Intermission

The following is a work of fiction. Though certain characters, locations, conversation and events that transpired within it might or might not have been based on real life, it is still a work of fiction and as such should only be read as a work of fiction.

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The maturest man I have ever been with was 35 years old. 35 is not really that old...but when you think about the fact that at 35, he was more than a decade older than I was...then yes...it is old.

The year was 2009. It could have been July or it could have been August....either way it was winter. I remember this distinctly as it was a rather cold winter that year. I remember stepping into the foyer of the bookstore and being thankful of the warmth it provided me. It was not just the heating in the store but more than anything, the warmth and the joy that I get just from looking at books. In no time had I managed to lose myself in the sea of books until an accented voice interrupted me in my hunt for the “perfect” book.

“Do you like crime fiction?

“Why do you ask that?

“You been thumbing that new Patterson trite for over 10 minutes, I was merely being curious...

“Trite?

“Trite.

“And I supposed you have fantastic taste in books?

“Superb. I could tell you all about them over coffee.”

He smiled cheekily.

Dark hair, brown eyes, tanned skin, and clever. Certainly clever, he's got that look to him. And judging by the accent...somewhere from the Latin region of the world.

“Smooth. Very smooth.

“I've been told that. I'm Rodrigo....and you are...bonita.

“That's not my name.

“But it certainly suits you.”

He was working me top to bottom. I knew this even then and the thing was, I was charmed. Very charmed. So charmed that I agreed to that coffee.

“You're not from this parts, are you?

“Oh no, I'm from Spain originally but I'm here for life now.

“What do you do?

“I'm a scientist.

“Scientist? That's a strange coincidence cause so am I. Rocket scientist.

“Haha...no, no bonita, I am for real. I did Marine Science for my Bachelors, Biomedical for my Masters and then the government of this country offered me a full scholarship for PhD in Genetics if I agree to work for them later on. R and D. So yes, I am a scientist.

“I never met a scientist before...

“Now you have...How would you like to date one now too?”

The conversation went on. The chemistry was electric. We laughed and we talked and he wooed me the entire afternoon. When it finally came to an end, he reached over the table, squeezed my hand and asked if he could see me again. Tomorrow, perhaps? My heart skipped a beat. In fact, if I was honest it skipped a thousand beats and it was a miracle that I am still alive now. I knew then what I know now for all certainty, that I was in trouble. Historically speaking, whenever I follow my heart anywhere it gets me into trouble and this was no different.

We met up the next couple of days, we talked and we laughed. We stared into each other’s eyes and overtime we were holding each other's hands while crossing the street. We were holding hands even when we were sitting at the cafe. We were holding hands everywhere and anywhere. He took me to jazz clubs and ballets. We visited museum exhibitions and pretended to be more cultured than we actually are. He introduced me to his scientists friends as an equal, not as a university student completely clueless on where her life is going. I was...smitten. It was an exciting time, to be with a sophisticated older man who treated me with respect and care and overtime I feel like this could be more. Much more. But the L word has never crossed his lips and if I was being completely honest with myself, amidst all the glamour and fun we were having, he was holding back something from me.

I wanted to ask. I wanted to know. But I didn't want to pry. I told myself if he wanted to, he would have told me. I said this to myself as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Consoling myself the only way I know how; by denial and more denial and half-concocted mistruths. “Everything is going so well, don't ruin this. Don't ruin this,” I told the increasingly apprehensive reflection in the mirror. “He cares about you, and that's enough” I said to the reflection, willing her to be satiated. But she wasn't.

And neither was I.

It was raining that day as he dropped me off at my place. He couldn't come in as he had somewhere else to go to. I smiled and what I wanted to say was....I couldn't remember what I wanted to say. But what I did say was “Why are you holding back from me?” It blurted out of nowhere. I did not plan it. All those time pleading to myself in the mirror did nothing, nothing at all.

The silence hung between us like an icicle waiting to fall and shatter into a million tiny pieces.

I didn't even have to explain what I meant because I knew that he knew what I meant. Rain was falling even harder outside. Dean Martin was crooning “Bye Bye Baby” softly out of the stereo. As if foreshadowing what's to come.

“Her name's Margaret.

“Right.

“We were together for 5 years.

“Right.

“She left me about 4 months before I met you.

“Why?

“I asked her to marry me....but she wasn't ready. We fought a lot because of that. Then she left.

“...........................................”

The icicle has fallen. And every and each of the tiny pieces managed to find its way into my heart.

“So I am.....your intermission?” Couldn't bring myself to say rebound, when clearly it was the more apt choice of word.

“It's not like that. I do care about you...it's just that....

“Not nearly enough,” I finished the sentence for him.

It was his turn to be silent. I stared out of the window. Trees were swaying in the wind. The rain was not letting up. Somewhere in a distance, a cat hurriedly crossed the street. Things seemed to be going on as per normal outside when everything, entirely everything has changed in my world.

“I should get in, it's getting late” I said as I opened the door. I wanted to get away. Just get away.

He grabbed my hand as I was stepping out. Just like that very first time. 

“I didn't want it to be like this. I don't want it to end like this.

“But it just did.”

And with that I walked into the rain and to my place. He didn't come after me. My roommate was watching the telly in the living room when I came in.

“Hey, your mascara's running down your face” she said as she stuffed her face with pie.

“Well, hell of a rain outside.”

My mascara wasn't runny for the rain alone.

After that he called and we talked. We talked for a really long time....and I decided to end it. I knew that it hurt me more than it hurt him but I deserve better than to be the intermission. I am a head-liner and if I am not than there's really no point. I deserve better. This, I know.

This was of course 2 years ago. I've moved on since then. I thought so anyway.

Today I went to the bookstore where we met in 2 years ago. They were having a fire-sale. I used to avoid the store like a plague right after it happened, but not anymore. I was thumbing through a Sheldon book this time when

“Still reading trite I see” he said in that easy way of his, appearing next to me out of nowhere.

“Fancy bumping into you here” I said.

“Not really, cheap books!”

We smiled at each other when I noticed there was a woman watching us.

“Who's that? New girlfriend?

“Old actually.....that's Margaret.

“Ah.

“We kinda got back together.

“I could see that....ah well I should get going now.

“Wait, I want to tell you something......Margaret and I, we're getting married next month. I thought you should know.”

There's that icicle again, making an unwanted reappearance.

“Oh, congrats then. I'm happy for you. I kinda need to go now but congrats!”

I gave him a smile and exited the store as gracefully as possible. Leaving the pile of books I have carefully selected for the last hour behind me. It's been 2 years but my heart was still beating in my throat and my eyes were getting blurry. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked out. Drinking every inch of me for what could possibly be the very last time.

I would have turn back for one last look too but then....this time around there was no rain to mask the mascara streaking down my face.

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.

Seriously, God hates me

I really wanna write something witty and hilarious today. But I can't. I'm depressed.

So fucking depressed.

So a little back story, I've been losing a considerable amount of weight ever since I started running last Sept. When I said considerable, I mean 19 kilos. That's about 42 pounds, if you're not on the metric system. Weight loss have never been the main goal it was more of a “Holy shit, I totally wanna run a marathon before I die” kinda thing. I'm still fat though, there's about 16 more kilos to get to my ideal BMI. However, that's not the story here. The story here is that going from a size 18 to 14 means that I gotta buy new clothes every now and then so that I totally not look like a hobo.

I been belting my clothes and doing the whole stylish layering thing for a while now cause seriously, it gets pretty expensive if I wanna buy a new wardrobe every time I drop a size. Pants however, are not as forgiving as tops cause those bitches totally slide of you. I was in the ladies department today looking at some budget pants that I can double up for gym/home/and possibly sleepwear when one of the ladies that were working there kept on staring at my boobs.

Seriously...creepy, pervert, psycho much?

Then she came up to me, put her hand on my shoulder and went

“Don't take this the wrong way love, but I seriously reckon that you're wearing the wrong bra size”.

Okay so she worked at the lingerie department and all....but still...kinda creepy.

She asked me what my size was and I told her and then she, again, stared openly at my boobs and went

“No love, you might have been that but I'm telling you now...you went down a cup.”

She gave me some new bras and you know what...she was right.

I did went down a cup. It was not like I wasn't aware of it. There have been tops that have previously been very awesome at the cleavage area that are no longer....cleavage-y. But I been telling myself that's cause I lost all my back fat, hence the tops are no longer as fitted as they are. Boobs are still however, in tact.

I was lying to myself of course.

My boobs have shrunk. My awesome rack, the type of rack that you would write home about...is no more....Holy shit I'm depressed.

I mean, WTF?! Why is it that the moment I lose weight it comes from my boobs and not my stomach?! WTF?! Why, WHY do God hates me so? I mean, seriously God, what is your deal? Like do you revel in my misery. Why the boobies God, why?!!!

Oh the pain! The pain...I cannot take it.

Probably have to take a tranquilliser to deal with the pain and the shock before I go to sleep tonight. Also, I'm losing my ass as well. Like I know I shouldn't be discussing this but my ass is shrinking as well. It's not perky anymore you guys! My ass is not perky anymore!!!! Arrrggghh!!! So now, I don't have tits AND ass. It's ridiculous. But still a lot of belly despite all the abs curls I do. No tits, no ass...but yes on the belly.

Seriously. I bet this is all some kind of bullshit cosmic joke, so the Big Guy could have his shit and giggles.

Then today, my boss told me that since sales is not going good so they're closing the shop next week. I have been working part time in a stationery/gift shop for almost 6 months now...and they're closing down the shop next week. So in a week's time, I'll be jobless.

So let's review, shall we?

No tits. No ass. No job.

And you bitches think you got it bad.

 

Bye bye boobies...