DRAFT.

READ IT HERE FIRST.

THE CHERRY JUNKIE PROJECT IS RETURNING!

Tuesday; November Two, Two Zero Zero Five: So long, farewell.

Now, am I really supposed to be sad or mad that you said, "I don't ever want to see you. Don't call me. Don't ask for anything."

You know what; great. Thank you for leaving. I have been waiting for this moment for over a year. Whatever Jesus taketh away, Jesus giveth a new one. Jesus answers prayers people. Don't ever believe otherwise.

See. Weren't you secretly hoping I would come back to give you a piece of my mind, a chance to see what people do, and a chance "to keep track" of me? See. Aren't I here today; about three years after I disappeared? See. Aren't you proud that I am here to say what I need to say, without miserably destroying the blogosphere? I am home. See?

Thursday; November Three: Bleeding.

There are places that you know you shouldn't go with the people whom you merely call your friend because after you get out of the place, there is no such thing anymore (as in friend). If he wants to see it on you and you put it on for him, you're not just friends anymore. I think people always forget that once you cross the border, you will not return to your original state the same way.

Take it off; take it all off, because you are so screwed. And be quiet. The neighbours can hear you.

Friday; November Four: *magique*

I knew; I always knew he had done it, that he would do it. Again. He's finally done it. And I don't have to tolerate this disrespect anymore.

I told Mr. Smith that, "November has always been a very interesting month for me." He said that everyone has always called him "the devil". Well, I have had the great fortune to meet the Devil. Once you allow such evil to pervade your life, things start to fall apart. The initial understanding is one of coincidence but when you step out to see the whole picture you will understand that where you stand today was caused by the first act of mischief that you thought you got away with.

I find it ironic that I was speaking with Dublin, right in the middle of October about the present situation; as if I saw it coming knowing that it would overtake my days very soon. I even bought the soundtrack for it. There are things that your sixth sense, your common sense, your inner sense, and God are trying to tell you but you never believe it until the dust cloud envelopes you. I will even skip the question, "What have I done to deserve this?" Because the truth is that I have done nothing at all, and that is why this is here today. I have not drawn the line, not believed, not committed. However I know that had I done things in a different way, the result would be the same. This outcome is unsurprisingly inevitable.

I took a very bold move and walked into a room full of strangers. It was surprisingly warm and wide, with a beautiful burnt sienna and black tapestry pinned to the wall. It was not like home but it was more welcoming than any place that I had seen in the last twelve months. The food was amazing. I spoke to too many random people about things that convinced me to continuing pursuing my extra major even though I hated it with a passion. And then I met another network administrator. I love them because I know everything about them yet I am nothing like them. This one was intellectually up to par and nothing pleased me more than our understanding of European beer and American politics. I always knew network admins were awesome. If only they didn't have to be on call 24/7.

For all the days in jest, who greets me but my cousin whom is not. Are all of you finally coming home to me? Do you know that on days like these I wish that you would just sit in front of me and be silent. That would be the best conversation we'll have.

I always knew that I was never in love with you. And now we're even, plus one; you whore.

It will never show. And no one will ever know.

Why, Mervyn, why?

"I'll pretend nothing ever happened." (translated from the Cantonese)

It is perfect timing, for now I have the spare minutes to write to all of you again and again.

Sunday; November Six: Armpit sleep.

I'm so comfortable with letting you go, and that scares me. Maybe this hasn't sunken in properly yet. Maybe it's because I'm only playing the reel in my head but nothing has been said and done yet. I now play along and accuse you the way you do me. It's as if we've both known for the longest time all the sly tricks we've executed, always thinking that no one knows. Everybody knows, baby. We just continue to pretend nothing ever happened. You're right: we behave like married folk.

The Great Miss from the subcontinent called me yesterday, out of mistake. It was so refreshing to hear from her because I had been absorbed in my thoughts of destruction that I forgot to share them with anyone. And here she was -- stupid and vulnerable like me, enamoured in her secret affairs. How we; intelligent, ruthless, powerful women; have managed to sink so deep in this charade of human relations, is beyond me. Is it our ego -- knowing well the fact that we can get away with all this, that is twisted to skew our common sense and logic of not doing stupid things repeatedly -- that is causing our sanity to fail us?

I told her I was going to drop it while it's hot. She never really knew what I'm talking about, and all the sordid things she told me, no one knows what she's talking about either. This is why I feel I need another meeting in Europe again. Europe is where I confess my stupidity to justify the delayed reactions I will have in the future.

When you're at a decent party but you're having an ongoing conversation with someone else at another party in another town, you are distracted. You're allowing your distractions to overtake and become first priority, to affect your decision making for the rest of the day. Are all distractions so attractive?

"I do not know if it is through practice ... a transparent (quality) ... like your eyes ... I can never tell if you are unhappy ... I have never seen you being unhappy."

So you see, my eyes lie; unless you're one of the handfuls of people who look at me and just know. You know I'm always in deep shit.

Monday; November Seven: Who's minding the store?

When you get a hunch, go with it. Your instincts tell you a lot, and when deciphered well, it will even allow you to make the right move with perfect timing.

I was very brave today. I believe you would have been very proud of me. For once I did something scary and unpredictable. I now know exactly how you felt when you did this, and I now understand all the unexplainable emotions that you went through. I also understand why you cried, when you really shouldn't have. I get it now. And I forgive you.

When you are the boss and mother, you have no time to wallow in your emotions. There is always work to do, there are people to see, there are things to say. There is no opportunity to look less than appropriate for the job, especially a 24-hour job. I always look happy and cheerful. Who am I kidding? Not only do my eyes lie. My whole body lies. However I still feel that they are not paying me enough to continue with this beautiful charade.

Have I ever told you about Mr. James? I guess I should now. I don't know where to start. He has beautiful skin, smooth and deeply coloured, like polished brown mahogany wood. He's tall enough, built lean, and vain enough for my approval. We love the same beer, basketball, and striped shirts. He keeps a cocky public persona, full of arrogance and confidence. In private he is simple, always thinking, absorbed into his ESPN, and his mary janes. He loves women, especially the blonde ones. I used to watch him do handstand push-ups. I found that so sexy. He used to watch me walk around in lace boyshorts. He found that so sexy. He eats everything I cook. When we dance, we know people just stare and watch us. And he cheats, all the time. And I had always known, all the time. That's why he always said I was the smart one.

Woman, I say you bail before shit happens. Even when you think you've got all bases covered and nothing is going to reach the continents you wish not to touch, we both know there is an antenna taller and stronger, hiding out there. A network is always a beautiful thing. I found mine.

Catholic boys are the least innocent of all. Always remember that, "mon chéri!"

Mr. Smith, Mr. Chew, Mr. Tan: grazie.

Wednesday; November Eight: New Balance.

I must admit that I am doing so well. I slept so well, all the way through. I woke up damn happy. Went to class late and smiling. Didn't even skip the evening class to watch my kids perform in Eastern Idol.

I have such beautiful distractions. The best part of all is that my distractions aren't only aesthetically pleasing but they also happen to be great company. I couldn't complain at all. Sometimes, I wake up just hoping to be distracted.

I went to buy shoes today, because I knew I deserved it. I almost gave in to a $200 pair of Stuart Weitzman brown gradient snakeskin pumps that were just begging to be bought. I felt like God when I put them on. Jesus, my feet looked so damn beautiful in them. But I knew I didn't do a good enough job to own those Weitzmans. I would have to cheat on a very, very good man or break a very, very bad man's heart to buy those shoes. You should have seen me. Man, even my ass looked better in those shoes.

"Frankly, your ass looks good in anything."

We distract each other, yes.

Today, and only today, I found out that there are men who do not necessarily find women ultra sexy in pointed-toed shoes. Why? Why not? We feel like we could do anything in pointed-toed shoes. The pointier the better. And there he was -- this beautiful man who wasn't even vain if he tried -- telling me that he found my tapered, square-toed boots sexier that pointed-toed shoes. And then I bought the boots, just for variety. Not all men are alike after all.

"He's like a DKNY dress. You know he's not your style but you try it on for size anyway."

My kids call me a player. Not a whore, not a pimp. They call me a player. They see me walk out of a gorgeous, red sports car, and they call me a player. They don't even see and know what I do. This is the part where we realise: young kids are the most intelligent and you cannot get away with anything in front of them.

Wednesday; November Nine: "I think for today, I would prefer you to leave; yes."

It looks like we're not going anywhere. We had our intense talk, I threw out my accusations, he tried to justify them, I kicked him out, he tried to leave, and then we talked some more. Where does this lead back to? Square one. I'm beginning to wonder if I will ever get rid of this smooth liar or I'm just keeping him around for other reasons.

"I can see myself just having beer and a conversation with you."
"I can't do that."
"And why not?"
"Because I see you as more than that."

In the end I compared him to those Stuart Weitzmans that I didn't buy yesterday. They were beautiful, sexy, and absolutely unnecessary. But I still wanted them. And I knew I will have them, no matter what. So will I him.

The one thing I've been doing as an RA that I never imagined myself doing is loaning out my shoes to my residents. I display them so proudly that my girls covet them. When they need those perfect shoes for an outfit, they come looking for me. And shoes are like men: there are so many and you will share some but there are those that no one is supposed to touch -- like those Stuart Weitzmans.

And yes, I called him a whore. It wasn't the first time.

Thursday; November Ten: Young love.

"Extrapolate. Who uses the word extrapolate?"

I have long griped about my job as an RA, always believing that this job will be the beginning of the end of me. Though I know many things bigger and stronger will break me in my old age, I've always believed that the stress and responsibility of this current position is absolutely unnecessary in comparison to the compensation I am given.

However, I had always known for a long time that the single most rewarding thing about doing what I do is seeing and experiencing young love. Love that is only awarded to youth; pure and innocent, free of sexual desire, impossible to explain, confidence boosting, honest to goodness, glow inducing love. The type of love in which joy overflows in multitudes. The kind of love that is legendary -- only happens once and only once, if you are so blessed. It's that kind of love that I see and feel through my residents. The beauty about my job is that they are willing to share this love with me; that and the eventual heartbreak. But through their lives, I get to understand exactly what love does to people and what I see lacking in myself.

I have never been so blessed to experience young love. It's as if a part of my life never existed. Or rather, it existed, but it did not happen so perfectly. The least our youth can do for us is to have one perfect moment, and usually that moment would be all about love. More than ever now, I understand where and why I am emotionally today. Not being in love for a few years can be emotionally damaging.

"We could sit under a tree and read poetry to each other."

My life now lacks poetry, which I have replaced with many questionable decisions. So today I can see that I am no longer young, and no longer in love.

Friday; November Eleven (delayed): Moshi moshi.

"There is something magical about the dumplings in Taipei."

I have sworn away my loyalty to all-Chinese-ness by promising to visit The Urban Fence Ninja is the God-forsaken land of Asian porn. Somehow it does not pain me as much to know that I will actually go beyond the entrance/exit doors of Narita, as it will the fact that I will come home and possibly like Japan. Sorry, no. That I could possible like Japanese folks; modern Japanese folks. That's a real long shot but I always fear the worst.

The Urban Fence Ninja is probably the only person whom I am confident will be published and distributed before he hits 30. We all have friends whom will make it big. And then we have friends whom will just be successful and silent about it. That's Mike for you.

We went for dinner and we roamed around Ann Arbor as if we had not seen it before. It was very refreshing to finally go to the places I had passed by so many times but did not have the company to enter with, completely ignoring the usual spots. Mike walks as fast as the Devil and strings thoughts together even faster. He also has insanely beautiful eyes, which he hides behind shades he never removes save for when driving. We discussed many things over dinner, none of which I remember. I only know that it is more important for me to eventually brave my prejudices of Japan and go visit it myself.

Today, I had to one option between Sigmund Freud, Jesus Christ, and The Devil. Guess who I chose?

Saturday; November Twelve (delayed): Bromine.

"In case my parents come home, I want you to speak like this...."

"You know, it is at times like these when I wished I had my camera with me."

Today, I passed out for the first time in my living memory. I had always come close a few times (on predicted occasions), but today I actually passed out for a few minutes. It was the best sleep I ever had. I was very blessed that I apparently weighed nothing because I was carried off to a couch to rest. The claim was that I was overheated. Passing out and then waking up is a very strange sensation: it does not feel like death -- it is not fearful nor cold -- and when you wake up again you are refreshed and thoroughly oblivious of what had happened. Time moves slowly when you pass out. I don't recommend this for stoners and junkies.

You will be amazed how much people are willing to bare to each other when they are bare. There is an immediate sense of trust when you forego everything and just get down to staring each other in the eye. You can see, sense, and feel everything; almost as if you have an innate understanding that took years to develop. I understand that our personalities go together very well. More so, I feel that we want our personalities to gel.

I could have just sat there and watched him shoot pool all day wearing nothing but his towel.

Sunday; November Thirteen: First down. Damn, that's sexy!

"Did I actually say 'pooped'? Man, I've been hanging around too many white people."

All I said was that we're belly dancing on Friday and he had trouble shifting gears.

I went to watch the Detroit Lions play today. My first NFL game, live. Great. I always knew that the most obvious thing about American football is that there are hulking men with their fine behinds squeezed into tight tights, running around and banging (into) each other. Apparently there is some strategy, which I did notice but it did not convince me much of the apparent skill and talent that is required to excel in this sport. I'll be honest is say that football (what the Americans call "soccer") is quite dumb but American football is absolutely unforgivable. You want to see real sport, watch rugby. American football is like rugby for weaklings.

My day was greatly salvaged by the fantastic company I had with me. You will almost never, and I can assure you, meet a person whom has travelled so many continents to do unintentional soul-searching and self-discovery. All this mindless travel can only be accomplished by Americans for only they have the resources, the time, and the balls to take things as they come. That's why Americans escape, and disappear, and runaway, and take road trips. Americans learn anything and everything with their "anything goes" mentality. I find it a most reckless education, but still good education nonetheless.

Kevin, I tell you who is beautiful in your portfolio -- Adam, Tunde, Tunde's ex-girlfriend, Joyce, and Min Jun. Everyone else just looks like they are trying too hard. You're a great photographer. Your subjects just have limited range. Kev's work can be viewed here. You can tell him if you like or do not like what you see. Tell him I sent you.

Adam, it's always about Adam. You and your godamn Chrome Azzaro and your ****ing amazing hands. I hate you; you sexy, sexy man.

Apparently my cellphone is my sell-out point in my staunch stand on film photography. So hear ye, I have now converted to digital technology *not*.

I can confess to you that, technology always dies on you when you least want it to; like right in the middle of your dirty talk with....

"I don't know. Surprise me."

Anticipation, Adam. I believe you.

Thursday; November Seventeen: Control.

I lack control. Maybe I really don't. Maybe what I lack is the desire to be in control. I just said three words and then I was lost in another reason that would make me go to Hell. It was crazy, and in the end I muttered, "This is ridiculous!" For a while, I didn't know what I was doing.

An open window with curtains drawn apart makes you conscious of what you do (or do not do) for fear of people seeing you halfway through your business. But we all admit that there's a little bit of an exhibitionist in us. Sometimes I just don't care anymore. I don't even bother to be quiet.

This is really ridiculous.

Friday; November Eighteen: French-Canadian at the Box Bar.

There is no better way to impress me than serving me good European beer (that means: even by American standards, it is fully imported and not available at regular retail) and watching basketball with me. This is a very simple trick only afforded by few and I was very amazed that the techie figured that out on the first try. Call it dumb luck and French charm.

We both talk funny about our fathers, love to travel, and get more perplexed every year when good company dwindles.

Sunday, November Twenty: Prisoner.

I love to be surprised, especially when the surprise is spontaneous. I'm a sucker for offers like that because they are so rare. Sometimes being hammered is not as bad as you might think.

"You look sexy in my shirt."

Heck, yeah! Damn straight I do. Now cook me another breakfast!

Monday, November Twenty One: Here we go, here we go again.

I am not good at being unproductive. I cannot take it waking up and having nothing to do. Though everyday I wish I had a day to just chill and relax, when that day comes, I get bored. I enjoyed the sleeping in and the senseless television for about three hours and then decided that skipping all responsibilities is just too drastic for me.

I can only wear your shirt for so long before I decide that I need to get back to doing my own thing.

I stayed in for a good 36 hours before stepping out. There was no sun and I had no real destination but it was refreshing to be within civilisation again. I sensed some normalcy in being able to walk, and walk, and decide that even the walking was too boring and too meaningless but it was important nonetheless. Outside these walls are more walls. Block upon block of multi-lane roads, office buildings, apartment complexes, and a big hospital. How do we relegate ourselves to live among concrete? This is painful.

It was supposed to be a beautiful day. We threw more accusations around and talked suspiciously as if we've had a conspiracy against each other for the longest time; one which we've both dragged along but never decided to confront. People always say they don't like to be confrontational -- I do not understand why and I do not want to believe it. You do not achieve anything by hiding behind un-confrontational habits. When I need to say what I need to say, it will be heard. I can say today is a beautiful day.

Seduction has to be timely. Timeliness is not for you to decide. If time and time again, you are making moves at the wrong time of the day/week/month/year; the destination is not yours to arrive.

Tuesday, November Twenty Two: "... in those jeans."

"You in your jeans makes me want to ... and ...."

"That one; that one is grown man sexy. He is hot guy sexy. Huge difference. Grown man sexy -- that's the one."

For once, please let me sleep on my own sheets, godamnit!

"I guess you were never meant to have it then."

Wednesday, November Twenty Three: Our point of view is....

"sentil (my college mate) and i have this policy. you should stop counting after you hv had both 10 drinks.and women."

"basically u want sex on taps without any responsibilitites/repercussions at this point in your life. i totally understand that and its nothing to do with being a male."

"we have 10....i know 7. they are.....cool...and not malaysian at all.... it comes from having so few of us...we dun behave malaysian...we just be american...when in rome do as the romans do."
"man....i wish i could meet up with sublime ppl like that. a lotta the msians here are into the whole borg/group mentality. drives me nutters"
"u're around too many asians....u need to swing with the irish more."

Sunday, November Twenty Seven: Tennessee.

This trip was so expensive and I almost died in the Great Smoky Mountains. Yes, the folks here misspell that word. But I got me a Kenny Chesney hat and it was curled by the dude that curls hats for all the famous folks. Tennessee rox!

And I still love Michigan. Michigan has colour. Tennessee is southern. And I don't care how charming southern folks are; they are just not sophisticated at all. Man, midwestern and eastern folks are decades ahead of the south.

Americans are so willing to drive, it baffles me.

Monday, November Twenty Eight: The glamorous life.

I love asking the techies whom have quit technology why they give up what they give up, an the best one I heard was from today: "I knew I didn't want to do this (anymore or for the rest of my life) when I woke up in the morning and I had to look at my plane ticket to figure out where I was."

The better you are at what you do, the more it can kill you.

Tuesday, November Twenty Nine: My property, your property.

I am in possession and control of very little. Perhaps I am not so special after all.

Kids always know when to knock -- when it is the wrong time -- when knocking is the ultimate killjoy.

Saturday: December Three: St. John the Baptist, Monroe.

I really do not know if I'm prepared to handle grown-man-sexy right now. It's the kind of thing that requires me to elevate my intellectualism and commitment into ruthless territory.

I witnessed my first Catholic baptism today. When people ask me about Catholics, I don't have a bad thing to say about them, because I'm one of those Protestants that have a deep appreciation for religious rituals, regardless of what religion it is. In fact, it doesn't even have to be religious; it just has to be a ritual. I myself am a ritualistic person. I'm Asian -- we're superstitious people. People who cannot appreciate rituals have very little imagination. And yes, I'll remain harsh on that statement.

So here we are witnessing the baby dunking of this innocent child and wondering if "eternal condemnation" of a child whom currently has no say about his faith will affect the choices the child will make as an adult in the future. What the Hell? Of course! Aren't we all like that?

It's a gamble to only want to see the baptism, when the dinner after that is so personal that it makes people assume I am there for reasons that I am really not there for. They said, "We hope to see you again." And I said, "Hopefully."

"So tell me about these bi-sexual tendencies."

Sunday; December Four: Victory.

You know some things you're sure you've won but you're not confident yet. I will wait for as long as it takes; in this case, two years; to be absolutely confident that you have secured it. Today I was assured the victory is mine.

I have moved on so far ahead that if the boy knew of the trail of dust I left behind for him, it would absolutely break his heart to realise he had been outplayed. You can always win the battle, but I'm winning this war. I now have stories to tell my kids; you don't.

Wednesday; December Seven: Colori.

I never knew the extent of how horrible it is to own an LCD screen and do web design on it until I saw this website on a CRT screen. I see sexy burgundy brown. You CRT viewers see faeces brown. I was aghast when I found out. This is just nasty. Colour discrepancies like these are the reason why LCD and plasma will be out of style in five years. Yes, just when you thought that you got a great deal on your high definition flat screen. Watch out for FED -- they'll return the glory to screens and make colour as beautiful as the way CRT justified it.

It will always break your heart to know that you understand everything, even when the talk is slightly intoxicated; and then you just sigh and laugh at the silliness of this tragedy.

Today, I touched skin I had never touched before. I mean, I had touched this skin many times, but I never felt this texture and I never knew it had such a bizarre story. I burned into memory, the way it felt running my fingers on this skin. It was a kind of texture that was beyond comprehension and will never be duplicated. As I listened, it was a mix of horrific amazement and surprised fascination at the sight and feel of the back of such a beautiful person. It was like the mark of old suffering that healed very, very well.

Thursday: December Eight: Dressed.

"You look really good today ... mmm ... you smell good."

When someone wakes up to greet you that way ... mmm ... that's awesome.

I never really explained this to people but the Asian boys like me, especially the very young ones. I don't know why. They know I am older but it does not keep them away. Asian boys here are just ball-sy.

"Those are nice earrings."

Friday, December Nine: Sexy, sexy.

"good enough to eat literally :-p"

Some things are good enough to wake up at 0359 hours.

Saturday; December Ten: The kids.

Matthew. We finally have a Matthew in the family. It took us 32 years to reach Matthew. I wonder what my grandfather would have said. I say we're not very far from a Nicholas now. So here's the updated list: Eric, Karen, Charity, Leena, Cherie, Ginny, Joshua, Dana, Rachel Hillary, Caleb Brian, Erin, Daniel Christopher, Matthew. In between, we also have Alden, my sister's kid. Yeah.

"thats good, then we can all have a very adult holiday."
"a very adult holiday indeed...ehahahah. i say we'll talk about the same things but with very different perspectives."
"yep, and take you to places you can't go when you were here back then."

Tuesday; December Thirteen: Two down, one more to go.

Today's completion of major term projects is nothing short of a miracle. My miracles are my team members. Without them, I'm beyond drowning. One more project to hand-in tomorrow and all I have to worry about is the four exams (I've completed two). To describe this Fall term as busy would be a gross understatement.

Matthew arrived today. That totally threw me off. I thought that when my aunt told me about him, the kid was already born. There she went, talking about Matt. Well he officially arrived today. His name is helluva long too -- Matthew James Leonard. Seems like every decade, we up the ante on the names. Now I really wonder what my grandfather would have said. And better, what my grandmother would have thought about remembering so many names. So we're up to a first name, two middle names, and a last name. I think by the time I have kids, it will be a first name, two middle names, a Chinese name, and a last name. Beat that!

I am so guilty of enjoying the roses you put in my hands.

I am so guilty of enjoying the delirious twitching of your fingers because I now know what causes them.

At least you can still write with your right hand.

"... need to start keeping the phone closer to the bed."

Thursday; December Fifteen: Nice pants.

Dockers. They have those pants that make casual cool, and cool smart. You have to hunt though. But in the middle, if you find a pair of camouflages that make your ass look great, that works too.

Saturday, December Seventeen:

"I really like you in black."

A man who is willing to walk all the way here, is a very special man indeed.

Monday; December Nineteen: LAX.

I never liked LA to begin with, but their airport totally sucks. It is old, poorly organised and badly layed out. And being a typical LA spot, the traffic is horrible. Worse, they delay flights and never justify them. Its only saving grace is an open WiFi connection.

I live in EST and all this delay bullshit in LAX is making 3:00am seem endless.

Asian people are so obnoxious, especially the young ones. Young Asians have the biggest, baddest notebook computers, and they are never afraid to sit in a row by the wall with the single double-port power socket, and whip out their machines to show off that they have built-in WiFi detectors. I myself am guilty of this.

Tuesday; December Twenty (and maybe Twenty One): Pong.

You know you are back in Asia when you go to the bathrooms and it smells like this God-forbidden place. It doesn't matter if this is an international airport. Asian bathrooms must stink, else you're not really in Asia -- you're probably in Singapore.

Another thing about Asian bathrooms is that the ones in China are funky. I always thought that the rumour was only confined to mainland China, but now I realise Taiwan is Chinese after all; no matter what Taiwanese/non-Chinese/pseudo-Japanese they claim to be. The Taiwanese restrooms don't have your standard commodes,; they have those hole in the floor type of things, and not your conventional ones too. Man, I should have taken a picture, but the bathroom smelled and I forgot to do so.

I already know of what culture shock to expect when I return home. Here I am in multiple airports and waiting lounges over the course of 24 hours and I have never been so confined among so many Asian people. I admit that I am uncomfortable, and worse, I do not even feel like one of them. The way they speak sounds familiar yet distantly weird, and I curse at the fact that Asian people are the worst dressed travallers I have seen (even the First and Business Class passengers). I sound like a hypocritical sellout.

On a lighter note, MAS flight crew members have really upped their ante these days. Apparently we now have a 5-star rating for the airline and the crew. I say it's about damn time. How different are we from the Singaporeans anyway? We're all short.

Sunday; January Eight, Two Zero Zero Six: Going home.

So I guess I've finally found the time to write, again, in some random airport somewhere. KLIA (airport code = KUL) is big and beautiful, and somehow quite flawed security-wise. I shall not divulge further but this would certainly make good conversation over coffee. If you were planning to hurt both planes and people, you're probably closer to doing it in an ultra-modern and sophisticated airport like the KLIA than anywhere else in the world. I promise you that I am not lying.

"They called the children, small children, and first class; and all the Indians got up." -- Indian guy at the departure gate speaking with an American accent (==Asian Americans).

Have I ever confessed that I love airports? There are many reasons for my statement but the thing I want you to take away from what I said is that airports are about people and their adventures.

I have so many things to tell you about these last three weeks away from home. I went home and yet it didn't feel like home anymore. But it pleased me much.

Saturday; January Twenty One: Sizzle

Godamnit but I hate to say this: I like cats. I really do. And they like me helluva lot too. Over the past 6 months, I've been visiting places where cats exist in the abode and they come up to me like fuzzy little attention whores purring away, rubbing their heads and walking up against me. I find their attention quite gratifying and I can certainly appreciate the beauty in their physical construction. Dogs look good but cats have that in-your-face machismo that a self-confidence advocate like I will notice.

Siamese cats are like dogs -- intuitive, noisy, always smelling stuff, peering their noses into things they should, and not afraid of people. I was sitting in hot water, drinking my whiskey, smoking cigars and talking while the cat just sniffed all over my juice, my water, my cider, my Johnny Walker.

Damn, that cat was sexy. Damn, you're so sexy.

Tuesday; January Thirty One:

You know the boy is just plain logical-brained when he manages to dissect sexual intercourse after he is done with it. I find it a little interesting but more of a realisation that he can do it only because he is good at what he does, always. This is ridiculous.

Wednesday; February One: SFO.

I have an invitation to fly to the west coast for reasons only associated to pleasure. Short notice, but welcome notice, nonetheless.

"I have a book of Chicago in my room! What are you talking about? I love Chicago! You see the book, it does not say New York; it's Chicago!"

I am this close: | | <-- that close to cancelling Europe and spending it just four hours away in Chicago this Spring Break. If someone does not respond in the next 48 hours, Chicago will own me.

"That would mean that I won't be able to see you for a week, and honestly, I don't want that."

Thursday; February Two: Happiness is dumbfounded.

I'm a professional. I cannot cry because my residents must never see my puffy, watery eyes. I'm a professional. I cannot raise my voice and have the argument that I can justify because my residents must never hear ruckus coming out of my room. I'm a professional. I cannot do this, I cannot do that. I'm a professional. I cannot. I'm so professional; I cannot be myself.

Today I was interviewed for reapplication of my current position. Of course I gave them what they wanted. They ate it up; they love me. I do what I do only because I can, not because I want to. But I know what I want to do. I just want to stroke my ego, so that in six months I can say no. I've learnt to say no so well that I am addicted to saying no now. I say no to everyone, all the time.

I am tired when we accuse each other of being better than the other in pleasing one another. I use the word 'privileged'. Someone gets offended. I hear the word 'others'. I get offended. We're trying to outdo how much we contribute. I don't know if anyone realises, but we barely contribute anything. I'm lying. We just don't want to admit how much we really put in. We're saying no. No, this is not us; this is you and I.

"How do you keep putting up with my shit?"
"I am designed that way."

Friday; February Three: Et vous.

They say birds of a feather flock together.

The woman loves her man, and she cheats on him. But it's not the sexual, physical thing that pulls her away. She is emotionally attached to the one man who wants her and can never have her; and she won't want to have.

I told her, "It's what so-and-so calls a 'pseudo-relationship'". And I laugh as I say that. It's so ironic that I have managed to recycle the very words used to describe the implications of my actions.

That's why we birds of a feather flock together.

I realised that when we sat there trying to console her, that she meant something and that giving all this up was throwing too many good things away; I knew I should be in her shoes. I should have traded places. I should not have wiped away any tears. I should have asked for help. I should have said, "I don't know what to do, and I wish this could be different."

I spend so much time making sure other people are alive and happy. It's close to 0300. No one is making me happy. And I am always alive. If only I were more foolish, then I would think of death, and I would be happier.

Saying goodbye is a silently odd and undesirable occurrence.

When Malaysians are drunk they quote circuit and engineering formulas. Malaysians are so nerdy when they're drunk, it's not sexy at all.

Saturday; February Four: Love, I thought you had my back.

I get a sense that when I can finally get all my plans together to go to Europe, I might not even make it any more because there will be no more flights. People take too long to let me know their plans. Or rather, I'm involving too many people in too many locations to get my plans together. This is not good. Maybe this year, it's only Chicago after all.

We call each other and stay on the phone, but for nothing. Words are hardly said; many things repeated. There is no new information. There is resentment. We tire.

"I am putting down the phone because you want me to. Good bye."

I don't know what to do anymore. I am not happy.

Sunday; February Five: Superbowl in Detroit.

It's four in the morning and I pick up the phone because I'm required to. I wonder who has decided to commit suicide this time. The conversation goes on and off and I finally sleep at six. I always have to justify myself, especially at night. Sometimes I wonder if it's okay to wake up mad, feel crappy, and then sleep happy. Sometimes I wonder if I'm meant to hear all that I hear. Sometimes I wonder if this is worth it.

Why do people question each other when they already know the answers?

"I don't like liking you, or, I hate loving you; which ever way you want to put it."

I am lying if I say that I can go back to square one.

"I move forward, not backwards ... but ... if it makes you happy".

And then I realise, the psychologist is always right. She was always right. She knew all along. She knew how to coin terms for it and put it as bluntly as it was. I didn't want to believe her, at first.

Barcelona is off.

"I can't," and then I sob.

Friday; February Seventeen: Square One.

On Tuesday, I got the flowers, I got the chocolate, I got the romance. It was great. It left me smiling for over 48 hours. I was actually happy. And why do I have this very sure intuition that you're back to your bullshit again?

Wednesday; March Eight: AMS

I am back from Holland (as in Europe, not Michigan). I had a very light dose of the White Widow in Amsterdam and all I wanted was to see him naked. Like he said, I should have called him. It would have been great.

"(name), I'm in Amsterdam now and I'm high as a kite. I just wanted to let you know that I am thinking about you and I really want to see you nekkid." *click*

It would have been great because after I told him, he still didn't know how to respond. It was perfect.

Thursday; March Nine: Square One.

Yup, still suspect you're back to your bullshit again.

Sunday; March Twelve: Some title other than 'love'.

When a man really loves a woman, he does everything to bring her back to him. I am watching this process happen and I am amazed at the beauty of love. People don't talk about love anymore. It's okay. I think actions that speak louder than words are mind-blowing.

If only that woman is I, and the man someone who loves me.

Michelle, I read your e-mail today. I semi-revived this blog and let it die again. But I think this blog deserves to go live again for good. Thank you for reminding me.

"Its like you're looking right at... well... parts of me..."
"damn straight! i'm always looking at (parts of) you :P "
" :) I'd have it no other way."