Witless

This evening I'll be having visitors - which unfortunately might preclude my precious blogging time - though I shall still try to sneak off for a line or two. Marcus, possibly the sole blogger on that lonesome rock in the sea called Jersey, has made plans to come by my place this evening. Ordinarily, this wouldn't come as a surprise since I do like meeting new people and its always interesting to talk to someone you've actually written letters too. Certainly would be interesting to see the man I've called my Father Confessor. Very Daddy Long Legs actually.

But when he told me that he was bringing an accompanying entourage of gay men, I was stunned. In my fantasy life, a posse of virile ( possibly morally loose ) gay men flocking to my home sounds like a wet dream come true but it's far from being ideal in reality.

Skanky reputation notwithstanding, I am actually a terribly shy, modest creature who gets hopelessly tongue-tied in real life. There's a serious secret identity issue here - the brash, confident blogger you see online on one side and the mild-mannered, bashful Clark Kent physician in real life on the other. I hear you guys laughing out there - so stop it :) It's true actually. Meeting a large group of possibly hostile total strangers makes my knees waver, my heart quail in fear and my usually flexible tongue getting all tangled up in unintelligible knots.

My first approach would be to babble witlessly, more so if the stranger closely resembles the heartbreakingly sexy Chris Evans. Trying to fill the oddly painful silences, I'll be busy mumbling nonsensical blather about the weather, the road signs, the cars, the people who pass by, the varying political system in Iraq etc. Chattering mindlessly in breakneck speed without stopping for breath like a cow auctioneer - so sadly no one else manages to get a word in edge-wise. Unless the guy in question reaches out to spank me - or to kiss me. Both methods work by the way.

Since it occurs to me being silent might be preferable to appearing the blathering fool, my second approach is to remain chillingly aloof - terribly snootily so, I'm afraid. Like an arrogant aristocratic bastard who refuses to mix with the tawdry hoi polloi, nose up in the air and stiff upper lip which as you might be able to guess obviously doesn't go down that well as first impressions go.

Heedless

There it is.

Just that little sound.

That sharp chirp chip beep beep that strikes fear in the heart of every working physician. God knows that small beep has plagued my life for the past few years, working to get my adrenaline rushing, sending my heart rate from baseline to F1 arrythmia-like palpitations and my blood pressure rocketing to a sky high spike. Not exactly the healthiest way to be woken up.

And just before a damned profanity can even leave the lips, the damned pager beeps yet again.

By the way, you can slam down on the screaming alarm clock to shut it off but God help those who heedlessly try to shut this particular noise off. Unfortunately that horrible manipulative little black box runs the life of every doctor in the world and remains one of the most sacrosanct objects in medical divinity. For the majority of my superiors, its imminent destruction would be counted as near sacrilege ( despite many residents occasionally wishing to viciously smash the pager to little unrecognisable bits with a hammer ) and getting shunned with immediate excommunication from the parish would probably be just the tip of the iceberg. Wouldn't surprise me if the Rack wasn't brought out to punish heedless members of the fraternity.

One of the downsides of actually watching medical dramas such as Grey's Anatomy and House is inevitably hearing that hated pager ringing - and yet it fills me with almost unholy glee to see some other unlucky sucker getting the call. Nothing like watching another doctor rushing heedlessly towards their next emergency call - especially when you're watching from the cushioned comfort of the couch at home with chips in hand - and occasionally with my tv buddy Big Bicep Barry watching perplexed as I cackle maleficently over every medical mishap. People ask why I enjoy watching medical dramas when I've probably had my fill at work and all I can do is smile and shake my head in a shy non-committal way.

Honestly though, I secretly love watching some other bastard get the back-breaking work :) There's nothing as satisfying as seeing a patient go home well knowing that you've done your level best but it's even more fun watching someone else - preferably your colleague - sweat and swear over every little complication.

BTW none of the doctors here wear briefs like the leopard print ones above - well, none that I know, unless Handsome Hui my friend of the disreputable shack fame would like to enlighten us on this :)

Mindless

An overworked grump I've always been - and possibly always will be. That is unless I finally get my own little House of Dreams complete with sexy workaholic husband and two orphaned Third-World kids - whereupon as you all know by now, I shall quit my low-paying job to morph into a desperately content housefrau who DIY reupholsters the living room sofa, paints the fences and bakes the perfect chocolate chip cookies to the green-eyed envy of his frustrated neighbours.

Till that fateful day when I finally trade in my scrubs, I still have my little pet peeves that number in the hundreds. Tardiness remains at the top of that chart and it's one of the things I find absolutely unforgivable. An unwavering respect for punctuality has been resolutely ingrained in me by my strict mama - hammered into my skull is more like it - and despite the occasional slip-ups ( sometimes due to no fault of mine since critically ill patients never seem to keep to a regular schedule! ), I've always tried my level best to keep my appointments. With all the clocks at home obsessively adjusted to five minutes earlier than the norm, coming late has become as rare an occurrence for me as a midnight fire-sale in Louis Vuitton. Always strikes me as ironic that those who stay the closest frequently arrive last, mouthing inane excuses that only makes me grit my teeth to stop myself from delivering a Five Fingered Fist of Death.

Although I shouldn't judge everyone by the same hellacious depths of anal-retentiveness, impatience has always been one of my besetting sins and the devil in me tends to sprout horns when tardiness makes an appearance. Fortunately for the continued existence of mankind as we know it, the devil's horns are balanced out by my patent inability to speak especially when I'm in a mindless rage. Articulation and speech flees my mind when naked fury possesses me and it's all I can do to string a couple of words together into a complete sentence since my mind's filled to the brim with maniacal Mephistophelian plots for the tardy perpetrator. Quite a relief since otherwise, the world would be full of unwitting victims slashed to ribbons by my careless tongue.


Planning world domination!
Even seemingly invincible Big Bicep Barry wasn't spared from my garbled, unintelligible fury today. Since his aging cellphone was apparently throwing the technological equivalent of a hissy fit ( most likely post menopausal ), he found himself unable to reply to the urgent trio of SMSes that I shot at him when he was unaccountably delayed.

Barry ( breathless ) : Hey, sorry I'm late.
Paul : Grrrr...
Barr : Hope you don't mind but I got caught up with a client and I had to finish up my...
Paul : Grrrr...
Barry : Hey, you okay? I'm terribly sorry.
Paul : I am okay. No worries.
Barry : Well, you look a bit pissed.
Paul : I AM NOT ANGRY. And the smoke rising from my head is just CGI.

I could have sworn I almost bit off my tongue ( and obviously I never said that last line out loud though I could have sworn I mumbled it out ). Fortunately even as I felt the irreversible change descending upon me like some evil malignant cloud, I realized that Barry certainly didn't deserve the wrath of my dark side descending upon him and managed to restrain myself from committing any unforgivable deeds. Still, I really was this close to leaping at him with fangs bared - not sure whether it was to viciously rip out his throat or to gnaw gently on his boner however. Perhaps it was a little bit of both.

Peerless

Not often that I actually managed to catch my breath while I'm at work - especially so when I'm going through a 24 hour shift. Last night however proved to be a surprising respite from my usually hectic calls and I actually managed to steal a half hour break. Since my schedule's pretty tight nowadays, I usually find myself too busy in the evenings to tune in to the regular Chinese drama serials that play around primetime but last night's fortunate circumstance had me sipping my restorative java just in time to catch a glimpse of one of my favourite childhood stories brought to reel life.

The wuxia genre has been gaining some prominence lately especially with the success of martial arts movies such as Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and House of Flying Daggers. Of course that only means an introduction to the Hollywood studios since such martial arts films have always been a staple in this part of the world.

Surely one of the great fictional romances in the Chinese medium, the Return of the Condor Heroes ( or otherwise 神雕侠侣 ) tells the story of the budding martial arts hero Yang Guo and his youthful mentor, Xiao Long Nu. Since a relationship between a student and a teacher is forbidden and frowned upon in ancient Chinese feudal society, the couple had to undergo a host of trials and tribulations for several decades ( just imagine waiting patiently for sixteen years! ) before finally coming together. Disenfranchised and neglected as a young boy due to his father's treachery, Yang Guo finds a special bond with his innocent, naive mentor, Xiao Long Nu, who has literally lived in seclusion in the Ancient Tomb to practice her martial arts.

The original James Dean rebel without a cause, Yang Guo remains one of Jin Yong's best loved fictional characters. Despite being literally entombed for part of his young life, Yang Guo himself turns out to be crafty, brash, unconventional and most of all unpredictable - and yet an utterly charming fellow who manages to bewitch the heart of every maiden who comes his way. Somehow though despite being separated from Xiao Long Nu due to unfortunate circumstances ( and obviously the machinations of those who wish them apart ), the impossibly loyal Yang Guo remains hopelessly and steadfastly in love with his chosen one despite the lures of other lesser females. I'm more than a little in love myself.

Despite the corny summary that I've just subjected you guys to, the story itself is far more complex and intricate than the paltry bits I've just outlined. So intriguing is this story that after the short span of a few years, there is always a new version of the story being filmed somewhere in the Chinese diaspora. Apart from the host of contrasting personalities populating the book and the intrigues that bind them, there is of course the stunning high-flying martial arts sequences that have always remained a highlight of the wuxia genre.


Come try my Jade Maiden Heart's Swordsplay!
Oddly enough when I first met Big Bicep Barry, he mentioned a particular fondness for Jin Yong's novels. Perhaps it really is my imagination but I think Barry's right in saying that every guy who's been in a chinese medium school ( well the ones I know! ) seems to have read one of Jin Yong's martial arts novels. Amazing but true! In this part of the world, it seems almost like a rite of passage in a young chinese boy's life to go through the acrobatic stylings of his wuxia characters. Although fictional in nature of course, his books are often said to be a window into Chinese customs and culture - with references ranging from traditional Chinese medicine, acupuncture, music, calligraphy, philosophical thoughts and even hints at the the unfolding history of imperial China.

And of course the martial arts I mentioned before. Haven't read it of course but Barry assures me that the books are filled to the brim with extremely detailed though improbable feats of martial arts prowess by harnessing some sort of inner strength. Easy enough to understand the fascination since who hasn't actually thought about slamming a Five Fingered Fist of Death at a leering enemy. Or testing out the Jade Dragon Neck Twisting Technique on a Bountiful Betty ( okay, that's just me of course! ).

Unfortunately, I never had the opportunity to read any of his books. My comprehension of Chinese words has become dismally rusty after years of disuse - and it wouldn't surprise me if a mere primary student ( and a sadly stupid one at that ) could easily surpass me. Maybe Barry could read me some bedtime stories :) If not I shall have to threaten the use of the Paralyzing Thumb of Death!

Jin Yong Reading Room
Divine Eagle, Gallant Knight

Reckless

Coming out of the closet is an everyday process for a gay man.

For a heterosexual guy, this doesn't seem to be a problem since everyone else expects his sexual orientation to veer towards the accepted norm. But for a homosexual man, it gets to be quite a pickle since there is always an all-too-ready assumption that all men are slobbering hound dogs with a yen for scoping out the hot chicks. It would be wonderful if who I fuck doesn't actually matter at all but that never seems to be the case. Once you're out to your friends, it seems that you're tagged and labelled as the token gay guy with your sexual orientation stamped like the proverbial scarlet letter on your forehead. Suddenly everything you do seems to be irrevocably tied to your sexual orientation.

Which is why I'm taking my time telling the news. The past year has recorded some of the teeny baby steps I've made coming out of the closet. Although I've confided in a few of my friends, a few more perspicacious ones have inadvertently stumbled upon it - no thanks to the mild notoriety of my blog. A little disconcerting, I have to admit but I guess it does help ease the way sometimes. Makes me wonder who else I know actually reads this :)

Not everyone in my family is privy to this which is why I still frequently get the Question. For those who assume that I lead a charmed life without much discord, this would come as a startling surprise I'm sure.

Been a while since I had my little whine but this seems to be the time. Not only am I wrestling with questions on the future of my career ( and my sudden wavering interest in pursuing further education and the insane desire to turn into a househusband / shopkeeper of some sort ), I'm suddenly bombarded on all angles by the loaded Question. Surely most of us unmarried singletons have gone through some variation on the similar dull theme of 'Why aren't you seeing anyone? No nice girls around meh? When are you going to get married?'

Usually I'm able to brush off those questions but lately however that particular broken record has been getting rather heavy radio play on Dr Paul's FM. As we all know, Asian cultures place a heavy emphasis on familial ties and there's nothing quite as important as perpetuating the family name - which I'm obviously failing to do - hence the parental pressure to go forth and multiply. One-sided debates on my state of bachelorhood have been raging around me for the past year, more so especially after a few of my ungrateful younger cousins have gotten themselves hitched.

There are times I actually feel like being absolutely reckless - just sitting down to a family dinner and impulsively blurting out 'I'm gay' but then once I pick up my fork and spoon, I start to lose my nerve. Not only because of the endless barrage of probing questions ( possibly even an MCQ with essays included! ) but also because of the very real possibility of choking amongst my captive audience ( and I'd certainly not be in the mood for a Heimlich just about then ) . Surely there'll also be the inevitable question of whether I'm sure of my choice - especially since I'm still single.

Dammit.

Things would be that much simpler if I could just club and drag some eligible looking fella back to my cave to parade around. Just a nice regular kinda guy who'd be able to charm the socks off my parents - and of course me. :)