Singapore is quite possibly the most boring place on Earth. it makes me wonder why tourists bother coming here in the first place. but hey, we're generating plenty of revenue and sex with foreign men, so i'll keep my mouth shut. or maybe open, in relation to the latter point. point is, our country has very little news that really makes or breaks the world. our geographical location makes us pretty well-protected against natural disasters of most sorts, so no New Orleans-like situations around here. our economy is pretty buoyant these days unlike the economic recession of 1997. our arts scene is possibly as controversial and inspirational as the 9 o'clock news. it's always the profitable and popular stuff like musicals, musicals and oh, did i mention musicals?

our crime rates are quite meh and humorous actually, sometimes even bordering on pure bastardry. murders normally involve rudimentary weapons best described as 'i reached for the first weapon i saw, which was a spatula' rather than drive-by shootings. our local thugs rob old people (there's the bastardry bit). local fights are mostly bar room brawls and street gang clashes, a lot of it revolving around a night out to the club and opening ten bottles of Chivas Regals at one go. Chivas seems to be the #1 choice of the street gangs that get into a lot of fights. indeed, this is the Chivas Life.

given the boring context here in Singapore, it's quite possible that our locals have therefore found an obsession to build up their lives with. food, to be precise. we have A LOT of food in Singapore. there are four primary races in Singapore to begin with (in no order of merit or preference for those racially-sensitive folks) - Malays, Indians, Chinese and the last very fondly labelled as 'Others'. given the Singaporean culture to profit on obsessions, there have been many methods that have helped build the culinary industry. we have reality programmes designed to spot the best of the best of specific foods. we have guidebooks collaborated that offer the top 10 of (insert random local cuisine). i even know of a specific couple in my church that keeps one of these guidebooks in their car (a Beemer). they make it a point to visit a food outlet mentioned in the guidebook and cross it out. when i last talked to them, they were already 75% through the very much dog-earred book that sat beside the equally dog-earred street directory.

none the less, it's with much thanks to the buoyant economy in the recent years that we've been seeing a lot of foreign fine dining popping up all over the place. French, Middle Eastern, Vietnamese, Burmese, Thai, Korean, Japanese, etc. you name the country, it's with a quick google that you can find it on our sunny shores. it's also with thanks to our Singaporean obsession with food and our knack for business, consumer versions of these fine dining places have been popping up for those who can't afford it and those who are ignorant of the sequence of culinary utensils on the dining table. we even have niche restaurants like Curry Udon places and Tapas bars. and yet, people are still complaining about the lack of proper food in this good country. a comment moan i often here from friends and colleagues goes something like 'But there's nothing here to eat!!' behind them would be an entire row of food court outlets offering local delights and western meals.

like i always tell people, 'Food is a blessing. Variety is therefore, Godsent and perhaps prudent Economics.' i know it doesn't make much sense. but then again, neither does the fact that we are whining about the lack of food in a country that has an abundance of it.

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it's raining heavily. and not just any rain. it's the type that has monotone clouds, monotone lightning, monotone rain drops. if sound could be described as monotone as well, then it would be apt for the thunder. there's a faint smell of freshly-cut grass mixed in with the rain. and true enough, when the scene pans downwards, we see the horizon defining the sky and an endless field of green grass.

in the distance, we see two people. presumably lovers, presumably star-crossed. like a hundred-metre dash, they run fast. like a war film trailer about lover separated by politics, they run with no regrets. like two magnets separated by a science teacher teaching a class about north and south poles, they dash to each other like it was a scientific law that designated they do so.

the two lovers clash in a hug. they don't kiss. they don't make love on the field. they don't do anything else other than wrap each other in an embrace that possibly explains the context of the entire situation.

two people. a man and a woman. he closes his eyes and cradles her. she is crying tears of reunion. the tears have a special glint though. possibly because they've been diluted with the monotone rain droplets, spelling out a short-lived reunion. she has the face of an angel no less, despite the fact that she's crying.

the hug lasts for no more than a minute. two cars arrive.

and that's when the dream ends.


for most gay people, i'm sure that there's some point in their lives that they've asked themselves THE question. it's a question that maybe spells out self-doubt. maybe guilt. or regret. or whatever negative connotations that come about when i reveal the question in the next few sentences. well i'm not sure whether it's most gay people or it's just me. but it's only recently that i've begun to question myself. 'Could i turn straight again and live with it?' can i revert back to the lifestyle that i left behind oh-so-many years ago? can i drop an ideal that i built my life from, right here, right now, and not look back? can i go back to sex with the supposedly designated gender that society says i ought to be having with? could i possibly get married with a woman and settle down? can i actually deal with having children? when i ponder over such thoughts, the only question that i can truly answer is the one about children. and you know how i feel about children, preferring most of them to be under the care of a Miss Havisham sort of character.

it's definitely a daunting question, even for the most mature gay person. we've spent so many years working hard to get to the point where we are today. we built our lives around values that contravene most of the world's norms. and i can assure you that in the midst of meeting many gay people, most homosexuals have forgotten to add a few accommodating straight people in their list of friends. so you see, it's not like a change of underwear for a gay person to just turn the tables on the sexuality. or to put it in a crude metaphoric 'hur hur hur' sense, it's a bit like wearing a really kinky piece of women's undergarment. you have to take a while to figure out to put which limb into which hole of the undergarment in question.

it is with recent concern though that i've been pondering this question of turning back to the path of the straight and narrow. of course, these thoughts don't just pop by one fine day and rear their ugly head. it's perhaps destiny and fate and the circumstances that they've thrown in that give situations their context. in my case, it's mainly feelings and dreams. well, not dreams of death and dying like i mentioned before in my previous posts. i used to dream a lot about dying, with my playing the role as the person who dies. not a very fun thing to do when you experience the various methods of death with the feelings of pain that my mind conjures up when i'm sleeping. the good thing is that these days, i'm don't dream so much about death anymore. it's as if my mind has decided to move on from horror movies and psycho thrillers and perhaps start watching something else more substantial.

substantial in this case refers to the stuff that you often find in your local film festival. the type that has twenty second shots of water dripping, twenty seconds of silence and another twenty seconds of an upclose shot of a vagina. all for no apparent reason other than to dare the boundaries of film mores and perhaps artistic license. well okay, my dream are not that incomprehensible, but it does give me that feeling when i wake up after my post-night shift afternoon sleeps. the electric fan would be blowing in a corner of the room, the brother would be in another watching streaming movies and downloading porn at the same time, the window reveals grey clouds of impending rain, and i would be up in bed, hearing the sounds of the afternoon heartland soundtrack

i wake up from one indie film, only to be in an indie film of mine.

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money is indeed, a really sensitive topic within gay relationships. for the typical straight couple, tradition, norms and a superego have perhaps more or less defined that the guy should mostly pay for dinner, movie tickets, coffee and the hotel room. if the girl is prudent and really nice, she'll even bring along condoms, lube and her best friend (insert random heterosexual chortle here: hur hur hur!!). for the two men in a homosexual relationship though, financial matters are more of a grey and rainbow-coloured area. after all, tradition, culture and superegos are not exactly familiar with gay society and its social mechanics. should it be defined by age as in 'i'm older so i'll be picking up the tab'? should it take into consideration professions (doctors and janitors in a relationship)? or even better, sexual position preference (top picks up the tab because he's more manly)! which is why i believe that to avoid all the money-related conflicts ('i paid for all your stupid sparkling water during your fine dining meals, you bitch!'), it's perhaps better if gay people just go dutch on most things.

in my short few years of being gay so far, i have seen my fair share of couples breaking up over money matters. a typical example would be a couple having joint accounts and one partner in the relationship being a spendthrift, fancying indulgence and constant extravagance. it's a problem that isn't prejudiced with age though. even young couples that earn barely enough to club on the weekends are plagued by it. you know how relationships are - expensive and as stable as a chemical reaction. and you thought that the young couldn't possibly break up over financial matters.

of course, for all the breakfast-coloured sunshine and silver linings in this world, i have also known of really giving and generous couples who make sure that money doesn't become an issue in any conflicts that may arise in the course of love. i know i sound like a marriage counsellor here, but openness is one factor that really helps. other options involve going steady with a simple man or pre-nups. but speaking from a more practical perspective, avoiding extravagance and the impracticalities of life is seriously the most useful solution. for some reason or other, the average gay person simply loves extravagance and the empowerment of luxuries. is it a by-product of the Dorothy Dollar? or just simply the media and its constant barrage of the ideal gay man in a pair Gucci slippers and designer threads? and since we're on the topic of Gucci slippers, i'm actually dying to see the day when someone slips and fall while wearing a pair (this deserves another straight man chortle: hur hur hur!).

i once saw a young gay chap of about twenty. to put it simply and without prejudice, he's the skinny and effeminate friend that you prolly know of or have one of. i like them because they are generally hilarious and vivacious people with plenty of attitude. this guy in question though, was decked from head to toe in black and brands. huge logo-ed ones, to be precise. he was what one could call as your definitive fashionista. from the top, there was a black Lacoste polo tee covering his skinny frame. a pair of black Abercrombie jeans hugged what was left of his anorexic butt. he carried a black Louis Vuitton carrier that prolly weighed more than him. what seemed like an original pair of Gucci slippers (i couldn't jolly well reach down and feel for the fabric can i?) announced his entrance with a really noisy 'piak-piak' sound. the crowning glory was a pair of Gucci sunglasses that screamed 'I am Nicole Richie, here me roar' (meow!). admittedly, i have nothing against style and luxury. in fact, i shouldn't have a say in style as i can't tell the difference between a birkin and a bag. the only issue that i have here is that i find it rather sad to see someone covering himself and what's left of his dignity in branded and logo-ed goods. everything on him has a logo the size of Zimbabwe. from the trade mark LV motif, to the gold-embossed Gucci frames.

and oh, did i mention that i happened to see this guy in the blue-collared worker's main mode of public transportation - the train.
yes, class meets crass.

i've never been one to spend tonnes of money on the various impracticalities of life. not that i'm a prudent person when it comes to all things financial. after all, i am the guy who signed up for insurance with a three hundred dollar per month premium. not forgetting another three hundred for the household expenses and another two-fifty for my education. none the less, i know i'm treading on really sensitive ground here given that 'impracticalities' is a rather loosely-defined term. i need my cigarettes just as the same way you might need to get your daily dose of a protein shake (which i used to, but now don't). point is, i know what i ought and ought not to be spending on. take for example, i would jolly well love to stride into the nearest Lacoste boutique and say something chi chi like 'Can i have ten of this in ten different colours?' but obviously i don't because not only do i have to put my ass on the street market for ten month after the whole Lacoste hoo-hah, but also it's just purely impractical. and silly. and foolish. and retarded. but 'nuff said.

this trip to Thailand (yes, it's another Thailand post, sorry to bore you guys to death with my Sawadee stories) has really been one revolving a lot around money. to begin with, i have already burned a hole in my pockets just to get there and get bored to death with the family. i found the perfect solution for this though. whenever the parents went shopping, i quickly went my separate way and found myself a nice coffee join to start reading, smoking and people-watching. the brother of course, had no choice but to tag along with the parents because my mother believes that he will get kidnapped by tuk tuk drivers or Southern infidels. plus he didn't have a lot of money to begin with. i contributed a hundred bucks to the brother's expenditure in Thailand. and a few one cent coins just in case he needed the loo (you have to pay for entrance into the toilets in Mah Boon Krong).

everyone of course bought plenty of things. everyone that is, except the father whom i can't recall bought much. prolly still saving for that HDTV that he so wants. i went on a book-spending spree, buying more than ten novels to keep me pre-occupied in Thailand and public transport in Singapore for at least two months. i bought cheap tees, pants, shorts and stocked up on a barrage of cheap beauty products. i even had money left to buy souvenirs for colleagues. i actually went there with a list of things i had in mind to buy. so i was pretty much left with an excessive amount of money which i spent on really impractical things like Wireless Fidelity in the hotel room. in case you didn't know, Wireless Fidelity is more commonly known as WIFI, not to be mistaken for something along the lines of fidelity and promiscuity which in this case might be a male masseur in my hotel room. but as i said, WIFI in the hotel room is silly. and foolish. and retarded. and impractical given that i'm in Thailand, the land of a thousand smiles and many more internet cafes. but i don't do silly things without a reason.

the brother, being a young teenager and a real narcissist bought several cheap tees, a pair of sunglasses and one item of much decadence. the item in question here, being an Adidas sweater. it was white and had stitched-on red stripes at the side in the trademark triple stripes of Adidas. i would have been fine if it had been a simple Adidas jacket. but no, on the back of the jacket was the huge word 'JAPAN'. and thus, i spent a half of the trip in Bangkok watching the Chinese brother wandering around in Bangkok with the ching-chong face made up of won-tons and Chinese takeaways. i couldn't help but laugh internally when i see authentic Japanese tourists in their street-styled clothes walking past him. unsurprisingly, none of them wore apparel which stated their nationality. this also prolly explains why my mom is paranoid about the tuk tuk drivers and Southern Infidels kidnapping the brother.

my mother was more prudent with her purchases though. she bought accessories. she bought clothes. she even bought a Thai silk nightie that looks really nice. alas, she bought a fake Longchamp bag as well. being no style guru, i can't tell you the exact name of the bag in question. but it's the trademark one that comes in a variety of colours and the brown flap over the top. there's a logo emblazoned into the brown flap which my mind captures as 'the guy on th ehorse in mid-jump'. i was in the hotel room when my mother returned from shopping with the proud tote in hand. but the moment i got to touch the leather flap, i had problems convincing myself that it was a genuine item. plus, 'the guy on the horse in mid-jump' was slightly faded when i recalled seeing the original product. in fact, the guy looked better if he were on something more ancient like a tapestry or a brochure for medieval holidays in Europe.

but enough with what my family are buying in Thailand. the norm of the our short holidays in Thailand would go something like that: the first half of the day would be spent out on the streets of Thailand's coffee joins and shopping centres. the other half though, would be mainly in the hotel rooms. you see, just when i thought i had the legendary 'iron stomach' that could ingest and digest any food from all over the world, i developed a bout of indigestion on the second day of the trip. i didn't seek any medical attention as there are three nurses in my family, me included. the culprit here i suspect, would be the Chang Mai rice that i consumed in the latter-mentioned country.

now, Chang Mai rice is different from your typical Thai rice that we Singaporeans mainly consume. it actually comes in clumps (which sounds rather lewd - 'I come in clumps!'), it's sticky and it's hard (which sounds equally lewd). not to be mistaken for glutinous rice, Chang Mai rice is the type that suitable for extended storage due to its lack of moisture and 'clumpiness'. in fact, it's perfect for food fights over the dinner table. if you run out of Chang beer bottles to throw in Chang Mai, grab some local rice and hurl it over to the nearest drunken tourist for a grievous injury to the eye.

out of the seven days on the trip, six of them were tainted with fevers and the constant purging of solely liquid. everything else was just clumping along in my stomach and intestines and remaining undigested. use your imagination when i say that 'whatever went in, came out looking like it never went in'. i permanently felt like puking half the time. all i could do when i watched my parents and the brother pigging out on steamboat and pizzas was exude a greenish tinge on my face. it was with this that i decided to spend the second half of most of the days in Thailand under the cosy comforters in my hotel room. i watched plenty of Nat Geo, Discovery Channel and MTV, suffice to say. i learned a lot about Global Warming. i was humoured by Mythbusters. and i saw how Janet Jackson danced with four (or was it five?) glowing balls in 'Feedback'. by the fifth day however, i was bored stiff. mainly because cable TV is all about reruns. plus i had already completed three of the books i purchased in Thailand.

the cool part though was that i brought along my Fujitsu laptop with me to Thailand. the not-so-cool bit was that i had no internet connection. i had porn on my laptop though. and as many guys would attest too, porn is only fun till the point you come. you can have 9 hours worth of porn in your storage space, but if you come within 9 minutes, it's pretty much is useless, isn't it? not that i come in 9 minutes, mind you. or in clumps for that matter. it was with this ultimate boredom that i decided to purchase WIFI in my hotel room, a three day pass to the world wide web. i spent the last two days in my hotel room mainly playing World of Warcraft from the afternoon till the night. this is what i mean by 'impracticalities'.

despite spending on exorbitant internet access, i still had quite a large amount of money to contend with. close to three thousand baht, if i recall. falling short of a massage, i couldn't really think of anything else i wanted to spend on. besides, if anyone were to massage me at that point of indigestion, i would most definitely have hurled. and vomit-stained towels are really not that widely accepted at most massage parlours in this world. even the shady ones that offer extra 'services'. so the idea of something that i could spend on came to me at what i defined as 'The Gayest Moment' of this family-oriented trip to Thailand. as i might have already declared proudly, i didn't have any sex in Thailand.

what transpired was a random trip with the family to the huge shopping complex formerly known as the World Trade Centre in Bangkok. it was one of those places that were more attunede to the foreigners that go there for holidays. there were plenty of boutiques and various other chi chi places selling luxury goods. one of these upmarket places was of course, the Zen Department stall. 'The Gayest Moment' of course happened when i passed by the men's underwear section, no less. like your typical men's underwear section, there were really artistic mannequins of Herculean torsos clad in underwear. and you know what they say about art imitating/irritating life. as if one cue, there were several equally Herculean men wandering around the rows and rows of undergarments. some were obviously gay. some were obviously couples. for some curious reason, all of them were Asian. all of them were staring at the new-comer with that gay stare, as if daring me to purchase some expensive underwear.

from a gay person's point of view, it was one of the most fascinating underwear departments i've actually seen in my entire life. not like the typical ones in Singapore that stock funny-looking under that require instruction sheets and some creative thinking in order to put it on. not like the average ones in Singapore that have plenty of grey, whites and blacks. not like the horrid ones in Singapore that have really gaudy designs of yachts and stars (i'm not joking about this). i dunno what made me decided to purchase expensive underwear in the end actually. maybe it was the fact that there was a sale going on. maybe it was the pressurizing atmosphere of Herculean testosterone and pheromones wafting about. or maybe it was that i had money to clear before my departure from Thailand.

it was with some decision however, that i decided on two pairs of Aussiebums. i couldn't help but think about what the sales assistants were thinking when i made my purchase. prolly something along the lines of 'i could purchase more than fifty meals in Thailand with that amount he spends covering his manhood'. there was even a VAT refund for the underwear i bought. but that was too much hassle. i couldn't help but feel guilty over my purchase. a sort of guilty pleasure though. somehow or other, i always imagine most expensive items looking like money. like take for example, a birkin bag would prolly look like many stacks of hundred dollar notes shaped like a birkin bag. in the same line of thought, my Aussiebum covering my genitals would be nothing more than a few wads of cash sewn together to provide coverage.

it's not a pleasant sight, i must say. well at least not something that anyone could come in clumps to.

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