Grindr This Tindr

With the plethora of opportunities available for gay men these days in the dating world, I don't find myself envying them. Well... not by much. Granted the easy availability of social apps has made it so much easier to score a decent date - or even a quick hookup depending on the exigencies of the moment - but it has also made them just a little too particular in their choices.

When it was only the five openly gay men in the town, it was relatively easier to date since there wasn't all that many bachelors available on the marriage mart anyhow. Now with the headless torsos on display on every dating app in town - with even the most closeted 'I am so discreet on the DL' boys coming out with their very own unflattering dick pic, dare I say this has caused quite a few to be so awfully finicky that I'm close to whacking them across the head? 

Unless you're only on the prowl for sex, why are you discounting people so easily? 

Friend : I simply can't find anyone to date. 

Paul : Well let's check out your Tindr then.

Friend : I'm sure there's no one. 

Paul : How about bachelor number one? 

Friend : Too many shirtless pics. 

Paul : And that's bad because? 

Friend : Just too many. 

Paul : How about bachelor number two? 

Friend : Not enough words in his description. 

I say bachelor number one and two but my friend was flicking away at the Tindr dates like it was a swiping game. Barely a micro second glance and it's already a swipe left. 

I could keep writing on the reasons for swiping left but some are so inconsequential that I found myself at a loss for words. Even the tiniest of imperfections is reason enough for a rejection. One ear bigger than the other? Smile too wide? Too many friends? 

I'm sure he could find something wrong with even this! 

Look, Prince Charming, if you're gonna refuse every bachelor in the land for some silly reason, there's never going to be anyone for you. And that's all only based on a superficial profile with a couple of random photos, including the obligatory shirtless thirst pic - and a brief description of likes and dislikes. 

From that, you're able to tell whether someone's good enough for a date?  

Oh come on. Talk about reading a book by its cover. 

Be a little less fussy. The best dates I've been on are the ones I didn't expect. You can never tell from that serious expression on his face that he could be the greatest comedian ever. You can't tell just from the sculpted pecs bursting out of his tank top that he's actually the caring sort who boils homemade soup for those he loves. You can't tell from a three line description that he actually writes dramatic telenovelas for a living. 

Is it really so hard? One swipe right is all it takes. 

Unless the other fellow is also a tool and doesn't swipe in return. 

Dating 2018

You'd think by my venerable age I'd have gotten over the entirely absurd rigmarole of dating conventions and the ensuing insanity that entails. That's just entirely sophomoric high school stuff, no? These days isn't it all about getting an instant lay from the prurient dating apps?

Guess not all of us graduated fully from high school since unfortunately with some of my less conversant friends these days, Dating 101 seems to be all we're talking about from the confusing etiquette of tentative first dates to the vague possibility of the figurative coffee after. We might as well be having our packed lunches at the school canteen bench.

Although I have to say some of Miz Grundy's puritanical ideas do seem like they have been carried forward from her sophomoric days.

Or more likely her solemn times in the nunnery.

Paul : Well it's simple really. Why don't you just ask him out?
Miz Grundy : I can't do that. 

Paul : Why not? Is there a law against it? 

Miz Grundy : Girls don't ask guys out on dates!

Paul : Did you fall into a wormhole? Are you seriously stuck in the Victorian era? 

Obviously I was utterly aghast to hear such an archaic concept mentioned in the post women's lib era. Did all that relentless bra burning mean nothing to her?

A man in my carriage! I shall keep my gaze stonily affixed to the front. 
Oh dear is that his hand?
A man's hand!
Brushing against me!
Lawd-a-mercy I'm going to faint. 

It was like talking to one of the more straight-laced Regency heroines in one of my dog-eared Heyer novels. Miss Wraxton from the Grand Sophy perhaps?

Hard to even have a decent conversation when something as simple as asking a gentleman out had her all aflutter! Never even occurred to her that such a revolutionary milestone had passed her by while she'd been locked up in a hideaway convent. When relentlessly pressed for a reason, all Miz Grundy could fall back on was a sad, feeble fear of rejection.

You can imagine the veritable hailstone of rebukes and reprimands that followed that pathetic admission. Oh really, come on. Well, hello and welcome to the world of hopeful bachelors all around the world. So now you know how guys feel when they try to pick girls up at the bar. 

So get over yourself and try it.

Or maybe turn on Tindr? I should have known better than to have made such a scandalous suggestion since obviously that terribly distressing notion caused her to reach for her smelling salts as she fell into a near swoon.

Religious Compulsions

Let there be no compulsion in religion. 

Still one of the exemplary tenets that I have always recalled from school way back when and something I've always tried to serve best. Though our generally prejudiced social media occasionally tries to villify missionary schools by claiming they have a hand in miraculously evangelizing students there, I can tell you that's all utterly ridiculous bs since in all my years there, I never saw any such thing.

Unless someone out there can convince me that merely strolling by a cross on a wall can be tantamount to a miraculous conversion.

Religion should be something utterly individual - and personal faith should be something nearly unshakeable otherwise why hold on to it in the first place? State-sanctioned religious conversion aside - something I personally find preposterous, I never can quite understand it when someone I personally know undergoes a conversion just to marry someone else.

If they have been admirably drawn to the new religion because of their love, then I would heartily salute that particular conversion.

Not to mention a baptism would be less a holy sacrament and more an unwelcome dunk in cold water.

But most times, the one being converted is doing it purely because.

Which I find almost sinful.

Paul : So after all the months of religious classes, you have finally come to believe? 
Friend : No. 
Paul : You haven't seen any light? 
Friend : No. 
Paul : You're still converting?
Friend : Yes. 
Paul : Good God. 

Let's not kid ourselves about the entire romanticization of making that ultimate sacrifice for luuuurve. Has anyone wondered why any religion would want a staunch non-believer to even enter their halls to take up vows? Not to mention why anyone would force their loved one, someone they purportedly love above all else, to be a disciple of a religion they don't actually believe in.

Always remember this. The book is holy only to the devout followers because of their intense faith - but to anyone else who doesn't believe, it's not very much different from the entirely fictional Greek myth about their own gods.


 

Back In The Days

Meeting up with a schoolmate and friend in Tokyo certainly brought back many bittersweet memories, and it wasn't long before Skinny Stacey and I started dredging up funny anecdotes from way, way back then. Seemed so fresh in our minds that it made it hard to grasp the fact that it actually all happened twenty years ago! All those wacky pranksters, smooth talkers and emo youngsters were already relatively grown up parents of their very own children.

And in all likelihood - confirmed and reiterated by many, many of my classmates - I wasn't as much of a shy wallflower as I would like to think. Apparently I had quite a fearsome reputation in school, something that I hadn't been entirely aware of back then.

The looks on my friends' faces when I say I'm a blushing blossom in school. 
Occasionally there are smirks and snorts. 

So drooping daisy I definitely wasn't.

Sometimes I do wonder how Charming Calvin and I would have been like if we'd both been in high school at the same time and place. Though never did it occur to me that Charming Calvin would think I'm some monstrous Venus flytrap with dripping green fangs out to catch the next hapless victim.

Calvin : You know I don't think I would have dated Paul in high school.
Stacey : Why not!
Paul : What the- 
Calvin : You probably wouldn't have seen me also!
Paul : Excuse you! Frankly I'm vaguely insulted.
Calvin : Anyway I'd be a little afraid of you. I mean I'd have admired you from afar but would be too scared to come close.
Paul : Eh.

Wait is this one of those inexplicably paiseh things? Turns out Calvin might be one of those timid Clay Jensens who try their best to discreetly blend into the highschool background, perpetually afraid of making the slightest disturbance in the force? Though I might not crave the spotlight as most would think, I doubt I'd be the kind to shrink back from making my opinions heard.

Loudly. Passionately. From the rafters if need be.

Think I've made quite a ruckus or two in the school canteen that stunned everyone once or twice even.

So yeah, that would probably make me stand out from the crowd - as it probably did according to my classmates. Odd since I always thought I was kinda invisible in school. So believe it when I say how you think of yourself doesn't always match up with the truth.

Doing Nothing At All

Unlike most, I prefer to take my Netflix fix slow - so rather than frantically binge-fest over the newly streamed episodes, I basically drag them out painfully anticipatorily into a couple of weeks. An episode a week basically. Reason why it took me so long to finally see Clay Jensen figure out the entire thirteen reasons given by his tortured paramour on what drove her to put a permanent period to her life.

One specific cause of which is obviously our quietly ineffectual Clay himself. Hardly a spoiler since he received the iconic cassettes right in the beginning of the series. You would think someone like Clay would hardly cause a ripple, no?

Something I've noticed since high school myself; quietly reticent fellows such as Clay who tend to blend unobtrusively into the the general background without causing much of a scene. Unassuming, unpretentious, unnoticeable; till sometimes they don't even seem to be involved in anything that's happening around them.

Or prefer not to be.

Seems very little reason to irrrationally aggravate me but it does.

Maybe I shoulda done something.
Coulda Woulda Shoulda. 

Do they actually think doing nothing actually helps anyone? How many times have we seen people hang back from a potentially ugly situation, trying not to dirty their hands? Not realizing that backing away with their arms folded is almost as bad as causing the incident to happen in the first place.

Oft repeated statement that I've always found inspirational.

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men should do nothing.

Sound familiar, David? 

To Speak or Not To Speak

Whispered secrets are shared mostly in confessional boxes where the sacred seal of confession sufficiently conceals whatever misdeeds and misdemeanours might have been committed before. Outside the hushed sanctity of the church, things get a little bit more complicated especially when unsubstantiated rumours start gaining more traction with mounting visible evidence lending credence to the heretofore questionable fact.

And by that I mean Ambiguous Aaron.

Once upon a time a possibly Maybe Gay, doubtful events of late however seem to have sufficiently confirmed Aaron's deeply closeted status. Not only is there the same ubiquitous 'friend' wherever he travels - which is suspicious enough, validated statements from his hometown have basically settled the case of 'Is He or Isn't He?' for the rest of us. Apparently on some long forgotten occasion, he once professed his sexual proclivities to his inner circle of intimates and that lil nugget of information made its stealthy way across the seas to us.

Didn't even have the need to call in the big guns!

Of course knowing the fact and hearing it straight from the reticent horse's mouth is a far different thing. Till now despite our attempts to present a thoroughly welcoming, supportive front for his much delayed outing, Aaron stubbornly clings to his purported heterosexuality with persistent appeals to recommend him to the eligible bachelorettes in our circle. 

Therein lies the problem. 

A new dillemma? 

Not that any of us would knowingly lead some innocent damsel to her sacrificial doom on the altar as the unfortunate gay bride - or tongqi 同妻! Far from it since we tend to steer the more oblivious fillies in the opposite direction away from him - but apparently we do occasionally lose sight of one or two. Unbeknownst to us, Aaron's buttoned-up conservative demeanour has somehow bespelled someone that we know.

Or at least the devastating charm seems to be taking slow but steady effect.

Paul : This is starting to be a problem. 

Calvin : How so? 
Paul : I think she's starting to like him. Subtle but I think it's there. 
Calvin : Aiyo. 
Paul : Perhaps a hint of warning in her ear? 

So do we tell the friend our growing suspicions about his assumed heterosexual facade? Or do we keep the sacred seal of confession even though he hasn't technically come out to any of us yet?

Weird Things with Gay Couples

Haven't gotten around to putting it up but I just have to, even though it's a year late throwback, but hey doesn't mean it rings any less true. Especially since Charming Calvin and I get the first part all the time.

Stranger : Wait, are you two a couple? 
Paul : Yes. 
Stranger : I thought you two were brothers. 
Paul : I introduced him as my boyfriend. 
Stranger : Are you sure you're not brothers? 
Paul : Yes. 
Stranger : Stranger things have happened. 
Paul : Stranger than brothers saying they are together? 

Really. Not the first time we've gotten the baffled look since appallingly, Chinese fellas with square faces and dark-rimmed spectacles frequently get mistaken for one another. Usually to cover up their obvious gaffe, they follow it up with the common Chinese phrase 夫妻相 to mollify us after so it's all good.

Fortunately some of the gay stereotypes are actually true when it comes to me so the nagging questions on fashion and interiors are all fine since hell yes, I do have vehement opinions on that. Not too sure how Charming Calvin feels about it but busily snacking on the party hors d'ouevres usually saves him from answering.

And hey, if you're almost the same size are your man, it basically doubles your wardrobe. Isn't that the best part about being in a gay relationship? Never actually tried on his shirts since I actually have an embarassing number untested and unworn in my closet but I've definitely pulled on his shorts before. Way back when we were first dating. Having to dash off for work emergencies doesn't leave me much choice unless I carry spare clothes to change everywhere I go.

Which I do these days of course.

When we travel, I have to admit there are times when our clothes strikingly match, though never ever on purpose, but we still draw the line at getting couple t-shirts.

Back to School

Thankfully not for me since the idea of prepping for examinations again gives me the hives.

A bit unsettled since the recent recession inconveniently rightsized a large number of the lucrative careers in oil and gas here, Charming Calvin has been filling his time with educating our mostly apathetic adolescents in mathematics and science. Surprisingly a childhood dream of his brought forward by a series of unfortunate events. Despite the tedious mental chore of refreshing one's memory with such complex calculus equations, Calvin seems quite up to the task of teaching a dozen or so disinterested teenagers in the classroom.

Me, I've always balked at the idea of teaching. Having both parents as teachers have taught me that despite what the erroneous detractors say, education isn't something as simple as scratching words on a blackboard for the students to magically grasp. Takes so much more than that which is why I always imagined my pitiful efforts at teaching would literally be the disoriented one-eyed man misleading the blind!

Not so for Calvin!

Hot for teacher indeed!

Going back to school however has turned out to be quite an inspiration. In fact teaching the young and far from willing minds on the manifold virtues of trigonometry has spurred his very own need for self improvement which is how he one day came up with the idea of continuing his academic scholarship.

Calvin : What do you think of further education? 
Paul : Do it. 
Calvin : Would it be good to continue..?
Paul : Do it. 
Calvin : Should I take up my masters? 
Paul : Do it. 
Calvin : That was a quick response!
Paul : Do it. You'll pass with flying colours for sure. 
Calvin : You're already giving me stress and I haven't even signed up for the course yet! 
Paul : Would you rather me say you'll flunk out? 

Seriously, he's a bright young fellow and I'm sure he could manage the relatively straightforward course hobbled on one leg with one hand tied to his back. Even then, I'm pretty sure he'll easily wipe the floor with the rest of his loser classmates with the exams and the coursework.

Yes, that's the kiasu lil me coming out again. Turns out that's not exactly the supportive encouragement he needs - says I'm giving him undue stress over performance anxiety - but I doubt I could provide any other. Maybe a bit of playacting as teacher and student?

The One Where Everyone's Gay : The Raya Edition

Dinner with the parents is always fraught with danger.

Even more so when the parents are devout God-fearing Muslims and you just invited a gaggle of flaming gay men over for nasi kerabu dinner.

Rather than the hilarious opening act of a heady CW sitcom, this actually took place last weekend for the recent Raya celebrations. Ever the eternal optimist, Kitty Kat ignored the religious condemnation concern and bravely welcomed the deviant lot of us to her open house. Already apprised of her parents' increasingly orthodox leanings, we all promised to be on our best #masc #butch behaviour.

Of course our ever welcoming hostess told us to ignore all that and just be ourselves but hey, we obviously aim to pass. Feather boas, high-pitched squeals and limp wrists all packed away into the proverbial closets. Practicing our high fives and fist bumps several days beforehand, Fabulous Felix and I were already all ready to bro it out.

At the most we would have gotten a diverted chortle from her husband.

Gay? We're not gay. Who's gay? 

Turns out there was hardly any mention of it during dinner where we wined and dined on the most delicious raya spread ever, with hardly any burning pitchforks or conscientious sermons! I was hoping for at least one impassioned  'Return to the godly path, my son' but nothing was said apart from repeated entreaties to enjoy ourselves.

Or at least that was what we thought till much later in the evening when we'd all made our way home. And we were all ready to clap ourselves on the backs for being able to successfully pass for straight! Apparently Kat's mother had already known that at least one of us was the dreaded homosexual which is how Kitty Kat and Sober Sam soon found themselves cornered with dozens of urgently curious queries.

Mother : So which one was the gay one, my dear? 
Kat : All of them. 
Mother : Oh my God, I was feeding all the gays? 
Sam : Did you intend to starve out the gays? 
Father : But they didn't look like gays!
Kat : What kinda look is that? 
Father : The gay look!
Kat : Anyway not all of them are out yet. At least one still in the closet but he hangs around with the other boys so surely everyone knows. 
Father : But you guys hang around them too! People probably think you're gay!
Sam : But we have a child now!
Father : The lengths you guys go to keep it a secret.

Absolutely hilarious. I couldn't have written it better!

Wouldn't surprise me if the indignant father spent the entire weekend eyeing Sober Sam askance.

It did however explain why the parents spent the most part of the evening hiding from the heathen lot since as we all know, homosexuality is highly contagious. Fortunately for gay tolerance, the parents did however acknowledge that we were all nice boys - even better since we cleaned up after ourselves - so there's a high chance we would have favourable prayers said in our names!

Clandestine Coupling

When I first fell in love way back when, like those wacky kids in musicals I felt like shamelessly dancing and singing it out from the highest rooftops. Though those warm fuzzy feelings had actually crept on me unknowingly, the final realization dropped suddenly like a literal bomb. It was simply exhilarating. Despite the fact that I was unorthodoxly in love with a boy, that didn't stop me from wanting to yell it out loud and proud.

Those irritating Facebook posts that you see coming up from lovey-dovey couples who have just committed into a relationship, yeah that would have been me several years back.

Which yet again seems to be wildly nonconformist here.

According to popular opinion here, dating seems to be a dangerously taboo word here with expressly vanilla heterosexual couples, something most of us would assume perfectly apropos with public appearances, preferring to have their clandestine love buried deep underground. Rather than share their feelings with their friends and family to breathlessly await their expected approbation, they prefer covertly whispered confessions behind closed doors away from the prying eyes.

I think this is far enough. No one we know will ever see us date here!

Egregious examples I have aplenty; starting from Pretty Paisley with a bit of a segue to the Dangerously Devout Duennas all the way to the very latest which would be our holy Miz Grundy. Just imagine her unspeakable horror when I accidentally bumped into Grundy during one of her secret dalliances. Her beau was all welcoming smiles of course but Grundy was close to breaking down into a fainting swoon.

Miz Grundy : Umm.. 
Paul : Waitaminute, you're dating him? 
Miz Grundy : Yes. 
Paul : That's great. 
Miz Grundy : But I'm not ready to tell anyone yet. 
Paul : Why? Is he a wanted criminal? 
Miz Grundy : No.
Paul : Is he a troll? 
Miz Grundy : No. 
Paul : Oh dear, is he married? A celibate priest? 
Miz Grundy : No! No!
Paul : Is he into something kinky? Does he beat you? 
Miz Grundy : No!
Paul : So what's the problem? 

Boy meets girl. Boy dates girl. It's not at all complicated.

So really why the secrecy?

Made me curious enough to post it all online! Are we just making our lives ever more complicated by anxiously overthinking? Quite a few claim a crippling fear of the imminent publicity especially with the uncertainty in their budding relationship. All I can say is Pshaw! Come on, all relationships regardless of how committed are still basically uncertain. It will fumble or fly regardless of the spotlight shone on it. Ignore all expectations and enjoy the time together.

And for God's sakes, you're not even gay. Why the heck are you hiding?

The Spiritual Sheep

It's certainly not fun being the black sheep in the family.

Not that I would know since I'm one of those horrifically accomplished older cousins ( always a benefit being born earlier! ) frequently pointed out as an example to my younger cousins, much to their everlasting dismay. Wouldn't be surprised if I'm quite heartily despised by the lot!

Of course I dislike such odious comparisons as well since it's also downright embarassing. That said, being the putative paragon in the family does however have its little benefits since most of the family gossip ends up coming my way. 

Aunt : Oh no, you're so good. I'm sure you can do no wrong. 
Paul : You must have me confused with Harriet.
Aunt :  You really won't believe what my son has been up to!

Paul : Ooh tell me more. 

With very little persuasion on my part, the story of the black sheep of our family, Richie Runt, came spilling out. Last we all heard of him, Richie had been happily masquerading as a dubious snake oil promoter whilst hiding his true ambition to be an enterpreneurial street tough. Facts a lil hard to swallow since he's a little bit of a runt - think Macho Mike could crush him with a thumb - but odder events have happened, I'm sure. 

Not forgetting the fact that Richie frequently zigs when we expect a zag. 

Which is exactly what our boy did. Though my pragmatic grandparents might be the least superstitious folk around, that doesn't necessarily ring true for Richie's maternal side who dabble in chicken-slaughtering, idol-shaking shamanism. Didn't take long for him to realize that particularly esoteric career path might be more suited to his specific set of skills rather than amateur small town gangsterism. 

Unsurprisingly it didn't take long for him to conveniently level up on his arcane accomplishments; proficient enough that Richie was quick enough to come to my grandmother's rescue when she heard scratching noises in her bedroom at night. Rather than accept the general family belief that we had monstrous rodents roaming the old coffeeshop walls, he insisted that it had to be restless spirits.  

Grandma, this is all I need to write on the walls!

Obviously my sensible grandmother was unimpressed with such blatant chicanery.

Even less so when Richie took it upon himself to perform a quick exorcism. Have to say with his appropriately sullen expression perpetually shrouded by his Goth black hoodie, our emo boy did look the part. Forget about laying out plans and stratagems for days! Several deftly written sigils on the aged wooden walls followed by a whispered line of sacred mantra was all it took to banish them all!

Efficient indeed! I started wondering whether I should hire our new family Shaman to help the Borgias guard their ancient hell portal instead!

Social Grace

As a child, the infrequent social gathering, so beloved by my surprisingly sociable parents, has always been a source of much anxiety for me. Incipient bashfulness aside, there are always the endless rules and regulations of proper manners set down by the overanxious parents, seemingly obsessed with constructing the impeccable facade of a perfect family for all to gape over.

Or at least that's what I begrudgingly noted as a child.

Appropriate clothes to wear, polite manners in the company of others etc. - basically Cliff's Notes for the aspiring debutante in a select finishing school. Pretentious little precepts of proper behaviour that my inner rebel found absolutely infuriating - though like the perfect little boy I was, I kept my mouth primly shut following the popular maxim of 'Children should be seen not heard.'

And tried my best to bend the rules whenever possible.

It's only with the benefit of age and hindsight that I find what I learned absolutely educational and extremely advantageous in certain social situations. Though it has also become quite clear that the influential Emily Post Rulebook so well loved by my rigorous parents didn't actually make the rounds amongst the other less conversant members during their PTA meetings.

Such as the indifferent preceptors of a certain Silent Sibyl.

Persuaded by another friend to join one of our usual jovial dinner gatherings, this stonefaced sphinx reluctantly mumbled her unintelligible greetings, nodded almost imperceptibly to no one in particular and then brazenly turned her back to the others for a private conversation with her friend. Henceforth not another word from Sibyl apart from bluntly monosyllabic replies when questioned by the others on the table.

Paul : Gracious, where do you find such lowly impudence!

Just. Plain. Rude.

So much for keeping the conversation light and gracious with your dinner partners on your left and right. Getting information from a hardened spy under torture would have been easier.

Perhaps if she were an ignorant child, I would have been far more forgiving. But the ill-bred wench didn't even have youthful naivete to lend her grace. Really there was little expectation on my part for a gregarious barrel of laughs drowning us all in uproarious hilarity but I would have expected at least a modicum of civil conversation to drip from her precious lips.

As the night wore on with her plainly ignoring everyone else on the table - she might as well have stood facing the wall in a timeout - I started to think Sibyl might well have been brought up by vulgar philistines in the lowliest of barns. The others could plainly see my growing consternation and were all ready to hold me back in case I rashly backhanded the crass lil creature off her dining chair. Even her friend who valiantly tried her best to direct her attention back to the rest of us was starting to feel acutely uneasy with the shocking conversational faux pas.

Friend : Maybe she's shy.
Paul : Maybe she's rude.
Friend : Be nice. 
Paul : Perhaps you should tell her that instead.  

Needless to say, I was less than charmed by her insolence.

Manners maketh man. Or woman as this case may be. Apparently Sibyl still has lots to make up for.

13 Reasons

Or maybe not all that many.

Although the oddly ironic paean to self immolation post relentless bullying that is 13 Reasons Why certainly brings back some bittersweet memories of high school. Not that I ever seriously contemplated suicide way back then but I could certainly empathize with the tremendous rush of emotions experienced by the overly hormonal teenagers in the series.

With that heady cocktail of adolescent hormones, is it any wonder that they behave fucking irrationally at times?

Me, I would probably stand out as the least emo kid in the series. Even with that bothersome gay cloud looming thunderously over me as a teenager, I still remained relatively upbeat about most things. Basically threw myself wholeheartedly into extracurricular activities and random tutorial sessions; even managed to meet a few girl friends that I, apparently still in denial, foolishly asked out later. Not that difficult to brave the infrequent rejections when there's not much riding on it. I was hardly the angsty, guilt-ridden gay kid stereotype portrayed by most CW teen dramas.

But then thankfully, I was rarely the target of ceaseless schoolyard bullying.

Bashful school wallflower I may have been but I wouldn't have taken a beating lying down. Literally or figuratively. Never could imagine the role of the cloyingly sweet K-drama heroine being repeatedly set upon by her malicious oppressors. Like why would I? Turns out it was the right move to make since in retrospect, playing the amenable victim ever ready to take a kicking only seems to rile the boneheaded bullies more.

Clearly that's like painting a Kick Me Sign permanently on your back.

Umm why are you taking this lying down? 

Even in 13 Reasons, the hopeful schoolkids seem to think that all that sophomoric name-calling and talking trash would have been left behind in high school but I can certainly assure them that it doesn't magically disappear. It just ups its game. Just picture this; a gang of tense, highstrung personalities tossed together into a stressful work environment - now that's a true breeding ground for the nastiest of monsters.

Though in the more sophisticated workplace, the bullying tends to be a tad more insidious.

Something Curvy Carenina apparently agrees with since she's been on the receiving end of some workplace malice, artfully couched in syrupy political correctness but no less venomous in its painful sting. What puzzles me is the unexpected lack of combative belligerence on her part. Burn me once and I might dismissively shrug it off, but try it again and there'll certainly be hell to pay.

Why play the nobly suffering victim? Doubt they would be handing out prizes for the most deserving underdog.

SuperBitch

It's a bird... it's a plane...

Sometimes it can get really hard to tell especially when you're the non-superpowered being being watched from way, way below with crappy nearsighted vision. Some heroes have super strength. Some can fly. Some can walk through walls. It's really enough to make any normal fellow turn utterly green with jealousy.

Fear not though, folks. Every now and then, what we all think is perfectly normal can turn out to be our very own mutant ability instead.

Think it's evident after all this time that I abhor bullshit; which is why ever since high school, I've kept the company of a select coterie of generally sharp, straight-talking mates. Though the preferred members might frequently change with time and place, the conversations we have rarely do; usually shockingly unpolitically correct, no-holds-barred discussions about everything and all under the sun including topics wildly taboo that frequently shocks our gentle listeners.

Intense they call it.

Coupled with the occasional stinging zingers - inadvertent bitchiness really - I can understand why the stunned newbies usually require a sedative or two before returning for the next bracing session. But they all get used to it after all. Being frequently bombarded with such explosive comebacks has certainly toughened our hides, so much so that we do on occasion miss the less imaginative responses.

Carenina : OMG.
Paul : What? 
Carenina : Did you hear what she said? 
Paul : Yeah? 
Carenina : And? 
Paul : You mean that was meant to be bitchy? 
Carenina : Yes!
Paul : She calls that throwing shade? 
Carenina : Yes!
Paul : You call that a bitchy remark? Yeah, she's got a whole lot to learn. 

And that wouldn't be the first time I've found myself puzzled over seemingly catty remarks.

Karenina : I swear she meant it in a bitchy way.
Paul : Still don't see it. Maybe if I heard it in a stern Russian accent? 

Seriously, either I've become quite thankfully zen to dismiss such little affronts - always a nice sign of maturity - or I've become such a raving superbitch that too minor a diss just bounces off. Or perhaps they should have put a lil more intelligent thought to their petty insults?

Push and Pull

First-time crushes are always a bit hard to deal with. 

Perhaps a little different for me since I've always favoured the ... let's call it the Attila the Hun Method of Courtship; that full- on rampaging barbaric assault with lots of wanton pillaging and ravishment after. Simply put, it's all about 'You're hot. Let's fuck.'

Definitely very little time left for coy sophomoric mating games which I find a bloody waste of time. And if the unfortunate object of my affection doesn't share my lustful feelings, then it's just a quick farewell handshake with no harm and no foul on either side. Life's far too short, no? 

More tapping, less talking!

Don't worry if you're feeling terrified and ready to run for the hills. Obviously I'm in the sad minority when it comes to my tempestuous courtship style; undoubtedly quite a handful of well-favoured yet painfully meek villagers have already been scared off into said hills by my overly aggressive approach. Sad lack of cojones that. 

Of late though I've had more of a chance to observe some of my other friends at work, even a few who lean towards a more unusual method of courtship. Perhaps what I'm starting to term the passive-aggressive style started by the acne-riddled freshman boys back in high school; you know the brash unthinking sort who reach out to tug on that special girl's braid hoping to get noticed?

Tim : Oh man, she's so pretty, I can't believe she isn't the prom queen. Just look at her. 

Then the very next instant when his dream girl finally arrives, our friend here abruptly makes an about-face and does quite the opposite.

Tim : Gosh she's so vain. Always all about her looks. Though there's not much there to work with. 

Like what the hell, man.

Though the inherent drama of the persistent push and pull does provide quite a lot of script fodder for Hollywood rom-coms, it doesn't translate all that well into real life. On the big screen, there's the sizzle of a well-written repartee between the warring couple but in reality, it's just insults and abuse hurled both ways which does little to promote any sort of lasting relationship.

Hair pulling? Rock tossing? Name calling?

Really, how does that schizophrenic love-hate personality work on that dream girl? Short of being a freaking narcissistic queen, she's quite obviously going to think he dislikes her immensely. Perhaps it's time to lay off the sophomoric push and pull for something a little more traditionally adult? Flowers and chocolates maybe?

From BFFs to Strangers

Friendship is an interesting thing. Sometimes it takes just a moment for relative strangers to click into the best of friends. Perhaps something in the air but there's a certain chemistry, maybe even a sense of telepathic simpatico between two that makes them immediately suited to be best friends.

Best friends forever?
Or at least till someone walks by? 

Rare though do we find the opposite happening where erstwhile friends get instantly dropkicked from the shining summit of compadre crag down the frightening slopes of brief transients into the forgotten depths of faceless anonymity. Yet when it comes to closeted individuals, it happens often enough. For them, there are always the so-called 'gay' friends comprising of those flirty fabulous fags and their hag stag dependents. Basically those in the know.

And then there are the supposed those who know not. As in the sadly undiscerning few they blithely assume ( usually erroneously ) have not deciphered the cryptic code of their covert campiness as yet. So obviously the fags must always be screened and hidden from the few for fear of the ship overturning.

David : Oh my friends brought me. 
Paul : Oh who! When do we meet them? 
David : Oh not friends. Colleagues. 
Paul : Oh. 
David : Oh not colleagues. Acquaintances. 
Paul : Oh. 
David : Oh not acquaintances. Strangers. 
Paul : Next stage would be people who don't really exist, right? Imaginary friends? 

Really. Didn't take more than five minutes for best friends to turn into relative strangers that he used to know. At least we know who turned over their friends and family to the Gestapo at the simple snap of a finger.

Just like Gotye said it.

The Pecah Tongkang Syndrome II

Pecah Tongkang.

First of all there's no such colourful phrase even in colloquial Malay so don't bother searching for it. Perhaps the closest I can think of would be pecah tembelang but for such a colossal secret, just a handful of rotten eggs certainly won't do hence we all co-opted the phrase and changed it into a sunken ship instead.

But like any enormous sea vessel traversing the treacherous seas, there are always hidden shoals that no one can possibly predict. Just like in real life, closeted boys delicately pilot their ship of scandalous secrets past a serpentine snarl of shoals, sandbanks and shallows hoping beyond hope it doesn't smash, shatter and sink causing a startlingly shameful scene.

Yet it does happen.

Even with the most cautious, experienced helmsman, accidents do happen unfortunately. With such a rickety old ship, visible chinks tend to manifest regardless of the tender loving care given. After all in any crowd, it's sometimes quite hard to recognize who definitely knows, who has already shrewdly guessed - and who actually doesn't know a whit about the gay elephant in the room.

You. You broke the pact, you owe him a consolation waffle. 

So there's always the inadvertent spoiler.

Sometimes unwittingly from the closeted boy himself. Easy enough to let your guard down when you think you're in safe waters. Those are the times when the biggest gaffes tend to happen. No matter what you do though, little by little, those little chinks tend to grow wide enough to eventually sink the ship.

Honestly you can't hide a secret forever.

Which is why we've offered our friend a consolation prize instead. These days whoever breaks the code has to buy him a consolation waffle. Sometimes a pancake when the waffle isn't available.

I guess it's better than nothing.

Definitely Maybe

With the ever-present, all-ubiquitous cellphone at hand, appointments don't stick as much these days. Granted there doesn't seem to be much need to preplan anything beforehand since it's as simple as typing out a quick message to find someone wherever they are at any time of the day.

Not to mention there's always the even more intrusive GPS tracker for the budding stalker as well.

However for old-timers like me who were brought up in the technological stone age, not setting the time and place does frequently leave me exasperated. Way back, when hardly anyone short of spies and tycoons had box-sized cellphones, we all had to make strict appointments on where and when to meet with perhaps a twenty minutes leeway, give or take. RSVP and make sure you're on time. Sashay over a precious minute later and you'd find the party people utterly gone, leaving dust and glitter in its wake. 

Paul : So are they coming over?
Friend : They said maybe they'll hang here?
Paul : I'll be waiting with bated breath.  

Unlike what I'm starting to find these days where everyone hangs back waiting with their breath bated, utterly loath and unwilling to fully commit till perhaps five seconds before. With everything and everyone within a roaming connected zone, it's easy enough to change your mind even till the last moment. Which reminds me of a certain troublesome wild goose chase I had a few years back. 

Paul : So where are we meeting up with them for dinner? 

Felix : Oh, wait. Think it's at Restaurant A.

Paul : We are about a half hour early but we can always wait there. 

Felix : Sure let's head over. 

Ten minutes later. 

Felix : Wait, they have changed their mind. They are heading to Bistro B. 

Paul : Which is down the road? 

Felix : Maybe a block or two? 

Paul : Let's go. 

Ten minutes later. 

Felix : They don't like the crowd there. Now they're crossing the road to try Cafe C. 

Paul : Let's go then. 

Obviously our search for the missing Carmen Sandiego went on for quite a while. Apparently assuming our cellphones would keep us connected no matter what, the texting generation blithely changed their minds according to whim and fancy - preferring just that little bit of convenient flexibility no doubt - leading us all on a terribly unwelcome fugitive hunt. Near the end I could have gladly shot them.

Evidently the increase in connectedness only leads to people leading a far more noncommittal life. Rather than committing the more common Frequent Freaking Flyer, there's not even a yes or even a no but just that vague maybe... Not even an old-fashioned rain check but just a check. 

So you can imagine my horrified expression when a friendly millennial told his friends this the other day. 

Friend : Not sure about dinner yet. I'll see how it goes. Let's play it by ear. 

Hmm. 

RSVP isn't a dirty word. Make the fucking decision and stick with it, dammit.

The Third Party

Whenever we hear the faint, tantalizing whiff of scandalous adultery, for some unfathomable reason moralizing fingers are quick to point the blame wholly at the third party. Regardless of sexual orientation, that has remained the prevailing thought - that the scheming third party has maliciously slithered over from the foul depths to despoil the sacred sanctity of said marriage.

I however have always thought differently. If it's a consented monogamous relationship, I would censure the partner who strayed instead. Don't be so quick to rain derision and disdain on the femme fatale, or homme fatale as the case may be; we tend to forget the much maligned third party made no sweet promises to anyone involved.

However the unfaithful partner did repeatedly; and subsequently broke that solemn pledge.

So don't give me utter bullshit about being tempted to stray. Never fall on the lame, utterly cliched excuse of not being able to help it. Short of being locked up together in an elevator for days on end, there's always time and reason enough to nip that little illicit crush in the bud before anything wicked blooms.

So who's to blame now?

Turns out I'm in the ostracized minority here though since some of my friends are all too willing to blame an entire host of people before placing the responsibility solely on the two involved in the relationship.

Paul : If I remember correctly, by tradition the person who introduces the happy couple also gets a red packet. 
Barbara : Oh I wouldn't want to bear that responsibility. 
Paul : Responsibility? 
Barbara : Of matching people together? If it doesn't work out, won't they get the blame? 
Paul : For what? It's just telling two people they should meet. If they don't work their relationship out, they should just blame themselves.  

Ouch. When a relationship implodes, even the hapless matchmaker gets shot down in the devastating hail of blame. Who next? The bartender? The work colleague?

So who's to blame? 

Seriously though, where do we get this horrible idea of blaming everyone else for our own foolish mistakes before blaming ourselves first? Man up and take the shot. If we decide the relationship is failing, it's entirely our fault and no one else's. There's no attributing it to the neighbour, denouncing that third party and certainly never crucifying the matchmaker.

Face it, there's only the two of you in that relationship. Flounder or fly, it only depends on the both of you.

It's My Wedding And I'll Elope If I Want To

Wouldn't be the first bride and groom I'd have heard it from actually. Though the feeling doesn't come as naturally to me since I've always adored weddings, I can somewhat understand the preposterous urge to flee the annoyingly rigid ceremony of marriage. At least for some.

These days, I think almost everyone I know would have been involved in just such a conversation.

Bride : Gosh, it's just such a bother. I think I'll just have a destination wedding far, far away.
Groom : Yeah, a small wedding is what I'd want. 
Paul : And your parents are alright with that? You're both having the first weddings in your families right? 
Bride : Oh they don't really have say in it. 
Groom : Yeah, but why should that matter? It's our wedding.
Paul : Yeah kids, I have to correct you both there. 

No, it's not.

Perhaps I'm the only old-fashioned fuddy-duddy left around but there actually are times when you have to think less of yourself. Unlike modern Western-influenced values where there's an overemphasis on me-me-me individualism rather than the collective, I gotta say this. It's not just you. Yes, you're the ones getting married but there are certain social and familial obligations that you cannot simply dismiss.

And this I learned while observing my brother's own wedding so many years back - and several friends' weddings thereafter. Time and again I've seen folks get married with little or simply no contribution from the parents - in fact it's sometimes belligerently unwelcome.

Come on, unfilial much?

Yes, no doubt the doting mom and pop would agree it's perfectly alright to have a small wedding with a precious handful of your guests. Go ahead and fly off to some uninhabited little island miles away from anyone. Beloved child after all and they would be ecstatically happy regardless. Never you worry your lil head about their own unwieldy list of friends, they'll just cancel whatever hypothetical preparations they have been making for the past two to three decades.

Babe, remember your dream of a small intimate wedding party? Yeah, that's gonna remain just a dream. 

Don't kid yourself, they have always been planning your wedding regardless of what they've been telling you. With every random wedding dinner they are forced to attend, they've been chalking up their own obligatory guests with red packets to pay.

And then there are the close friends who tend to meander off along the way.

After all, there'll always be that sudden impromptu weekend barbecue your parents would be able to arm-twist force their friends from way back in high school to attend. Perhaps even that long-ago childhood best friend who moved to Iceland several decades back. Maybe he'd enjoy just flying several thousand miles over to have that roasted chicken wing.

Not.

Really. It is your wedding. But is it so hard to share that little piece with your parents?