Sunday, May 07, 2006


Men don’t cry. Hell, the last time he cried was when he watched Armageddon. And that was in a large darkened hall. Nobody noticed. It would feel like a crime should he cry now. It would just be so uncharacteristic of him. It was her who’s leaving, not him. The women should be the ones with the drama, not the men. Men are supposed to be the comforting people. Saying to everybody, “Everything’s gonna be alright,”. They’re the ones to pull on an encouraging smile while the others dabble with their Kleenexes. And yet, at that moment, he felt the roles are momentarily reversed.

“You look good to go,” he says, trying to avert his thoughts elsewhere from the melodramatic one developing in his head.

“Yup,” she replied, still looking down, doing final checks through her suitcase. “You are coming, right?” as she finally looks up. Ah, those eyes. He’s going to miss those eyes. They’re so deep you can swim in them.

“To the airport, you mean? Oh yeah, sure. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. You’re the love of my life. How could I not be there to whisk my lover away?”

“Lover? Huh, right, along with all the other women you’ve been fooling around with,”

Yes, but none as special as you. Oh God, how he wish he could say that out loud!

“Well, don’t just stand there,” as she finally finished. “Be a man and help me with my luggage,”

He snapped out of his little dream and cordially obliged, as he always did since the years he’d known her. As he walked behind her it still amazes him how she maintains to look incredibly beautiful compared to the other women he had met. Of course, he couldn’t tell her. Quite simply she wouldn’t believe him. It would be more likely to be noted as a sarcastic comment coming from him. Thus, has the potential to hurt her feelings. A risk not worth taking.

As he arranged her suitcases in the car boot, he tried to look her up in the eyes and say how much he’ll miss her. But he stopped short. The words wouldn’t come out. A clumsy grin, instead, took its place. In turn, she gave a curious look. Puzzled. He pulled away.

“It would only be for two months, right?” asking the question he himself already knew the answer.

“Yes, only two months,” she replied while fiddling with her handphone.

“That shouldn’t be long, right?”

“Time flies. You said it yourself,” as she made her way to the passenger side of the car.

“Yeah,” he answered to himself softly. He recalls it. But for once, he has trouble believing his own words. “I certainly hopes so,” as the lid came down with a thud. He was already missing her.

Whoa, I am so writing a novel one day. Still needs a little more work though.

Traffic Problems

I hate it when a car is doing 60km/h on the right lane, signaling left using his indicator lights but never actually changing lanes.

I hate it when an old lady crosses a clearly busy road by sprinting and then slowed down to almost a complete stop when she reaches the middle of the road. As if she has suddenly developed an aura of indestructibility around her and the world should take notice.

I hate it when a motorcyclist speeding on the wrong side of the road and then honking furiously with its pathetic sound to car entering from an intersection and made proper use of his indicators.

I hate it when drivers translate the red light at pedestrian crossings as “if there’s people, just go around them”.

I hate it when a car’s only functioning taillights is the third brake light.

I hate it when people cut queues at the petrol station. And pretend to look away when you’re giving them the finger.

I hate it when drivers couldn’t grasp the concept of signal before you change lanes, not after or ¾ through.

I hate it when the wives of rich husbands assume their expensive cars should come hand in hand with terrible driving etiquettes.

I hate it when a young beautiful woman drives an impeccable and sleek looking Z4. It makes me wish that I am her boyfriend.

He's Just Not That Into You

It annoys me immensely when a woman asks me this question “Cemane nak tau kalau laki tu suka kat kite ke tak?”
Oh bloody fuckin’ please.
You know, it’s fortunate for the girls who asked me this that I’m not the type who gave out harsh and discerning responses rather bluntly. A ‘Simon Cowell treatment ’ as you might call it. The initial thought that occurs to me is that, girl, he’s not that into you. It’s as simple as that. But I know these girls wouldn’t accept those kind of answers. They always look for that ‘underlying meaning’. As if there’s any to begin with. Men are simple minded creatures. We don’t watch Oprah and don’t have a whole section devoted to our literary preferences in bookstores marked ‘Guy Lit’. So after giving them the “Oh brother,” look I gave a calm and resolute response. “Well, I don’t personally know the guy who you are referring to so I wouldn’t know what constitutes or not constitutes as a subtle inclinations of the male subject having any romanticizing thoughts about you.” Throwing the ball back into their park. Let them dwell on the thought for a minute or two. Then I excused myself. I don’t talk to women to discuss about other guys. What’s the point in that? Even guys don’t talk about guys. It’s a classic case of girl like boy but boy is ignorant (which is normal) and unintentionally sending out the wrong messages (stupid but still normal). Should the girl manages somehow to hook the boy, then, whoa, it’s not going to be exactly ‘happily ever after’ kind of fairytale ending. Some of my friends are on that bandwagon and do you know how they react before they answer their phones when the word ‘sayang’ flashes on the LCD screen? They gave out a groan. Sometimes a loud one, sometimes soft, depends on the circumstances but a groan nevertheless. Questions like “Mane?” are the usual issues. You see these girls are so desperate to hang on to their men that they haggle them constantly almost suffocating them. They think that by keeping them on a short leash would serve them better. But this plan would only backfire, sooner or later. Whoa, I’m getting way ahead of myself here.

Anyway, I’d wish women would stop asking me these stupid questions. If you don’t know whether he likes you or not chances are he doesn’t. Move on and let’s change the subject. Good God this is not a topic for weekends.

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

Handbag - Part Deux

Last Friday I went window shopping with Marina Hani and Red at Isetan KLCC. I even got signed-up as a sub-cardholder of Marina’s Isetan membership card. It was one of those Isetan pre-sale days when members receive exclusive entry before everyone else. Only Red is an Isetan member then so obviously falling victim to temptation, Marina took up the opportunity to join in the bandwagon, with me as the adopted son. Why me you ask? Well, because I was being such a gentleman by carrying Marina’s bag while she and Red was going round and round from the shoe department all the way to the lingerie section. I don’t know what kind of bag it is but it’s big enough to put in her laptop. It was kind of heavy. Guess that was why I was there for. The Isetan membership was just an unexpected bonus. But I wasn’t embarrassed carrying Marina’s bag around. In fact, I felt kind of honoured. Want to know why? Because it was a Prada. Most women I know couldn’t even afford such things and yet, me, a Doug Heffernan-esque Malaysian, lugging around KLCC with a Prada bag slung on my right shoulder. So yeah, I could almost feel the envious eyes cast upon me by the shopping women of Isetan. It may be my imagination but what the hell.