27 posts tagged “relationship”

My new netbook makes me feel rather Carrie Bradshawish when I blog. I rather like that, actually, except that the strangely reflective screen shows me a Chinese girl with short hair and specs (what, I wear them at home) rather than a Caucasian woman with curly blonde locks.

But stilll, it makes me have this feeling like I can come up with these thought provoking posts about life, love and lust.

Well, I'll try. That's sort of why I switched on the little guy.

Recently I keep reading about women who put love on the backburner, if not in the freezer to be reheated when they should eventually find a need for it. First up was Sugarbabe, the Book That Screwed Me Over. It screwed with my head enough that I went around feeling really weird for a very long time. I mentioned it before, but for a quick refresher, it's the supposed auto-biography of some Australian woman who had an affair with a married man and quit her job to be his mistress, until his wife found out and ended it. Jobless, she decided to be a sugarbabe, posting an ad on the internet and sleeping with men for a stipend. She found it important to stress the fact that she was only sleeping with one man at a time. I'm not sure it makes her any less of a whore.

What? Is that not the technical term for someone who sleeps with someone else for money? Disguise it as much as you like with the idea that you're just acting like a counsellor with benefits, that you're just providing a service, but at the end of the day, that is your chosen profession, so please, don't make too much of a fuss or get all offended when people break it down and call a spade a spade.

The reason why that book bothered me so very much is because she basically stated that all men will eventually sleep around, and that all women should just accept it.

Oddly enough, that statement doesn't bother me the way you'd think it does. I do actually agree with that. We are not meant to be monogamous, basic physiology sort of determines that. But because we have all these social constructs and morality issues, we insist on exclusivity in a relationship, we expect loyalty, we bind our partners to us in a contract that demands nothing less that complete faithfulness. There's a reason why men freak out at the thought of marriage; it's not that they think it'll curtail their amazing pussy-getting ability (hell, some of them won't be getting any outside of the poor gullible women they managed to con into being with them), but more the idea that if they slip up, they are contractually in the wrong. If somehow, magically, they fell down and accidentally plunged their erect dicks into some random cunt that happened to be just lying there on the ground, a mob of morally outraged people comprising of their family, friends and random other moral authorities can rush out of the bushes and condemn him for it.

The best way to explain why the book bothered me would be to relate this one strange question someone asked me. Am I a jealous person? I took a moment to really think about it, then said no, but I am possessive.

What's the difference? What gets me riled up about a potential rival isn't so much that my partner might cheat on me, but that the skank has no right to barge in on my territory. I get more hyped up about defending my turf than questioning whether my boyfriend loves me. I have no issues with my guy checking someone else out. Stretching it further, it may be that I may be able to accept my guy having someone else on the side, but should I find out about it, I will definitely have the need to assert my dominance by introduce the new girl's face into the pavement a couple of times. And after enough genuflection on her side and her admittance that she is nothing more than a sperm receptacle and that I will always be number one and she will know her place and stay lower than it, Granted, I may be outweighed by most women, but I figure if my guy's going to cheat on me, it makes little sense that he'll go for a heifer, so I should be able to take this hypothetical slut down.

So, after having to deal with that major mind fuck, I came across an article about trophy wives and trophy husbands, these Gattaca-perfect married couples who came together to merge their wealth, qualifications and good looks together in a very businessy transaction.

I guess it's all well and good for them. Hell, it's not exactly anything new either; the old money families have been doing that for ages. The idea of a vapid trophy wife really only applies for older men who got sick of their equally well-moneyed, well-educated and strong wives. THAT'S when they go for a younger, dumber, subservient chick with big tits. They never marry someone like that upfront. That's the way of the world, the way it has always been, and I'm just amused they think it's something new. Like part of them really enjoys the fact that they are making such a grown up, business decision and they just landed this perfect life by putting love aside. They pretend to be all jaded, all resigned to fate, when they're just secretly so damned pleased with themselves.

At least, until their perfect husband has a little something something on the side, with someone who may not be as well educated, rich or perfect, but makes your robot husband feel passion like he never has before. Then they freak out, flip out, yank out the marriage certificate and demand loyalty. You are only supposed to fuck me! Me and my perfect pussy! Yeah right, sweetheart. Being the First Wife is your chosen profession, go suck on your giant solitaire diamond ring in your corner and face the facts; just because you two have no passion doesn't mean your rich, good-looking husband can't find someone who gets his blood heated.

I'm not saying that the First Wife has no right to get upset. I'm just saying that's the way it is. You enter a marriage as a business transaction, you can't even say that you love the man, much less that you enjoy sex with him, so can you really get on your high horse and be morally upset when he chooses to outsource the things you can't provide? Should you not, in fact, be sort of grateful that you don't have to deal with that part of his needs? Shouldn't you just be thankful if he manages to pick someone who doesn't push for anything more, like your position?

Things don't have to be that way. Really, they don't. That fairy tale marriage is not completely impossible, so long you stop thinking it has to fit the stereotypical fairy tale. I don't have the answers, but I believe a large part of it would be just to be realistic. Be the best you can be for the other person, and don't take it personally if that isn't good enough. Remember they have a choice of who they want to be with, and be glad if they choose to be with you. It's not easy, that's why we come up with conventions like marriage and monogamy to tie people down.

Once upon a time, when I was still an adolescent, I worked in a game shop for a few months before joining university. During those few months, I sort of became a gamer, and sold over-priced plastic bits to unsuspecting nerds who probably didn't realize that owning a giant chunk of plastic molded to look like an alien spaceship and spending weeks putting it together and painting it would cost them valuable time that could otherwise be spent grooming themselves and looking for pussy. Then again, who knew what they did to the alien spaceship besides putting it together and painting it.

In any case, there was one time a woman and her female friend walked into the store. They were Chinese, older than me and relatively attractive, which was probably why the guys all suddenly became incredibly engrossed in their games. It wasn't so much that they weren't looking; they were just pretending not to, and they're bloody good at it. I hate to say that I pegged them in a hole very quickly, but I figured they were probably in their late twenties, execs of some kind, used to guys thinking they're attractive even though they're really just not ugly, probably graduated from NTU Business School or NUS Law or something along those lines, with absolutely no sense of humour and boyfriends who probably insist that they're cool even though they really aren't.

Small digression, why do guys always say that their incredibly uncool girlfriends are cool? And by uncool, I mean the sort who gets all uptight when NC16 jokes are made and who keep pushing their boyfriends to leave parties early because they don't know the people there and can't be arsed to get to know them. The sort who think that people who are too loud or too enthusiastic are bad when it's really just that they have about as much personality as a potted plant. Look, just because she's bangable or because she's the only woman who's willing to go out with you does not make her cool. It just makes her either a closet nympho or blind or heavily medicated.

Anyway, it was pretty obvious they weren't gamers from the disgusted curl of the lip and the slightly horrified and widened eyes and the stiff unchanging expression they sported. It was also pretty obvious they were there to get something for someone else. I attended to them, and proceeded to artfully stuff my entire foot into my mouth.

"Can I help you?" I asked cheerfully in my best helpful store clerk voice.

Non-gamer Woman turned and stared. "Uh, yeah, I'm looking for...uh, I think it's something to do with plastic soldiers that you put on tables."

"Ah, wargamer," I nodded knowledgeably, leading the ladies towards a particular wall. "We carry mainly two types of wargames, Warhammer, the fantasy version, and Warhammer 40,000, the sci-fi version." Blank looks. "Do you prefer swords and magic or spaceships and lazer guns?"

"Well, no, it's not for me, it's a present."

"That's nice," I beamed, attempting to build rapport. "For your son?"

That was when I realized that pegging people too quickly was a bad thing. For one, I'd thought they were incapable of more than maybe three facial expressions. She showed me The Glare, which was impressive. And I quickly showed her another sales clerk, who was a guy and knew more about little plastic guys.

Now that I think back on that story, I feel sorry for her. Dating a gamer, a wargamer, mind you, and braving the stench of the shop for his birthday. I can safely say she is uncool for a few reasons; one, she didn't know what he played. For another, she didn't do any research, just assumed that she could plonk down money, get him any random miniature and he'd be so happy and think she cared.

It may work for, say, random jock guy who was into kung fu films and you get him a random Bruce Lee poster. But when it comes to nerds, well, there's a reason why so many of them identify with The 40-Year-Old Virgin. Not only will they not appreciate you buying them a Necron army when they play Dark Elves, but they'll also tell you about it. Of course, then they'll grovel and say they appreciate it, so they don't lose the one girlfriend they've ever had in a long while, but truth is, they'll think a lot less of you and proceed to make their gaming a part of their life you will never enter. Kind of like the boys nights out regular guys have at pubs and seedy karaoke joints but a lot more nerdy.

Having dating two consecutive gamers for three years shy of an actual decade, here' are some pointers on how to care for your nerd.

Nerds are like the rose quartz of men; plentiful, but not exactly the best gemstone in terms of quality because there usually are major flaws in every chunk. And I mean chunk, because pigging out on easy to prepare and eat food and drinking high sugar energy drinks to plow through those late night raids in their online worlds usually results in horizontal growth.

But if you do manage to find one that is as close to perfect as it gets, hang on to him. Tight. Because with proper care, you can have faith that this one will last you a lifetime.

The good thing about nerds is that they don't have the time to cheat. Seriously, between you and internet porn, his sexual needs are satisfied, and his time allocated for the pleasures of the flesh is used up. That is not to say that they will definitely remain true to you. If the opportunity presents itself for a quick, no-strings-attached, not much prep work needed one-night stand, they may go for it. But they're not the sort to have a whole long sordid affair with another woman.

Other than the obligatory stuff like work or school or sleeping, he really just wants to go back to his games. There just aren't enough hours in the day, and gaming is time consuming stuff. Many a nerd relationship has ended because no girl likes feeling like a second class citizen to some pixels on a screen.

The bad thing is, that is also the most serious flaw in a nerd. If you can overlook it, you're golden. You can have your own time to go shop, hang out with the girls, do your own stuff while he games. But if you're the sort who wants together time 24/7, I think you ought to go date a teenager. They'll be so grateful they're getting sex you won't be able to pull them off you.

So if you're ok with him gaming for extended periods of time, then always remember, it's not just a game to them. This is metaphorical life or death for his ego. His avatar/character is a virtual representation of him, and he takes losses fucking seriously. I don't care how blasé he might act about it; if he walks away from a bad session having lost the game, he's not going to want to hear about your day, because that glazed over look in his eyes means he's replaying the session in his head and trying to figure out how to win.

And because it's so serious to him, respect his gaming time. Don't barge in, don't do the walk past scantily clad attempting to seduce him thing, don't force him to give it up. You really don't want to test his commitment towards his game, because it'll just end up with you feeling like a sack of potatoes in a G-string. He's had gaming forever, you only came along when? Sure, he'll choose you over gaming initially, but after the initial rush, he'll still go back to it. Don't feel insulted or think you're not good enough; it's not you, it's him. The nerd is not as base a creature as the jock, and part of that means he needs to feed his brain.

Some girls decide "if you can't beat them, join them". Please do not fool yourself. Seriously, if it's not for you, it's not for you. It's commendable for you to try, but if you're not happy doing it, then don't do it, because all that's going to result in is you resenting him.

I speak from experience here. I realize now that I cannot ever play wargames because I fucking hate minatures. I hate putting them together, I hate painting them, and I hate having to measure distances and bend down and squint to see if my mini can see your mini. I tried to bond with my ex (while we were dating) by painting a couple, but because he apparently possessed colour differentiation capabilities beyond the normal human eye and wasn't afraid of telling me I was doing it wrong, I think we were lucky to come away with that without me painting the walls with his innards. I mean, seriously, HOW many shades of white can you paint one skull the size of the nail on your smallest toe? How many shades of white CAN you see?

So I won't really say I'm a gamer, but I do play some games. Like RPGs, and even then very select ones. I try to leave Elton alone to play the games I don't like or have stopped liking, such as VtES. I actually enjoy watching him play his computer games while I read a book or play with my DS Lite, so there are some Saturdays when that's what we do. I know it sounds a little loser, like those Ah Lian girlfriends who sit next to their guy while they play arcade games, but it's quite entertaining seeing him scale walls like some Yamakazi dude in Assassin's Creed.

It's easy to start mothering your nerd. Resist the temptation, because you are his girlfriend, and there are distinct lines to be drawn in the roles that you play. The more you mother him, the more child-like he will become, to the extent where you find yourself taking care of him instead of vice versa. I guess some girls might prefer that, but it's not healthy. Men are never that far removed from their childhoods to begin with, nerds even less.

The best way to break out of this is by encouraging them to transfer a little of game life into real life. It's Mario who goes to rescue the princess, not the other way around. Be patient though, he may be a Level 50 Archmage in his game, but in real life, you'll most likely out-level him. So pretend you don't, let him be The Man, follow up with lots of praise, and that'll usually do the trick. If you like, you can even go "ding!" when he does something right and unlock new rewards like new lingerie or something like that.

There is something you should note though. Not all nerds are created equal. There are many many different kinds, the most extreme being the sort that should forever more be locked in their parents' basement and never see the light of day. Among nerds there are dumb ones too, and the combination of low intel and low charisma equals they will never pass the DC for normal social interactions.

Then there are the dateable ones who can pass for normal people, except they are pretty obsessed with games still. Elton belongs in this category. When he dreams, he dreams of how to build his VtES deck. When we go out, I can tell when he hasn't quite let go yet of the game because he just won't shut up about it. It's not so bad because he'll at least relate it all in a relatively entertaining manner.

Then there are those who just dabble. They play more than normal people, but they can let it go, and they can do other things, and they will always look at you if you walk past scantily clad. These, to be honest, aren't true nerds. They're just guys with a hobby. Other guy hobbies include going clubbing with the boys, drinking, gambling, philandering and shooting clay pigeons.

To be exact, Elton isn't really a nerd. He has nerdish ways, and he definitely has the obsession, but his roots were jock. Which is why I am still a little paranoid about him and women. Until, of course, he calls me to rant about how he spent five hours creating a character for Neverwinter Nights 2.

Elton and I had a very interesting talk last night after the lights went out. It had something to do with the fact that I'd read that stupid book Sugarbabe by Holly Hill and watched episodes of that Korean drama My Man's Woman. All in all, it led to a strange need to draw some lines in the sand and make it clear to the love of my life exactly where I stood with regards to the possibility of him cheating on me.

If you think about it, it does seem ludicrous that from age 24 onwards, I expect him to be completely monogamous to me and his right hand. We've been together for five years already, so that's saying something, but expecting him never ever to think about another woman that way seems like I'm setting the standards a little too high. And when standards get set that high, bad things happen, like priests raping little boys.

And so, I conceded the fact that while it is well and good if he can forever more just turn to me and only me and maybe on occasion his right hand for all his needs, he may fall off the wagon at some point in time. But if he does, there are conditions.

#1 It must be just sex. Preferably with a complete stranger and definitely NO friends. No talking, no sharing thoughts, no long emo sessions about how their respective partners aren't good enough. Just wham bam thank you ma'am and come straight home to me. And definitely no exchanging numbers, emails or adding on Facebook as friends. Just sex.

#2 Use protection. There will be no bareback riding of any kind where disease or children might result.

#3 Be discreet. Better not to tell me, better that no one knows. You don't have to rub in the fact that I'm not good enough. And if my friends find out and make my life hell, I will make your life hell.

Thing is, it may sound incredibly open-minded or liberal, but the truth is, way too many tai tais out there with their rich husbands are silently practising these three laws. Unless your husband is a sex god, it's likely that after so many years of marriage, you can't be arsed to put out anymore, so it's not so bad to get a third party contractor to take care of those needs. It's only important that that third party contractor doesn't push for anything more. Know your place, slut.

And so while I do hope that Elton will never have to practice these laws, I'm going to be a realist and put them out there. At least he'll know that if he does marry me and I should ever decide to close shop below, he's not doomed to a lifetime of monkey spanking.

I truly am a pessimist in the optimist-who-got-fucked-over sense. I still hold this very small hope deep deep down that things will turn out for the better, but I always just plan for the worst. I think that's why my bag is always so stuffed full of things. I think it's safer this way, because if things do turn out well, then I can relax, but if things go bad, I'm prepared and ready to handle them.

But there is a big difference in being realistic and preparing for the worst and over-thinking things. That difference is action. If all you do is lament what bad things might occur, then two things are clear. One, you're just whining, and two, no amount of advice is going to help you, because you're not listening.

In my unemployment, I've done my fair share of whining, but I recognize it for what it is. I just wanted the attention and the reassurance from others that it's ok, that things are going to turn out fine. And things are turning out fine. The one serious job search I've gone for resulted in a job offer (yay!), and I'll be starting work next month.

That is, if I decide to sign on the dotted line. Out of nowhere, I was asked to go for a lunch with this other company. I wonder vaguely if it'll lead to employment of some kind.

It's great that I managed to stumble onto a job. Especially in this economic climate, I am incredibly lucky, and I thank whatever kindly entity looking out for me. Even better, instead of starting straight after that little part-time gig I had last week, I now have a month to go build up my wardrobe and enjoy my slackerdom a little more.

But the thing is, I didn't just up and quit and expect to get a job straight after. I saved up enough to make sure I could survive without employment for a while. It's great that I didn't have to break my piggy bank for the last few cents before my next pay check comes in, but things got delayed, I had enough to live on and enough time to get my ass into gear.

In any case, I'm just fucking relieved I at least got a job offer.

I've always regarded "networking" to be a dirty word, mainly because it has such slimy connotations. In all likelihood, the term is the brainchild of some socially retarded kiasu person who desperately wants to make it big in the business world but lacks the ability to just easily make friends with others. Unfortunately, because so very many people are also badly socialized, it has clawed its way into everyday vernacular.

How shall I put this...it's disgusting if you get to know people based on what they can do for you. Don't lie to yourself, we can tell when you're just cataloging our usefulness and when you're genuinely interested in us as people. Perhaps some people are so good at it that they can make you think they're for real, but for the most part, you can tell, by how their face lights up if you mention your connections or by how they tune you out when you talk about other things.

So having to listen to some guy with an overinflated ego go on and on about how I need to network and utilize my network and open up new sources of revenue by expanding my network made me damn near want to strangle him by his lanyard.

I'm not entirely certain why, but for some reason, all the interviews I've been to have one commonality; my interviewers seem to love talking. As in, I answer maybe two questions, at the most, then they take over and start a monologue on some topic or another, which I have to politely nod and make affirmative noises to. On the bright side, I usually get the job even if I didn't get to do any verbal acrobatics. It's usually the ones where they don't talk much that turn out not so well.

As much as I'd like to deny it, I think a large part of the deal gets settled the moment you walk through the door, shake their hands and introduce yourself. That initial meeting, where you make eye contact, is when the magic happens. If they hate you then, it's hell to turn things around. If they're ok with you, then the rest of it is just confirming that you're a normal, responsible person. If they like you to begin with, then you have to screw up big time after that to lose the position. Of the interviewers I've met, only one didn't seem to judge me straightaway. In fact, she took a long time to talk to me, except I wanted the position so bad I think I came across like some desperate stalker person.

One of the comments I often got from senior crew members was that I needed to smile more. I have a serious face, so sue me. But I realize that the whole smiling thing actually does help. It's infectious, and it makes the other person subconsciously smile as well, which triggers endorphins, which makes them think of you in a good way. If you want people to like you on sight, learn to smile and radiate goodwill. When your smile conveys, "How great is it to see you!" to the other person, they're just going to like you, unless you overdo it and they think you're trying to sell used cars.

And mind you, it's all in the eyes, so stop stretching your lips like they're made of plasticine. Speaking of eyes, get your glasses changed or wear contacts. I should be able to see your eyeballs and not two gleaming panes where your eyes are. We feel uncomfortable when we can't read someone's eyes.

In all human interaction, we can always spot a fake. Someone who doesn't give a shit until key terms like, "my summer villa in Seychelles" are mentioned. I'm not saying you have to go in with the intention of making friends, but at the very least, fake it well enough that you don't just perk up when such things are mentioned.

And faking it means acting blasé about wealth and status. Act like you don't even care. But if the topic of work comes up in the conversation, just take a note, maybe mention something like, "So you run a small business, eh? Well, I'm working for this bank, and we've got this new loan/insurance/whatever specifically for small businesses. If you're interested, I can go over it with you another day." then MOVE ON. Talk about something else, ANYTHING ELSE. The trick is to get them laughing, get them loving your company, then as a parting shot, exchange namecards, talk about meeting up for something else because their company was so lovely, NOT because their bank account is so alluring.

It's like dating women. The less you make a big deal about how attractive she is, the more she's likely to be interested in you. Fact. It's that one attribute that everybody gets so hyped up about, so the more you ignore it, and the more you get her to like you otherwise, the more likely she'll want to rub your face in it. Reverse psychology at its best.

Heck, it's like dating men.This is trickier though, you have to pretend like you're pretending not to give a damn. Lost me? It's about showing 10 percent interest, 90 percent nonchalance. Just enough to give them hope but not enough that they lose interest in the chase. Of course, this strategy changes depending on the guy. Oddly enough, women are easier.

Networking, minus the negative connotations, really just means getting your friends to buy your stuff. That's all. But the key thing is friendship. If there isn't at least some positive feeling on both sides, then really, your so-called networking is no more than you flagging down people at a roadshow. At least that's a lot more honest.

Russell Peters is coming to Singapore! He'll be here on 3rd and 4th November, and tickets are just FUCKING expensive. I'm not sure I want to spend $79 to see a dot moving around. I'm not sure I want to spend $149 to stare up his nostrils. I think maybe the DVD would be a lot more enjoyable.

The reason why that line is so hilarious is because I'm Chinese, most of the people I know are Chinese, and I've never, ever heard anyone say that without it being a Russell Peters reference. I've no idea where he got that from. I know the Cantonese don't have a line like that. And the Hokkiens are more likely to ask if you've got testicles ("Boh zi si boh?! Kan ni nao eah..."). The Mandarin version, well, I guess there is a song, sort of, that goes something like "Be a good tough guy, everyday must be strong." (What? You so kiang you translate that stupid song lah. "Zhuo yi ge hao han zi, mei tian yao zi qiang") But it's not quite right.

Speaking of Chinese men, I was incredibly disturbed by an episode of this Taiwanese talkshow that I occasionally watch. The topic was, "When the wife controls the money: benefit or bane?" There were two couples on the talkshow, the guys being the celebs, the wives being the CFOs of the household. At the end of the show, I've come to the conclusion that Taiwanese men are wimps.

Hey, don't blame me man. Maybe you guys should check the content of your talkshows before you broadcast them all over Asia.

Apparently in Taiwan, it's common for the wife to control the bank accounts. The husbands work, then meekly hand over all the money to their wives, who then give them an allowance. AN ALLOWANCE LEH!!! What are you, in primary school?! Anyway, the rationale to this system is that the men have a tendency to spend on stupid things or lend their friends money when they can't really spare it, and more importantly, men can't exactly cheat on their wives if they don't have enough money.

I tell you, it's a Chinese thing. Somehow EVerything comes back to money.

Although it does make sense, in a way. He can't exactly buy his way into another woman's panties, with upfront cash or expensive presents, if all he has is $500 a month. Ok, that's in Singapore dollars, it sounds a little less sad in Taiwanese money, $10,000, but it translates to the same, because a pair of S$17 shoes costs NT$390 over there.

But at the end of the day, and I'm surprised the hosts didn't ask this question, do they still feel like men? Do their wives look down on them? Do they secretly wish being banged into the kitchen table by some macho macho man who'd smack them if they even dared ask to look at the bank book?

It's bloody emasculating. Not only do they work their asses off to make that money, but they have to ask permission from their wives to access it? What is that? I thought the Guo Min Dang were the guys who went to Taiwan. This smacks a little to much of Stalin's revised system. Work your little peasanty hearts out, give us all your crops, and maybe we'll give you two potatoes in return. You're his wife, not his mother.

To be honest, I'd much rather my future husband have money and run the risk of him splashing it on some family wrecking slut, than take it all away from him and wimpify him. At least in scenario one I have the chance to play the wronged housewife, down to the cock-chopping revenge therapy part. Scenario two just leads to many many painful marriage counselling sessions.

The most disturbing thing was, one of the wives kept going on and on about how her husband was a failure at managing money, always buying stupid things and lending his friends large sums of it. Which would have been fine if she just stopped there. Then she went on to say that at least she spends money "correctly", by buying things that are of better quality, such as branded bags which she carries just to make her husband the celeb look good. Best part is, she lies to her husband about how much a bag costs, so Chanel suddenly got downgraded to $400 rather than $4000. And she kept on whining and whining about how unromantic her husband was since he didn't buy her Valentine's Day presents and all she got was four Ferrero Rochers.

Look woman. You give him $500 a month. What the fuck do you expect him to buy for you? On that $500, he scrimps and saves to have a little horde, which you seem sooooo intent on finding and confiscating (she did that TWICE). Once he bought you a ring. Granted it was this super obiang gigantic black pearl ring that was so big it slips off your thumb, but hey, would it hurt to give him some encouragement? Instead she was on that show, telling the whole world about how useless her husband is. Gooooood work. Besides, it's not your fucking money to begin with, is it? It doesn't matter that he has no taste; you're buying your own goddamn Chanel bags and LV shoes with his money anyway.

No, I don't think these women are justified in treating their husbands this way. You didn't work for that money, so you don't have to right to keep all of it. If your husband insists on buying truly useless things (like pieces of wood from some old train track or some truly ugly furniture), the issue is the lack of communication, not that he has too much money. He feels the need to sneak behind your back to buy that crap the same way you feel the need to buy branded bags and hide them in your closet and not take them out till later. Because both of you have gotten so touchy about money that it's stopped behind just a simple representation of the things you can have but a thing of power.

Money is nothing. It's just a social construct we developed because toting around cattle for trade was just too cumbersome. It's just printed paper, that's all. Sure, it's important, but we sometimes go overboard and place waaaay too much importance on it.

All I know is, if I were a man, and I earned all the money for the household, I'm keeping control of it. Do the right thing.

It's tricky meeting new people nowadays because the inevitable question of "what do you do?" has now become quite difficult to answer. I don't really care about what people think of me, but I can do without the negativity. There's a strange sense of envy, with a chaser of indignation. To borrow a line from the poor fucker who kena slapped on Dadagiri, HOW CAN SHE SLACK?!

Well, with my savings, that's how. I have not asked for money from Elton or my parents. I have not made a point of sponging off my friends. In fact, I met up with Kym and Nick tonight and I felt quite bad because I didn't pay for a single thing except the taxi ride I took to meet them. Nick was celebrating his new job and I sort of crashed the party because it was Friday night, Elton was meeting up with his old friends and I didn't want to be left alone at home. Nick's friends paid for my beer later then even sent me home. I was grateful for all that, but I felt uncomfortable at the same time, because the last thing I wanted was for any of them to even have a flicker of the horrible thought that I was purposely hanging out with them so they'd pick up the tab.

That's what happens when you get left alone on a Friday night.

Nick's friends, thankfully, didn't give me the third degree about my slackerdom. Or at least, they didn't make me feel like I should be ashamed of not working. I really appreciated that. I can't even get my fucking nails done without being asked when I would be getting a job. Bloody hell, I've got enough money to pay you and that should be enough.

I can understand the envy. When I was working, all I could think about was not working. Now that I'm on the other side of the fence, it's not really all that green here.

For one thing, having more time on my hands just makes it seem as though Elton doesn't spend all that much time with me and I start imagining that he's actually meeting up with some slut whore zhap zheng chao cheebye he started sleeping with while I was flying every time he says he needs a day to himself, or when he goes to play tennis on Wednesdays. Why else would he be so paranoid about me touching his handphone? Why else would he be messaging strange girls on Facebook and asking them why their relationship status is "it's complicated"? Why does he have so many strange women on his Facebook friends list? Why would he be chatting on MSN with the receptionist from his office? Why would he close Shu Cai Gong Zhu's message window so quickly while I was there? (And who the fuck uses an act cute nick like Vegetable Princess? Is she 16? Is it because she just lies there like one? If so, why on earth would anyone want to bother fucking her? Might as well get a blowup doll.) Why else wouldn't he tell me where he was going on his alone days unless I asked him? And even then, who knew whether his answers were true or some lie I had no chance of corroborating.

That sort of paranoia has been driving me nuts. It's been driving Elton nuts too. I'm trying to rein it in. At least until I find proof otherwise. And it never existed throughout the five years of our relationship, until now. Idle minds are the devil's workshop. Most of the time I'm just trying to find things to occupy my day with, until Elton gets off work and I can go find him.

For his part, Elton has been trying his best to assure me he doesn't have anyone on the side nor is thinking of cheating on me at all. Even though he hasn't exactly flicked through his messages to show me nothing weird had been happening, I figure he wouldn't be that patient as to deal with me in my throes of paranoia if he did have someone else. It's not like we're married and he had to give me half of everything he owned if we split. One could argue that he might just be afraid of being alone, but if he did have someone regular and she's a normal woman, she wouldn't like to share either. She'd be more than happy to have him all to herself.

So yes, the break isn't that great. Too much time to imagine things.

I've been trying to occupy myself, meeting up with my friends, my cousin, watching DVDs, picking up cross-stitch, reading, shopping, beating my own best score on Pathwords (damn you, Facebook), going for interviews, trying things out. Unfortunately, it seems I didn't land the role I auditioned for, nor is working at Citibank such a great idea. Kym managed to get an interview with Standard Chartered through a friend of a friend she has never met. Not with the friend, mind you, but with their HR people or their branch manager, I can't remember which.

Perhaps my path in life is to break it off with Elton, thus ending the need to worry that he's cheating on me, go find a rich man and be his mistress, thus ending the need for a job. If I had no emotions, that's the neatest solution to my problems. Unfortunately, I'm no robot.

Nick's friend asked if my boyfriend was sponsoring my break. In case you didn't see it earlier, I'm not taking any money from Elton. I still pay for my own taxi rides home, we still sort of Dutch things. He'll pay for dinner, I'll pay for movies, that sort of thing.

Not that he didn't offer. He did tell me when I was in the midst of quitting that whether I chose to stay on or leave, he'll support my decision, financially if need be. He reiterated it yesterday while we were cuddling. I wonder if it was because I did something that blew his mind.

Maybe it's the old family pride at work. When my aunt divorced my uncle, she insisted on not taking any alimony from him (guess which one is related to me?). Then again, that guy's so poor that whatever alimony he gives will pay for bus fares for the kids and that's about it. But it was bizarre because he was the one who cheated and she had every right to insist that, if nothing else, he paid for the kids' upbringing.

Thing is, I'm just not comfortable with the idea of taking money from someone. If Elton and I were married, then yes, I would take his money. I'd consider it an allowance for giving birth to his children and taking care of his house. But we're just dating. Yes, we've been dating for five years, but that just gives us licence to do stuff like fart without leaving the room, not insist that he pay for me, my parents and my hypothetical dog.

I guess I just like being financially independent so if I should discover that he did have a Facebook Fling after all, I can just up and leave. No attachments, no worries I can't sustain myself. That, and nobody likes a sponge.

So yes, envy away if you like. Take a break yourself and see if things don't start goin awry.

But the thing that puzzles me the most is the indignation. Why? Why are you so appalled that I'm unemployed and not looking for a job? I'm not in debt, I'm living comfortably and I'm not leeching other people. What's the problem?

The easy answer would be that it just doesn't sit well with their worldview. They can't imagine it because they wouldn't think of doing it themselves. It's sort of how you'll feel when you hear that your friend just upped and went to Yunnan to run his own bed and breakfast. (True story, that.) Shocked, stunned and full of "I can't believes". You'd think I said I'm a professional dominatrix, the way some people react.

In any case, I'm getting used to my bumming ways. The next time I'll get to do this would be when I retire. Or if Elton decides to marry me, earns enough for the both of us, and decides he'd rather me stay home and do the household chores and take care of the kid/dog/cat. I still have enough money for a while yet. Hopefully more good comes from this than bad. Worst case scenario, I'll be blogging from Woodbridge with a stick in my mouth.

Elton, in an act of complete and utter sweetness, bought me a present today. After the initial joy of fiddling with it, I had to call Kym to ask her one very important question, "Hey girl, how do I blow ah?" 

Lest you think I was researching on a way to show my appreciation for the present and before you start pitying Elton for the lack of certain activities, THAT'S not what I was asking Kym for. And...that'll be the end of the topic; it's really up to Elton to brag about it. Don't want people to think I got a big head by blowing my own trumpet.

Ok, ok, enough.

After reading post after post of me pining for a DS Lite, he bought me one. Hmm. Hang on.

ELTON BOUGHT ME A DS LITE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ok, that's more like it. But yes. It was especially sweet because the next special event is Christmas, which is months away, but he decided to buy me one because he wanted to cheer me up.

If you're wondering, "What the hell does she have to be depressed about? She's not working! But not poor!" Well, I have no bloody idea myself. All I can say is that past month or so has been an emotional shitstorm. There was good, there was bad, then there was abyssal. Maybe a lot of bad karma decided to come back all at once, I don't know.

With Elton's help, I made it through the worst of it all. To top it all off, he got me a brand new toy. By sticking with me through all that nonsense, that's love right there. Getting me the expensive new gadget, really, it's just, I don't know what to say.

Oh yah, it's called a distraction tactic.

Kidding, kidding. It's love all right. But distraction too. It gives me something to do, takes my mind off things. Lets him play Assassin's Creed while I chop things up on Cooking Mama.

I'm perfectly fine with it. In fact, I kinda like it. If I had to rank what I like to do as together time and keep the list PG, it'll be cuddling and chatting about random stuff, cuddling and watching shows on his computer, literally just sleeping together (which oddly works better on his super single bed than on my queen sized one), sitting in the same room and doing our own stuff, going out, and going out to meet other people. Pretty much in that order. It does depend on mood, of course, sometimes going out ranks higher on the list if I'm feeling active. But yeah, being in the same room with him just makes me happy. He'll be gaming on his computer and I'll be reading a book (or playing with my DS Lite!) and it's just nice to look over at him and occasionally plant a kiss on his head as I pass him to go to the loo. And since his monitor is one of those big ass things, it's sometimes quite entertaining to watch him play too, except for when he does the save, play, reload, play, reload, play thing.

I felt quite guilty though, as he brought me to the shop and asked me to pick out the colour of the set and the cover for it (we're both quite anal about protection. In more ways than one). They have two shades of pink, but the one I wanted, Noble Pink (and which member of royalty would that be? Princess Barbie?) was $25 more expensive, because they didn't have it for the parallel import sets anymore. Elton, The Man, did the no big deal shrug, "Just go for it, babe."

(The other shade was Metallic Pink, which is really more purple.)

So he got me the set, the other essential accoutrements (hint hint nudge nudge), and the case for it (Hello Kitty, of course, in pink). And I was making happy squeals, amusing the bengs in the shop to no end.
ME: (totally engrossed in chopping an onion) "Look, Mama says I did it perfect!" 
ELTON: (aside to the bengs) "Can you guess what her favourite colour is?"

And while I was ridiculously happy with my new toy, I felt uneasy about it. I'm just not used to getting expensive presents, when there's no event behind it, and especially if I'd sort of asked for it to begin with. I feel kinda bad about it, like I manipulated him to get it for me. I swear to you, the extent of whining for it was limited to blogging and pointing the DS Lite out to him on two occasions (what? In case he got the wrong console; Nintendo got quite a few ok?). I did NOT drag him into the shop and body tackle him while I threw his wallet to the cashier in a overhead pass.

This is probably a good thing, for Elton at least, since flat out asking him to buy me stuff isn't something I even think about doing. Usually. I did go on and on about it on my blog to hint to him in a highly subtle manner what I'd like to get for Christmas. I didn't expect him to bring me to Sim Lim to get me something special today.

So in a failed attempt to assuage my guilt, I bought him the new expansion for Neverwinter Nights 2. Ok, so my present was 10 percent the cost of his present. It's the thought that counts. That, and I'm not sure what he wants, so I just beat him to the cashier when he picked up the game. Tragic, yes. That man needs to blog lah.

Since he wasn't feeling well today (and hasn't been for the past few days), I decided for him that he shouldn't spend the day running his Dark Ages game (he feels responsible for it and would have turned up, so I decided to play the bad guy and take it off his shoulders). He had problems holding a conversation with me without hacking up a lung. One whole day of talking might do him in. So after he got me the DS Lite, we went to his place and gamed. He on Assassin's Creed, me on Cooking Mama. Very very different in terms of complexity and skill, but hey, we're happy.

Oh yah, the blowing thing. Kym has a DS Lite too, and she's been extolling the joys of Cooking Mama, so when I got stuck at this recipe where I'm supposed to blow on the stew, I called her, naturally. And this is why the DS Lite is so bloody cool; beyond the traditional controls of the directional keys and the buttons and the tabs, you get to use the stylus on the touchscreen, AND there's also this mic for voice controls. So when Mama says blow, it means to literally blow into the mic. Blow, mind you, not spit. Kym's congratulatory message: "Yeh! U did e blow job!"

"-_- indeed...

I went to watch 12 Lotus with Kym yesterday and, once again, bawled my eyes out just as I did last year when we went to watch Royston Tan's 881. I'm a complete, utter and total sucker when it comes to sad stories set to tragic music, and 12 Lotus is about as tragic as Hokkien songs go. He probably saw everyone crying buckets when the girls sang the song in 881 and decided to make a movie revolving around that song. Jerk.

Warning, some spoilers ahead, but I know all you lousy kantangs probably aren't going to watch it anyway because it's so below you. Whatever, be as banana as you like, it's a fucking good show, and if you don't watch it just because it's not from Hollywood and doesn't star big names or because it uses a lot of, gasp, Hokkien and that's so crass, it's your own loss. But in case you guys do go and watch (perhaps shamed into supporting local films or stunned by how much I loved it), I put the detailed spoilers in black font, so you need to do the highlight with mouse thing to see what I wrote.

It moved me so much, after getting back from a crazy day and night out with Kym, I couldn't sleep because I was so filled with frustrated injustice over Lotus' fate. In case you don't understand a word of Hokkien and can't understand the subtitles, the movie isn't a direct "translation" of the song, which is about a hostess of the shady "midnite lounge" sort forced to sell her body by her evil stepmom.

The movie is about a getai singer who keeps getting abused by the men in her life. Her father beats her (and fuck man, watching the whipping scene with that fucked up line made me sooooo angry I had to remind myself the guy's just acting and not go stalk him at Caldecott Hill and sock him one in the balls; "You know why.") and gambles away all the money she earns from singing. If that's not enough, he pockets $10,000 from this getai singer and basically sells his daughter off to sing with her. But this fucker turns out to be a con man who's trying to trap her in a situation where she has no choice but to sleep with this triad boss (who he is actually working for) to save his sorry ass.

The part that got to me the most was after she knelt down, kowtowing profusely to the gangsters who barged into her house to stop them from beating her boyfriend up, she agreed to go with them, knowing full well what lay in store, and she went over to that fucker, smoothed his hair, and said, "You stay at home and wait for me. I'll buy supper back for you."

KANNINABUEHCHAOCHEEBYE CAN???!?!?!?!?!!! I wanted to go and set fire to the screen I was so fucking angry.

I guess I should be happy that Royston Tan revealed that the jerk lied to her before that scene, so it's easier to focus my anger.

So after the traumatic events, Lotus goes completely mad and relives the nightmare every night, refusing to step out of the house for fear of the bad people outside. And despite it all, she's managed to delude herself into a happy place. Until another man comes to her door, and he looks exactly like the fucker who cheated her so many years ago. And the sad story happens again.

Thing is, the second time round, the con man does it because he's desperate for money, being conned himself by this woman into a truly fucked up situation. It makes it slightly less evil, but wah piang, I finally understood the phrase tui sim kua. You really feel like pounding your chest so that it somehow alleviates the pain within. And it's so fucking sad because in her madness, she thought it was him, but in a moment of lucidity, she realizes he isn't. But despite it all, she still let him into her life (he sought refuge to avoid his debtors), and took care of him. But the only thing she wouldn't give him, he had to take, believing the words of a mad woman that some cheap ass trinket was actually worth tens of thousands of dollars.

The story struck a chord deep within me because it's one of my biggest fears. That I would love someone so much and give up so much of myself to come back and find out that the sacrifice was for nothing. And it really got to me because in the end, it ended up as rape anyway, so why didn't the gangsters just grab her and rape her? Why put her through that sort of psychological trauma? It's just fucking cruel. Raping someone isn't the sort of thing that drives a person mad. Realizing that you've been betrayed by someone you loved and trusted and was willing to sacrifice your body for is.

I guess if nothing else its a cautionary tale for women everywhere. Never trust men. As the abusive father says, "Bo ai, ma na wu tiah, bo tiah, ma na wu ai." Without love, where got pain, without pain, where got love? Good point indeed. Whether you're male or female, love is always the thing that gives you the biggest highs and lows. Like some kind of fuck you up fairy dust, a highly addictive cocktail of uppers and downers. Mom really was right, ask not what you can do for your man, but what your man can do for you. And until you're very certain he's not just some evil conman out to ready your pussy for some fat triad boss, do not even think about letting your guard down.

Don't ask me. Ask Lotus.

I made the mistake of not sending one single flyer back with the "No, I do not wish to be a member" back and am now a member of the SDU. Don't be so shocked; once you graduate from uni, you'll be automatically made a member of the government's good ol' social engineering department. You have to tell them you don't want to be a part of it to avoid the monthly newsletters with tips and tricks from some 90s adolescent magazine about how to hook a mate.

And once again, I made another mistake. I'd added this Speed-dating app on Facebook because someone or another sent it to me. Again, I did nothing about it. Then, exploring it one day while I was bored, I thought I'd just see what it was before I deleted it.

Baaaad mistake.

It insisted that I fill out my profile before I can check out the app. So I did. Then I took a look around and realized it wasn't one of those popularity contest apps like Spark. It was a true-blue dating app (which was disturbing because one of my married friends came up as a top speed dater. WTF, dude?!). Literally, you go through people's pictures and profiles and you message them to become friends. So I left it be and went to do more interesting things.

Baaaaad mistake.

I logged on today, just a day after I'd activated the thingy, and noticed that I had an obscene number of notifications. Normally I just ignore them. (What kind of a life would I have if I bothered to respond to every poke and every random invite you no life people keep hurling around cyberspace? That's right. No life.) But it was ridiculous even for my standards, so I took a look. And Speed-Date was on every line.

I went onto the app, and simply could not stop the SMLJ that flew out of my mouth. (Which, I have to say, is just that much more cathartic than WTF.) I had about 44 messages from random guys who apparently have some kind of a fairy fetish (my profile pic is the one Eugene took of me at the kiddy story telling gig). One even commented that I'm "quite big".

Si mi lan jiao indeed.

While it's refreshing to have people think my tits are big (where do you live? AA Island?), I kinda felt sorry for that guy, because even if I were single and desperate, I'm not entirely certain boob praise is the way to go for finding a date.

Well, good to know my mom's friend wasn't kidding when she said they'd line up to Tuas for me. Ok lah, maybe more like Ang Mo Kio, but hey, that's not too bad.

But sorry boys, I'm taken. Quite happily too, now.

Yeah, didn't take much to figure out I was pretty pissed at Elton these last few days, huh? As much as I tried to keep from lambasting him here, there was still a lot of pent up anger that had to go somewhere. We're all better now, so I guess my posts can go back to less angsty things like nail art and hair colour.

I love him. I'm not big enough to say "even with his faults" though, because otherwise we wouldn't have been arguing. But I love him enough to look past them and not insist on him changing them.  It doesn't mean I like his flaws, but until they actually impact upon me (like I was depending on him to do something and he didn't and I ended up in the shit because of it), I'll just close one eye.

And that's usually the default OS for the relationship. I think I'm quite chill as a girlfriend. But occasionally things happen, and we have Words. Then he realizes that if I want to, I can be psycho too. All it takes for him to get me back to normal is to remind me that he loves me and that my fears are unfounded. Unfortunately, this sometimes takes a while because he needs to go through the defensive stage and the attack me back stage and the I'm So Dao stage before he finally figures out why I'm upset. It's not like I don't tell him, k? He just keeps interrupting when I bring up examples to illustrate my point to point out that He's Right And Justified In Doing Whatever It Is and I'm Getting Angry For No Reason.

If there was one thing I demanded from him, it was that he end our relationship before starting up with another girl or if he just got bored of me. The thought of being a spare tire is just sickening; I deserve to be top priority, dammit. If I'm no longer number one, then let me go, because it's only fair to me. Hey, I stick with him because he's my number one. There's no one else I want to be with, not even Mr. I Like Your Big Boobs.

But even if things should come to an end for whatever reason, I seriously doubt Speed-Date is going to yield my lifelong partner. Don't do it, people. It's not the single, desperate and ugly who go there. Worse, it's the lazy, desperate and cheating on spouse sort who do.

Oh ya, since the last post, my desirability rating on Spark dropped to 99.15 percent and Elton's rose a little. Perhaps some people are trying to even the odds. That, or while we were fighting Elton went to tweak his profile. Either way, I don't care, I'm happy. And I don't need reserves either; I just need a mirror to admire my chio self with.

I remember vaguely the old He Man cartoons, with Skeletor the bad guy and He Man in his loin cloth yelling, "I HAVE THE POWEEEEEERRRRRR!!!" That's about it, really. The specifics of the story and the side kicks have faded with the years. At least, I think it was He Man who went around making that declaration at such an obnoxious volume. I can't be certain anymore.

It does strike one as weird, because this is a big beefy guy with a big sword running around most self-assuredly in a loin cloth and boots with the fur (with the fur!) and still, he felt the need to constantly assert that he, not you, not anyone else, had The Power (tm). Granted, there was some skeleton guy in a hood who kept trying to take it from him, but you'd assume that if he had the confidence to pull that outfit off, he should just know that he had the power and be done with it.

Now, I understand. Sometimes you do need to remind yourself. I realized over the years I've put the power over my emotions in the hands of other people, sometimes even strangers I don't know. All it took was for one random waiter to be slightly rude to me to set me off for the whole day, until I managed to blog it out, trashing him, his entire family, everyone who thinks he's "ok" and all other people like him. I'm quite an all-round hater; I play no favourites.

But thanks to the joy of being unemployed, I've had time to examine it, and I realized I had let them get to me. Said waiter was probably rude to me because he was having a shitty time and wanted to spread the shit around. And by getting upset, I was taking the shit away from him. He could go on and be happy now that he'd infected someone else, and I was stuck having to deal with it.

So it's time to take my power back. I have the power. Not you. Let's say that again. I HAVE THE POWER. NOT YOU. Be it your boss, your partner, your "friend", your parent or just some random stranger who's trying to make you miserable because they themselves have shitty lives, take a breath, imagine He Man in your head doing his thang, then imagine their shit missile hitting your power and crumbling into a million thousand pieces. You control how you feel, not them. They are nothing. Absolutely nothing. In the epic movie that is your life, you choose whether they are named characters or nothing more than Guy #4 at the very bottom of the credits.

Of course, it's easier said than done. When enraged, I just want to hurt people. I go all out in button pushing mode. But I realized this. Anger is a negative emotion. It gives you a high at first, then it just gives you such a low. It's no different from sadness, ultimately. It detracts from you, it keeps you from being happy. Life really isn't that long, why let it happen?

Over the years, I've shed more tears because of other people than because of myself. I've cried because of the way other people behave and that's stupid, because they clearly didn't give a damn about how I felt, or they wouldn't have done it, so why should I bother even feeling for them anymore? No need to have that big a heart, because what people always do is to trample on it. Just because you love someone or you care for someone doesn't mean you need to give your all. They don't always reciprocate anyway. Heck, even random strangers can take your well-meaning gestures and spit on them, when you did nothing to them, what more the people you know?

That's over for me now. I choose what I want to feel and who I want to feel for and how much. Can you believe I used to give a damn about how service people felt? About whether they liked me? Why should I give a damn? So long I'm not rude, I behave civilly towards you, that's enough. I don't owe you shit. If anything, I'm paying you money, and if giving you a livelihood isn't a good enough reason for you to be friendly, I can find someone else who's willing to take my money and give me a smile.

But, you say, it's so much easier to deal with strangers. What if the asshole making me feel bad all the time is my partner? I used to get so upset with my boyfriends over things that they did, but they tended to be so reluctant to apologize and so nonchalant about it that hey, since they don't feel much, I decided I shan't feel much either.

That's the trick, I think. No need to raise a big fuss, try to change people, get so upset about things. It is his life, after all. You're just a part of it and he's just a part of yours. Just as you can choose another shop to buy things from, you can choose another person who fits your bill better. There's no law saying you MUST be with a particular person. Even marriage has divorce. Mom was right. Happy, then stay together. Not happy, then split up. Lor. Why the drama?

You don't even have to do it straight away. Just stick around until some pressing issue forces you to end it, or some hotter person comes around, like what Elton's new best friend Yuhan is doing. Best of both worlds. There's no pressure to better things because you know you're going to end it eventually, so you don't get upset anymore because things aren't great. But you still have a relationship so you're not lonely. Cowardly? Nah, just practical.

Remember. you have the power. That includes who you want to be with. This person you're crying your eyes out over his wicked ways might not be anything more when your eyes shut for the final time than just Boyfriend #3.

What if they're your parents? Parents can be trained. You're pretty much stuck with them unless you're willing to renounce them and move to another country or something. So even if they go all out to make you feel worthless, remember, you have the power. Just walk away. Remind yourself that while they may have given birth to you, random retarded teenagers with working reproductive organs can give birth as well, but that doesn't make them fitting parents. If they constantly make you feel bad about yourself, the problem is no longer you, but them being toxic people.

It took me years of avoiding extended contact with my dad and withdrawing every time he threw a tantrum before he realized that explosive way of behaving just wasn't going to cut it. It had to be that way with him because he's very traditional, very closed off, the wah si lim lao peh kind (literally, in this case). Any sort of attempt to defend myself was considered as rebellion and had to be squashed. So I just refused to interact. I still talked to him, I just didn't spend time with him, or bothered with lengthy conversations. Now, my dad and I have a much better relationship than ever before. He has not yelled at me ever since I started uni.

Next up is convincing my mom that starting sentences with, "Ni bu hui" or "Don't you know" is hurtful and negative. Tricky, that.

As for friends? Well, if they make you upset and angry on a regular basis, they're not friends. Trust me. They're just scavenger fish swimming alongside you to see if they can take advantage of any good deal you found first. Or just to take advantage of you. Your friends should make you feel happy and good about yourself and want to be around them. You shouldn't be going home after meeting them and stare at your life and think it sucks. If you do, if you are, please, find better friends. Find actual friends.

Or at the very least, take back your power and don't let them make you feel anything you don't want to feel. If they go on and on bragging about their oh-so-wonderful boyfriend, just listen and go, "Huh? Is that right?" with this slightly amused look on your face and nothing more. Act a little surprised, completely bo chup, and keep it to that. Say things like, "Wow, that's great", "You must be so happy" and never react anything more than just blandly happy. Keep this up for a few minutes and watch your supposed friend explode. Or start to exaggerate wildly.

What's the problem? You weren't being negative, you were quite positive, in fact, why is she suddenly so agitated? Because she was feeding off your jealousy and your insecurity. The worse she made you feel about your relationship, the better she felt. Most likely, she was making up half of the things she was saying.

Protect yourself, people. Protect your heart. Good stuff, happy stuff, makes it grow. But with all things, take it in moderation, because once you get greedy, you put too much of it out, it's so vulnerable out there and you can get hurt so bad by strangers and by people you thought you could trust.

I have the power. Not you. You have the power. Not them.