About Me Malaysian, Kuala Lumpur, Aries, loves red, hates cockroaches, big money spender, financially broke,
loves the clouds during daylights and the stars when night falls, i don't have anyone special, yet, so email me...(ask me).
When some people, sometimes
strangers and sometimes friends, “Why are you like this?” “Why do you like
men?” “Don’t you know that it is wrong?” “Why are you going against normalcy?”
“Have you tried having a relationship with women?”
In my mind, I always scream
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!” but the actual me, the real me, I still smile. Sometimes
in shocked. Other times in awe. At how you think that everything that goes
against your standard of ‘normal’ is in fact abnormal and should be fixed
immediately.
Do you think I chose to be
like this?
To be the laughing stock
wherever I go?
Do you think I don’t know that
people talk? Condemning the likes of us. Spitting out hateful words and slurs
they passed on to their young ones.
I am afraid of people. I am
angry at how I still badly judge people with whom I share this part of me. I
want to share, to let people know, who I really am. But at the same time I want
to cry my eyes out for not being the ‘normal’ guy I should be.
The pressure was all around.
From peers, community and the world. From religion and family. From fear of the
end of the world. What the fuck is wrong with me? Do you really think I chose
to like what I like?
Please.
I like what I like but I never
act on it. I like my ex who is now happily married with 2 kids and he obviously
still like me too despite being bloody married with 2 super cute kids. But you
don’t see me hang out with him on his lunch hour re-kindling whatever we had. I
know we would be too weak so our best bet is to keep away from each other.
Avoiding people is what I do best.
I keep my family close, but my
friends closer. I know I should cherished my family more but my friends are the
family I have chosen. If I want to be who I want to be, I’d be me with my
friends. I want to have lots of laughs and to forget whatever crazy things
crossing my minds. I chose to be happy and not alone. I chose to be happy and
not act crazy like sleeps around, or worst with married men.
Therefore, when you asks me
those questions, I don’t even know what to answer. Because I don’t have the
answers. Because in the end, all of these questions can only be answered by
God. The one who made me the way I am. The one who made me like this, but still
try my very best to be a better person and a kind man.
And if you have these
questions, best if you could keep ‘em to yourself. Because I don’t want to
insult you and whatever god you pray for with my answers.
The last guy I dated has 2 kids now. I went to his daughter's birthday party just recently.
...
I'm an idiot. I know.
...
The thing is, he texted me like, "Hey hi. Where are you?"
And I went, "I'm in KL. Why? What's up bunny?"
And he told me about the party. And I was expecting you know like this huge party with lotsa people. You can imagine my surprise when it was just a small gathering. His parents-his wife and kids-his sister and husband and a kid-the parents' 2 friends-and me. Oh and our roommates when we were in uni. With his family.
I was like, What.The.Bloody.Fuck.
...
His sister greeted me at the door with, "Heyyyy, lamanya tak jumpa?! Kenapa lama dah tak datang?" Ermmm... Should I tell her why tho? Anyway, they were still nice. His mum and dad included. And I felt so fucked up back then. I should pay a visit to them every now and then. My mum raised me well, and I felt guilty so suddenly.
...
When I came home that night I felt worse. I shouldn't call him bunny. He's not my bunny anymore. It was a habit I should have immediately change. I should move forward and not lingering to find out if things could be changed. If he is happy. If we could work...
Sometimes I’m really afraid. Of sudden death. Of mutilation. Of stroke. Of not being able to walk. Of not having someone who loved me back. Of dying alone. Of brain death. Of god. Of hell. Of not being able to breath. Of not being able to smell. Of losing my eye sights.
Of almost everything.
I know I shouldn’t be so paranoid. But I can’t help it. Sometimes I really hate number 4 that I will count the urinals in men restroom and pick not the #4 urinal.
I hate number 4 to the extent of requesting my hotel room, or my seat number on plane/bus/train not to have number 4. I even try to avoid seats with D in it.
Like “oh you have seat 44D. enjoy your flight sir!”
“ermmm… I’m sorry but, can I get another seat?”
Not that I’m fussy or anything, I just don’t want number 4 to be associated with me.
I used to hate the number 13. But I slowly incorporated it into my life. Like setting the stereo volume in my car to 13.
Well. Just that actually. Baby steps.
Anyhow, I know that me being paranoid is baseless. Stupid. And made my heart beating at unusual rate from time to time. Anxious about everything. About if my laptop suddenly burst into flames. About if my tyre blow up on my face when I try to check the pressure. Or when I keep thinking people are coming to beat me up at the ATM, restaurant cashier. At the supermarket. Or hit my car on the road.
I live in constant fear. And I feel helpless sometimes. I want to roll into a ball and cry. I want to get away and cry. But I can’t.
I don’t know.
Sometimes I think about ending my life. So I don’t have to suffer all these things. I think about it and I refuse to do it because my mum might be super angry about it, and I definitely go to hell.
Wow. It has been nearly 3 months since the last post. I might have been busy from work and those annoying petty stuffs that have been bothering me since June. And I have yet to update my insurance policy (both personal and company provided).
One of the many update is that I moved back to my mom’s last August. Trying to settle myself in my brother’s old room. A lot of furniture need to be bought for that room.
Oh yeah.
I had sex with a guy in Bangkok. It was mutual and no trading of money took place.
This was when I came back from that job in Thailand around middle of July.
Have you ever wondered that one day, one of your many good friends would turn out to be a bitch and pathetic liar?!
I didn’t.
Because when I choose my friends, I did it carefully. And once I’ve considered them as my friends, I’m opening up the real me to them. Who I am, what I do, where I lives, the naked me. And when I do that, I expect them to do the same. To be whoever they are in my presence. No lies. No hiding themselves.
But of course I wouldn’t expect them to be dead honest about themselves. I don’t want to know any detail info about them. About their birthmarks or the number printed on their pay-cheque. Or anything related to even personal stuff like the fights you had with your dad or your mom or your bloody siblings. I don’t want to know all that.
I just want to know simple things like your birth date. Like what’s your job. Where do you lives. Well, that’s it. That’s what I need to know. Oh… maybe I wanted to know what kind of men you like, so that if I know any, I might introduce u to them.
And when I found out one of my good friends is a bitch and a pathetic liar, I was surprised. I am usually very particular when picking friends.
Because to me, friends are forever.
And when they are not, when they turned out to be bitchy fat liars that they are, I just don’t fucking care.
Now that the best sports event ever (except for the
Olympics men diving, men swimming and men gymnastics) is ongoing, I find myself
sitting in front of the tele at my work station with eyes glued on the screen
for most games. I look like a person who loves football, like gazillion
trazillion others, but the thing is I am not. I was watching these matches
because I’m screening their players.
Yes.
Oh please. Everybody does it.
I love the way the camera always manages to capture these
young sportsmen faces clearly, and sometimes when I’m real lucky, the camera
zoom in and I could see the bulges and sexy calves when they were running
chasing that sonofbitch of a ball. And then I memorised their shirt number and
country so I can google later. And then, I google the name with the word
‘shirtless’ added to it.
A friend of mine sent me this link; because she knows I would
appreciate it. I did. Go check it out.
Now I pretty much have a list of who I want to marry and
have 2.5 children with.
Seriously, don't tell me. I know I need a better hobby.
Here’s a thought. Can 3 person be together in a love
relationship? MMM or FFF or FFM or MMF? The first 2 would be homosexual for all
3 person and the last 2 are combination of bi and hetero. Can this be achieved
in real world?
Another thought that come to mind is nepotism. In any
love relationship, parents-children, siblings, uncles/aunts-nephews/nieces,
grandparents/grandchildren and best friends, there will be one person who we
love the most. No matter how you say you never favourite anyone, you actually
have one. Like seriously. The one you hang out with the most, the one you are
comfortable talking to, that person is your favourite.
So, applying the same theory to love-sexual relationship,
how can one loves 2 person equally?
