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"You don't have to swim faster than the shark, just faster than the guy next to you." - Anonymous
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Chinawimmen Are Heartless
Yes yes, I know it’s been awhile since I’ve blogged. Thank you to all those who called, sms-ed and emailed, flaming me to get off my ass and update. Truth be told, I’ve been dealing with some demons and having a thoroughly frustrating time.
I’ve also come to the conclusion that Chinawimmen are completely heartless. They seem to possess a control+alternate+delete switch in their brains that when flipped on will delete your file, empty their recycle bin and defrag their hard drives, thereby effectively deleting you from their memory bank and lives completely, irreversibly and forever.
Let me quantify that when I say Chinawimmen here, I mean the sophisticated urban variety that knows the “t” in Merlot is silent, is comfortable in spaghetti straps, will order a Paella when Risotto is not available and doesn’t think Gazpacho is Pinocchio’s father.
I am not talking about the Ah Lian or Cina Bukit species who pack lunch to work, carry boiled water from home in recycled mineral water bottles, follow the latest Hong Kong fashion, have long forgotten their original hair colour, speak loudly in mandarin and are generally rough, rude and crude.
I’ve been trying to forget MW. It’s not easy because we’re best buddies. Heck, I even visit her parents every week. I can see her, hear her, smell her, talk to her but I can’t have her. That well worn cliché “so near yet so farkin far” never rang truer. She dumped me three years ago and I still don’t know why.
I know what you’re thinking. Three years? You’ve been carrying the torch for her for three years? It’s about time you bloody got on with life innit, you pathetic mofo?
I agree. So I resorted to the drastic measure of trying to delete her from my life by not chatting with her on msn and not replying her sms-es. I lasted five days. It made things worse because I felt guilty and thought of her even more. Sigh…
A coupla days ago, I bumped into E, a Eurasian F&B Director at a leading hotel, He looked haggard and won out. Over a cup of grossly overpriced coffee at Starbucks, he told me how his Chinawoman wife had left him and their ten year old son for another man and how it had devastated him. What do you say to a friend in situations like this? I could only nod my head sagely, make the right sympathetic noises and pay for that damn overpriced coffee.
While I know these are rare and isolated cases, Mama was right when she told me thirty years ago that Chinawimmen were downright heartless biatches.
Part of the problem is that their market value is so damn high. Bloody Kweilohs go gaga over them (don’t even open that door and get me started). Malay guys fish for them Every Indio I know will bust his black ass to get himself a Chinawoman, and of course Chinamen go for them too, naturally.
Another big plus point is that you don’t have to worry about converting to another religion as most of them are either Christians or Buddhists. Then there’s the fact that they’ll eat anything and everything and drink alcohol as well so you don’t have “halal” issues to deal with.
They also have a fiercely independent spirit and are not clingy and sticky like Malay and Indian girls, which only serves to make them more attractive. Completely heartless no doubt, but a very attractive package nonetheless.
As for me I don’t see MW as a Chinawoman per se. Firstly I see her as a very intelligent person who can mentally and verbally spar with me and is not afraid to kick my pompous and arrogant Punjabi ass when need be. I like that. I respect that quality because I’m a cynical, hardbitten bastard who easily gets bored talking to empty heads. Hello? Are you paying attention?
Secondly I see her as a gorgeous and physically attractive female, which is a bonus. She’s my soulmate. It just so happens that she’s Chinese.
My housemate, L recently got so fed up seeing me moping around the apartment and exhibiting all the symptoms of pre-menstrual syndrome that he suggested I see a bomoh to get MW back. “All you need is her full name and a photo, dude” he chirped happily.
I politely declined his offer for several reasons. Firstly, I believe a couple should be in a relationship because they both want it and are committed to it. Secondly, what happens if the “spell” wears off and the relationship breaks down later on and there are kids involved? Thirdly, how can you live with yourself knowing that you “forced” her into loving you through unnatural means? I’m certainly no angel but It just ain’t pukka in my book.
“But the end justifies the means, dude” shot back L defensively. Thanks, but no thanks, dude. I have too much respect and love for her. My principles won’t allow me to even consider it.
Now, dear reader, if you’ll be so kind as to excuse me, I have some serious moping to do around the apartment.
By the way, in case you’re still blur as a sotong - Chinawimmen are heartless.
Lessons in Life, Final Part
A couple of months later, I attended another party at G’s house. As usual, there was the hard liquor, beer, cigarettes, weed, gambling and girls. I stuck to beer and cigarettes and became the unofficial DJ, changing records manually even though the player had a function where you could stack records to drop down automatically.
Monica was there as well but we avoided eye contact and I purposely spoke to other girls just to irritate her and maybe make her jealous. On hindsight, it was a very juvenile thing to do but then again I was only seventeen mah, and due to leave for college in Perth soon.
The gambling table was noisy and boisterous and the makeshift dance floor was happening with mostly the girls dancing to hits from Led Zep, Deep Purple. Slade before I switched to slower numbers from the Stylistics, Dr Hook and Chic.
Again G’s bedroom was buzzing with sexual activity and I was dying to know which neighbourhood girl was inside being ‘serviced’ but I kept my cool, knowing that it was a matter of time before I found out.
Sure enough, a suitably “high” G clapped me on the shoulder a short while later and slurred “ish your turn, buddy”. I declined to bonk whoever it was but admitted that I was curious. ”you wanna shee?” he asked
Grabbing his elder brother along the way, G propelled me into his bedroom. “Pish off” he told the guy in mid-bonk. Gee, talk about coitus interruptus. When your gang leader says pull out, you pull out, I guess. The poor sod zipped up, stuffed his still hard john into his pants and left.
I recognized S lying on the bed. She was an attractive girl about 16 years old and of Punjabi-Chinese parentage. Quite frankly I was shocked to see that it was her because she was normally very quiet. G and his brother were soon hot and heavy with her, and she didn’t seem to mind me drinking beer and watching as they did it this way, that way, sideways and every which way enough to make ‘ol Frank Sinatra proud.
Many years later I would be extremely grateful that I did not join in the sexual escapades at G’s parties because life sure has a funny way of throwing curve balls at you.
My 1st cousin Dip got married and being the anti-social sonovabitch that I am, I did not attend his wedding. I resented all my relatives for sponging off my Mum, forcing her to cook at short notice when they drooped by unannounced en masse, and finished all her liquor.
You can imagine my horror when I bumped into Dip and his new wife at a shopping complex in Ipoh. He puffed up with pride as he introduced S to me as Mrs Dip. Our eyes locked for a moment but she didn’t flinch an inch. She recognized me and was aware that I recognized her too. “Hello, Dip’s cousin” she purred brazenly as she offered me her hand.
I hotfooted it after mumbling something about being late for an appointment. My mind was still reeling but I was glad I had kept my dick to myself all those years ago. Of course, I never opened my mouth about her to anyone.
So why am I blogging about it now 15 vears down the road? Because my Mum informed me that they are now separated and heading for a divorce. She has taken her three kids and moved back to her mother’s house and found herself a new boyfriend. Apparently Dip would get drunk every night and slap her around and she finally got fed up.
So there you have it – my early lessons in life. Now tell me the dude upstairs with the white beard doesn’t have a twisted sense of humor.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Lessons in Life Part 2
My family moved a lot due to my father’s job as a headmaster. Among the towns we have stayed in are Teluk Intan (Teluk Anson at that time), Langkap (Near Kampar, Perak) and Batu Gajah. When I was 16, we moved to a brand new housing estate in Ipoh called Silibin Garden.
I enrolled for form four in the Anglo Chinese School, became active in the Literary and Debating Society, Theatre group, started drumming and got myself my first motorbike – a very safe and boring Honda C70.
I also made friends with the local gang that “controlled” Silibin Garden and the neighbouring Lim Garden. These dudes ran around on modified Honda CB100s and used their leader G’s house as a base.
A couple of streets from my house, in Jalan Mohanlal, lived the Peters family, with daughters Francissca and Bibiana. A very young Fran was fronting a band called Delta at that time, and I would end up playing as replacement drummer for a short while, but that’s another story for another day.
Nearby my house also, next to the Our Lady of Lourdes Church, lived a Portuguese family with three daughters. I developed a crush on the middle girl, 17 year old Monica. So did my schoolmate and Lim Garden resident Colin M.
For some time, I didn’t know what to do. Colin was already on “Hello” terms with her and had the advantage over me but he of course refused to introduce us. After observing her movements, I hit on the bright idea of chatting her up as she fetched her little sister home from school on her bicycle every evening.
So I borrowed my sister’s bicycle and waited in front of the Tarcisian Convent School. I spotted Monica shortly and her little sister climbed on the carrier behind her bicycle. I followed as she set off home, gathering up the nerve to cycle abreast and chat her up,
I failed the first day. Followed her all the way and nonchalantly turned into my street whistling like nothing was happening. The second day I drew abreast and managed to croak a “Hi!” She smiled and said “Hi” back. Naturally I ran out of things to say after that and said “see ya around” before I sped off like the idiot I was.
I was late the third day and was pedaling like mad to catch up when I spotted Monica in trouble at a quiet side street. Two dudes had attacked her, with one holding the bicycle handle bar and the other holding her right arm. I leapt off my bicycle and piled into them, punching and kicking like a mad man.
Surprisingly, they didn’t fight back too hard but fled after a short while. Monica’s little sister was bawling her lungs out. Monica was hugging my waist and said “my hero!” when Colin turned up jogging, looking very flustered and unhappy. “What happened?” he demanded.
She left as I started to explain things to Colin.
“Shut up!” he said. “I paid them RM 10 to bother her”.
“But why, Colin?” I asked.
“So that I could save her, you arsehole!” he snapped.
“Well, how the fark was I supposed to know?” I bleated, thinking he was watching too many Hindi movies.
After that I escorted Monica home regularly ‘just to make sure she was safe. We were becoming good friends and I was planning to ask her out for a date soon. I was one happy guy. Meantime, G told me that I had been accepted into the gang and had to attend their party. I had to contribute a carton of Dunhill cigarettes.
Cigarette carton in hand, I went. There were all kinds of hard liquor, beer, weed, a card game was in full swing at the dining table and a couple of the neighbourhood girls were dancing to the disco music blaring from G’s speakers.
I grabbed a cold beer from the bucket and was taking a swig when G pulled me aside. “Dude, there’s some action going on in my bedroom” he said winking conspiratorially. “You want in?”
“Sure” I said, not knowing exactly what he was talking about but not wanting to appear uncool.
“I’ll set you up next” he said. “There’s a long queue. She’s really hot”.
So it was I found myself in his dark bedroom shortly. I could barely make out a naked female on the bed. Curious, I fished out my Zippo from my jeans and flicked it alive.
“Oh my God, Hero!” went the girl on the bed, simultaneously pulling up the blanket to cover herself with one hand and turning on the bedside lamp with the other. Eyes downcast, she said “I can’t do you”
Equally embarrassed, I stuttered “ I…I…can’t do you too” and fled the room. I sat at the table drinking steadily and kept my back to the room after that, not wanting to know how many guys went in or whether she left immediately after our encounter. I was heartbroken. We never spoke again.
Needless to say, I got drunk for the first time in my life that night.