Awkward is my (imaginary) middle name

Omg, fucken kill me.

So I went for a run this morning. It started raining. Continued running in rain, feeling completely badass while looking at weak-ass sissies all sheltered in their car. Hah! You ain't as badass as I am. Look at me! Look at me all wet and running even in this weather. Be in awe of my awesomeness! Be inspired by my wet body indiscernible from sweat and rain water! Be inspired, bitches!!

Got home, feeling all superior. And knowing that my housemates won't be home at this time of day, I thought it would be completely okay to strip down to my sports bra as I entered the house cause my shirt is hella wet and I don't wanna get pneumonia. After all, we all collectively know each other's schedule now and this is an all-girls house. Should be fine, right? Riiiigggghhht?!!

Walk in the house while simultaneously pulling said wet shirt off me. Heard voices. Look up. Three guys I have never seen in my entire fucking life was sitting in the living room.

Fuck.

“Hi.”

“Hi” shirt still halfway off my body.

“We're Bitchface McGee's friends”

“Oh. I live here.”

“Oh.”

Awkward silence.

“I'm just gonna go inside my room now.”

“Okay.”

Awkwardly made way to room. By this time all the guys were grinning. Bastards! Baaaastards!

“Hey.”

“What?”

“I like your sports bra. Pretty.”

“................................”

I just did a striptease for my asshole housemate friends you guys. It does not get any lower than this. Just fucken kill me now.

Just fucken kill me now and get it over and done with.

Hey, remember when I used to be funny?

I notice there is a slight increase in my readership as of late. Which is all kinds of interesting given the fact that this blog is on life-support as it is. I used to update 3 times a week like clockwork back in the day and barely have any readers. I actually kinda have to tell people to read this little corner of the Internet, which is super sad when you think about it. Now that I barely give a fuck anymore or put the kind of effort that I did back in the day...and I have more readers. 

Weird ass shit man.

So here's a little background for the new kids on the block...and perhaps a refresher for those deluded enough that have stuck around during all these time. Thanks...bitches.

I am a 20 something year old Malaysian woman currently living alone in Brisbane for the last 2.5 years. You should know this because when I make references to “home” I mean Malaysia, and when I say “here”, more often than not it means Brissy. But as the years progresses, the line between “home” and “here” starts to blur and I am sort of stuck in a limbo. The limbo in which I do not know nor can decide where my heart belongs to. It is like a love triangle. But instead with two smokin hot (and preferably buck-naked men with giant dongs), I'm having it with two different time zones. It's complicated but in no way unique for someone in who is in my position. To love and to hold the country you were born into and in which you should...if you have not sworn your fealty to...or the country that you have adopted as your own?

I curse in four different languages and can pick up guys in three. I know how to say “I like your ass in those pants” in Spanish. English is not my first language. I just happen to choose it as the medium to blog in cause it's universal. I date. A lot. I just don't blog about it. Cause some shit you just don't blog about or maybe too trivial I just can't be assed into charting it into my life's chronology. You should know this cause if I just start bitching about some random guy, it might be the dude that is just the current flavour of the month. He will not be a reoccurring character on this blog.

I'm 5'1, 5'4 with 3 inch heels. I'm fat. I started running last August and lost 20kg/44lbs to date but I still have another 15kg/33lbs to go to what is deemed as my healthy BMI. I am not hot. I get hit on a lot though, but I contribute that to fact that I (used) to have big boobs. And that I'm a South East Asian living in a Western country. The word “exotic” could be applied within this context. Once a guy told me that I'm hot, I paused, stared at him and then turn around to make sure there is no hot chick standing behind me and I just so happened to be in the way. Analyse that as you wish.

I'm a Journalism major. In my line of study, I observe and remain objective. In my blog, I observe and be as subjectively bitchy as possible.

I have a thing for men in uniform. Mostly firemen. And/or US Marines. I also have a reoccurring fantasy of having kinky dirty sex with a faceless fireman in a fire truck. Cause fire truck sex is hot. And so is library sex. But with a different fireman. The library should also be on fire as we got it on...just like my loins.

I make fun of religion and God in general. Because reality is my opium, not religion. This tend to grate on people's sensibilities. I find this immensely amusing.

I am a feminist. I am not ashamed of it nor will I shove it in your face. I do not preach for equal rights, just respect.

I write things that are uncensored. I write things that might offend you. I write things that concern me in the present now. I write things that matter to me.

And that's really the basic things you should know about me.

Anything else, you can ask in the comment box. Whether or not I'll answer it....is a whole other ballgame. 

 

Russian roulette

I was told that I was barren at the age of 20. My parents were in the room with me when the clever lady doctor broke the news. My dad clenched his fist and looked away. My mom cried silent tears. I reached over to comfort her. It was strange. It should have been the other way around. It wasn't her that was just declared defective. It was me. And yet I wasn't sad. Just...relieved.

I never liked children anyway.

How did it come to this? At the age of 20 I went through 4 cat-scans, 3 specialists, 2 overnight stays at the hospital and after a while they finally figured out why a 20 year old woman barely gets her periods. That's how this started you see, I wasn't getting my period. When other normal women were menstruating 12 times a year, I consider it super lucky to get mine at most once a year. So what was the problem?

A tumour was growing in my brain. It is not cancerous. It is benign. It just what it is. A tumour that came univited and stayed on long after the welcome mat has been thrown out. Though it will not progress into something deadly, it does however grow in the area of the brain that regulates hormones in my body. What it does is...it fucks up my hormones especially with the one that have to do with the productive system. It fucks it so much that I barely get my period. It fucks it so much that the body doesn't receive enough hormones to create ovums...or eggs if you would. It fucks it so much that one day, my body just stop trying.

It fucked it up so much that the doctor told me that I'm barren. They used the word “barren” not infertile. “Infertile” are for women who still have their ovums but can't conceive. “Barren” are for women...who are not even capable of creating her own eggs.

I'm reading the book “The Lovely Bones” now. You might have seen the movie while it was playing at the cinema. It was beautifully shot but dreadfully told. The book on the other hand, is beautifully written but tragically told. It is about a family who lost their child and how they cope with it. Especially the parents, on how their love is for their deceased child. And...I didn't get it. This will sound fucked up, but I don't understand why people love their children. What makes your children so special? In fact, what makes children so special, full stop? I don't get it. And then it hit me....I will never fully understand it.

Ever.

It took me years to realise how much that day in the doctor room have impacted the path of my life. My intense dislike for children is what it is, an intense dislike. But more than anything it is a defence mechanism for something I will never have. I will never have little girls in pretty dresses calling me mom. Or little boys hiding behind my legs in fear. It is much easier to dislike and detest than to like and yearn for something you never have. Less complicated. Less stress. More time to concentrate on something else.

I never been in a proper, long-term relationship because of this. Whenever it starts feeling comfortable, serious...I cut loose. I sabotaged it. I dump him or make him leave me. It hurts. But its much easier than telling him all defensively “Oh by the way, I can't have kids. And no, I totally was not leading you on.” It is much easier to stick with the fun part and cut loose before the serious kicks in. Its much easier to run away than knowing that he will leave you when he knows that you're...defective. I mean its not something you can tell over the first date now is it? “Oh this is a lovely restaurant. I'll have the chicken, with a side of salad and oh by the way I'm barren. What's for dessert?”

When is the appropriate time for this conversation? The third date? The third month? After the first “I love yous”? When? I don't know. Do you? Much easier to just end it than to bring it up. That way there will be less pieces of my heart to pick up from the cold, hard floor.

Now...in my own way, I have made my peace with it. But in my own way, I have not.

Its complicated. Children is never something that I ever wanted but it is nice to know that you could have than never actually could. Is it not in man's nature to desire what he could not? I don't really know why I wrote this post but it felt like after all these years something have been lifted from my heart. I have come to terms with it, somewhat...enough that I could share it with the faceless strangers who read the trite I spew on the Internet.

But not enough with the people who actually matter in my life.