Friday, September 15, 2006

foodie post

after many many days of suffering at my Combat Survival Training, Tallie, Shortie and me decided to have dinner at Marina Square's Azabu Sabo.. Much to our surprise, there's nobody at all.. that's probably due to the IMF at Suntec which caused a diversion of traffic (and not to mention a haywire of road users) and the uprise of road rage and chao gangsters.. =x anyway, Shortie and me were surprised to find that there were 1192 lots available at Marina Square carpark when we arrived.. hiak hiak.. we had the whole carpark to ourselves!! hurhurhur =) all in all, the restaurant was fairly empty (like i booked the whole place for dinner) and we had a really good meal.. bleah.. loved the company really.. more pics next time!! :: grin ::

Thursday, August 17, 2006

The Boxes of Love

The Boxes of Love

Almost a true story by Alaykleus

Year X

I lost my first boyfriend - X -- to my debating team captain when I was in secondary three, in a boys' school, during a debating tour. But almost as soon as I lost X, I found somebody else. Let's just call this somebody else Y.

I was rooming with Y on that tour. An obnoxious jock a year my senior - he loved parading his chunky bod in the room and insisted on calling me scrawny - Y had no business in the tour but to "chaperone his juniors". He made my life a living hell, but yet I fell in love with him eventually. For it was during that tour that I lost my love, but gained Y as a boyfriend.

On the day that I lost X, Y came to me with a steaming cup of cocoa, over-compensated with large chunks of marshmallows that did nothing but sink. As I sniffed at the steam, adding more tears than drinking, I turned to face the bane of my life for the nine days of the tour.

"And now will you parade for your scrawny ugly roommate?" I know it was uncalled for, especially after what he did, but hey, I was in a crabby mood.

"You're scrawny, but definitely not ugly." And with great tact, he slipped under the covers to hold me till I fell asleep. Perhaps blinded by my affection for X, I had looked past his good side. And as the following six days of tour passed, I came to know him as one who was charismatic, supportive, dignified and perhaps a contradiction ¬ a good-looking brainy brawn. I was just another passionately idealistic pimply teenager, just happy to be loved. And in the awkwardness of adolescence, we discovered a communion of two souls, the earthly unattainable "true love". It was bliss.

Our love was simple in the letters we wrote each other when we had to go to camps and holidays; faithful in the calls we made to kiss each other good night; gentle in the way he held me while we did our homework together in the clock tower; passionate in the way we pleaded for each others support. He went to every of my debates, while I to his rugby matches. And bit-by-bit, we grew on each other, knowing that it wasn't sex or lust that held us, but a mutual grasp of each other's personality and soulful attraction that matured as the days went on. The year passed us by and his O's came. Then, he left for Australia.

Like all long-distance relationships, the correspondence slowly dribbled to nothing. At first, the pangs didn't come. It was like a silent respect for each other, maybe we needed more time to formulate our thoughts... then the messages would come. But when all failed, I guessed it was time to move on. But I couldn't. Even when I was introduced to the more brutal gay-scene of Singapore, where people would chat over the net and then suddenly find themselves in bed, or where any youngster who happened to get into Venom on Sunday nights would be groped till bruises formed.

As I grew into myself leaving the ugly-duckling stage, I realized more and more how painfully superficial we all were. Beneath "hey gorgeous" and beyond "you free?" was the more sinister, "guess what the boys will be hearing tomorrow", "I wonder if he's as hunky underneath". My idealism was being chewed up with each encounter and very soon, I was into the gym routine bent on making heads turn. Still I pined for Y.
I found a box.

Year Y

Two years passed. Peppered and spiced with many people whose faceless moanings and orgasmic breathing still plague my dreams. My parents decided to send me to Melbourne, to Australia, to Y.

I met him on a hazy, blue-washed morning, hands holding the box. Birds winged lazily overhead, overshadowed by the aeroplanes that seem to brush the sky. I couldn't even recognize him. He sidled up to me, hands in jawstring cargo pants, eyebrows raised in his usual mocking manner. "Wow. Looking good." I couldn't stop myself from saying. He had really buffed up. "Damn, my little scrawny's all grown up... brings a tear to my eye."


So there we stood grinning stupidly at each other, our first meeting as adults. I stretched my hand forward. He moved and gave me a hug instead.

"Oops", I mumbled.

I moved in and out of "his" home in a day. The moment I saw his landlord give him the eye, I knew. All he could say in defence was a feeble excuse that the rent was cheap! Probably free I guessed. Right again. And so I found myself standing with my luggage on the sidewalk trying to hail a cab before the quarrel that ensued between landlord and tenant could end. Disillusioned, I spent the next few months despairing in my little hole in Unilodge, unable to come to terms with anything but my own naivete and bigotry. I mean, I couldn't even keep my hands to myself in Singapore, who was I to demand that he remain faithful to a relationship that in his eyes had ended two bloody long years ago. And after chiding myself gently, I decided enough was enough.

But I kept the box.

Year Z

I have always hated clubbing ever since my Venom days, but deciding to start afresh, I popped there with an architecture mate from university and started fooling around with some potatoes. In my bid to find myself, there was a certain urgency in all my comings and goings that left me worse for wear than before I started. The lack of fulfillment grew till I met Z.

Z and I shared a sexual relationship, we never got round to introducing ourselves. Everything was very superficial and as they say, innocence is bliss. I didn't know anything about him, didn't want to, and didn't care if he didn't know anything about me. It was just a matter of "you free?" and extravagant evenings in restaurants and clubs. He was good looking and spoke well, and a wit to send any critics cringing. It was a comfortable non-committal relationship until he told me more about himself. It turned out that he was Y's course mate and ex in Med School. The relationship went downhill.

"You scrimp and scratch at every shred of news of him. Who is he to you?"

"Ask no questions, get told no lies."

"Where do I stand in all of this?"

"I fuck you."

"I love you."

"I love him."

And I left. The compounding events from Singapore and Melbourne had turned me into a commitment-phobe and the only way I kept myself in order emotionally was to cling on to an impossible belief that one day, life would return what was mine to me. I wasn't going to let go, couldn't in fact. It didn't matter if anyone else loved or cared about me. I was so broken that it wasn't possible for me to suffer another heartbreak.

I became oblivious both to the needs of others and my own. I lived life in a stony, frigid manner, involving myself in model-making and photography, ignoring the pleas from friends and all alike to take care of myself. I knew I was going to crash. It was just a matter of time.

But I didn't expect to bomb out in that manner.


"Alaykleus? It's me."

"Z? Hi."

"Don't say anything more. Y's in a critical condition. He's only a few more hours left and his parents ain't gonna make it in
time. Can you come down to East Bentleigh?"


I grabbed the box.

"Hey scrawny. You ready for your parade?" His only reply was a wan smile that was lost amongst tears. He knew he wasn't going to make it, that's why I was there. I was there to see him off and comfort him. He knew that. Plus he was a medical student who knew better than most his own chances of survival. I turned to look at Z, hoping to find a pillar of strength, or even a floating log. I needed to stay afloat, even if it was just for a few hours. I found nothing.

Brushing cynicism aside. I dragged a chair by his side and sat, holding his hands, whispering anything that popped into mind. And when words failed, I hoped my tears spoke for me, my remorse and my pain. He was so weak.

He fell asleep sometime in between my sobbing. I was tempted to wake him up, to make sure I milked every single second of the few hours we had left. But I realized if he was to have any hope of seeing his parents, it would be in the little rest he got. I pulled myself out of the room, desperately searching for anything that would keep him fighting for as long as possible. If there was anything I could give him, it would be a chance to see his parents again. I tried to compose myself. I went and held the box.

"He said this was the best way to cheer you up," Z lifted a steaming cup of cocoa, complete with sinking marshmallows. I looked up, confused.

"He spoke about me?"

"He told me to take care of you."

"WHAT?" Weariness had made a simple remark so incredulous that my frayed emotions just erupted into a fiery display. "You FUCKED me because he told you to?"

"But then I fell in love with you, and I couldn't face him. I had to know how much I meant to you even if I knew I was going to lose you. And when you told me you still loved him... I never got round to telling him...until the accident. He was trying to get back to you when-"

"You selfish pig". I walked in and locked the hospital room, hands grasping that steaming symbol of impossible love.

"You know I would have waited. What was your rush?" I gently chided him as he woke up, the box sitting at the side of his bed. "You see this box? I want you to take a look at these. You recognize them?" And as I sat beside him, reading out the letters he wrote me one by one, narrating to him the joy, letting him read my expressions and bringing life to his jokes, I prayed silently that his parents would make it. On and on I went in my make-belief world, thinking that my words alone could have compelled him to stay with me.

He closed his eyes when he was tired again, I mumbled, "You know I love you right?"

He nodded and went to sleep. I clutched blindly at the now-cold cup of cocoa, silently waiting for him to wake up.

He never did.

Two days later, a box came in the mail.

It was his box.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

a nite with mr. tallie

i simply love HK food =p

Monday, August 14, 2006

remember how our laptop bags in poly (that's if u actually bothered to use one) are always so dull and boring? and that when thieves take one look and they'll know it's a laptop in that bag? fear not! now we have this monster lappy bag, everything's solved!! =p cute ain't it? *koo-chi-koo-chi-koooooo*

Sunday, August 13, 2006

a new lease of life

decided to move here for a new start..
really sick of all the mindless rantings from other ppl all over..