One Step Forward

And two steps back.

Well at least that's the eerie feeling I get sometimes when it comes to the byzantine Borgias. Just when you complacently think you've got them all figured out, these perplexing provincials abruptly snatch the Oriental rug from beneath you... just because they can.

Although cordial invitations to their family events have been regularly delivered to Netherfield for my perusal, it didn't actually occur to me that I was part of a select coterie of acquaintances. Foolish move on my part of course. Even Charming Calvin would have thought so. So when I replied in the affirmative for a weekend dinner with his family, I naturally assumed that the convivial occasion would be open to all.

Madame : Pray tell who is this paltry creature that you have brought before us. 

Since Diffident David happened to be in our esteemed company, we naturally included him in the invitation since I couldn't see how I could get out of the event without bringing him along. After all, David had been dragged along to one of the previous Borgia family soirees so he wasn't a complete unknown to her. Surely I wasn't expected to peremptorily eject the hapless fellow from the moving carriage.

Though I could clearly see Madame Borgia did. Rather than have him spoil the sanctity of her soiree, perhaps better to have him viciously crushed under the very wheels of my carriage. However once milady came to the appalling realization that a relative stranger had been added to the party, she immediately rescinded the proffered invite! Quelle horreur!

Calvin : Now she would prefer it if we had dinner separately. 
Paul : Separate the two of us? 
Calvin : No, I'm to join your party. They will have their own dinner without us. 
Paul : What a sacrifice!
Calvin : Seems like it is. 
Paul : So it was alright for me to join your family dinner but bring a guest and all's undone?
Calvin : Yes. 

Goodness what has happened to social etiquette! Apparently the Borgias have seen fit to overturn such antiquarian notions of polite society protocol rather than sully their weekly family dinner with an undesirable alien.

David : Perhaps they weren't feeling terribly social this week.
Paul : That's where you're wrong. Obviously they were unfeeling this week. 

Though I was quietly horrified by their shockingly boorish behaviour, still I was somewhat mollified by the fact that at the very least Madame Borgia still counts me as family. Sort of anyway, perhaps that revolting far-flung relative you simply can't get rid of.

Paul : I'm quite flattered that she thought of inviting me. 
Calvin : She probably thinks you're gonna barge in anyhow so she might as well just invite you.
Paul : That's also quite true.

Apparently she knows me well, at least up to a certain point. Such a wanton display of egregious behaviour in my severely judgmental presence would be the equivalent of waving a red flag in front of a mad, raging bull. Madame Borgia immediately realized that her abrupt revocation of the invite would have me flinging my hands up in outrage - which is how she later made a sadly fumbling attempt to mollify us with a paltry overture.

Madame Borgia : Well, the friend may come for dinner but he shall have to sit with the servants outside. There's just no place at our select table. 
Paul : ...

Sometimes it's better to remain silent lest words we can't rescind fall heedlessly from our lips.

Little Steps to the Borgias

As much as I keep using the much publicized tagline 'It Gets Better' on the impressionable youth, I really can't say it holds true for everyone - even more so when it comes to Charming Calvin.

Till now our poor fellow holds the unenviable award for Worst Coming Out Story - that I ever heard about in real life of course. Pretty sure there are far more harrowing contretemps out there but for the sadly uninitiated, that long ago tale involving Calvin might hold little interest and far less intrigue since there's actually very few dramatic hysterics in comparison.

Nevertheless amongst my small but fortunate circle of friends, Calvin did have the most traumatic gay debut with pawangs and psychiatrists making a thoroughly unwelcome appearance at that party. No doubt that explains Calvin's sadly cynical worldview when it pertains to coming out! Then again what would you expect when it comes to the outwardly quiescent yet inwardly histrionic Borgias?

But even with the Borgias, things are progressing on a far smoother path these days with his family even extending invitations to me for certain family occasions. It Gets Better. Really. On those social evenings I'm usually on my best behaviour, endlessly ebullient to the point of excessive effusiveness just to keep the straining conversation plodding along despite scant help from taciturn Calvin and his frustratingly laconic family.

Who obviously all stare as if I'm the crazy chattering clown hired to entertain the guests - but I've grown quite resigned to my lot.

Who knows, one day I might just edge out the hapless Benedicta to be her favoured court advisor.

After all just the other day Madama Borgia even attempted the shadow of a gracious smile when she saw me crossing the sacred threshold of her demesne. Rather than hastily sketch the sign of a cross ( or whatever his family is wont to do to keep the devil at bay ) to ward me off. A far cry from the first few dinners we had together when she could barely hold back her bitter bile at the sight of the aberrant creature that's me.

Little steps I call it.

Though Calvin obviously scoffs at my laughable attempts to turn them up sweet, he has severely underestimated the chilly determination of his boyfriend. Not only shall I make his sister-in-law Miz Borgia an ally, I shall win over his mother too.

And perhaps find out the monstrous secret under the family home as well.

I shall prevail.

Casa de Borgia

As usual our Madame Borgia isn't happy.

Fortunately at least for this particular instance, I'm not the one in her target range. According to the incredibly efficient servants' rumour mill, it seems the new palace isn't entirely to her liking. Despite hiring the finest astrologers and necromancers to find the location of her new demesne ( not to mention the timing of the move ), Madame Borgia hadn't quite counted on a matter of taste.

Something even the best of feng shui masters can't quite predict from their endless esoteric diagrams. So you can imagine the absolute uproar when she finally alighted from her carriage to find everything in the new palace absolutely insufferable.

Paul : Exactly what does she dislike? The location?
Calvin : She hates that.
Paul : The building?
Calvin : She hates that.
Paul : The doors? The windows? 
Calvin : Hates. 
Paul : Surely not the entire building.
Calvin : She hates the doors. She hates the windows. She hates the rooms. She hates the colours. She hates the garden.
Paul : Wow. 

Turns out it's all hate at the moment. Someone even said she was that close to murderously stabbing all her retainers with her hairpins in a fit of uncontrollable rage.

Paul : Don't see anything wrong with the palace! I like it.
Calvin : You wanna buy it?
Paul : I'm not gonna give you money for it if that's what you mean. 

Doubt you could put it more succinctly. For someone who was absolutely adamant on the move initially, Madame Borgia seems to have made a contrary turnaround. Short of demolishing the entire palace for a new one to be built ( surely never in time for the said auspicious dates! ), there doesn't seem very much else that can be done.

Since her children never could talk her into anything, it was up to me to spin this palace fiasco into something a little more positive. Not that Herculean a task seeing that all Madame Borgia wanted was some constructive advice on her admittedly ambitious interior decorating plans.

I managed to talk her into keeping the shell of the building at the very least. Minus almost everything else.

The Secret of the Borgias II : Shifting the Gates of Hell

Sometimes quite literally.

There's not much more I can write about the infamous Forteresse de Borgia - that remote, heavily fortified family compound of Calvin's secretive brethren. Till now he hasn't entirely convinced me that the reason his parents are so reluctant to leave the demesne behind isn't because of a mysterious hell portal hidden deep underneath the quietly unassuming wooden floors.

Since surely the chosen guardians can't simply leave their sacred posts behind! One does not simply walk away from the Forteresse.

Despite having another family stronghold recently erected amongst the rest of their clan a stone's throw away, there has been no mention whatsoever of departing. Having the entire clan summarily relocate to the new compound hasn't managed to persuade Madame Borgia to move an inch. In fact there was even some rash talk of having the new place sold lock, stock and barrel to the highest bidder.

Or so she made us all think.

Just last weekend - lo and behold - his mama the redoubtable Madame Borgia made a sudden, unprecedented pronouncement.

Madame : We shall move. Next month. 
Paul : Wow. That was sudden. 
Madame : It has been foretold by the gods. 
Paul : Seriously I have so many questions. 
Calvin : Shh. 
Benedicta : We shall pack, mama. 

Obviously the rest of the Borgias - even Charming Calvin - didn't see fit to ask a single question about their impending movement to what I'm now calling Casa de Borgia. What the Madame imperiously dictates; apparently happens with these shockingly obedient, unquestioning children!

Madame : Yes we are moving.
Calvin : But you refused a while ago.
Madame : The timing wasn't right then.
Calvin : What changed?
Madame : Everything ...and perhaps nothing.

Maddeningly cryptic.

Since no one has cared to wonder why ( aren't they even the teensiest bit curious? ), it has certainly raised dozens of questions in my head. Why the move? What initiated the move? Why now? Utterly deferential to her mother's edicts, biddable Benedicta didn't even raise the slightest demur so I had to interrogate the marginally more fractious Calvin instead.

Paul : Your parents have had the new place for almost two years. 
Calvin : Yes. 
Paul : Your extended family moved there more than a year back. 
Calvin : Yes.
Paul : But your parents have never thought of moving ever. 
Calvin : Yes. 
Paul : They do visit the new place occasionally. 
Calvin : Yes. 
Paul : So it took them two years to suddenly decide. 
Calvin : Yes. 
Paul : I've figured it out. 
Calvin : Yes? 
Paul : Actually the two years was spent trying to move the dreaded hell portal to the new home so that you have more family members to watch over it. Since the hell demons were slowly breaking through, they figured they needed help guarding the portal!
Calvin : ....

Really. Isn't that the most logical reason for the move?

Takes A Village

Bringing up a child is no easy matter. Even with two parents around, it's an unenviable - usually thankless - task that takes up endless time and effort.

However lately we seem to have forgotten that the upbringing of a child isn't only wholly dependent on the already overwhelmed parents. Lest we forget it takes a village. Problem is the modern villagers these days seem to think the entire hardship of childrearing shouldn't be their burden to bear.

Even when the child is a part of the family.

The children return to Castle Borgia. 

Something I find difficult to fathom. Especially when it comes from Benedicta Borgia. Seems like the new year brought a real nian 年兽 to their door.

Calvin : Actually we spent the new year babysitting a monster. 
Paul : Not the monsters from under the house? 
Calvin : No. 
Benedicta : You wouldn't believe how obnoxious the child was. Screaming and wailing all day long.
Paul : Well you should have reprimanded the child. 
Benedicta : How could I? 
Paul : How could you not? 
Benedicta : But it's not my child. 
Paul : She's your niece. 
Benedicta : Still not my child. 
Paul : She's part of your family. A quick scold would have sufficed. 
Benedicta : What would the parents think?
Paul : They should know better. 

And if they think otherwise, really I would have given the parents a stern lecture as well.

Despite being seemingly conservative Confucian, the Borgias surprisingly don't seem to hold to all that many traditions and attitudes. Apparently even a niece doesn't count entirely as part of their own. Which I find odd since in my own loud boisterous family, my uncles and aunts - possibly even random unknown elderly folk who aren't even vaguely related - would have walloped me swiftly if I'd stepped over the line. Certainly kept us all in check.

Something I've been doing as a crotchety uncle these days as well; so far, none of the rugrats have defied my evil eye.

Actually cross the line and I would have threatened the proverbial cane. Never believed in sparing the rod. Steadfast child educationists might screech in horror but really, have their namby pamby methods actually produced a finer, better behaved society?

Niece & Nephew

There are days I'll admit to missing my niece and nephew, the aforementioned Chatty Carmen who is growing up far from chatty these days due to a near pathological obsession with the technological wonders of the tablet and Rambling Raoul who oddly enough now rambles on all day long chattering utterly dispelling our initial fears during his stubbornly reticent rugrat years.

Used to have the Big Puddle separating us but nowadays it's more like the Big Pond since they are also schooling thousands of miles away on that other giant island Down Under. Internet messaging and Facetime can only get us so far - and I am notoriously brusque on telecommunication devices ever since I started work - which is why each time they are back, I try my best to obtain leave so as to spend some time with them.

There was even that memorable December last year when I dragged the kids unwillingly down the sweltering streets of Bangkok. With Charming Calvin trudging sluggishly even further down the line. Doubt he remembers it with such sweet nostalgia.

Nevertheless one of the brilliant highlights of the year.

And yes, I make my niece and nephew dress for dinner. 

Something I've always wanted for Calvin as well. Just like me, he also has a niece and nephew of comparable age. In fact his little nephew is practically the spitting image of Calvin himself though he would deny it vehemently!

Being oh-so-adorable, you would think he would be scrambling to spend time with them. However that doesn't seem to be the case as Calvin - oddly enough - doesn't find a need to be particularly close to them. Perhaps it could be the distance since the children have been under the care of his sister-in-law after his brother's untimely passing a year ago.

But what about when they are staying over for the school holidays? Or when we are over there on their side of the Big Puddle?

Paul : Maybe you should take the kids out for a day. Spend some time with them. 
Calvin : Too difficult. 
Paul : It's not that difficult. I do that all the time with my niece and nephew. Give your sister-in-law a break. 
Calvin : Too tiring. 
Paul : It's only half a day at most. 
Calvin : Too dangerous. 
Paul : Surely you can keep an eye out for two small kids!
Calvin : Too -
Paul : Are you going to come up with another lame excuse? 

Mind-boggling?

Though I've spoken about it at length with him, I find it hard to comprehend this baffling detachment. Basically for the Borgias, these kids are their next generation, in line to watch over their lands and whatever evils lie beneath. In an older time and age in Confucian China, those two kids would undoubtedly have come directly under his care. Probably shipped right to his doorstep with sister-in-law in tow regardless of his wishes since he's the only other male sibling in the family.

Well maybe things will change this Christmas since his niece and nephew are coming here again for the holidays. Time to start nagging him about duty, responsibility etc.

The Secret of the Borgias

Family. Honour. Tradition.

Those were the words he lived for. His father had done the same; and so had his father before him. Ever since his ancient forebears had first set foot on the fortgotten island and offered to shoulder the heavy burden, that sacred duty had bound the Borgia family to their demesne lands. As a reminder to all who might shirk their responsibilities, the family crest imprinted above the fireplace even had the motto 'Leave Not The House Unguarded' emblazoned as a faint warning across the familiar shield and pitchfork. 

Advice he had repeatedly recounted to his children as the patriarch of the Borgias, though he feared their dedication to the noble cause was not as steady and unfaltering as his own. Did they even know what lay beneath the lust fertile beauty of their farmlands? Did they even understand the importance of remaining always at home as the eternal guardians? Though he had hinted more than once on what might happen if they left, his children still didn't understand fully. 

What lay beneath...

Even the chilling rumination had him shuddering though he had been sure to have the metal gates securely locked tight and double checked - as he had done every night for the past few decades after he had taken on the role of guardian. 

A job that seemed to get more difficult every year. Even now he occasionally felt the ominous rumble when the monstrous evils below made another hopefully futile attempt to break out into this world. 

But the hellish creatures were getting ever more inventive each year; finding the little nooks and crannies in between the worlds that would be just enough for them to slip through unbidden. Fearing the same, his wife had boarded up all their mirrors at his behest. After the last appalling incident, they certainly couldn't risk another demonic outbreak.


At least this is what I assume is happening over at the Borgias.

For a very long time, the reluctance of his family members to leave their land even for the briefest of moments has puzzled me endlessly. Surely there's nothing all that precious in the impregnable Forteresse de Borgia?

Till the other day when it dawned on me suddenly that they must have been guarding something. Since boundless treasures of gold, gems and gee gaws didn't seem to be all that probable, the only other reason should be something far more sinister.

Calvin : You sure those doors will hold them, papa?
Father : It must, my child. For all our sakes, it must.

Like the portal to another hellish dimension. Perhaps their family home was built on the nexus of magical ley lines of which they are the eternal guardians.

Paul : So is it true?
Calvin : No. 
Paul : Well I expected you to deny it vehemently of course. 
Calvin : No!
Paul : That's what the true guardians are supposed to say! 
Calvin : No!
Paul : You can tell me! I can keep a secret. 
Calvin : There's nothing to tell. 
Paul : It explains the mirrors!

Birthday Insurance

No matter how simple it may be, I've always had a birthday cake. Think of it as a family tradition if you will, something we've actually tried our best to impress upon the next generation since we don't ever miss my niece and nephew's birthday celebrations ever. There's always a sweet slice of cake with a row of candles to blow at the very least.

And thoughtful birthday gifts all wrapped up with perfectly matching cards and bows waiting on the table.

For us, it's a given.

These days I'm starting to understand that the Sweet Sixteen Birthday Bash isn't quite the norm for everyone. In fact millenial birthdays don't even involve gifts at all, with a last-minute birthday cake mashed together as a careless afterthought.

Now who wouldn't want a piece of that? 

Undoubtedly when it comes to memorable birthday stories, Charming Calvin always has one that takes the cake. Figuratively - since there's never a literal cake usually. Understated simplicity seems to be the case for his family with very little more than a firm handshake and a dour congratulations for successfully making it that far in life.

Just like the day he had this year. Since Calvin already knew about the surprise party we had planned, there wasn't much he expected from home. Especially not after the grim reception he had last year.

Madame : Calvin? 
Calvin : You called me? 
Madame : Happy Birthday.
Calvin : Thank you.
Madame : Here's your insurance.
Calvin : Thank you.
Madame : Live long and prosper.

Really. Call it the birthday insurance. Guess it does ensure that you survive to celebrate the next!

Ever the practical sort, our Madame Borgia, but at least there was a modest token of remembrance this year. I assume there'll be a prettily worded Hallmark card next year!

Fortunately he has me to run out to get a cake and candles. 

Health is Wealth

Eat wise, 
Drop a size.

Catchy? No? Well if not, it's back to the drawing board I guess.

Ever since Charming Calvin returned to this side of the pond only to discover the cause of his uncertain health, his tenacious mother Madame Borgia has actively dedicated herself to a holy corrective crusade solely to rehabilitate her son's ailing self - from ridding the Forteresse de Borgia of all wicked portents of ill health to planning out every mundane minutiae of his daily life.

Which evidently includes his regular meals as well.

If before, Madame Borgia was already wildly obsessed with the sanctity of her low-fat, low-sugar, low-salt, low-taste dishes, now it's practically an organized religion. Where her Holy Book apparently starts out saying 'Let There be Steamed Vegetables'.

All very good for her son Charming Calvin of course - who is entrusted with a precious bento box of all-natural organic goodness every morning as he heads off to work.

Obviously though she forgot all about the Fuzhou son-in-law - part of a single-mindedly money-obsessed clan who sees business opportunities in the veriest little item. Though I wouldn't touch the greens with a ten foot pole, I can certainly see the wealth possibilities here. Since Madame Borgia already has to slave over the stove every morning for Calvin, she might as well make an extra buck - or ten - from it.

Paul : She makes you lunch everyday? 
Calvin : Yes. 
Paul : A packed lunch only for you?
Calvin : Yes. 
Paul : And it's a varied menu from noodles to sandwiches to rice? 
Calvin : Yes. 
Paul : If she made more, we could sell it. 
Calvin : What.
Paul : We could call it Calvin's Healthy Lunches! We could have specific pick-up points in the city. For an added price - and minimum number of orders, we could even deliver. 
Calvin : What.

A winning idea for all the health-conscious freaks, no?

Seems like everyone's a fan of Calvin's Healthy Lunches!

Since everyone I know is already on some kinda endless detox fest, why not sell them lunch as well? Half the calories, twice the taste? And it's all purely organic from a locally sourced farm - thanks to the peasants on the Forteresse de Borgia lands. I can already see the various ways we could pitch this idea to the eager customers. Already half my nurses would be lining up to try since - despite having the figures of a metal wire figure - they seem to be on a perpetual diet fad.

So would you buy a Healthy Lunch too?

Oui ou Non?

Oui ou non to Paris, belle mere!

Though we sent out the cautious invitation to his mother several weeks ago, the tight-lipped Madame Borgia has yet to return a favourable reply despite several urgent prompts. Doubtlessly she has been preoccupied with far more pressing matters such as Calvin's uncertain health whereby her noxious herbal potions come into play.

But with the passing days, even Charming Calvin - who has been improving - has found it a little peculiar that his mother speaks but little about the trip. Unusual for someone of her intrusive temperament to not even display the slightest curiousity about the travel preparations and the lodgings! Not even a single croissant au beurre has made an appearance on the spartan breakfast table to signal her growing enthusiasm!

When wearing a black béret charmingly askew to dinner failed to elicit any response from her, Calvin knew he had to speak. After all his last resort was the Gauloises and he didn't fancy smoking at all.

Calvin : So are you coming with us to Paris? 
Madame : Tell me about Paris. 
Calvin : Well, Paul and I intend to -
Madame : Paul?! You're travelling there with him? 
Calvin : Yes, Paul. 
Madame : And you intend to have me follow the likes of him? 
Calvin : Well, yes?
Madame : Never! Mon dieu! I would rather die than travel anywhere with that debauched sodomite! He has bewitched you!
Calvin : Now you tell us. 
Madame : Surely that deviant is the root cause of every accursed calamity that has befallen our once peaceful household!
Calvin : Oh. 
Madame : Pray with me Benedicta!
Benedicta : Yes, maman.
Calvin : You do know I'm still going with Paul? 
Madame : Oh mon dieu! Fetch me my smelling salts, Benedicta!
Benedicta : Yes, maman.

Benedicta : You can rest easy, mon frere. Maman isn't coming with you to Paris.
Calvin : Oh.
Paul : Umm... is it too early to break out the champagne?
Calvin : You're already holding the bottle.  

To a certain extent that's what I clearly imagined happening in the Forteresse de Borgia - all theatrical hysterics and wailing reprisals. Maybe complete with fitting costumes -  perhaps a lacy French floral French mantilla for Madame? - and props all around.

Regrettably Charming Calvin says it is not so. Apparently her reaction to the proffered invitation was far more benign - at least according to her similarly taciturn son. Hmm. Though pressed, his sister Benedicta hasn't exactly been all that forthcoming either.

Madame : You guys go ahead. I don't think I shall go to Paris. 
Calvin : Alright. 
Madame : Nothing much for me to see after all. Museums and galleries aren't really my thing.
Calvin : Alright.

Is that at all believable? Far too prosaic I would think. Think I much prefer my dramatic version. Surely she drew the sign of the cross to ward off evil at the very least!

Five Stages

Should be glaringly obvious by now - but just in case, don't ever tell a doctor bad news if you're expecting an overwhelming display of sentiment.

Calvin : I've got something to tell you. 
Paul : Yes? About the medical exam? 
Calvin : My cholesterol is sky high. 
Paul : We can deal with this.

From the severely perplexed look on his face, perhaps Calvin expected a more excessive response to his unprecedented proclamation. Maybe I should have changed my response and fallen to the ground in a swoon after an artful shriek instead.

Unfortunately most doctors have schooled themselves to maintain a blank, strangely serene expression on their faces at all times regardless of the situation at hand. Think I could handle most predicaments, even the most wildly outlandish, with quite a lot of equanimity. Learned behaviour at work possibly since we know nothing much can be solved with a screaming bout of hysteria.

Apart from sheer exhaustion.

That's certainly not the underwhelming reaction Charming Calvin received when he announced it during dinner at the Forteresse de Borgia. Since I wasn't the wished-for fly-on-the-wall, I can only imagine the evening revelation brought upon a keening wail not see since the excessive lamentation of the prefiche.

Madame : Oh Dios Mios! It's the end of the world as we know it!
Benedicta : What has befallen the familia!
Paul : Wish I could record this.
Calvin : Don't you dare.

Of course I imagined his mother acting through DADBA dramatically at near lightspeed. A simple acronym I cooked up way back in medical school for what we would call the Five Stages of Grief from Kubler-Ross ranging from Denial, Anger, Depression, Bargaining to Acceptance.

Certainly applied to Madame Borgia when she was dutifully informed of the news.

Calvin : It is true, alas!
Madame : C'est impossible! Surely not!
Calvin : Yes I have it. I can show you the results. 
Madame : This is all your fault! All the meals! All the work! All the stress! 
Calvin : Maybe? 
Madame : Sigh, can't believe this is happening! C'est tragique! 
Calvin : I am trying very hard to -
Madame : Maybe the results are wrong? Maybe you could repeat the test? Did you drink a bit too much sugar? 
Calvin : I rechecked twice. 
Madame : Allons. 

And they decided to work out a working solution which inevitably brings my poor Calvin back to the near-vegan dietary requirements exulted by his health-conscious mother. Vegetables, vegetables and more vegetables. But not before an entire litany of I-told-you-sos.

Sometimes I do understand where Calvin gets his uncharacteristic flair for melodramatics from.

Treasure of the Borgias

Honestly - though I would have easily scoffed at such a ridiculous notion barely a year back - I am starting to believe that the Borgias actually do have treasure buried under their family compound. Till now their blue-eyed boy Charming Calvin has explicitly refused to confirm or deny my growing suspicions.

Otherwise why the incessant need to fortify and safeguard their premises? Surely at least a couple of diamonds and pearls. Maybe a spectacularly jewelled tiara or two? A missing Rembrandt perhaps?

Or some clandestine family horror like a hellish pet demon that needs constant supervision?

Father : Always remember the family motto, Benedicta! Heed my words well!
Benedicta : What is it, father?
Father : Leave Not the House Unguarded!

Ever since I've known Calvin, his family has always had a particularly paranoid obsession over their barricaded fortress. Father Borgia especially can never ever bear to leave their mighty Forteresse de Borgia alone for more than a flash, preferring to have at least a sentinel, or ten, guard the precious premises when they are away. Leave Not The House Unguarded indeed!

Calvin : Could you send me to my sister Benedicta's chateau this evening? 
Paul : You're paying her a visit? 
Calvin : She has gone south to stay with her belle mere. 
Paul : So you're going to an empty chateau? What for? 
Calvin : No, I need to secure the chateau after a recent housebreaking. 
Paul : Oh dear! When? 
Calvin : Almost a year now. 
Paul : What?
Calvin : The Borgias don't take any chances so we always make sure the chateau is kept under surveillance. Even Forteresse de Borgia always has custodians to watch over it. 
Paul : So that the Ark of the Covenant isn't wrested away from the family? 
Calvin : What? 

Exactly what they do to secure the household, I have no idea. Since they are the Borgias, perhaps set elaborate traps for any wandering vagabonds? Or maybe Calvin stands watch on the roof of the chateau the entire night with a loaded rifle in hand ready to take them down?

Undoubtedly the rise in crime has me a little worried but to post a sentry at my door all the time even when I'm away is a bit... much. Never ever leaving Netherfield for more than a handful of hours just to prevent break-ins? Wouldn't that be just a tad extreme? Unless there are boundless treasures buried right underneath the floors.

An intriguing thought.

Since Calvin can neither confirm nor deny! No doubt one of these days I shall head over to the Forteresse in the wee hours of the morning with shovel in hand.

La Belle Mere Pars a Paris!

Much have I written about my erstwhile dragoness mother-in-law, the infamous belle mere Madame Borgia and her singleminded obsession to liberate the known world from the unseen horrors of meat and mirrors! Perhaps I could have elaborated even further if Charming Calvin hadn't put down his foot on the entire dastardly scheme. After all, surely our blue-eyed Borgia boy wouldn't like to have his own bonne maman gain such horrific notoriety online!

And perhaps I shouldn't talk ill about Madame Borgia since she has been feeling rather blue after the recent tragic loss of her elder son. So deep in her inconsolable despondency that her other son, Calvin, felt himself obliged to suggest some form of lighthearted entertainment to reanimate her pensive spirits.

Pardon, Maman.

It should surprise no one that it was Calvin who finally, lamentably stumbled upon the idea of travel.

Quelle folie!

Though I had earlier floated the novel idea of Madame Borgia enlisting in our regular travelling troupe, I had expected a far more familiar locale for her; at least somewhere that hints of the Orient perhaps? Certainly not our proposed destination for the next journey which is deep in the heart of Occidental Europe - Paris. After all it was high time my mother had her chance to do the Grand Tour so to speak.

Paul : Mon dieu! What is belle mere to do in Paris!
Calvin : Take a walk? Buy some baguettes? 
Paul : Quoi? Le madame dislikes art galleries, museums and boutiques!
Calvin : I'm sure she will grow to love it. 
Paul : Voyons. What if she - like my bonne maman - only seeks out nourriture chinoise?
Calvin : Then we shall have délicieux le riz cantonais !
Paul : Oh la vache!

Then again since Calvin frequently fancies himself capped with a black beret, twirling a slim mustache while sipping his un café at a chic French cafe, perhaps Madame Borgia has comparable dreams of strolling through the sun-dappled cobbled streets of Montmartre. Dreams of being the next Deneuve perhaps?

So a gay couple with both their distinctly dissimilar mamans on a trip to Paris. Surely the plot for a rollicking French comedy, non? 

Birthday Blues

Decidedly not mine though.

Ever since I was a child, my overly conscientious mother has taken particular care to organize our neighbourhood birthday parties with specially dishes, delicacies and desserts. Way before fabulous party planners had made their presence felt here, my micromanaging mother already had entire soirees planned right down to the most trivial decorations. As we grew up - and sadly away from such seemingly childish pursuits, we could always depend on that annual cake with a candle on it. Not to mention the indispensable red wine mee sua for the occasion. Invariably a reason to celebrate when it comes to my mother.  

Obviously something I inherited from her. Always liked my parties. 

Brought up in an entirely dissimilar environment, Charming Calvin has a different approach to parties. For instance the coming birthday party for his little nephew this weekend, rather than take my simple suggestion of getting balloons, soap bubble blowers and popcorn, Calvin eschewed the lot and went for a small consolation gift instead. If I had my wherewithal, there would have been a circus elephant, stage magician and several dancing pandas. 

Grrr. Stupid Paul. Going to such lengths for a kiddie party. 

Then again I like to overdo things. He prefers it a little more understated. 

Hard to blame Calvin though since incidental birthdays didn't figure large in his family timetable. Such insignificant events to mark the passage of time might as well be forgotten. Always the pragmatic lot, the Borgias have much better things to do rather than quarrel over party pennants and gift ribbons. 

Well ilustrated by this shocking exchange a few weeks ago at the Borgia Family compound. 

Calvin : I'm heading out for a dinner. 

Madame Borgia :  Again? Why? Another of Paul's parties? 

Calvin : It's for a birthday. 

Madame Borgia : Oh. How festive. Who's birthday is it? 

Calvin : Mine.

Madame Borgia : Oh. Are you sure? 

Calvin : Yes, it's my birthday.

Madame Borgia : Nice. Enjoy yourself.

No, they don't appreciate birthdays as much as we do. 

Which is odd. Life gives us so much crap some times so why not take the time to enjoy the small joys we have! 

The Blue-eyed Borgia Boy

It isn't hard to see how Charming Calvin could be the favoured blue-eyed boy of the Borgias. Academically bright, reasonably accomplished and altogether an obedient, loving child; our Calvin generally follows the route mapped out by his conservative elders.

Hardly ever rocks the boat.

Well, except that one minor tropical setback after his domineering brother roughly shoved him out of the proverbial closet. Henceforth at least in the eyes of the Borgia family, Calvin must appear to have lost his sensible moorings to career wildly all over the dangerous uncharted territories of homosexual bay.

With me playing the unenviable role of the wicked siren drawing him away from the relatively safe, comfortably conventional shores he knows so well.

Much to the apparent disgust of his all-seeing, utterly condemning mother, Madame Borgia. Though it didn't occur to me how deeply disappointed she must have been that Calvin has started drawing out his own charts to find his way rather than follow her own prescribed heterosocially acceptable routes. Something she apparently decided to share with me over a Chinese New Year celebratory meal with the family.

Paul : Wonder what your mom is gonna pull this time.
Calvin : She promised she'll be good.
Paul : That's what she always says. 

After all, what better time to torture the unwanted out-laws?

From the depths of her inner sanctum, Madame Borgia retrieved a beautifully polished leather binder with various certificates extolling the manifold accomplishments of one Charming Calvin. Though she denied it vehemently, it was clearly evident that she'd treasured that article greatly. Rather than shamelessly embarass her beloved son with shocking baby pictures, she decided to torture me instead with his examination certificates.

Madame : Such potential. Oh we could have been something great.
Paul : Nothing stopping him from being great.
Madame : But ... sigh. So lost. 
Paul : Hardly lost.
Madame : But ...sigh.

Yes, you could see the glint in her eye as she looked at me. Obviously the cause of the reputable family's downfall.

That Gay Wedding

Seems like there were four of us in that conversation; Charming Calvin and his mother; me and my mother. Though it could have been more since I was much too flustered by the bizarre domestic situation we had inadvertently fallen into. Rare enough to find us all seated companionably at a table together - without throwing unseen daggers!

Rather than delicately skirt around the taboo topic of the glaringly hot pink elephant in the room as one would expect, seems like all we could talk about that evening were gay weddings; the event, the venue, the requirements, the dress code, the etiquette, the attendees etc.

Now who might be the gay one in the lot?

Like I said, bizarre.

Mother : Wonder what they would wear. 
Paul : Don't know about anyone else but I'm always partial to morning suits. 
Calvin : For the grooms, yes!
Madame Borgia : Can't imagine the guest list. Pretty thorough I hear. 
Paul : Think almost everyone who's anyone was invited. 
Calvin : There might even be a video of the ceremony. 
Madame Borgia : Ooh let's take a look. 
Mother : Wonder if they have guidelines. 

Debating the intricate pros and cons of a homosexual wedding in our rigidly conservative country. All in all, that peculiarly unfamiliar discussion amongst the four of us had to go down as the oddest conversation any of us had ever had. Well, right after the uncomfortably detached coming-out chat I had a while back.

With all the talk of two men getting married in unholy matrimony, I was half-expecting the disquieted Madame Borgia to suddenly run berserk with her trusty kitchen cleaver.

Perhaps if I were the groom in question, she might have. Ever so slightly I shifted my seat to trip her if she had any distasteful thoughts of running for sharp implements. Satisfied with my position, I couldn't help but push the envelope. Constantly an advocate of shocking the elders into submission, it was a the tip of my tongue to just pop the question anyway but Calvin's horror-struck expression when I tried to kneel warned me against such a hasty decision.

As it were, the wedding we were talking about were the infamous nuptials of Jessie Chung and Joshua Beh several years back. Wildly controversial here because Jessie herself used to be a man. Basically this was Malaysia's first public wedding involving a sex-changed person and even the media were invited. 

Gotta admit her husband is kinda cute though.

MSG

Just like the warrior Achilles had his vulnerable heel, Lady Macbeth had her stained hands and Superman has his radioactive Krytonite, even the seemingly invincible Madame Borgia - that infamous mother-in-law of mine - has a shocking little weakness of her own.

Something almost microscopic, readily available and seemingly negligible. Almost! But just a trace amount is enough for the usually unflappable Madame Borgia to stumble helplessly into mindless hysterics.

And that's monosodium glutamate. Otherwise known as the humble MSG, so very much beloved by thriving Asian restaurants around the globe. Though obviously not on such convivial terms with Madame Borgia, apparently quite the unyielding nemesis since the redoubtable lady shrieks stridently whenever even a hint of MSG makes an appearance. Increasing ... *ahem* maturity has turned our Madame into quite the health-conscious ascetic with a zealous appetite for only the blandest of fine foods plucked from organic farms raised with warm sunshine and tender loving care.

Don't even get me going on Madame Borgia's long-standing though ultimately futile battle with fatty cholesterol-laden pork. Haven't tried it but always wondered whether she'd melt into a screaming puddle if I tossed some MSG at her.

Seriously, when did sandwiches and salads become so damned popular? 

A freakish health-nut obsession that seems to have spread its malicious claws into her susceptible son, Charming Calvin. Lack of a visible partner, a love-hate relationship with his much abused automobile and near financial insolvency has turned him into something of a social recluse of late.

Paul : You're at home?
Calvin : Yes. Taking dinner.
Paul : Not going out for dinner?
Calvin : Cooking at home. Or maybe make a sandwich. 
Paul : Just go tapao from outside.
Calvin : Eating food cooked at home is healthier.
Paul : OMG. I can't believe you just said that!
Calvin : Why?
Paul : You're turning into your mother!

Seriously. Someone get him out of that house and away from the horrifying salad-sandwich combo. 

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.

The Other Borgia

Though the little spring idyll we just had was wonderful, I am pretty sure Charming Calvin's mother isn't too pleased that I monopolized her precious son's time this entire week. Even the festive hamper of oranges I brought over wouldn't mollify her for sure.

Which is probably why Madame Borgia stared at me balefully each time I merrily waved to her from the driveway of the estate. Favourable or not, at least I actually managed to get a reaction from her which is more than I can say for the other members of his family.

And by others, I mean his sister Benedicta Borgia. If I thought Charming Calvin was the reticent sort, his sister is practically the enigmatic Sphinx. Compared to her silent highness, Calvin's practically garrulous.

Even my taciturn brother chatters more.

Paul : Hey, such a lovely morning. How are you?
Benedicta : Morning.
Paul : You're certainly up early.
Benedicta : Huh.
Paul : Had some work in town I bet?
Benedicta : Yes.
Paul : Worked up an appetite?
Benedicta : Yes.
Paul : Breakfast it is!
Benedicta : Humph.

Chatty she certainly isn't. More inclined to indistinguishable grunts and humphs with the occasional mumbled syllable or two. Sister Silence I dub her.

Hopefully it's the language barrier since my Mandarin's barely serviceable!


Yes, Benedicta is that scary!
Of course I'm already inclined to like her since Benedicta, for all her haughty aloofness, pretty much stood by poor Calvin through his entire harrowing coming-out nightmare of pawangs and psychiatrists. Calvin repeatedly assures me that she's perfectly lovely - though I am sure she's a lot less accomodating when it comes to homosexual brothers-in-law.

Though I am sure the saintly Benedicta harbours no homicidal notions towards me, she would probably prefer that I not be in the picture. Certainly not in the very same town she's living. At least I assume that's what she's thinking since it's hard to discern from a smattering of mutterings.

Hmm. Maybe I should have gotten her a gift basket as well.

Hark the Herald Borgia Sings

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

Lo and behold, Madame Borgia came by,
With nary a hue, warning or cry!

Apparently Charming Calvin is the only one in the family who abhors surprises since his unconventional mother seems to relish leaving everyone in a perpetual state of astonishment. Rather than inform her son of her upcoming December itinerary beforehand, Madame Borgia obviously prefers the perennial gift of unexpected surprise.

So while Calvin was busy placing the finishing touches on his Christmas wrapping, this unheralded message came from his impulsive mother.

Calvin : OMG I'm quite certain you will not be pleased with this news.
Paul : Why? Has Christmas been cancelled by the religious mullahs?
Calvin : Even worse than that. My mother's coming over for Christmas.
Paul : Good God.
Calvin : Should we invite her for the party?
Paul : The scary part is I don't see why not.
Calvin : Would that be a yes?
Paul : If Madame Borgia causes a scene, I just might have to poison her.
Calvin : I would expect no less. So that's a yes?
Paul : How can I say no?

Who knew that we'd be receiving such unforeseen bounty this year! Not only have all my cousins decided to descend upon us en masse, now Calvin's mother has decided to join the madcap crowd.


Now what is she up to?
Engrossed as I am with thoughts of seasonal decorations and party caterers, I couldn't possibly fathom her perplexing reasons for coming. For all we know, Madame Borgia might have wicked motives up her sleeve intending to cause a huge commotion at my little soiree! Or does she come in peace with the sole object of discussing Calvin's wedding trousseau?

Or perhaps Madame Borgia has abandoned her lifelong atheism with every intention of attending midnight mass at the nearby parish church?

Maybe it would be safer to steer her towards a more cautious lunch on Boxing Day instead.