Sunday, April 24, 2005

A Tinge of Loneliness

  • A tinge of loneliness I felt, as I struggled to remove myself from the entangled mass of copulating bodies in heightened crave on a Full Moon Party. Got bruised in the arm as I freed myself from an overzealous uncle, but I thought it helped lessen the pain in my heart.
  • A tinge of loneliness I felt, as Eddie and I stepped out of Towel Club into the deserted streets at 4am, and took a slow walk back to our hotel in Chinatown in the breezy night air. All the experiences in the sauna, however exciting or boring, inspiring or embarassing, will now be reduced to memories as the door swinged shut.
  • A tinge of loneliness I felt, as I read the SMS from Loy. He was at the beach at Hua Hin. I replied asking him to please take care of himself. Did a quick check on the message before sending it out and prompty deleted the word 'baby'. Got used to this term when addressing each other over the past four years. That needs to change now.
  • A tinge of loneliness I felt, as I sent one last SMS to Ben. Whatever happened to the planned rendezvous I don't know. But all I can tell is his reluctance to extend a warm shoulder for me to cry on when I needed one the most, and that all I will be to him, is an existence separated from his lover and close friends, and thus only qualifies his attention as the clock strikes 12am. I hope he was able to cancel his leave.
  • A tinge of loneliness I felt, as I watched palm oil trees flitted past while munching Seremban Siew Pau in the bus back to KL. Took a minute to list down my regrets while Eddie giggles to Chow Sing Chi’s absurbly humorous antiques in an old production.
  • A tinge of loneliness I felt, as I pulled up the sheets during bedtime and turned to look at the empty bed next to me. Replied a few ‘Good Night’ messages, and turned off the lights.

Monday, April 04, 2005

Dream On

Inspiring new dreams ... with a 70's look?

Sunday, April 03, 2005


  • Struggling for love (Futile attempts of locating love in Mirage, but all I found was lust, when will I ever learn? No more diligent checking of hearts in Fridae, no more aimless search of compatible nicks in and MIRC, but where have all the good men gone to?)
  • Struggling to be a better son (No more guilt pangs of seeing Mum on the sofa in the living room, staring into thin air, or watching age-old chinese serials on Astro)
  • Struggling to be a better friend (Deleted names in my phone contact list, whom I know I meant very little to, or meant very little to me. Friends should live for the challenge of being mutually inspiring, and encouraging, not just for pathetic exchanges of beauty tips, fashion talk, and sex & gossip chats)
  • Struggling for career (No point watching the ERL zoom past me every morning when I'm not on it, 20 more years to visit the 188 places I must go before I die, but I'm doing nothing about it now.)

Goodbye Chua

  • You to Me: (stupid April Fool's joke)
  • Me to You: "You are?"
  • You to Me: "Have you changed your phone recently?"
  • Me to You: "Nope, but I have reviewed my contact list and deleted all the names whom I do not have the slightest idea of who they are anymore, or the other way round."
  • You to Me: "Well, let me tell you who I am. I am your ... "
  • Me to You: (no reply)
  • You to Me: "Dearie, another half an hour more for April Fool's.."
  • Me to You: "So are you going to disappear again, only to send me another joke next April Fool's?"


Goodbye Jerry

  • Goodbye the tattoo on your back (why put a chinese character when all you speak is English?)
  • Goodbye the base note of Issey Miyake off your neck (even though it will never smell the same on mine)
  • Goodbye the last hug you gave me in Mirage (I thought you asked me to bring you home?)


Saturday, April 02, 2005

Good Night Mr MD

I remembered most vividly the walk with you from the hotel lobby to Shooks. There was only the slightest of drizzle, but you insisted on taking the umbrella along. For the full three minutes, our world was confined within the tiny zone beneath the coverage. You casually wrapped your arms around my back, hand landing on my shoulder. You had the umbrella inclined towards me, and I had to come closer to try and keep you dry too. And then I caught your Men 212 again.

I thought I noticed a Caucasian lady glancing our way, and then quickly looked away. You didn't seem to mind at all, perhaps the thought of being 333km down south (away from the 3,000 odd employees in your plant) was comforting enough.

Dinner's conversation revolved around your life stories, your life philosophies and in particular your gradual climb up the corporate ladder, as you pinched slices of meat that I had cut out from the outrageously large chunk of steak on my plate. Sorry I stopped you from talking a few times, I needed my appetite if I were to keep my promise of finishing my dinner, and the fact that I was loosing it (listening to someone who sounded very close to my manager) was not helping.

But thank goodness you did not sound like him when we were in bed.

You showed me your name card (even though I had not, in any occasions at all, doubted your words), and then the new LV wallet that you got just in the afternoon (I was struggling to find the coins compartment and the logo, but only saw an extensive collection of credit cards in various shades of gold and platinum), and then you went on to share with me a step-by-step instructions on assembling a HGA (used in all magnetic disk storage technology). I had to stop you from telling me your monthly salary.

I waited at the sofa while you went to the desk to get my parking ticket chopped. I thought you felt uncomfortable being seen with me by the hotel staff? As you were walking me to the carpark lift, you asked if I will miss you, and I answered 'Yes' immediately.

Good night Mr MD, I hope I did a good job in reaffirming your various life successes.