On Nicety

I’ve always taken for granted that people I know are nice by nature. Call me spoilt and naive, I know. Undoubtedly, that’s because I have a wondrful family. My aunties and uncles from both maternal and paternal sides spoil us three kids to no extreme, and have lended more than a helping hand when it comes to financing our education.

But more than that, I’m used to them treating my friends with the same amount of kindness as well, so I’ve always took it that everyone’s relatives are like mine.

So, rewind to last week, during a chat with my cousin while she’s cooking. Those who are close to me will know that my aunt passed away very suddenly just 2 months ago. This cousin, who’s an australian PR by the way, is the deceased aunt’s daughter. She took it real hard, which I would too, if it has been my own mother.

What perturbed me was how she denounced religions after that. I mean, yeah, the multitude of a mum’s death is unimaginable, but what good would it do to proclaim that ” I HATE GOD”?!

You know how some people like to stew in their negative emotions. There’s only so much you can be angy with the world for, but what next? Why not seek a solution to make yourself feel better, instead of pointing fingers and complaining about the injustice of the universal system? Would that change things?

On the other hand, perhaps she’s showing her real self to me, a side that’s only shown to her family. But what’s with the hypocrisy dude? Coming to me telling me that you are happy to have me in your house, only to launch into a three hours speech about how things would change to the worse if we are living together. Come on, all I said was I’m pissed at my so called friends for leaving me alone in the house, I’m not trying to seek refuge in your house!

What irritated me further was her response when I began to told her of my situation.

“Well, the world is like that. It’s never fair. Live with it”

“So? So what can you do? too bad! it’s too bad LOR!”

 ”Learnt from your lesson then! Don’t be too nice to everyone! kindness begets kindness? my foot! Look at my mother! she’s nice and what happened? she died!”

WTF. oh man, you’re 40 years old, you should know better to say proper words of comfort. I mean, a simple: “oh man… shit happens hey?” will do. Why launch into a tirade of self-righteous, caustic remarks?

I know. As her cousin, I should be there for her, blablabla, yadayadayada, bring her out of her unhappiness. But I’ve always believed that noone, even God can do anything if you refuse to help even yourself. I’m sorry your mum died, I can feel your pain, she’s close to me as well, but really, would your mum want to see you change into the Wicked Witch of the East because of her passing on?

Miss Angry-with-God- I – Hate-You-God-I-Am-The-Best-Person-In-The-World, wake up. You’ve got a wonderful husband, two adorable kids. Smell the roses sans colere, please.

La Double Vie De Ophilia.

Gav and Co.

I woke up to a slight throbbing pain on my right arm. A little sore, I turned over and began to blindly palm the bed to search for my pillow.

The bed feels harder than usual and I realised that my quilt cover is a dark shade of blue. What the hell happened to my pink quilt?

 ”You’re finally up?”

 

 Shit.

No wonder I can’t find my teddy or my baby pillow. I’m not in my own bed.

“How long did I sleep for?”

“Well. long enough. We got home at 2 pm and it’s 4.45 pm now.”

“Shit.”

“Well. That’s alright. I took it as a compliment, that I tire you out.”

 I gave a slow lazy smile and stretched languidly. It was a good rest, uncontaminated by the mirage of recurring unpleasant dreams I’ve been having every night.

“Sorry, I only slept 2 hours last night,” I muttered, before scanning the room to look for my clothes.

 ”No worries, I said my entire day is for you anyway.”

Gav can be awfully sweet. I like his spontaneity, the way he would drop all things when I say I’m unhappy. Yet this is precisely the reason why I avoid contact with him when I’m not in the best of moods- who am I to make him do that?

Today, he called me up to see what I’m doing. I sounded especially exuberant- another High Distinction for my essay. He told me he’s gonna come round  to Uni and get me. I knew what he wanted, I needed as well.

“Are you going to send me home now?”

“No,  I thought we were going to have dinner.”

Thank God for late night shopping today. We scoffed down three meat pies- chicken and vegetables (which we shared), minced beef (mine) and steak and kidney (yucks, his), washed down by amazing glass of latte. I like myself better when I am with him- I feel at ease with myself, with the world.

The empty plates and coffee-stained latte glasses lay static on the table while we watched the residents of his suburb rushing to the supermarket to get another week’s of grocery, getting out of the department store, all satisfied from purchases in preparation for the colder season.

I later became one of them as well- I wanted a pair of wool-blend black tights.

He laughed when I said I needed that.

“Highly unsexy, unless I’m into the librarian fantasy thing.”

“Well, try wearing suspenders and sheer stockings  when it’s a bloody 13 degrees celcius,” I laughed.

He pursed his lips, raised his eyebrows and nodded sagely.

“Naw… I don’t think I’m into cross-dressing. Will that turn you on if I wear that?” he asked, before skilfully pinching the pair of tights away, briskly walking to the cashier before I can protest about paying for my own purchase.

“Here, your wool tights. Not even lycra! Kinda feels like husband and wife eh? I’m buying sensible and boring stuff like tights and what’s next? Do you want me to get some toilet rolls and tampons as well?“

There you go, Gav for you.  Adorable brown-eyed, brown-haired Gav. The silly dodo said this to me before I left his car.
“Hey I know you’ve got your birthday thing this week and I’m not invited. That’s fine, I like having you all to myself as well. I’ll make it up to you when your auntie returns, ok?”

 No Gav, I’ll make it up to you.

Things I am Waiting to Say to my Housemates

Listen!

I am not your FUCKING cook. You do not pay me to cook for you. When I feel like cooking, I will. When I don’t, DO NOT fucking give me the bloody grouchy faces of you all, telling me ‘you need better nourishment’. It is your fucking fault that you are TOO LAZY to do ANYTHING for yourself. Don’t push the blame to me.

I am NOT your bloody IT personnel as well. When the internet is down or the wireless has some problem, don’t come to me AND COMPLAIN THAT I AM NOT DOING MY JOB. My job is to study and get my degree. I do not have a monthly salary from you when I provide IT help. OK? get this in your bloody thick heads.

And Gabe. FUCK YOU!You are a bloody MALE with an intact dick. Since your neanderthal brain doesn’t allow you to PICK UP basic IT skills even though youhave testosterone running through your blood, BE NICE and ask nicely for me to help you fix it. DON’T come to me and say something rude like: “Hey bren. Why is the wireless down? can you fix it?now?”

Dude. Mind your P’s and Q’s. You have fine, respectable parents. I’m sure they did not bring you up to become a big fat giant barbarian with limited grey matter.

Girls? I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of being taken for granted and it will stop now. Don’t blame me for doing this; if you were in my position you would give up yonks ago. There’s only so much I can give what you want to take. You’ve taken enough, I’m only asking you to RETURN ME SOME OF WHAT I GAVE.

sheesh. bloody singaporeans.

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

“You need me,”

He said.

All romance books have this cliche female character- she has all the people around her and yet she is gnawed by this inexplicable sensation of loneliness. I scoff at such a character because it shows the degree of weakness she allows herself to harbour.

Today, right now, I allowed myself to be like her.

When the ones all around you are trying to prise you out of the shell, and you don’t understand why you are not breaking out of the bulwark either. Consumed by an overwhelming sense of neediness and melancholy, your heart aches and your facial expression is an arrangement of dispassion.

“I wish I can do what I used to do, just to see you smile through your tears.”

When you said that, did u plan to use it as a weapon to hurt, to make me weep? There are those who keep an arsenal of tender words, camouflaging sweet-nothings with a look of concern, enticing you into their web of deceit. I find myself entangled, trapped yet holding tightly to your words.

“I wish I didn’t have to do this. I feel useless and weak. I don’t need you.”

“If I say the same thing I would slap myself for lying to myself.”

“I hate you.”

“I hate you when you receive to take your happy medicine.”

I like it when you nuzzle into the back of my neck. I can feel you smiling into my skin, the soft waxy feel of your lips raising its edges. You have a powdery scent, tinged with a strange distinct mix of air freshener and new leather. I said you remind me of all things happy: your smile, your eyes, your smell. A bouquet of euphoric bliss.

“I’m going to stop crying like a bloody baby and put down the phone.”

“You are going to start crying to me and sob all over the phone or else you will never feel better.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I can make you do what I want you to do to make you feel better.”

“You make me feel worse.”

“You made me feel terrible because I never thought I can miss someone like that.”

“We’ve got to stop.”

“When you stop crying and start feeling better, then we’ll think of stopping.”

“What if your wife knows.”

“Why do you have to bring her up?”

 

Because I need to remind myself that you don’t belong to me. That I should stop needing you. That you should stop allowing me to think about you. That you should stop thinking about me as well.

Where does the Good Go?

He’s Z, one of those I was infatuated with when I was at the height of teenage angst. I had this giant teeny-crush after we played a duet- we later found out that we were under the same cello instructor.

So, fast forward seven years later after he broke my poor heart (hohoho, I was highly emotionally delicate then) he said this to me:

“just dun regret when you are 30 and realize that all those guys you had fun with dun really care for you. it’s really quite easy to find people to go out and have fun with- you wanna find someone who cares for you? very difficult. Remember the sandy lam song : 该爱的就爱，该恨的就恨，但是要为自己保留几分.”

I’m telling myself he’s being nonsensical again. He might be sore when I tell him about B, Gav and G. Or maybe, he thinks I really should put a stop to it.

tsk. Cheebye.

The Current One

is Brent.

No, not the mousy Brent who’s from Melbourne taking political science in my uni, but the other Brent whom i met during a Rave last year.

He’s 27 (too young), a cafe staff (no aspirations!), living with his parents (STILL?!) and unbearably nice.

It’s easy. But i’m still deciding. There’s no thrill involved in thi. He’s into me alot more than I’m into him. I like that he’s nice and sweet and doesn’t mindfuck. But the contradicting persona in me doesn’t like him much because he’s too nice, too sweet and doesn’t mindfuck.

B said something right. I might change him to be less of a (good) person he is now (though wouldn’t dare to admit that I have THAT much of an influence on a person). But it all boils down to one thing- I’m only considering him because there’s noone else in my life right now to consider. Not unless G has a divorce, decided to leave his (perfect) life and turn around for me.

Very wishful thinking on my part.

“Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.”

- Ernest Hemingway, author and journalist, Nobel laureate

(1899-1961, committed suicide)

:’(

MindFucking

I wrote this a little more than six month ago, on G. I said he was committing an emotional adultery which he didn’t bother to deny. The entire thing was so intense; it felt better than a relationship.

We stopped. I turned away from him, fearful of karmic retributions. He probably understood and allowed me to walk away. Just a quick phonecall every now and then to make sure we’re both alright. I sometimes wonder what would things be like if we had press things on a little bit further.

Enough of nonsensical nostalgia. Here you go:

 

On Getting Mindfucked

Man, like you- I’ve seen, flirted, played around, touched. I preyed on your vulnerability- a man, like you, is tired of your mundane balance of family, work and vice versa yet again. It must be your Achilles’ heel when it comes to marriage fidelity.

Dodge, then approach. It was me who first approached, because i know when to dodge in order to lure your soft spot out. You must be excited when I began to fawn upon you every lesson; tell me, how many girls of my age has looked upon you like a captivating sex object, not just a mere paternal figure of authority? Your response tells me that I’m probably of the the very few, if not none. Like a predator pursuing it’s prey- i know how fast to run, how long the chase should be, how much should I let you have the false hope that yes, you might escape unscathed.

And today, the tables turned. You became the predator- I am still unwilling to admit that I had been your prey. You mindfucked real well, old dude. So well that it showed me that you have gained control. You approached, i had to dodge.

I was first in control- don;t you dare forget that. I had you apologising for losing your temper at me the other day. Although I kept my smile serene, blank, all i wanted to do was to actually smirk. To taste victory, to relish the fact that I have you eating out of my hand, I had such an acute pleasure rush. Until you progressed, your confidence level engorging your fear, downright leading me to play with you, while I panicked, realising that you might be in control after all.

“Why! Aren;t you going to say you have been a ‘baad, Baaaaad girl, eh? Bad girl.”

You made it sound so good, the words came from the back of your throat. I so badly want to hear you say that again, the timbre of the naughty term turned me rather much on. I smiled and said No.

Damn, that was a wrong move on my part. You relished the fact that I became aware that you were coming on to me. The game gradually morphed into a bout of verbal poker. We laid our decks out, challenging each other to up the bids.

“See the green car there? My wife drives that car.”

Ha, I knew so well what you are trying to do. Incite green-eyed envy on my part? Never. I already knew you had a wife although you never mentioned her. And i know you love her because she sacrificed her youth, her time, her energy to bear you two children. You love her, but you are bored. Testosterone made you feel lackadaisical in the perfect rut of life you have placed yourself in.

My turn to show my card.

“Oh? You see that mercedes? My ex boyfriend drove one. His Merc is a golden one. Really gaudy colour.”

You shut up when i said that. What were you thinking? I hope what i said didn’t surprise you- you can’t really think i’m as innocent as i made myself to be, can you? That I’m chaste, virginal, looking for some wise, mature man to fall in love with? That would be wishful thinking on your part.

We moved onto other topics after that. You noticed I’ve been staring at you and you brought it up, trying to embarrass me with the fact that you know I’m interested in you. I didn’t flinch, i played along- you sent my adrenaline pumping.

But now, from the time I left you, 9 hours after, why am I still thinking of you, the conversation we had? i began to analyse your facial expressions when you said you find me pretty. Were you expecting me to reciprocate with another praise for you? Or were you trying to tell me that you like me too?

Damn, you mindfucked me too well, i didn’t even notice that.