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.
