The Te of ARPC dating

This is what I notice about APRC dating. They talk about dating more than they date. They talk, they blog and they talk again. They ask hypothetical questions. They analyze dating as if it is a form of art or science.

OM asked me the other day, “So the girls know that the ratio of guys and girls are against them, it is 3 is to 1, and they know that we guys know that we have an advantage in terms of the number, so if they know that we know, and they expect us to take the initiative, would they say yes because they know that the ratio is against them, and what we guys think and what they think?”

???????

“Errr………” I said. (OM, do you know I am a bimbo? Why you ask me such complicated question?)

Is dating that difficult and that complex?

“So you know, what is dating? Dating to me is just two persons having dinner and going out and getting to know each other and not necessarily getting to know each other to lead to a relationship. Would the girls be pissed off if I ask four girls out at the same time? But I just want to get to know them, maybe it will lead to a relationship or maybe it will lead to a friendship but I consider all of them as dates.”

“well…..” I said.

NP would probably not consider having lunch with me as dates.

“Well, you know, does it have to be so complicated? You like a girl, you ask her out to get to know her. That’s it. Just make it simple.” I offered.

One wisdom from SQ: you like someone and you ask him “hey dude, you want to get to know me or not and see whether there is something there. No? Then get out of my life.”

Of course, don’t be rude. Say it nicely. SQ got a point there. You like that guy and he doesn’t want to see whether it can be developed into something more serious, then you can’t hang around him. You would only get yourself hurt. Be his friend later when your feelings for him have subsided.

“But there is no one I like.” OM said.

???????

“Then no need to ask anyone.”

Is it supposed to be this complicated?

The definitive icebreaker

How can you not love Four Weddings - uplifting, funny, great lines....


Gareth: I've got a new theory about marriage. Two people are in love, they live together, and then suddenly one day, they run out of conversation.
Charles: Uh-huh.
Gareth: Totally. I mean they can't think of a single thing to say to each other. That's it: panic! Then suddenly it-it occurs to the chap that there is a way out of the deadlock.
Charles: Which is?
Gareth: He'll ask her to marry him.
Charles: Brilliant! Brilliant!
Gareth: Suddenly they've got something to talk about for the rest of their lives.
Charles: Basically you're saying marriage is just a way of getting out of an embarrassing pause in conversation.
Gareth: The definitive icebreaker.

Another view

A view from a room

I don't know when I would move out current place. But people are coming to view the place. I have never taken pictures of my rooms I had stayed in before - a few of them in Singapore, two in Taipei, one in Chicago and one in Washington DC. I have some memories but they are fading.

So for 15 mins in the afternoon, I took some photos of my room. I want to remember it, every corner if possible.

Something happened

Something happened today. Something filled up my heart, making it a lot fuller than usual. No, it was not about to explode. But it was a lot fuller. The songs, those romantic songs, that sing about how good life is, move me now. Just yesterday, they would have me groan in pain.

Unusual. It is. I feel I could love. The cynic in me somehow got his voice smaller. I don’t know how. Maybe someone prayed. I could even hear something soft in Chapman’s voice today.

Again, in front of my white laptop, I think I am ready to write a fairy tale, of just two people falling in love, one with a happy ending.

I could watch Four Weddings and a funeral again and run through that love declaration that Charles made to Carrie – my favorite love declaration from the movies. I had loved it once and had watched it over and over, like a hopeless addict.

I think I can pull off a romantic love story – songs, poems and candles, all of them.

To take things further, I think I could even think "that moment, that thing" could happen. Yes, I think.

From Four Weddings and a Funeral:

Charles: Ehm, look. Sorry, sorry. I just, ehm, well, this is a very stupid question and... , particularly in view of our recent shopping excursion, but I just wondered, by any chance, ehm, eh, I mean obviously not because I guess I've only slept with 9 people, but-but I-I just wondered... ehh. I really feel, ehh, in short, to recap it slightly in a clearer version, eh, the words of David Cassidy in fact, eh, while he was still with the Partridge family, eh, "I think I love you," and eh, I-I just wondered by any chance you wouldn't like to... Eh... Eh... No, no, no of course not... I'm an idiot, he's not... Excellent, excellent, fantastic, eh, I was gonna say lovely to see you, sorry to disturb... Better get on...
Carrie: That was very romantic.
Charles: Well, I thought it over a lot, you know, I wanted to get it just right.

Ophelia

I stayed at home in front of my white laptop, (sorry!), my pearly white laptop. My vacation is going to be over soon. Next week I will be tied up with BB/GB camp. Then I will start on my new job. I don't know how it is going to be like.

But now, I am fearful, I won't have time to write and read the many books I want to read. So I refused to leave my pearly white laptop. I sat in front of the windows upright, sometimes looking the pong pong tree in front of me outside my window. That pong pong tree has become a flame tree in Ophelia's story.

I took out Ophelia's story again and read. At 10,000 words, it should be a finished story. But I added another character Neal. Now it looks like an unfinished story.

Gravity, in my opinion, is a better written story. But Ophelia is better liked, it seems. I read it again today. I realized why. It does have lovable characters. Elizabeth tried her hardest to be a good person but was put in very trying circumstances, Trent the dweeb with his super-hero character wanted to change the world by playing drums, Neal the cool dude who couldn't care enough about the world but had his eyes and mind on Elizabeth and Ophelia, the protagonist who got Trent wrapped around her thumb.

Elizabeth was of course, a lot like me when I was 17 - the way she talked. Now I still talk like her, but with much polished edges or so I hope.

This is, should I call it curse?, of writers who are just starting out. They tend to write about themselves. AS Byatt admitted Shadow of the Sun was her story and admitted that she feared at that time of writing that book that she was becoming one of those writers whose first novels were really about themselves.

No, Ophelia is not my story. But I know what Byatt said. You can't help but put bits of yourself into your first few stories. Your life provides materials, evokes emotions, you know it so well, you know it firsthand. Then you grow older and you become an astute observer of life. You write about others. You write stories from a lens about others.

For now, I am a baby. How many steps more? Like an impatient piano student who wants to play Moonlight Sonata in the first few lessons but has not developed trained fingers which could run across the keyboard with grace and could only "dings" and "tangs" a tune that is not quite complete.

Should I continue with the story? Add another 10,000 or 20,000 words to it? Yes, I think I should. Two weeks left. I should get a piece of blank paper and work out the plot structure, develop Neal into a fuller character.


Here's Neal and Elizabeth which I have added which made also Ophelia into an incomplete story because of the addition......

*********

Elizabeth passed by the basketball court near her place on her way home. She saw the tall guy from school playing basketball with a few guys. She saw him often here playing with his friends and sometimes alone. She noticed each time she passed by the court that the tall guy would steal glances at her, but only a few glances and then he usually continued to play his basketball game, only more ferociously than before. She also noticed that after that, he won’t look at her anymore, not even once.

Elizabeth watched him play while walking past the court. The tall guy stopped playing and ran towards her.

“Hey you. You want a coke. Come in here. Let me buy you a coke.

"Huh? Coke?"

The tall guy tilted his head slightly and looked at her with a slight amusement, which caused a twinkle in his eyes.

"Yes, coke! It is really hot!"

"Oh. Ok. Coke is good."

Elizabeth walked through the gate and entered the basketball court.

“"Ha! Here,"the tall guy said and passed her a paper cup of coke which he bought from a vending machine nearby.

She looked at the cup of coke and her thoughts drifted to the conversation she had with Trent in the band room just now. She had a lot on her mind lately.

"“............It is Ophelia. She makes me want to do this. She makes me feel that I am living and breathing. She makes me want to create something spectacular so that people can unveil themselves and step out of their world because they know that we have something…....."

The tall guy laughed and broke her train of thoughts.

"Don'’t stand there looking like you just landed on Mars. This is a basketball court where people play basketball and sweat it out. You are not an alien and this is still earth." He said with amusement.

"I know ok. I am not an idiot," Elizabeth said, a little annoyed and her thoughts went back to what she left off.

"“Hey you! Hello???!!!" The tall guy shouted, holding his right hand at the side of his mouth.

“What?” Elizabeth was a little irritated that the tall guy had disrupted her thoughts.

"Stop standing there looking like an idiot."

"I am not looking like one."

"You do. Why don’t you drink your coke and cool down a little, young lady."

"Hey, you! Did you invite me here so that you can talk to me in a condescending way? Is this your idea of a time off?" Elizabeth was fuming. She looked as if she was about to throw the coke she was holding in her hand at his face.

"“No. I did not invite you here to talk to you in a condescending way. I invited you here to talk to you. I have been waiting to do that for ages. It just came out the wrong way and I am sorry."

"Oh."” Elizabeth said and gulped down her coke very quickly.

"“This coke is very sweet for a coke."” Elizabeth blurted out and then realized she said something stupid.

(Yes, Elizabeth Einstein. Which coke is not sweet? Haven't the whole population of dietarians been telling you that a can of coke has more than 10 teaspoons of sugar? And you haven'’t got that in your brain? Of '‘cos the coke is sweet. What are you thinking?)

Elizabeth thought to herself, a little annoyed with herself.

The tall guy burst out laughing.

"“Glad to be of service. Come here tomorrow. I will buy you another coke."

Wow. Sometimes I do get away with stupidity. I still get free coke after saying something stupid.. Must be some kind of a cosmic sympathy. Well, I did go through a quite a hard time recently.

"“Oh, thanks. You play basketball pretty well. I saw you play here a couple of times. You are way better than the guys in our basketball team. Why don'’t you play for the school?" Elizabeth asked.

"Play for the school? So that I can have the girls screaming for me on the sidelines? May be that is the way to fame. But I am not that into it." He said with a wink and started walking to his friends.

Elizabeth felt a little stupid asking him that question.

Ok. This is not my day. And what is with that wink? Gee.

He turned around and said while walking backwards, I am Neal and you are Elizabeth.

He stretched out his arm to point at Elizabeth, smiled and said, “See you tomorrow.

Then, he turned and ran towards his friends and started playing basketball with them. He did not look at Elizabeth anymore after that.

Elizabeth waited for a while to see whether he would come back and talk to her. But he didn'’t.

Did he really ask me here to drink coke? So weird.

Elizabeth thought.

Elizabeth waited longer. He continued to play basketball in the same ferocious way that she had seen him play before. He didn'’t even look at her once.

(Ok. Now I am idiot. If you come back here and call me an idiot, what's your name, Neal, I won'’t argue with you because I am really an idiot. What did I just do? Come in here drink some coke and be ridiculed. How stupid can I get? Why are there so many weirdoes in my life lately - a sister who keeps a black cat and a mom who adopts a 17-year girl within minutes? Elizabeth, your life can'’t be more perfect.)

Elizabeth watched him shoot a three-pointer. The ball went through the hoop. His friends cheered.

(Ya right. Come here and drink coke again? My intelligence would be scrapping the ground if I am seen here again. Why can't people just give me a break?)

Elizabeth puffed her cheeks, rolled her eyes, picked up her bag and walked home.

Serpent's at my heel

The thing about a spiritual warfare is that it is always there – 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, until we die and say our last words. It is unlike the battlefield we often see in the movies. We build tents for shelters. Then we arrange for a day to fight and we fight. Then we rest and wait for the next fight. There is a war zone defined clearly. But for this warfare, it is everywhere, in every part of our lives.

When things seem calm and you decide to give in a little to your willfulness, it leaves a handle for the enemy – our big ugly enemy. He watches us every minute of the day, watches out for that tiny handle, grabs hold of it and turns it bigger and then he strikes – TWIST! I cry out in pain. Before you know it, you are in a war, except that you won’t recognize it. He is subtle, so very subtle. Like a serpent at my heel, I feel his presence but he goes unnoticed. I let down my guard just a tiny bit. He attacks. I limp with a bitten heel.

I was wearing out, felt I was losing my grip. Then God sent His trusted warriors to my war site, replenishing my resources. And my Father won and I was released from the serpent’s grasp.

When I realized what had happened, I cried out loud. How did I become this stupid? Where was my self-proclaimed intelligence and discerning mind?

I picked up Mere Christianity again. Got to reread my war books. He won’t get me that easily again.

Dancing elegance

Last Words

What would be your last words? Paster BY set us thinking last night. E who was sitting beside me turned to ask me the same question.

I said, "What do you think of me? would be my last words."

It is like your last performance review as a human being. Hey, how did I fare? Am I an ok human being? Did I lead a godly life? Last chance to see things from the human perspective.

Don't you want to know your "performance review?"

"So what if you can't hear a thing? How do you ask?" Omega man pondered aloud.

"Hey, there are still hand signs." I said.

I put up my hand and started showing Omega Man the three hand signs: the thumb up sign - means you did well, just go please; the thumb down sigh - you sucks, the waving of the palm - you did so so, not too bad lar.

"But would anyone tell you you are not good when you are about to die?" Hsienter asked.

"Then you get your final ego boost before you go to heaven!" I said and turning to omega man, "How about you?"

"Is my hair messy?" Omega man said.

Yes, yes. How can you go to heaven knowing that your hair is all messed up. Valid question. Valid question.

Or you could just say something and not ask a question. "I still hate friendship breaks."

Nothing really

Chapter 2: Nothing Really

Tom woke up with a splitting headache. Beside him lay a naked girl. He had no idea how she got into his bed. Last night was a blur, like the many other nights, nights with too much drinking, too much smoking, too many women, and too much angst-fuelled fighting. They had thrashed yet another pub into pieces last night. That was the third pub this year that Gravity had thrashed and it was not even September yet.

He sank into his sofa and picked up Yellow and looked at the picture that the magazine had used for its cover for that week’s issue. It was a photograph of Andrew punching a man on his face while holding a beer in his other hand.

The last time that Andrew tried to thrash someone, he mistakenly punched his own reflection on a mirror mounted on a wall and hurt his hand so badly that Gravity had to cancel one month of tours. Eventually, Andrew’s hand recovered. Gravity resumed the tours but was banned from that pub after that incident.

Gravity had since earned the reputation of “the wild boys of rock.”

Tom put down the magazine Yellow and shrugged. He walked to the front door and picked up Daily Tribune that was slid under his door. Reading news about the crazy and defunct world ill-stricken with wars, poverty, murders and rapes helped keep his sanity. Compared to the world he lived in, his self-destructive behaviors of indulging in alcohol, sex and drugs seemed saner. If the world was that crazy, he was entitled to his form of escapism, be it violence, be it casual sex, be it heavy drinking, be it drugs.

The fresh crisp smell of the newspapers woke him up a little and slightly soothed his headache, which was threatening to rip his head off.

He turned to the entertainment section and saw Jen’s article on his interview.

The headline: Gravity is nothing really.

Bitch! So this is her revenge. Spiteful little girl!

He bent forward slightly and started to read the Jen’s article on his band.

*******

“For Gravity, words are just a medium for their chart-topping music.

Gravity’ front man and lead guitarist, Tom, said anyone who “Freudian analyze” his ………..

Hence, fans looking for a love story behind their hit song Love At First Sight would be disappointed. There is no story.

The story of the band is its music, one that topped the billboard chart for nine consecutive weeks, a phenomenal achievement for a new band, which offers alternative, non-mainstream music.

Gravity would call themselves an Indie Rock band, but has its first album launched by a major label – Pinnacle Rock – a route taken by a number of Indie Rock bands which have turned to major labels and their ample funds for extensive marketing campaigns, allowing these bands to continue to just make their music.

Purists, however, would deny Gravity its Indie Rock label.

Tom shrugged at criticisms that were plaguing his band since signing up with a major label, the same way he shrugged at his burgeoning fame, which appeared to be a negative by-product he has to deal with for choosing music as his career.

Tom said: “I don’t care about how people label us. To me, we are an independent rock band. Though we are under a major label, Pinnacle does not influence our music. We are independent as far as music is concerned. We are true to the spirits of Indie Rock. Indie Rock is very much a genre as it is a label”

If it is all about music, then staying true to the Indie Rock label is unimportant. Like their lyrics and their band name, the label means “nothing really”. It is just about the music.

And their music continues to draw fans and attention from media. Their album continues to rack up sales. Its success already described as phenomenal now beggars description.

Music critics have already tagged “The Next Big Thing” to their name. What’s next?

Pinnacle Rock’s spokeman Jeff Tan said international tours have already been scheduled. Gravity is set to tour Europe and the US for the next six weeks. In the meantime, they are working on their next album and will be writing songs on the road.

………..”

*********

Tom smiled. It was a not negative article. It was not a great article, nothing insightful, but not negative. He wondered whether Pinnacle Rock had twisted her arms to write that. But she did not look the type who would allow her arms to be twisted.

He looked at the Lionel Richie CD that he had bought in the afternoon the day before, lying on the coffee table beside him. He unwrapped the CD loaded it into his sound system. Lionel’s Richie’s Do It To Me started to play…

You put that spell on me
I’ll tell you, honey
You know you set me free…..

Hey, hey, what I’m sayin’ is -
Do it to me one more time
Oh, give you one more chance
This heart of mine….

Tom stopped the CD. He wondered how a modern young lady like her could like that song, which sounded way too schmaltzy by any standards of today. He wondered why he would play Lionel Richie’s rather slushy ballad early on a Saturday morning and why he didn’t stay in bed with the naked girl who was still sleeping in his room.

Maybe it was nothing really. He murmured to himself.

Pain

"What do you want to achieve with your story?" NP asked.

"I want to tell a story about two people caught in a situation that they couldn't get out. They know that their circumstances are adverse but they do not have the capacity to rise above them. I want to tell a story about a guy who couldn't cope with pain, that sometimes, pain is too much to handle for a person and it can take hold of a person and owns him."

"I guess you have achieved that."

"Does it make you depressed? The story?"

"No, I am used to your FOS (full of shit)." (Readers: please be assured that NP is really really friend. It is hard, I know. kidding.)

"You know, you should write some uplifting stories. You are joining the rest, writing about pain and depression. It is easy to write about pain because pain is much easier to be expressed."

"I did what. That ophelia story was this teenage girl who overcame her problems."

"Aiya, I can't read about kids lar. Her problems seem so small." (this NP is very difficult to please)

"ok, I will write something funny next time."

Why the story of Tom and Jen? The relationship that Tom and Jen had is my worst nightmare. I am scared that I would become Jen, unable to move, trapped in a situation that is destroying her but too much in love with Tom to leave.

I am trapped. One email glitch, one miserable email glitch, had my mind raced like mad in anxieties. Is he ok? Has he met with an accident? Many nights were spent on praying.

Then there was a huge relief when the email came in finally, late last night, two hours after my email to him.

I closed my eyes and said a prayer of thanksgiving.

He had replied but it was lost. Like me, he probably had been wondering why there was no reply.

He ended his email with a series of questions - so how...? is the xxx,,,,? where...? has he found....? You were looking for a job....?

Concern, I sensed it. I know or do I? Do I really know?

An email glitch, we both come to a stalemate, unable to move - paralysed by my pride and his alpha maleness.

I would lay down my pride, but I can't. What if this is wrong?

Write a story about people who rise above their circumstances? Is it too much to expect from a person who can't even do that herself.

Pain, I understand. Being trapped, I understand. A love that is torturous, I understand. Jen, I understand. Tom, I understand.

What would be the outcome?

For now, I can only imagine two possibilities for myself - I could end up like Jen or like Tom, whichever is better, I don't know.

I could spend the rest of my life, clutching my T-shirt at where my heart is.

To omegadom and back

“Hello, alpha male lover,” a morning greeting from Chromo online. Good to see him online.

I am cooking dinner now, not very alpha male. He joked and I laughed.

A short conversation about alpha males ensued. Chromo said that SNAGs were created because it was thought that SNAGs are better suited for the post-feminism women.

AH….Feminism. Evil Feminism. The one that had me so confused about my role as a woman for a long while and the one that confuses our males, turning most alpha males non-alpha, into SNAGs.

Yes, I like alpha males. It is the way a man should be. You can call him MCP if you like. But MCP is a term created by the feminists, feminists who are responsible for the adverse circumstances that I have to deal with as a female.

Feminism has betrayed women, an evil plot by the devil, in my opinion. And by saying that, I am not being extreme.

Read What Our Mothers Didn’t Tell Us by Danielle Crittenden, you would know what I mean.

Females are shunning marriages and kids for a glamourous career, thinking that independence and liberation means also having an adventurous sex life.

Crittenden explains that women are lead to think that having a sexually liberated life is liberating and is being independent, but by doing that sabotage themselves.

“If men feel that they can flit from woman to woman, they will. They will enjoy our ready availablility and exploit it to their advantage. But if women as a group cease to be readily available – if they begin to demand commitment (and real commitment, as in marriage) in exchange for sex – market conditions will shift in favour of women.”

“The woman who holds back from sex, waiting for the right man to come along, will find that no right man does – because he can get what he needs elsewhere – just as the woman who gives herself freely discovers that she holds no firmer grasp over him, either. The sexual revolution, from a male point of view, could be summed up as, “You mean I get to do whatever I want – and then leave? Great!”

Feminists think they are liberated. Isn’t it a joke?

Moving from the dating front to married life, what has the feminist movement done?

Men doing more household chores, feeding babies, vaccuming the floors. Isn’t it great?

But look at the price to pay – male unreliability, weaker men who do not want to shoulder responsibilities.

“The same impulse that leads men to sleep with women and not call them again or to date a woman for months and then vanish at the first inquiry of seriousness affects those men, too, who take the step of getting married but then blanch at any escalation of responsibility – at the suggestion of buying a house, for instance, or having a child.” Crittenden wrote.

Today, men expect women to work and share economic responsibility. The feminist movement that has the women flooding the workforce, earning an independent life and equal social status with men has them now holding on to their career because men are less dependable and have become responsibility-shirkers.

So I blame the feminist movement that I have a small pool of alpha males to choose from because most males have fled to become SNAGs, writing poems, singing songs and lighting candles. Women are led to think SNAGs are good for them also help shifting more men from the alpha male pool to the SNAG pool.

It is an easier job being a man these days. Much burden has been shifted to the women.

Feminism says it is okay for men to live like a Charlie male or worse omega males, because the women have taken over half the responsibilities in return for independence, in return for not having to live in the kitchen, not getting blenders for birthdays.

I blame the feminist movement for removing the glass ceilings such that I find chasing a career very rewarding and making it very hard to me to leave my post to stay at home to look after my alpha male (if I ever find one) and my alpha boys.

Gravity - a story

I finally finished and sent it off to a few pairs of eyes. Two months of late night writing, rewriting, a few thousand-word story, editing and re-editing.

I know this is the best I could do on my own. I need someone’s discerning eyes on the piece so as to point out the blind spots that I couldn’t see on my own. Then it will be all over again – writing and rewriting, editing and re-editing.

Compared to Ophelia, which only took a few nights of writing, Gravity had me worked at it for a number of nights over two months, with many lattes and muffins. The Starbucks near my place must have made quite a tidy sum of money over the last few weeks.

I spent an hour praying in the afternoon today. Suddenly, it rained and the construction near my place stopped, giving me an hour of peace, The rain resumed after that one hour, making it conscious to me that God’s hands are everywhere, in every parts of my life, down to every details, including that hour of quiet prayers.

I looked at Gravity, the finished story. He was there too. He has given me an outlet of expression so that for some pockets of my days, I could spend on something pleasurable, just typing at my ibook. I looked at my pair of hands that I have used to type the story, which has given considerable pleasure and enjoyment. I thank God for that pair of hands. For that, I am grateful.

So here's parts of chapter 1 to the story that had given me so much pleasure writing:-

~one~
The next big thing

Jen clutches her shirt at where her heart is. Her heart, which has been giving her problems lately is stinging with pain. She wants to retire early.

Jen types faster on her white laptop, trying to finish as soon as possible, a story she is working on a rock band - Freaks. The rock band has just launched its second album. Its debut album entered last year’s chart as number one.

Her lead for the story: Is Freaks the next big thing?

Jen has lost count throughout her five years as a music journalist for Daily Tribune the number of times music journalists like her have used that term to describe a new band as soon as it starts to show some signs of becoming a wild success.

The music industry seems to have found a way of producing one “next big thing” after another, a way the industry regenerates itself, keeping it fresh for the scores of fans who depend on it to give them rock bands which verbalize in bitter-sweet tunes their pain, their angst and their frustrations. The “next big thing” would replace the last one when the last one collapses under the weight of the industry’s demanding critique or disintegrates when the band’s own creativity starts to wane.

It was five years ago that she took up the position, which was vacated by a veteran journalist after 20 years as a music critic for Daily Tribune. Towards the end of his career, the veteran journalist’s preference took a turn for bands that produced sinisterly dark music and often gave unflattering reviews to bands that usually appeal to the mainstream audience. When those bands became a hit, he lost his credibility and soon his following dwindled in size. When complaints started streaming in from record companies and from music fans, he was asked to leave.

She took over him after one year of covering stories on local celebrities for the daily. Her assets: a youthful innocence and a liking for easy-listening tunes and romantic melodies, music that is palatable to the mainstream audience who formed the bulk of the daily’s readership.

Her first interview as a music journalist was with Gravity’s front man, a band adorned by the industry critics as the “next big thing.” Gravity’s debut album had topped the billboard chart for weeks and garnered raving reviews from international papers. It was an unexpected success from a band that offered alternative non-mainstream music.

Her interview with Gravity’s front man, who was also the band’s lead guitarist and vocalist, Tom Ling, was some time in September five years ago.

Some time in September five years ago, she sat opposite him in a chic hotel room and watched him shift himself several times on the sofa he was sitting on trying to find a comfortable spot. At one point, he kept pushing himself against the sofa, while doing so made his discomfort with the arrangement obvious. The room in the stylishly luxurious hotel had lush draperies, expensive art deco furniture and a high ceiling that made everyone and everything in the room seemed so small.

She looked at him while he kept up with his efforts in finding a perfect spot on the sofa. She watched him pushed himself again against the sofa, as if he was rejecting the position his successful career had put him in, to face attention so that his band could get more. Like the high ceiling in the room, success had made his world seemed larger and made him feel smaller, less in control of his own fate.

“Hi, Jen from Daily Tribune.”

In alphadom

----With dedication to Paddychicken-----

I want an alpha male, not just an alpha male, but an “ultra infra-red ray” (stealing a line from NP) alpha male. So what makes an alpha male so irresistible to us women, to me.

Alpha male looks like he is getting it all the time – success in career, women, respect from men, honor and etc. It seems that he doesn’t have to do anything to get the girls, he is too busy saving the world to do that. (Remember James Bond) But he is getting them all the time. There is always a beautiful woman who is draping herself around him. It makes you turn your head and wonder who is this guy, why is he not looking your way, why he is not like other guys who is willing to wait at your feet? Then while you are wondering why, he comes over and gets you. In short, he seems to be in control, he seems to be owning the world. The best part about such alpha males, you can’t get them, they come and get you.

So why do alpha males make me weak in my knees?

An alpha male makes his woman feel like a woman. He makes me feel like a woman.

He makes his woman feel beautiful and desirable. He takes an interest in everything his woman does so that he can watch out for her and appropriately come in to help her when needed. His woman calls for help, he comes in and takes charge of the situation and within minutes, everything is resolved.

If his woman takes too long in the bathroom, he sends another woman to make sure she is okay. He watches her play XXX and gives her practices so that she won’t get trashed again on the courts. No matter how busy he is, he will always spare time for his woman, even though it means working late on other nights, as long as his woman asks. He moves along with any topic his woman wants to talk about even if it is the topic that he is not familiar with. Because he is smart, a good conversationalist, he moves with ease, talks intelligently about the topic that is of no interests to him because his woman wants to talk about it. He allows his woman her little indulgences but will her to stay within boundaries. He indulges and not spoils her. He helps his woman become a better woman. He gently coaxes with the right amount of firmness so that she doesn’t feel reprimanded but feel protected because he is only looking out for her. And his woman is only too willing to listen to him because he serves her well, protects her well - he would not allow his woman to feel bad or look bad in all circumstances. He manages his woman’s expectations well – he tells his woman that he can give her that much time, the rest he has to use to save the world, so that she won’t be in an emotional distraught if he has to neglect her sometimes because of other commitments. But when you are in trouble, he will come flying to you to rescue you, then he goes back to rescue the world. He never disappoints you.

He is adored by other men and his family. His colleagues, his friends, his family love and respect him, because he protects them in the same way. He is upright, lead his life with integrity and kindness. Though he couldn’t care less about other people’s opinions, no one has a bad opinion of him. He has a quiet confidence about him and this confidence is very sexy. It usually comes from him being able to pull things together.

That is why he gets to eat his meal first because he protects the others around him.

So my silver-backed gorilla, I am all yours as long as you believe in HIM.

To those guys who are not alpha males, don’t be disheartened. Alpha males are not popular today, they are a very 70s thing. Women have since ditched Alpha males for the sensitive romantic guy who is in touch with himself.

I am surprised to read from your blog (paddychicken) that most girls like alpha males? Do they?

I thought most girls like the artistic sensitive romantic guy, who will bring her flowers, call her to tell her that he misses her, cook her a candle-lit dinner, use her name as his musings and as his source of inspirations for poems and songs that would accompany her nights.

Girls usually go “oh so sweet” when guys do stuff like that.

I, however, don’t like stuff like that. I am an old and traditional woman who prefers my alpha male from the 70s who wants to protect me.

I would hate it if my guy

1. cook for me – hey, the kitchen is my territory. I feel like a woman if I get to cook for my guy. It gives me a high. If he takes over that role, I would feel useless. No entry, please. Kitchen is mine. He just needs to eat and applaud my cooking and compliment me on how well I serve him. If he wants to have dinner with me, he will have to just bring me to a restaurant. I don’t like the idea of a man who can cook. Most women do, so I thought. I find it very un-alpha male.

2. write me a poem – My guy is supposed to sit there and listen to my poems (but I don’t write poems, i mean if I ever write) and applaud them. Even if they are bad, he has to try to hide his grimace and say “very good.” Ha!

3. Sing me a song – I don’t like guys who sings. that is so not alpha male. Alpha males don’t sing. Eeeuuuu. He just needs to protect me. No need to sing me a song because he has no time anyways. However, he must be able to lead me on the dance floor and make me look good. I find it very sexy when he can lead me and make me do moves I don’t think I could.

Just another

I watched the images moving on the Flickr. A picture moved up then retreated, allowing another picture to take its place. Then another and then another.

I only had one thought in mind: this girl is talented, special and one of God’s beautiful creation.

I looked closer at her delicate drawings: Yew, Julia, Sophia, Rodolf and ….

I am not an artist nor do I have an appreciation for arts. But beautiful images move me usually, like those did.

Then my eyes fleeted to her latest entry and I sighed. So powerful are her drawings, so powerless is she before her problems. And I can only pray. Those problems won’t stay. It’s just a phase.

I am writing this because I care. So you have to take care.

You hear horrible things

I went for my lasik today. I did my left eye. A nurse who was attending to me tried to assure me that everything would be okay. I told her that I heard many horrible things about Lasik. She said, you always hear horrible things about many things, like child birth, but you still see many people do it.

I laughed. I thought it was funny but later tragic. People go through life. They know how hard it is. But they are still keen on looking for the right partners to procreate, spawning people like themselves to perpetuate the miserable lives they lead. I wonder why.

Life isn't beautiful. My songs do not tell me so. The movies I watched don't tell me that either. The bible is a constant reminder that Life will have trials and tribulations. I wonder where I got that from that idea from. You look forward to adulthood as a child thinking that as long as you are in control, everything that is in your steering will be perfect. But you found out that the forces are bigger than you. Life isn't that beautiful. Again, where did I get that from? From the TV I watched when I was a kid? What did I watch? Oh, spiderman? No lar. don't think so. Don't think Parker thinks that his life is beautiful.

Life is ugly. How can it not be in this fallen world? So, we know that? Then why are we so keen on finding the right partner so as to produce more who would suffer in this fallen world? I am not quite sure what to think, really?

I actually asked my mom that question yesterday. "So ma, since you are so unhappy, why do you want to produce a kid? To make her suffer like you have? Why huh?"

My mom didn't take that question too well. "YA! I regret!!!" She almost screamed. Wow. so fierce! It was just a philosophical question ma!! Walay, she didn't stop there. She actually scolded me. Advice to all the unemployed: don't stay at home when your mom is around.

Ok, better not think too much, My eye is quite painful. Awww.... (you see, one of many sufferings to endure in life?!!!)

A Cinderella Story

I feel like a cinderella today. I started cleaning the house the minute I woke up and ended cleaning at 10:45pm. It was a lot of work cleaning the whole place from vacumming to mopping to cleaning to scrubbing...

Gee! I am not even done yet. One more bathroom to go and I have not polished the furniture yet.

I was shocked. So much is involved just cleaning the house. I only had one dinner break. I skipped breakfast and lunch. I only ate dinner because I noticed I didn't have the energy to scrub the dirt off the floor at 6pm. It was quite a stubborn stain. I need food.

In preparation for today's cleaning, I bought a hundred buck's worth of chemicals and scrubs. So much money? I didn't know that either. I had no idea what those chemicals are for, just bought them for their fanciful names.

My favourite chemical after CIF is this thing called OUST. OUST is good for the bathroom, for getting rid of limescale. I spent at least two hours cleaning the sink, taps and chrome handles with OUST. OUST is great. Next, I took "Special Floor Stripper" and poured it all over the bathroom floor. heh heh, would love to see my bathroom floor 'stripped clean'. I lowered down and began scrubbing the floor. After five minutes, a strong odour started to fill the room. Eeeeuuuuu. It was ammonia. "Special Floor Stripper" contains ammonia. The whole bathroom reeked of ammonia and I could hardly breathe. COUGH! For a while, I thought I was going to die. I ran out of the bathroom and went to the living room, sank into the sofa defeated.

My dad turned around, took one look at me and said, "Tired huh? Tired, stop. Don't do already."

Tired? No way. How can cleaning be so hard? I went back into the bathroom to continue scrubbing. I won't be defeated by some chemicals with a cool name. Stripper or not!

Finally, I was done with the bathroom. I stood up and noticed my two knees had turned blue-black. I fell down the other day playing tennis and had some bruises on my knees. But they were not as distinct as the ones on my knees now. Were they from all the cleaning? How strange. One of them has got a 5-cm diameter. Wow!!! So ugly! I cannot wear short skirts for a long while. No wonder most housewives look very unglam.

I didn't think a housewife's day could be busy before. But not after today. All I did was just cleaning. A housewife has so many other responsibilites - wash the clothes, dry the clothes, iron the clothes, grocery shopping, cook, bring the kids to school, fetch the kids back, do homework with them, read the bible with them, play with them, answer their questions (kids love to ask questions), bring them out to play, plan nutritional meals for the family, go to the ministry of education to complain why they set such difficult PSLE math paper, financial planning, budget planning, organise family holidays, read widely to antipate changes so as to prepare the family, try to listen to husband while he grumbles about his work, ................that's a lot and more....WOWW

I could clock a 14-hour work-day easily as a housewife. I wonder how women cope with both a career and a family. Outsourcing? Outsource half the career or half the family?

As it is, I find it difficult to cope as a single. So much things to do in one day, so little time. Add kids and a husband. I wonder how I could cope.

Now, I know how Cinderella feels like cleaning the house the whole day - from dawn till dusk. I feel like her today, minus the sleazy prince. Or maybe that sleazy prince was just waiting for me to get poisoned by "Special Floor Stripper" so that he could spring out from his hiding place to kiss me while I passed out on the bathroom floor. Those sneaky princes only appear when the princesses are down with something - poisoned by an apple, cast under a sleeping spell....

A devious evangelistic plan

I was out having fellowship with the BSF ladies. We shared about how we came to know JC.

I said I read through a brochure that came in through the mail. I was 12. I thought it was a good deal. You believe and you get eternal life. So I went to my best friend at that time ( you know, when you were young, you have best friends. Now you won't call anyone your best friend) and asked her to help me out. So I said the sinner's prayer with her and she brought me to church.

Then the lady beside me shared. She said she was in a foreign land working and all alone. Someone invited her out on a valentine's day. She happily went out. She was brought to a church where she heard the gospel and later became a believer.

I laughed my signature laughter (which is loudly, nothing fancy.). I said I would ask someone out on valentine's day and bring him to church.

I would suggest the church hold an evangelistic event on Valentine's Day.

Muaaahhhaaaaa....so evil!

Suddenly a thought came to my mind. Conversations just now with SQ reminded me of my new year resolution that I made at the countdown dinner at Turf City. I told NP and SY who were sitting beside me during dinner that I won't have a boyfriend until November.

Their instant responses were:

SY: you won't be able to hold out one, knowing you.

Me: Ooooiiii

NP: you're mad, izzit? What kind of a stupid resolution is this? You mean XX asked you out, you'd ask him to wait until November? Please lar. Can you make more sensible resolution? (turning to SY) don't listen to her.

Me: Oooooiiiii

SQ also has a resolution: to have someone by Christmas and dump the person by valentine's day. (SQ is a sadist, don't mind him!)

Almost a month to go, I am still going strong. (truth: I was just forced by circumstances.)

And SQ, hope you would have someone by Xmas, just don't dump her on valentine's day. Bring her to church. muaahhhaa...

And my year-end wish is that we all have the countdown dinner again this year. SY? NP? SQ? K? I need friends to hear my stupid NY resolutions. Puuuhhaalease.

Familiarity breeds contempt

My all-time favourite Christian writer CS Lewis said this before: Familiarity breeds contempt.

NP has a habit of warning/begging me before gatherings with friends that both of us are going to attend: Can you please be nice to me or not? Always make snide remarks at me and behaving badly. Don't lar, can or not?

I always said yes, but always fail to do it. It is that familiarity-bred contempt. My all-time favourite christian writer CS Lewis said so. NP, sorry!

Not just NP, I have my fair share of that familiarity-bred contempt from long-time friends and they have their share from me. Of cos, I am the evil one.

I had lunch with K. I was obviously not in my best behaviour.

"Oii, why don't you get a sports car. You're richer than me," I said.

"Don't want lar. I have to pay a few times ERPs driving to work," K said.

"Just go to the office before 7am. You like to do that what. Go to the office early, send emails to your colleagues to scare them." I said. It was a snide remark, though friendly, still snide.

"......" poor K said.

(Anyways, a side note on this K. I asked him the "what qualities do you want God to give you?" question. He said, "Smarter. I want to be smarter. Top 3 percentile." Walau, one up against Mr Scarlet Hotel who only wants to be smart. K wins.)

He had his revenge.

"Wow. You want to buy a sports car as your first car?!" He gave me this "are you an idiot" look.

Then at esplanade library, he had more. We went to a reading area outside the piano practice room. Someone was playing Beethoven's Fur Elise in the practice room. Because it was not sound-proof, we could hear her playing distinctly outside the room.

We both looked at the girl playing the piano, with different thoughts occupying our minds. Then K spoke, "Next time I come here cannot find seat, I will ask you to go in there and play the piano, I am sure these people will leave."

"Oiiii....I am your friend lei!!!!! I play better than that girl. She makes a mistake every two bars. walau!!!!"

"Oh. I heard Fur Elise's very easy to play. Is that so?" K said.

"......" I said.

Friends who are not that familiar with you tolerate your flaws silently.

I was at DG today. I was bored waiting for the DG to start. So I took from the table a Learning Kit that my DG leader has bought for his two year-old son. I motioned to two of my DG mates - one of them whom I met twice before she left for New Zealand one year ago and now she is back for a short break.

"Hey, let us learn something from this learning kit."

They looked at each other and then me and then looked at each other again.

I took out one piece of cardboard that said "Yellow" and took out another one that had a picture of a "sunflower."

"Yellow. Say yellow." I said. The two DG mates looked at me with straight faces. They didn't say yellow after me. They looked at each other. Then they looked at me.

I held up the sunflower picture card beside the "yellow" card and said," Yellow, yellow Sunflower. Sunflowers are yellow. Yellow sunflower."

No responses. They actually looked a little sad at that point.

Then I took out another pair of cardboards - six and a picture of six kites.

"Ok, now Six. This is the number six and this is a picture of kites."

No responses.

I tried harder.

"So if someone asks you to go fly kite, you go to marina bay and fly SIX kites. Six...KITES...."

They looked at each other and laughed. But, I know their secret thoughts.

Secret thoughts of DG mate A: "I think I better change DG. Can't learn much about JC with a weirdo around. Plus, she needs a lot of prayers. Very tough."

Secret thoughts of DG mate B: "I think I'd be better off talking to a sheep. I am going back soon. Lucky me. Sheep to talk to."

Familiar friends would just think them aloud. Am I lucky to have close friends or what? And likewise for them.

Remember, yellow is for sunflowers and six is for six kites. For those who has benefited from reading my blog educational wise, buy me a drink next time you see me. Thank you thank you.

Fairy tales

Marx called the other day or was it yesterday and took advantage of my unemployed status to ask me a question: What must a guy do to win your heart? (question's generic targetted at the general woman population)

I said: "Nothing. If I don't like the guy, there is nothing the guy can do."

"That is tragic. There are no fairy tales anymore where a guy could slay a dragon to win the heart of a woman?" Marx exclaimed.

So I ran through the fairy tales I know in my head.

Snow White:
The prince saw her in a glass coffin in the woods with seven dwarfs sobbing beside the coffin. Prince saw Snow White, opened the coffin and kissed her. She woke up and married him.

My 2 cents: I called that tragic. That prince actually took advantage of Snow White, did anyone realise that? Snow White died already and was probably in heaven with God. Leave her alone, sleaze boy! That prince woke her up and made her marry him. Which is better - to be in heaven or to marry a sleazeball? If I were Snow White, I would go report him. What a sleaze! What romantic?

Sleeping Beauty:
I don't understand why princes in fairy tales liked to go around kissing damsels they didn't know. What does that mean? These princes went for looks only. They looked at the girl and said, "Wow damn pretty, must kiss." Princesses in fairy tales were at fault too - they were obviously not in their right mind. I can't expect them to be given the ordeals they went through - they got saboed by step-mothers, ate poisoned apples by mistake, were put under spells for a thousand years. So these princesses woke up and said: "Ok lar. kena kissed already might as well marry lor." In those days, I guess there were no laws to protect the women or it was part of their culture - women marry their perpetrators and not sue them. My heart bleeds for them. How could one find it romantic if marriages are under those circumstances?

But there are some fairy tales I like. Here's the one that I find romantic - the love story between Japeth and Yonah in the musical Children of Eden.

Their story began where Japeth's father Noah was building an ark God had asked him to. Japeth wanted to bring his true love Yonah onboard the ark. However, Yonah bore the mark of Cain and thus she was one of those God wanted to destroy with the flood.Noah and family were furious with Japeth. Japeth decided to hide Yonah in the ark because he wanted to be with her no matter what. Maybe their union would be shortlived, maybe they would be destroyed in a little while by the flood, but they would be together. In face of those uncertainities, they sang "In Whatever Time We Have." Like in all fairy tales, this one has a happy ending. Their union received blessings in the end.

It is the kind of ending we can never hope to have because it is afterall just a fairy tale. We can only hope to live through whatever time we have, then hope that when we finally die, there are no sleazeballs opening up our glass coffins to kiss us.

In Whatever Time We Have

JAPETH

I don't give a damn for the thunders of fathers
Come hell or high water whatever they do
I could not live in a world without you

In whatever time we have
For as long as we are living
We can face whatever comes
If we face now as one
I could make on my own
Let me know that I don't have to
No one really wants to be alone
In whatever we time we have

If at times we are afraid
With so little to believe in
It's alright to feel afraid
I will hold you in the dark
All we know for sure is this
Though the world could end tommorow
You and I will be together
In whatever time

YONAH

In whatever time we have
For as long as we are living

JAPETH

We know life can be a battlefield

YONAH

We can face it now as one

JAPETH

But we won't run and we won't fear
You'll be my fortress and I will be your shield

JAPETH and YONAH

No one really wants to be alone
In whatever time we have

YONAH

There are times I've been afraid
In a world that's so uncertain
Then I feel your hand in mine
And there's courage in my heart

JAPETH

We could live a hundred years

YONAH

Or the world could in tommorow

YONAH and JAPETH

But we know we'll be together in whatever time

From this day forward lights don't seem so black
From this day forward we will never look back
In whatever time we have
We will make the most of time
And at least we'll be together in whatever time
We have

Rooftop at Scarlet Hotel

Having drinks on the rooftop of Scarlet Hotel is romantic, but I wasn't in the mood for love. At least, that place was worth missing tennis for.

I asked my date a question which I have been asking my friends recently. What are the list of qualities that you want God to give you if he were to make you into a woman and what is the first thing you would ask for?

He bent down his head, held his head with his hands. It was a tough question. He wanted to be truthful.

Then he said, "Smart."

I was surprised, pleasantly surprised. Of all the guys I know, I least expect him not to place "looks" as the priority.

"Why? You could end up being really really ugly. All you have is intelligence and nothing else." I asked in surprise.

He was thoughtful again. Then he lean forward and said, "yes, smart."

I asked quietly, "Why?"

"Well, I am going to be lonely if I am ugly. But I am smart. I would have the ability to appreciate good writings, music, arts and many other things. I won't be that lonely after all. It would be very bad for getting laid, but if I am desperate, I would pay for sex." He wasn't joking. He almost said it with a tinge of sadness at the harsh reality that he would face if he were an ugly woman, but a smart one. "If I am stupid and pretty, I won't be able to rise above my circumstances."

I smiled and my eyes were a little red. I was moved. I know the kind of joy I receive whenever I enjoy a good piece of writing or music. I wish I have more resources to appreciate more. Whatever little I have, I won't ever want to give that up for looks.

I decided to get to know my date better instead of letting the night lapsed into another "hi and bye, thanks for the company, I had a great time." kind of date.

Why did I not expect him to exude such wisdom, to think a little deeper? Afterall, he is one of the few guys who had finished the whole of Marcel Proust. My set of Marcel Proust is still sitting on my shelf relatively untouched. I will pick it up again. Afterall, I am unemployed.

Friendship breaks

I hate friendship breaks. You can't do much except to ask some standard questions like "How long have you been with ARPC?" and "Are you with a DG?"

So one day, one fine day, I decided to be honest because I heard somewhere that the Truth will set you free. I turned to the person sitting beside me during a friendship break and said, "I hate friendship breaks!" He laughed nervously and quickly turned to the person beside and kept talking. Then I realised people hate me, that is why I hate friendship breaks. I turned to the person on the other side and decided to stick to the test-and-trial questions.

"How long have you been with APRC?" I asked.

"Two years."

"Wow, that is long." We both laughed nervously.

"Are you with a DG?" I asked

"Yes."

"Who is your DG leader?" I asked.

"XXX" She mentioned someone I don't know.

I said,"I don't know him." We both laughed nervously again.

Then the friendship break was over. We both sat down quickly.

What an ordeal! Until next week.

When is love enough

While I was writing Tom/Jen story, what someone said to me earlier this year came to mind.

“If you love someone enough, you wouldn’t want to put her in a situation where she has to choose between me and God.”

I wonder when someone says that, does it mean he really loves her or he doesn’t love her enough.

As least for Tom, he didn’t love Jen enough to leave her and she didn’t love herself enough to leave him.

************

“You should go out with your friends more often,” he said as he watched her put out her last cigarette and at the same time wondered when she had started smoking.

He looked at the ashtray which was already overflowing with cigarette butts. A few butts fell off the asthtray onto the creamy white carpet.

“There are almost two packs of cigarettes there. Did you smoke all that by yourself?” Tom asked.

“Eerrr… yes. A little stressed. I got to finish this review. Due tomorrow.” Jen said without lifting her head to look at him. Her eyes fixed on her laptop and she typed away fiercely.

“When did you start smoking?” He asked, frowning a little.

“When you launched your second album.” She answered, still looking at her laptop.

“Was that also the reason why?” He asked quietly, almost in a small voice to make his guilt a little less audible.

She stopped typing for a second and continued even more ferociously than before, attempting to let her typing drown the truth that their relationship was heading off to an unpromising future. She had no choice but to allow his selfish indulgence in his music to slowly eat her inside, scraping away her hopes, her dreams and her own individuality.

Gravity

I stayed up late often since September 1 when I finally came up with this story idea. I have started on several stories but somehow lost interest in writing them because I don’t really feel for the characters I have created or the story idea. Or to be accurate, I should say they don’t relate to my life, not the story nor the characters.

So for those who know me would know why I would stay up late to write this one because I know this story. There are bits of me in this story. The main character is a journalist, a music journalist to be precise. She falls in love with a rock star. It is a tormenting love relationship. It is hard for her to love him, and hard for him to love her. Of course, I know that well also.

I have been spending time writing and rewriting on my notepad that I often carry with me while sipping lattes at starbucks, at spinelli and then typing it on my desktop late at night and later on my ibook when I got myself one.

Even the name of the rock band, I had spent a long time deciding. I wanted the name to mean something, something that is telling of the main character - that rock star. If possible, I wanted it also to be of their relationship. Then I gave up. I realised that the name was not important. And I worked that into the story as well. For those who eventually read the story will know how I work that into the story.

Now I am up again at almost 3am, working on the story.

The story is about me as I am about the story. There is a part where a song sparked off the relationship between the two. I had that idea while I was in a cab to work and a song by Lionel Richie was playing. I worked that song into the story.

And there were other songs, not in the story but of the story, mainly in my head. For much of what has been written so far, the songs were Creep, and mainly those by Mansun from Legacy to Stripper Vicar to Six to I can only disappoint you.

The rock star is in many ways similar to what I know of Paul Draper, the lead singer of Mansun – a tortured music genius, laden with his strong emotions and his talents. He holds on to his music like it is the only thing that could make living for him a little more tolerable.

When I was caught up writing the story, my life was about typing away at the computer, writing in the notepad, listening to my ipod, sipping lattes or various combinations of those.

Then one day while listening to Embrace's Gravity, I recalled Paul said that he had named the band Mansun while listening to the song A Man Called Sun. So I renamed the band Gravity.

So much gravity was felt. So much gravity was pulling on them, both Tom and Jen, such that living was strenuous and breathing was laborious.

3:30am. I have to go. I have to go sleep. My eye bags are getting worse. They are darker and heavier. But I am afraid to leave. I am afraid that if I do not labour on each word that is going into the story, it would disappoint me again. Gravity, I am feeling it.

Tatoo is an art

I met a tatoo artist at The Lagoon after playing tennis. He came to join us for dinner.

After "cho choing" a James Lye's lookalike guy to teach me tennis, my attention turned to him when I was told he tatoos for a living.

"So what do you call yourself, a tatooist?"

"I don't trace. I draw. I am an artist, a tatoo artist."

I looked at his arms. Not one bit of his skin was spared from his drawing, not tracing.

"Can you tatoo me?" I asked.

"Where do you want to be tatooed?" He asked while eating his fish porridge.

"I want you to DRAW on my back. My full back." I said, straightening my back.

He nearly choked on his fish porridge. So did everyone at that table and also the James Lye lookalike, though not on fish porridge.

"Your full back? Are you serious?" He asked, amused.

"Yes. But in luminious ink so that the design will only be seen under the ultra violet ray. I would also carry a ultra-violet ray torch. I would shine on myself when I want the design to be seen." I answered as earnestly as possible.

At that point, the James Lye lookalike probably was thinking not to teach me tennis at all.

He laughed. "That can be done but I am not sure whether you would reject the ink. It is toxic."

D was sitting beside me. "D, if C sees with with the tatoo, he would pray very hard for you."

"Hey, I would teach you tennis as long as you come here to play. Free lessons," the James Lye lookalike suddenly said.

I turned to him and said, "Ok."

I was puzzled. I couldn't connect the two. Why he would decide to give me free lessons after I said that I want to tatoo my back. Well, I should say that more often then? Get free lessons. Wow! It is a ticket to freebies.

Maybe I tell Colin that I want to tatoo my back and see whether he would give me free lessons on how to write short stories. Heh heh.

If I were to tatoo my back, I will go for luminous green. Why? Go with my green highlights!

Dateless Thursday night

A message came in, "Aw dear, hate to say this, got a ....coming up, swamped...on XX, but I will be all yours on XXX or do you hate me now?"

Tonight's date is cancelled.

I replied, "Heh, of cos not, why would I hate you? You are still my XXX. Next week then..." (some mindless flirting involved.)

Of course the hidden message is "you are totally off my list" because it is cruelty leaving an unemployed woman at home on a Thursday night because she might go out and colour her hair or worse, pick up a brochure on Maserati and start planning her life around that.

"Can you don't do that or not? Once the high is over driving that thing, you would say "Why am I so stupid?!!" NP said yesterday when I met him for lunch.

I laughed out loud because I know that would be exactly what I would say.

"Ok then, I think I won't even buy a car." I said.

"We went though that for our bible study. There are some ultra rich people well adorned with money who can afford themselves that sort of a luxury. They have been entrusted with wealth and had been good stewards of that. The rest of us should restrain from buying stuff like that. Plus, what are you going to do with that car?"

"Drive and probably would be more dateless than ever." I said.

"Yes." NP nodded.

"Why?"

"Because those guys would feel insecure."

"But I go for alpha males, they won't be feel insecure. If they are insecure, they are not quite Alpha right?" I argued.

NP looked at me and gave me a "You are completely hopeless" look.

"Ok, ok. I won't buy. Anyway, I can't buy. I failed my friggin driving test." I said.''

My feet dropped to the ground with that piercing stare. I was not aware previously that NP has such a great gift. I should set up a booth for NP and charge yuppies who want their two feet on the ground 10 bucks for one stare from NP. (any takers?)

"What are you going to do later?" NP asked.

"Don't tell you." I said.

"Do nothing right?" NP said.

"I am very busy, got a lot of stuff to do." I said. (which is true!)

"What are you going to do?" NP asked in disbelief.

"I am going for my brazillian waxing." I blurted.

"Don't tell me. Can you please don't tell me stuff like that."

"I did say that just now. You asked!" (Injustice! Or I need a language lesson.)

Back to now: another message came in, "You are XXXX." Mr Cancel Thursday Date replied my earlier messge.

I replied, "Oh stop!"

(language lesson: when a female reply that way after you cancel a date, it means she doesn't like you. If she does, she would be hoping mad. An angry woman would either reply with a sarcastic remark or give you the silent treatment. Proverbs 31 women would go pray first and reply you nicely. But you know she is upset when the message doesn't come in fairly quickly. Depending on the time lag, you know how much prayers she need for her to exude the qualities of a Proverbs 31 woman and from there gauge how angry she is with you. Just a guideline: 1 hour: not very happy, two hours: quite angry, three hours: very angry, four hours: you cham liao, five hours: please call me, you need emergency prayers.)

Sports cars and green highlights

One shouldn't not be left unemployed because an idle mind is dangerous. At least mine was. Only one week into my unemployment, I had contemplated buying a sports car. It didn't stop at contemplation. My idle took it further. I read up the specs on TT and Z4, the two cars I was thinking of buying, working out my finances, set aside money for the car. I wanted to go test drive the two cars once I passed my driving test. Then I failed. It was yesterday. It served as a wakening call - "hey girl, slow down. think. is that the best use of resources. are you a good steward?"

Then my idle mind was at work again. Today, I highlighted my hair green. Large streaks of green on my fringe and at the back of my hair. As I walked towards Borders, people on the street were throwing me glances. They were, I assumed, looking at my green highlight.

I went to a boutique which I frequent later in the evening. The salesgirls were a little shocked when they saw my green highlights. "You are getting rebellious," one of them said and she also pointed out that I had taken a liking for Cop Copine clothes, which are favoured by those who seek clothes which are alternative with a funky flair.

What's wrong with me? What's with the green highlights and the sports car? An article in the magazine "Details" that I read many months ago on Harrison Ford came to mind. Harrison had been spotted wearing a diamond stud on his newly pierced ear. The caption said - Anyone who wear a stud is nothing but a stud. Midlife crisis - the article tried to explain Harrison's stud.

Am I discontent with life? Am I seeking an alternative lifestyle that might give me happiness while the old one has failed for so many years?

Or am I just rebelling or I should say giving up? Why so much restraints? Why so much contemplation on doing things right, right with what? So much contemplation and yet so much went wrong.

Why did I knock down that pole when I did not knock down any pole when doing my parking practices? Why did those people on the road drive worse than me and yet has a license to drive? Why are those people entitled to driving porsche when I am feeling guilty about buying a Z4? So what if I exercise a little restraint and not buy a Z4 and get instead some lousy jap cars that is more fitting with what people think I should get. Didn't I see a lexus parked at ARPC last sunday? So who can buy a Z4? And why do I want one?

I want to feel that there is at least one thing in my life that will move according to my steering when so many other things went wrong in my life. Things that I want badly I can't have. So at least one thing will have to act according to my will and it has to be a powerful car and not a 1.4l jap car. So that I can slip into that thing and for one perfect afternoon, I would be deluded that I am still in control.

I am just a bitter old woman. What's worse? I am now a bitter old woman with green hair.

D, you are such a pathetic person. What are you going to do with your green hair now?

Errr.....wear cop copine to match with the green hair and try to look funky?

Sigh.....