Dating 101, as told by my mother Tuesday, Jul 14 2009

My mother and I hardly talk about boys, even though we’re pretty close. And so recently, it was a rare privilege for me to be able to engage in a few minutes of civil discourse with her over the subject of dating.

It has always fascinated me that my mother has extremely low libido, even through her teenage years (or so she claims). She has always insisted that she never had any problems with boys whatsoever during her school years, and that she never had crushes nor dated. How efficient. And she expects me to do the same. According to her, such complications only arose when she hit the ripe old age of 25. It makes me secretly wonder if my mother was a butch when she was younger (after all, she was a competitive netballer). Okay I’m just kidding. Of course she wasn’t a butch.

Respectfully bearing in mind my mother’s stand on boys, (“You are a Christian girl. God will keep you safe from such things”) I quietly kept all my messy hormonal adventures (or rather, misadventures) to myself. We remained as close as ever, but I just had to improve on my secret-hoarding skills. And improve they did.

I am very proud to say that as of 12 July 2009, my mother still thinks that I am “safe” from “such things”. I am also very pleased with myself for that. Just about a month ago, when I was marking the 17^th year of my existence, the both of us were taking stock of my life and it slowly evolved to the subject of dating.

“See mum, I’ve been such a good daughter. I never gave you boy trouble,” I said teasingly.

Her expression changed. Somehow she clearly felt uncomfortable but had to say something anyway: “Of course, you’re baptized in Christ. He will keep you safe.”

“What if I get a boyfriend now?”

“It just shows that you have strayed. You have become distracted. Good girls don’t do such things.”

“So I can become a nun, then?”

“No I didn’t raise you to become a nun. I will not allow that.”

“So you want me to live like a nun without becoming a nun.”

“What I’m saying is, God will provide you with a companion when you are in university. He will be intelligent and holding a good job. Or else, you will find your future husband in Church. I hope you date that altar server, the one who won the “Altar Server of the Year” award. He looks so holy and righteous.”

“Mum, that altar server wants to become a priest.”

“Then find another altar server. Oh, and put your sons in servers too…”

And so there ended the longest conversation I ever had with her on dating. And her instructions were very clear.

The thing is, my dear mother does not understand that most (but not all, I hope) males in church are no better than males out-of-church when it comes to serial dating. As one friend put it: “Don’t ever date a server. They are players.”

I think it’s in times like these that my mother and I revolve in different solar systems. While my mother’s advice is very entertaining, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe in restricting a relationship to a specific time/place. Or in my case, to a specific altar server.

What I do believe in is letting God take control of what happens or doesn’t. I’m pretty sure God isn’t going to cast me into the pits of hell for lusting over a guy, or for dating a player. I can get a guy’s number and seek him out; but what happens after that is beyond my control. I can date all I want and get my heart trampled; but I know that at the end of the day He will be there listening to my rants.

So dear mum, thank you for your advice. However I don’t think the birds and the bees are about university guys or church guys or what-have-you.

I think it’s about living and learning. The practical way.

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:”( Friday, Jun 19 2009

Ever since my estrogen has been able to control my feelings, I’ve been playing with fire and getting burnt again and again. It brings me to the top of the world when the rush comes on, the heady feeling when a guy looks you in the eye. And you know that it’s more than just a look.

But I have fallen again and again for people who toy with my emotions, and then discard me. 

Like how I came to know about someone who has hooked up after hanging on to me for so long.

And how, upon reflection, I realise that it’s not the first time I’ve been so caught up in the moment that I forget there’s no ground beneath me at all.

Then the bubble bursts and I plummet and I pick myself up. Only to be swept away again by that smile, that touch, those words. Cycle repeats.

Heartbreak heartbreak heartbreak. There’s only so much I can take.

I guess this is where my cynicism comes in handy. Let me switch back to my asexual mode, take a step back, and laugh at the folly of hormone-induced “love”.

I’m just unlucky, I guess. Now where’s my tissue.

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Another Year, Another Chapter Wednesday, Dec 31 2008

Love it or hate it, 2008 is slipping away faster than you know it. Here I am, spending the first few waking hours of New Year’s Eve churning out yet another long essay on my blog. It’s been a while since I came here, but now I’m back, and very much alive, thank you.

It’s ironic how much a person can change by 360 degrees in 365 days. looking back at my New Year’s Eve post exactly a year ago, i laugh out loud in disbelief at my attitude then. Go ahead and read that post. I was so negative, pessimistic and brooding, it was as if i was suicidal and actually slashing my wrists in misery as i blogged. I saw the glass as half empty (or nearly empty, in my case) and mulled over the lacerations, magnifying it in the microscope of my mind.

this year was no less shitty, too. my mother’s depression became almost manic, fights became more severe, ugly truths surfaced, and the O levels whammed me from all sides. and there was the problem of  My “Beautiful” Mind, which was the disease that resided within myself. it wasn’t outright depression, but it was a hollow sickness, a vacuum that reduced me to a walking puppet. life was locomotion and i moved along mechanically. well, if you lived with a depressive, you’d be like me too.

but this year, i’ve learnt something finally, something that school couldn’t teach me, that no one else could possibly communicate to me.

LIFE’S LIKE THAT.

you fall and you hurt yourself, but you don’t lie there on the kerb forever and whine about it. you get up and walk, after a little healing. the problem with me was that whenever i fell, i would brood about my wounds, and then i’d decide that a walk outside wasn’t worth it. then i’d shrink back home, slam the door shut, stay indoors and ponder over the wound that was. in my ill temper, i’d look out the window and regard the other people outside with disdain, preferring my misery to company, relishing my isolation.

but i forgot that as long as you were walking on your two feet, you were bound to fall. and those falls were meant to teach you and build you up. like how once, a little boy was leading his sister up a mountain path that wasn’t too easy. “why, this isn’t a path at all,” the little girl complained. “It’s all rocky and bumpy.” Her little brother replied, “Sure, the bumps are what you climb on.” We can’t prevent the crisis hours of our life, but we can deal successfully with them, and turn bad things into good things.

So this year, I’ve finally stepped out of my dark house to enjoy the sunshine on the sidewalk. I’ve made new, lasting friendships. I’ve done crazy things, like terrorising little children at theme parks and shaking hands with random people on the street on Christmas. I’ve (finally) come clean with an old crush, and it wasn’t as bad as I’d imagined. I (finally) spent Christmas with my mum. I fell, for the first time in my life, for a complete geek who laughed at the word “boob” everytime. I never thought I’d allow myself to commit that sin, but I have.

I’ve done something the Old Jenny would’ve laughed at: I’ve moved on from Green Day and related punk bands, and have since broadened my musical horizons to include alternative and indie bands which make much more sense to me than George Bush and his oddities. I picked up Bible reading, which previously was as boring as hell to me, and I now meditate on Christian books daily.  Best of all, I started attending church again. I know that the Old Jenny would’ve crucified me for that.

Thank you, 2008, for everything you’ve thrown at me. I’ll say yes to any challenge that will befall me next year. what about you? will you exit the year with a flourish or a whimper?

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random wise quote, part two. Wednesday, Jun 25 2008

this is one for all my single ladies out there.

“Men are like parking spaces, the good ones are taken and the free ones are handicapped. “

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breakfast Saturday, May 10 2008

7a.m. at the bus stop.

sometimes its 6.55am, sometimes its 7.05a.m. but time is not the issue here. what matters is the tiny congregation of humanity that stands huddled under a meagre zinc-roofed bus stop every weekday morning. we stand separately but somehow a collective sense of belonging render us as one single unit.

each face occupies space in my memory. we do not smile at each other. rather, we stand together in silence. what is wonderful about the 7a.m bus crowd at that humble bus stop is that there is an air of comforting familiarity among all the commuters. unlike the usual hostile (if not annoying) crowds one usually faces at any other time of the day, the bus crowd I’m in every morning is one big family. everyone smells heavenly, be it Chanel No. 5, Davidoff Cool Water or the usual Dettol. there is little or no change in the gang membership.

what bonds us together is the unspoken consensus that We are the Suckers who have to get out of bed at six in the morning and haul our half-conscious asses to face the smelly world.

the usual suspects include the group of working-class twenty-something yuppies who earn enough to dress to the nines, but not enough to buy a miserable car. my favourite is the Elf Girl, a skinny little miss who consists solely of some obtuse but mostly acute angles, perched precariously on a stunning pair of either gold or red stilletos (she alternates her footwear daily). I like to observe her on the bus. she clings on to the pole for dear life as the bus swerves and veers around road junctions. one day, after a particularly sharp turn, Elf Girl kissed the floor.

then we have the Senior Citizens who usually score the lowest in the fashion category. sedated after some black coffee and kaya toast, they are still reasonably polite (read: they do not shove as hard) and they smell decent. meeting them at 7p.m on the bus is a different story, unfortunately.

lastly we have the students. there is the Bollywood girl who consistently blasts jiggly, upbeat Bollywood songs on her earphones, which is funny considering how stoned everyone looks, including herself. there are three RJC boys who look like they are in perpetual mourning. some miscellaneous characters wearing their school uniforms like pyjamas. one fierce looking girl who looks like a Communist Party escapee.

and a boy who makes my heartbeat accelerate whenever he falls into my field of vision.

he’s not strikingly handsome, but he’s the best pick. whenever he boards the bus, i stare. but he’s so tall he can’t see me. sometimes he walks right past me, sometimes he’s stuck in the first cabin.

with smooth Eurasian looks and a firm, straight posture (i can almost see the six-pack underneath), he’s a feast for my eyes.

but it ends there. despite all the hard praying and finger-crossing, we are forever separated by bodies of different shapes and sizes. i know his face by heart, but he’s not even aware of my existence.

just another perfect being that slides by on the bus-ride of my life.

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we used to be friends. Saturday, Apr 5 2008

Is it ever possible for a guy and a girl to be impeccably close friends, without any sexual feelings coming in the way, or other people getting the wrong idea?

Theoretically possible, but in reality, almost impossible.

At least that’s what I think.

Sure, a guy and a girl can always be friends. they can hang out, go for movies, chat, and enjoy each others’ company. They can be pals, sharing secrets and slapping each other on the back. But can they be bosom buddies? Can they sustain the kind of friendship that exists between two best friends of the same sex? Can they ring each other daily, confide and console each other, and still be platonic friends? this is the perennial question that has (and still does) baffled me.

On recollection, i’ve only had 2 male buddies of that sort in my life so far. One was completely gay, so it was easy for us to be close friends. there was no Jealous Girlfriend to speak of, no-one could tease us whatsoever, and there was never any worry that other feelings would taint our friendship. We were such good platonic friends that it was easy to sob on his shoulder during a sappy movie and give each other “stop-my-blood-circulation” hugs whenever we needed one. Communal people-watching, one of my favourite pastimes, was fantastic. We would sit at Long John Silver’s and ogle at guys. We were buddies. Period.

The 2^nd buddy was a healthy male who went for girls, not guys. He was funny, understanding, outgoing and loud. We clicked over our shared love for good food. I thought, “hey, it is possible for a guy and a girl to be close pals.” Everything went smoothly for a nearly a year, and our customary greeting was also a “stop-my-blood-circulation” hug. We were buddies. Period.

But i was wrong.

One sweaty Saturday afternoon, as we were busy yakking away over a nasi lemak lunch, he put down his fork abruptly and cleared his throat. “what’s the matter?” i joked. “snorted an ikan bilis?” to my surprise, he put one awkward hand on my arm. And what he said next made me snort an ikan bilis.

He asked me out.

Unlike some other teenage girls who willingly date every Tom, Dick and Harry (and sometimes, even Larry) who comes along, simply to fill their “Honour Roll”, i beg to differ. It’s not something I’m proud of. The moment he uttered those words, i felt like forcing them back into his voice box. We were comfortably driving down an open stretch of road when he suddenly had to veer into an alley.

That Saturday afternoon sent my mind into overdrive, because i knew our friendship would never be the same again. After nearly a year of brotherly-sisterly ties, was this what everything amounted to? Was it all a facade on his part? Why oh why did deeper feelings have to interfere? I was saddened to think that the friendship we had wasn’t really a pure “friendship” after all. When i looked at him, i saw a close pal. When he looked at me, what did he see?

True enough, after that encounter and all that happened, we drifted apart and are now mere acquaintances, albeit awkward ones. A loss of a close friend. It hit me badly.

Perhaps i was a fool not to see the signs, and to believe too wholeheartedly in the possibility of unadulterated buddy-ness between a guy and a girl. Perhaps i should have drawn the line somewhere. But this is what I am. I can be quite a social bimbo.

I’m not completely shutting myself off from such future friendships, but i’m certainly much more cautious now. I’ve learnt that every single gesture, action and remark can be misinterpreted and send wrong signals to the opposite party. All the more if the party is from the opposite sex. Guys can be sincere friends who are less scheming then foxy girls, but we girls can seldom (if never) fully guess what goes on in the mind of guys. What makes them tick? God knows.

As The Cardigans put it, you live and learn. After living for nearly 16 years on this bizarre planet of ours, i finally feel like i’m scratching the surface of the incredibly complex world of Relationships.

Or maybe, i’m still a social bimbo.

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