Oh Faith

Two posts in two days. The universe is telling me something. Maybe it needs to update its communication portals because I seem to be missing memos one too many times.

So yesterday was a bit of a bizarre day. I wrote to Spooner, asking for my stuff for the FOURTH time now. It's been seven weeks and the man is still holding on to my clothes and other bits and pieces. I was rather sarcastic with my last line citing that it was bad manners to bring other women home when my things were still lying around. The reply that came back ticked me off big time.

"Yes, it is bad manners. :) Sorry, will have it packed and sent soon."

Christ alive, you mean my things are all exactly where I left them??!!

Honestly, it was this inference that set me off. Firstly, he's back on a dating website chatting up other women. I am on the same site. That's where we met, hence I know that he's back in action. Secondly, if you are looking to meet new people, should you not have the decency to close the previous chapter of your life and return your ex her things, without having to be asked repeatedly?

Apparently such simple logic eludes him. And this resulted in me going into full-swing rant mode and venting at anyone who was willing to offer half a ear. This includes ranting at my colleagues, my gay friend, my brother and a new person that I just met for the first time last weekend.

Digression:
New person in question will be called erm... Hendricus (don't ask). First meeting last Saturday. Interesting to say the least. A teacher, bald, funny and pretty cool. Looking forward to meeting him again. :) He made the mistake of texting me yesterday when I was in full-swing rantation and I didn't spare him either. Fortunately, like the rest of the world, he thinks that I have every right to demand for my things and that Spooner's behaviour just screams, "TWAT".

So I went home after work and on the train, received a text from Tomski. Tomski is the guy I mentioned two posts earlier - the one who is a nice guy but still obsessing over his ex. I'm going to post the text message convo here and let you figure out what exactly transpired.



*GASP*

Propositioned for a casual liasion! Well, well, well, it's been a while since that's happened. And though it is flattering and part of me is cheeky enough to consider the option, (can't blame me... some sex is better than no sex but not necessarily better than bad sex), I am wary of getting into anything with Tomski because I half worry that he might start bawling his eyes out in front of me because he isn't over his ex. As I told a mate of mine, "I only carry THAT much tissue paper with me".

Went home and ranted to my brother about Spooner and Tomski and everything in between. Poor feller was braindead from work and didn't say much. He did however send me an email this morning, offering some thoughts and counsel which I thought was pretty sweet. He's a funny boy. :)

In any case, I won't be getting my stuff back so quickly it seems because Spooner is off to Phuket (again!) and will not be back until next Monday. Why doesn't he just stay there and marry one of the locals? Spare the rest of the women in my country the horrors of your abject, relentless stupidity please!

On a different note, given all the shit I have been through in the last year, I have decided to mark my upcoming 28th birthday with something symbolic. I have decided to get a tattoo. Nothing fancy, just the Chinese character for the word 'Faith'. Looking back on the past ten years of my life, having to deal with death, loss, pain, disappointments and all the curve balls that have been flung my way, I could use a reminder that I need to keep believing that there is a lot more left for me to experience and that there's always hope. :)

Happy CNY people!

Honestly Now

People are no longer honest these days.

No, I'm not calling the whole word a bunch of conniving liars. I'm just saying that people have become too good at packaging the truth to suit different situations. I would know this all too well because my job requires me to package information all the time. No, we don't lie outright but sometimes the reality of the situation is not altogether pleasant, hence the need to package it so that we highlight the best aspects and hope that people don't go dig up the not-so-nice aspects and feel like they've been taken for a ride. Believe me, the packaging is everything.

The downside of being trained to do this professionally is that I read people and conversations better than most. Now, this can be both bane and boon. At times you thank your brains and the stars for your ability to see through the multiple layers of bullshit that people try to fling at you and deal with the morons appropriately. On the flipside, sometimes when you realize that someone's trying to pull wool over your eyes, you get angry and more often than not, disappointed that the person in question would try to blindside you. The worst part about this though is the fact that you constantly anticipate that someone is going to disappoint you and you wait on tenterhooks for that moment to arrive. It means you second-guess when there is no reason to. It means your glass is always half empty. It's absolute bollocks but you just can't help but do it because your belief in human behaviour translates to one simple thing alone - people are not meant to be trusted.

Okay I confess. I have battled with trust issues for just about forever. It's natural for me to expect the worst all the time because it's easier to say, "I knew it", when something goes awry as opposed to going, "I never thought this would happen to me." Preempting the worse-case scenario is a defence mechanism through and through and I try very hard to not build entire forts around myself. Easier said than done which is why I struggle with letting people into my life. It also explains why I come across as someone who is cold, aloof and with a hard exterior that cannot be cracked. In reality, I am a giant softie but my pragmatic approach to dealing with people usually gets the better of me.

I sometimes wish that people would just be honest. Honesty is a liberating virtue. When you have nothing to hide your mind is relaxed and your conscience is free. However people have become almost too good at packaging the truth. Take for example the fact that Spooner told me that one of his best mates used to date a girl for 5 years and then moved overseas to work. Things fell apart when the ex-girlfriend realized that he was two-timing her with another girl in the country he was working in. Yeah, he told me that his best mate was a bit of a bastard for doing it and I reacted with the appropriate amount of shock. What he did not tell me was that the best mate had got the other girl pregnant overseas. How I found out is not important but believe me, the source is extremely reliable. It was as good as hearing it from the woman herself. :P

This is what I mean by packaging the truth. Yes, the story is true but it was not the whole truth. A key detail was left out on purpose. Why? Self-censorship is one thing but telling you three-quarters of the truth and then leaving the rest hidden is just bizarre. It makes you wonder if everything you've ever been told has more to it than meets the eye. Of course it's natural to want to paint yourself and your friends in the most flattering light but just how far do you go?

Again, this is not about fabricating facts. This is about putting a select amount of truth into a box, wrapping it up in shiny paper and finishing it off with pretty little ribbon on the top. Presenting the selected truth in this manner makes it easier to accept and the chances of you doubting any of it is less likely as well. I know a lot of people who do this and pardon me for saying this, but I think it's utterly fucked up. How can you go through your life doing that? And my other question is, just how much effort do you go through trying to put all your little half-truths into boxes to suit different people and scenarios? It must take a colossal effort to do that all the time and even more energy to remember what version of the truth you told to which person. The irony is that if you ever get caught out by someone, they're not going to care if you told them 89% of the truth or not because you're just going to be branded a liar either way.

Put it this way, there's no such thing as a big lie and little lie. And there's only so far you can go with packaging truths until you run out of boxes, wrappers and ribbons and they come back to bite you in the arse. Hard.

Greetings from Planet Weird

And so I've been getting back up on the dating horse. Yeah, that's my problem. I just don't give up or die easily. I learnt that from the roaches. No, it's more like me thinking, "Sod the bullshit that happened last year, I need to get on with my life because I'm not getting any younger and my Mum is driving me up the wall with the indirect hints to settle down and to go forth and procreate." *shudders*
Her latest attempt at not-so-subliminal messaging came in the form of an early birthday present. I was monging on the sofa after a bizarre weekend involving sick amounts of alcohol and basically doing my "I will not talk to humans today" therapy session when she gaily appeared in front of me swinging a gift bag.

Me: (On the sofa doing my best impersonation of a lounge lizard)
Mum: Look! I got your birthday present already! *brandishes bag with gift*
Me: Huh? Wa...? What?
Mum: I didn't know what to buy you.
Me: Err... Okay, thanks Mum. (But my birthday is 15 days away?!)

Being generally impatient and also generally curious I decided to open my present. Oooh Crabtree and Evelyn. Cool. As if I don't already have a million other unopened, unused body products that are guaranteed to render me smelling like some tropical fruit, exotic valley flower or a cake. Really, I have no reason to not ever smell nice. And that is a fact.

But there was more! Nestled deep inside the wrapping were... two (count 'em), TWO packets of red packets or if one were to be local about it, ang paos.

I stared at the packets. I scratched my head. I stared at the packets some more. And then I went, "WHAT THE FUCK?" Yes, I'm mostly an eloquent creature.

Now we all know that singles do not give out red packets during Chinese New Year. On the contrary, singles are meant to RECEIVE them. Considering that I am a) not attached, b) not brought a boyfriend home in recent times, c) definitely not married, I should thereby, according to simple logic, fall into the 'single and doomed' category of people that all relatives love to torment during CNY festivities. Hence, having dear old Mum give me TWO packs of red packets to utilize when she knows full well that I am not in the position to give any was nothing short of bizarre. The only logical conclusion that could be drawn from all this was the fact that she was trying very subtly to tell me that it was time for me to settle down and be in an ang pao-giving position as opposed to being on the receiving end. Very subtle indeed. About as subtle as a mammoth erection on a bloody cold day.

Now I am all for settling down. The minor or should I say mega problem is that finding the right person to have a relationship with is about as easy as memorizing a book on tax law overnight. Let's not get so ahead of ourselves shall we? I can't even find someone decent to date so fuck the relationship aspect for now.

After splitting up with Spooner, I have met 4 new people. One was hopeless from the get-go. Vegan, angsty and borderline cuckoo. Nevermind. Next. Second one was fresh out of a long-term relationship and clearly unsure of what he wanted. Pity, because he was a nice feller who still happened to have his head still stuck up his ex's skirt.

The third one, who shall henceforth be named Nik showed some potential until our second date last Friday which turned out to be something that seemed like a page out of a comic book. Firstly, Nik is a ridiculous Star Wars fan. I will leave you to imagine the level of ridicule that I am referring to but let's just say that I am not using the word 'ridiculous' here loosely. It seemed like a normal night right up until the point where he went to the bathroom and disappeared.

Yes, Darth Vader Nik did a Harry Houdini and vanished into thin air or carpark (as he claims to have done).

Mind you, we both had been drinking a fair bit throughout the night and I was also battling fatigue in the worst way having had a late night the day before as well. So imagine my horror when the man did not return to our drinking locale and sent me a What'sApp message that went, "Sorry to have bored you. Think I got the message. :("

I think my brain got stuck at 3:30 in the morning at that point because I was like, "What the hell does that mean? And secondly, where the hell did he go?"

Turns out he never came back. Yes, the man pulled an ESCAPE.

Some furious messaging ensued but it turned out that the feller had jumped into a cab and gone home. I was left having to pick my jaw off the ground and made my way back home.

The next morning I sent him a message asking what the hell had gone wrong to have the previous night's events unfold as they had done. He claimed to have truly gotten lost en route to the little boy's room and had stumbled into the carpark and had no idea how to get back out. This explanation also came between a few lines of "I am sorry to have bored you, maybe I was talking too much and you seemed so 'cold''".

Cold?

Cold??

Cold?!?!???!

I'm sorry, but WHAT the hell was I supposed to be at 3:30 on a Friday night after a day at work dealing with a massive hangover from the night before? Were you expecting me to PEEL your prawns for you? Give you a back rub? Oh, were you really thinking I'd snog you if you plied me with enough drinks? Well too bad, I can hold my drink. Really well.

So needless to say, that is the end of Nik. I'm nipping this one in the bud. There's just no way I'm going out with someone who is most likely going to yell, "THE FORCE IS WITH ME!" at the point of orgasm.

Sigh.

I spent most of Saturday recovering from the previous night's traumatic experience. This involved sleeping the whole day. At night, I went out on a date with a new person who I shall christen 1Day.

Thus far 1Day seems to be sort of normal. I say sort of because he told me how his last relationship ended and it was like his ex-girlfiend was Linda Blair from The Exorcist because what she did to him seems to indicate that the woman is certifiably insane or possessed or both.

In any case, I am also a little wary of people who have had particularly bad relationships in the past because my last serious boyfriend was just like that and boy did he have confidence issues that rocked our relationship like hell. I'm not saying that everyone who dates a madwoman (or three), will end up being a complete basketcase but the chances of the person getting paranoid, insecure and possessive over the next person that they go out with increases significantly. And I could well do without all that weird-ass drama.

Hence things with 1Day will be taken very slowly. We'll just stick to a couple of text messages and the odd date for now.

Now, can someone please tell my Mum that I'm single not from the lack of trying but simply because I seem to have a penchant for picking specimens that fall straight out of Planet Weird?

Normal! That's all I'm asking/begging/pleading for!

You Flaky Bastard

Apparently my subconscious thinks that matters between Spooner and I remain unresolved because it's spilling over into my dream landscape. Well, my dear subconscious, here's a memo. It's over. Deal with it. There's nothing to it anymore. But since you seem to think that matters are unresolved, then let me indulge you and RANT as I should have, would have and could have done in real life. This is the rant that never happened because I'm just too bloody adult, too bloody mature, too bloody patient and too bloody passive to actually do it.

WARNING: Seriously colourful language ahead.

Dear Spooner,

How's things? Isn't that what you always liked to ask? Well, things on my end are great. Even better now that I have managed to get over you and your abject stupidity. The only issue I have is the fact that it's been more than a month since we split up and you're still holding on to my clothes. Seriously, are you trying to fit your right arm into the right leg of my jeans? Or are you planning to donate my clothes to your next bedroom conquest? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? Why don't you have the bloody decency to just return my things and get lost? I know procrastination is one of your greatest fortes but holding on to your ex girlfriend's clothes and shoes is just not normal. Maybe you're more demented than I give you credit for.

By the way, I have been dying to say this to you. I think you're a flaky bastard. What? You didn't get that? Don't worry, I am patient enough to repeat myself. I THINK YOU'RE A FLAKY FUCKING BASTARD. Why you ask? Seriously, do you want me to extrapolate with my prolific repertoire of words? Well okay then. You're a flaky fucking bastard because you're indecisive, childish, immature, moronic, disrespectful, stupid, and ultimately ball-less specimen of a man. Quite an insult to all the men out there really but well, you make a fine example of the type that no one should aspire to become.

No it's not a low blow darling. You seriously need to reconsider calling yourself a man because you're a spineless piece of shit. You accused me of being a cling-on. You accused me of being insecure. You accused me of wanting out of the relationship. (WHAT RELATIONSHIP?!) With all those things you said, you might as well have said that I had sprouted an extra three heads and a tail covered in scales. Wait, let's add in the ability to breathe fire out of my mouth whilst we're at it. A cling-on? ME??! A CLING-ON?!? You retarded swine. You stupid, fucked up moron. You half-witted piece of dog shit. Has it ever occurred to you that YOU were the one always clinging on? You were the one who wanted to see me all the time. You were the one sending texts everyday. You were the one introducing me to your friends and telling your parents about me. You were the one referring to me as your GIRLFRIEND. You were the one asking me to stay over during the weekends. You were the one asking me to wait around in your apartment whilst you were out playing football. YOU! DAMMIT. YOU ARE THE GODDAMNED CLING-ON. I think I need to get someone to hit you with a bat. And yes, you DARED to accuse me of being just that when I was the one ALWAYS running off in the opposite direction to have my own space. You're fuckwit I tell you. An utterly ripe and prime fuckwit.

How your last serious girlfriend tolerated you for 5 years is an utter mystery to me. Did you disrespect her the same way? Did you plan a boys-only trip and not tell her? Did you sabotage her trust in you in similar ways? What you did was in many ways UNFORGIVABLE. Not only did you disrespect me, you insulted me by saying you didn't have a proper reason for not telling me earlier. And worse, you planned to meet some girl behind my back. I don't know what your intentions were but let's assume the worst because after everything you did and did not do, I can't think of anything but the worst when it comes to you. Don't you even attempt to take the higher ground here because what you did was entirely uncalled for. You admitted it yourself. And you still had the nerve to turn around and pin things on me when I asked you if I was wasting my time. Oh, fuck you.

You're a ball-less git. First you blamed things on me. Then you said you were confused. After that you said you didn't know what you wanted anymore and then you concluded with not wanting to mess me around and agreed to call things off. Why could you not just man up and tell me that you weren't interested in me anymore and tell me that to my face? You cowardly, lily-livered prick. Fine. Go ahead and sabotage every possible relationship you will have. You know Miss Perfect doesn't exist and you also seem to live in this fairytale land where you will meet the 'right one' and things will all just fall into place and you will live happily ever after. Pray tell, which fucking children's book have you been reading the past 39 years of your life? Could you please let me in on the title because I really want to live in denial like you for the rest of my years too. Grow up man. A relationship takes two. And if you claim to have the attention span of a gnat, then I think you should spare all your potential partners the misery and NOT go out with them at all. Because we all know what happens when you get bored. You run off to Phuket.

I'm not going to blame myself for any of this. This is ALL YOUR FAULT. My only crime in all of this is not realizing sooner that I was being taken for a long and elaborate ride only to get kicked off the bus in the end. I did everything within my means to accommodate you. I actually liked you. In fact I liked you enough to give you the benefit of the doubt. And you returned my kindness, my time, my affection and my trust with what? "I don't know what to think or do... one minute I want to carry on, the next I am reluctant." Over email no less. You sickening, nausea-inducing twat.

*exhale*

You know, every single person in my life who has been privy to what transpired wants to either murder you or cause you grievous bodily harm. My brother wants to rearrange your facial features, my girlfriends want to rip you to pieces and even I would gladly pour honey all over you and stick you on a giant anthill. How did I get here Spooner? You were charming and cool and fun to be around. How did I get from really liking you and wanting to spend time with you to wanting to set you on fire and watch you burn very slowly? Either way, you've proved one thing bloody well.

You're flaky bastard. Goodbye.

When I Grow Up...

...I want to be wank fodder.

Seriously. You have got to be fucking kidding me. Yes sure, who doesn't want to be the sultry, heavy-lashed, pouty, long-haired, fine-limbed vixen in the corner that all the fellers are fighting to buy a drink for? Believe me, it's not what it's made out to be.

Last week saw an intense conversation pertaining to wank fodder. Apparently men categorize women into two distinct categories. Wank fodder. And non-wank fodder (NWF). Very insightful that.

For the uninitiated, wank fodder girls are the ones who catch your fancy as they sashay past in the club, at the train station platform or it may be just some random chick going to get herself a whopping 6 inches from Subway at lunch. Anyway, in short, you look at her and you fancy her and you think, "Man, I'd do that. On the couch, on the floor, hanging from a trapeze etc." In layman (pun unintended) terms, she's fuckable. And if you couldn't get your paws hands on her, you'd conjure her up in your head and choke the snake to death with your industrial size bottle of hand lotion conveniently placed nearby.

NWFs on the other hand, are the girls you'd want to bring home and introduce to Mummy dearest because she's sweet, nice, innocent and doesn't dress with her tits falling out even though you really, really, really want to get them out and play with them all the time because they're just sooo... floppy.

And after that explanation, if you still don't get it. Then here goes.

WANK FODDER


NON-WANK FODDER


Okay, if you still can't get it after this, then you need a new brain.

Anyway, the point of all of this is that the categorization is conducted in a completely senseless manner.

Apparently, if a girl is wank fodder, you spend all your time trying to get into her pants. If she agrees to it, you shag her brains out. Of course, the whole idea is to get more than just a shake and heartbreak. After which, you relegate her to your wall of conquests UNLESS somehow, between you chatting her up and shagging her brains out, you manage to glean that she has a brain and a personality worth getting to know further. In which case, if her brain outdoes her boobies or booty or both, you proceed to jot down her phone number into your iPhone and then call or text her two days later and ask her out for coffee. Or if you're a half-assed decent human being, you'd buy her dinner.

Now, though I do see merit in this method of eliminating the wheat from the chaff (my mother would be so proud of my biblical references), I am thoroughly flummoxed by when and how one decides as to whether there is more to the wank fodder you just bent over the balcony rail or not. Did you somehow manage to conduct an analysis that went along the lines of, *thrust* "So, she's hot as hell." *thrust* "Looks fine from all angles too." *thrust* "And she mentioned she went to Harvard. *thrust* "And she likes dogs." *thrust* "Oooh, and she likes playing XBox too. *thrust thrust thrust* "Hell yeah, she's a keeper." *thrust thrust* "Okay, turn over baby."

You see what I mean? *wiggles eyebrows*

On the other hand, you would not have to go through this with NWFs simply because you don't think of shagging them. In fact, you go all the way out to be nice to them because they are "nice" girls. Seriously, it's the nice girls that are complete freaks in the sack. (This is the part where all the fellers nod in sagely agreement.)

So once you get to know the nice girl and once you've dated her for about 3 months, you bring her home to Mummy and let Mummy feed the poor girl with her horrendous cooking and make inane conversation. And because NWFs are generally nice, they will pretend to like your Mum's cooking by not choking or gagging over the too-tough chicken and completely agree that your mother's blouse that is reminiscent of a curtain is just "sooooo in right now" even if it's from the 'Aunty Section' of the OG department store.

This is where it gets unfair. The hot girls aka Wank Fodderers need not be sluts. They could be really sweet, fun, smart women who just happen to look like they fell out of a dirty magazine. Sue the girl if she looks damn fine in a short skirt or a pair of jeans. Do you really think she's just worth a shag or 10 minutes of intense hand activity? BAH!

No. The answer is no. It bloody hell better be a no.

Then again, I have no idea why I am getting so irate over this. Maybe because I was labeled wank fodder and am thoroughly pissed about it.

The Brain's G Spot

It amazes me what floats through my brain on a daily basis. I was at the gym earlier, second day of physical abuse involving sweat, jagged breaths, pushing, pulling and most importantly, pain. At the risk of sounding completely off my rocker, I am going to say that I am a fan of pain. I can just imagine all the eyebrows being raised at that statement but let me state for the record that I am not into weird things that involve whips, chains and clamps. Uh...no thank you really. I have enough trouble dealing with a fellow human as it is. Forget the additional accessories, please.

So whilst I sat at the overhead press machine wondering why on earth I was subjecting my body to this amount of torture (there is no other word for it really), I decided to make a list of reasons as to why I keep on insisting on doing it over and over again. It's like a bad habit. Oh, but I like!

1. Vanity
Well, that was a no-brainer. Of course I bloody go to the gym so that I can err... look good without my clothes on. (Not that anyone's looking.) But ultimately that's one of the biggest reasons why people work out. You want to look good in your clothes and out of them. A nice, trim, toned body is THAT much more appealing than a flabby, floppy one that quivers like jelly. (Okay, I know some people are into the jelly but let's assume that they are a minority for the time being.) So there's reason number one. I want to look in the mirror and go "Hmmm...", and not look in the mirror and go, "Oh ewww...".

2. Boredom
When you're trying to kill time, there's only so many movies you can watch, that many snacks you can pig out on, that much coffee you can drink and that many fags you can smoke. What else do people do when they're bored? Stare at their pet goldfish? Play games on their smartphones? Have sex? Well, all of those are possible options but I don't have any pet goldfish and I don't really like to play games on my iPhone and there's no one to have sex with so I opt to travel all the way to the gym and spend a couple of hours acting like Conan the Barbarian's sister. Voila.

3. The After Effects
I'm not referring to nice, tight little butt or a ripped upper body. Sorry, those things take weeks, if not months of disciplined effort. What I'm talking about is the soreness or pain that usually comes several hours or the day after a solid workout. Yeah, welcome to my world of weirdness. I like that 'I just got beaten up' feeling (though I never have been beaten up). I look forward to it. I enjoy struggling to walk up a flight of stairs knowing full well that I can only blame all the hamstring curls I've done. I like having trouble pulling a t-shirt over my head because I've been going crazy with the pull-ups and push-ups. If I may borrow a line from Enrique No-More-Mole Iglesias, it would be, "BABY I LIKE IT!"

Am I crazy? Oh yes, for sure. In sustained quantities though. :P

In the 1960s, there was a mad psychiatrist, Robert Heath who suddenly went on a bender and decided to try and cure depression, intractable pain, schizophrenia, suicidal feelings, addictions and even homosexuality by drowning them out with pleasure induced by implanting an electrode into his patients' brains.

Heath's experiments were based on findings from a decade earlier that administering a mild electric shock to the equivalent brain area in rats - the "reward centre" - would send the animals into a state that looked like ecstasy. The rats would work at complex tasks over and over for the promise of another shock. Heath wondered whether his human subjects would react in the same way - and they did. When they were given a shock they said they felt good. And when handed the electrode's controls, they just kept on pressing, again and again, sometimes a thousand times in succession.

- Helen Phillips, New Scientist, 2003.

Well, that explains some things but not everything I suppose. Over the year researchers have painstakingly diagrammed the inside of the human brain and found that there is a chemical transmitter that passes messages around. This chemical transmitter is the very familiar dopamine. It has been found that dopamine release can be linked to every natural and unnatural pleasure experienced by humans. Whether you're feeling the high of heroin, the wham-bam of orgasm, the satisfaction of a rich meal or the thrill of winning money, you can pretty much blame dopamine for every good feeling you have. The 'reward centre' from which dopamine is released the human brain's G-spot. It's the ooooh yes, please yes, keep going, uh huh, yes, yes, yes, oh yes, oh god, oh this feels soooo good spot. Only, it's lodged several centimeters below your skull.

Brain people also suggest that pleasure dictates the type of decisions we make - solving math problems, forming grammatical phrases, making ethical choices or even gambling. Apparently, all decisions are made to maximise pleasure. This does not mean that we are all slaves to instant gratification. (I would hope so, or else people would be jumping on any human they met on the street and found remotely attractive.) However, this ability to override instant gratification is a calculated one that is deemed to maximise pleasure as only by deferring instant gratification do we gain the chance of long-term rewards.

Unfortunately for the hedonists and people like me, it seems that pleasure, by definition cannot be long-lasting. It must switch off so that we can carry on with other tasks. This, would essentially explain my need to constantly return to the gym and spend hours torturing myself so that I can enjoy the feeling of exhaustion and soreness that comes later. So you see, there's a reasonable explanation for my madness. I'll just blame it on the G-spot.

Reflections and Renewals

Hello. And Happy New Year. :)

And so I put behind me another year, another 365 days of meaningful and meaningless moments, 12 months of ups, downs and in-betweens. No, it wasn't all bad. It wasn't prefect either but life was never meant to be. And to be honest, if I led a perfect idyllic life, I might go stir crazy. ;)

Unlike other years past, I am happy to say that I am not spending the start of 2011 feeling mopey and miserable. The past year has been interesting to say the least. Change featured significantly in many areas of my life and though not all of it was easy to accept and deal with, there have been lessons which I am thankful for. One can only hope that those lessons serve me well in times to come.

There is plenty to be thankful for. I got a new job in an industry that I think fits me, my capabilities and my personality. For the first time in my entire working life, I feel like I'm in a place where I can grow and learn and truly apply myself as a trained professional. The past 8 months have been challenging and there were moments early on where quitting felt like a very appealing prospect. Thankfully I have never been one who gives up easily under pressure and I'm still giving it all I have. Another huge (tremendous!), blessing has been in the form of colleagues who have turned out to be a fantastic bunch of friends. Finding like-minded individuals in a workplace is tough as it is but I can safely say that the beer-guzzling, chainsmoking, crazy, fun-loving reprobates (kidding!) that I work with are a life-support system that I am truly grateful for. It's great to know that we're not just people who happen to work together but we're mates. And mates are rare finds. So thank you guys for being you. :)

On the personal front, things have not been particularly smooth sailing. One long-term relationship came to an end after many sleepless nights of tossing, procrastinating and hours of "What do I do?" self-questioning. In the end I bit the bullet and ended things. Looking back on it now, I have no regrets. I grew, matured and loved fiercely over 3.5 years and I am thankful for all the good times and happy moments which I will always hold close to my heart. There was happiness in the past and I am sure there will be happiness in the future, for both of us.

And then there was the whirlwind romance with the crazy Englishman (whom, I guiltily admit, still find very attractive). Though it was short-lived, it was all fun and it also made me realize that I shouldn't shortchange myself when it comes to matters of the heart. No one should.

Travel opportunities were few last year but good nonetheless. I made it to Ho Chi Minh City, Bintan, Bali and Langkawi. Next year there will be some massive travels on the cards. Watch out Europe, because I'm coming over in March to drink all your beer. :)

Health was something I wrangled with in 2009. Thankfully in 2010, I was none worse for wear apart from a couple of stubborn infections. I have progressively kept up an exercise regime and intend to keep doing so and up the ante in 2011. If a healthy body leads to a healthy mind, then well, I'm all over it. Besides, all that beer and pizza I consume needs to get out of my system somehow. :P

My family, as always have left me perplexed and perturbed with their weirdness at times but I am eternally thankful for their existence, their silent show of unwavering support and unconditional love. My brother and I have grown closer, thanks to adulthood. My lovely cousins have brought me much joy in 2010 and I hope they continue to do so even as they grow up and become adults in their own right. I pray for more opportunities to bond and hope that laughter, grace and love will continue to flourish in my household.

Friends! I cannot forget my friends! Every special one who has in some manner brought laughter, a listening ear, a shoulder or two to cry on and been a pillar of support during lesser sane moments, thank you, oh thank you so very much. I am, in many ways indebted to all of you for keeping me grounded and in check. Trust me, I have no idea what I would do with myself if it weren't for my friends. So here's to many more days of friendship and maybe I can try repaying my 'friend-debt' in time to come.
And for the few who have fallen by the wayside during the course of the year, I'm sorry if I didn't live up to your expectations of being a friend. No one said that being a friend would be simple and uncomplicated. In any case, it was nice knowing you and I wish you well.

And so I look forward positively and with much excitement to what 2011 will bring. May it be a year of all possibilities. :)

All possibilities are landing at my feet,
There's nothing I can see,
But possibilities.
All Possibilities - Badly Drawn Boy