The End

Today is the last day I'll post on this blog.

I'm moving to livejournal.

See ya.

Cold

As I write this I know the voices in my head are screaming for help. I've let this problem fester; left untreated this infectious wound has become gangrene. Now is the time to make a decision to sever it off or to die with it.

I'm not getting any input from the other side. I feel alienated from my own thoughts, my own feelings and my own needs. At the same time I want this relationship to work I realise I'm the only one clapping.

I've romantacised having someone I could hold in bed, wake up and have sex between the sheets, do silly things together, those sort of idealistic fantasy-world things. We don't do them. All I see is hurt, anger, distance and the feeling of helplessness.

There's been a breakdown in communication, we're not talking about the issues we have and I'm definitely not getting any input from his behaviour. I'm going to sit him down and try to get his side of the story later today; wish me luck.

Premonitions?

After six hours attempting to complete my essay I am flat out. At this hour the only sounds are from my keyboard, Connex trains on the Sydenham/Werribee lines, trucks on Footscray Rd and the hum of my trusty portable fan.

I quite like having the room to myself; on my table I've built up a collection of things that make me happy. Ear rings/studs from a while ago. Little cutouts of pusscat hidden between pieces of wrapping paper. A bottle of Jungle Juice, half used. I love them all.

Nightmares. It's unusual to have these dreams so early in the day. I've had exactly thirty seven minutes on my pillow but that's enough time to make me reconsider sleeping. It was a dream about mom, she was making me eat soap because I didn't do my homework. Tiny fragments of memory are all that's left of her.

Pampering myself in front of the heater is indulgence; I'm sure pusscat would agree. Greville St. One year ago we were happy, pusscat was healthy and the world was predictable. I miss how he climbed limb onto my lap to say "hug me, bitch". He's gone now.

How do you deal with self-righteousness? Yesterday I thought I was the best person in the world; for the first time I looked at my body in the mirror and considered touching myself, now I didn't mean it that way but I felt I would do me.

Daniel is still coping with a few issues/insecurities of his own, mainly sleep issues I think. I've let myself breathe a little; these days I am beyond obsessing. Maybe I'm still grieving?

Two apartments. I'd like to have one for myself and one for him. Then I can make a little space for myself without intrusions, lavish myself on furniture and fittings he will grudgingly admire, cook horrible smelling things to his disgust and plant a forest in the corner of my brown/beige lounge. Everything will be brown/beige. Straight lines. Clean surfaces. Because minimalist decor seeks feelings, not provides it. Clutter reduces my ability to think.

I admit I'm scared but happy. I have twelve whole weeks to feel good about this place.

Direction

I've been thinking long and hard about the way forward.

Two years later and people are casting doubts on my ability to stay focused. I can't blame them.

Rummaging through the pile of crap on my table I can see what I've started to do. Hoard. I'm letting things accumulate, putting them in little stacks in descending order of importance. Leave it for later. Everything according to priority and space in this universe.

Things have been going really slowly. Been to Euroa for a 21st birthday party. Had some time to think on the paddocks and granite outcrops that dotted it. Lots of unhealthy bogan food to keep my tummy unhappy. Great company, lots of beer and other mysterious things, more time to think. And kissing the lips of a guy not into me, not so clever.

But a weekend away nonetheless. Now it's back to basics, back to searching for direction. Or rather thinking a lot about the arrival of the direction than the direction itself.

Because when I find it I want to be able to say, "told you it was coming".

Filter

This blog started off as neutral territory, a space where I could say everything and anything I wanted. Over the years it has gradually accumulated a small following of people many whom are real-life friends. Truth is lately I've been wanting to say a lot of things but because I know the readers I often excuse myself from touching on 'sensitive' issues. I feel I have let everybody down.

Have I not learned, growing up in pseudo-democracy, the pain of censorship?

I'm shuffling across my music selection which has remained static for 4 months. Music is a proxy for writers block? Every second sentence I write is censored. When have I ever been into Usher? Never. Pink Floyd now. I remember the last time I let Syd Barrett lose I was in the same head space.

I am ANGRY because I can't write this properly. I hate knowing that he will read this and then go, 'wait a minute, that's not accurate, take that back'.

But if I can't do it here then where else can I?

Love makes you do crazy things, insane things. Things in a million years you'd never see yourself do. But there you are doing them... can't help it.

Slack

In order to give myself a break I've decided that fatty foods, alcohol, unhealthy sleeping habits and poor nutrition must go. I've been cutting myself some slack just to cope but after a while you get addicted to those things. Note to self: content for counselling session on Wednesday!

Actually when I'm not busy sleeping I have heaps of spare time which I then waste in front of the telly in front of the lappy doing something crappy. Like Manhunting.

Daniel's away in Perth for the week so I have the whole house to myself. I'm torn; tonight its either I sleep on his bed so I can wallow in his scent, or I sleep in mine and wake up feeling lost, confused and in need of a big hug.

Come back soon? It seems strange now that you're gone.

The Horror

A whole, fucking $160.88 for a 3 course meal and some dumplings. The service was rubbish, the tea was diluted, the decor roadkill and the food was revoltingly salty. So why do people pay to eat there? Maybe they've never been overseas to see what real Asian food is like, because we Malaysians would NEVER pay for this shit.

We were informed that the san choi pau was for 4 people, but after ordering it we discovered it was actually $10.95 per serve. Problem was, this was still $2.75 more than the price in the menu but no, we didn't stand up and demand a refund. Why? Angmoh says we shouldn't. So that's like fucking off $40 for three tablespoons of rice on a leaf of lettuce.

Oh and $3 cups of tea. Each.

"Dear Herald Sun...", I see a juicy story in the making - "Chinese Restaurant Rip Off - How the Beijing Olympics got funded".

88th

Sometimes I wish ostriches would teach me the fine art of head-burial.

Daniel has decided I should go along to grandma's 88th to meet 'the rest of the family'. Very talkative and intuitive family. All of a sudden I was the ignoramus who stumbled over simple topics like politics, climate change, IP rights and botany - my own specialty.

The younger ones looked at me like I was onekind. Daniel only introduced me to a select few adults leaving the young ones presumably wondering how this Chinaboy fits into the grand scheme of things. I even considered the interesting dynamic: "technically-I'm-your-cousin-in-law"

Daniel's father took me to his shed and showed me his tools (a very gay sentence already!). A complete workshop; he makes wooden bowls and the house is cluttered with them. He quickly went into a rant about swamp paperbark; Melaleuca ericifolia - it takes 2 years of air drying with no guarantee of results. A mouldy half-finished bowl lay in the corner.

"Don't you have a kiln?" I heard myself say hastily, before realising what an ass I am.

~

Been recovering from a major sore throat. I don't usually get sick so it's unusual to spend on pharmaceuticals - especially OD'ing on Strepsils. I've lost all interest in men; the past 7 days has seen me turn down 5 gorgeous looking men of varying ages/built, all without reason. What's happening?

Shifty's ashes finally returned on the 8th (Monday) and it lives on the storage unit for now. I've made progress - I no longer bawl like I used to though I'm still haunted by flashbacks of Shifty in the cat box at Lort Smith. It seems I harp on mostly the bad things. I've been looking at his photos to fill the void and in the meantime Daniel helps by supplying hugs where Shifty left off. I still doubt the current dose will suffice.

Going to the shrink tomorrow to unload another round of crap. Do shrinks like being hugged?

Missing?

The house is quiet except for the blare of the TV; I feel something is missing.

Two empty bowls on the floor, an empty cat house in the corner, cold and unused. These things are ghostly and I'm starting to feel quite fragile... Hopefully next week his ashes will arrive back from the crematorium; it's the perfect excuse for a weekend in Wilson's Prom where we could could have sex on Mt Oberon scatter his ashes. But cats hate water, a friend pointed out. Daniel jokingly said there's no way he'd put the ashes over our doona (his favourite afternoon-nap surface).

I'm not taking this grieving process seriously. I'm joking about it then quickly changing the topic to distract myself, or finding other things to obsess about. In short I haven't identified my feelings - that's what the shrink is for. He (the shrink) seems content I can keep talking and doesn't bother interjecting me. How is that helpful? And that CCB charges for every session (damn the government doesn't pay for it). Suddenly I'm wondering why this healing process should fucking cost me more money after the vet bill fiasco; maybe the real lesson is learning how to not panic when I need to spend.

In Memory of Shifty

Many thanks to Daniel for picture no. 3

Shifty

We did the best we could. I have to keep telling myself that.

After two weeks of drama pusscat didn't get better. The meds made him throw up even more; by 9pm he was very weak, dehydrated and unable move around the house. This is what cats do when they're terribly ill - they go into the darkest corner of the house and sit there waiting to die. It was difficult pulling him out of his little house to give him a hug; his muscles would tense up as I lifted him onto my shoulders. He was suffering and it was time to let him go

~

"It's not fair", I hear myself selfishly saying in between tears. Death has always been a huge issue for me. Daniel has been very strong in this; he had to hold me in bed and continually reassure me that everything was going to be okay.

Puss was a fighter who lived life the best he could. We talked about how he used to sit on my bed in the sun, lie on my lap when I had dinner, sit on the windowsill to watch the birds, scratch our sofa to sharpen his claws, rest in front of the fireplace to warm his tummy...

But also how we used to hug in bed and he'd appear out of nowhere, meowing loudly as if to say "where's MY hug???" He was such a ratbag. A princess. But we had good times together; he trusted us, we loved him and he loved us back. He will always be our boy-o.

We were by his side till the very end, holding him close to us. I am going to miss you so much, Shifty. I have always, always loved you.



Shifty, aged 4 years
26.08.08, 2300hrs.

Small

Let's face it. The Olympics makes you feel small. Big buildings. Superheroes who do insane things in the name of a thing-you-hang-around-your-neck. And today with gay Australian diver Matthew Mitcham winning gold for diving, it makes me wonder if I've achieved anything spectacular?

I'm already 22 but I haven't done anything inspiring. I can't operate a drill, don't know how to dance, can't cook, can't play instruments, hopeless at sports, hopeless at writing, socially incompetent and mildly retarded; I can't seem to do anything special? I can't even remember the names of the people I meet, or of movies I've watched, or things I've read.

So I'm brain dead too :/

This is not a beat-myself-up post. I see people around me doing great things, including the olympians (which I have come to hate) and I wonder if I'm merely leaving footsteps while other people leave dents in society?

I'm confined to my room most days. I don't have many friends. Any spare time is divided between TV, daniel, Packrat, internet and sleeping. I have meaningless conversations on MSN, can't develop a social circle, don't have any spectacular achievements in uni, I don't fucking read books, have a fluctuating academic track record, am neither favoured nor hated by my peers; really, I'm just sort of mediocre...

...because I want myself to be?

While other people are making their mark in the world I'm walking along at my own pace doing absolutely fuck-all, and then people wonder why I feel insecure? I'm surrounded by greatness!

Or am I blind towards my own? I feel so small, confused and retarded that it isn't funny.

Back

The pusscat is back. The incompetent vet only suggested a liver biopsy after day 5; she already knew it was a liver problem from day 2 but chose to play the hit-and-miss game, trying out a range of treatments that didn't work costing us our life savings.

We couldn't go through with the biopsy - no cash! We stopped short of putting him to rest and luckily we did because he perked up, allowing us to bring him home. He looks much better now but we still don't know what's wrong with him. That motherfucking cunt vet put him on a cocktail of medications and he is starting to regain appetite which is comforting.

But how long before he becomes too ill to be saved again? This is a form of mental torture; I feel we are delaying his eventual euthanasia at a time when I'm already fragile from uni amongst other things. As long as the cat continues to eat and purr I console myself he's alright, but at the back of my head I'm already preparing myself for a return visit; hopefully that will happen in many years, not weeks.

Puss

He's fallen sick over the weekend and we've sent him to the vet. While I'm freaking out about the vet bills, Daniel is freaking out about puss. I'm letting money get in the way of my emotions because I know I will miss this cat when he leaves us

But after 6 days he's been there I'm starting to see that money isn't the most important thing to have

This is not the first time he's been critically ill but it is the worst. His liver enzymes are critically high; bags of saline, antibiotics, ultrasounds and a shot of Cortisone later and puss is not getting any better. We've made the tough decision to put him to sleep.

I hate the fact I get ritualistic about everything. I want puss to get to play around in our home for a little while longer. I want him to eat his favourite food. Sleep in his favourite house. Spend the night curled next to me while I'm in bed, nudging me all night. I want him to catch his spiders, claw the carpet, do his little meow to say 'hi', and climb up onto my chest when I'm having dinner just to rub his cheek against my chin. I want him to do all that before he goes

But time is running out; he's rapidly deteriorating and I sincerely hope not in too much pain. I don't want the last person he sees to be the vet; I want it to be me and Daniel. I want to have a chance to say goodbye. I want him to know we love him very much. I want it to be perfect.

And in the middle of these idealistic and selfishly thought-out scenarios I see myself unable to accept him leaving. Death has always been a big issue for me, but tonight I need to be strong, to hold Daniel's hand in mine and go in with a strong heart because Pusscat must never know that I'm weak, emotional and afraid; all the qualities that even he as a cat has never had.

Attention

There's something about my Manhunt profile that has attracted a lot of attention in recent days. All these bottoms; they're messaging me in the dozens. I don't think I've changed any of the texty stuff so it must be the new pictures of me in a head harness?

Either way, I'm enjoying the attention. I think.

Week 3

Time is moving quite quickly. Judging from the amount of work I'm handling after only 3 weeks I'd say I'm doing pretty horribly. But no despair; I usually pick up at the end of semester when I gorge on powerbars and my brain is in hyperspace (from alcohol/drugs?).

My boss has been pressuring me to take up more work because she needs to meet her own targets. So she offloads it to me hoping I'd lap it up eagerly like I've done in the past but now I'm like mehhh. I hope she still gives me work though. The other day she called and the line got cut off as I entered the City Loop on a train; she thought I went into a fit and slammed the phone on her. Bless her, she's so cute. We're okay though.

I've started to develop a horrible back problem from hunching in front of my laptop. Work is interspaced with 3 hour sessions of Packrat, goss column reading and cruising. I'm constantly being distracted by the *ping* of a message on Manhunt because it gives me more internalised validation than my work. Most of the time it's a false alarm but occasionally I get the odd guy with a nice tight arse nice face.

I bought some Korean honey waffle cookies for Daniel and he wolfed it down in under 4 days. Next time I need to get those coconut ones instead (he hates coconut) so I can have it all to myself.

Stud

I've taken out my tongue stud.

Aside from excessively worrying about the increased risk of STDs, I'm also sick of removing it, brushing it, playing with it, chipping my teeth and having just about every top wanting me to suck them off.

There's a little hole on my tongue where my piercing used to be, and I must admit I feel quite naked without it.

Day

I am afraid of getting old.

It's raining heavily, I'm tucked into the pile of work in front of me eating the most unhealthy snack known to man (instant noodles). It's cold but I refuse to wear warm clothes so the heater is working overtime.

At the other end, he's fast asleep in his bed oblivious to all my activities. Manhunt to keep me company because 'just looking' calms me down, how weird is that. But tonight the people are either rude wrinkly weird hairy fat, or a combination of these. I am a bitch.

And I'm afraid I will one day be like them - rude wrinkly weird hairy AND fat so it's unfortunate I'm starting the day with this mindset; in the evening it will just be me, the cat and dxniel in the comfort of our suburban apartment with the heater on full blast and cheesy TV shows blaring on the TV, tucking into cake to celebrate me

As of today I'm no longer 'just legal'.

Cheers to me.

MIFF

Watched a movie called West 32nd, a story about Korean gangsters (who speak American) and lawyers (whoever thought the two were compatible). Dxnixl's choice so it had violence blood and all the gory scenes he loves. I had a hard time adjusting to the cinema seats that were built for midgets... and when the movie finally took off my sleepy mind was busy doing other things (well ok some of the characters had nice shoulders). So I don't really know if I enjoyed it?

It was weird.

On a different note, the launch of the Beijing Olympics was a load of shit. Seriously... children in ethnic costumes holding hands and smiling?? I don't think it was an accurate depiction of a people slaughtered and culturally 'reconditioned'. I won't even start talking about the self-glorification and in your face display of power.

I kept hoping there would be a terrorist attack and a plane would crash through the stadium, killing everyone. That would have been so much more fun (hey, great publicity!), don't you think?

Hotham

Had an unexpected (albeit pricey) reprieve at Hotham. Taking a wrong lift took me to a string of black runs with 60 degree slopes; I was scared so I took my skis off and sat at the edge of the slope overlooking the creek 100m below.

My mistake to down those 4 extra glasses of water. With bladder pressure building I could've pissed in my pants if they weren't rented. It was freaking scary; this slope had gnarly trees surrounding an impossibly steep path with packed snow and skiers going at 10590871908kmph past me. And I won't even PRETEND that I'm novice.

It wasn't cold enough so I started getting moist under the layers. You know how you sweat and plastic sticks to your skin? Well that. Whoever thought making it waterproof INSIDE OUT was a brilliant idea needs to get his/her head bashed against a wall. So I start stripping down to my tank top (seriously it wasn't THAT cold), attracting the curious onlookers who sneer at me. Bloody hospitality.

While I'm busy thinking of an escape plan it starts snowing. Gorgeous. But I quickly discover that snow actually makes you WET. So putting on my Parka I reseal the moisture in, this time COLD moisture fuckk so I'm left doubly uncomfortable, scared like a chook and in desperate need of a piss...

So running out of options I cling onto my skis and slide down the full length of the slope on my fat butt. One of those rare occasions when I'm glad I'm slightly fat.

~

Seriously how do angmohs go about being filthy? Genetic or learned behaviour? Our lodge had a dishwasher but these people, obviously crippled by their whiteness, had no intention of scrubbing their plates and utensils BEFORE putting them into the machine. And coincidentally I was in charge of *dishes* for the day. What joy. Scraping day-old minced beef and pulverised I-do-not-know-what from forks/spoons/plates is a GREAT way to end an already terrifying day at the snowfields.

I'm not even going to mention what I saw on the floor after that. Kinda makes me wonder if all that money spent was actually worth it?

More skiing tomorrow. I will be careful to read signs this time.

Home

Forgive me if this post sounds like it was carelessly composed. In fact it comprises many separate paragraphs written on different dates, stitched together to form a mash.

So we're finally back after 2 weeks in Malaysia/Singapore. The hardest part was getting off the plane; Melbourne welcomed us with fog, rain and 5 degree winds. And to top it off I was jetlagged, dxnixl was cranky, luggage was heavy and my bank account had nothing in it. Joy.

This visit has taught me a lot about myself. KL itself has morphed beyond familiarity; my usual hangouts are gone, swallowed by the angry metropolis of ugly buildings, Protons and coloured people. I had forgotten how to respond to cues like looking in both directions before crossing the road, asking the taxi driver if he will take you to where you want to go BEFORE you step in, or eating with a spoon (yes, seriously). I've never felt so un-Malaysian.

New clubs have come and gone and I'm proud to say the gay clubs definitely delivered. My friends have changed. Some have become ultra gay, others attached and the usual suspects have become so alien that I couldn't muster the courage to meet them over coffee.

Ah, coffee. Without his usual morning fix of Melbourne-style lattes I had to deal with his daily morning PMS. Also the lack of angmoh breakfasts. I just didn't know how to tell him at the time to "fucking get over it", so I accepted his scolding like a bitch and felt really bitter and dirty afterwards.

We were too ambitious with our holiday plans so everything seemed rushed. Also opting to stay with my father was the biggest mistake of the trip. Initially meant to help save on costs, it was severely lacking in comfort. Moving out to a hotel bordering KLCC was hastily made to cement the cracks that were developing and it was an epic save. However Langkawi reversed the trend with their exceptionally horrid service, and Penang food has turned him off Melbourne's Asian-style food forever (yay!).

Singapore offered him some reprieve and he absolutely LOVED it (as per my prediction), and our stay with a friend was fantastic (bless her). We even did the Singapore flyer and a quick dinner with my closest relative was really emotional (in the best way possible). Great clubbing at St. James Powerhouse although not so hot Singaporen boys were perving at gorgeous me all night. *wink*

I later asked him, "Why don't we ever have make up sex?"

"well we don't argue very much!"

~

He has been offered a few jobs in KL and Singapore. In particular I have decided that Honours is not for me and so I will graduate this December. Which means, more responsibilities, less protection and the eventual move-home-to-Malaysia.

OCD

And I do it again.

I'm constantly computing the logistics in my head. Step 1. Step 2. Step 3. Backup plan in case of an emergency. Price. Discounts. Figures. Numbers. Letters. I'm making this holiday into one big mathematical equation.

Because I'm scared of just doing as-is. In 12hrs I will be boarding a plane. That itself is a scary thought. Dxnixl hasn't even packed. He'll do it tomorrow.

Which is perhaps something I can never do. I said to him I will do all the booking, worrying and suffering because it's *my* country and I should know better. So I've done it. Down to getting spare Ringgit so we're not stranded in a worst case scenario (whatever that may be). But it's slowly becoming apparent that I simply enjoy being obsessive compulsive, and this whole trip is just one big excuse to get worked up.

Apparently, stress turns me on. Big time.

Jitters

On a Thursday night, at Golden Monkey drinking cocktails with a friend. This place... I've been here so many times and I still like it. Here I had 1L sake with dxnixl when we first started dating. Here I had birthday parties, meetings, events and dramas. This place is scandalous but I'm loving every bit of it.

But I go for the most boring drink of all = a Lychee martini.

I bought dxnixl a very nice Samsonite travel bag costing me a fortune. But it's sturdy with a 4yr warranty and he needs to move away from his... lets say... CHEAPER luggage. It's only 48 hrs till we leave for Malaysia and I'm already having the pre-travel jitters. Thinking about the million of things that could go wrong on this trip. OCD is a constant battle between the voices in my head and my sanity.

Tomorrow we also take the cat to the cat hotel but because of his condition (FIV) he will have to be isolated from other cats. Which is a real worry; will he get enough space to play around? Food - is it tasty enough for him? Strangely I've become attached to our cat even though I promised myself I wouldn't. I will miss him very much. Did I just say OUR cat?

I'm distracting myself from the bigger questions like how do I manage this relationship to the best of my ability. It's good that he's becoming more cheerful because of this trip, but what happens after? Back to the same old routine? We need to find new ways to have fun together not new excuses to have a shout.

Apple crumble. The friend wants to have it and I can't for my life think of a place to get it. So we end up at Crown, in a restaurant facing the Yarra, having sinfully rich pudding with ice cream and coffees, when my friend goes "yeah I'd like to try that with you". Not paying attention, I spin my head and go "what, what, what??"

"Try boots."

"Oh."

~

This is the last train to leave Flinders St station. It's cold outside; condensation is forming on the train windows and trickling down onto the carriage floor.

Getting home I find dxnixl fast asleep with pusscat right next to him. I'm in love.

My Kind of Guy

"that's why you see for the first time, exco makan nasi bungkus"

Love it.

New

Three holes indeed.

And it's like, omg I'm speaking like a three year old. Dxnixl is having fun doing this to me. INSULTING MY SPEECH. He loves it when I trip over the d's and the t's, so he asked me to pronounce 'detention' and I fell right into it.

But otherwise he's having a shit time with my new piercings. I think he's worried I will one day come home with breasts and pink pantyhose. Actually it's kind of cute that he's taking so much offense in the 'new me'. It's like I enjoy all the attention I'm getting.

So I've learned that the tongue is very important for eating. This is after I had marmalade toast and a banana - lets just say blood tastes better when you're not actually in pain. And no, two front teeth cannot be used to chew through toast.

Mental note: get babyfood.

The toilet is also feeling the shits (literally). Everything out my end is wet, lumpy, gooey, and oh so yucky. This is what happens when you have soup four times in a row.

And yes I saw bits of corn (from the Minestrone). This is going to be an interesting recovery.