBrenner and The Peel. I want to meet new people, see new places and breathe new air. The dirty cold congested city of Melbourne just doesn't look so appealing to a broken hearted single gay boy.

I've never been to Perth, and have certainly never thought about living there, but then again, I've never thought about eating snails or wearing pantyhose either.

Yesterday was one of the longest days yet in Melbourne, as I packed up all my little goodies to bring over. I compromised between the conservative and the "screaming" pieces of clothing and I somehow decided to pick the latter. Goodbye Giordano and PDI, hello Armani and Prada.

I began to think I was overdoing it when I started to pack a pink boxer and a fluorescent yellow tie...

I will be leaving in several hours, and the excitement has started to build up. I'd never thought I'd say this, but I can't wait to get to Perth.

To be able to run away for a while, and sip coffee along the Swan River with some stranger whom I've been wanting to meet...