Of Cheater Co*ks (and Cu*ts)

I'M having an image flash in front of my eyes right now: a Legally Blonde Reese Witherspoon-lookalike in a tight form-fitting crepe pink suit with a matching pillbox-style hat suit, and tooth-sparkling smile to boot, annoucing: "Hey married people, cheating is in vogue now; it's so the new pink! You just need to know how to do it!" (cue: giggles)

So what inspired this sickly, saccharine-sweet (not) moment?

I blame it on a clip I watched on SkyNews: something to do with websites for married people looking for a booty-call/affair with other like-minded married folk. Which, led me to scour the Internet to find out if such websites truly exist. And they do!

I googled "dating websites for married people who want to cheat" and it rendered 296,000 results in 0.22 seconds! I guess it really isn't that big a deal if you compare it to googling "how to bake a cake" (which, incidentally, rendered 10,100,000 results in 0.13 seconds), but it is appalling enough to know that, based on the results that I got from Google, you can read up to 811 entries a day on how to cheat on your spouse for an entire year!

The results range from various websites where would-be philanderers can sign up and meet other would-be philanderers (one of the sites termed it 'married dating' - what the hell, that sounds like an oxymoron!), interviews, videos and even an affair guide.

One of the websites I came across (the CEO of said site actually talked about the website on CNN) even came with a money-back guarantee. Their motto: 'Life is short. Have an affair.' Also, I learnt that 70% of its 3.86 million members are men.

Another website tried to explain why men cheat. Here's an excerpt:

Their libido is prickling their self-esteem and making them ask why their wife no longer seems to want or desire them.
Unfortunately, for many men, it's not that their wives don't feel sexually attracted to them personally, but that they are so exhausted by the daily trauma of raising kids, they don't have any energy left to think about sex at all. And many will not have the inclination to question the need for business trips or client entertaining.
And this is the real answer to why do married men cheat.
The problem is that the fragile egos of their men folk equate sex with love. So, they feel diminished if they are not receiving that type of attention on a regular basis. Without that intimacy they begin to feel inadequate and worthless.
If a partner of either sex feels neglected or starved of affection within a marriage, eventually they will look to inject some excitement back into their life.

Can society get more permissive than this? I'd like to think that there is still some sanctity in the institution of marriage. I'd like to think that spouses can still remain madly in love with one another and still have crazy passionate sex up till their golden years (ok, maybe it won't be that crazy passionate when you can barely remember where you put your glasses or dentures, but you get what I mean). I'd like to think that old married couples can still have loads to banter about, laughs to share and tears to cry on each other's shoulders. I'd like to think that married couples can still hold hands right up to the very end.

There has got to be a way to circumvent this issue. The question is, why are the women "so exhausted by the daily trauma of raising kids?" Ironically enough, therein lies the answer to the question. Men, if you want your wives to be energetic enough in the bedroom, you have GOT to empower her. By that, I mean take some of the burden off her; make sure parenting/housekeeping is a shared role. If she gets enough rest as you do, why won't she want sex right? Of course, men, you gotta have great technique to get your women salivating for you. Else, don't bother, k? You might as well hump a pie.

My friend Sean has a very interesting point of view. He says sex with a woman begins from the moment you talk to her: how you hold her hand, the compliments you pay her, how you manage things at home, how you help her around...basically, the point is to make the woman feel like a woman..and helping her with the kids show that you value her. It shouldn't be too hard, especially when sex with a man begins the moment he unbuttons his fly and whips his penis out (yes, this is also another nugget of wisdom from Sean). But then, I acknowledge that not all men are like Sean, who relishes making a woman feel special. Which, then, makes me conclude that not all men are marriage material. So, how come it is the men who are promiscuous and complaining about their marriage? Shouldn't a higher percentage of women be out there screwing around to make up for the lack in their partners?

But, back to the issue at hand.

How about scheduling some time for each other? Perhaps leave the kid with the nanny twice a week, i.e. two days consecutively? The first day can be devoted to letting the spouses recuperate and talk. The second day allows for more physical activity.

Ultimately, it all boils down to understanding and maturity in both partners, and also making the effort to make it work together.

I refuse to believe that we have to resort to cheating to fulfill a lack in a marriage.

And I choose to prove myself right. When my time comes, I will make it work.

Because of all the mistakes that society and I, myself, have made.

Because of all the mistakes I have seen happen in front of my eyes.

P.S. Oh. By the way, I have nothing against blondes... but the reason I chose to lead into this posting the way I did was because it is a visual depiction of how sickly sweet this whole sugarcoating of infidelity is to me.

Imogen Says It Best

WAIT IT OUT

Where do we go from here?
How do we carry on?
I can't get beyond the questions.
Clambering for the scraps
In the shatter of us collapsed.
That cuts me with every could-have-been.

Pain on pain on play, repeating
With the backup makeshift life in waiting.

Everybody says: "Time heals everything."
But what of the wretched hollow?
The endless in-between?
Are we just going to wait it out?

There's nothing to see here now,
Turning the sign around;
We're closed to the Earth 'til further notice.
Stumbling cliché case -
Crumpled and puffy-faced -
Dead in the stare of a thousand miles.

All I want: only one street-level miracle.
I'll be a an out-and-out, born again from none more cynical.

Everybody says that time heals everything all in the end.
But what of the wretched hollow?
The endless in-between?
Are we just going to wait it out?

And sit here cold?
We'll be long gone by then.
And lackluster in dust we lay
'round old magazines.
Fluorescent lighting sets the scene
For all we could and should be being
In the one life that we've got.

In the one life that we've got.

Everybody says that time heals everything.
But what of the wretched hollow?
The endless in-between?

Are we just going to wait it out?
Sit here. Just going to wait it out?
Sit here cold. Just going to sweat it out?

Wait it out.

You Are Beautiful

FUNNY how some small little thing can trigger a flood of uncertainty. Suddenly we feel ugly, insignificant; not good enough.

All it takes is, maybe, a comment from a friend about stretch marks; some comparison between you and someone else; perhaps, even the sight of a better looking woman/man. Or maybe someone did better than you in a game; perhaps you learnt that an old friend who was an utter loser in school is suddenly spearheading a company and raking in big bucks. It could even be an oblique comment by your partner on his most incredible sexual experience ("BTW, I've had four climaxes in one night before"...with whom, you wonder)and suddenly you're ahead of yourself: you wonder if he's just settling with you; if you will never be good enough for him in bed or anywhere else...

...suddenly you wonder if everyone is bitching about you behind your back. You start comparing yourself to the thinnest reed in your office: you cut back on food even though you know somewhere at the back of your head that you do not need to, and that you look far better, healthier, less pruny than that thinnest reed in your office.

...suddenly you wonder if you studied hard enough, if your boss values you enough, if your friends judge you by stratospheric standards.

And then every shred of self-confidence you had built on every single compliment paid you over the weeks, months or years just disintegrates. Even though you know you are that good.

You tear yourself apart and you find yourself in tears of rage, anger and doubt. You are unsure. Suddenly you don't like being you.

STOP.

As I write this, Christina Aguilera's song "Beautiful" comes to mind. How wonderful the lyrics are; how profound. And what a gracious reminder it is that God made us perfect in His own eyes.

BEAUTIFUL

Everyday is so wonderful
And suddenly, it's hard to breathe
Now and then, I get insecure
From all the pain,
I'm so ashamed

I am beautiful no matter what they say
Words can't bring me down
I am beautiful in every single way
Yes, words can't bring me down, oh no
So don't you bring me down today

To all your friends you're delirious
So consumed in all your doom
Trying hard to fill the emptiness,
The pieces gone,
Left the puzzle undone,
Ain't that the way it is?

You are beautiful no matter what they say
Words can't bring you down, no, no
You are beautiful in every single way
Yes words can't bring you down, oh, no
So don't you bring me down today

No matter what we do
No matter what we say
We're the song inside the tune
Full of beautiful mistakes
And everywhere we go
The sun will always shine
But tomorrow we might awake
On the other side

'Cause we are beautiful,
No matter what they say
Yes, words won't bring us down, oh no
We are beautiful in every single way
Yes, words can't bring us down, oh no
So don't you bring me down today


Don't bring yourself down today. Or ever.

All or Nothing

all or nothing

dangling precariously on a precipice
the heart
...waits anxiously
to fall;
to faint;
to self-destruct;
to be trodden, flattened?
left bleeding at the sidewalk of life

...hopes fervently
to be preserved;
nurtured and nourished
with love for others;
from others
from the one who matters

like the anchor that holds a ship
to weather the storm
So love - all of it -
given or taken,
is the anchor, the salve, the cure, the catalyst

don't leave me
don't hurt me
don't give me reason to fear

the heart can take
no more pain
no more doubt
no more complexities
no assemblage of inchoate thoughts and feelings
The self esteem can take a beating
no more!

the heart
takes, gives: all or nothing.
my heart takes and offers all or nothing ~
no more bleeding
no more guilt
no more hurt

All or Nothing:
Utter completion
Or
Total void

The Hokkien I Love

FINALLY, I have decided to be true to my piggy self and write about food instead of the usual fictional or semi-fictional sob story.

(So, now you know the "Hokkien that I Love" refers to food.)

Thus, the first food posting my stomach has dictated that my brain focus on today is Hokkien mee. OK, the picture above doesn't look so good, but, hey...I didn't have a better looking one. And you know what they say anyway: the proof is in the pudding.

Before I continue, allow me to indulge in a bit of background explanation. This, for the benefit of those who just may not know what it is (ah, what sacrilege!).

According to Wikipedia, there are three types of hokkien mee: hokkien hae mee from Penang and Singapore (both with the same name, though cooked differently) and Hokkien (fried) mee from the Klang Valley. The Penang variant is a totally different dish (it's soupy) and not what I want to discuss here...meanwhile, who cares about the Singaporean variant? Singapore food sucks anyway. Naturally, our Singaporean friends would vehemently defend their "native" delicacies (all ciplak from Malaysia wan lah), but we all know that arguing with the ignorant is like fighting a losing battle.

So, anyway.

I've had a long-standing love affair with hokkien mee since god-knows-when (actually, if I am going to be honest, I love food in general, but I have an especially soft spot for any dish that's porky), and I've eaten at many (not all, ok?..better qualify before some hokkien mee zealot tries to crucify me) popular spots in the Klang Valley.

So, to make this as brief as possible, I will just zoom in for the kill and mention only my favourite.

Ever been to Reunion in Bangsar Village? THAT'S my ultimate destination for good old hokkien mee. I know. It sounds impossible. Here's this really swanky Chinese restaurant and you'd think that all they served up was some cool unpronounceable chinky dish or other... but what a surprise to find the oh-so-pedestrian hokkien mee on its menu! Now, who would've thought?!

The noodles are cooked in black gravy wholesomely flavoured with pork liver, pork slices, squid, shrimp and cabbage. And, of course, generous amounts of pork lard. Each strand of noodle is slick and glistening with gravy, making every mouthful a rewarding (albeit incredibly artery-clogging) experience. You know for a fact that when you chewed on the noodle, you would never encounter the taste of lye so normally prevalent in thick yellow noodles.

I'm not a fan of pork liver, and don't mind the pork slices, but the shrimps! OMG. THAT, dear reader, is simply divine. The prawns are fresh, sweet and so good to eat!

Still not convinced? Try it and see for yourself. It's more than 20 bucks a dinner plate, but, trust me, there's more than enough for two people (just don't bring a greedy pig; bring me, can).

And. It. Is. Good.

Really.

Dictionary, Anyone?

Interested in learning new words, anybody?
Wonder who actually had the time to come up with this...

I Ain't Heavy; I'm His Sister

COLIN was late, as usual. He is almost always late come to think of it, although usually not by much. It was already 10.05pm and we had initially agreed to meet at the mamak by 9.30pm; I had been waiting since 9.15pm.

He turned up eventually around 10.15pm, and try as I did to give him a tongue-lashing, I just couldn't. I'm hopeless at getting anywhere beyond being marginally annoyed with Colin.

If I had to list down all my brother's negative attributes, I'd be stumped for sure. Save for his borderline tardiness, Colin is a saint. Or very close to it.

Colin is three years younger, but it always feels as if we were born only three minutes apart. Paradoxically at times, it seems like he's the older sibling. Colin's exuberance (for food, mostly, and life) and good nature is tempered by a certain gravitas that, perhaps, makes him more mature than many men his age. We're very close-knit, him and I, but then again, we went through a lot together growing up.

Naturally, we started out like all siblings: the usual rivalry and childish cruelty that some outgrow, but some continue to nurture even up till their twilight years (thankfully, we don't fall into the latter category).

I remember how I used to push him around the house at dangerous speeds while he sat in his pram, precariously strapped to safety with a flimsy buckle. I don't ever remember him crying out in fear. In fact, I think he enjoyed it as much as I did! Then there was my usual preoccupation of tapping the top of his head so that I could see how his eyes automatically closed like a doll's with each tap. It amused me no end, but my brother believes he would've aced more papers in school if I had refrained from being too heavy-handed with my, err, head taps. But I beg to differ; he wasn't that smart in the first place...LOL

We squabbled a lot when we were kids. I remember even hitting/thumping him on his back once: we had this major fight over a stupid looking lime green toy crane and I hit him so hard, I regretted it immediately because his cry of pain actually cut me so deep. Many kids would quickly forget incidences like this, but I didn't and never did it again.

I think the instant identification with his pain (even at that young age) could be because of our naturally empathetic nature - Colin more so than me; I am the more cynical sibling. He used to shed genuine tears when others fell and hurt themselves, and that, even when I was a kid, was something I found very endearing about my brother.

I used to have my own room, but started sharing a room with Colin when he grew old enough to string a few decent sentences together. At the time, I hated his invasion on my privacy; looking back, I think those were good times...we used to hang out and chat at nights on opposite ends of each other's beds. Colin was a frequent guest in mine because he was afraid of the dark and the monsters. Eventually, when we grew into our teens, we got our own rooms again. I suppose we all grow up at some point. But, the bond had been forged by then.

I remember how he used to hold my hand everywhere we went, his voice raspy and husky each time he called me che che, and I, at one point didn't quite like him hanging on all the time...I felt I had 'grown up' and my little brother was totally cramping my style - at the mature (or so I thought) age of 7!

In retrospect, I don't think Colin ever let go of my hand. I think as we grew older, we reached out and held each other's hands through most of life's experiences. He's always been there for me, and I'd like to think that he feels the same about me.

We have this wonderfully affectionate and mutually respectful relationship that I am proud to acknowledge. I'm thankful for him and cannot imagine my life without my dearest brother. For those who have siblings, always be thankful for them. They are your only link to your past and your bridge to the future.

Loving you bro, for all that you have been and are to me.

Note: I hereby attest that Colin Pal did not pay me in cash or kind to sing his praises.