It's All A Game

Board games have always been a family thing for me - from the all time classic favourite of Monopoly to the more recent Game of Life that my brother received a couple of Christmases back. Leaving the games behind during the move over to this side of the Big Puddle definitely curtailed such family-friendly activities.

At least till I bought my niece a storytelling game last Christmas called Once Upon a Time. All began quite innocently with a snowflake that began the story. Irresistibly charmed by the storekeeper who kept my niece happily entertained with her animated storytelling antics - and more than a little intrigued by the ongoing fables theme, I immediately purchased a set for myself as well. After all I do like to spin a tale.

Returning here to find a group of like-minded comrades with a heretofore hidden penchant for gaming only added to the resulting flurry of interest. Didn't take very long after that before the relentless game-buying snowballed into a veritable avalanche of board games that threatened to bury the living room hall.

Soon we were spending the weekends practically knee-deep in medieval peasant farming Agricola-style, escaping sinking islands ala Atlantis and hunting down grunting zombies in Zombicide fashion.

Friend : I think I saw two zombie runners go by.
Paul : It's okay. Let's keep really quiet and remain out of sight. 
Friend : So are we here for food or water?
Paul : I ran out of hair gel. 

Along the way, I came to the realization that I enjoy basic cooperative games rather than the wildly competitive ones. Trying to outwit, outlast and outplay everyone else on the table just seems terribly exhausting. After all this years, it seems I've finally managed to lay my old ambitious, cutthroat kiasu self to rest! Such a blessed relief to know that I won't tumble into an insane spiral of bubbling resentment each time I lose at a game.

Which is more than I can say for the rest of my friends.

The increasingly intense weekend game-playing appears to have woken up the sleeping dragon in our Diffident David. Possibly in a bid to distract himself from the doomed love affair, David has been drowning his sorrows in the gaming extravaganza. Minutes tick by as he deliberately plots his next nefarious stratagem, all the while busy rubbing his hands in glee over stealing our turn or burning down our districts.

Paul : Wow, you sure do like to win. 
David : Umm. But it's a game and we should play to win. And I want to win. You don't like it? Maybe I should stop playing and -
Paul : Hold it. 
David : But I -
Paul : There is no need to fall into hysterics. I just said you like to win. It's a character trait, not a flaw. 

Replacing love lost with a frenzied need to win? I half expect to find him stroking a fluffy white cat soon. 

Taking The SATs

Not exactly the assessment tests you're thinking about. But then when it comes to the singular homo called Fabulous Felix, it's preferable not to jump to the necessary logical conclusions since he usually deviates far from the norm.

In more than the obvious manner.

Though he denies my allegations mightily, I - the intrepid biological scientist - have been keeping a keen objective eye on his trivial pursuits and have started keeping score on his various elected quarry. In the treacherous vagaries of the animal kingdom, many a creature has tried to adapt to the untenable situation by camouflaging themselves in a variety of ways. I am starting to believe that Felix has gained that extraordinary ability himself.

All through the science of what I am calling the Semen Absorption Theory. Otherwise known as SATs. Not to be confused with my previously mentioned Siamese Twin Theory where hopelessly besotted couples merge into a single being.

Let me explain my basic premise. Initially Fabulous Felix meets the specified prey who notably amply satisfies the qualifications he desires. Said prey falls into the manly trap laid out by Felix. Certainly no need to rehash the entire act of sexual intercourse but once the deed is done, so to speak - through the physical process known as osmosis, certain qualities of the unwitting donor DNA is absorbed by our more-than-willing Felix into his artless psyche. Leaving the undeniable imprint of said prey's DNA permanently embedded in Felix which slowly but surely converts him.

Look! The Change is taking place before our very eyes!

Hence the Semen Absorption Theory.

So date a nature lover and he gets his hiking boots. Date an avid baker and he buys a cookbook. Date a classical pianist and he listens to Vivaldi.

Of course like all novel ideas, it's always hard to convince the unscientific naysayers at first.

Felix : Pooh. That's utter rubbish. 
Paul : That's what you think. But inevitably you start professing the same likes and dislikes as the guy you're seeing. Then you start exhibiting similar qualities and -
Felix : That doesn't happen!
Paul : Then you slowly inexplicably transmogrify into said guy. It's almost like cloning. 
Felix : No way!
Paul : Start dating a Goth guy and we can see whether you can disprove this theory. 

Well he already has had the piercings done. Lo and behold, the change has begun! Wonder which disreputable journal I should submit this observational study to!

He's Just Not That Into You

It's just that simple after all. After that infamous bestseller with the same title debuted to much acclaim, you would think that every aspiring singleton on the make would already have that particularly refreshing mantra tattooed in their hearts each time they go out on a date.

Or at least that's what I initially thought.

Despite having being out there for several years, that little bit of knowledge doesn't seem to have trickled down to Diffident David who has been nursing a hitherto clandestine straight crush for the longest time. No longer all that secret since he isn't quite as discreet as he might like to think.

Hell, even the target of his glaringly pronounced affections knows - and therein lies the problem.

Since the emphatically straight boy doesn't want anything to do with David. Despite handing out a clear homophobic warning to stay away - and generally avoiding him, nothing seems to be able to dampen David's ever-burning ardour in the least. Even occasionally acting like a massive douche didn't work to scare away our lovesick David with his rose-tinted glasses. Repeated admonishments from all his friends - and us to remain a hundred feet away didn't seem to sink in at all.

Yes, I swear I had to physically restrain myself from repeatedly smacking David upside the head. I'll readily admit the straight boy is briefs-dropping hawt but he's undeniably straight. Possibly good for a drunken drug-fueled fuck ( maybe twice! ) but nothing else.

Oh baby, you wanna get with this!

So like I told David. This is not even He's Just Not That Into You. This is actually He Will Never Be Into You. Fortunately I didn't have to be the one to deal him that particular Slap of Sobriety since the straight boy - ever so helpful - handled the final blow himself.

David : He told me to stay away. 
Paul : Good for him. 
David : He said he never wants to see me. 
Paul : Good for him. And you. 
David : But I want to be friends only. 
Paul : He took the choice away from you. Good for him. 
David : But I -
Paul : No. 
David : But -
Paul : No buts. It's a fait accompli. 
David : He didn't have to say it like this.
Paul : Tough love but I like him now. 

Tough love but I am glad it happened actually. At least now he can start getting over this tiresome straight boy already.

I Whistle a Happy Tune

Though my mother might mask it under an extremely convincing mask of gaiety, I know she still feels the tragic loss of her brothers in Thailand very keenly. Almost ten years ago, both succumbed to fatal illness in surprisingly quick succession leaving a trio of combative consorts and their troubled offspring to survive them. Oh the funeral was quite the scene.

But even back then I could only imagine how very lonely my mother must feel to have been left behind by her brothers, both boon companions of her happy childhood days.

Those halcyon days

So it doesn't surprise me that one of the reasons she frequently insists on making bi-annual trips to Bangkok is to keep an eye on the intrepid exploits of my handful of cousins - perhaps on behalf of her late siblings. Most of the kids were still in school when they passed on - and I sometimes wonder whether they would have turned out differently if their fathers had lived.

The What If scenario. No doubt my mother wonders the same. Maybe the Samaritan would have had more of a spine. Pretty sure my cousin Saffron wouldn't have ended up the office manager for a debt collection agency.

But c'est la vie as they say.

Doesn't mean it's all morbid melancholy at the cemetery when my mother visits though. Recently one of my cousins - the Candystriper - actually gave birth to a daughter who closely resembles my mother. Practically cloned. Point that I can actually prove since I compared her old sepia-toned pics with the new babe's snapshots on a computer for comparison.

With the cherished newborn babe quite as wonderfully jubilant as her name, now that surely gave my mother a reason to whistle a happy tune.

Mother : My brother would have been so happy to see this baby girl. 
Paul : Yeah, I'm sure. 
Mother : Would be good to see yours one day. 
Paul : You already have two grandkids. 
Mother : But not yours. 
Paul : Don't think gay adoption is gonna be legal here anytime soon. 

Good to know where she stands though. 

Getting to Know You

Born in the same year as me, my cousin the Saintly Samaritan doesn't seem to have much of the fire and flame that the mythical dragons are supposed to be born with.

Emitting neither puff nor smoke, instead he seems to be entirely cowed by his far more dominant baby brother - and his terrifyingly oh-so-wicked matriach who has definite shades of Maleficent prior to the recent reboot. All cackling wicked witch, no beneficent forest fairy! Under the deepening shadow of these two domineering monsters, he has deformed into a hidden dragon of sorts, stealing his way into the solace of his church.

With such unbeatable odds, is it any wonder that the Samaritan finds it nigh impossible to find a Princess Charming willing to rescue him?

Though he has had his share of pretty maids in a row, he doesn't seem to be able to keep any in the tower permanently. Possibly scared off by the monsters above. Honestly I have yet to meet the same fawning inamorata twice in a row, despite the fact that I regularly visit Bangkok every couple of months. Which beggars the question : How does the Samaritan actually pick these ladies up?

Surprisingly easy it turns out.

Would you like to have a taste of my som tam? 

And no, the Samaritan doesn't look anything like the handsome, well-endowed fellow above. If he did, I wouldn't find all that female attention surprising.

What he lacks in the courage of his convictions, he obviously has in spades when it comes to sex appeal. Inconceivable but true. Though he might not have looks or wit to spare, he seems to have an indefinable charm when it comes to the ladies. Possibly the gift of some fairy godmother at his birth?

Samaritan : Yes, I am seeing a new girl. 
Paul : That was fast. Didn't I just hear about the last one six months back? 
Samaritan : Yes, this one is new. 
Paul : And where did you meet her? In the office? 
Samaritan : No, I met her in a restaurant. 
Paul : A group date you mean? 
Samaritan : No, she was a waitress and I chatted her up. 
Paul : You chatted a girl up? Successfully? 
Samaritan : Yes, I got her number. 
Paul : Wow. You might not know this but my opinion of you just went up several significant degrees. 

Obviously we do share the same genes when it comes to successful flirting. I was undeniably impressed.

Shockingly so. And even more so when he showed me her picture.

Paul : Oh, she's pretty. Is she still working then? 
Samaritan : Oh no, that was her part-time job. Now she's back in school.
Paul : What?! 
Samaritan : In school yes. 
Paul : I hope you mean post graduate school. 
Samaritan : Oh no, she's only 20. 

My jaw dropped. Apparently in Bangkok, men of my age are fucking rock stars to the giggly sophomoric co-eds. Makes me wonder if the cute Thai boys feel the same!