Give me Love and Money, I have the rest already

I remember when I watched the movie Hope Floats, I started crying right from the beginning of the movie. Sandra Bullock was invited to those Jerry Springer kind of talk show, and there, her husband and her best friend confessed to her in front of the whole country that they have been cheating on her. Sandra’s boy was sitting in the audience and as everybody gave a standing ovation in response to the cheating couple’s courageous confession, the boy sat and cried behind his clumsy spectacles. It was the first time that my tears rolled at the start of a movie.

These 2 days that just passed, I have been watching a Japanese serial called One litre of tears. The lead actress is a girl who looks like a smaller version of Kyoko Fukada. When she smiles, the corners of her mouth reaches for her ears, revealing those vampire teeth (what’s those called?), and I just find her so irresistably cute. The way she wears her hair, I’ve never seen anybody carry it so well.

I was chasing the Chinese subtitles half the time, which prevented me from having a deeper meaning of the show. Nonetheless, I was mesmerised. The story so simple, yet the emotions so thick. The show was peppered with many touching scenes and sometimes, the grief was so real that I could feel my heart sinking towards my knees. When her mother first disclosed that the disease she has is uncurable, they hugged each other in tears. And her mother said "Forgive me my child, for not being able to suffer in your place." When she finally realise that she can’t study in a normal school anymore, and that she has to lose all her friends, she bid farewell to her classmates. And the most nonchalent boy in school fell to his knees behind her wheelchair, tears rolling down his cheeks. It started to snow and it was such a beautifully sad picture. I don’t know who the fuck is singing or what the fuck he is singing about, but the song in the background just intensifies the sadness.

To see her 2 best friends struggle between their friendship and their jadedness from always being there for her, I realised that love and determination alone are not enough to sustain the commitment.

The most sorrowful part of the show, is that there really is a girl who went through all these things. At the end of every episode, photographs of the actual girl will be flashed with her diary entries. This is not a tear jerking fictional story, but something as real as my fingers typing on the keyboard.

No I didn’t cry one litre of tears. But whenever I opened the door to take a toilet break, my mother would stare at my puffy swollen eyes, wondering what the fuck I’m doing in my room.

Anticipation turned into Impatience. Impatience evolved into Disappointment. Disappointment morphed into Anger. And eventually, Self-Pity enveloped all the other feelings. Of all the feelings, Anger was the most malicious. It burned with a scarlet flame, flicking wildly side to side, scorching anything that came near it. Many other feelings tried to appease Anger. But they all got sucked into the scarlet flame, as Anger feasted on it’s more submissive counterparts and violently erupts with no remorse.

Self-Pity was a gloomy grey blob. It slithered and crawled, constantly changing it’s shape. Though it’s movements were slow, they were very firm and persistant. The grey blob made it’s first attempt to blanket Anger, towering over it like a tidal wave. The scarlet flame fought back, but it’s attacks were futile against the perseverance of the gloomy grey blob. Self-Pity succeeds in extinguishing Anger, but the intense energy leftover from the malicious flame had to be released. The grey blob flushed all this residual energy out, by secreting a liquid on the surface of it’s porous body. This liquid was warm due to the exothermic reaction between Self-Pity and Anger. And this liquid flowed out of the human tear duct. The human wipes his tears with the back of his hand. He pauses for a second, overwhelmed by the extent of his emotions (or so he thinks). But little does he know that it was just a battle between Grey and Scarlet in his heart.

It’s Sunday evening and we were on our way out to have dinner together with my sister. I took the car keys from my old man’s table and went to pick up my mum from her gambling den. While we were in the car cruising along the expressway, we were very quiet. So I tried to strike a topic with my mummy. I asked her "Mee, why is it that last time families can survive with one breadwinner and one homemaker? It’s almost impossible now. Both parents have to slog like hell and leave their kids with childcare or with maids (which I think is detrimental to the psychological upbringing of the child. Not to mention the lack of moral ethics instillation)."

My mum’s reply was: "People have changed now. They want more in life than the previous generation. Do you know that when we first moved into HDB from our kampong, we didn’t have a fridge and dining table in our house? We just put on a coat of paint and moved in, we didn’t do renovations of any sort. Who’s going to move into a new house now without spending at least 20 grand on renovation? Your father worked really hard. And I saved really meticulously to buy our furniture, piece by piece. People have changed. Everybody drives new cars now, even if it means taking 10 year loans. Do you know that when I was expecting you, your father was still fetching me around with his muddy scrambler? We only travelled overseas when we were in our 30s and we saved for it. Look at you now, no money also can go Australia……."

Amidst all the media influences and peer’s culture, I’d forgotten how humble a background I’ve come from. It doesn’t mean that I’m going to stay humble the rest of my life, but I must never forget how difficult it has been for my parents.

At the restaurant we were eating at, the couple (not young) beside our table were eating san lou hor fun. In between mouthfuls, they would stop and look into each other’s eyes, then kiss passionately with their greasy lips. It suddenly dawned on me that people don’t change. In fact, people stay the same. What’s changing are priorities, expectations, and the definition of bliss.

I offered a handshake to iewaij as he sat down in the front seat. But he just gave me a "CD PRO 2 (jin GY)" look. KNN…He’s always the one with all the cool facial expressions. I’ve tried to imitate lots of time, but nowhere near to the original. Must be those Fuzzy Eyebrows.

We reached ECP at 3pm zhun zhun. And as iewaij put on his K2s, I was squeezing into my Oxygens, not really sure if I had them on tight enough. Both 3 inches taller, we rolled onto the main road where the strong salty wind took me by surprise. It’s been so long since I came to the beach in the day that I’d forgotten how great it feels. Suddenly, I miss playing volleyball on the sand. Always fucking GX about how fucked up his set is, blaming each other on why nobody dived for the ball, putting my forearms out like a plank and Shan continuously whacking the ball on them with dead accuracy. Never mind…one day we’ll go back there. One day.

My right Oxygen was making a clicking sound that irritated the hell out of me. When we passed by HVPER, I poked my head into the store and asked "Lao pan, ke bu ke yi jie wo allen key?" The very nice lao pan gave me two. I took out the wheel and realised the core had been crushed. "Lao pan, yi ge lun zi duo shao qian?" So $5 and 10 mins later, my punctured had been repaired and we continued rolling. Along the way, we saw a couple struggling with the 2-person-bicycle…2 secondary students french kissing…a beefcake blading semi-naked…ang mohs showing off in the cable-ski pond. By the time we returned to the car and removed our blades, we couldn’t believe how tired our legs were.

At night we went to the kopi-tiam beside the MRT tracks. And just as we were finishing our sambal fried rice and BBQ chicken wings, Shan and Mr Fox appeared again. Unprepared and unexpected, I laughed so loudly that the other tables turned around to see who’s the lunatic. This time don’t need to calculate probability already. Cos the next time we eat at Alameen or MRT track kopi-tiam, I would be expecting to see them there. No more surprises for me.

Looking into the dust-stained mirror, I observed my sweat paths. They always start at the forehead, individual beads, creeping around suspiciously, checking out one another. They dart around erratically, before merging with one in proximity, forming rivulets that stream down, some finding their way into my eyes. Eventually, everything succumbs to gravity (as do breasts) and they drip off my chin. My mind started to wander, recounting the events of the day. I recalled how nervous I was in the meeting room, presenting my project. My moderator was Mary Chan. And when I finished my presentation, it was obvious that she wasn’t impressed. She took out her bow and arrow, and fired 3 consecutive shots. None landed on my heart, but I was definitely crippled. I am a self-proclaimed Auntie-Killer. But today I had failed to sway Mary Chan. It’s the revenge of the Aunties.

"Ding ding!" The sound of the bell jerked me back to reality. I turned around and walked to the grass patch in the corner. Taking off my singlet and wringing it dry, I was surprised at the amount of liquid I was able to extract. It should have been able to fill a 300ml coke can. Somehow, that put a smirk on my face. I wanted to do the speed bag for warming down, but when I checked if anybody was using it, the frigging dreadlock Jamaican was still going at it. Nabei he’s been monopolizing it for half an hour. I was too hungry to wait, and at the same time I wasn’t emotionally ready to talk to a Jamaican, so I changed into my dry clothes and unwrapped my hands.

When I reached home, the baby was still awake. So I ferried Hai over to play with her. He brought Barney together and so I put it into the DVD player to see what are her reactions to the purple dinosaur. Nah…not interested. Haha! Then Hai and I went out for supper, for the umpteenth time this week. As we sat at Al-Azhar, flipping through the menu, I realised how frugal Hai is. Choosing to forego the Pattaya, he saved $1 by ordering just Kway Teow Goreng. I ended up ordering Cendawan, without much consideration. I was so hungry that I could faint. Luckily for me the food arrived fast. When the food was finally sitting comfortably inside my pot, I sighed in relief and slowly sipped my milo. We chatted non-stop, talking about where we went today, joking about unemployment, shoving opinions into each other’s face. God if only everyday could be like this. I’m still looking forward to the day when Hai and me would get into a really big fight. I’m sure that’s going to put our friendship under the mircoscope and who knows, we might bounce back forging stronger bonds.

If 2 unemployed man = supper every night, then I should start adopting some of those frugality traits from Hai.

"I have never" is a game people play in clubs, to try to break the ice, and to get people drunk. The rules of the game is deceivingly simple. Each will take turns to say a line that starts with "I have never…" and the rest of the clubbers must pick up their glass and drink a mouthful if they have done the narrated deed before.

For example: "I have never shaved my armpits before" Then all the people in the group who have shaved their armpits before must pick up their glass and drink.

And there she was. This girl, a complete stranger in my life. She was just out to get me. Everytime it’s her turn, she would shout out her line once, then stand up and point at my glass, repeating her line in my face.

"I have never licked a breast before" I picked up my glass.

"I have never had more than 2 sexual partners before" I picked up my glass.

"I have never licked a pussy before" I picked up my glass.

It was all in the spirit of having fun. The other 2 guys in the group were sporting. They always picked up their glasses and made a laughing joke out of it. I don’t know this girl. She has no idea who I am. But I respected her ambiguous sense of humour, only because she is Alice’s friend. Maybe I should have stayed at home and watched Animal Planet.

I have no intentions of lying about my sexual history. But I was not prepared to shout them out at the top of my voice in a club.

"I have never" is the juiciest, and simultaneously, the STEWPIDEST game I have ever played before.

Carrie hooked up with this Russian old fart recently. Alexandr Petrovsky. A supposedly famous artist who’s supposedly very sexy. And the episode started with Carrie sleeping over. Of course they had sex. But the amazing thing about this old fart, he leaves a card on the pillow that says "I’m making breakfast" so that when Carrie wakes up in the morning, that’s the first thing she sees. She walks into the kitchen, and finds the fluffiest pancakes on the table. On subsequent dates, he composes a song for her and plays it on the piano for her…reads her a poem translated from Russian…buys her traditional wooden shoes from Holland…got her a designer dress that she fantasizes about…and asked her to dance in front of an opera house where street musicians were playing music. Carrie literally fainted.

This guy can’t be for real! He’s….he’s…he’s spoiling the market for god’s sake! Is this old school romancing? Or is he just a hopeless romantic?

For the average 8 to 5 Joe (or in Aw’s case, 3 to 1), I’ve thought of a way to identify if you’re one of those chosen ones.

If you bring the girl of your dreams to the beach on a beautiful night, and you have her sitting on your lap…telling her how you’d pledge your love for her by plucking down the stars in the sky…how you’d prove to the world your undying love by carving her name on the face of the moon…and then whisper the lyrics of Wonderful Tonight into her ear…Congratulations. You are a hopeless romantic.

If you bring the girl of your dreams to the beach on a beautiful night, and you start talking to her about how the gravitational field of the moon affects the high tide low tide of the sea…how the sea breeze blows in the day and the land breeze blows at night…how many waves a minute is constructive and how many is destructive…You are hopeless romantic.

If you are somewhere wedged in between this 2…Welcome onboard. You are the same as me. A hopeless trying to be romantic.

The lady standing in front of me shifted her weight from right leg to left leg, then left to right again. The pink heels she was wearing was torturing her. And when I stood up to alight from the train, she hurried to occupy my seat gratefully. Girls have a higher threshold of pain, I heard.

I trudged along the dusty Mountbatten Road. Roadworks have been going on forever, and they sealed off the other end of the road so now only big lorries come inside here. As I neared the training court, I heard the familiar rings of the bell. Coach was sweeping the floor and when he saw me, he stopped for a while to stare at me. I went over to shake his hand and patted him on his shoulders. He has always been displeased with my on and off attendance, but we had some small talk and he gave a smile in the end. I changed into my shoes and began my workout. While I was doing my skipping, a girl arrived. She drives the new Daihatsu Sirion. Very cute (the car). And as I watched her wrap her hands, I had a feeling that this girl has done it many times before. She’s probably been here for a while.

The girl and I, we were the only Chinese there yesterday night. Everybody else was Malay, plus one Caucasian guy. I wrapped my hands after I finished with my skipping. Just like how I remember it to be, my sweat always dripped from my face onto my wraps when I’m wrapping them. It’s been a while but I still managed to do a decent wrap. After which I stood in front of the mirror for a moment, checking that I still could throw my fists straight. Then I found one corner, and worked to the bell. I started to play with my shadow awkwardly. I had forgotten most of the footwork…I couldn’t throw my bodyblows and pop my shoulders at the same time…I couldn’t throw the hook fast enough (my left foot refuses to pivot)…and whenever I tried to do a combination, I would lose my balance. Chapter one of any boxer’s bible would tell you: “Power thrills but speed kills” Boxing is all about speed and balance. Most people think that Ali was the greatest because he could knock down a horse with a single punch. The truth is, in the heavyweight context, Ali’s punch could hardly juice a grape. He was such a fantastic athlete because of his unorthodox fighting style (he always had his arms hanging around his waist) and his lightning reflexes.

I always practice with the heavy bag after doing shadow. Putting on my bag gloves, I brought them to my nose and smelled the leather. It’s a bad habit, smelling my gloves. Then I stood in front of the heavy bag and waited for the bell to ring. “Ding ding!” I started to paw at the bag with my jab and after I’d gotten used to the weight of the bag, I threw in my right. Harder and harder I struck, the sound and impact of leather against leather inducing my adrenaline rush. Jealousy, frustration, helplessness, jadedness. One by one I inflicted them onto the heavy bag. And as if my feelings were tangible, a concavity appeared on the bag. On and on I threw my fists into the concavity, layer by layer I deposited my feelings into this pseudo hole. If dissipating all my energy means quenching all my feelings, I was ready to go until I had nothing left. I struggled to control the bag, which was swinging pendulum-like. “Ding ding!” 2 minutes was up. And I had 4 more rounds to go.

The last part of my training, the orgasmic part, was doing pad work with Coach. He can always make me come. It’s such an addiction, the feeling of hitting the pads on the right spot, producing the unmistakable “piak” sound, the joy of hitting somebody and not getting hit back at. Coach worked me hard. And despite all the swimming and gym I’ve been doing, it wasn’t long before I felt like my heart’s been put in handcuffs. By far, no cardio’s been more demanding than pad work. And when I couldn’t throw my fists anymore at the beck of his call, all I could do was shell up, covering my face with my gloves, gushing for breath with all the sweat streaming down my face. This must be Coach’s favourite part, cos he’ll start slapping me around with his pads. “Smoke some more” Slap “At night go party some more” Slap. I’ve never been able to convince him that I am not a nightcrawler. And when the bell rang this time, I felt relieved. But it won’t be long before I crave for this addictive feeling again.

I changed out of my shoes and put on some dry clothes. At which I realized I forgot to bring extra underwear. I trotted back the same dusty road to the MRT station, and took the ride home with a freezing pelvis.