Only Six Degrees Of Separation?

in small towns, everybody knows everybody else; that’s what everybody says. brunei is not exactly a small town… more like a small country. so i thought, perhaps, the rule might not apply… at least not quite so literally.

of course, like almost everything else in my belief system, i was proven wrong once again.

a couple of days ago, my buddy terrence asked, “wanna meet new people?”. so i met this bunch of people, one of whom was talking incessantly about “jo”. from what i gathered, she just broke up with this girl, and was bitter about getting dumped. fair enough. then came “josephine” from “KB” who was “bisexual”. wait a minute… JOSEPHINE? HURRICANE JOSEPHINE WHO TURNED MY BEST-EST COUSIN’S WORLD UPSIDE DOWN?!?

just like that, i found myself walking down memory lane, remembering all those months of hell when fred dated her. he would be down in a dump after being belittled for his hair or fashion sense or job or personality or socks. and i would pick him up only to have her crush his self-worth the next day, if not the next minute via the ever-popular SMS.

then came the realisation that in the midst of her lies, including her supposed new zealander accent and a degree in rocket science, she did tell one truth. she really was bisexual. damn!

fast forward an hour, and i was outside the cafe smoking with terrence and he said, “do you know your new friend is not your new friend? you added her on facebook a few weeks ago.”

i did? but why would a facebook whore like me add a stranger? i mean, i only have 299 friends to date and about 97% of them are not my friends in real life. who does that, right?

so came this epiphany. in a country as small as brunei, there’s no such thing as six degrees of separation. “it’s more like two, ” said terrence.

and he was not wrong… for all we know, you could be my uncle’s best friend’s cousin’s daughter’s boyfriend’s sister…

p/s: miss jo’s real name has been changed, given the risk of her stumbling upon this blog. and she’s not a rocket scientist, either. that was exaggerated solely for dramatic effect.

Click The Clique

i don’t know if it’s the alignment of the planets being a bit off; a lot of my friends are questioning: “who are my real friends?” and with that, reshuffling of their social circles. and it’s all done in an impressively systematic manner. do you we still share the same life goal? do we have similar opinions about people in general? do you like the same food? are we all cat people?

watching people cross out the unqualified is fun, until you realise your name has been crossed out too.

the problem with cliques, which occur among girls more than guys, is there is no explanation, no warning. by the time it hits you, they have long found a replacement.

so, while everyone is busy weeding out those no longer fit for “our group”, i’m finding myself a solitary hobby

How Do You Criticise Awareness?

“stuff white people like” is one of those rare gems on the blogosphere. at first glance, it seemed to be a racist site that served to attack the white; it’s really not. if anything, it’s founder christian lander’s way of poking fun at his own kind – like russell peters does the indian – and entertains the masses in the process.

among my faves are: #28 not having a tv, which advises us to “NEVER suggest they are making a mistake or that there is a value to owning a TV”; #18 awareness, which points out that “white people… firmly believe that all of the world’s problems can be solved through ‘awareness’”, allowing them “to feel that sweet self-satisfaction without actually having to solve anything or face any difficult challenges”; and #1 coffee, which “white guys will.. call… anything but coffee”, but rather “rocket fuel”, “java”, “joe”, and “black gold”.

lander also suggests that if “a white person shows up in your country, you can make them feel fantastic by saying how you’ve never seen a white person before, and that you are amazed by their iPod… They might give it to you, then you can sell it for profit. Repeat as necessary”.

seems tricky, but worth a try, eh?

CNY Without The Bang

i know it’s too soon to say, since chinese new year only starts tomorrow. but i have a feeling it’s gonna be bloody uneventful. i’m so cynical that a) i didn’t shop for new clothes, b) i was half-hearted about spring cleaning, and c) the living room is still a mess.

maybe it has something to do with age – the older you get, the less you are inclined to celebrate anything.

i sure hope it wouldn’t be as mundane this year. so, whoever is capable of surprising me, surprise me within the next 15 days.

and to all CNY celebrants, happy new year

What’s With ‘Today’ Today?

lately, it seems everyone is going through some changes in life. what’s up with these past few months, anyway? is there a mystical explanation as to why we are faced with such ultimatum all at the same time? take the old familiar road or the one less travelled?

death card comes to mind when i think of our little situation. in tarot, death is not all sinister, unlike what most people think. it’s about sacrificing “your old world, your old self… it is the only way to be reborn. a new sun is rising, and it is… a time of great transformation”.

while a part of my life is falling into place, another part is crumbling before my eyes. i’m more sentiment than i let on. so, leaving a part of myself in favour of new beginnings – whatever that means – is frightening.

i’ve been reading tarot for others who are seeking an answer or a guide or something. funny that, cos on top of being a non-believer, i feel it’s better not to know than to know. it’s all about distraction, after all; confronting my problems doesn’t mesh well with the masterplan i’ve devised to distant myself from myself.

while running away has always worked well for me, i wonder if i should carry on like this. sure, it’s a wonderful way to cope, to pretend nothing is wrong. life goes on… yada, yada, yada… but sooner or later, anyone is bound to reach a stage where the mind says, “i can’t take this shit anymore. now go fuck yourself!”

i’m scared… but i guess it’s time to grow up…

Soul One

“The thing about soul mate is that you feel like you’ve known each other forever, though it could have only been hours,” said my best friend Lyn.

I once knew this dude who said I was his soul mate. But to me, he was just Tom, a good pal. Years back, he called me from the US, just before he got hitched. The conversation itself wasn’t long, and I’ll never forget it.

He said, “I may love this girl that I’m marrying, but she can never replace you, because you are my soul mate; she’s not.”

It got me confused because all this while, people had said, “Find a soul mate. Marry that person.” Since I was Tom’s soul mate, shouldn’t he be asking me instead? (It’s a good thing he didn’t though. He really was just a buddy.)

So, when Lyn brought up the subject of soul mates, I thought to myself, “I once had a soul mate… I think.”

But of course, Tom probably wasn’t my soul mate, neither was I his. After all, there has to be a mutual understanding of the sacred bond. In me and Tom’s case, it wasn’t.

Here comes the next question: How many soul mates will you meet in a lifetime? 56? 4,232?

To an idealist, I guess the answer is 1. Given that it is so darn sacred, it would be silly to think if you missed the last one, it’s cool, there’s always a few more all lined up, waiting to meet you.

A League Of Our Own

“do you really date within our own league?” asks jazzmoney in his blog. to me, the more pressing question is: how often do we really date within our own league?

the word “league” makes me think of not just wealth and looks, but personality and maturity. it’s easy to be sucked into the world where it’s all a matter of what the society perceives as a good pairing. “he’s cute, you’re cute. he’s rich, you’re rich. you guys should get married!”

i’m not saying looks aren’t important. no, no, no. ideally, i’d date the best-est looking dude in the country. even better, the best-est looking dude with the deepest pocket. that’s the perfect world; we all want that. but let’s be realistic here. a rich, good looking person with zero sense of humour and a mind of a five-year-old ain’t gonna make anyone happy, at least not in the long run.

similarly, a lot of us have been drawn to the rocker, the artist or the broken for they are just plain cool in a i’m-drowning-in-my-pain sorta way. most of them are what the society perceives as “useless”. art doesn’t bring home the bacon; a real job does. while they may not be the most attractive people out there, they are desirable nonetheless. whether it works depends mainly on what the person is looking for in a partner…

… which brings me to the next question: if we are all aware of our level of attractiveness and wealth, and find a boyfriend/girlfriend accordingly, wouldn’t that restrict us to a very small pool of people – given that it’s *important* to date within our own league?

personally, i’ve dated just about any kind of guys out there – the rich, the poor, the musician, the overly-ambitious, the child and the adult. if i were at all aware of my “league” at those times, then i must have been quite a confused little soul…

Likes Me… Likes Me Not…

i was hanging out with a bunch of new friends, when the subject of romanticism came up. one guy was all for “actions speak louder than words”, but unfortunately, he was met with his strongest opposition. and the conversation turned somewhat heated.

“i’ll only believe a guy likes me if he tells me straight,” she said.

“a guy can tell you he likes you, but it doesn’t mean he does,” he said.

“if he really likes me, he’ll make sure i know it. and the only way is to utter those words.”

“if he likes you, you’ll know by the way he treats you, or acts around you.”

“a girl needs to hear ‘i like you’. only an arrogant person would believe that when a guy treats her well, it means he like her.”

“when a guy likes a girl, he tends to treat her better than he treats other people.”

“fine, then. maybe flowers?”

“yeah, like giving flowers means anything…”

“hey, lizzie. you like it when guys give you flowers, don’t you?”

errr…..

personally, i hate flowers; i’m allergic to them. so, i’m a little biased. but, what’s your take?

Remember Pusat Ehsan?

i just finished watching borgkingkong’s tribute video to pusat ehsan and man, was it a touching clip. it makes me feel like crap to know that there are individuals out there who need our help but i have been spending my money on shoes and clothes and more shoes. if each of us could donate $10 per month for the centre, it would be able to afford more staff, therefore offering a better programme for the special children.

i guess i now know where some of my ang pow money is going…

Let’s Sing All Da Way To X’Mas

The 12 Days of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
A partridge in a pear tree.

On the second day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the third day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the fourth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the fifth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the sixth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the seventh day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the eighth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Eight maids a-milking,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the ninth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a-milking,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the tenth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Ten lords a-leaping,
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a-milking,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the eleventh day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Eleven pipers piping,
Ten lords a-leaping,
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a-milking,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the twelfth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Twelve drummers drumming,
Eleven pipers piping,
Ten lords a-leaping,
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a-milking,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree!