Give me Love and Money, I have the rest already

For the first time I step into the living quarters, fully air-conditioned, with all the flooring done immaculately. The chef was cooking in the galley on the 3rd level, and I simply couldn’t believe that potable water was flowing out of the tap. It all works; everything that I saw in it’s skeleton stage, the rusty pipes…the dirty tanks…the uncommissioned pumps…they all work now. It’s beyond my imagination that the end product would look like this. Ever since I got my own vessel, I haven’t been up on my mentor’s one. The change that it went through in this 3 months is simply amazing.

Everybody who was on duty had to wear new pristine coveralls. And it felt so scratchy and stiff for me. I am used to my coveralls being seasoned by the washing machine and with scribblings all over the sleeves (times when I had to sketch quick diagrams). I was stationed at the 2nd level and my job was to usher the VIPs to the 3rd level where they can pass through the galley and grab a couple of drinks. The air horns were sounded and soon, they came climbing up the stairs. Most of them were reasonably friendly and even though I could see that they are tired, they tried to hide it by seemingly acting enthusiastic about the product. I was cool and functioning well…until a plump man came staggering up the stairs, his pudgy hands resting heavily on the railings. He was panting and just as he walked past me, he said wheezingly "Why isn’t there a lift in this place? Such a cheapskate project…" In my mind I was already hurling anvils at him and shouting at the top of my lungs "Shuudup you fat ass! Just look at how pathetic you are! This is only the 2nd level for god’s sake! If your heart is so used to beating 85 times per minute, why don’t you just roll over and die now?! Fucking piece of fat ass…..one word. Liposuction."

But of course that only happened in my mind. In reality, I told him "The galley is at the third level and it’s much cooler there. You can rest your feet there and get yourself a drink." Swallowing has never been so difficult. I realise that what I am going through everyday, has made me very tough and enduring. Every single day, I climb to over a 100ft (using vertical ladders mind you) with sparks flying everywhere and brushing past sweaty bodies and breathing in microscopic metallic particles. That fat bastard climbed to the 2nd level of an air-conditioned LQ and he dared complain. He was so fat, I couldn’t figure out which nationality he was.

When we came down from the vessel into the marquee at the quayside, everybody was mingling and having fun and enjoying the food. I looked at the buffet line…half the trays were empty. I looked at the Turkish Icecream counter…I couldn’t see the end of the queue. I looked at the bar counter…and I thought to myself "what the heck let’s just have some beer". But when I asked for one, the bartender told me "Sorry I was given instructions not to serve alcohol to people wearing uniforms." At this point of time I felt sick…and also *xin li bu ping heng* (I don’t know how to say this in English…can somebody help?). I mean….we fucking built this thing! Can you give us some any privileges at all? And I didn’t even manage to see the champagne bottle smashing. *eyesroll*

When Winston came back from course, I asked him how was it? He said he felt like a human again. He said mornings, he left home and he could see the blue sky. He said people talked to him nicely, not screw him from behind. He said he had 1.5 hour lunches, and he didn’t need to work to the bell.

While I look forward to the next week and literally will the time to pass faster this week (I’d wish I was Hiro Nakamura), all I can do now, is focus on the good things.

I just can’t get this melody out of my head. It’s coming up every single time my mind is allowed to autoroam (and that’s about 90% of the time). And I guess part of the reason is because I got it on repeat on my iPod.

I think I could like you

But I keep holding back

Cause I can’t seem to tell

If you’re fiction or fact

A long time ago, in the days when we went to the sandy beach every weekend, Lu sat beside me in the tram that ferries people along Siloso beach. He told me that when he watched American Idol, he would get goose bumps when he listens to Ruben sing. And that was how he judged how good a singer is; whether or not his goose bumps are activated.

When I listen to JoJo, I get goose bumps, I feel something bitter flowing out of my heart, and my eyes become watery. She’s so hot now, and I can virtually see youth oozing out of her pores. I’m so scared, scared that she’s going to walk in the same footsteps of Christina Aguilera. I remember when Christina debuted with Genie in a Bottle, she was my favourite. Everybody goo-goo-ga-ga-ed over Britney Spears but I didn’t give a damn about her. I liked Christina…until she became fat and went for breasts implants and lived her life like a Moulin Rouge girl. Let’s hope JoJo stays in the Mickey Mouse Club long enough. *fingers crossed*

Do you feel something happening?

Could this be for real

I don’t know right now but tonight we’ll reveal

I know how to run my fingers through her hair when we kiss. I know how to draw circles on her palm with my finger when we are in the movies. I know how to hug her tight when she needs that sense of security. I know how to caress the insides of her thigh when we lie beside each other.

Yet I don’t know how to touch a girl.

To satisfy me baby

Gotta satisfy my heart — JoJo

Is this the part where you throw me off like how you do to other guys? If it is, please do it in slow motion. I want to remember every word you say, every time you purse your lips in guilt. I want to remember everytime your eye refuses to meet with mine. Please do it in slow motion. I want it to last an eternity inside my head. Because I want to hate you for the rest of my life.

On Post-Wedding-Sisters-Gathering, I arrived late and the girls were preparing to move on to some coffeehouse. We sat at the outdoors of Pacific Coffee and it was really nice. They did up the place very well and the view (though not breath-taking) makes you take in a deep breath. I couldn’t believe the conversations we were having. Dinner recipes…baby clothes….relationships with in-laws….luckily I have a feminine side of myself and it proved very useful that night. And of course, my little niece staying together with me allowed me to contribute some personal experiences to the conversation as well.

The night moved on to St James, as do all Friday nights. Elaine, being the only single girl of the bunch (stop getting married ladies!), was the only girl not going home that night. We entered the place together, but I lost her within half an hour because Hoe arrived and the drinking started. We got the transparent-beer-barrel-thingy that night. Still can’t figure out why the beer stays so cold inside that thing. Hoe went berserk after the 1st barrel. It’s like Jack Sparrows possessed his body or something like that. He was strangling Aw half the night, and the other half of the night he was slapping me. I’ve never been slapped on the face so many times in one night. It really hurt but somehow I didn’t get angry. Guess it was the least I could do for him, a few dozens of slaps to the face…I can swallow that. Remember…pain is weakness leaving the body. I got really high as well but that comes as no surprise cos all along I’ve been known to be a lousy drinker. I was leaning on the table and trying to smoke the alcohol off. Then I don’t know since when these 2 girls were standing beside me, but they kept putting lime slices and ice cubes into my mouth. One of them even fed me a glass of ice water. I can’t remember how these 2 girls look like and I’m probably not going to see them for the rest of my life, but it’s nice to know that there are kind souls inside a club.

Saturday, I went to try those things where you lie down with your face inside a hole in the bed. Then a masseuse will massage you and apply some sticky (supposedly sweet smelling) goo all over your body. And you know what? It’s really nothing to shout about. I always see the celebrities on TV crooooooning aaaaaahhhing about how comfortable and refreshing it is. Don’t know why that didn’t happen to me leh. I’ll rather go for my cheapo thai massage at Geylang anytime man. Oh yes I forgot….it costs $120 bucks per session for this hole-in-bed-sticky-gooey-massage! Anything more crazy than that?

Especially when you’ve lost the courage to take the initiative, alot of determination needs to be summoned to pick up the phone. Cos you don’t want to be seen as the hankering party. The nauseating dependant.

You prove to be the fool everyone thinks you are. But unjaded and enthusiastic, you think you’re making a stand on your own. Nothing of that sort’s true, because you musn’t forget how she reacted the last time you tried to be persistant.

But you yearn…the way she makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Just one touch.

Doin more than I’ve ever done for anyone’s attention
Take notice of what’s in front of you
Cause did I mention you’re ’bout to miss some good thing
And you’ll never know how good it feels to have all of my affection
And you’ll never get a chance to experience my lovin’
Cause my lovin’ feels like…..    -Alicia Keys-

It’s Friday night again and I’ve been looking forward to it the whole week. I secretly planned for the 2 birthday boys to go out horizontally. But one was catching a 4am bus to M’sia, and the other just refused to go down. He vomitted, he leaned on Hubert’s shoulder, but he still stood up after every drink I pushed in his face. The 2 lamboghinis I ordered for them refused to light up. I think we must go to DGF next time it’s somebody’s birthday cos they use bunsen burners there instead of lighters. Lighters can’t do the job with their luminous flame, no matter how big.

We opened a fucking cannon but by 130am, our tables were dry. I don’t know how many people were there actually at our table, and I don’t know how 3 litres of Martell disappeared so fast. Hoe and I opened another 4th litre, but it was gone just as fast. "Who stole the cookie from the cookie pot? Who me? Yes you. Couldn’t be. Then who?"

I saw courage, I saw promiscuity, I saw chivalry, I saw obesity fashion, I saw cheapskates, I saw big spenders, I saw soft porn look-alike scenes, I saw people who had too much self confidence, I saw people who brought their mothers to the club….all in one night. I saw.

When the live band sang the song we all knew too well, the crowd reached an all time high with everybody’s hands up in the air. He came over and shouted in my ear. And I was reminded, of the tragic-ness, of the friendship that only echoes in our mind now. I saw the tears welling, and I quickly put my hand over his shoulder. The lead singer kept speaking in cantonese, refusing to sing the song proper. I couldn’t understand much, but I knew he wanted us to promise we’ll sing the loudest our voicebox allowed us to. When it was time for the last chorus, everybody stopped playing and he held his microphone high up above the crowd. I swear I sang the loudest, at the same time hugging both Aw and Hanlin. My body jerked for air in between sobs as my tears dropped on Aw’s crispy shirt.

I don’t normally boast about my spending habits, or about my random impulse buys at malls. But this time round, I have to say it out loud. That I spent $130 buying drugs from my General Practitioner. 3 different kinds of pills for gastric flu. The good old paracetamol that I seriously suspect my body is getting immune to. And 2 different kinds of antibiotics. All together 6 packets of pills in one small white plastic bag.

Exactly one week later, here I am on New Year’s Eve, carrying the same virus in my body, sitting in front of the same computer, writing on the same pathetic blog.

I don’t know why but this virus strikes with such precision. On both weekends that are suppose to be a long holiday, I am trapped at home. Not that I feel left-out or anything. I’ve gone past that stage long ago. Not that I would be anywhere else other than at home if I wasn’t this sickly.

I don’t really understand how someone as young and as active as me can fall sick so easily. Even if I fall sick, I shouldn’t take such a bloody long time to heal. A young and hot-blooded male like me should have healing abilities like Wolverine. Just water-parade my bladder, and then sleep for 18 hours, I should wake up good as new.

But now I swallow countless pills. To the point where I smell the drugs in my urine when I pee in the toilet. The fever’s still reluctant to go. The body ache’s still killing me. I’m sick of eating porridge. I’m sick of popping pills.

I still remember what the nurse said when she handed me the bill. "Originally it’s $135, but the doctor will only charge you $130" She made me feel soooo much better. *wry smile*

Since Thursday afternoon, I’ve been having a temperature. And after dozens of paracetamol, one injection and seeing 3 different doctors later, I finally managed to bring it down to 36.7. But still, my body is weak. Because when I clench my fist, I can’t feel the blood rushing to my forearms. And when I shift between sleeping postures in bed, my body winces at the pain experienced in my back and shoulders.

Tonight is Sunday night, the eve of Christmas. I am blogging at home. Maybe I can make use of this chance to wish all my friends a Merry Xmas.

Except for the odd phone call from the office, nobody’s really called me these few days. My mother was the one who nursed me back to health. Still the one who’s most reliable, I want to say thank you to my mother. At the same time, I want to say sorry, because at certain points, I’d wished that it was somebody else taking care of me. But oh well, you can’t expect anybody to put their programmes on hold for you nowdays. The show must go on.

The need to feel helpless. Desperately he craved for that feeling. For the sprinter that he was not, he couldn’t dash up a long steep slope and allow the breathlessness to engulf his shame. For the Quincy that he was not, he couldn’t concentrate all his energy into a bow and fire off an explosion of an arrow into the sky. For the Einstein that he was not, he couldn’t design and build dissipating fins around his body that would exchange his strength with the atmosphere. Still he needed that feeling, to be as physically helpless as he was emotionally.

But you left her hanging in the air. How was she to know what to expect? Or what kind of intentions to harbour?

She sat at the bus-stop, legs put together and her skirt folded nicely across her lap. She was waiting for the Red Bus. Word has it that the Red Bus was no longer in service. The other commuters at the bus-stop all told her the same thing. That nobody should wait for a bus that’s not going to come. Wavered and uncertain, she looked on as the other buses came and people boarded hurriedly, rushing to their destinations. She found herself all alone at the bus-stop, a slight chilling breeze blew across her face. A warning that the rain was going to come soon.

A bus emerged. She stood up and adjusted her skirt. Though not red in colour, this bus will take her to the place she wants to go.

Back at the bus interchange, the Red Bus driver was bending over a table with a lighted fag in between his lips. He scrutinized the map on the table, obviously unsure of which route to take, unclear of where his destination should be.

Somebody once staunchly advocated to me, that the moment will pass. I didn’t really understand at that time. And this ignorance lead to disbelief.

The moment has passed. And what better way to learn, than to let it slip out of your grasp.

My incompetence in my job lingers insistently. It diffuses, occupying the entire volume. And if this fixed volume is taken away….

.

I want to shine like a star. But instead, it’s my green-ness that blinds.

.

Why didn’t 16 years of education prepare me for anything like this? Has school taught me nothing more than how to give textbook answers to my boss?

.

Everybody wants more of me. Or to be more specific, my time. My job wants more. My niece wants more. My mother wants more. My friends want more. Hell even I want more time just to go swimming or visit my coach.

.

How does it feel to miss your brother’s birthday, and come home at night with a piece of cake in the fridge waiting for you?

.

Whoever is the designer of time and space, He got it all wrong. There should be 36 hours in a day.