Table For One

A phrase you hear rarely over here in Asia.

Think one of our main tenets of dining here in Asia is that we dine in bountiful abundance on a round table teeming with steaming dishes with chairs all around full of convivial company. Over here, food is meant to be shared with a crowd.

So what happens when, and if, you're alone? Even with an increasing number of singletons out there, the very thought of having a meal alone terrifies quite a number of us.

Kat : Umm, are you going for dinner?
Paul : Certainly not starving myself if that's what you're asking.
Kat : You go alone?
Paul : Me, myself and I.
Kat : Wow.
Paul : It's not an audacious feat like sprinting across a burning bridge with a ravine full of hungry alligators a hundred feet below.
Kat : Umm... I don't want to eat alone, can I come with you?
Paul : You know I charge for escort fees, right?


Think Kat would have preferred starving herself rather than brave the thought of solitary dining.

Hard to blame her since our restaurants and cafes here don't seem to cater to the lone diner. Mention a table for one to the snotty maître d’hôtel at the door and you'll immediately receive a pitying look before being led to a disproportionately spacious table clearly meant for a party of ten. The rest of the dinner is spent attempting to commandeer the surprisingly capacious dining area while the other dining guests keep sending curious looks over wondering if you're a traveling salesman - or worse that you'd just been stood up on a date.

Paul : You're just afraid of eating alone, aren't you?Kat : No, I just thought you'd prefer some company.Paul : Lying. Admit it.

Yes, I can see why solitary dining would be a daunting experience for many a singleton.

Maybe I used to fear it myself but as I totter arthritically into my mid-thirties, I realize that I actually enjoy some alone time. Hell, I positively love dining out alone sometimes. Without the need to fill that awkward lull in the conversation, I actually get to enjoy each and every bite of my dinner. Can even slobber savagely over the dirty plate if I wanted to. With only me, myself and I to entertain, I have some time with my thoughts, my writing, my sketches...

It's nice.

Then again perhaps Scorpios just like a bit of solitude.

Divorce in Haste

What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.
Matthew 19:6

If only that were true.

With the increasing rates of divorce - and possibly even higher rates of quickie annulments, apparently quite a few men - and women - are sundering whatever union had joined them together. Hell, these days the blotted ink on the marriage certificate doesn't even have time to dry before the purportedly adoring couple has gone their separate ways due to irreconciliable differences.

Just take a look at the likes of our heterosexual celebrity couples who split up faster than the time it takes to draft their supposedly unbreakable marriage vows.

And our homophobic detractors say gay men are the threat to the vaunted institution of marriage?

Yet I used to naively believe that such improper quickie marriages ( and divorces ) were the fodder of sensational tabloids only! Only to be disillusioned recently when I found out that the shameless practice is quite alive and well this side of the Big Puddle.

Larry : You know my friend Gigi?
Paul : Yeah, the lovely girl who just got married?
Larry : Oh yeah, the husband wants a divorce.
Paul : Didn't Gigi just get married like a few months back?
Larry : Four months to be precise.
Paul : And now they are after a divorce. After only four months?
Larry : Yes.
Paul : They're not even going to try working it out?
Larry : No.
Paul : The husband just decided that marriage isn't for him?
Larry : Yes. Gigi thinks he has changed.
Paul : After fucking four months? Short of a massive cerebral concussion, no one changes that fast. Dammit do they think marriage is a game?
Larry : Know any lawyers?
Paul : I think the irresponsible duo should both be tossed on a remote desert island together to see who survives.


Last time I had friends who married and divorced in such graceless haste, the separating couple hardly had time to repent at leisure since the court judge shamed them both publicly with a stern lecture about the sacred sanctity of marriage.

Sure it's all fun and games till the bicycle ride stops and real life begins...

Fitting punishment - though I think far sterner measures should be taken. I'm not saying remain forever shackled in the bonds of marriage to an abusive monster - but surely just blithely breaking the sacred marriage vows after a fleeting couple of months should have more serious repercussions than a mere slap on the wrist! I am old-fashioned enough to believe that marriage should be a momentous life-changing decision; one that shouldn't be reversed so flippantly without serious consideration.

Just frivolously deciding you don't suit after a brief honeymoon?

Yes, I am going to say something shockingly unpopular. Perhaps it's time we punished adventuresome couples who cross the threshold of marriage only to seek immediate annulments by having them perform humiliating public service such as trash-picking.

Or yes, toss them on a desert island to contemplate their numerous wrongs. At least I'm not suggesting a public flogging for undermining the institution of marriage.

So explain to me how are gay men hurting the institution of marriage again?

Do Androids Have Sex Dreams?

Guess our maidpower ministries don't have to worry very much longer - especially if this scientific utopia actually comes true not too far in the future.




Ah all the possibilities of an android. The very thought of it has me tingling in all the wrong places, as you can tell from my brief chat with the Legal Beagle. He was the one who brought up the inspirational video above - obviously showcasing said android about to commit some wildly unethical act in an upcoming movie.

Paul : I am so waiting for an android sex slave dammit!
Beagle : What? PG-ratings much, Paul?
Paul : Don't tell me you wouldn't want one! David the Sex Android.
Beagle : I have a far simpler task for David. Just man my department 24/7 while I head off for a year-long vacation!
Paul : That's all you wanna do with David? Think about it, imagine if he has sculpted six packs and a tight ass you could bounce a dime off.
Beagle : All I need that hot six-pack / ass combo to do is to sit down and earn me some billable hours while I'm away!
Paul : Poor overworked David! Just make sure you send him to me after work!
Beagle : Now which part of working 24/7 didn't you get?
Paul : Be a pal, give him some time off with me. I'll make sure he works really hard.
Beagle : Go get your own android David!
Paul : Will do. Perhaps one that looks like a combination of Chris Evans / Hemsworth.
Beagle : Probably version 2.0 then. Wait for it.
Paul : Imagine how bendy. Wonder what I can program into them. Damn scientists should make it fast!
Beagle : I do suspect they'd have fail-safe protection modes against your intended use of these androids.
Paul : Doubt it! It would be the best selling point for the androids. Sex toy androids! Definitely would make lots of money. Everyone would want one. Fleshjacks would be a thing of the past.

But seriously?

Yes, sir, where do you want me?

Have a sexy available android the likes of Chris Evans ready to do your bidding and you immediately send them down to the dusty office to file boring forgettable paperwork? What a ludicrous waste of science & technology! Dang, I have so many other more pleasurable things I could do with a flexible boytoy like that!

Of course once I'm done, they can return to the more mundane household duties of dusting and cleaning.

The Quintessential Heroine

Leisurely afternoons for me are usually spent rifling through the various Korean dramas on the shelf and picking one out to obsess over. Unlike my fanatical mother who impatiently swallows an entire season's worth in a frenzied tv marathon, I usually pace myself with one or two episodes a day.

My ISO : At the rate you're going, are you turning into a K-drama heroine?
Paul : Well I can do the 10 Asian Poses if that's what you're asking.
My ISO :  More like the super goody-two-shoes Snow White heroine.
Paul : Unlikely. Sometimes I can't believe how very wonderfully sweet and patient they are, even in the face of such blatant discrimination by their numerous enemies.
My ISO : No doubt you'd have poisoned your adversaries by the end of the season.
Paul : You underestimate me. It wouldn't take more than two episodes. 
My ISO : But what if the hero finds out!
Paul : Oh please I'd do it with such a sweet smile no one would suspect silly little me.
My ISO : Sounds more like the drama villainess.

Very true. After sitting through dozens of K-drama serials, I have realized that I would never make the perfect heroine.

Sure, being sweet, polite and refined despite all odds wouldn't be that difficult a task for me. Not much different from putting on a perfumed mask for an appreciative audience after all. And let's not forget all the pretty, pretty dresses and the amazing skyscraper heels they get to wear.

Taking aim at the bitches

But to twiddle my genteel fingers while my conniving saboteurs continually attack me with their pathetically juvenile schemes? Gets me hair-pulling frustrated just watching the cloyingly sweet heroines being perpetually abused by their malicious sisters / cousins / in-laws / colleagues with horrific animadversions cast upon their hitherto blameless characters - and all without the timid misses bothering to stand up for themselves! So sickeningly noble. Seriously they are practically masochistic punching bags.


Bitch : Give me your money. 
Heroine : Alrighty. Since you're my beloved sister cousin that I undoubtedly owe my life to, we should share the wealth.
Bitch : Give me your hot boyfriend.
Heroine : Alrighty. You're so much prettier, smarter and richer. I'm sure you deserve such a hot boyfriend.  I am so unworthy. 
Bitch : Give that pretty dress to me.
Heroine : Alrighty. But wait, you can't have the dress. 
Bitch : Oh why not? You found a spine?
Heroine : Oh no! You can't have the dress yet, I'm sure you'd want the matching headband too.

How do they stand being such timid, ineffectual doormats? Even I couldn't be that zen. Mouth off on me once and I'd be able to let it slide. But try it the second time, I doubt I'd be able to sit still without reaching for my pearl-handled blade. Trust me, just touch something that belongs to me and the pretty satin gloves are off.

Dammit why do I always get the villain roles.

Hey La Hey La The Ex is Back

Seriously. The inevitable return of the ex accompanied by the obligatory Jaws theme of deep foreboding has become such a familiar television trope that it should be trademarked!

This time, I'm speaking in reference to not mine but my nurse Miranda Merry's ex boyfriend. Who reputedly cheated on her repeatedly in plain sight, subsequently got dumped royally by an indignant Miranda and then suddenly disappeared from view for several years. With her undeniably headstrong temper, I was starting to think she had secretly murdered him and had his decaying corpse conveniently discarded in one of the many easily accessible dumping spots in town.

Odd how many dark, dank swamps there are around here.


Miranda : A stake? Really?
Paul : You have a better idea?
Barely a week after we started talking about a marriage of convenience, this contemptible fellow crawls out from under the cracks. After two years of being missing in action, he appears begging for a second chance.

Paul : What has he been doing for the past two years?
Miranda : I have no idea. No one has seen him.
Paul : Did he receive a blinding epiphany after travelling the world seeking Eat, Pray, Love?
Miranda : Or developed amnesia after being clubbed on the head.
Paul : Maybe he had an illegitimate child!
Miranda : I wouldn't put it past him!
Paul : Did you accidentally forget that you had a baby with him?
Miranda : I wish. But no. He wants to get back together.

Which has placed Miranda in a miserable quandary since being placed on the shelf - so to speak - isn't exactly her preferred option. But returning to the arms of a lying, cheating scumbag would be hardly advantageous. Last I heard she was even entertaining wild thoughts of tracking down a reputable fortune teller to read her cards.

Second chances? Perhaps several years ago I would have stubbornly held my ground but perhaps the years have mellowed me. Just a tad more forgiving these days. Turning pretty zen really.

Such a coincidental synchronicity with my own previous relationship that I wondered myself what I would do if faced with a similar decision with my ex.

My ISO : Hey I never disappeared for two years.
Paul : Well it certainly seems like you did.
My ISO : Since you cut off all ties, what could I do? Call barring, e-mail blocking -
Paul : Preferable to me strangling you and dumping your corpse in a swamp.
My ISO : True, I do like my neck the way it is.

People do make mistakes. Especially in their callow youth.

After all if it's there's an unfortunate repeat, like I said there are plenty of dumping grounds in town.

Day of Fast

Think of this as more of a Public Service Announcement from your friendly ( though a tad disgruntled ) neighbourhood anaesthetist.

And it concerns the directive to fast before surgery. Used to think it was common knowledge known to even the most ill-informed layperson but obviously I keep making that same unfortunate mistake. Again and again. Repeatedly I keep finding patients who think that the preoperative fasting order is just a silly little exhortation to be flouted at will.

Paul : And when did you have your last meal?
Patient : Two hours ago.
Paul : What did you have? You mean you had breakfast at 5 in the morning?
Patient : I was hungry. I had fried rice.
Paul : Fried rice?!
Patient : And instant noodles too.
Paul : Really? Such a solid breakfast. And did you miss the directive to fast before surgery?
Patient : Oh I know all about it. I thought it was more of a suggestion rather than a necessity. Thought it wasn't that important.
Paul : Well if you don't want to die from pulmonary aspiration, I would think it terribly important.
Patient : Really ah?

Seriously, if you've already taken solids right before an elective surgery, you might as well just call up an accompanying buffet. Since only the most foolhardy anaesthetist would dare prep a patient for surgery right after a full meal of rice and noodles.


Paul : Waitaminute, why do I smell fried rice in the room?
Worst case scenario - that entire carbohydrate-fibre laden meal - rice, noodles, fish, meat, etc - would go hurling out into your vulnerable lungs during general anaesthesia. Not a pretty picture.

But let's get technical here. The main reason for preoperative fasting is to prevent pulmonary aspiration of the stomach contents while under the effects of general anaesthesia. Oh yes, we might be able to avoid general anaesthesia with the use of regional blocks but there's no 100% guarantee that a block would definitely work. At least no sane, responsible anaesthetist would offer that particular promise. Most regional anaesthetic techniques, even in expert hands, have a failure rate of 1–10%.

So main point is unless you enjoy that debilitating bout of pneumonia, bloody hell stick to the fasting hours as mentioned. We repeat it often enough after all.

Brotherly Silence

Alright so my brother and I aren't exactly buddy-buddy.

Though I would wish to have a fraternal bromance the kind you see on lame bro-coms like the Hangover, I'm quite sure the ambivalent dynamics in our relationship would preclude us sharing endless kegs of booze on a forgotten Bangkok weekend. Seriously, lock us in a room together and you'll find us both - usually shockingly garrulous fellows - suddenly struck dumb with a brief smattering of inarticulate grunts to fill the acutely uncomfortable silence.

Paul : Ummm... how's work?
Brother : Okay. How's yours?
Paul : Okay.
Brother : Hmm.
Paul : Yeah. Hmm.

Awkward.


Brothers?
Don't know if all brothers act that way since I simply can't account for it! Though we were both brought up for two whole decades in the same nurturing environment side by side, somehow we have very little in common. In fact so many of our acquaintances, even his wife, have remarked on how different we are in personality and temperament. Perhaps the gay-straight divide?

Even my shockingly observant rugrat of a niece Chatty Carmen has come to this conclusion which left my sister-in-law non-plussed on how to answer her probing questions.

Carmen : Daddy and Uncle Paul don't really talk much. Are they angry with each other?
Sue : Umm... no?
Carmen : Did they have a fight?
Sue : Umm... no?
Carmen : Then why don't they talk to each other?
Sue : Umm...

Ouch. I wouldn't know how to answer her myself. Don't think I'm angry with my brother. Never had really huge blowout fights either. No intense deep-seated feelings of envy / hatred / rage over him in the least.

Anyone out there with brothers? Is it really like on television dramas where the inseparable brothers recount life experiences while bonding over frothy beer mugs and salty peanuts at the bar counter? Go on crazy weekend camping trips talking about mounting deer and pussy?

Or - like my brother always says - am I overthinking things?


No matter how, at least I don't think our relationship has deteriorated to such horrific extent! Gosh, I just realized I don't even know if my brother sings!

Marriage of Convenience

A marriage of convenience.

Such an old-fashioned term - one that I once erroneously thought purely confined to the dusty pages of a torrid Regency Romance where a mutually satisfying marriage contract is drawn up for reasons other than love and commitment, whether for personal gain or political advantage.

These days however in families and societies where homosexuality remains strictly taboo, many actually enter into marriages of convenience to satisfy family pressure to wed and have children. Definite shades of the Wedding Banquet where a gay Taiwanese-American man married a female Chinese immigrant in search of a green card. The surprising number of sites intended for eligible gay bachelors in search of bridal beards attest to the overwhelming popularity of this seemingly antiquated construct.

Even here it's certainly not unheard of. In fact quite a few randy fellows I know are slipping out of their conjugal beds for extramarital midnight rendezvous with their gay boyfriends. There is a shameful difference though. Unlike the more equitable marriages of convenience I mentioned earlier, their wives remain blissfully asleep in their beds unaware of their diminished roles in their sham marriages.

Ugh. Dishonesty. So that's a step I've never thought of taking.


Hey, don't judge me!
Till now. Candid conversations at work with a nurse of marriageable age, Miranda Merry - and yes, who knows I'm fabulously homosexual - has led to teasing titbits like this.

Miranda : God, I hate being single.
Paul : You won't be forever.
Miranda : I'm practically on the shelf. Damn spinsterhood.
Paul : Can't empathize with that. It would be nice to have a baby though.
Miranda : We should just get a sham marriage. You marry me, I give you the baby.
Paul : I can keep my boyfriend.
Miranda : But I can have affairs.
Paul : You can't get impregnated by uglies though.
Miranda : No problem. I can't trust myself anyhow. You can vet through the men.
Paul : I hope you're not kidding.
Miranda : Not entirely sure if I am.

Frank discussion of this supposed marriage of convenience seems to crop up every once in a while - much to the stupefaction and chagrin of the other disapproving nurses. Even with their shockingly inappropriate conversations, guess there are still some lines they don't cross.

Though I am getting more curious by the day. A marriage of convenience with Miranda. What if she isn't entirely kidding?

Life's a Journey

Though he might not say it, I know Charming Calvin resents me a little for it. Man of few words, he is. Can't say I'd blame him much. Few grown men would enjoy having unlikely chaperones tag along on the occasional date. Even that unwelcome third wheel on a much awaited vacation.

Unfortunately I can't help it.

I do have my reasons. Though approaching senility has made my lamentable memory a blurry screen of vague black-and-white images, an early episode in the story of my life stands out clear and bright in blazing technicolour.

Picture me back in secondary, a callow lil schoolboy all eager to begin that infamous Grand Tour abroad only to find at the last minute that there were no available seats on standby. Bore up as well as I could - certainly couldn't shed unmanly tears in public - but there was no hiding the acute disappointment on my unseasoned boyish face. Yes, I hadn't fully mastered the sly art of deception back then.


Well before I ever made it abroad!
Almost immediately - without hesitation - my acutely perceptive mother plonked down cash for a fullfare ticket! Credit she could ill afford. Hell, we never were all that flush and I'm sure forking out for that ticket already cleared what little there was of her sadly meagre savings. And yet my mother would have given even more to get me what I selfishly wanted! Never felt so small, undeserving and utterly contemptible.

What else could I do? Of course I manned up, swallowed the bitter pill and nobly refused the overly generous offer. But it made me realize what kind of mother I had.

It's always the little things that you remember.

So yes, I do chaperon my mother about quite a bit. Though my mother might deny it, travelling large has always been one of her long cherished dreams - that dreamy wanderlust a trait she obviously passed down to me - so as long as she's physically able, I'll try my best to make them come true.


And yes, I did finish that Grand Tour as planned. Caught the plane on the very next night for what was to be the first of my many, many fabled voyages. After all, good things do come to those who wait.

Ministry of Misinformation

Recently in another ludicrous episode of our government's increasingly dysfunctional bureaucracy, our Ministry of Information - or as I call it the Ministry of Censorship, Half-Truths and Misinformation - published a shockingly homophobic directive requiring local radio and television stations to effectively remove all programmes that portray characters such as ‘pondans’ (transsexuals), effeminate men as well as characters that are in conflict with social and religious norms because they can be said to be contributing to the alarming increase of the homosexual problems in the country.

Let's not talk about how incensed I was to hear such blatant homophobic bilge. And this coming right on the heels of an absurd plan to construct a gay rehabilitation camp.


Seriously I don't get nearly enough credit for not becoming a raging violent psychopath - especially after reading the wildly improbable headlines in our papers. In order to avoid due attention being given to the rampant corruption in the country, the government-controlled media has tried to shift the focus towards a more convenient scapegoat; namely the unsurprisingly vulnerable LGBT community.

After all it's easy enough to stone the helpless gays. Since we all know cowards rarely target tougher fellows.

But really, why even stop at only removing the media programs depicting gay, lesbian or transgender characters especially if it's shown in a positive manner? Why stop there? Why not expunge each and every media segment that has the slightest whiff of homosexuality about it? As long as anyone gay is even involved in the making, no matter how peripheral their role may be, the segment should be eliminated with lots of prejudice.


Remove all gay men from the entertainment industry? You gotta be kidding.
Oh yes, a laughable thought.

Since yes, you'd end up with the terrifying blank screen of death both on television and radio. Sure it might be embarassingly stereotypical for the gay boys but that doesn't make it any less true. Let's not lie, pretty fairies do actually gravitate towards the dazzling limelight, whether it's the big or the small screen. Or even the radio. Let's not forget everyone else creatively involved backstage such as the directors, cameramen, hairstylists, make-up artists, decorators etc. Just let the fabulous gays sashay away one fine disco night and the bright neon lights of the entertainment world would suddenly go dim.

Heck, it wouldn't surprise me to find a few hidden deep in the darkened closets of the Ministry itself!

In-Laws Outlawed

Pretty sure quite a few of you out there are wishing that would come true.

Lissome Lorelei amongst them. Yes, the wandering sea urchin has resurfaced from the mysterious fathoms below with some pretty dismal news; seems not all is well in fairytale kingdom with her happily-ever-after prince. Life isn't the bubbles, especially since her fairy godmother never told her that princes actually do come with royal parents in tow.

Lorelei : Damn him!
Paul : For having parents!
Lorelei : Yes! Dammit I mean no! He wants to go back.
Paul : Go back where? Under the sea?
Lorelei : Yes! I don't want to go back under the sea with him! Especially not to live with his parents.
Paul : Well you always knew he would one day return to live with his aging parents.
Lorelei : Umm... well they are pretty old so I was hoping...
Paul : Those poor unfortunate souls!
Lorelei : Ye Gods, I have turned into a monster.
Paul : Worse than Ursula the Sea Witch.
Lorelei : Can't be. That's his mother.

Not the first time I've said it but I'll probably say it again. And again.

Seriously. Is it really that hard to understand? Marry the boy - and expect to get the whole baggage of crazed in-laws. That's why the sweet fables we read always end right after the prince carries the bride over the threshold. No one wants to hear about the shrewish mother-in-law who's even worse than the witch.

Then again it could be commitment jitters - since mermaids do like their freedom - so fret not, young prince.


Lorelei : Am I doing the right thing?
Paul : The dress or the wedding?
Though I would never claim to be bffs with my own erstwhile mother-in-law, I would say our relationship has remained relatively cordial. With my neverending attempts to sweeten her up, Madame Borgia has had no valid cause to rally the irate townspeople to storm my estate with blades and pitchforks. Undoubtedly Madame Borgia has reason to question the suspicious liaison between me and Charming Calvin - but to even mention it would make it all too real.

Her son... a homosexual? With a lover?

And that would obviously lead to the end of civilization as she knows it.

So denial plays a significant role in keeping my relationship with Madame Borgia surprisingly amicable.

Respect Thy Teacher

Those who can, do;
Those who can't, teach.

Really? Whoever wrote that fallacious ditty obviously never tried teaching.

Ever since my failed experiments at attempting to teach, I can attest to how impossible it is to drum pertinent information into an unresponsive deadened skull. Short of resorting to rough and ready - and undoubtedly irregular - methods like a hammer and chisel.

Most especially when you have recalcitrant miscreants like these.

Student : The teacher was a bitch so I called her one in front of the class.
Paul : And surely she slapped you for it.
Student : No, she complained to the headmaster. But the headmaster told her to cool off instead.
Paul : After you basically called her rude names?
Student : All I got was a bit of student counselling. Nothing much.
Paul : That's less than a slap on the wrist.
Student : My parents also made a complaint about her lousy teaching methods. So I tore up the report card in front of her.
Paul : Looks like your parents are the ones who deserve a slap upside the head.

How insufferably rude indeed. But how can we blame the brat when the thoughtless parents obviously hold very little respect for the teachers as well!


Of course if my teacher looked like this, I'd be shining his apple all day long!
Though the standards of teaching staff have sadly declined - along with the standards of our education despite what our quixotic ministers might claim, I still have the utmost respect for teachers. Besides the fact that both my parents are primarily teachers. Without our teachers to lend us guidance, few of us would be able to achieve our goals and dreams.

Look, I've never been a great fan of my teachers - more likely to flee screaming if I ever saw one at a hundred paces in public. Away from the schoolroom, what exactly do you talk to your teacher about? So I've never been the apple-polisher sort. In fact I can barely even name a particular teacher that I would call a defining icon in my scholastic career. No weepy turns of To Sir With Love from me, I'm afraid. But even in my worst moments of juvenile delinquency, I've been coldly civil at the most but never have I ever crossed that line to blatant disrespect.

Don't think I even said such swear words back in school. Calling my teachers foul epithets would have earned not only an immediate smack from the teachers in question but probably double that amount from my parents at home. And I would have deserved it for such impertinent backtalk.

Respect thy teacher. Even if their lecture methods might be a tad demented at times, at least have some respect for the institution they represent.

Sigh. Obviously gone are the old Confucian days when venerable parents would gift the esteemed teachers with a cane to discipline their children.