Nude, Not Naked

Why Are You Punishing Yourself This Way?

2006-02-18T17:52:00.000Z

Excerpt from the last chapter of
Nude Not Naked

Indie walked at a quick pace towards his car when I tried to etch a smile. I stroked the back of his neck. I could hear his heart beat fast as we walked closer to his car. I could not see my right foot but I knew where it was since it hurt a lot. The scar on top soon will have a matching scar at the bottom.

“Why don’t you choose a good man and let him take care of you? Why all these men? Why David? Why Seven? Why Adidas Boy?” Indie said. “Why are you punishing yourself this way?"

Dear readers,

I have decided to stop publishing Nude Not Naked stories at the moment. Indie's questions are answered in following chapters, which I am still writing. You will have to wait for Nude Not Naked to be published *hahaha* to find out the ending to this story. And by the end of the story I hopeful you will come to love and accept all the Otto-s living in this world.

Most writers will tell you that their first book is often something they know well and/or can relate to. There is some truth to it, if you really think about it. You can only write about things that you are familiar with or have an indepth knowledge of.

A book often reflects its writer.

Thus if you can't wait for the book, then have a sneak peek of my life instead.

Thank you for your comments and support.

xoxo,
Otto

*****
Small Talk
The image is borrowed from here. Thank you very much, TRC.
*****

Tags Story Dancing Dance Clubbing Club Blog Man Woman Sex Relationship Love Lust Secret Blood

Bloodied

2005-12-26T15:10:00.000Z

“Ouch!” I said.

I looked at the corner of the boy’s toilet. Two men walked in, laughing and poking each other’s arms. Their eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when they saw me sitting in the men’s toilet.

It was an interesting boy’s toilet, to be honest. A guy saunters into the toilet, walks up to the urinal, finds one that is vacant, proceeds to unzip his trousers and does the deed while looking at girls gyrating up and down each other’s waists outside. Whoever that designed Lola’s boy’s toilet surely had a penchant for looking at girls while peeing. The row of urinals faced the whole dance floor, where each man could pull down his zip, pee and watch everyone else in the bar dancing through a panel of glass in the wall. The panel of glass in the wall was approximately three inches in height and was placed strategically at the average Malaysian men’s height, so every man that stood at the row of urinals to pee could see everyone else dancing.

And it was at this special urinal peephole that I was staring out from the toilet. One will never miss a beat by coming in here for a breather. I sat on what I would call a powder table with the exception that I do not think men enjoyed the fact that their boy’s power room had a powder table. If furniture were French, then this powder table was masculine. It had long straight lines, made of dark wood. A grand mirror against the wall with three rattan balls in a bowl on the other end of the table. Very zen.

“I’ll try look for something,” David said, “Sorry about this.”

He gripped my hand tight for a second.

A man walked into the toilet, only to stop and stand aside when David passed him at the door. David smiled at him and walked into the sea of people, who parted as he walked into them. David should be renamed Moses for leading the fashionable who-is-who in KL through the wilderness of carnal living, I thought to myself as I swung my legs gently.

***
It has been four weeks since I had the 0500 hours conversation with David, three weeks since I have been in Lola, two weeks since he avoided me and one week since David began warming up to me again. I guess time do heal some things. I wonder if David saw the eyes looking each time he leaned over to give me a peck on my cheeks. I wonder if he knew his close proximity evoked strong stirrings in the hearts of many.

David’s table is no ordinary table. It is the table to be seen in Lola, if not the whole of KL. A large chandelier hung above, an eye catching light source in the darkness of Lola. It was as if a reminder to everyone that it was at David’s table that nightlife began.

And in this night time heaven, David was god. Eve summed David very well one evening not so long ago. David makes every girl look good. Beautiful car and free flow of drinks in the hottest bar in KL. What’s not to love?” Eve is right. The most beautiful girls are found at the next few tables. Always perfect looking, dolled up and dressed to stop traffic, these beautiful creatures will do almost anything to get noticed.

But will they go as far as to physically hurt someone else?

***
I looked up towards the ceiling each time a male patron came into the toilet to pee. Some random guy whistled as he peed. I wondered whether he whistled out of habit or as a distraction from me bearing witness to his call to nature.

“Where are you?”

“In the boy’s toilet,” I said. “My toes’ a little cut.”

The mobile went dead. I swung my two feet, one black satin heel still strapped onto my left foot while the other side at the end of the black table. I smiled when I saw Indie walked in.

“She dropped the bottles of beer and that’s how I got these cuts,” I said.

Shrugged nonchalantly as Indie knelt in front of me. He placed my left foot on his lap. He then took my remaining dangling, bloodied foot and looked at it closely. A healed scar was visible on the top of the ball of my right foot, approximately two centimetres long. Blood flowed along the arch of my foot. Indie looked closely and pressed the ball of my foot hard. More blood flowed from the cuts.

“Ouch!! Indie!!!” I said.

“Here, I got some tissue and a first aid kit,” David said, as he walked into the toilet. “Oh … Hi, Indie.”

Indie stood up that moment. He took my handbag, the right side of my black satin high heels and said to David, “Her foot’s cut deep. Pieces of glass stuck. I’ll bring her to the doctor.”

In one swift scoop, Indie carried me into his arms. He adjusted his grip a little and walked out of the toilet.

“I can walk, Indie,” I said to him gently. I waved to David and my mouth worded out the words “thank you, sorry!”. David stood there, numbed by the experience, the sight of us leaving the boy’s toilet. I held onto Indie tighter as he walked me out from Lola. Everyone was looking as Indie carried me. And my bloodied toes.

I heard a few girls giggled. They must have thought it was a romantic gesture. Probably they thought that Indie proposed to me, I accepted and thus, he swept me off my feet literally and carried me home, to eternal matrimonial bliss.

How far from truth it would have been. I was being carried out of Lola because I bloodied my toes. My toes were bloodied because a girl accidentally dropped a bucket of Heineken just inches from me. She accidentally dropped the bucket of Heineken just inches from me because she was angry. She was angry because she has been eyeing David the whole of tonight and the previous few months.

And David had eyes for no one else while I sat at his table. He knew it. She knew it. I knew it.

“Why are you doing this?” Indie asked.

“I didn’t wish for my toes to be bloodied, Indie,” I said.

“No, you know what I mean. You knew that girl was eyeing on David from the beginning. She did this to you on purpose.”

“She did not,” I said.

“She did, Otto. Face up to it. She has been hunting David down and you stood in the bloody way and now you have a bloody foot,” Indie said. There was hurt in his eyes.

Indie walked at a quick pace towards his car when I tried to etch a smile. I stroked the back of his neck. I could hear his heart beat fast as we walked closer to his car. I could not see my right foot but I knew where it was since it hurt a lot. The scar on top soon will have a matching scar at the bottom.

“Why don’t you choose a good man and let him take care of you? Why all these men? Why David? Why Seven? Why Adidas Boy?” Indie said. “Why are you punishing yourself this way?"

**********
Short talk
Click Escape Me Now for the author's comments on this short chapter in Nude, Not Naked.
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Tags Story Dancing Dance Clubbing Club Blog Man Woman Sex Relationship Love Lust Secret Blood Jealousy Boy Life

Frangipani

2005-11-01T15:25:00.000Z

“Papa, can you accompany me out for supper? I am hungry,” I said.

My father was comfortably tucked between the sheets in his bedroom. His reading glasses rested at the tip of his nose. He was gently dozing off when I came into the room at 2100 hours. He made some noises as he got up.

“Papa, can you accompany me for supper?” I asked him again.

“Mmmm…” he said.

He rubbed his eyes, sat up and leaned against the headboard. He pushed his glasses back into position, at the bridge of his nose. He looked at me. I walked closer towards him, hopped onto the bed and sat next to him.

“Can you please?” I asked.

“Why don’t you just have some instant noodles at home?” he asked.

“I am craving for the fried noodles,” I replied.

“Okay, just give me five minutes to stretch and get ready,” my father said.

I switched to Channel 8. A young man and a girl were hosting a talk show. My father got up and changed into a pair of dark blue trousers. He picked the comb on the dressing table and combed his hair. He flicked the comb to the right, then to the left. Placed the comb down, took another look at himself. Slowly he pushed his hair downwards, flattened his upswept hair.

I took my car keys and we took a ten minutes drive to the night market. The street was busy with all the peddlers vying for the attention of passer bys. Pirated DVD sellers with movies so new, they were not even shown on the local cinemas yet. Fruit sellers and their local fruits all laid out on mats, middle aged ladies selling T-shirts imported from China and Thailand. An Indian man and his wife, busy deep frying some ground nuts.

A family of four stood up, they were ready to leave their table. My father walked towards the soon to be vacant table. They exchanged smiles. I walked towards the cook and placed my order. A plate of friend noodles, just a little spicy. The cook was a lady, perhaps in her forties. A red cap absorbed her tiny beads of sweat as she worked tirelessly by the huge stove. There was an Indonesian lady who collected the orders and brought the orders to different tables.

“How is your book coming along?” my father asked.

“I am suffering from writer’s block.” I sighed.

The night was clear. The pale moonlight shone, illuminated the whole street with its magnificent light. It was amazing how the moon reflected sun light and shone so beautifully. The night was humid. There was noise everywhere as people walked through the streets in search of good buys for the week. Young children squeezed through the crowds of people as they played tag. Their laughter infected those who watched them play.

We took a stroll down the street. Bought a packet of jackfruit from a young boy. He was barely twelve years old but he was skilled. He added and subtracted with great ease, having helped his family in the evenings as they traveled from one night market to another, selling fruits. What a hardworking and smart boy, I thought to myself.

As we snaked down the street, I stopped by a stall selling beautiful hair clips. I reached my right hand out and picked up a hairpin. I pinned it to my hair and looked into the mirror. Pleased with what I saw, I turned around and searched for my father.

“Papa? Do you think this looks nice?” I asked.

“You look pretty.”

“Do you think I should buy it?” I asked my father.

I believe not many fathers accompany their daughters shopping. However this was the special relationship I shared with my father. As a child, it was my father who accompanied me when I shopped Chinese New Year dresses. He was the one to teach me about sex and especially about men. We spent many hours chatting and I confided in him like my close friend.

“Do you think I should buy this?” I asked him again. I turned my head to the left, revealing a pretty artificial white frangipani, glued to the hairpin. I loved quirky pieces of clothes and was never one who enjoyed girlish outfits. But there was something about that white frangipani.

“Well,” my father said, “Are you sure you want to wear a white frangipani?”

The lady had a pink plastic bag ready. She was convinced that I would buy the hairpin. Her sales pitch was perfect: Oh looks very good on you. Very cheap, cannot find anywhere else. Give you special price because you are so pretty looking. You won’t find anywhere else. RM3.50, good discount. She placed one of the hairpins into a pink plastic bag.

“You know that white frangipanis are planted in many cemeteries,” my father said.

I put the white frangipani hairpin down. I smiled at the lady and shook my head.

***
“Otto…” the voice on the mobile phone said, “Please come and pick me home…”

I mumbled. I kicked the duvet and rolled over to my right, my toes peeked out at the end of the duvet.

“I don’t know where I am…” the voice struggled on.

It sounded very noisy and I could hardly hear a word he said. He sounded confused. The bass thumped hard, so loud it was that I placed the mobile phone a little away from my right ear.

“Aidan, it’s half five…” I mumbled.

“Please…”

His voice was frail. He was disoriented and he was mumbling, “It’s noisy. I don’t know where I am. They are still in there. I can’t take it anymore.”

I took a deep breath. Exhaled. I rubbed my eyes. I wriggled my toes. With the duvet up to my neck each night, my toes peeked out of it. Those ten toes moderated the temperature underneath the down duvet. I rolled onto my stomach, switched the mobile phone from my right ear to my left.

“Please…” he said again.

“It’s too late, Aidan. I need to work tomorrow,” I said.

“Please Otto, please…”

I wore a sweater on top of my pajamas. I was determined to fetch him home and then rush home for the last few minutes of slumber. Drove down some junctions. Not a single car insight. I yawned. Took a left and parked in front of a club. I looked around but he was nowhere in sight.

“I’m outside,” I said.

“I don’t know where the door is,” he said. He sounded so pathetic and sad, lost in the underground dance floor.

“Just concentrate and look for the ‘exit’ sign, Aidan.” I said.

Some minutes later, I saw him walking towards the car. You know how you try to aim a bowling ball down a lane and it sways to the side? That was how Aidan was. He tried hard to walk straight but he was swaying to the left. Then he swayed to the right. Then he reached my car. He pulled the door, looked into the car and smiled.

“Hi,” he said, “Thank you, Otto.”

“Get in. We are going home,” I said.

He sat in the passanger seat. I buckled him into the seat. His eyes were glazed. He was not able to sit still, having sway to the left or to the right. He laughed.

“Okay two rules, remember? One, no puking in my car,” I said.

He nodded his head.

“Two, no swearing…” he said.

He leaned his head against the window. His eyes closed, he panted.

I switched on the headlights and drove down the street. Everywhere else in the city was quiet and dead but on this street, there were stalls selling warm drinks and supper for the bar hoppers and pill poppers. People were walking everywhere; groups of friends out on a night of high and fun.

“What are you on?” I asked.

“Two tabs of E,”

“And earlier in the night?” I quizzed him.

“Some shit joints at Cassie’s,” he replied.

I was a little annoyed. Okay, I was feeling rather unforgiving and impatient as I drove him home that morning. Anyone would have felt the same, given the circumstances. What an ungodly hour it was to be awake! It was almost 0600 hours and the day was about to start. The moon was sat low, large and bluish gray against the horizon.

Sniffle, sniffle. I sneezed. Twice. Held onto the steering wheel. Closed my eyes and sneezed again. My eyes were runny. So was my nose. I sniffled and reached out for a piece of tissue paper.

“Can we stop at Seven-Eleven?” he asked, “I need to get some ciggies.”

He came back into the car with a small plastic bag. I was puzzled but refrained from asking him any questions. What is the use of asking someone who drank probably three bottles of Heineken, five shots of vodka and had 2 tablets of amphetamine and joints that he could not even remember. I knew better.

I reached out and turned my right palm up. He searched for his house keys. He passed them to me when he found them. He lit a cigarette. A puff of smoke later, the main door was opened. His paintings littered the whole floor space in his small living room. Paint bottles and brushes were everywhere, on all table surfaces, on the floor, on the shelves, everywhere.

“Oh don’t go,” Aidan said, “Come watch the water lily bloom.”

I looked at the pond. A water lily planted in the middle of the pond that Aidan made some months ago as a weekend project. He said the sound of the water swirling in the pond soothed his soul and gave him inspirations. It was not going to bloom then. It was not going to bloom for the next few days.

I sneezed. I loved early mornings. However the coolness of dawn often triggered a round of rhinitis. I took a deep breath, pushed my hair to the back and looked at him.

“We can watch another day, okay?” I replied, “It’s time to sleep. Go to bed, Aidan.”

“Come sit with me please. There will not be another day.”

He held onto the plastic bag, his cigarette dangling between his pursed lips. He walked me to the pond.

“Come sit with me… please…” he said with great emphasis, “There will not be another day.”

I hated moments like this. Moments when his mind was colors twirling in a never-ending tunnel. Moments when he was dancing the fine line the conscious and the darkest depths of his mind. Moments when he was an innocent as a child. Moments when he painted the most beautiful. Moments when I had to drag him home.

Aidan pointed towards the garden bench and patted it. I sighed and sat on the chair. I looked at the water lily, still a young bud. I looked at Aidan. Ashes were falling off his cigarette. He walked back into the house. He came back out with a duvet in his hands. Aidan placed the duvet on my lap. He pulled the blue duvet up towards my back and wrapped it around me.

“That’ll keep you warm,” he said, then patted my head gently.

He walked back into the house and came out with a glass of water. He placed the glass of water on a makeshift table made from pieces of wood found by the side of a road. One of its legs was shorter and the glass of water tilted towards it. Aidan opened the plastic bag and took out a box of Tylenol.

“Have two. They will help decongest your nose,”

He took two tablets out from the box, passed them to me along with the glass of water. I reached out and took them. Dumbfounded. I placed them on the table again.

“Swallow them,” he said.

“I don’t want to,”

“Swallow them,” he said again.

“No Aidan, I don’t like taking medicine,”

“If you take them, I have a small reward for you…” Aidan said.

He reached down, to the plastic bag between his feet. He reached into the bag, muddled around it a little. I looked on, curious of what he had in his little plastic bag.

“If you take those Tylenols, I’ll give you your favorite sweetie,” he said. He waved the tube of Mentos and smiled. “I know, I know… just the orange flavoured ones.” He smiled again.

I reached out for the glass of water and the two Tylenols. Popped them into my mouth and sipped some water. Aidan looked satisfied. He smiled. He opened the tube of Mentos and searched for the orange flavored ones. The first was a purple, so he placed it in his mouth. The second was a yellow. He placed it on the table, next to the glass of water. The third was yet another yellow.

I coughed the two Tylenols into my left hand while he was searching for it. Placed them sweater. I look on as he searched for my favourite Mentos, the orange flavored. Aidan finally found out and quickly placed it into my palm. I popped the Mentos into my mouth, twirled it in my mouth. I smiled.

Suddenly he grabbed my hand and pulled me to another part of his garden. There was a huge pot (the largest in the garden) at the end of the pond. He lit a cigarette and took a close look at it. He sighed.

“She is suffering from fungus at the moment but she'll get better,” he said, looking at the leaves.

“Your plant is a female?” I asked.

“But of course… and when she grows up, my frangipani will blossom into the most elegant of all flowers,” Aidan said. He looked at another leave, looked at it and let out another sigh.

“Guess what’s her name?” he asked.

I enjoyed conversations with Aidan. You will never know what he would say next. For example, we discussed on the possibility of life on other planets over last weekend. He was completing a piece of painting entitled, "Nude And The Frangipani". He painted at the edge of the coffee table, near the sofa where I sat with a book in my hand. Alternate Sundays were fun at Aidan’s, having spent them painting and making great conversations. All these while reading The Five People You Meet In Heaven.

Conversation revolved around the possibility of other life forms on other planets. Aidan believed that there were beings far more superior than the human race and he was convinced that some day, these beings will visit us when we are ready. And when will the human race ever be ready? When mankind reached a state of peace, he replied. I doubted any life forms will ever visit us. If they are smart enough, they would not. Mankind are great fuck-ups. He laughed when I said that.

“So what is her name?” I gently asked Aidan.

He laughed to himself. He swept his hair back and looked at the fungus infected leaves again. It felt almost redundant to repeat the question again. The moon was long gone and sun was rising. Other than a dog barking three doors away, everything was still. He had heard of my question but for a long time, Aidan did not look at me nor speak to me.

“Oh my darling, don’t worry. I will protect you and make you well,” he said. He patted a leaf on the white frangipani tree, “I promise you, Otto, you will be the most beautiful frangipani tree on earth.”

And That's How You Know

2005-10-19T03:51:00.000Z

It was a late weekend afternoon. Indie and I were walking in the along the aisle. I picked up an orange and rotated it about. Indie looked on, smiling. We were shopping for dinner that night. We were growing up faster than we had wanted and tonight is to be the first of many dinners to come. Dinners that would one day replace our maddening nights out. Yes, it was time for us to bow out of the clubbing circuit. Soon. I am not ready yet for the bowing out though.

I arched my eyebrows. He shook his head and smiled.

“You smile at everything.” I said. “Even when you disagree with me.”

He walked on, packed a bag of bananas and another bag of lemons an placed them in his trolley. I walked on the other side of the aisle, with the crates of fruits separating the two of us. I could see his newly cropped hair, his eyes and part of his ears and nose. His shoulder length hair was trimmed and given a lease of life last week at Toni and Guy. Now he’s a “hair raiser”. He acquired a new skill of tweaking and twisting strands of hair so it would stand on its ends. Looked rather grunge, befitting of his masculine body and tanned skin.

I swung my green Aldo bag as I walked down the aisle; pass the oranges, pears, apples and dragon fruits. A little further on were wooden crates with mangoes, jackfruits and soursops. I turned around to look for Indie but he was no longer walking along the aisle. He must have walked at a quicker pace. I hastened my pace and I saw him at the end of the fruit section, where he was waiting in line to weigh his bags of fruits. Walked towards him and stopped when he was standing right in front of me.

“Certain things in life can be quantified. Like sugar cubes in a hot cup of tea in late afternoons with my father. Like these two bags of bananas and lemons.” I said. “But how do you quantify an abstract emotion called love?”

Indie smiled again. The lady took the first bag of bananas, placed it on the weighing machine, pressed a button, then another and proceeded to place the printed sticker on the bag. She did all this without looking at the machine for a second, not one. She was numbed by the daily repetitions of weighing fruits in our local hypermarket and by now, she weighed accurately without even taking a peek. She was like a lifeless machine, going through the motions.

The lady instinctively weighed and measured all the bags that came across her workstation. Maybe she can tell me how to measure love?

***
Dear readers, have you ever thought about this volatile emotion called love? Love is so fleeting, that it might last a moment or a lifetime.

When I was a child, I loved like a child. Loving my parents was natural. It was simple to love and be loved. My parents loved me and I never questioned their loyalty and love for me. They never failed me, ever and they were nothing but a hug away whenever I needed them both.

When I was 10, I had puppy love and I felt love for a boy riding on the same bus to school. We corresponded by letters and we professed our love for each other when I was ten years old and he two years older. The most amazing thing happened when I read through my diary, written then recording every thought I had for my twelve year old love.

Apparently my then love’s monthly test scores were the precondition for my love as a ten years old. I recorded many moments in the diary when I felt disappointed that he scored poorly in his exams and my love for him was quantified by how much he scored. It sounds silly to you now, my dear readers, but it made full sense to a ten year old me then.

Is it not wonderful when life is so simple and test scores were the only preconditions for our love for a person? Then at least most of us could redeem ourselves by studying hard each month and trying to score well. At least we could do gain more love by having the initiative to study harder.

Alas now I am grown and now love is no longer measured by test scores.

***
The first time I met Indie, he was drunk. So was the second, the third and probably the fourth. He was drunk for most part of the nights and sometimes even at 0800 hours in the morning when he was supposed to be up and ready for work. When he introduced himself to me, he said his name was Indie. He then smiled. He made no mention that he was broken by love. But he was.

“And she left me to marry another man.” He said. We were sitting under the blue night sky. I am not aware if there were stars but I would like to imagine there were. I liked to imagine that because I would like to think that a star could help guide Indie to a place where his heart would be mended and he felt no pain anymore.

And so he drank. He drank to forget how it felt to sleep next to her. He drank to stop himself from thinking how wonderful she smelled. He drank to remember how her legs would rub against his, as they curled in bed together, how she would nuzzle in his outstretched left arm, how he would hug her as they closed their eyes to sleep each night. He had slept with her for more than ten years and now it was too painful to be awake alone at night.

I spent many night saying good byes to him and watched him stumble out my car, fumbled as he looked for his keys, tripped as he tried to find his way upstairs to his first floor apartment. I carried him home a few times as I listened to him mumble her name. I tucked him in bed, next to his many photos of her. Switched off the lights, locked the door and went home.

***
Dear readers, emotional scars, unlike a cigarette scar, cannot be seen. Moments when we are hurt, abused and betrayed are etched into our souls, deeper than any physical scars can. And unlike a cigarette burn which can be soothed by running it under cold water, who can soothe the soul of a broken person?

How could she not see that Indie missed her? Why did not she see that he loved her dearly? Was his love for her greater than her love for him? Was this new man’s 3 months of courtship stronger than Indie’s ten years? What were her thoughts when she had to decide who loved her most?

***
Our very first dinner consisted of eight friends, both old and new. Each of us – Eve, Arif, Indie and I – brought a new friend to be introduced to the group during dinner. It was a simple meal in the garden, surrounded by lush clumps of Canna Lilies and palms. Arif laid out the table earlier that evening, dressed by candles and fresh cut orchids. Eve, being the perfect companion assisted him and I could see both of them laughing as they did.

“Tuck in, my friends.” I said, “Here’s a toast to good health and great friendships.”

“To good health and great friendships.” Everyone said. Glasses clinked and soon conversations flowed smoothly, like the three bottles of red wine freely flowing on the table.

Conversation soon revolved around popular dinner topics such as the lunar eclipse in the coming weekend, the current state of politics in Malaysia, some mundane comments on Book of Revelation and its relation to the end of the world. Somehow it flowed to jokes and each of us had a turn sharing a joke we enjoyed. Everyone laughed and gigled, sipped on glasses of red wine and soon the bottles were empty.

We proceeded into the living room. Indie switched on the TV and everyone sat around the sofa as they chatted and watched The Amazing Race. Indie’s living room was simple but extremely comfortable. Painted in light blue (all boys like blue, isn’t it?) with the feature wall in deep blue, scattered pillows on the carpet, a small coffee table and a fabric sofa of a complimentary colour.

I leaned over to Indie’s and whispered, “Who do you think loves me the most?” I slipped my hands between his left and tucked in closely to him as we sat on the sofa. Some family members were squabbling on the TV, and everyone watching the episode laughed.

He closed his eyes, blew smoke upawards away from the group of sitting around. He then tapped his cigarette on the ashtray three times. Indie opened his eyes.

“You mean between everyone like Seven, Adidas Boy, David etc etc?” He asked, just to be sure of the people involved.

“Well everyone…” I said, then looking confused, wondering who I should categorize as “everyone”. I pondered on the thought for a few minutes.

“You want to know who loves you the most?” Indie asked again.

I nodded. He got that question right. Indie lit another cigarette and took a deep breathe. He smiled again. He blew a cloud of smoke upwards, tilted his head towards me and looked into my eyes. He smiled again.

“Well I love you the most.” Indie replied.

I arched my eyebrows and squinted my right eye, looked at him suspiciously. I was not too sure Indie was part of the “everyone” catergory. He knew I felt confused for a second, so he patted my hand and smiled. He leaned against the pillows, relaxed in his seat.

“I love you the most, do you know why?” He asked.

I shook my head. I was very curious of what Indie would say. Indie has been my best friend and loyal companion for more than two years by then. Indie was around right from the start. Boyfriends came and went but Indie stood firm, next to me since our first hello.

“I love you the most because you can go out and make a mistake, come back to me and I will still love you.” Indie said.

He snuffed out his cigarette butt in an ashtray. He looked at me and smiled. He always smiled.

“You see, Otto. Love frees you to be who you are and that's how you know.”

Fix You

2005-10-13T08:49:00.000Z

I opened my eyes this morning. Looked at the ceiling. Saw a dark brown spider spinning its little web. Oh yes, it was a HUGE spider with busy eight legs, knitting a new palace to trap the innocent passer-bys. It is the law of nature that the strong prevails and the weak, spun in a web of deceit with death being the only sweet release.

I wriggled all ten toes and wrapped myself deeper into my duvet as the sound of rain splish splashed down from the skies. I could hear the occasional cars driving pass during the morning rush. The ceiling fan rotated at a slow speed, creating a gentle coolness in the deep purple bedroom of mine.

My mobile buzzed.

“I’m up, I am up.” I said.

“Well would you like breakfast at the usual place?” My father asked.

“Sure, I’ll see you there in half hour.” I replied.

I kicked the duvet off. Arched backwards and stretched my lazy bones awake. Oh it felt good, had a dream of going home with Seven to Kota Kinabalu, I thought to myself. I closed my eyes. Dear God, I pray that you will guide me and help me through today. Show me Your ways and grant me favor among men. Amen.

Had a lingering shower, only to rush the rest of my morning rituals. I looked at the clock. Shit, I had another ten minutes to dress and arrive at my father and my usual breakfast spot. The rain stopped as if it knew that while I loved it, I wanted to be dry when I reached the breakfast café in my azure blue beaded high heels. I beeped the car open, looked left, right, left again (courtesy of good kindergarden education) and ran in the drizzle. I laughed throughout the ten meter sprint, through the front door, pass the gate and hopped right into my car.

The drive was short. It was less than five minutes drive away, consisting of a right turn at the first junction, a short probably two hundred meter drive along the main road and a left then after. Today’s drive was no different, excepting that all cars were driving in a less than usual way.

I noticed a dog lying in the middle of the road, on the opposite side. It laid on its side, its legs kicking. Tears welled up. I am such a wuss, I can not see pain. I signaled to the left, alighted from my car and locked it. I stopped a car on my side of the road and ran towards the other, towards the dog. I could hear the poor baby yelping in pain. I saw blood trickling from its big brown body when I reached it. A man on a motorcycle ran towards us and arrived a few seconds later.

Tears filled my eyes. I patted the dog and whispered to it repetitively “It’s okay, everything is going to be okay. It’s okay, everything is going to be okay.”

I chocked on my words as I looked into its eyes. It tried to give a bark but nothing came out. The man who arrived and stood next to me, left me comforting the poor dog. A few seconds later the dog was still and nothing that I could do would have mattered. I continued to pat it as if it would bring the dog back to life. I only stopped when the Malay man took off his red helmet, bent over and tapped me on my shoulder.

“Come, miss. Let’s bring the dog to the side of the road.”

The stranger smiled. Together, we carried the lifeless dog to the side of the road. Cars were driving by and traffic resumed its speed. I bent down, looked around to be sure that it was dead. The Malay man who got off his motorcycle about twenty meters away shook his head.

“The dog’s dead, miss. Let it go. I will call the town council to pick the carcass up. You go on your way. Don’t worry, I will take care of this.”

I whispered thank you to this stranger. I tried to give a smile. He smiled in return, looked me in the eye and said, “It’s okay, miss. I will take care.”

I walked back to my car. I could see the Malay man standing by the dog. He was calling the town council using his mobile telephone. I closed the car door and drove on to meet my father. The morning was no longer the same. My hands felt wet but it was not the rain.

It was pain.

***
Dear readers, if you saw a dog, broken on the road, would you not have stopped to help? Would it have made any difference if it was a man or a dog?

***
“Go away!” He screamed.

The house was dark. It was pass seven in the evening, the sun was no longer shining and there were no lights lit in the house. Music from the stereo engulfed the whole house and him. I could only see a tall shadow of him pacing back and forth between the sofa and the dining chairs. He had a bottle of Paraquat in his right hand and a knife in his left.

“Come out, Damien.” I said. I begged him to come out. “Come out, please come out.”

He paced up and down the living room. The television was switched on and random advertisements flickered, its reflection danced on the marble floor. He did not say a word. He walked to the back, towards the kitchen area. I ran through the block of terrace houses, to the back of the house. Through a small slit between the windowpanes, I could see him sitting on the floor with his back leaned against the white kitchen cabinet.

***
The kitchen cabinets were installed approximately four months beforehand. The previous cabinets were old, as old as the house that was built approximately ten years ago. Damien had intended to have new cabinets installed for the coming Chinese New Year celebration but he had them replaced more than six months ahead of schedule because he had broken most of the doors. He kicked and broke most doors in a fit of rage during an argument a month ago.

I let Mr. Liew, an old carpenter into the house so he could measure and build the new cabinets. He was amazed that the doors were as broken as they were on the day that he saw them. He asked me whatever had happened. How do you tell a stranger that someone you love broke each and every one of them in a fit of anger?

I did not know how, so politely I smiled and looked away.

***
His lips were moving but I could not hear a thing. It was getting difficult to see what he was doing in the house as light gave way to the night. He shook his head, then nodded. He mumbled and cried. He knocked his head against a cabinet door.

“You don’t want me anymore.” He said.

“No, no. I want you. We’ll be together.” I said. “Just open the door and come out.”

Damien hugged himself. He screamed and kicked the kitchen cabinet. He pounded his fists against the white doors. I took a deep breath. He might have changed the cabinets but he was still the same. Months later he was still relentlessly banging on them again. Six months earlier I told him that I could no longer cope with his anger issues. I asked to end the relationship and he asked for my patience while he changed.

He enrolled into a counseling session with our church pastor. Damien prayed to God every day, asking God to help him. Pastor James held our hands and prayed, “Change this man, O Lord. Give him a new spirit. Guide him and help him control his rage.” Each night before I slept, I asked God to help me and help him. Make Damien a new man, change his heart and help him manage his anger. I whispered to the omnipotent God, please help Damien. Please help me.

Another emotional storm brewed and blew last night. We had an intense argument and his temper flew, along with our dinner and cutleries. During dinnertime, he expressed his wish to exchange his five year old car with my less than a week old Proton Wira. I told him he could borrow it for a week but he had to return the car to me at the end of the week. I believe those were not the words that he had wanted to hear. I crouched as he threw my car key against the pale blue wall and broke the mirror. He not only broke the mirror, he broke the reflection on the mirror. He broke my soul.

“I really can’t do this anymore. I am sorry.” I said. I took my car key, my bag and walked out last night. I went home and it was pass 0300 hours by the time I laid in bed. Five hours of sleep for countless of days has finally caught up with me and I was late for work this morning. It was the fourth time this month as I stayed up to soothe and comfort Damien during his emotional breakdowns. Last night was the end.

***
Damien ran his fingers through his hair. He let out a loud scream. The kitchen cabinet took another kick. I drew a deep breath. I looked at my watch. It was almost 8:00 p.m. Two hours passed since I arrived there, after receiving a telephone call from a suicidal Damien.

“Open the door, please Damien.” I cried. “Please open the door.”

I broke down emotionally and sobbed. I turned around and slowly slid down. I could hear him cry inside. I could hear myself cry. I was exhausted mentally and physically. My spirit was broken. I did not wipe my tears away. Let the earth receive each tear drop.

There was silence and all I heard were crickets.

I stood up and peered into the kitchen. No longer could I see Damien. He was no longer leaning against the kitchen cabinet. I looked to the left of the kitchen, towards the sink and the stove. He was not there. I stretched myself a little more and looked to the right. It was the row of cabinets with the refrigerator at the end. Damien was nowhere to be found.

I squinted my eyes and tried to make sense of the dark kitchen. Finally I saw a shadow of him, lying very still on the floor, face down along the wall nearest to me. I called him softly. Damien did not move.

“Damien?” I said. “Damien, are you asleep?”

I screamed when I noticed a pool of blood seeping through his body. I banged on the back door again and again, asking and begging Damien to wake up.

“Wake up, Damien. Please wake up and open the door.”

It turned frantic and I wailed away. A man staying in a house on the other block opened his back door. He ran towards me and all I could do was bang on the door and scream for Damien to open the door.

The man peeped between the windowpanes. He looked worried and hurriedly he ran back to his house. I slid my right hand through the kitchen door and tried to reach out to touch him. He was too far away. He was not moving and I could no longer control my tears. He must be dead, I thought to myself. And it was all my fault.

A locksmith came to open the back door. I rushed into the kitchen as soon as the door was opened. I rushed towards Damien. I turned him over. I could see crimson red blood flowing from both wrists. He cut himself deeply and there was a gash on each wrist. Neighours were whispering worried words. The old lady staying next door shook her head. I clung onto Damien and hugged him tight. He was not moving. He did not utter a word. His eyes were closed.

In the dark, I rocked his body back and forth.

“It’s okay, everything is going to be okay.” I repeated those words as I wiped blood from his now serene face. I tried to stop the tears from falling. I took a deep breath and calmly said to Damien, “It’s okay, everything is going to be okay. I'm sorry, I promise I will never ever leave you.”

***
When you try your best but you don't succeed
When you get what you want but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse

And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

And high up above or down below
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth

~ an excerpt from Fix You by Coldplay

Tags Story Dancing Dance Clubbing Club Blog Man Woman Sex Relationship Love Lust Secret

Probability and the Guessing Game

2005-10-08T05:58:00.000Z

Two text messages. I swept strands of hair off my face. My bedside lamp glowed, warming my bedroom in a soft shade of yellow. I looked at the clock and it said that it was half pass four in the morning. Rubbed my eyes a little and looked at my mobile phone. It was bright and glaring, so I retrieved the messages with my eyes shut.

Indie

David

Clicked on Indie’s text. It read. “He confused, never mind. You don’t confuse ok.”

I took a deep breath and sighed. Rubbed my eyes a little more and probably wriggled my nose a little. I combed through my hair, so my hair was neatly tucked behind my ears. I have a mop of hair that needs monthly taming at a hair saloon. I love my hair long and wavy but at times, it can be a pain.

Like when I clicked on David’s text. Strands of hair were falling over, covering my eyes and it felt frustrating straining my eyes to read the text between strands of hair.

“Reached home? Drink more water and sleep well.”

Another deep breath and a sigh. I placed the mobile phone on the floor, rolled the duvet to the left and slept among my seven pillows. I build a nest each night when I sleep. Two pillows on my head, one on my right, another on the left, one under my knees, one to hold and the seventh as a comfortable spare.

***
It all started with a text message from Eve at 2300 hours last night. “We are in Lola. Come over.”

I was already comfortably dressed in pajamas, swearing that I would take Friday night staying in since I was not feeling well. I slept the whole of yesterday as I felt that I was on the verge of falling ill with flu. All flu like symptoms flew out the window when Eve’s text came.

Took some clothes out of the cupboard - a red bikini top, an ethnic inspired blouse from TopShop and a pair of dark Super Low Cut from Levis. Changed and dolled myself up. Been experimenting with darker eye colors and it worked to my advantage last night. A pop of color on my cheeks and a coat of lip gloss on my lips later, I walked towards my car.

Indie got into my car two traffic lights later. He looked as handsome as ever. I liked the way Indie dressed, always simple and always showing off his best physical qualities. A white sleeves shirt, cargo pants and sneakers was all it took to show his beautiful broad shoulders, toned abs and sexy chest.

We walked into Lola close to midnight. Not five steps into the bar, someone tapped on my shoulders. Indie who walked ahead of me, continued walking on, searching for Eve and our table of friends in an extremely packed Lola. I tried to reach out to Indie, to let him know that I was caught at another table.

It was David. He shook my hands. I leaned forward and gave him a warm hug. He was sitting at his table. He held my hands and asked me to join him and his friends. I smiled and obliged. His friends were a lively bunch and I have drunk with them on more than several occasions. I looked around. It was a table full of boys and two girls leaning against the wall. Both were doe eyed, fair skinned and pretty.

I nodded and smiled at them. One has to be friendly with the girls. It makes my life far easier, I hope.

“You know Jason. He’s just back from Melbourne.” David whispered into my ears.

“I know him. He fetched me home once.”

“Hah? When was that?” David asked Jason.

“You remember Christmas night where the girl cried?” Jason replied.

”Ohhhhhhh.. that one…” David laughed.

“Jason fetched me home that night. Too much drama, too much heat.” I said.

The waiter came over with my drink. Vodka lime. Smooth and chilled, just the way I liked it. I offered to pay for my drink. The waiter shook his head and smiled. I pushed the fifty Ringgit note into his right hand. He gave it back to me.

“You think my staff will listen to you or listen to my instructions?” David asked. “Keep your money away. My treat, Otto. Let’s drink.”

David introduced me to a (let’s tick through my list of what constitute a good looking man) tall, tanned Chindian (Chinese-Indian) with facial hair. Woah, was he a sweetie or what?!

He smiled. I leaned over to David and said, “I know him. We’ve drunk together.”

“You don’t play-play with my brother here. He’s a handsome SIA pilot ok. Playboy.” David teased his high school buddy, John. “These boys are all sharks, trying to get me drunk tonight. Three of them against me, one.”

David introduced me to a few of his other friends on the table. I whispered to him that I knew all of them.

“You’ve introduced me to all your friends. All your friends know me already. Can be your girlfriend lah.” I said with a smile.

“Oh if you are willing to be my girlfriend, I’ll be thrilled.” David said.

I smiled. Everyone was more lively than usual. David was more vocal than usual. Jason and his brother were dancing and John kept toasting David to drink.

Surely he’ll be drunk tonight, I thought to myself.

The DJs spun the crowd’s favorite tunes and everyone was getting hyped up. Everyone was busy talking to everyone else. Girls were giggling while some were gyrating against each other’s hips. Lola was filled to the brim, by tables after tables of young people, having a good time. Flashes of light from cameras, taking photos that everyone will laugh at the following morning.

I leaned over to David and whispered into his ears, “Excuse me for a while. I want to go back to my table, ok? I’ll see you a while later.” David nodded. I wanted to get back to my own table of friends. Eve was there with Arif. So was Indie and some other friends whom I normally meet at midnight for drinks. Glasses were clinking every few minutes.

Before long David came to our table. He said hello to everyone and chatted a little with each of them. Indie smiled at me as he lit his cigarette.

“Your boyfriend’s here.” Indie said.

“Rubbish.” I replied. “Eh, you think he really likes me or he’s just trying to get into my knickers?”

“He likes you.”

“You sure he likes me. Or he’s just trying to get into my knickers?” I asked Indie again, unsatisfied with his previous answer.

“He likes you.” Indie stood firm by his answer. “He might like you the same way he likes all the other girls in the club too.”

That was a far more convincing and realistic answer. This is one of the few questions that Indie does not really have an answer to. He often tells me revealing things about how men think (sex, sex, sex and more sex) often to my remorse and great horror. However being with Indie always felt comfortable and secure. He always told me the truth without sugarcoating anything.

It did not take long before my heart started pumping fast. I was not sure whether it was my heart beating fast or the speakers above my head doing nasties to my body, causing me to think that my heart is beating faster than usual.

***
Dear readers, just to let you know – I have a healthy metabolic rate that helps me space out my drinks well at night. When I am tipsy, I stay really still, relishing the conversations I have with myself in my little head. In my humble opinion, I don’t think it’s sexy if a girl can’t carry her drinks well. Consequently I am very aware of my personal consumption and very wary of being drunk. In my years of non-stop partying, I’ve not had a hangover in my life.

And I was not going to start last night.

***
In the first hour, I had two vodka limes and probably that did the trick last night. The two vodkas probably were two shots each with a slice of lime (versus the traditional one shot of vodka mixed with some lime juice). I decided to excuse myself and retreat home to my bedroom to rest. Should not have come out anyway since I was not feeling well.

I asked for my keys from Indie. He passed me his house keys. I looked at him. He laughed and passed me my car keys. I was tipsy but I surely recognized my damn set of keys.

Said my goodnights at the table. An extra good night handshake to Miro, who bought me my third vodka lime. I gave Eve a warm hug good night. I walked towards the door. Everything was spinning and I knew I had to get out of the place, far away from the heart thumping music.

A hand slipped between mine.

“Where are you going?” He asked.

“I’m feeling tired. I am going home. Good night, David.”

“Are you sure?” He held my left hand tightly and walked out of the bar, next to me. I saw Sandy on the way out and she walked behind me. I smiled and gave her a hug. Sandy was David’s best friend from high school and she was often my only female companion on a table full of boys whenever I drank with David and his friends. David took a step backwards and allowed us a few minutes of conversation.

We exchanged some words, I smiled and tried very hard to carry the conversation to the best that I could. Fucking vodka limes, I thought to myself. I turned around after the goodbye and David held my hand again. When I turned around again, I could see Sandy looking into David's eyes, talking to him in their friendship language, saying something that I did not understand.

“Are you sure you are alright?” He looked at me.

“Yeah. I need to get home. I’m tired.” I replied. I took a deep breath to regulate my breathing. I clasped my right hand near my heart, as if it would help me feel better.

“I’ll send you home.” He said.

“No, it’s alright David. Don’t worry. I am just unwell. You go back to your friends.”

“No, at least let me accompany you to your car.” He said.

Before I could protest, he slid his fingers between mine. He led me towards my car. His grip tightened as we neared the next street where I parked my car an hour earlier, as if it would hold me a second longer.

“Careful.” He said as he pointed to a little hole on the street.

I giggled and rested my head on his right shoulder for a second. I whispered to him, telling him that I was fine. I beeped my car and sat in the driver’s seat. He lowered himself to my level. David stroked my hair a few times and wiped strands from my face. He tilted his head, to look me in the eye. He smiled.

“Are you okay?” He asked for what I felt like a millionth time last night.

“I am fine, David. Don’t worry.” I replied. I laughed a little, relaxing into the swirls of vodka running through my veins.

“You seriously worry me sometimes. I care for you a lot, you know.” He said.

“You care for me because Third Uncle asked you to babysit me, right?” I sighed and laughed a little more. I closed my eyes and smiled.

He leaned over and gave me a peck on my cheek.

“No, it’s nothing to do with Third Uncle. I care very much for you. Me, David... Care for you, Otto.....” David said.

I laughed. Laughter became a natural action to fill up the voids that neither of us knew how to fill with words. Laughter was a positive response in any given circumstances and it made everything feel safe. Laughter had the power to make everything feel normal and comfortable again.

He leaned over again and kissed my forehead. He cupped my face and kissed my right eye, the apple of my cheek, my lower cheek and right next to the corner of my lips.

He rubbed his face against mine. He stopped. I could hear him taking a deep breath. It felt silent despite my car being parked on a busy road. Cars passed us while head lights flashed every few seconds. But it felt real still and I could hear both of us breath.

He let me go. He switched on my head lights, tucked me safely in the safety belt and gave me a last pet on my head.

“Go home and sleep.” David said.

***
I can still feel his kisses on my right cheek. Little tiny gentle pecks trailing my face.

I don't understand him. Maybe I never will. All I know it'll take another two weeks before David will call me again. Maybe it takes him two weeks to go through the list of people on his phonebook? Maybe he misses me after two weeks? I don't know.

I guess I could have asked him last night, if I wanted to know. We were alone when he accompanied me to my car. David is cautious with what he says and does, so it is rare to catch him in an open mood, whereby he would tell me private things. Private things about him. Private things about me.

I guess all I needed to say was, "Yeah, you care for me. Like the way you care for everyone walking into Lola." And at that very second, I would have an answer. I imagine David's answer as, "You know that I care for you differently." If he did say those words, would I have believed him anyway? Probably not.

I guess he knew that too.

Kan Kan Kan? Ikan

2005-10-06T15:01:00.000Z

I nominated yesterday as a girlie day out, a reward for myself. It was refreshing to be able to go out alone and just feel free to roam aimlessly in a shopping mall, with no agenda other than to walk and yearn for all the beautiful things in the window displays. I had a grand plan by lunch time and texted the number in my phone book: “Am in One Utama. Can have lunch or tea, if you are free.”

My third reply read: “If you busy, then never mind lah. Can meet when we are old.”

His reply: “Pls dont sulk. We catch a movie aft I finish work in Mid Valley, want? Can also make movie together, if you want :P”

I did not bother replying. Damn bloody pissed, I tell you. To invite Seven out for coffee felt like the most arduous task. Probably it was for the better, just not meeting. I walked for a bit and bought a lime green suede bag from Aldo. It felt instantly better. Who needs a therapist when you can just buy happiness on a shelf?

Obviously being the softie that I am (such a sucker, I tell you) I called him just as I drove from One Utama; the obligatory guilt inducing “I am tired and pissed at you for not coming” call.

Less than 15 minutes later, he hopped into my car.

“Why your car like this?” he asked.

He tried to pull the safety belt across his chest but the strap was not long enough. I laughed when he tried fiddling with the safety belt. “How? Cannot strap.” He kept saying, as he tried to pull the belt across his belly.

***
I remember the first day Seven walked into my life, quite literally. I was sitting in the middle section on the left side of the church aisle. Everyone was seated after the worship session. The pastor asked everyone to bow their heads to pray.

I lowered my head. Closed my eyes. Clasped my hands together. Just waiting for the pastor to begin the opening prayer. I heard the door open. I turned to the right, leaned myself forward, opened one eye and saw the most beautiful thing.

A young man walked in. He wore a white hooded Benetton t-shirt and a pair of black slacks. While all eyes were closed, hands clasped and the pastor saying a prayer, my eyes were glued on this alien being in the church. I cannot remember what the sermon was about or who the pastor was. All I can recall more than ten years ago is, he was beautiful.

***
We were sat opposite each other in Chilli’s, Mid Valley. He wore a white shirt with blue stripes. He had a faint moustache. His eyes were as beautiful as the first day I laid eyes on him. He had less hair, just as he mentioned whenever we talked on Yahoo Messenger. He even put on some weight. But in my eyes, he was beautiful.

“So what is this?” He asked.

Our conversations through the years often revolved around philosophizing even the most trivial of things. And last night while sitting in Chilli’s, Seven pointed at the promotion placed on the table. There was a picture of something that resembled a sunflower.

“Potato.” I replied. Gave a smirk, almost smelt victory.

“Nope, close. Try again.”

“Carrots? Beetroot? Turnips?” I tried.

“Nope, but close. Grows in the earth. Try.”

Four or five times later, I gave up.

“Give up.” I said.

“Come on, you can do it. Try, verrrrrrrrry close already.”

“Dunno ler.” I said.

“On-“ he said, trying to tempt me.

“Onion?” I asked.

“Yup, it’s a big Mexican onion. Cut it, then fry. Dig out the heart and you’ll get this.” He said, punctuated by a warm smile.

“By now, you owe me three kisses.” He added, a sly grin on his face.

“HA?”

“Ya, you guessed three times and didn’t guess it right. So you owe me three kisses.”

I changed topic, I think. I can’t remember now. It was likely that I laughed myself out of that topic. He asked me a rhetoric question: “Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to chit chat with your love every night on bed? Talk about beautiful things?”

I said that everyone wishes to be able to chit chat about their day with their loved ones. He corrected me, citing that he wanted someone to share his passion and his ministry among the disadvantaged residing in KL. He always had his heart for the poor and the desolate. This was especially true for his people, the Kadazans.

He always wanted to help others gain an education, the same way he was offered. Since the moment I met him, I knew that he had wanted to offer companionship and spiritual guidance to the young and needy. He wanted to be motivate young people of today, to plough in his time and energy to serve the people who needed him.

He had that sort of heart right from the start and I loved him for that and more.

“Won’t it be nice if I could talk to my wife and we share about our work among the poor? Kan kan kan?” He asked.

"Ikan..." I added quickly. This "Kan kan kan? Ikan." quote was something that we shared, a joke we created when we were very young, sitting on a church pew. Something that we shared when I attended ballet classes with my soft pink leather ballet slippers and he played on the church kapok guitar as a song leader in the Bahasa Melayu ministry.

I smiled meekly. He was talking about me. I knew he was talking about me. He knew that I knew that he was talking about me. We both knew it. What we both did not know is where that girl he was talking about has disappeared to. I think this is the main reason why we are no longer together. I am no longer that innocent dove and he was no longer my protector.

Life was no longer just a simple play of words, "Kan kan kan? Ikan."

Conversation with him was at times awkward.

“I love you very much. You know that. I came back, hoping to be with you again. But you were with him.”

“He loved me very much and he was there for me. You left me for the second time. All alone AGAIN, Seven. AGAIN!” I said.

“You know why I left. My sister needed me. She was pregnant, you know that. I came back and I hoped so much we can be together. And you broke my heart.” Seven said.

“And you broke mine.” I lowered my eyes.

Silence.

The same conversation. Again and again. We have had this conversation for years, with each new boyfriend I found and lost. He criticized far more than my father did. At the end of the day, the conclusion is the same. No one else would have been the perfect one.

Dear readers, the numeric number 7 is considered the perfect number in the Bible. Everything that had to do with perfection or completion is illustrated by a 7. For example, “On the 7th day, God rested.” The seventh day was the completion of God’s creation in the book of Genesis.

And in my world Seven was perfect.

***
“Who am I?” He asked. “Look at me in the eye and tell me who am I to you.”

Our eyes met. I was not fiddling with the coasters. I stopped biting on the straw. His eyes were light brown.

“You are someone whom I loved when we were both innocent.”

Those words shocked me. I did not see those words coming out. But they did. It must have shocked him too; at least a little. It had to be.

“Then let us go back to the way things were. Everything simple, everything innocent. Just you, just me.” Seven said.

“But I am no longer that person……… I am no longer innocent. You are no longer innocent.”

***
I was lost but now am found,
Was blind but now I see.

~ an excerpt from a famous church hymn "Amazing Grace"

Colorful Days and Even Brighter Nights

2005-10-05T01:52:00.000Z

Cam whoring.

This is the IT word at the moment. Everyone is camera whoring these days. It is no longer the preoccupation of tourists but the major occupation for many souls.

Let me ponder for a moment. Dare I say my father created camera whoring? Probably I dare say so. Being the first child, I have the privilege of being the “first” for my parents’ parenting skills - the first step, the first birthday cake, the first words, the first song (which is recorded and I have a copy of myself singing as a child of no more than three years), the first everything.

My father loved photography as much as he loved fishing. He took many photos of my mother fishing (combination of both loves) and by the time I was born, he took many photos documenting my development from baby to toddler to pre-teen to teen to young woman. The last time my father took a photo of me was approximately three weeks ago.

I am very thankful that both my parents doted on me so much because they gave me a pass that I cannot purchase with money. Photos of my parents and I in late 70s baby clothing (including one with a bikini that was sewn by my mother), photos of my childhood toys (including a blonde doll that could speak), photos of my preschool and my childhood friends etc.

So yeah – I can officially say my father created camera whoring.

It is one thing being a cam whore and you taking photos to immortalize yourself in time. It is another thing when others immortalize you.

Have you ever wondered what others see in you? I know I have.

***
“You are as drunk as a skunk!!” I said.

I propped him up against my car door. He could hardly stand up. It was the first night of our meeting and yet, he uttered: “I have been waiting to see you.”

He had thick glasses and shoulder length hair. Under the pale moonlight, he wore what appeared to be a white linen shirt and dark pair of jeans on the first evening we shook hands.

I’ve turned gate climbing into an art form, having climbed over my house gate every so often in my tumbling high heels. That night, I climbed over the gate, after him. He emptied both his pockets and handed me his set of keys. I slid the glass door open, revealing a neat living space, filled with colorful art work leaned against every available wall surface. I held him tightly under the arm, the way only a trained nurse knew how, placed him in bed, where he fell into a heap of sheer slurring drunkenness.

I was looking through his art work when he got up and placed his finger on my lips. It must have been close to 0400 hours and by then, all he could say was repeated, “Shhhh… Shhhh….”

He took a few pieces of paper, some crayons and a sip of water out of a very old mug. He crossed his legs, in an effort to stabilize himself and keep still long enough to turn lines and circles into something symbolic.

“That’s you.”

***
Dear readers, this might sound weird but alcohol (and specifically the consumption of alcohol in sinful amounts) was the platform that launched a few of my friendships. My friendship with Aidan was layered thick with drinking huge amount of vodka, reading and painting. At least 50% of our conversations were had when he either drank vodka or smoked weed so much that the whole world became an object of beauty. Vodka not only calmed his soul, it flowed in strokes of colors of crimson red and hazy purple.

He was stuck in a rut. He yearned to spend his waking hours drawing and painting. Aidan was beautiful when the moon shone and he painted. His later ego, a serious bespectacled accountant will rise from his soul at sunrise each day. This was his daily metamorphosis.

***

That first night, he drew three portraits. In the first, my eyes were disproportionately larger than the rest of my facial features that were circled with dark kohl. The second was playing on shadows and light, using only a deep green crayon stick. The last was my favorite, which featured me with my eyes closed and my right hand raised.

His initial paintings and subsequent paintings immortalized both of us eternally in time.

***
Dear readers, my take at this cam whoring thing is this: Do it as much as you wish. You have only one life and you are young only but for once. So cam whore all you want, so when you are old and gray, when your grandson says "Ah Mah, you so lauyah, so old already, no cool like me." you can proudly tell him, "Your Ah Mah has seen colorful days and even brighter nights."

Probably you'll be just like me, stashing up all the photos in a small folder somewhere on your laptop, under the name "Personal Photos" or something.

***
I showed Seven the photo above. He said it was illegal to take such suggestive photos. Oh I love giving him the scare and watching him sweat..... hehehehe...

Tags Story Dancing Dance Clubbing Club Blog Man Woman Sex Relationship Love Lust Secret Life Kissing Kiss

Take 'Em Off

2005-10-03T00:44:00.000Z

There is this song that is being played to death on my iTunes list at the moment. It’s Craig David’s “Take ‘em Off”. Bloody hell, can get nose bleed imagining things this head of mine as the song plays.

Girl them jeans that you're wearing
(Just Take Em Off)
And that shirt that you came in
(Just Take It Off)
Don't be mad if I'm starin
(Just Take It Off Baby)
(Take Em Off)
Tear those sheets off the bed
Cuz we're bout to go ahead
(And Take Em Off)
Girl them heals look so right so just leave ‘em on
Ain't no clothes allowed here
So baby girl just Take ‘em off…

***
Dear little boys who are probably gonna grow up to be hamsap men - I officially name this song as THE let-me-try-my-luck-take-her-knickers-off song when you innocently invite a girl to your room "to check out your LOTR/iPod/Lego collection". Just give it a listen. Man, the power of suggestion....

Dear little girls who probably read too many fairytales - Let Aunty Otto tell you now. Be vigilant when boys invite you over to their place to chill/relax/enjoy whatever. There is nothing so innocent about inviting you over for tea/coffee/lollypop etc.

Esp if there are songs featuring words such as "take 'em off" being looped to death on his iTunes list.

And even more so if it's Craig David's singing to you. My suggestion is to run as fast as your two little feet can.

***
Am thinking of Alexander-Craig David at the moment. Mmmmm, always think of this gorgeous friend of mine, Alexander when Craig David is playing. DAMN!

He is so gorgeous, I will be forgiven if I licked him like a sweet lollypop.

Tags Story Dancing Dance Clubbing Club Blog Man Woman Sex Relationship Love Lust Secret Life Kissing Kiss

Girlie Badge on My Sleeve

2005-09-28T13:40:00.000Z

I’ve decided to turn this page into a blog for the moment. I’m a little too busy to be able to concentrate on writing the stories, so I’ll stick to writing about my life.

While putting on a fashion parade on Wednesday evening (as preparation for my interview) I walked around the living room in a pair of Aldo. I have been digging the ‘grandma’ look for quite sometime and have funny outfits straight out from 60s grandma closet. And this pair of leather shoes with funny diamantes was part of that collection.

Now this pair of shoes became a rife between my mother and I. Yes, after 25 days on Malaysian soil and life at peace with her for the pass 25 days, this pair of shoes caused a commotion at the home front. No matter how I answer her questions, it is sure die situation.

I must now add a little story about my mother. She’s a pragmatic lady, one who is strong in character and weak in spirit, all at once. She is the modern day woman; one who strives for independence from men domineering her life and yet craves for the attention of my father, all roll into one. I think she’s at best, an unhappy feminist.

She is our modern woman. She works hard and she earns her keep. Like our modern day women, she sacrifices her wants and saves for her children. Now her three children (my brothers and I) are grown, all went for private education and we are talking about a pair of government teachers saving and sending their kids for private college education. I greatly appreciate her sacrifices and now wished that she would relax a little and enjoy a little.

“No need to save so much already. All your kids are grown.
You must learn to enjoy life, mum.”
I always tell her.

She complains that no man spends on her. She does this as she eyes up my father. To tell you the truth, my father spends on her. The whole family does. The thing I wished my mother would learn is, to accept these acts of kindness with a gracious heart.

Dear readers: In our haste for equality with men, our modern woman forgot what it is to be a woman - to be loved, cherished, pampered.

When men treat us, women well, be a fair lady, smile and say, “thank you”. Learn to accept little gifts of love with grace. Learn to love ourselves and to allow men to pamper us once in a while.

When a man holds the door, say “thank you”. Don’t stare at the poor chap with your “You think I what? Handicapped ah? Can’t open my own door ah?” cold stare. Instead, smile and say “thank you”.

When a man says that you are pretty, just say “how sweet of you. You've made my day” and smile. Trust me, many men will die to hear those words from a woman’s lips.

***
So when my love bought the now guilty pair of shoes for 45 quid, I smiled and said, “thank you’. I told my mother this.

My mother gave a traditional reply: “Wah you use his money. Then how to get initial capital for own business? Spend so much, how to be rich?”

We want equal footing with men. Equal footing does not mean we women playing the role of Superwoman. I believe we can have equal footing with men while wearing our feminine badge with great pride. For me, it's a nice pair of shoes.

I personally do not believe in feminism. I believe that modern day women need to know her place in society. How we must work for ourselves, study hard, work hard, contribute something to our Malaysian society and the community as a whole.

Why wear a Superwoman cape when you can slip into the most comfortable and sexy heels?? Vote me as a politician and I promise you that my chief propaganda is to encourage all girls out there to wear our girlie badge with pride! Embrace our feminine side. Allow a man to love us and give him a chance to protect us. When he does something kind, smile and show some appreciation.

***
And I wished my mother would say that once in a while - just a whisper of “thank you”. Well I bought us three (Father, Mother and I) a short holiday to Chiang Mai in the month of October. I hope she’ll take off her Superwoman cape and just kick back, relax and let everyone around love her.

Because we do.

Window To My Soul

2005-09-22T07:20:00.001Z

I finally told my love about this site. No, I did not tell him the actual URL, so I can breathe a little. I mentioned that I am using this blog as a practice site, to encourage myself to write more frequently, which I hope leads me to writing an actual book worth mentioning. I told him of the various blogs that I have been reading since July this year while in London, which includes my personal opinion on the various blogs.

While we were on the topic of attaching personal photos, he quizzed me about placing some of my own photos. "A photo is worth a thousand words." My love said. "You might find faithful readership, if you put some photos of yourself."

What I want is to build literary credibility. I want to write something that people can relate to; something that everyone says, "Wow, how true." I want my readers to laugh and cry with me as I spin my tales. I want you to be able to emphatise with the characters. I want you, my dear readers to pin for Otto, wish that you could hug her and feel her.

***
I have been reflecting a lot lately. More than the usual and definitely much more than I am comfortable with. I feel that I have lost my nudeness and thus become naked. I can’t write objectively about Indie, Seven, Adidas Boy, David and the lot because I am stuck on Adidas Boy. It’s the Adidas Boy side effect.

As such, I've decided to stop writing for a while. Stop ping-ing until I can clear this thing up and come up with some good piece of writing that is worthy of your time. All this might be compounded by the fact that I am extremely busy with work etc etc (don't mind me, these are mere excuses that I can pluck from my “I can’t think straight” tree).

My humble opinion? Don’t bloody bother reading my last two postings. Even I am not going to waste my time reading them.

Much love,
Nude, Not Naked

***
The only photo I will put in here is a close-up of my eyes. It is a precautionary measure - I will have some proof that this site and its contents belong to me, when Nude, Not Naked gets hijacked. Hahahaha - bloody thick skin.

People say the eyes are the windows to one’s soul. What do you see in mine?

The Night We Were Kings

2005-09-21T12:09:00.000Z

Eve placed a drinking mat on the edge of our table. Tapped it hard. She caught it as it flipped into the air. Eve smiled.

“I am bored.” Eve said.

I shook my shoulders. I looked around. It was an unusually quiet Friday night. Most of our friends were away for the weekend, for some sort of rave somewhere. Damn them for deserting us poor ticketless souls in KL.

“Let’s play King.” Eve suggested. Everyone at the table nodded in agreement. That would certainly pass the time fast quickly.

“No….” I said. I had my reservations. “You know what happened last time I played King.” I looked at Eve in the eye.

***
"It's easy. Whoever gets the KING gets to decide what the forfeit is."

A toast and a gulp later, the game started. There were six of us playing and Eve dealt the cards: Ace, Two, Three, Four, Five and King.

Dear readers: Take note that this game breaks boundaries set by our conventional society. Note also that it could only be played after one had a good number of drinks. I was quite sure I had about 4 vodka limes before the game started.

"Okay... I want Number One and Three to lick each other's tongue for 10 seconds..."

I held the Ace card and promptly got up. Indie had the Three card, so he stood up. How uncomfortable, I thought as I drew closer to him. I could smell his breathe under mine. Definitely beer. Our tongues slithered along each other for ten seconds as the three boys looked on intently.

Everyone at the table clapped. A rousing toast, a sip and cards were dealt. The "King" rubbed his hands gleefully at the evil thought of punishing the rest of us.

"Alright! Four planting kisses along Three's neck."

Eve had Four while another guy had Three. Following the instructions given, Eve planted kisses along the guy’s neck. Teasingly. Seductively. She was sure he developed a hard-on by the time she reached the base of his neck.

I had another sip of vodka lime. The cards were dealt again.

"Two kissing One's breast or chest!"

Everyone cheered at the table.

“I am One.” I said, then standing up. I adjusted my pink lace blouse slightly. Indie stood up and planted a small kiss on my left shoulder. The crowd booed. He chuckled.

“Eh that’s Otto, ok?” He said. “How to kiss such an ugly girl?”

“Good thing he didn’t kiss me anymore than that. I might turn more ugly.” I quipped.

Someone stood on the chair and raised his Heineken. Soon the boys stood on their chairs, giving a cheer that would put all Manchester United and Liverpool fans to shame.

Clink! Went the beer bottles and my vodka lime. The cards were dealt. Delighted, I held my first King.

“I want Four rub seductively against Two.” I said, rubbing my hands gleeful at my request.

Two guys stood up. The girls laughed. They refused to follow the request. The girls would not have it.

“You do, we do. You do, we do.” Eve said, batting her eyelids.

“Yeah, you get to see us girls kissing later.” I said, tempting them with a hope that they will be able to witness the fantasy of many men: Girls pleasuring themselves.

Mr. Four looked stressed and frustrated. We girls flashed innocent smiles. Hands akimbo, Mr. Four rubbed himself against his best mate. His face grimaced in protest. His friend closed his eyes, unable to bear the thought that another man was rubbing against his thighs.

4 sips of vodka lime, a new drink and card dealt.

"Five has to go the console and ask for a kiss from the DJ! Kissing passionately."

Slowly. Slowly. I looked into his eyes and smiled. Slowly I slid my tongue into his. Slowly he moved his against mine. We stood there for minutes. With music blasting through the speakers, all I felt was silence. His lips were so soft.

***
Unexpected. That is the only word that I can use to describe the first kiss. Unexpected. So soft, those lips of his. His gentle lips caressed against mine.

Kissing Adidas Boy felt so good, that it was almost painful. On more than one occasion under the stars on our drives around the city, tears would roll down my cheeks or his as our tongues met. And I do not know why.

The Donkey Years

2005-09-20T02:12:00.000Z

My father woke me up this morning with a 0700 hours phone call.

“Want to have breakfast?” My father asked. “If you want breakfast, I can wait for you at the usual.”

This morning, like all mornings, he went for a walk. Sometimes he fishes with his friends. He talks about fishing with so much passion that one does not realize that he has not caught a truly huge fish. Catching smaller fishes was of no consequence to him. My father just loves fishing.

I got up and got dressed. Drove ten minutes to the usual breakfast hangout. Father was dressed in his morning walk attire – a pair of knee length trousers, walking shoes and a t-shirt my brother bought from Manila. He wakes up very early each morning. He said it was an age thing, making him sleep less and waking him up when the roosters were still asleep.

“Father.” I said. “I finally wrote the book.”

"Well done. Now tell me what it is about?" He replied.

He sipped on his ice coffee as I began telling him the story of how “Nude, Not Naked” was birthed. I share a cordial relationship with my father. This began in my childhood when our family ate all our meals together. Us three children would be encouraged to talk about our school life and friendships.

When I was away to study in London, I missed having family meals the most. No amount of good food (when you are a teenager, good food means fatty and oily fast food) did the trick. I remember crying quietly eating a few meals on my own during the first week living in the city where the Big Ben struck. Eventually my parents arranged for me to have my meals with a family friend and soon I was no longer homesick in the company of a family during mealtimes.

“Do you know why I chose the name Nude, Not Naked?” I asked him. “It is because the book is an objective observation of a girl's relationships with the men who have shaped her. There is no romance, no mushy puppy yucky stuff, just a honest story."

My father raised his eyebrow. In his youth, my father was a handsome man. For many of my primary school years, my father brought me to a hairdresser to have my hair trimmed. For that many years, I was made to listen to “There her father is here again. So handsome that man, don’t you think?” whispered by the chief hairdresser to her workmates. They conversed in Hakka (a southern Chinese dialect, commonly heard in Chinese medical halls and cloth shops) believing that I did not comprehend. I did.

“Girl, when are you going to get married?” He asked.

“One does not need to marry these days.”

He frowned. He has been bringing my two Persians out for drives in the evenings when most of his friends were in cars with their young grandchildren.

“Seriously father. I am very happy and there are so many things to do these days without even thinking of marriage. Eventually I would love to marry but I do not think that marriage is the be all and end all.”

I took this opportunity to explain to my father. Probably I hoped he would cut me some slack. We had a discussion. How relationships these days were not governed by whether one was married or not. This is significantly true especially in Europe. Marriage did not make a relationship any better than an exclusive couple. And most relationships, whether civil registered or otherwise, are given equal legal rights.

I think God will smite me for saying this but I think that there are far more happy exclusive unmarried couples than the smug married.

***
“She what?” I asked.

“Her boyfriend said that you made the group feel odd. They want to hang out with the married couples now that they are married.” Eve said.

Bloody smug marrieds, I thought to myself.

We were schoolmates - the smug marrieds, Eve and I. Like all late teens, we explored the world in each other’s presence. We studied in the same college for our A levels before venturing into different fields. I did a nursing course while the smugs concentrated on more viable professions. Though the smug marrieds were an item since we were fifteen, Mrs. Smug Married refused Mr. Smug’s marriage proposals.

Yup, you read it right, my dear readers. Three marriage proposals with three diamond rings that only grew bigger with each proposal.

By the third proposal, I had a small chat with the girl formerly known as my single girlfriend. I reasoned with Mrs. Smug that it was getting ridiculous how she collected the rings but wiggled herself out of the deal. I told her that she has to make up her mind eventually; be it to marry Mr. Smug or to ditch him in favor of a new lover.

Mrs. Smug whispered in my ears. I am unsure if she shared this with anyone else but this is what she said: “I am afraid of marrying him. There is no more excitement in the relationship. Maybe it is because we have been together for donkey years.”

Dear readers: I do not think the description “donkey years” is ever used as a compliment. I might be wrong but I will never settle down for something I describe as the donkey years.”

But they did settle down. Eventually. She rushed him into the Carat Club when she realized he was having friendly lunches with a particular girl from his office. Good job at it since the donkey did all the relationship ploughing. Somebody - if not Mr. and Mrs. Smug themselves - should be rewarded for working hard at the relationship. They recently celebrated their 2nd wedding anniversary. An oppulent party without the unmarrieds like myself, of course.

And now they planned to take it a step further. They no longer wish to invite me whenever they were hosting dinner parties with similarly smug marrieds just because I do not share the common believe of staying in a relationship that was described as the donkey years.

Damn the smug marrieds.

Actually my dear readers, it could be worst. They could invite me for dinners where every couple talks in unison, a land where everything is a “we”: We did this. We think that. We bought this. We liked that.

A dinner where they will gang up on me, asking “So when is it your turn? Otto, it is great time to get married and settle down. Get married before you miss the boat.”

Damn smug marrieds have a knack for doing the marriage sales pitch more ruthless than the average parking warden fulfilling his quota for the day.

And why should these smug marrieds be asking me that, I wonder. They should have known by now that my relationship is not in the “donkey years” category just yet.

3 Times A Week

2005-09-19T15:03:00.000Z

Part One: Dim Sum At 6 a.m.

Part Two: Faithless Love.

Part Three: 3 Times A Week.

Indie sat across the table, both of us chatting merrily while we waited for our breakfast to arrive. It was Sunday morning, the perfect time for a girl to discuss all the juicy details from the night before. Who better to discuss this with than your best guy pal?!

“You what?” Indie asked.

“He fell asleep and I walked out of the room.” I explained.

“You are never going to alone upstairs with him ever again. You understand?” Indie said. He sounded unusually stern and serious.

Indeed it was an unusual incident and it was truly very serious. Serious like Indie’s face this morning during breakfast. His eyes were smaller than usual. He looked tired.

"What's the matter?" I asked him. His face grimaced.

"You know lah... I am a vegetarian." He replied.

In a way, Indie replaced Eve after she started going to another city for the weekends with Arif. He was different from Eve but he was a great joy to have around. He was tall and handsome, with a nice body. He had a childlike smile that melted more than a fair share of women. I vow by that because I was there when all the ladies eyed on him.

We frequented similar places during weekends. This particular weekend however, we decided to split up. He was at a reggae bar with some reggae boys and a guitar. It was a laidback bar, frequented only by those who knew of the place. One would only be there by invitation. I loved the mellowing factor but did not seem to fit into the whole atmosphere.

You see, my dear readers, the place is filled with a smell that raises an eyebrow or two, if you know what I mean. As curious as I am, I never was curious about smoking – cigarettes or weed for that matter. Call me geeky or whatever, I have never tried either, not even a puff.

That soulful place was not for me. I cannot name the place or even conjure a new name for that place due to the fact that it should remain unknown to those who do not know of the bar (for you know what reasons).

“Damn it.” He laughed. “How insulting.”

“Huh?” I was stumped.

“How insulting. He fell asleep when both of you were alone in the hotel room when he could have fucked you silly.” Indie said.

“Yes, he did.” I said, then taking a deep breath.

“David’s really weird. Just don’t get that guy.” Indie said.

***
”Why?” he asked.

I groped in the dark, my right hand searching for the button to switch on the bedside lamp. Short hand at four, long hand at five. It was 4:25 in the morning and David was on the other side of the phone line. I gently rubbed my eyes. Damn these 5:00 a.m. calls, I thought.

“People always asked who you were whenever you visit me in Lola. They asked if you had a boyfriend. Blah-blah-blah.”

Hiccup.

“Why? Why did you have dinner with another guy tonight?”

“David, it’s late. Can we talk about this later?” I asked.

“No, we can’t. We talk about this now. You know, Otto." Hiccup. "You know it.” He ranted on. “You know I have been waiting all this time. Why?”

Click.

Before I could say anything in my defense, the phone went dead. Many said men are brave when they are drunk. I was not certain if that was a brave act or an act while one was drunk.

It was the most revealing conversation I have had with David. All our conversations prior to this were of general topics. We never intruded into each other’s private lives.

Truth be told, the man I had dinner with earlier in the evening was Seven. He was in town to attend a seminar. He skipped dinner with his workmates and had dinner with me instead. It was quite some time since we last met. Probably more than 3 years. We spoke often using the MSN, always planned to meet up, always coloured the calendar for a date to meet up and always cancelled at the last minute.

I do not understand David. He did not call me that night after he hung up. He did not call me for a few days. Our next meeting happened in The Datai, where a big group of his friends were occupying a third of the whole bar. He had the social power where he could text to the numbers listed in his mobile and scores of people would turn up minutes later for a party he organized impromptu. He walked in after 2 a.m. when Lola was closed for the night. In his arms was a girl, beautifully dressed in a dinner gown. She had a slim figure and I wished I had dimples as endearing as hers.

David, as you know by now, had many friends. However he was hardly ever alone with any one person. I have known him for almost two years at this point and I have never seen him being intimate with any girl. Ever. But there he was, hugging her. Kissing her passionately. He caressed her gently. They were both giggling. They were obviously drunk.

I tried to look away but I was curious. I glanced swiftly across the bar every few minutes. My eyes bore witness as they grew physically intimate. The scene might have upset a girl or two but I was not. I was never and still do not have any emotional ties to David, so it was intriguing watching him do tricks with his tongue.

I turned my attention back to my table of friends, with Indie by my side. We were playing “King” when suddenly I heard a familiar revving of a car engine.

He was walking to his car, the girl clinging to him. They were laughing, oblivious to everything around them.

“I don’t understand that guy. Seriously.” Indie said.

“Neither do I.”

***
It was nearly a month before David invited me and a bunch of friends for drinks in Lola. We never spoke of the night when he called me while drunk or the night when he went home with another girl.

To be honest, there is nothing to speak about. He is single and he rightfully has the right to have the pleasure of anyone’s company. The incidences never bugged me. The same way it does not bug me who Indie or Adidas Boy went out with or had sex with.

As far as I was and am concerned, they are all healthy men and like all healthy men, they need their share of weekly shagging. Doctors now consider 3 times a week as the norm. I have discussed this with many girlfriends but they do not seem to understand.

I am very practical in this sense. If you are not offering the guy a shag, then back off and let the man go have his fun. I think this is why I can be really good friends with Indie and Adidas Boy. I knew when to give they space. If ever I call, I call them once. If they do not pick the call, I leave them alone. I never ask them more than they are willing to tell me.

And David is still not telling me anything.

Faithless Love

2005-09-19T08:37:00.000Z

Part One: Dim Sum At 6 a.m.

Part Two: Faithless Love.

Part Three: 3 Times A Week.

I brushed my teeth and changed into a black Victoria Secret teddy. It was a gift from my Swedish love four years ago when he was away for a business visit in Chicago.The phone rang.

"It's taking a long time before everything is out. Will you come down to keep me company?" He asked.

My delicious dawn dim sum breakfast with David was cut short when he received a phone call to return to Lola. I offered to keep him company but he had earlier asked me to go home while he worked. I am not sure what made him change his mind. What was worst is I am now not even sure what made me agree to change from my teddy, drive fifteen minutes to Lola at 8:00 a.m. after a full blown drinking session the night before.

My logic at that time was it was something that I had never done in my life and I wanted to experience as much as I could before being tied down by a wedding band.

"Let's go to the guesthouse." Those were the words he said as he led me through the pub, out through the side door and up a narrow stairs four doors away. It was a guesthouse of some sort. It offered a special package where one could check in at midnight and check out by midday. Many of Lola’s patrons frequented it whenever they were too drunk to drive home. Or so they say.

I recalled what my father told me years and years ago: "Guesthouses are very dirty and dangerous. Girls should never go in alone, without any company."

Now I have traveled a little and from the little that I did, I know that not all guesthouses are dirty. Or dangerous, for that matter. However even my adventurous heart was wary of going to a guesthouse with any man.

Wearily I walked up, three steps behind him. David opened a room door and closed it after I walked in. He took off his shoes and washed his face. He was grumbling about his job as the owner: I had not slept in two days, just organizing the damn DJ stint.

The damn DJ stint he organized last evening must have afforded him another monthly installment on his car. He jumped into a single bed and asked me to lie on the other. I did not really know what to do at that time. All I thought was “Die lah, die lah this time.”

Dear readers: Please realize that one should not possess an adventurous spirit such as mine. I get myself into far too many awkward situations than I am comfortable with. Sometimes I wonder if I am like a cat, having nine lives.

"Why do you always look so sad?" he asked. "You shouldn't think so much about life, you know. You will think yourself silly..."

I tried to etch a smile.

He closed his eyes. It gave me a good excuse to leave, so I tried to excuse myself. He declined, citing that he was resting his eyes. He slept within minutes. I tip toed out of the room. I felt bloody embarrassed walking out of the guesthouse.

Never ever again. Bloody embarrassing, not to mention reckless, I thought to myself.

***
Hours later I rang Eve and we had an early lunch at a Japanese restaurant. Without nothing much to do after the meal, we took a slow ten minutes walk.

Eve and I were childhood friends since we were forced to sit next to each other at the age of 14. I had a small box in my vanity table, where I kept all the silly notes passed between Eve and I as we grew up. Silly notes of undying love for Jonathan, whom I was sure was looking in my direction during tuition. More scraps of paper where Eve confessed to kissing her neighbour, a boy in college. A short collection of scribbles and sketches we drew of each other to pass the hours away during Accounts and Science classes.

The walk took us happy pair along a new block of shops, where a small foot reflexology centre recently opened. Eve smiled wickedly. She nudged my arm and walked into the shop. Soon both of us were seated next to each other and two ladies in cream linen uniforms began kneading our feet. I cooed, appreciating the sensation on my feet. Being a very tactile person, I always had a thing for foot massages.

We popped into Lola to check David out. I felt rotten (but relieved) for walking out of the room without informing him. In a moment of being more socially intelligent (I had many moments when I felt really stupid) I popped into Lola to see if David was up and in the pub. He was not. His chief of staff was though, so I asked him if David was up and about.

“I think he's still asleep.” The chieft of staff said.

“Anyone with him?” I enquired.

“I think there is this Salem girl with him upstairs. I can see her car in the parking bay.”

I nodded and smiled. Walked out of Lola and back into the company of my best friend, Eve. I felt a great sense of achievement for avoiding a rather difficult situation. I twitched my nose as I imagined the door opened by a beautiful china doll wrapped only by a tiny hotel towel.

He called about 6 hours later, apologizing for falling asleep. We never spoke of that night ever again.

Dim Sum at 6 a.m.

2005-09-18T08:42:00.000Z

Part One: Dim Sum At 6 a.m.

Part Two: Faithless Love.

Part Three: 3 Times A Week.

Music was booming through the twelve speakers in Lola. It was fifteen minutes to closing time when I was sitting at the bar with some friends. A young girl, barely eighteen walked passed the bar. She was lost in a drunker stupor and was carried out by her group of friends. Girls are getting younger and younger, I thought to myself. Bloody hell, I am getting older by the minute.

I laughed, amused by how time has changed everything and everyone. Friends who were with me last year were no longer with me. Eve has since moved to another smaller town on the weekends, keeping Arif company. Some others were settling into marital comfort, thus taking them out of the circuit.

“Do you like lamb shanks?” David asked. “I know of a beautiful restaurant that served delicious lamb shanks.”

”I love lamb shanks.” I replied.

“Great, it’s all settled. I will pick you up at six in the evening.”

“I will meet you at the restaurant.” I said.

I am not in the habit of having men drive me around the city. I enjoy my independence and love the security that came along with the mobility. I could drive myself away from boring dinners and disastrous events. Dinners with David however were far from being disastrous. Conversations were difficult in Lola when music was loud and the place packed.

David possessed a social life that rivaled that of a politician during the election period. He always had many friends and he often complained that he much prefer a quiet night in a place where no one knew him. Which leads me to the fact that I enjoyed a quiet dinner with him too.

With a social life like his, my dear readers, you can imagine that we were hardly ever alone. All conversations were for the public to know. Bar tenders were always around the bar, eaves dropping on every little detail. Patrons came and went, greeting him as they walked pass.

***
After a whole night of drinking and pretend drinking fest in The Datai and LOLA, I walked towards my car at half pass five. The air felt fresh and cold against my skin.

Damn my backless blouse, I thought to myself.

A car flashed its lights and zoomed past at what felt like 120 km/hr on a tiny single carriage street. I smiled.

I stuck my head into my car, through the window, in search of my mobile phone.

"I am hungry. Want to have some dim sum?" I asked. His car just cornered to the right, at the end of the block.

"Alright, I will meet you at the shop down the corner."

Click.

5 minutes drive later I was sitting comfortably in a knitted pink sweater. Hot tea was poured into three tiny teacups of blue and white. The traditional dim sum breakfast with hot green tea felt magnificent against the bluish 6 a.m. morning.

"You enjoyed the night?" I asked. I rubbed my upper arms in an effort to warm myself up.

"Drink more tea. You'll feel better." He poured more hot tea into my tiny teacup. I smiled and thanked him.

What a drastic difference from David, the man who owns the hottest bar in KL.

David. He slapped a DJ once for trespassing into his club with the intention of knicking his DJ. He slapped another who dared to collect parking money from his club's parking bay. Once I saw him dragged two drunks, locked fist in fist, out onto the street and gave them a good-bye kick.

The David that I know was now pouring hot tea into my teacup. He sat to my right, his hands on the table. A small bag, the size of a shoe box was next to his right arm. He always carried that familiar blue bag whenever he closed the bar down for the night.

He asked me about my life and what I did during the day.

"You know I was a nurse." I replied, then etching a smile.

The conversation then moved on to his family life - his little 15 year old sister in particular. Most men I know have a sister protection mechanism going on. He reflected on the reasons why he broke up with his girlfriend five months earlier. He entertained me with little gossips around my mysterious appearances in Lola. He made me giggle with riveting stories of countless speculations of who I was and where I was from.

“What would you like?” He asked me. The lady was at our trolley with fresh dim sum.

“I will have anything that you do with prawns and crabs being the exception.” I replied. “I am allergic.”

Another three sips of tea and probably five pieces of dim sum later, his mobile rang.

"Now? Seriously, you must be joking..." He sighed deeply. "I have to go now. I am sorry. The bar needs opening for the schmucks to take the speakers out... those boys should have done it last night." He explained the reason for his early leave.

"Want me to come along?" I asked.

"No, just go home and sleep."

Let Love Die

2005-09-17T08:34:00.000Z

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee… It has been an interesting Saturday night. I had some vodka concoctions in Lola and now I am tripping happily, writing this to you at half pass 5 a.m.

***
I spent the first half of my Saturday night with David. We spoke on the phone in the afternoon and I checked into Lola at midnight sharp.

He gave me a warm hug and we chatted for a bit. David looks the same, tall, slim with mid shoulder length hair. We hugged for a second before he led me to his table. Was introduced to his friends but clearly tonight there was not girls at his table, other than myself.

I started the evening teasing him about his lack of female companion. He is choosy, I am telling you. There are lots of girls eyeing him every night in Lola but he seems oblivious to them. It was only a matter of time before he teased me.

“You are so popular, sure got lots of men want to go out with you.” David said.

“Do you see anyone lining up?” I said with my right index finger pointing everywhere, proving there are no men out there for me.

He raised his hand. I laughed and dismissed him with “Yeah right… you… got so many girls around you all the time... where got time for me?”

Truth be told, I do not understand what sort of friendship I have with David. He is a great company and I have had many fun nights with him and his group of friends. His staff refuses to charge me for my drinks. They said the boss gave strict instructions that I drank on his compliments.

“You notice the smell?” he asked me.

“Ah you are finally using the perfume I got you for Christmas.” I said with a smile. I felt pleased that he finally used the bottle of perfume I got from The Bodyshop. Oh that smell reminds me of Seven and Adidas Boy.

“Wahhh you didn’t give me anything in return…” I teased him. Maybe I was fishing him for an answer, I don’t know. I was not concerned for anything he could buy me. I teased him for a reaction, a sign of what our friendship was and is.

“I did give you something.” He said. “You know exactly what I gave you.” There was a moment of silence between us, with all the lights beaming in Lola. His eyes looking straight into mine. He then looked away.

At his insistence, he drove me to my car which was parked a block away from Lola. He gave me a peck on my right cheek as we said our good bye-s for the night. I alighted his car and into mine.

I reached The Palazo at half pass 3 a.m. I was led away from the queue, straight through the VIP section. That was a moment of my weakness: I HAD to see Adidas Boy.

Quietly I stood at a corner and saw him. He was laughing and cracking jokes with his usual group of friends. I smiled and proceeded to walk towards him. I stopped midway when I saw his girlfriend walking towards him from the ladies.

I walked out.

Adidas Boy looked really good. There was something magical whenever he smiled. From a short blonde crop, he now sports an Afro, which was a good change of image. While sitting in my car talking to Indie, I saw him walking out of the club. He was leading his girlfriend to the car. They were both laughing and looked absolutley happy together, like how all couples should be on weekends. Another couple walked behind them and all four them seemed to be enjoying themselves.

I drove away, far away from The Palazo, far away from Adidas Boy and even further away from his girlfriend.

There used to be a time when Adidas Boy went home with me. They belong together, I said to myself. It is time to let love die.

***
"Turn to the left." He said.

“What’s on the left?” I asked, looking towards the left, seeking for an answer.

Hotel Sea Coast.

I hit him with my left hand. Adidas Boy laughed.

“Oh come on, you must admit it was the good old times when I asked you for a one nighter.” He said, then lighting a cigarette. He lowered the window and tipped ashes out of my car.

“Very funny. If ever there is a one nighter, we are not going to the Sea Coast.” I replied.

That was how it was in the first few months of being friends with Adidas Boy. When The Palazo closed for the night, he climbed and rode his Scrambler to his girlfriend’s house. He would pet her to sleep, then excused himself. Meanwhile I had supper with Eve, waiting for the call: the “Come on over” call from Adidas Boy.

We drove around the city, seeking for the brightest lights. We chatted a lot about thought provoking topics ranging from abortions to euthanasia. Every so often, he said “turn left” or “turn right” which was a tease from our first meeting in The Palazo. As months passed and we got to know each other better, he stopped teasing me. In its place, we shared lots of secrets.

“What’s your darkest secret?” I asked him during one of our early morning drives. I remember clearly driving on a flyover when I asked that question. The sky in a bluish tint, the sun was about to break dawn.

He looked into my eye, a regrettable smile across his face. He told me a secret that I cannot write down. His secrets are buried along with the day. His face looked paler than usual under that bluish morning sky. Roosting birds were awoken, taking to flight towards the day. Yet here a man was, humbled and remorseful of a day that he will never forget.

I promise You, God. He felt bad about it. He did not mean for it to happen and he is sorry. I often talked to God about Adidas Boy’s darkest secret.

That was the saddest conversation we had. Neither of us talked about it since. We have much happier moments, indeed everything about Adidas Boy was pleasant, with the darkest secret being the only exception.

Our lives were so different, it was literally like night and day. We spent countless hours teaching each other different things.

“Come home with me.” He said one day. It was that simple. Just one simple line and I found myself at his house during weekends.

***
Dear readers: I wondered if Adidas Boy tried to call me. I don't know if he did. I changed my phone number so that he could not call me anymore. So why do I feel a tinge of regret that I am not driving the city, looking for the brightest lights tonight?

Pheromones In Fifth Gear

2005-09-16T09:47:00.000Z

Logic dictates that Seven and Adidas Boy to share at least one common trait. There HAD to be something, if anything that remotely linked these two different personalities.

***
Seven and I were lying in bed, watching TV during one of the weekends. We undressed and laid in bed naked. The only thing we wore was a necklace each. I snuggled closer to him and smelled his neck. It was surprisingly good. I could smell it on every part of his body. The back of his neck. His arms. I gently glided my nose, tasting his chest, moving slowly downwards. The smell was present very close to his skin and was particularly strong near his neck/ears area.

From that moment of discovery, I loved smelling Seven and took deep breaths of him whenever I could. Seven found it amusing that I really liked his sweaty smell. I did and I did not know why.

A similar thing happened one day when I was out for a 5 a.m. drive with Adidas Boy. He had finished work and we drove to his home, where he got changed. I was rolling on his bed while he changed into some clean clothes. After the long drive, we parked the car at the front of his gate.

We chatted about the usual things. Just before he left, I said I wanted to make sure he thinks about me for the rest of the day.

I lifted my right leg towards him. I ran my right toes gently, barely touching him. From his left knee, slowly upwards towards his crotch and then down his right leg. His trembled, his eyes wide opened. I smiled, leaned over and gave him a hug.

“Good bye, baby.” I said.

Wait a minute. Something smells. Quite literally, smelled. It is familiar, where have I smelled this before?

“Adidas Boy, are you using some kind of perfume?” I asked.

“No, you know I am not a big fan of perfume.” He replied.

How odd. Adidas Boy smelled exactly how Seven smelled whenever I drew close enough, when my nose touched their necks.

“Don’t move! Let me smell.” I said.

Adidas Boy was aroused. His ears and his back were his sensitive points and there I, smelling him to my heart’s content. He sat still in the car as I explored him further. I kissed his neck. He lifted my face towards him. We kissed, our tongues gliding against each other.

***
Ever wondered why you just like that someone, even when you met him a few second ago? Why you hate someone the minute you shook her hands?

Scientist discovered that attraction (for animals at least) is based on hormones secreted by the opposite sex, called pheromones. This is what attracts an elephant to his/her mate and your pet cat, Poppy to her mate, Tiger.

Scientist now believe that human are similarly attracted to a member of the opposite sex this way, using scents to determine who is a suitable and healthy sexual partner (to pass off your good genes).

Maybe Seven and Adidas Boy are vetted by my subconscious to be suitable and healthy sexual partner? If this is indeed true, then nature created human with a flaw called Love for I do not have a sexual relationship with either of these men because all three of us believed love can wait.

Ironic.

Intoxicated

2005-09-14T06:25:00.000Z

15% Baileys running through my veins.

That’s what I think the percentage of my bloody composition is at the moment. It bloody feels that way. Some launch themselves into ramblings when tipsy. Others are emotional. As for I, I am in a world of my own with colour flashbacks in my quiet intoxicated moments.

I spent the evening at Eve’s apartment, drinking and chatting about the weather, Rock Star-INXS, Lost, the whole lot.

Loved Carnivale Seasion One: I love the fact that the priest (a symbol of goodness) turns out to be the mad/evil one while Ben (who is a freak with healing powers) was the anti-hero. Don’t know how FINAS are going to show the koochie dancing scenes in Malaysia. It will be a shame to miss that part. Koochie dancing was an acceptable entertainment during the 30s.

Deadwood was alright: Never heard so many “cocksuckers” strung into one episode. Similarly I am wondering how HBO is going to show it without the “cocksuckers” scenes.

Rock Star-INXS: I think the blondie will win. He just has that look.

But back to this evening, Eve, Otto and Baileys: Recently developed a thing for Baileys that is fast becoming my daytime drink. While in London, it was Baileys in hot chocolate, Baileys with coffee al et.

I hardly have Baileys at night. But tonight was special – it was Baileys on the rocks. Super yummy! It is all too innocent and soon conversations were smooth. Like Baileys.

***
“Did you meet up with Adidas Boy since coming back?” Eve asked.

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Why do?” I asked.

“Don’t know…”

We sat on the mat (a nice present I bought Eve when I was in Sarawak for the Rainforest Music Festival). She has a nice pink nail colour while I decided to go kooky with an orange tinge bottle from L’Oreal.

Eve has been my close girlfriend and good coffee company. She was my desk mate when we were 14. I returned home to find her with curls. It is a nice change from her beautiful black waist length hair. It is a guaranteed shocker for her many friends. Together we had the most wonderful nights partying everywhere. Excellent company. Oh, how we have both changed since our Millennium resolution.

“Damn it!” I uttered those surprising words after a few moments of silence.

“What is it?” Eve asked.

“I’ve changed my number. Adidas Boy can’t call me anymore!”

The realization hit me hard. My one addiction in life: Adidas Boy. We spent many evenings dancing until 5 a.m. We spent even more nights talking on the phone after he finished work. Together, we drove around the city, chatting and looking at streetlights. We have done this eons ago. (I have a fascination for lightings at night. I used to drive alone searching for the brightest and most colourful neon signs and festival lightings whenever I felt sad.)

We know each other’s deepest secrets. Laughed and cried together. Loved. Lost. We kissed under the silent of the night, behind bars and clubs, under the shadows of trees, lulled by the sound of waves. He even managed to convince me to elope to another state together three years earlier. My break-up with my Swedish love was partially due to Adidas Boy.

Adidas Boy cannot contact me anymore, the thought is finally sinking in. We kept in contact for many years. And now, unless I approach him, he will never be able to find me. We will never be able to go to sleep together, holding hands, unless I walk into Palazo again.

***
“I wonder if your friend would be interested in going out somewhere with my friend over there’. He said, then pointing to another boy standing at DJ console.

“I am sorry. Neither my friend nor I are interested in going anywhere. Or somewhere, for that matter.” I said.

“Ouch, that was cold.” He said, then scratching his blonde hair. He smiled.

He wore a dark blue long sleeved shirt. A pair of Adidas Marathon peeked at the bottom of his Levi’s. He was tall and slender, just the way I like my men. He had the most beautiful and captivating smile.

“You are checking me out.” He said, laughing. Then there was silence. “I’ve gotta run. Oh yeah - my name's Adidas Boy.”

His friend whistled, signalling he has finished packing their CDs for the night and officially for them, the night was over. They were the DJs in a new dance club that Eve and I decided to check out a couple of years ago. Palazo soon found fame among the R&B fans and at any given night, the place would be filled with more than 300 people, rubbing against each other.

He turned around and ran after his friend. They walked out the door. Eve and I took our tiny drinking purse from the bartender. Said our thank yous to the employees and proceeded to walk out of the club, into the fresh 6 a.m. air. Birds were roosting in the abandoned building across the street.

It was my turn at the driver’s seat. We were at a traffic light when someone knocked on my window.

Adidas Boy riding on his Scrambler. He smiled.

Green light. I did not go. Neither did he. Red light. He looked into the car. He smiled. I looked at him straight in the eye. Eve giggled and smiled. Green light again. I engaged into first gear and drove at a painfully slow speed. He tottered along, next to my car for the next two junctions. Then after I decided to loose him by flying along the highway. One should not drive a Proton at 180 km/hour, seriously. Everything vibrates and I should imagine, everything is bolted together by five Malaysian made screws.

Still there he was, riding parallel to my window. At the next junction, he knocked on my window again. Lowering my window, I heard a muffled, “What’s your name?”

“Otto. This is Eve.” I replied.

“I am not sure if you’ve noticed but we are going ‘somewhere’ together.” He said with a smirk on his face. “Come again next weekend? I’ll like to see you.”

The conversation went on for the next few traffic junctions. No matter how fast or slow I drove, he would be riding at the same speed as mine. I just could not shake him off on my drive home.

***
Dear readers: I have never quite shook Adidas Boy off since that first night driving home. He is THAT enchanting, engraved into my subconscious. Bloody hell, I am spending today writing about him, aren’t I?

Don’t think of him. Don’t think of him. Don’t think of him.

Adidas Boy. Just like my Bailey’s tonight. Running through my veins, slowly intoxicating my soul.

Love Can Wait

2005-09-12T06:29:00.000Z

Love can wait.
Really, it can.

“All the time” He said.

“What do you mean, all the time?” I asked.

“All the time, as in ALL THE FREAKING TIME… since the day I saw you naked until now.” Seven said.

“That’s disgusting…”

***
Oh how that sentence launched us both into a hug discussion. This is the way we have communicated through the years. It was always a discussion about something. When I met him at 16, it was discussion about God and Christianity. When we were both in universities, it was a discussion on maths, knowledge, language and logic. I think we both thrived on discussing different things.

But we have never talked about nude. Or naked. Or about sex until the other night when I asked him for his opinion on this rather sensitive issue.

All our previous 2 years worth of conversation revolved around his church activities and my clubbing weekends. As far as both of us are concerned, despite our differences these days, we were both trying to live a Godly life as much as possible. I admit that he is doing far better in this respect.

Well the Bible did say that one should save oneself for marriage. I admit that I can’t bridge the gap with the fact that I no longer believe that one should wait until marriage. This will be an interesting topic of conversation when I meet God finally.

***
Years ago when I was 21 and Seven a year older, we got back together. He returned from the UK and I was studying in KL during the weekends then. I checked into a nice hotel (don’t understand why I did not rent a room – duh!) and there was where all the nakedness took place.

We spent many Saturday nights drinking around Bangsar and returned to the hotel at wee hours of Sunday morning. We washed up, lazily walked to the bed, stripped and slept with our hands intertwined.

On Sunday mornings, we rose and took a bath together. We sat in the bathtub for hours at a time, talking. Were we ever tempted to make love? Honestly, yes. I did feel tempted. Now I know he did feel the same. But the Bible said we cannot and we did not.

Our love was never consummated, out of respect for each other and love for God. I have only experienced this twice: once with Seven and the other with Adidas Boy. I guess it is true, what the older generation said: Love can wait. Really, it can.

Speed Dating

2005-09-11T16:57:00.000Z

“Promise to come see me in Lola tonight, Otto.” He said.

“I will try. I have a Cuban theme party tonight, so I might not be able to make it. But I will try.” I replied.

“Don’t try. It’s been months since I last saw you, you have to come.”

“David, you know that I do not have much company anymore since everyone has moved away. It's terrible to sit alone in any bar.” I said with a sigh. It is definitely bloody time to move on with my life, I thought to myself.

“I’ll keep you company. You just come, just come.”

His name is David and here is the story of how we met.

***
Moons ago I drove the short journey to my favourite chill-out bar, The Datai at quarter to midnight.

The Datai was a chill-out bar, with 3 separate compartments, each with their special flavour. The outmost compartment was in deep aqua. Three black sets of tables and chairs lined the right side of the room while the left was separated into two huge rattan sofas. Rich silk cushions made a weekend night drinking session at The Datai an extremely opulent and luxurious experience.

The middle section was painted rusty orange. Long day beds were found everywhere and customers could move the lightweight rattan day beds to suit their table's number of friends. Atmosphere was very relaxed. Fingers lingered to places where they should not be. Tongues intertwined under the dim Japanese paper lampshade. Music was the loudest here as the DJ lulled patrons with a selection of House and World music.

***
I snuck out of The Datai at 0200 hours. It was the same routine every weekend with Eve. For this special weekend, we decided to visit the newly opened bar, Lola. Eve was there with her boyfriend, Arif. Like all things new, she was too in love to notice anything; this includes an earthquake measuring at 9.3 on the Ritcher scale. I stood there, feeling bored, sweeping spilt beer when someone tapped my back.

I turned around, smiled and greeted the man. It was Nick, a friend of a friend.

“So how is your family?” I politely enquired. I am not too familiar with him, meeting him occasionally though our common friend.

“Oh you know, Judy and I have this arrangement since the kids came around. I have a boy's nights out each Friday while she takes Saturday off with her girlfriends. So I am having my fun tonight.”

He pushed his hair backwards and smiled. He offered me a G&T. I normally drink only from my glass (read this for more details on the rules of surviving the party circuit) but tonight I drank from his because I did not want to offend him. He politely excused himself when our conversation strained. He hunched his back and walked back to rejoin his table of more than ten friends.

I felt unwell ten minutes later. My stomach was pulling and my head was spinning. Everything felt really clouded and at the same time, slow. I called Indie and asked him to help me home. I seriously knew I was not able to drive home safely.

Being the sweetheart that he is, Indie arrived some moments later. He cut his own party short, to meet me and fetch me home. His head was above the crowd, his eyes searching for me.

Soon Indie’s warm fingers slid between mine. He led me throught the crowd back towards his car. At the car park, I saw another man wearing a crisp white shirt. He was toasting at a table, laughing and patting someone’s back.

As clouded as my mind was, this guy caught my eyes. Maybe it was the way he walked or the way he talked at various tables. He stood out in the weekend party crowd, approximately 200 in the dark of the night. He was observing me all through my first night in Lola.

He owned the place, I knew it in my heart. I etched a smile and managed a decent wave good night.

I reached home and plopped myself on the black leather sofa in the living room. My heartbeat was on a Grand Prix race. The Muslim call to prayer started and I knew it was pass 0500 hours.

Cocoon Paradise

2005-09-10T08:34:00.000Z

Illusion is the first of all pleasures.
~ Oscar Wilde

“My God, Otto. It’s breakfast and you are yawning.” Eve exclaimed.

We were sat in the local café at 11 a.m. Between the two of us, we shared a turkey sandwich, a ice blend mocha and an ice latte.

"You know that the guy likes you when he starts calling you at 5 a.m.... trust me..." I said.

"You know you should rest and not entertain these calls."

"Unless it is Adidas Boy.." I quipped.

***
“Hello?” I said.

I rubbed my eyes. My left hand reached out, searching for the bedside lamp in the dark.

Click, the switch lit my bedroom in a soft yellow tone.

“Hello?” I asked again.

“Why?”

The voice was familiar. Over on the other side of the line, I could the sound of bottles falling. I heard him taking deep breaths. He was sniffling. Like me, he was sniffling every morning, victim of Rhinitis.

“Why? Why can’t we be together? Come on, Otto. You can quit your job. I will quit mine. I will break up with my girlfriend and we will move to another city.”

“Baby, you are drunk. You don’t know what you are talking about.” I said.

“I know EXACTLY what I am talking about. We enjoy each other’s company very much, so why can’t we be together?”

All was still in my bedroom. The sound of Adidas Boy kicking some bottles was the only thing that could be heard on the other side of the line. I bit my lips and closed my eyes.

“I love you, Adidas.” I said quietly.

“Then come with me. We will just go away. It’ll be okay. I promise.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. You just don’t want to.”

Adidas Boy started to sob. It was quiet but I could hear his heart breaking.

“You can. You just don’t want to. We’ll be so happy together. I can work in another club, in another city. We will have enough. You are just concerned what your friends and family will think of you. Why don’t you think of YOU! Think of ME!”

There, he said it. Words that we both knew were true. I was afraid. Afraid of what people thought of me and although I enjoyed his company very much, I feared people would not approve of my relationship with him.

Tears welled up slowly, gently rolled down my cheeks. My heart was bleeding and I knew that his heart was bleeding. I could hear him chocking on his secret tears.

Those were Valentine’s tears, falling quietly onto pillows and quietly falling somewhere across town. I wanted so much to hug him, to run away with him and be totally immersed and lost in him.

I drove 10 minutes to his house. In the dark, I could see his silhouette, standing at the door. I opened the gate and walked slowly towards him, into his arms. Like all the other nights before this, he held my hands and guided me to his bedroom, our secret refuge.

We met his mother as we walked towards his bedroom. She was preparing for her daily morning walk. I said “Hello” and we conversed for a few minutes. She knew me from my morning visits to her house.

I climbed into bed with him. We have been silent since my arrival. Quietly I curled into his outstretched right arm. I clung onto him with all my might.

Those were our secret tears on his pillows on Valentine's Day. In his arms, on the bed, in the secret of the room, we lived in cocoon of paradise.

That is, until the sun brings light into the day again.

Three Rules To Survive The Party Circuit

2005-09-09T09:36:00.000Z

"Remember the time I grabbed your fatzzzzzzzzz, Evie?"

Eve grimaced, thinking of the incident where she slurred herself to total humiliation. I do not intend to allow Eve the opportunity to forget the night when she was so spaced out on Long Islands and Tequila Pops that I had to drag the poor drunk home. Broke my darn Aldo trying to get Eve out of the taxi and into the apartment.

“So here are the rules for partying.” I said, then paced myself on the cream shag pile. We were having a lazy afternoon off work. I wore a deep purple chiffon blouse with my favorite 593 Levis while Eve, in her normal stylish self, wore a pink blouse, paired with blue jeans.

“One! We will only drink from our glasses. Never take a drink offered.”

Flashbacks of the two incidences where my drinks were “enchaned” in Lola popped up from the quiet corners of my mind. I was yet to figure our how I got spiked that way. Was it Nick? Could it be David?

“Not even if it's from a friend named Nick.” Eve said, as if she could read my mind.

“Two! We will always keep together and stick together. No horny round-ups in the public toilet with unfamiliar boys.”

I was referring to the Chinese New year incident when Eve held a classmate’s (note: not her boyfriend) hand and merrily skipped to the unisex together. In Eve’s defence, she had 4 Long Islands and 7 shots of Tequilas. Eve never mentioned what happened in there, even when I tried fishing for details when she was drunk. That woman knows how to zip her lips.

”Three! We will always go home at the end night. You and I, without anyone else.” I looked at Eve in the eye.

***
Dear readers, especially parents with teenage daughters: This is how Eve and I survived 5 years of back-to-back partying with lots of humorous moments and hardly a scratch. Okay there was just this one time…

Platonic Bullshit

2005-09-08T02:43:00.000Z

Between men and women there is no friendship possible.
There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship.
~ Oscar Wilde

"All men will say they want to fuck you lah..." he said.

"I am just so traumatized. Why can't he just say peeing on a girl's foot or something? Anything..." I replied.

A deep sigh. Earlier this morning, I called Indie at 10 a.m. to talk about last night. The naked emotional session with Seven. Eight hours later, we sat at his front porch. Two green trees shelters us from the rest of the world. Cammomile tea with honey. Amber from the Ylang Ylang incense gently dropped onto the table as we chatted along.

"If it is a man, he'll say he fantasizes fucking you. If he says he has pure intentions, he's a fucking liar." Indie tipped ashes into his favourite ashtray - a tin container from The Bodyshop. "Men are never just friends with any girl. Trust me." He tapped his ciggie twice.

One of the main reasons why I enjoy Indie's company is his honesty. It is so honest, it's almost brutal. However I appreciate his honesty. Makes a girl's life much easier to live, trust me. A guy friend like Indie is like a Russian military coat - he's the latest fashion must have for every girl. Worth more than all the Jimmy Choos combined. Indie tells me the absolute truth about men, saving me much time trying to figure men out. And I hardly have any heartaches since knowing Indie, because he tells it as it is, minus sugar coating and all.

***
Dear female readers: Forget about Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus crap. You just need a guy like Indie, always spilling the truth, corrupting your soul forever.

Seven, the Perfect Number

2005-09-06T02:35:00.000Z

“Eh you sure you can take it? I’m afraid that you’ll faint on me. Or something.”

“Sure, just ask. I will answer. Am in a answering mood tonight.”

Not unlike others, I spent last night sat in my bedroom, staring at my iBook, looking at saucy photos and reading some blogs before he came online.

“What are your views on nudity?” I typed.

Being the bloody suspicious person that he is, he typed: “Why you ask??”

“I’m reading some blogs and looking at some naked pics.” I typed. “So I am curious what your views are on the topic of nudity? You think it is a sin? It’s ok? It’s wadda-wadda?”

I fished him for some answers. I am telling you now, my dear readers, you should not suggest answers if you want an honest answer. But what the heck – it was way pass midnight and I felt like torturing him a little.

“Come on.” I prodded him along. “Don’t just clam up. There must be more to you than praying to God and going for Bible study 3 times a week.”

“Err…”

“Oh Seven, this is the thing that I absolutely cannot stand about you. You always appear so perfect. I suffocate when I am with you. I don’t see how I am able to just relax and be myself when I am around you and your uptight self.”

“Err…”

“Another thing – I bloody hate it when you say Err… Err what? Err what?!”

“Saw you naked before, what…” Seven typed into the messanger.

“Yes, saw me naked before. But then you prayed to God asking for forgiveness. That, I really cannot tahan… ask for forgiveness for what?”

“Err…”

“I never regret a single moment spent with you. I don’t go crawling to God, asking for forgiveness for something that is so pure and innocent. We loved each other so much and everything about us was pure.” I typed.

“But it was sinful.” Seven typed.

“It was not! That’s my point, Seven. I never felt ashamed being naked with you. And I will never ever feel guilty for something that I felt was right.”

“Well people change.”

“You mean I changed? You changed? Or us both changed?” I questioned.

“You changed.” He replied.

“You didn’t?”

“I changed too.” Seven typed.

“But every time I speak to you, I feel so tensed up. I can’t share my thoughts with you. Sometimes all I want to do is just talk. Not be judged. It’s terrible enough to be judged by the world and by God. Sometimes I just want to hear you talk to me. Tell me things, Seven.”

“Err…”

“Okay you said, you’ve changed. You tell me what is the most sinful thought you’ve had. Tell me?”

“Cannot lah.” Seven typed in quick response.

“Why cannot tell?” I typed. “You have a peeing fetish? You enjoy peeing on girl’s foot to mark territory?” I was damn sure that I’ve heard of a whole load of stuff. I was damn sure I would not be startled at all.

“You like SM?” I asked, teasing him.

“No lah. I fantasize about having sex with you.” Seven typed.

My very first pause, after controlling the flow of the conversation for the last hour or so. This is how our relationship has deteriorated to.

“Politely put, I fantasize us making love.” Seven, the ever polite and politically correct of the two of us.

Wait a fucking minute, I thought to myself. Bloody read that again. Fantasize. You. Me. Shagging. Seven. Otto.

“Err…” I typed. I now understand why Seven keeps using the word “err….”. It is a convenient and safe reply.

He typed for a couple of minutes. I didn’t take notice of what he typed. I was just blown away by his one very revealing sentence. Trust me, I was so dumb founded. I am quiet by nature but hardly ever run out of words when messaging with friends.

When I regained my composure, I bombarded him with the following:

“Whatever happened to most sinful thoughts such as:

1. Along with my partner in crime (ie Eve), spontaneously plot to rob the guy who carted a plastic box full of watches from Time Chain into his car in the lower parking bay, while we were paying for our parking tickets.

2. Jatuhkan my standard and be a groupie. Have mind blowing sex with Chris Martin, from Coldplay. Can orgasm just listening to him sing.

3. Same as no.2 but with Craig David instead.

4. Speaking of Craig David – totally regret not keeping Craig David lookalike as boyfriend. Most handsome face but got nothing upstairs lah.”

Dear readers : You must be well aware of this secret weapon women possess. Best kept secret, I tell you... very effective in throwing off attention that you do not want. Starts in infancy when your mother gently distract you with, "Go ask your father." when you asked her "Mummy, where do babies come from?"

Seven’s reply was surprisingly simple: “Those are your sinful thoughts. Mine just revolves around asking you to come to the hotel…”

“Stop it. You are corrupting me.” I pleaded.

“Then you undress… and you lie on top of me.”

***
Have you felt that you know this person for life? And if you ever lose him today, you will find him tomorrow. Or the next. Or the next after that.

That was how I felt when I first met Seven. There was this soulish connection that defies space and time. I met him in church when I was 16 and for one year, we were friends. We went out for church trips, we chatted with other friends. But knowing he was around the room made me feel happy. There was this “knowing”.

Knowing that he is mine and that I belong to him. Even at the first hello.

Knowing that we are destined to be together, our paths will cross time and time again.

Knowing that we will marry each other, without ever talking about it.

Knowing that if we do not marry each other, we will one day find each other again. And when I ask him how he is, I imagined, he’ll say he’s fine and married to a wonderful woman. They have a daughter and they named her Otto.

Knowing that if I am not with him, I will name my son Seven.

Knowing that we are together, even when we are apart. Even when we are 70.

It’s been close to 10 years since I sat in the bathtub with Seven. Then we were physically naked. Last night we were emotionally naked. I gave up trying to rationalize this “thing” about Seven.

Nude vs Naked

2005-09-03T08:03:00.000Z

There are only two kinds of people who are really fascinating:
people who know absolutely everything,
and people who know absolutely nothing.
~ Oscar Wilde

I spent two summers in Stockholm with my then love. He was a handsome Swede, whom I met while we were both travelling. I will tell you more of him in another post. What I have been meaning to share with you as my first posting is this:

Our apartment in Stockholm was small, approximatelly 33 square metres. We were short on luxuries because we travelled before then (he for a period of two years and I, every so often). The one luxury we had and we had in abundance were books. And my story occured on a hot summer's day (oh that was the glorious year where the temperature was at a steady 30C) I began reading a book that will change my perception of the world and everything therein.

It was a biography of Pablo Picasso, along with various illustrations. What fascinated me most was a small chapter dedicated to the word "NUDE".

It has never crossed my mind till then that most paintings are of NUDES, not NAKED. Fat lady with a tub of water was "Bathing Nude". Or a lady lying on the bed was then aptly named "Reclining Nude"....... Were you like me, thinking not much for the word NUDE? Ahhhhhhhhh, I found out that afternoon that nude was not naked. Both words were not the same, although both carried a similar meaning.

Simply put, nude was "looking at sex with disinterest". That's why we called all the paintings NUDE but a pornstar, once unclothed is called NAKED. Men don't jerk off while appreciating "Reclining Nude".

So that was what the many painters were doing when they painted their subjects. As far as Picasso and the lot were concerned, they observed the subject and painted. Based on this definition of the word "nude", the ladies were as good as pieces of 'char siew' because Picasso and al et were merely interested in recording the moment as is. They never thought of shagging those young nimble things silly.

We now know it is true. They painted brilliantly. Beautiful masterpieces hanging on silent walls. Miraculously though, as I read the book, these women became naked, not nude, when the painting stopped. When they were naked, they were shagged silly. When they were nudes, they were objectified and became immortals, living in many musuems and private collections.

**
That is exactly what this blog is, my dear readers. It is nude, not naked.

What It Means To Be Nude, Not Naked

2005-09-01T00:04:00.000Z

Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future.
~ Oscar Wilde

Some things I should write about before proceeding with my stories:

“Nude, Not Naked” is meant for a discerning audience.
I respect the many values found in the world, be it religious or cultural. I try my best to avoid offending anyone. If I have offended you in a way or another, let me first apologize for it is not my intention.

In return, I appreciate some respect and I hope it is not too much to ask. Everyone has a story to tell and this is mine.

”Nude, Not Naked” is my first attempt at writing.
In this respect, I am vain. I have an innate need to immortalise my words in a book. However as you, my readers know, this is my first, so I am sure to make mistakes along the way. Bear with me as I learn the art of story telling.

The phrase “Nude, Not Naked” and the contents on this site will eventually be turned into a book. Feel free to read, quote etc from this site. Just bear in mind that this is my property and I don’t want legal complications when it is published.

”Nude, Not Naked” is meant for readers above the legal age in their respective countries.
The one thing that I learnt from the Swedes is sex (the human form, nude or naked, human sexual nature etc) is natural and is part and parcel of being a human. In my personal life, I endeavour to tell the truth regarding sex and to offer honest answers to anyone seeking to know about sex.

Children learn best imitating from their environment. I believe it is the duty of a parent to guide his/her child in sexual and relationship matters. As “Nude, Not Naked” deals a lot with relationships (to be exact, a post mortem of my relationships with the many men who shaped my life), it contains ideas that a parent might not approve of due to religious or cultural beliefs.

In the event that this happens, I suggest that you, as a parent, use the stories from “Nude, Not Naked” as a springboard to discuss what you deem is right and wrong; and share your personal values with your child.

In my humble opinion, it is far better that a child learns about sex from his/her parents than through teenage experiments or worst, through hogwash teenage (or pre-teens) banter. Or any sites such as mine.

And finally - ”Nude, Not Naked” refers to the state where a lot of these stories are derived. It is an objective observation of love, life, relationships and sex. The stories are not always perfect or happy, as you will soon discover. What I can promise is that it is raw and honest.

”Nude, Not Naked” does not publish any nude or naked photographs of the human form. This site is graced by some artwork by some photos from everyday life to break the monotony of words flowing like a waterfall.

***
As my good friend, Hot said a long time ago: “Enjoy the ride”.