The young ones (II).

I remember prowling the food aisles at the Daimaru supermarket, eyes glazed over with food-lust, transfixed by the tantalising myriad of Campbell soups. My senses were flooded with the memory of taste and texture, and oblivious to everything else. The one and only thought in my mind was which of these could possibly get past my mouth.

So, when the pubescent shrimp sidled up to me and mumbled, "Can I be your friend?", it took me a while to re-orientate, even as I vaguely recalled that someone had been trailing me down the aisles. Well, bless my good manners, thinking to be civil and to spare the kid from my ventriloquial grunts, I decided to scribble my responses on my temporary speech device, a green A5-sized NTU lecture pad - which I still keep around, for fun and laughter, such as moments like this:

At one point, the shrimp thought I was a mute, which set me off on my grunts. I even bared my wired-up teeth and jaw in his face, accompanied with frantic gestures at my mouth, to correct his misconception. Apparently, "Steel Jaws" didn't deter the persistant kid. Snort.

Slowly but surely (yeah, was slow with such things even in those days), realised that was being hit on in a supermarket AND by a creature that looked only 14 or 18 years old at the most, or a good 6 to 10 years younger than I! Eventually, the shrimp slunk off after the "I'm not free" brush-off.

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This was back in October 1996 (right after a jaw operation which was the climax of my orthodontic treatment), and came to mind after Tadpole.

What is it about older women that attracts younger men? And what is it about younger men that older women are drawn to? Are some younger men just older men trapped in young bodies? Or are they a handful for whom an older woman is exotic and mysterious because she is...different? Is it the same for women who are attracted to younger men?

Perhaps older women see in the fire of youth, the exuberant thirst for life and living, which has since been quenched by the years of living and having "seen it all", in their mature lovers and husbands. I still remember SF telling me a long time ago, about her then-boyfriend who seemed to have lost the child in him along the way. And I remember wondering during my early days with the bear, whether it would happen to him too. In some ways, he did become less childlike and increasingly preoccupied, with worldly concerns - or so I had thought (or maybe he was just not "with" me anymore).

Will all of us eventually lose or have to give up our inner child? To a certain extent, we do have to give up some of our youthful fancies and indulgences, to assume our responsibilities as adults. Being a "child" won't get us very far in the workplace or setting up our own household. We might still eke out a reasonable existence, but insisting on living in our own world and denying the reality of co-existence with community, is surely more childish than childlike? Perhaps, we should view this loss or trade-off, which I don't believe has to be complete or destructive in any case, as a kind of developmental phase to fulfilling our human potential.

That being said, societal pressures can also hasten the death of the child in us. Reading about "our boring Singaporean men" who don't know how to appreciate the finer things in life, romance their women, or at the very least, enjoy life - unlike their ang moh counterparts - made me wonder if ALL our men are indeed cursed with the boring gene. Not from my personal experiences, I don't think so.

It's not that I've never met my fair share of male friends and acquaintances who are intent on achieving their 5 C's. But I'm inclined to think that not many men would feel that they have a choice anyway - not when society measures their success and manhood by the 5 C's. Heck, some local women may lament about the boring Singaporean male, but should they one day meet a romantic bohemian type, would they still turn up their noses at Mr Goatee SNAG who hasn't filled up his 5 C's scorecard because he was too busy smelling the roses and chasing the butterflies? It's a bitch of a vicious cycle, ain't it?

Sadly, when we allow living to become a endless race to catch up with the Joneses, it is only too soon that we forget why we are running.

When all the butterflies are gone, will you still be running?

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I miss Fat Piece of Crap.

The young ones (I).

Mum was looking at the obituaries, and noted that most of the dead were in their 60's, rarely 80's. With a wistful smile, she said that she would like to die in her 60s; she didn't want to go beyond, because she didn't see a point to living life old and invalid.

Was taken aback that she seemed to look forward to "leaving". More so, when I realised that she was already 57, that so many years have gone by in a blink, that she was too close to her 60's for my comfort. Looking at her, found it hard to believe that this woman who looked more like 47, was anywhere near death, and would be so ready to "leave", so soon.

Although I would technically be in my 30's in about 6 weeks' time, still feel that I'm my "mummy's girl" -- especially since she's been finding all sorts of opportunities to "nag" and "bother" me the past year. Frankly, am not ready to "let go" of my "mummy".

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Why and when do people "give up" on life, or decide they have come to the end of their journey? Does it start with physical degeneration, persistent physical pains and elderly ailments? Or does it start much earlier, more insidiously, from deeper within, where no x-ray or endoscope can reach, and no branch of medicine can explain, much less to alleviate the symptoms, if not to cure.

When "mummy" calls us up at work to ask if we are coming home for dinner, or wanders into our bedrooms to make small talk or just to watch us doing whatever it was we were then doing, does she envy our activity-filled lives that she can only approximate with her weekly trips to the Genting Highlands, and solitary games of Shanghai at my sister's computer? Are her naggings just a symptom of growing old, or really an attempt to re-enact the nurturing mother that she was, 3 times over, not too long ago? Has taking care of the new puppy helped her to re-live some of these "lost" moments? She worries about whether the puppy has had her milk, or would be given too much. When she looks at us, does she see something in her children that she once had, that she still yearns for, but which she thinks she has "lost" a long time ago, and would never be able to regain?

When all the things that you thought life was about, career, household and family, have run their due course, do you stop "living" and just wait for "the end"? Would it be with quiet patience, passive resignation, or much bitterness and anger?

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Have you ever wondered about the too-young face, so out of place among the rows of wrinkled visages in the obituaries? Was this someone who had committed suicide because he had lost sight of the meaning in his life? Did he see "the end" of his life and decided there was no point to continuing or "completing" the journey, before life even really started for him?

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Would you grow old and still be young-at-heart, savouring every breath of air and every minute of being alive, and continue to live life to the fullest, because there's no such thing as "the end" until you find yourself standing on top of it? (And a HOLLOW VOICE telling you that you are truly and surely DEAD. Or perhaps you'll get only a SQUEAK.)

When you are 60, would you look back and feel it's all been worth the living, that you've left your own special "stars" on the "walk of life"?

I'm not possessive. I'm monogamous.

A bleeding heart torn apart
Left on an icy grave
In the room where they once lay
Face to face
And nothing could get in their way
But now the memories of a man
Are haunting her days
And the craving never fades
She's still dreaming of the man
Long forgiven, but not forgotten.
(Forgiven Not Forgotten, The Corrs)



Something from a year ago. Guess it got left out when I packed up stuff to "return" to him. So much for "always". Maybe I shouldn't get too excited about receiving proclamations of eternal love, unless it's also qualified with "Monogamously Yours". Come to think of it, maybe those weren't even his own words -- maybe it's a template sign-off provided by the florist. Gee...

Well? I'm not going to PRETEND that today didn't bother me. That's lame and I'm not ashamed about my emotional state. I don't even care what they say about the origins of Valentine's Day being a celebration of friendship (in any case, he was my lover AND my best friend too), or that love and friendship can be celebrated any other day, both of which just come across as more consolatory than anything else. Declined R's nice gesture to join her and girlfriends for dinner, and chose to bury myself in work with a BreadTalk pizza bun for company and left work at 10pm for the third night in a row.

Yeah, so what's so happy about Valentine's Day?

Don't you dare wish me H?*!! V:&!%*!!$ D!!

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Who would have thought? I'm just an ordinary girl from a middle-income nondescript family. Such "excitement" only happens to people who lead exciting lives. Sometimes, I feel that I don't deserve this...sometimes...