I blog therefore I remember

If I don't wake up tomorrow,
Will you remember me?

Will you think of me some time
When you walk on the new grass in San Diego?
Will you mistake that for the warmth of my body
When you put on your new Chinese jacket?

Will you remember the roads we past
When you build your new house by the ocean?
Will you miss my touch and voice
When you play your new piano?

Will you recall how you kissed me
When you see the next girl that smiles at you?
Will you regret how you treated me
When you see your next girlfriend cry?

Will you read my writing
When you cannot fall asleep at night?
Will you come to where I sleep
When you are let down by another girl?

Will you remember me?

It's just so hard to be with somebody who doesn't significantly enjoy and spend time on music, of course, music I enjoy too.

Yeah you can hang around friends that listen to other kinds of music and listen to it with them once in a while. But when it comes to think, feel love, feel intimate with somebody, he gotta loves the kind of music you like. It's just a waste of time to date somebody that listens to classical, Asian pop, R&B, neo-classical or whatever crap. Eventually we'll break up I know.

See, no joke, I was thinking if the guy I went out with was gay now.

Every girl probably had at least one guy in her life who totally confused her then later on found out he's either still in or outside of the closet. I met one when I was in university. He was gonna invest all the savings he made from freelancing graphic design to publish my book so I thought this guy must be head over heel after me. But then he slept with another guy. It's like I found out my dad was actually a woman or something, almost. I was traumatized. What the hell was he doing to me?

And then here came this cute gentle nice guy. Every moment spent with him was joy. He's so refreshing. He liked good music. He read good books. He spent money on me. He's everything a woman wanted in a man. He's knowledgeable, intelligent, caring, generous and uncomfortably cute! And then only more good things about him were there. He's laid back. He gave no pressure. He's patient. - Wait, patient... never kissed my cheek, never sat close to me, never walked closer when saying goodbye... aw... bad signs... shoot...

I don't understand. Why do gay guys chase us? My best girlfriend has a long term gay admirer that announces his obsession to my friend to the world in years but nobody believes him. Can't they just leave us poor confused single women alone? Why do they wash their cars mirror-shiny, do their hair, shave, make plans, open the car doors for us and take us to expensive restaurants and dance clubs in suit jackets? We're not Kens, we're only Barbies... Oh no no... We're Barbies... for gays... No wonder Ken was with Barbie for so many years then she finally couldn't take it anymore and break it off with him... I don't buy that idea of conversion. If my friend'd admirer's converted, he would have kissed my friend in those many years already, won't he? Ugh! No wonder he never had a girlfriend!

When my girlfriends're talking about jobs and guys, I feel nowadays landing a good job's so much like a good guy: friends know you're willing to change and introduce prospects to you. You then show your resume. You also put one online to make yourself searchable. Then you get calls for interviews. You then go for tons of interviews and they ask you all sorts of questions including some ridiculous ones. One time a company even asked if I could accept their owner speaking foul and sexually explicit language in the office. Anyway. You then get offers. You then are not satisfied with their offers and negotiate with them but they can't match your current. You then never go anywhere. So here's where I am right now.

And in the process, for those that doesn't sound right, you simply won't return their calls. And then once you find yourself busy with too many interviews and even need to take time off from your normal duties, you let them know the minimum you'll accept first before you go for an interview to save yourself time. But in unusual situations, you don't want to do that too cuz you don't want to kill your chance of showing them how great of a deal you are and trying to convince them to pay more, especially if they sound like somebody you'll probably like a lot too. In the end, it's all about strategy.

But I don't want to treat guys as employment opportunities.

I don't want to follow those rules men and women exchange or that Mars and Venus shit we hear and read everyday. I don't want to be judged on the way I see men. I don't want to reciprocate in the games they play with me. I want to show them how I feel and throw the ball back to them.

But friends just human beings. Humans're judgmental. They don't accept others' values. They don't recognize they aren't doing any better either and play back seat drivers. They want you to live like they do. They want to feel smart and good about themselves when they give you unsolicited advice. Usually, those judgmental're more likely to be American and male. That doesn't mean they don't care about or love you, but they judge. It's like their nature. They have a whole set of strict rules about how the universe should operate in their restless little heads ranging from what tire you should get, what area you should live, what car you should drive, what guy you should see to what cell phone you should get. Women're generally more open-minded. People that judge are also more likely to be controlling if unluckily you become their girlfriends and usually live a great deal on their ego.

Money also plays a big part for men in defining themselves I observe. Men're usually too concerned about money. This's one of the reasons why I'm weary of guys in higher social status. Once they become lawyers and doctors, they think they're capable of judging everything on earth and start to educate you with their very precious knowledge about big and small things, including the colors of your eyeshadow and mascara. Then your nightmare begins. They're over-confident, i.e., insecure, and think you'll never run away with a model from them and if you do, they're angry and want to shoot you.

But guys in lower social status're not necessarily any better either. They're spit on at work by the guys in higher status then they spit on you when they get off to try to retain some manhood. If for heaven's sake you're not a loser that doesn't make a pathetic sum of money, has no brain and no backbone, they see you more as a threat. They always think you'll run away with an old fat ugly lawyer or doctor from them because you dig gold but not because they treat you badly. And if you do, they want to shoot you too.

So in the end we're always the targets to get shot unless we stay away from the money-minded guys or we follow what they say but do nothing else.

So then it comes to the minority, guys that don't care too much about money. They are laid back, gentle, tolerant, pay more attention to enjoying life, living frugally but peacefully, appreciating humor, good food, art and / or music, etc, so at first you feel blessed. That's how I felt when I was with my ex-husb. But then you realize they usually have poor self-discipline, low ambition or unrealistic goal, poor personal management and little potential to great relationships with women. They like going with the flow, reacting to things instead of making things happen, stringing you along, keeping a half-alive half-dead relationship, etc. They're not an immediate problem but a chronic disease. They may still commit and even get married just like everybody else but are you satisfied with a life of no chase, fancy dinners or flowers while the woman sitting in the next cubicle is getting long stem roses and a diamond ring? Come on, you only live once.

So everyday when I wake up in the morning, I'll think about the CD in my car and get up gratefully to start another day. It's not an amazingly blissful and productive life, but it's acceptable.

On the contrary, the whole time when I was married, I didn't even write a single word. It was like there's a big rock stuck in my brain. All I could think of to do was to take care of the other person, the dog and myself. Nothing interesting or literary could I imagine. It was a blackout. Only when I could start feeling others again, I could write. I could feel the sorrow and loneliness in life again that tasted so fresh and real. I could feel love again too. It was like awakening from a heartless and numb state of mind. Words just came to me and appear on the monitor themselves. So many of them. If there's only one true love after the end of my previous marriage, it was the love I fell in with this kind of lifestyle. Anybody that stimulated my thoughts was just somebody that stimulated my thoughts, for love was more than only the substance of writing. It could start from being the substance of writing about love, but it shouldn't just stop there. Writing about love itself should be performative in J L Austin's words. It should make a difference. It should affect me, and if there's any, the reality with which the writing began, be it a collective consciousness, a religion or simply somebody in particular. Philosophy is a way of making love, just like art, sex or music.

So last night after talking to a new acquaintance online, who had new things going on with him everyday and was always so fresh and new, I suddenly wondered I might have not started my life yet seriously. Things in the past were not meant to be, for if they were, they would be still with me at the moment. If I could renew myself every night I slept, if I could take things in the past for granted, if I could move on, if I could be untouched to harsh realities I had no control, if I could be explore new things?

There's an egg inside of me. It might be unfertilized, it might be growing, it might be a chick, it might be a dinasour, it might be already dead, I don't know yet.
Actually there're probably more than one egg inside of me.

Guess what? The truth is: I'm not Echo, I'm actually Narcissus, cuz when I looked at my kind of quite growing web blog, I smile and feel good. In the end, who needs a self-absorbed narcissist guy whose heart's dead, right? Plus, there're other hot guys out there too, if they're not both hot and fun. November is a good month...

I'm so tired, of playing
Playing with this bow and arrow
Gonna give my heart away
Leave it to the other girls to play
For I've been a temptress too long

Just give me a reason to love you
Give me a reason to be a woman
I just wanna be a woman

Yeah, I wish.

But instead of stuffing a glory box, I'm moving on.

And it feels really bad.

It feels good to move on but it doesn't feel good to see somebody in sadness. It makes my heart ache to see somebody I love in pain. But I must leave. Ain't going to any negative draining blood-sucking broken people anymore. Just want some hungry dude to buy me aloe salad from Sea Harbour Gourmet House, no mother nature anymore! I must leave! I must drop them like hot potatoes! Now! Where's the exit?

I'm not here...

Narcissus did not love Echo. She died and only her voice's left:

The nymph, when nothing could Narcissus move, Still dash'd with blushes for her slighted love, Liv'd in the shady covert of the woods, In solitary caves and dark abodes; Where pining wander'd the rejected fair, 'Till harrass'd out, and worn away with care, The sounding skeleton, of blood bereft, Besides her bones and voice had nothing left. Her bones are petrify'd, her voice is found In vaults, where still it doubles ev'ry sound.

I'm singing Echo's voice playing my good old Ovation guitar... Nancy's sick lying under the coffee table... This's life... even if Nancy's sick... Finally have some time to do nothing but just write and sing...

No, nothing is right: the job's bad, Nancy went to ER two nights ago, the vet's bills're enormous, my place's still too small to be really tidied up however I try, absolutely nobody understands my obsession to Hello Kitties, the ideas of mask, Echo, Platonic love, Sadomasochism, Mishima, etc... but it's still much better than some time ago. I've past the worst time of my life, I know. I hit the bottom. Things can only get better. Nothing can be worse than before. At least I have my guitar to sing, my desktop to write and my new car stereo to listen to music. It used to be one hundred times worse. I can hang in here for another while I know.

The airport's always a place of dramatic thoughts: thoughts about moving, personal finance, relationships, etc. When I dropped my friend off the same night Nancy went to ER, I saw him looking back to see me drive away at the entrance. A little gratitude, a little sympathy, a little care, so strange. Yeah, feelings come and go. We hugged and I waved goodbye to him. Didn't know why but suddenly felt like hubby had come back to me and Nancy when this guy was driving my pink car to LAX. Almost just like before: the man driving, me holding the dog and the dog looking at me with her big sentimental eyes on road trip without growling at him. Nancy hated all men except him. He's the only one that could get along with Nancy. So a man, a woman and a dog, my original perfect family composition. Told the nurse in the Animal Emergency Clinic I had a divorce and Nancy's on joint custody. A month with Mom, a month with Dad, she grined. She's divorced too.

But I don't know my ex anymore. He's no longer the man I knew. The man that told me he never fell asleep in the morning cuz he was looking at my face the whole night when we first slept together holding hands. The man with whom I never ate anything for dinner cuz we're already in heaven just by sitting, cuddling, listening to John Coltrane and talking until midnight in my old Hong Kong style apartment in Soho when we first dated. The man by whom I tripped head over heel in the pier in Central on the way to hike on Lamma Island while still didn't even feel self-conscious or embarrassed the slightest cuz being by him's already a blast and what I acted like didn't really matter anymore. The man that suddenly wrote to me on the Internet telling me how close he felt to me from the music to which we both listened. Can never reach his heart like I did before again. The man I thought the love of my life. He's over.

So when I'm beat up now, once I think of what I went through, I know I can go through anything.

This entry only has two line from me but it's a so important memory: this song gave me the first orgasm in life, I must had been making love to Bernard Butler's guitar playing. Just like the first guy you held hands with, the first writing competition you won, the first song that made you cry, can never forget the early Suede:

Well she's show showing it off then
The glitter in her lovely eyes
Show show showing it off then
And all the people shake their money in time

She sells heart, she sells meat
Oh dad, she's driving me mad, come see

We shake shake shake to the trumpet
And through the slippery city we ride
Skyline swine on the circuit
Where all the people shake their money in time

She sells heart, she sells meat
Oh dad, she's driving me mad, come see

s

[Francisco Goya, Saturn Devouring his Son, 1819. ]

One day, I was tired from playing in the woods. I found him in a quiet open space. He was tall and he gave good shade. I fell asleep on his legs. The dreams were sweet.

I woke up and opened my eyes. I could not see his face. I could only hear him talking to me. He told me everything about himself, how genuine he was to me, how tall he wanted to grow and how far he wanted to reach. But I could not live on his words. I wanted to go out with him, watch movies with him, hold him to sleep. I needed something more substantial and real. I needed to see his face and kiss his eyes which I could never do because of the distance between us.

He seriously told me: he wanted to be the tallest tree on earth, and if I wanted to be with him, I had to be just as tall. But I wasn't a tree. I was a puppy. I was cute, curious and athletic but I could never reach his level. We're just different species. I asked him: why did you want to grow this tall? He said: this's for my future wife and kids.

I knew I could not be his future wife and kids because I was a puppy. I could only be his puppy. But obviously he didn't need a puppy. He wanted height instead. He wanted the "high" that could secure him a fantasy where he's above everything and his future wife and kids could enjoy it with him.

He grew taller and taller. Seeing his face's just a harder and harder thing to do. I wandered around and around to try to find a position where I could see him again but I never succeeded. He blocked me out from himself. He's leaving me further and further.

I had no choice but leaving him. I heard him crying, lonely and sad behind me when I walked away from him. But I knew he wasn't crying for me and he never really loved me. The "me" he thought he was in love with was only an imagery, for he had never seriously seen my real face before either. He's another Narcissus.

I didn't see The Waterloo Bridge. The Fog in my dreams, never ever.

Anything romantic was taught. Believe it, I'd never dreamt what's culturally dream-like such as Monet's painting in my dreams. My dreams're not like that at all. That kind of so-called dreamscape kind of reality was taught. We're taught what it's like then we conceptualized our dreams accordingly. But our dreams and that aesthetics had nothing to do with each other in the first place. Same case for love and romance. We had been taught what love was then we loved. But why did we do it that way? Why couldn't we had loved before we learnt what love was from books, movies, music and urban myths? Because we wanted to love for the sake of loving. Because we're insecure, we read crap like Ovid or Zhang Ailing when we're way too young or our parents faught and seperated, we wanted to show we knew how romantic Monet's paintings were and what love was. We might have expedited the process of knowing what love was too much for the desire to get it and ran into troubles. Then we cut our wrists, OD-ed or slept with people we didn't love.

At least this's what I hoped. I didn't have to love certain people. I loved them probably because of my upbringing. I wanted to love some people so I loved them. But maybe they didn't deserve my love. Maybe I shouldn't have loved them. Maybe I should have waited for some people to show enough of a deal of loving me then reciprocated. Maybe after all, it's not really necessary to have relationships. Maybe not.

So when I needed to feel love, I could just look at Monet's.

Once upon a time, I saw a mannequin in the shop wearing a mask. I couldn't see his real face but his mask was a sad face.

He was surrounded by beautiful blossoms of flower behind the window. Some fresh, some dried, some simple, some complex. A lot of times when a male model was ornamented that way, it's mundane and distasteful. But it wasn't in his case. He could handle all those different types just right. Actually, I think the more around him, the better he became. There would never be too much around him. Because he's so vibrant, he reminded me of colors from past life I had forgotten. The light coming out of his eyes blinded me.

There was a mirror in front of him. He's looking at his own reflection on the mirror. One day, I walked the other way to look at the mirror. I saw the reflection of his mask. That was a very sad face.

He was so real. Realer than people I had been for years, realer than famous literature, realer than sex. I started to paint pictures of him from my own perspective. I felt he's the realist subject in life I knew to paint. Everything of his was so genuine and touching. He was like chocolate, chips and fruits. Every time I saw him, I liked him more as well as enjoyed other things in life more. No other mannequin I knew was comparable to him. I looked no further. He's truly a miracle. I fell in love.

I loved looking at him but later it became a gaze. I didn't know how I could keep looking at him without apprehending him. I wanted to find a religion, a rebound or just a drastic change in life to suck myself out of him, but I couldn't. Finally the pressure was too big so I had to back off. But when I saw the mask of a hurt face covering him, I could not help reaching out to him, trying to take off his mask and showing his real face underneath. I wanted to see it myself and let him see it in the mirror in front of himself too.

I tried to tell him to take off the mask, but he could not hear me in the window. I didn't know if he recognized he's wearing a mask himself. He might be too used to his own beautiful sad face in the mirror and would never find out he's wearing a mask. I wanted to cry but I couldn't. There were silent tears in me.

I think there're two occasions when you know who merely bribe you and who your real friends are: when you die or when you resign.

Even if you're laying in the hospital or you have a new born, colleagues' cards and presents don't count, cuz a good relationship with you will still be an interest to them in the future. Only when you're leaving the company and saying you're no longer working in the same field anymore can you see who really cares from their expressing farewell to you cuz you'll no longer be any interest to them.

I resigned. I got so many calls and emails. So touched. It's not a waste to be nice to people.

I should set up a database to send Easter cards and Christmas cards to people to touch base with acquaintances I know. It'll be a waste to lose touch while most of us're too busy to keep in touch with people these days. I should do it as soon as possible.

Okay there's a guy who always called up in the evenings and asked if I wanted to see him that night in six months. I hated it.

Don't you hate it when guys say they're busy with work or mom or whatever in the past couple weeks, just call up and ask if they can see you in the following hour? Yeah maybe they'll still be sensible enough to say they're gonna drive to your place instead of you drive somewhere to meet them or simply to their places but so what? I have things to do at home such as writing my god damn web blog like now so I don't wanna go out! Plus sorry, they can't hang out in my place either cuz my dog doesn't like guys that don't make appointments and will bite them! Okay, not my dog, but me, I don't like guys that don't make appointments I admit. We're in America. Everybody knows you need to make appointments for anything. For doctors, for car repairs, for dinners with friends, for conference calls with the Father, for even just seeing your new born cousin who's three months old. God knows if the baby needs to sleep that time, its mom needs to go for medical checkups or the traffic's bad for its mom to drive it to let you see it that time. Come on, there can be a lot of considerations! Everybody's busy, so how the hell do some dudes have the nerve to think Aubrey's gonna be home all dressed, free and ready to meet them in the next hour? There has been silent all these years so do they really think I will not be able to bear another night of loneliness but suffice for a disrespectful meet-up? What will I gain from it? Confusion? Humiliation? That's just ridiculous. I don't outreach unless the person that requests is (1) a woman, (2) a tourist, (3) giving me a job interview (4) a guy that's stuck at the middle of the desert with cactus cut into his bare feet, lion-bitten and bleeding with no car, no money and no water!

When I felt my life had finished, somehow I always wondered: was I sure it had really begun at all? If it hadn't, by any chance, for all things in the past twenty eight years were all just a preface of the next chapter, how could I ever say it'd finished, right? Maybe the next chapter'd be the first "real" piece of my life compared to what'd been revealed before? It could be. Maybe next month I'd find the ultimate value of my life? I didn't know.

Maybe there'd be something else one day?

If I'd already plan I'd die one day, what was I still concerned so much about not having anything valuable in life, right? Why would I still care if I could get the things I wanted? In the end, all things'd fall in places. I'd sleep in peace and nothing could get to me.

There's no reason to be sad cuz we all had the last resort. There'd be a way out.

Now it's just days of getting by. Days of wonder and closure. Days of wrapping up the shits leftover from before. That's why I never did my 401K. I didn't need it. I always thought I would have been dead by the time I needed it. I didn't need a mortgage too. All I needed were just a full-time job and a reliable convertible, which I already had.

Every time when I thought I was gonna die one day, it was just so comforting. It's like I could already see an end of my suffering. When terrible things happened to me, I thought of the idea of dying and was relieved. Strange huh? So every morning I could jump into my pink convertible, played some sad songs and sang along to them to start another painful day. Living my life is like swimming in the sea of pain like a happy fish.

I think I did enough crazy things in life. Just did what I wanted to do. So now, maybe it's time to seriously contemplate at least a few thing important in life. Maybe that's the reason why I appear thoughtful some time. I don't know what specific things I'm thinking most of the time I look at the middle of the air though.

I still want to know what love really is. I've been trying to know it since the beginning of my cognition.

When Nancy was having colitis, I washed her butt hole, carefully wiped off the blood and shit off it. I drove her to the ER Saturday midnight through Old Town Pasadena where people're wearing nice clothes, drinking, having fun. She had diarrhea and pooped on the vet's office floor. I wiped. It smelt like hell. I didn't do anything but just sat at home, used the baby dropper to pump water into her mouth, scooped can blend dog food bit by bit onto my own palm, sticked my hand under the coffee table and begged her to eat some. I cried. No job, no money and no guy issues mattered anymore at that moment. I just wanted her to recover. Really, nothing's more important I realized. If I could only choose from either that the most amazing guy proposed to me or that Nancy recovered, I would choose the later. It was when she's as sick as that I recognized my priority. Suddenly I knew love.

It wasn't about love for Nancy. The object of desire's always replaceable. It's about love itself. It's not about how much I do, how far I go, but the best for the other party. Sometimes it's necessary for helpless figures like Nancy that I have to sacrifice. But most of the time it's not because of love that we write love letters to others, we see others, we spend time with others, we want to keep others with us as long as possible. It's because of something else.

I knew I would not be able to give Narcissus any love when he could not hear me but only himself. I want to pay him respect by leaving him in peace. Instead of seduction, I give him freindship. That maybe tedious and virtual but that's probably the best love I can offer him. True love wins on lollipops and crisps. So true.

I'm not living
I'm just killing time
Your tiny hands
Your crazy kitten smile

Just lonely, lonely..
Just lonely, lonely..

Aw this song's killing me...

It's so nice to live at no weight. Changes're happening around me but there is no pressure cuz I've already found love and it'll never leave me. There was nothing to understand, to discover, to evaluable, to examine, cuz the answer's already within ourselves. I'm embraced tenderly and looked after by "the answer". I finally found what I was seeking the whole time. There was fluid flowing on me, light projected on me, the scent of flowers everywhere. And in front of my eyes, I saw Narcissus. He's so beautiful. I kneed and prayed. Then I fell asleep again...

The urge to write hasn't been this strong for years. I realize I can't really write heart felt stuff in English. I'm going back to Chinese.

But I'll improvise a little with broken pieces of memory in my blog once in a while:

I couldn't get that guy out of my mind. I was pretending to be listening to the story my friend was telling. He was great. So interesting. Yeah so the weather was good, the ground started to dry up after the rain, traffic's slow and the restaurant was good. His story was really interesting. But I saw "him" over my friend's face in the air tonight.

I was infatuating my imagined love. A man that I didn't even know his existence. He was like a breeze blowing by my window. Couldn't see, couldn't catch but could only feel. Through thoughts, books and music. But I felt he's with me every day, every night. Like what the Father said about God. He existed as said if I believed he did. So did I believe in him? Was he really the man I thought he was or was he just somebody who made himself up with the pictures, emails, phone calls? I didn't know. But what didn't I know? I didn't even know what I didn't know. I had never known anybody as fabricated as he was in my entire life. Even people I met on the net were mostly real when I got to know them more. They were common people. But my fake plastic love...

But I can't help the feeling.
I could blow through the ceiling.
If I just turn and run.
And it wears me out.

If I could be who you wanted all the time.

Know what? I've already found my permanent Saturday night hang out place - my home - I'll drink and write like a maniac every Saturday night and there will be no infatuated dates, no Saturday nights missing BFs, no girls night out, no nothing... After running tons of errands on Saturday, I need a break, just to ditch on my GF and sit in front of the computer and write the most pressing stuff out of my chest...:

If there're two realities: you lied to me that you're sad just to get my attention and care, or, you're really sad; I'd rather want it be the former. Cuz I don't want to see you sad

Cuz you're so beautiful
So delicate
So sensitive
So fragile

You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my entire life.

Once I'd known your existence
I knew I had to know you more
Knowing about you will already be enough to be part of the reason to live
Thank you

Don't ever know me
Look at me
Do anything with me
Cuz I'll contaminate your beautiful life

Without my intrusion, you're perfect

I'll drown my beliefs
To have you be in peace
I'll dress like your niece
And wash your swollen feet

Just don't leave
Don't leave

Okay I admit I'm a geek... Met my ex-husb of 3 years on the Internet, had some other good dates from the Internet before too, and then two nights ago I just found myself so and oh so shy talking on the phone when that guy I'd been quite caring about and talking to for a while called. Dead air, then even longer dead air... He's amazingly interesting and he knew so many things I was into but I just had zero telephone skill left to just carry a decent conversation... I just felt an exploding desire to write and write more on the blogs and to him but was never ready to talk so don't even mention meet in person... This's wonderful considering I'm a professional executive assistant serving as a liaison between top executives and anybody else in the company, including the janitorial workers... I probably talk on the phone for at least a couple hours a day at work using correct grammer, good vocabulary and firm tone but after work I just simply don't know how to talk on the phone... especially to a man I'd been admiring so much...

So, I just held my cell phone, kept writing notes on the note pad on the desk and looked at my toes... And he kept talking and trying to get to know me and I was responding horribly... And I'm sure he's terribly bored by me cuz I never said anything worth listening at all... He's probably thinking I was using fake pictures and somebody wrote smart message for me to him and in real life I was another person...

Thank God I can totally imagine myself writing a fantastic web blog or books or whatever in the following 20 years and end up losing all of my social skill and living with 30 cats and 40 dogs when I'm old... cuz no guy'll wanna marry a geek and live with her with many many books, magazines, cables, gadgets, hubs here and there... I don't know what a guy'll feel when he's reaching his hand to try to grap a tissue or something by my bed but find my fax machine and fictions instead... I have no dry flower, no picture frame, no tissue holder, no girly ornament whatsoever unlike what my GFs have at home but just lots of books, carbinets and junks... Ugh... Look at my place... I'm a disaster...

And then my GF's trying to set me up with an FOB tonight at dinner cuz I thought FOBs have stronger accents of home and I wanna be a real Hong Kong girl... You know those girls that wear G2000 and U2 to go to work... marry a Hong Kong guy, take care of a Hong Kong mom-in-law, etc... How long have I been crazy first by marrying a foreigner musician then by working so many different relavant jobs... Don't understand why I can't be just like all other classmates in university, have a stable simple conventional life and relax... Then GF called up at midnight and told me my business card showed I still carried my German American ex-husb's last name and that FOB didn't like Chinese girl married to gweilo before... OMG! Okay I have successful interesting intelligent Western guys who're architects and artists talking about Derrida and Cindy Sherman to me and I was having dinner with some dude that shared zero common interest with me at all tonight as if that's a big deal! What the hell was I thinking?! I must have been out of my mind... Always wanted to find a guy that could read my own stuff and books in Chinese I like but maybe he didn't really exist unless I write about Canto pop or I read Chinese tabloids... Okay I give up... Turned up the drum and bass *really* loud and recognized: I couldn't change myself. I liked jungle but was driven crazy by those canto pop and Asian food... Tried too hard to imitate my 1st generation sisters too much and lost myself... In the end, everybody here thought I was ABC and I married a gweilo, what do I expect from myself? Can't bend myself to fit in if I don't.

... Warm, acidic and a little stingy, I was in hell again. Wasn't this feeling familiar? Wasn't it the same as that thirteen years ago when that good-looking guy two years ahead in secondary school didn't tell me he was going to transfer to another school? Wasn't it the same as that when I heard my most loving ex-boyfriend telling a woman he loved her on the phone in another room? Ugh! I'd known it for an awfully long time already! It's painful, abrasive and draining. There was a little injured animal trembling and crying inside of my body. She was deceived, hurt and helpless. But I knew one day, she would finally come out of me and lead me to peace by touching my hair, whispering to me and putting me to sleep under the tenderest moonlight. I would then be loved.

Cuz women like hearing them.

I can't even remember how many times I indirectly invited guys to lie to me.

Maybe that happens every time women express an idea, either by talking or writing. Basically guys construct lies basing on our opinions to try to gain our trust, right? Cowards. What kind of people dare not even argue with women and convince them? The answer is men! They would rather tell lies to fool us then in the end uncover the ugly truth and hurt us. That's why I always think women're stronger emotionally. At least we dare be true to ourselves and others. What's worse than one does not believe in true love? The answer is one dares not even admit the fact itself that he doesn't believe in true love. When men lies, it reinstates the real problem they avoid to face: their disbelief in true love, and just makes them feel worse. Lies make men immerse into more moral dilemma. Alfie. But avoidance to problems is a human nature, maybe more of a men's nature, especially men of dependence on marijuana, alcohol, church, etc.
Can't the liars grow a spine and tell us the truth? Maybe we will consider a less than perfect deal instead of a fake deal, right? Life's not perfect.

Do I sound man-hating now? What kind of a bitter old fat dumped woman am I?

The following piece is not written by me. It's only cut and pasted:

Not because we cannot find a person to sleep with, but because it is beautiful to think of him in our heads when we touch ourselves. It's beautiful to think about how he will touch us, flip our hair, lift our heads, gently stroke our lips and kiss us. It will feel like our first kiss in life.
For one moment, he will forget all conflicts and politics between us, close his eyes and open his hearts. He will only want us to be happy that night, only want us to feel loved. To do so, he will preciously kiss every inch of our bodies. He will treat us as his dream car. He will swallow his pride and feel he loves us too.

For one moment, he will think we're the love of his life, his soulmates. He will wonder if his entire life has been wasted and wrong until he meets us. He will feel his soul is finally immersed to love. He will even start thinking about leading an entirely new life with us. Marrying us, bearing kids with us, growing old with us, anything he never ever wants to do before the sex, or after!

That's the beauty of love sex. That's what's beautiful to imagine when we masturbate. We cannot get the same satisfaction from just thinking of some random cute guys. It can only be drawn from a guy that we can picture the possibility of his loving us at the bottom of his heart. It is almost an equivalent to porn for women. The idea of a guy that genuinely loves us is so sexy. Only itself is enough to bring ten big and small orgasms to me.

But the mechanism of sex is when we sleep with a guy, the climax kills his feeling of loving us simultaneously. Once he gets up, puts on his shirt, picks up his cell phone and calls up somebody else after the sex, we lose all the fantasy of his loving us. The situation immediately turns so mundane and unromantic. That "post-play" is made impossible. Real sex only leaves us frustration and disappointment. It almost kills part of the relationship, or if there is no relationship to begin with, the friendship. Therefore, we masturbate.

I was mad. Then you brought me a coral pink rose. Then I opened the door and let you walk in. Then you sat on the carpet and carefully touched my Thai dress. You sounded so sorry and oh so sorry. Andy Hui's Soft Soil... There were already flowers on the coffee table a friend bought me... Suddenly so many flowers... But did you mean what you said? Would you really give me what I needed and feel me grow in you? Cuz you knew baby, I was just a seed, once I settled in you, I couldn't fly again... Ugh... did you borrow themes from Canto pop all the time? What did you sing to me at first again? Oh that's right! You said you're my Pass-by Dragonfly of Leslie Cheung's... Oh you such a karaoke freak...