Day of rest

Took sick leave today. Despite my best intentions to be the perfect convalescent - bed rest, sleep, lots of liquids - I ended up spending the afternoon clearing my room. I can now see the floor.

A wonderfully leisurely day of rest. Drifting in and out of sleep in the morning, an afternoon chat with my housemate, sinful microwaveable food, time to actually finally iron my clothes, paint my nails, new sheets, hoovering the floor of my room, some sorting out of my knick knacks into piles. An unusual day of domestic bliss.

I declare, eight day weeks should really be instituted - 5 days of work, 3 days of rest! For once in my life, I'm beginning to think the French might have gotten it right with 35-hour work weeks, and the Spanish with siestas.

Still feeling nauseous though and my bones are aching. Wishing I had slept in the afternoon instead. Feel like an old woman.

A week in the life of

Friday night at Stringfellows.

A friend X from work was leaving the firm, and post leaving-drinks at a bar near work, the party headed over to Stringfellows on Upper St Martin's Lane.

A reverse Cinderella, I headed to town straight after work and reached there just as the clock struck midnight, and pumpkins turned into magical coaches.

My friend was overjoyed that I actually showed up: "e*! You came! You really didn't let me down! Wow, that's great! I can't believe it, I've never managed to get a girl to come along to a strip club!! WOW." Apparently another girl from work had actually turned up and was right outside the gentlemen's club when she chickened out and went home instead.

Strictly speaking, I wasn't the only girl there - I was one of two girls. However, I was the only "girly" girl girl there (even that is debatable I think).

So it was my first experience with a strip club. I took a step into the club, glanced around and took in all the flesh on display. And -Boom-, just like that I was inured to it. Naked flesh is just naked flesh. And I was actually pleasantly surprised at how safe and unthreatening the club felt. I was expecting a dodgy place, but in the end, I found that I quite liked the atmosphere. It helped that we had a small crowd from work, including one other girl, and that we were occupying tables in a classic position, right alongside the stage.

As I watched the girls pole dancing and doing their act, I finally understood why and how a friend of mine could date a stripper. I didn't use to understand how my friend could date a stripper, and more importantly, allow her to continue stripping while they were together. Didn't he get jealous at all the guys oogling her and pawing her?

But that night, I got a sense that this was just a job to the girls. It's no big deal in a way. Yes, you happen to be naked, but it's the same as any other job. There's a schedule, you take turns to go on stage in the basement, and upstairs near the entrance. There's a routine - you start from one pole, do your moves, move to the next pole, take off some clothes, then rotate to the foremost pole in front of the stage, strip down to your thong, then you go off stage. Then you start soliciting. Give your name, sit on a couple of laps, smile , chat, and try to get guys to buy dances.

Most of the girls don't look particularly seductive when they pole dance. Because I look at their face as well, not just their gyrating bodies. And most of the time, their faces seem blank, their eyes stare straight ahead into nothing, making no particular eye contact. And so it seems to me that their movements, apparently suggestive though they may be, are mechanical, and lack the soul and passion that makes it truly sexy.

That's why I told my friend that I got a sense that these were just regular working girls. Like they could be bankers, lawyers, accountants, whatever, except that instead of crunching numbers and writing up fancy documents, they strip. It's about sexy to them as auditing is to an accountant. I can almost imagine them writing up to do lists or grocery lists as they do their moves.

I don't envy the girls the job, mainly because it can get really difficult to get people to buy dances. And of course you may meet the horny, desperate toad who would get fresh with you. Plus, I reckon most of the guys disrespect the girls in the club.


I thought most of the girls seemed quite nice actually. All of them smiled at me when their eyes met mine as they were pole dancing. And the three girls I'd spoken to (two of whom danced for me) were all really sweet, friendly, and lovely - came up to me, grabbed my hands, and did the bisous.

Samwra, Christina, Sabrina.

Morocco, Portugal, Russia, Poland, France. The girls comes from all over. But maybe there's a reason why they ended up here, in this job. Who knows? The French Moroccan girl who had first come over the London to improve her English because that was the reason why she was turned down for a stewardessing job in a French airline company. She goes home every holiday to her big family of eight brothers and sisters, but she doesn't really miss them. And going home doesn't seem like a real holiday. She's been shunting between home in Southern France and London since she came here a three and a half years ago. She thinks maybe she'd rather go somewhere else for her next holiday. And there was a girl in a red babydoll dress who moved listlessly, almost as if drugged, and had the saddest expression on her face. I wondered why she was here.

I'm in two minds about strippers. One one hand, I don't know what has driven them to where they are today. I tend not to like to pass blanket judgement over girls unless I know their background. And I'm inclined to be soft-hearted and protective towards what I call "story girls". On the other hand, the part of me that is exacting sometimes questions: "Wasn't there a better choice that they could have made?"

But I wasn't thinking about the deeper issues of life and the stories of these girls all the time obviously. A strip club is ultimately a meat market.

X suggested a lap dance. I've always wanted to try one, but then I thought it would be really weird and awkward. Especially since I can't see these girls as just lumps of meat, an art that I think most of my male colleagues easily mastered. X suggested the two of us share a lapdance if it would me make me feel more at ease. And since I know I'd have to try it once in my life anyway, and who knows when I'll next end up in a strip club, I said yes. The first girl who danced for us was the French Moroccan girl, who he had previously spoken to, and who came over and chatted to us while we were at the bar.

He asked me after if I enjoyed it. I was like: well.. it's a new experience. But I was probably too traumatised the first time round, plus, while the girl was nice, she wasn't really my kind. The boy said that a girl dancing for him doesn't do that much for him, because it's really just jokes. Apparently he gets hornier when he sees a girl dancing for another girl. He persuaded me to share another dance with him, and I said yeah, okay. Cos I wanted to see if I'd have a better second experience with a chick I fancied more.

It's shocking how picky one gets after a while. When I had first entered the place, I thought all these girls had amazing bodies. But after a while, I became a lot more discerning and picky. And X would fancy a girl, then strike her off because another hotter chick came on stage, or because he prefers another kind of figure, or he doesn't like a feature of her face or her hair. We took ages ages to agree on a girl we both liked. Until finally I got annoyed and gave him the ultimatum - either he gets the girl who he thinks is The hottest chick in the club to dance for us, or I leave.

The girl had stepped off the stage and disappeared. But he managed to appear with her in tow. She danced for me alone. The second experience was still quite surreal for me. X was disbelieving: "Aren't you at all affected by all this?!?" I guess if I let myself go, then yeah, I could get turned on, not only by the lapdance, but by the whole atmosphere. But I'd have to be fairly relaxed and in the right frame of mine. And I guess I'm more of a private person in that, to get into that right frame frame of mind, I'd need to be away from the public eye. Besides, honestly, it struck me as being highly unproductive to get all turned on and horny if I wasn't going to get any that night. That's just really asking for needless suffering. X himself was horny as hell and I was just cracking up.

Although I ended up being dubbed "The Pimperina" and crowned the Queen of Cool for being a good sport enough to enter a strip club and try out lapdances. At the end of the day, I'm still a girl. And there are just some things that guys can and will share among themselves, which will necessarily exclude me. Which is really quite annoying. But at the end of the night when the coach turns back into a pumpkin, and the horses into mice, there's still that glass slipper to hold on to. And the glass slipper ain't too bad really.

***

Written on January 27:

Yesterday, I woke up in the middle of the night and thought I was going to DIE. My throat was painfully parched , my bones were aching, my nose was blocked, chest hurting, couldn't really breathe, I was upset and miserable, cold and feverish at the same time.

It was the second night in a row that I woke up suffering, although last night was infinitely worse than the night before last.

Been feeling nauseous every afternoon for the past week. And tonight I properly felt like being sick. I am reminded once again why I think getting pregnant is a Bad idea.

***

Written on January 25 in the office:

0049 hours in the office, and it's once again time for me to wonder what else I'd rather be doing at 0049 hours on a Tuesday night instead of waiting for my presentation to be processed.

Sleeping, having wild animal sex, lying on my back and gazing into a starry night sky, cycling, talking and laughing and running along a distant beach, snuggling and whispering under a duvet, skinny-dipping in the moonlight, watching DVDs, IM-ing manically, playing bridge.

i <3 my housemates

i have the most awesome housemates ever!!

they came to my workplace to share a cookie with me after school today, just to cheer me up.

*MUUUUUUAAAAAKKKKKKS*

thank you. i really really appreciate it.

Today, for the second time since I started working, I really didn't want to be doing my job.

I had been laughing hysterically during dinner. I found everything funny and just couldn't stop laughing. My housemates were baffled. One of them said: " Look e*... don't tell me you're going to suddenly start crying yeah. Cos if you do, I'm really just going to walk upstairs and pretend I didn't see it happen." You see, I have this habit of bursting into tears in the middle of hysterical laughter. I generally cope through laughter. Whenever I get really stressed, the panic and desperation comes out as laughter. I suddenly keep laughing and laughing uncontrollably. The slightest thing sets me off into this spasm of apparent hilarity. Then at some point, the last frayed strand that has been keeping everything together breaks.

All of today, I Knew that my boss was going to call me back to work on something that wasn't big, but that everyone thinks Needs to be done Today. The voice of Heaven itself. And I knew she wasn't going to look at it immediately. Oh noooo. She was going to tell me what she expects much later on. So I had been waiting all day like a sheep for slaughter.

2037 hours. One phone call. I pulled on my jeans, threw on a coat, and was out the door.

As I walked out to the bus stop at 9pm on a Sunday night, without enough sleep, knowing that I had to be in the next day before 8, I lost it. I scrunched up my face and squeezed out the few hot tears that I knew was bubbling beneath the surface. The first time I've shed tears on this job. And no, I am Not PMS-ing.

"Pardon me for Babeling"

First day back at work. Dazed by the sudden change of environment. Numb from loss of my camera. Detached from a seemingly long separation from routine. Drowsy from lack of sleep. Unfocussed from my slight illness.

Yet happy to be back. Back to the comfortable group of friends at work, and to my team. To the girl for whom everywhere and nowhere is home, it almost felt like a home-coming.

It was a day for greetings, catching up, well wishes, questions, advice, laughter, and pranks.

Prattled on happily to different members of my team about my ski trip and the drama of it all. - My trials and tribulations almost seem worth it, since I managed to get a story out of them. Suggestions and anecdotes abounded from my seniors to my bosses:
"Ah... your first time. - Don't worry, it gets better."
"You can't let one bad skiing experience put you off skiing"
"Have you tried snow-boarding? It's easier to pick up."
"You can still snowboard when you're old. I have an uncle who's over 50 years old. He still snowboards."
"It's more difficult to learn snow-boarding initially, but it becomes easier after you get the basics"
"December? You'll have forgotten everything by then! You should go skiing in March"
"I had a relationship crisis when I brought my wife skiing when we first went out"
"I tried both, but I prefer skiing. Skiing is for adults, snowboarding is for kids"

Above all, today was a day for advice. Besides skiing advice, bizarrely enough, I also got love advice ("You'll see. Later on, many female bankers will quit their jobs to find boyfriends", "You can go for J!", "Don't marry an engineer"), and investing advice ("Now is not a good time to invest in property", "Investing in property is the surest thing, but you have to be in it for the long term", "You must take some risks and leverage up, but mustn't over-stretch to maintain flexibility") from people from three different ranks in the hierarchy.

The usual analyst lunch. A quick swing into Starbucks for coffee. My requests for hugs. A prank played on me by the analyst sitting next to me, who had started off stern and overly serious, but has been getting cheekier as time goes by.

Aye. I'm somewhat glad to be back. Kind of despite the hours. At least for now. I'll be crashing this weekend though.

Misunderstanding the meaning of a word: the need for a better grasp of the English language

Main Entry: ¹hol·i·day

3 chiefly British : a period of relaxation : VACATION -- often used in the phrase on holiday; often used in plural

_{Source: m-w.com}
________________________________________________________

Back from my skiing holiday (7th-15th Jan) in the Swiss Alps (Torgon), the first of my precious annual leave that I have taken since starting work in July 2004.

My memories from the trip are that of swerving wildly on my skis, falling, falling, falling, falling (you get the idea...), falling off _small cliffs, crashing into someone while going at full speed, sliding halfway down a blue slope despite my best snow ploughing efforts (x3, including sliding down backwards once), skis and ski poles flying off in different directions, my left knee hurting so badly that tears welled up in my eyes by the time I made the painful hike down from the slopes to the bus.

Souvenirs from the trip: a knee guard; a still hurting left knee; a sore throat.

The trip was definitely one of the lower points in my life. On an absolute scale of All Life Experiences, the ski trip does not rank rock bottom. - I'm sure there have been darker times when I have felt more depressed, bleak, and overwhelmed. But when considering my feelings of competence, capability, and self-belief in my own ability, the ski trip probably marked the lowest point of my self-esteem in my 22 years of life so far. Never have I felt so bad about myself. So much so, that I was actually missing London, and wishing I were back at work instead of being on holiday.

The only upside from the trip was my gorgeous French instructor Clem, who was, in addition to being beautiful, a great instructor, excellent at explaining the mechanics behind skiing, guiding you step by step, and imparting skiing techniques.

Take aways from the trip:
- resolution to send my kids to ski school in future (that, or marrying a skiing boy)
- a hare-brained marriage timetable so that I can co-ordinate sending my kid to ski school with my cousin (it's funny at least)
- musings on fear in general, and the fear of falling in particular
- a determination to go skiing again: I have never been defeated before, and I am Not going to start now. I refuse to be beaten by two stupid thin, flat, fibreglass boards. - "If at first you don't succeed (and haven't killed yourself or completely smashed your limbs), try, try again"

The year gone by, and the year ahead

So I've managed to procrastinate writing about 2004 until 2005. But what does a few days matter anyway? After all, calendars are man-made. The actual process of reflection should be on-going.

When I look back on 2004 and ask myself: what have I achieved? I'm afraid the answer has to be: precious little. At the end of every year, I often find it disappointing how little progress towards my life goals I have made. And yet, collectively, when things are put in perspective, I think I don't do too bad. I often feel like I could have done more, and that I'm running out of time. But then, I often forget how young I am as well. True, some 22 year olds have done more. But on the balance, I'm just on the right side of okay. After all, things take time, and many of my projects/goals are fairly long-term. As long as I'm headed in the right direction, I guess I shouldn't feel too demoralised over not having done massive amounts in a calendar year, because time is a continuum.

In the year past, I have:
gone on a roadtrip - _{lived my dream. and done a million and one things that i had always dreamt of. all the places i've been, things i've seen, food i've eaten. it was possibly the high point of my life so far.}
taken a leap of faith and acted on instinct _{- going over to the States to go on the roadtrip with X who I'd met on the Internet. which turned out to be the perfect decision. because he is a darling darling boy and my personal hero and star, even though we quarrel loads and our personalities and views clash violently. Thank you!!}
kissed boy Y _{- which eventually helped me realise that I have...}
gotten over The Boy _{- in the dying days of 2004, after 3 years and 4 months +, I realised that I was actually finally ready to let go. I'm over him. Free from most of his Shadow. I'm finally ready to meet new boys without baggage from The Boy (just even older issues that I have about boys in general), ready to fall in love. and so I...}
tried Internet dating _{- yep. taking things into my own hand. - it's a new experience}
met some good people i like on the internet (not the same as internet dating) and in real life
started work _{- and mostly still loving it}
gotten to know people of different nationalities and cultures, and made new friends - _{finally expanding my horizons, which was my reason for leaving my homeland. and though i know they will never read this: thank you L for being there. and thank you J for listening, support, teasing, and for "e*, you're broken. you need someone to fix you."}
let loose a little bit and done a bit of wild(er) partying/drinking - _{finally. need more of that.}
learnt to be more sociable _{- see above two points}
become slightly girlier _{- make-up. wardrobe.}
reassembled my bike and started cycling again

The only big ticket item in the above list is really the Great American Road Trip, Summer 2004 Edition. The rest are smaller steps which have brought me closer to my own personal goals, or a bunch of things that happened to me serendipitously, which obviously cannot count as an achievement. Nonetheless, my life has been enriched by them. Except of course, this girl is annoyingly addicted to the adrenaline high that can only be obtained from big ticket items. And besides, a couple of things on the list have only transpired in the past couple of weeks, and so don't feel like they are even part of 2004 proper. Rather, they seem like front-runners of 2005.

I haven't made New Year's Resolutions in years. Don't generally believe in them. But this year, I've decided to list very few points that I want to work on specifically within this time frame.

And they are:
1) grow my nails - _{i've bitten my nails for all my life bar 1.5 years. i'm going to stop.}
2) run the NYC marathon (and possibly do the London Triathlon. but that's not officially on the list) - _{the girl can barely run more than 2.4km, so this is an ambitious goal. and frankly, i'm not confident that i can achieve it. but i definitely want to do it. and i'm thinking that if i say it often enough, i will believe. and i'll need to raise fund when the time comes *hint* *hint*.}
3) become more girly* _{- make-up. wardrobe. partly pressured by my cousin. but also because it's an essential part of my career.}
4) date** _{- again, partly pressured by my cousin. but then also because i'm ready now, and i want to meet boys now and have light-hearted fun before i fall in love again and become all serious. plus, i put it down because since there is no quota on the number of dates/boys, i have already achieved this resolution. and it's just a reminder to myself to be open-minded.}

Of course there are other goals I'm working towards and other aspects of myself that I'm trying to improve. But those are an ongoing work in progress that I don't want to put in a resolution. This is list is tangible, measurable, and time-critical.

Right.

Come on then 2005, let's rock and roll!!

________________________________________________________
<sub>Note:
* time permitting
** time and opportunity permitting</sub>

Baby

Went for another bonding session with my bike today. Fourth bonding session in four days since I reassembled her on Friday night. I'm trying to get used to cycling again, and get used to my baby - the way she moves, turns; her responses to my touch, until we meld together into one being - respond in anticipation of the other's move in a fluid dance.

I remember when I first met my bike on my cycling trip to the Czech Republic. I hadn't ridden a bike in ages. Was not confident. Awkward. All knees and elbows when it came to handling my silver rented bike. My first ride was unsteady, wobbly. But over the days, I got to know my bike better, how to handle her so that I would keep her safe, and she me. How much pressure to put, what angle to turn, when to pedal and when to let go to optimise efficiency. And day by day, I fell in love with my darling baby. As we wheeled along long straight roads, or through leafy dirt tracks, up slopes and downhills, either struggling, or cruising along with the wind on my face, she was my partner and I felt one with her. When the time came for me to part with her, I was heartbroken, and was actually insanely thinking of bringing her back with me to London. Never mind that she was a used rented bike and I was on a budget airline. However, after rationally weighing the cost and benefit, I chose to leave my beautiful silver bike back there in the Czech Republic. But I left her there on the condition that I will never leave another bike again. That day, I promised myself that I would buy my own bike. And that bike would come with me on my travels and I'd never have to go through the heartbreak of parting with a trusted companion again.

That led to me buying my silver and red baby in NYC when I was Stateside two summers ago. Whizzing madly through NYC, sailing on elation, high on adrenaline.

Since bringing her back to London though, I have mainly left her disassembled, stored away. It would hurt me too much to have her nicked, scarred, scratched. Every sound she made that didn't sound normal sent me into spasms. So I didn't have the heart to ride her.

But recently, because of my intention (which has remained an intention) to do the Critical Mass ride, and the rekindling of my dream of completing a triathlon, I decided to hit the asphalt on wheels again. I realised that I have done myself, and my bike a disservice for far too long by keeping her locked away, and myself deprived.

I'm trying to regain cycling confidence again. Right now I'm working mainly on my turns, some slope work, and then I really need to get confident of cycling on roads with traffic. I'm not confident of making turns, especially sharp turns, and my left hand is worse than my right. So I've been making turns going round and round, and cycled along with only my left hand on the bar for a while, using only my left hand to steer and even turn some corners.

I cycled along the winding roads that snake around my neighbourhood, turning into random alleys and cobbled streets that draw me, twisting further into new unexplored paths without specific aim or direction, never thinking about the route home. Because it seems that in this sleepy industrial East London riverfront, every road seems to lead back to the street where I live.

Down ghostly streets with tall seemingly empty buildings with bridges high overhead, past the river, into housing estates with a park, and a fenced football court, where in the States it would have been a fenced basketball court, past industrial buildings and factories, the high walls of the Tobacco Dock, all the way to the secluded restricted entrance of a Newspaper printing plant? agency? head office? With grey skies overhead, the lone security guard barring my entrance, and no one else in sight except for a car waiting for me to turn back, it seemed eerie and surreal. This entire part of my neighbourhood seemed like a lost world. A grey ghost of a town. Which fell through the cracks of time. And lives on, in parallel to the bustling, crowded London of tourists, high street retailers, the artsy crowd, and the financial barons.

I meandered through this beautifully haunting other-London, my mind roaming free, breeze on my face, mouth curved in a faint smile, hair flying in the wind, in companionable silence with my bike. And I thought: "Maybe this is what love is."

Food

Right now I'm having my fourth meal of instant noodles in 3 days. I've been having an amazing run of craving for instant noodles with egg, and bad salty food in general.

Today I didn't actually have a craving for instant noodles. But I had been awake for hours, was starving, couldn't wait for my other housemates to wake up and make food, since I wanted to go jogging/gym in the afternoon before heading out in the evening. So I wasn't in the mood to make complicated foods, and there doesn't seem to be any real food in the house fridge.

As I was putting the water to boil, I realised that I barely remember the days when I used to cook at all. I've never been a fancy cook of course. Hate cooking on principle. But there was a brief period in time when I actually enjoyed the act of making food for my own consumption. Like the time when I tried brussel sprouts with butter and salt (never got that one right) and asparagus (yuuuum), or when I used to eat avocado with mozzarella (sliced nicely and arranged prettily on a plate) just because it gave me pleasure. Food was a luxury to be savoured. It enriched my life and gave me the simple kind of joy that is free of entanglements.

Nowadays, I almost invariably eat out (takeaway) because of work. The rare times I come home early, I'd just have whatever my housemates are eating, make instant noodles, or my friend and cousin would make food for me. Which is great obviously. But I've also reached a level of inertia, such that even on my days off, I don't feel like making the effort to cook something that I'd enjoy eating. Instead, meals have become a chore to be dealt with in as cursory a fashion as possible: what's the easiest, quickest thing? shove it into my stomach. done. next.

I'm no longer in love with food. And life has become that little bit less beautiful. Not because I'm no longer in love with food alone, but because my apathy towards the food I intake is a symptom of a more disturbing problem - a lessening of self-love. I don't care enough to take the time and effort to make food for myself, and to pay attention to what I eat.

As I was frying eggs and throwing my instant noodles into the frying pan, I realised that I'm missing proper simple home-cooked food. I'm craving spicy food and curry. Food which reminds me of home and my mother's love. So I decided that I would cook either tonight or tomorrow. I'll go out and buy the ingredients after typing this entry and going for a quick spin on my bike. I refuse to cook for boys on principle, and I did initially hesitate, because I'm alone in the house with two boys now, and just by plain bad luck, I'd end up cooking for them too. But at the end of the day, you know what? I'm cooking for myself really, because that's what I want. And I'm not going to deprive myself because there happen to be boys around and I'm hung-up over some rubbish principle. Because that would undermine the whole principle - I'd be allowing boys to dictate what I do.

Besides, the point of cooking would not be about eating the food at all. It's about returning to younger, more innocent days. It is about taking the time out, to slow my life down, and revel in the simple pleasures of life.

My favorite boy

Chatted to my baby cousin brother (all of two years younger than me!) for the first time in ages today, and am reminded why I'm crazy in love with that boy. He's the rudest, most obnoxious, evil little tyke on earth!

Excerpts from our conversation (his words):
- "yeah expired story:P"
- "hanahana....damn pro la pro drinker"
- "plz dont make me look as if im an angel"
- "yea but you're too ugly right?"
- "i understand... life sucks..so move on"

- him: (re: a girl) "so lets not make any associations now..later lower my stocks... i'm serious....i realise i dont like her at all"
- me: "your stock already trading very low lah"
- him: "well at least im floating in the stock market, you are like fighting for bankrupty with the court:P"
- me: "*lol* for real... three years no boy... i think i'm gonna have to change that soon! ;)"
- him: "is 3 years supposed to be long?????... OMG"
- me: "all my friends are attached. =/"
- him: "so go find ppl that looks like you... and you will have many many single friends"

- him: "what makes you think i wanna stay with you? ;)"

- me: "kisses to you. *MUAKS*"
- him: "blearghh!!!....."
- me: "huh!! more kisses.... *MUAKS* (just to annoy you!! ;))"
- him: "kk bye... shoo... shoo"

Haha. I so so rarely talk to him. It's been years and years. He's the only boy I ever physically fought with - pushing, shoving, grabbing arms, legs kicking. This was when I was 8 years old, all over a pair of flip-flops. I used to stay with his family for several years while growing up. So really, he's like a little brother to me. Plus we used to look quite similar. And given that I've always wanted to be a boy, he carries all my dreams with him.

I love that he's so rude, the way he's always been all along. Brusque, with his classic awkwardness in expressing his emotions, and a very act-cool front, behind which I know lies the softest heart, a sensible if not the most-disciplined of minds, and the little boy I knew and loved, and quarreled and fought with.

(Okay. I pray he never ever reads this entry. Really doubt he will. But he will soooo kill me for my cheesiness and sappy-ness..)

It's the New Year

And I've already had a new experience! :)

I got properly wasted last night - I actually puked up, which is a first for me.

Too much alcohol, too quickly, empty stomach.

But no, really, I am not an alcoholic, despite having gotten alcohol-happy three times in the past three weeks. Honest.

I've always been a very good kid. Don't believe in too much alcohol (the liver!!). And never drank much. Alcohol seemed too expensive and unhealthy a habit for me. But since the whole drunken-haze and debauchery seems practically a rite of passage for every youth, I've decided to dip my toes into it a bit - try everything once yeah?

I'm still not a stupid, out of control drunk, if I can be considered to have been drunk at all. What is the definition of drunk anyway? Sleepiness? Talking a little bit too loudly (hey... I just happen not to be able to hear myself okay?)? Hurling? Taking a (very short) nap because I was feeling sleepy and I didn't want to start being stupid? Running around saying "I win! I win! I win!!" because I've finally actually puked up as I've always wanted to for at least once in my life? (Remember the girl's motto: "Try _(almost) everything once". Cocaine, heroin, and as-yet-undefined selected experiences excluded.)

By the way, I was inordinately proud of myself for being such a neat, practical "drunk" - I made my way to the toilet very rationally and aimed my sick very neatly into the toilet bowl - all of four times. Flushed thereafter. I even washed up the bowl and utensils for the instant noodles that I asked my friends to cook for me. Chatted briefly to the cab driver on the way home.

I am truly a star. Bring out the pom-poms!! :)

I rather don't see why people kill themselves on the alcohol. The whole getting pissed thing is really rather over-rated. But even the getting sick bit wasn't as horrible as people made it sound. It wasn't too uncomfortable an experience.

I'm quite pleased with myself, because for a person who doesn't usually drink alcohol, and who's fairly light, And chinese, i think i drank a fair amount of alcohol, more than some of the guys certainly, and I was still in a pretty good shape.

Plus of course the wonderful, finally, much-awaited for puking. I had wanted to get that experience over and done with fairly soon, before I get too old to indulge in silly shenanigans.

GO me!!! :)