Graphic design has in years of being a craft for the trained and learned, opened up, and practiced even by the most uneducated. We all know the story, anyone with a computer, the adobe suite software package, a good mouse and some sort of idea can do graphic design. In fact the barrier to enter the once elusive realm of graphic design is so low, anyone really, could apply. While this has affected the overall quality of the practice, graphic design has been pushed in to an uncanny position. Because it is no longer elusive, mysterious or cooky, it has been embraced by businesses as a core to business strategies. It is not strange anymore to see Presidents of entire marketing divisions to be past practitioners of graphic design, or see Creative Directors seated at the conference table, making decisions affecting bottom-line . And also more and more business schools are offering basic graphic design programs to their students as part of their business degrees.
All this sounds great right. After years of trying to get graphic design as part of the business process, instead of a mere side thought, graphic design has finally won. We won. Or is this one of those situations where we take three steps forward and five steps back. When business entities embrace or consume graphic design as part of its process, graphic design begins to lose its core. What is this core, however is often debated by masters of the craft to the point where there is no middle ground. For the sake of argument, lets assume that core of graphic design, is its purpose to communicate clearly. And what better industry to make an example of about the need to communicate clearly other than the advertising industry. Strange. Isn't the advertising industry the same as the graphic design industry? The work might be similar, the offices might be using the same macs, but advertising is a totally different beast. In fact advertising is a fine example of how graphic design can be twisted and deformed to the point of change, that it can no longer call itself the practitioners of the craft.
Advertising places above all else, the core idea of the message that needs to be communicated. Graphic design places both the idea and the execution of that idea on equal grounds. In fact graphic design, places ideas, form and functions on equal ground. Because of this advertising mantra, our world is littered with designs that maybe witty, but hardly beautiful. In fact advertising places ideas on a pedestal, that it is willing to do anything to ensure that idea gets communicated. Even lie and exaggerate the truth. Advertisers are the lawyers of the graphic design industry. Dirty and disgusting, but if you are willing to do it, the money is there. Of course we do have graphic design studios that do the same thing, but thats the mere influence from the practices of advertising.
Now it is the year 2008, and advertising is part and parcel of life. Advertising however is weakening. People get smarter. They have more information. And are less effected by witty copy written by copy writers. Learning this, business is beginning to take advantage of and consume another aspect of graphic design. If advertising is the twisted and deformed abomination of the graphic design's craft of expression of ideas, then we should be afraid of the new beast that is slowly but surely emerging from this modern age unholy union of business and graphic design.
Graphic designers always knew that people make choices not only because of facts presented in their faces. People are ruled by their emotions and as graphic designers, we wield the ability to change moods, emotions and feelings of our audience. The colors we choose, the typefaces we set and the composition we craft are all part of a master plan to evoke a certain mood so our message could better be accepted. While we are still bound by the core – the need to communicate clearly – we know the intangible matters as much. Businesses are realizing this, and beginning to incorporate it as part of a rational process. Imagine – rationalizing the irrational part of the human experience. This new love child of emotion and business is called Branding.
Branding at its ideal, is graphic design fulfilling its true purpose. It doesn't lie, exaggerate or attempt to deceive. Branding allows graphic designers to contribute positively to the realm of businesses and practice the craft at her best. A proper brand is a reflection of the truth and an aspiration towards betterment.
However, many business are turning to branding as a cure it all. They see it as another medium to deceive more customer by creating the illusion that they are better than what it seems. At the end of the day, we will see slick brands poping up all over the place, but with products and services that couldn't stand on its two feet.
So to end this essay on a lighter note, we should take comfort in the fact that graphic design as an industry is poise for greater growth than ever. It has never been a better time to be a graphic designer other than now. But we are at a crossroads right now to ensure direction of our industry do not go to a place where we can no longer look at graphic design the same way. Where is graphic design going is a question we must be able to answer with pride and jubilation. And not shame and anger.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
How did this happen?
This is the Windows XP boot screen.
This is the Mac OS X boot screen. Minimal at its best.
This is the Windows Vista boot screen, attempting the minimal look. Even when Microsoft tried minimal design, it looked ugly.'nuff said.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Goodbye Krabi
Hello butt crack...p/s: I am too lazy to photoshop that crack out of the photo, besides I think it makes the picture, well ermm.. more human.
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Silence
Yeah we are not racist.
You understand chinese what, was their excuse. An excuse given not to justify anything, but just to make themselves feel better. So they continued speaking in mandarin as I just sat there. I kept my silence, not as a protest. To protest would to voice out. To protest would mean to leave. But no, I just kept my silence. Because I am not racist. Because I am racially harmonious.
Isn't that what racial harmony is?
You like chinese songs what, was their excuse. An excuse given not to justify anything, but just to make themselves feel better. So the radio, kept blasting mandarin ballads as I just sat there working on my work. I kept my silence, wondering if music is really a universal language. I kept my silence, trying to differentiate between songs, which all sound so seemingly similar. Chinese. I kept my silence, because protesting would be racist.
Race is not an OB marker that should be crossed.
So no one cares to voice out when the army systematically exclude certain races from certain departments and units. It's for security what. An excuse that don't justify anything, but just to soothe their collective guilt. It's okay. We kept our silence, because we are not racist.
We kept our silence.
Even when they said; Look at them. They and their tudungs, and children. Look at them, said with distaste. They and their black skinny jeans, t-shirts and truckers. Look at them, said with distaste. They and their tents and their picnics on the beach. Look at them. Wanting to wear the tudung to school. Look at them. Demanding equality at the workplace. Look at them, trying their very best to be what they are not. Look at them. Denying their own race because they think they can be one of us. Look at them. They. Just look at them. No excuses were made this time, and still we kept our silence.
You understand chinese what, was their excuse. An excuse given not to justify anything, but just to make themselves feel better. So they continued speaking in mandarin as I just sat there. I kept my silence, not as a protest. To protest would to voice out. To protest would mean to leave. But no, I just kept my silence. Because I am not racist. Because I am racially harmonious.
Isn't that what racial harmony is?
You like chinese songs what, was their excuse. An excuse given not to justify anything, but just to make themselves feel better. So the radio, kept blasting mandarin ballads as I just sat there working on my work. I kept my silence, wondering if music is really a universal language. I kept my silence, trying to differentiate between songs, which all sound so seemingly similar. Chinese. I kept my silence, because protesting would be racist.
Race is not an OB marker that should be crossed.
So no one cares to voice out when the army systematically exclude certain races from certain departments and units. It's for security what. An excuse that don't justify anything, but just to soothe their collective guilt. It's okay. We kept our silence, because we are not racist.
We kept our silence.
Even when they said; Look at them. They and their tudungs, and children. Look at them, said with distaste. They and their black skinny jeans, t-shirts and truckers. Look at them, said with distaste. They and their tents and their picnics on the beach. Look at them. Wanting to wear the tudung to school. Look at them. Demanding equality at the workplace. Look at them, trying their very best to be what they are not. Look at them. Denying their own race because they think they can be one of us. Look at them. They. Just look at them. No excuses were made this time, and still we kept our silence.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
The Condom Problem
Teens, sex and Aids: Time to face up to today's realities
It seems that this realization, when similar problems are already faced in the US and other major developed conservative countries came a little too late. Abstinence will never be a 'safe-sex' choice for the sexually active. Those that wish to abstain from sex, will already done so. They know the virtues and joy of waiting for the right one to come (for the straights it's when they walk down the aisle, and the gays.. I dunno..) But for the sexually active majority, the government need to realize that the only viable solution for protection is condom usage.
It is also perhaps interesting to note that many young people are getting HIV not because they are sleeping around with random people, but getting it from their loved ones, from a context of a relationship. For reasons, perhaps linked to the government stance in sex education (abstinence first, be faithful then maybe use the condoms), most young people who are having sex for the first time, especially with a supposed steady partner, do it without a condom. So the one at risk here, isn't only the promiscuous who do it with multiple partners, but also the those that wishes to partake in the 'ultimate expression of love'.
The government needs to exercise their leadership once again, and do the unpopular but necessary thing here. Condom usage needs a better rep. Guerilla messages targeted to specific group, like the gays (usually given out in clubs on Sunday nights and during plays) is not effective. It needs massive attention. The government needs to acknowledge that premarital sex is not a 'moral wrong' or unethical, but merely a lifestyle choice, that can be practiced in a safe way. Once the stigma gets out of the way, only can the education come in. The conservative majority can complain till the cows come home, but the message of abstinence is not working. Children are having sex. Some with hot random strangers online. And many with their allegedly safe partners. Whatever it is, this kids need to protect themselves. And love isn't the answer.
The Aids pandemic of the 70s might yet happen again, only this time on our little island.
It seems that this realization, when similar problems are already faced in the US and other major developed conservative countries came a little too late. Abstinence will never be a 'safe-sex' choice for the sexually active. Those that wish to abstain from sex, will already done so. They know the virtues and joy of waiting for the right one to come (for the straights it's when they walk down the aisle, and the gays.. I dunno..) But for the sexually active majority, the government need to realize that the only viable solution for protection is condom usage.
It is also perhaps interesting to note that many young people are getting HIV not because they are sleeping around with random people, but getting it from their loved ones, from a context of a relationship. For reasons, perhaps linked to the government stance in sex education (abstinence first, be faithful then maybe use the condoms), most young people who are having sex for the first time, especially with a supposed steady partner, do it without a condom. So the one at risk here, isn't only the promiscuous who do it with multiple partners, but also the those that wishes to partake in the 'ultimate expression of love'.
The government needs to exercise their leadership once again, and do the unpopular but necessary thing here. Condom usage needs a better rep. Guerilla messages targeted to specific group, like the gays (usually given out in clubs on Sunday nights and during plays) is not effective. It needs massive attention. The government needs to acknowledge that premarital sex is not a 'moral wrong' or unethical, but merely a lifestyle choice, that can be practiced in a safe way. Once the stigma gets out of the way, only can the education come in. The conservative majority can complain till the cows come home, but the message of abstinence is not working. Children are having sex. Some with hot random strangers online. And many with their allegedly safe partners. Whatever it is, this kids need to protect themselves. And love isn't the answer.
The Aids pandemic of the 70s might yet happen again, only this time on our little island.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Chapter 4 - Perfection
So Wan discovered a little known secret about the world. Sex brings in more sex. It's the great irony of life. It works this way. If you are having sex – and especially with a sexy strapping lawyer such as V – naturally you feel sexy. Feeling sexy gives one confidence. Confidence makes your brain releases chemicals and hormones that makes you physically sexy. And being physically sexy brings it more sex (or at least curious stares).
If you own your sex life, you own the world. Well at least that's how Wan felt. Ever since his secret affair (is it an affair even though it's just mainly sex?) with the thirty year old lawyer from uptown, Wan's steps was stronger, his posture sharper and his muscles toner. It's as if sex have breathed in renewed life into his overworked body. People noticed, and Wan liked it.
'You are so dressed for work today!' Wan's colleagues commented.
'Oh really? I didn't even plan this outfit.' Wan lied, laughing fakely down the stairs. Of course he planned his baby blue stripped shirt, solid denims, leather belt, beige loafers, purple socks and his sexy clean white briefs. He was going to meet V for lunch, and Wan used the word lunch here quite liberally. There wasn't going to be any kind of eating – at least by the standard conservative definition of the word eating. Wan walked down the blocks smiling wildly. The day was perfect. His life was perfect. What more could he ask for.
---
'LOVE!'
Hahn almost chocked on his mushroom stroganoff. Zat was as usual going about his bouts of self pity. Unlike most emo gay kids, who wallow in self pity quietly in their rooms, slitting their wrist and dying alone, Zat was quite intent on sharing his feelings with the whole world, well the restaurant, at least.
'That's what I need,' Zat continued, then munching on his chicken Pot Pie.
'And why do you need Love?' Hahn asked, almost condescendingly. In truth he knows everyone needs love. He is the ever champion for love, and the rights to be loved. Love, to him, is the fundamental truth of all things. Unfortunately, love was not enough to shake off the feeling that his relationship with Benjamin was not going all too well.
To outside eyes, Hahn and Benjamin was the most perfect of couples any couples could be. Hahn was caring and loving, almost to a fault. Benjamin; young and sporty. Always a smile on his face, and by the way he touched Hahn, truly do love him so. It was the kind of relationship straight couples aspire to have, teenage girls coo to, and gay men dreamt all their lives to be in. But beneath the shimmer and gloss, comes the undefinable problem. Hahn refused to let Benjamin obvious short comings in bed to be the sole reason of the strain in the relationship. Not everything is about sex, was the mantra Hahn lives by. Sex will not solve problems, Zat will occasionally chime in.
Because of this denial, Hahn created imaginary problems in his mind so that there is a cause should the relationship fail. Was I not caring? Was I getting boring? Was I not funny enough. The truth is, Hahn is probably the best fucking boyfriend anyone could have. And strangely, its his strong belief in pure love – the kind of love that could exist even with the devoid of sex – that is getting in the way of Hahn's pursuit of that great relationship.
---
'You look lost,' Zat suddenly said, disrupting Hahn's deep thought. 'What's wrong?' he asked, being the ever concerned friend.
'Oh nothing ...'
Zat continued, eating his pot pie in silence. He knew something was wrong. But what was the point of poking further. Hahn was contend in keeping his problems to himself, and poking further will only prove to irritate him. He had enough problems of his own to deal with. Work was proving to be a constant pain. He could not even afford to have a meal in peace. Constant beeping of the phone with texts from his students asking mundane questions. But he still answers them anyway. It gives him some sort of reassurances that someone out there still values his opinions. Still values him.
'No phones at the table,' Hahn demanded.
'This is my work. I don't knock off you know.'
And that was his problem. He never knocked off. His full dedication to his job became a separate agenda. If he was at the top of his game, perhaps someone out there would like him. Would love him. And his pursuit of perfection was not for the sake of perfection, but to prove to himself that he did have redeeming qualities of worth. His job became his life. And if he was doing great at his job, he must be doing great in life as well.
But he wasn't doing too great in life, nor his job. All his so called friends he made during the course of his work, were not friends he could count on. He was making barely enough money to feel fulfilled and compensated for all the shit he had to go through. And career wise there were no progression. He's stuck. Sure he's at the top of the food chain, but instead of the great ocean, he's at the top in a mere small little pond. To progress, he had to leave. But to leave would mean to risk throwing all the comforts he had. And at a perilous time of his life, he needs all the comfort he could get.
Oh. Also, he's single.
--
Wan flung his shirt over his back, and buttoned up with haste. Lunch time was over hours ago. If one were to follow meal times strictly, it would already be tea as about now. With his hands busy buttoning up, he was scanning the floor for his briefs.
'Where's my underwear?'
'Why are you in such a hurry?' V asked, completely ignoring Wan's questions. 'Stay. We haven't had lunch,' he continued as he flipped over onto his stomach and stretched like a cat.
'Lunch!' Wan exclaimed. 'Lunch was two hours ago. Now is the time I get fired, my career ruined and everything I ever worked for destroyed!'
'But it's all worth it isn't it,' V replied with that charming smile and dreamy eyes. He flipped over the pillows to reach for his pants.
'Now is not the time for jokes. Help me look for my underwear goddamned it!'
'Oh forget about your underwear. Just go commando.'
'My briefs are expensive!'
'I will get you are a new pair if we cuddle for fifteen more minutes.'
Wan looked down on V who was still on the bed naked curled up like a puma. It was all so tempting and he knew fifteen minutes of cuddling was really going to be thirty more minutes of not so much cuddling and and just sex.
'I'm really late.'
'Oh come on.' V insisted.
'Its three thirty,' Wan replied sternly. 'We can always meet again tonight.'
'I will still get you that new pair of underwear anyway,' V smilled.
'Why?'
'Because I like you.' V replied with a straight face, his piercing eyes now staring deep into Wan's. Wan was stunned. His lips quivering. After the information had sinked in – which took Wan appropriately 30 nano seconds to process – it daunted to him that he had to say something back. But what should he say. What did the 'I like you' mean? If he said 'I like you' back would it mean they are now in an official relationship. Or is the 'I like you' really one of those charming things V says all the time.
'I like you–r cock.'
That odd phrase was all Wan could muster after what seem like three equally odd seconds. Wan immediately rolled on his jeans, and left the visibly stunned lawyer.
If you own your sex life, you own the world. Well at least that's how Wan felt. Ever since his secret affair (is it an affair even though it's just mainly sex?) with the thirty year old lawyer from uptown, Wan's steps was stronger, his posture sharper and his muscles toner. It's as if sex have breathed in renewed life into his overworked body. People noticed, and Wan liked it.
'You are so dressed for work today!' Wan's colleagues commented.
'Oh really? I didn't even plan this outfit.' Wan lied, laughing fakely down the stairs. Of course he planned his baby blue stripped shirt, solid denims, leather belt, beige loafers, purple socks and his sexy clean white briefs. He was going to meet V for lunch, and Wan used the word lunch here quite liberally. There wasn't going to be any kind of eating – at least by the standard conservative definition of the word eating. Wan walked down the blocks smiling wildly. The day was perfect. His life was perfect. What more could he ask for.
---
'LOVE!'
Hahn almost chocked on his mushroom stroganoff. Zat was as usual going about his bouts of self pity. Unlike most emo gay kids, who wallow in self pity quietly in their rooms, slitting their wrist and dying alone, Zat was quite intent on sharing his feelings with the whole world, well the restaurant, at least.
'That's what I need,' Zat continued, then munching on his chicken Pot Pie.
'And why do you need Love?' Hahn asked, almost condescendingly. In truth he knows everyone needs love. He is the ever champion for love, and the rights to be loved. Love, to him, is the fundamental truth of all things. Unfortunately, love was not enough to shake off the feeling that his relationship with Benjamin was not going all too well.
To outside eyes, Hahn and Benjamin was the most perfect of couples any couples could be. Hahn was caring and loving, almost to a fault. Benjamin; young and sporty. Always a smile on his face, and by the way he touched Hahn, truly do love him so. It was the kind of relationship straight couples aspire to have, teenage girls coo to, and gay men dreamt all their lives to be in. But beneath the shimmer and gloss, comes the undefinable problem. Hahn refused to let Benjamin obvious short comings in bed to be the sole reason of the strain in the relationship. Not everything is about sex, was the mantra Hahn lives by. Sex will not solve problems, Zat will occasionally chime in.
Because of this denial, Hahn created imaginary problems in his mind so that there is a cause should the relationship fail. Was I not caring? Was I getting boring? Was I not funny enough. The truth is, Hahn is probably the best fucking boyfriend anyone could have. And strangely, its his strong belief in pure love – the kind of love that could exist even with the devoid of sex – that is getting in the way of Hahn's pursuit of that great relationship.
---
'You look lost,' Zat suddenly said, disrupting Hahn's deep thought. 'What's wrong?' he asked, being the ever concerned friend.
'Oh nothing ...'
Zat continued, eating his pot pie in silence. He knew something was wrong. But what was the point of poking further. Hahn was contend in keeping his problems to himself, and poking further will only prove to irritate him. He had enough problems of his own to deal with. Work was proving to be a constant pain. He could not even afford to have a meal in peace. Constant beeping of the phone with texts from his students asking mundane questions. But he still answers them anyway. It gives him some sort of reassurances that someone out there still values his opinions. Still values him.
'No phones at the table,' Hahn demanded.
'This is my work. I don't knock off you know.'
And that was his problem. He never knocked off. His full dedication to his job became a separate agenda. If he was at the top of his game, perhaps someone out there would like him. Would love him. And his pursuit of perfection was not for the sake of perfection, but to prove to himself that he did have redeeming qualities of worth. His job became his life. And if he was doing great at his job, he must be doing great in life as well.
But he wasn't doing too great in life, nor his job. All his so called friends he made during the course of his work, were not friends he could count on. He was making barely enough money to feel fulfilled and compensated for all the shit he had to go through. And career wise there were no progression. He's stuck. Sure he's at the top of the food chain, but instead of the great ocean, he's at the top in a mere small little pond. To progress, he had to leave. But to leave would mean to risk throwing all the comforts he had. And at a perilous time of his life, he needs all the comfort he could get.
Oh. Also, he's single.
--
Wan flung his shirt over his back, and buttoned up with haste. Lunch time was over hours ago. If one were to follow meal times strictly, it would already be tea as about now. With his hands busy buttoning up, he was scanning the floor for his briefs.
'Where's my underwear?'
'Why are you in such a hurry?' V asked, completely ignoring Wan's questions. 'Stay. We haven't had lunch,' he continued as he flipped over onto his stomach and stretched like a cat.
'Lunch!' Wan exclaimed. 'Lunch was two hours ago. Now is the time I get fired, my career ruined and everything I ever worked for destroyed!'
'But it's all worth it isn't it,' V replied with that charming smile and dreamy eyes. He flipped over the pillows to reach for his pants.
'Now is not the time for jokes. Help me look for my underwear goddamned it!'
'Oh forget about your underwear. Just go commando.'
'My briefs are expensive!'
'I will get you are a new pair if we cuddle for fifteen more minutes.'
Wan looked down on V who was still on the bed naked curled up like a puma. It was all so tempting and he knew fifteen minutes of cuddling was really going to be thirty more minutes of not so much cuddling and and just sex.
'I'm really late.'
'Oh come on.' V insisted.
'Its three thirty,' Wan replied sternly. 'We can always meet again tonight.'
'I will still get you that new pair of underwear anyway,' V smilled.
'Why?'
'Because I like you.' V replied with a straight face, his piercing eyes now staring deep into Wan's. Wan was stunned. His lips quivering. After the information had sinked in – which took Wan appropriately 30 nano seconds to process – it daunted to him that he had to say something back. But what should he say. What did the 'I like you' mean? If he said 'I like you' back would it mean they are now in an official relationship. Or is the 'I like you' really one of those charming things V says all the time.
'I like you–r cock.'
That odd phrase was all Wan could muster after what seem like three equally odd seconds. Wan immediately rolled on his jeans, and left the visibly stunned lawyer.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Things I hate about myself
When something funny happens (while watching a movie or listening to a comedian, for example), I look at other people while I laugh to make sure they thought it was funny too. This also applies to whether or not they’re moved by a song.
I could spent hours just munching on snacks, watching youtube movies and sketching fun things if I have a looming deadline. When there is nothing to do, I would me moaning about the boredom.
When I read text on the Internet, I highlight and unhighlight the text repeatedly. It drives other people nuts, so I guess there is something of merit there.
I hold anger in for so long that sometimes it builds up enough to require a nap (but one day…it’s all coming out!).
I’ve been trying to learn to play the guitar…for 11 years.
I like looking at other people's computer screen, secretly.
I pre-judge PC users (non Mac users). When I meet other designers or creatives, who work on a PC, I will deem them to be of the lower echelons of the creative class. This also applies to those who use their non mac laptops in public.
I cannot read something for a stretch of 30 minutes.
I mumble when I get nervous.
I could spent hours just munching on snacks, watching youtube movies and sketching fun things if I have a looming deadline. When there is nothing to do, I would me moaning about the boredom.
When I read text on the Internet, I highlight and unhighlight the text repeatedly. It drives other people nuts, so I guess there is something of merit there.
I hold anger in for so long that sometimes it builds up enough to require a nap (but one day…it’s all coming out!).
I’ve been trying to learn to play the guitar…for 11 years.
I like looking at other people's computer screen, secretly.
I pre-judge PC users (non Mac users). When I meet other designers or creatives, who work on a PC, I will deem them to be of the lower echelons of the creative class. This also applies to those who use their non mac laptops in public.
I cannot read something for a stretch of 30 minutes.
I mumble when I get nervous.
Craziness
I was cleaning my work space this morning, and I found so many crazy sketches, that I don't even realize I did.
If one's sanity is directly represented by one's sketches, that you would probably know which end of the sanity scale I am at.
If one's sanity is directly represented by one's sketches, that you would probably know which end of the sanity scale I am at.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Top or Bottom
So what do I do now
I don't know how I'm supposed to be
Do I get on top
Do I sit or squat
What happens if I have to pee
I've seen what he's got down there
And I'm worried just a little bit
Though I know I'm strong
He's oh so long
And I'm afraid it might not fit
So what am I worth now
Does the prize justify the deed
Will he hold me tight
Will it last all night
How much will I have to bleed
Ok, so here I am now
Dressed as he asked me to be
Will he taste real bad
Will he tell my dad
And will my dad take my money from me
I've been paying all my life
For this body, this hair..objectised
And now it's time to make this body pay for me
I don't know how I'm supposed to be
Do I get on top
Do I sit or squat
What happens if I have to pee
I've seen what he's got down there
And I'm worried just a little bit
Though I know I'm strong
He's oh so long
And I'm afraid it might not fit
So what am I worth now
Does the prize justify the deed
Will he hold me tight
Will it last all night
How much will I have to bleed
Ok, so here I am now
Dressed as he asked me to be
Will he taste real bad
Will he tell my dad
And will my dad take my money from me
I've been paying all my life
For this body, this hair..objectised
And now it's time to make this body pay for me
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Cigarettes
I once, in my proud egoistical days (which wasn't too long ago), proclaimed that I would never date a smoker. Smoking reeks of pretense. No one needs to smoke, and the only reason people smoke is to be part of the smoky social crowd. Smoking becomes a social glue. A dangerous social glue. Of course, like a cosmic joke, I dated, fell for, had the sex of my life, and fell out with a rather sexy smoker. He would light a cigarette after every session, the smoke clouding the darken room. The ashy smell of tobacco mixed with musky sweat became a typical sex after scent. It was scene right out of a sleazy movie. Typically, no one smokes around me, but I was not about to nit pick with a guy who gave one hell of a blow job.
Recently I had to deal with another smoker. A sexy little foreigner who fell for the Singapore dream – came here with the hopes of money and a good life. While I wouldn't barrette someone who chooses to smoke (hey its their life), I would stop short at actually buying someone a pack of smokes. I asked this foreigner why he smokes, even though he is broke, still looking for a job and the cost of cigarettes in Singapore cause ten times as much as they do back home. He looked at me with sad eyes, puffing his last stick.
'Oh they remind me of home,' he said. 'I miss home. Singapore can be harsh sometimes.'
I didn't know if it were his words, the eyes or the sex we were going to have soon after that, but I excused myself, rushed to the nearest 7-11 and bought him a pack.
'Here. So you don't miss home,' I said.
Never say never I suppose.
Recently I had to deal with another smoker. A sexy little foreigner who fell for the Singapore dream – came here with the hopes of money and a good life. While I wouldn't barrette someone who chooses to smoke (hey its their life), I would stop short at actually buying someone a pack of smokes. I asked this foreigner why he smokes, even though he is broke, still looking for a job and the cost of cigarettes in Singapore cause ten times as much as they do back home. He looked at me with sad eyes, puffing his last stick.
'Oh they remind me of home,' he said. 'I miss home. Singapore can be harsh sometimes.'
I didn't know if it were his words, the eyes or the sex we were going to have soon after that, but I excused myself, rushed to the nearest 7-11 and bought him a pack.
'Here. So you don't miss home,' I said.
Never say never I suppose.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Subtlety
I always believed that if you have to get yourself specs, get yourself something really strong and outrageous, that your life and style begins to revolve around it. Well that's until, Rara, the most unexpected of all people got to change my views. She got herself a pair of Marc Jacobs frames (yes Marc Jacobs, not the cheap diffusion line, Marc by Marc Jacobs, or any of his collaboration line). The design is subtle, and the only severity of the design is the way the frame is sliced, to show the idea of construction (something very Marc Jacobs). While the color is not exactly the most conservative – its metallic purple – the subtlety of the shape makes it rather pale in comparison to my frames, even though the color of my frame is conservative. I know all this design talk is nothing without pictures but Rara has yet to collect her spectacles.But I am rather excited for it. For once I actually remembered the detailing of the design and how the philosophy of Marc Jacobs is apparent on it – severe without being in your face. What's amazing about the spectacles is the unexpected subtlety. On the shelf, it looks rather menacing, and post-modern but somehow, when worn, the strictness and maturity of the design softens onto a modern almost Bauhaus-esque form, without being aged or stuffy. It is modernist while still being art-deco.
Rara, this could be your best designer purchase this year yet. And Zat, decide on a pair already. As for me, perhaps its time I retire outrageous for some subtlety.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
A satorial complain
It is said, that the Singaporean men dress better on weekdays than on weekends. The perhaps due to the fact, that many companies in Singapore still demand a certain decorum and formality in regards to their employees clothes, especially the financial and banking industry (and almost everyone in Singapore is in financial and banking - no joke, every major banks in the world has a HQ in our little island). While I appreciate the efforts our men put in when dressing up for work - with proper shoes, trousers of the right length and shirts tucked in tight - many seem to be carrying the worst bags you could find - The Crumpler sling bag. I have nothing against crumpler, even though they are usually compared to as the crocs of bags. But a crumpler bag and executive wear is a match made in hell. The shape of the bag distorts the slimness of a pair of dress trouser. The sling of the bag, crumples up the shirt. And you end up looking messy, shabby and not at all executive like. If you refuse to carry a man tote, carry a briefcase then. Crumpler sling bags are reserved for the designer who can wear t-shirt and jeans to work.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
A great way to cry
You most probably heard that SIA, dropped the locally grown advertising agency Batey, for the american advertising superstar TBWA. Now the fruits of the new agency is out in the papers.
When TBWA won the most coveted account away from Batey, they promised a fresher more modern approach to the Singapore Girl.
Ah.. right.
Look at the poor Girl. Not only has she been pushed aside away from the focus of the ad, she is now more subservient than ever. That's not the only problem. The ads are not even creative. Sure the new planes are big, but is that your only take on it TBWA? Oh yar, the new planes has double row windows, lets somehow try to inject that in.
This is Batey's first ad for SIA. Look at how confident the ad is. No big bolded (and really bad) typography. Just the Singapore Girl in profile. Celebrated. Respected. Displayed whole heartedly. The Singapore Girl is a brand TBWA. Use it properly. Respect it. If you think you can do better than the Singapore Girl, ditch her. Think of something smart to replace her with. Do not put her in a corner like some asian subservient servant.
Back to the drawing board.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
An incomplete Essay
"I was asked what I would do if I wasn't a graphic designer. It's a hard question to answer, because none of us has the ability to understand our path until its over. As of right now, I want to be a graphic designer more than anything else. It's a beautiful job – the ability to create art on a daily basis. Yes, I did say art. There are industrious designers out there who believe their work to be more than art, and that it performs a function, either it be business or academics. I know we have clients to serve, but I would like to believe the role of my work serves more than just the needs of the client. And that it can fit in between the world of fine arts and the functional world of billboard advertising.
It's impossible for me to accept that my work isn't art, no matter how the established dictionaries define the word art. I cannot accept that I am a mere player in the wheel of the giant consumerist machine. I cannot and I refuse. That's probably why I find it hard to see myself in an advertising agency, whose main role is to propagate the need to buy and buy more. This is not an altruistic high road that I am taking. I have always wanted to do more than just profit (not that I am profiting a lot) from designing.
Art is said to be the great gift to cultures. And that, the gift has to be passed around so that we would all have something in common. If you like the work of Van Goth and I like the work of Van Goth, the chances of us mutilating each other to death is diminished. We have a common base. I would like to contribute to culture in that way. The way, musicians, painters and sculptors do. Designers should view themselves in that same list, and it is crucial we do that, because our work is viewed by many. Not everyone has access to musicals and art exhibitions, but everyone looks at graphic design – whether they know its graphic design or not, is a whole separate inconsequential issue.
We can debate to the death regarding art versus design, but the very public nature of our work must not be abused to merely sell. It must be balanced by society's thirst for education, beauty and inspiration. Our work must delight the viewers as well as implicitly fulfill our responsibility to sell. "
It's impossible for me to accept that my work isn't art, no matter how the established dictionaries define the word art. I cannot accept that I am a mere player in the wheel of the giant consumerist machine. I cannot and I refuse. That's probably why I find it hard to see myself in an advertising agency, whose main role is to propagate the need to buy and buy more. This is not an altruistic high road that I am taking. I have always wanted to do more than just profit (not that I am profiting a lot) from designing.
Art is said to be the great gift to cultures. And that, the gift has to be passed around so that we would all have something in common. If you like the work of Van Goth and I like the work of Van Goth, the chances of us mutilating each other to death is diminished. We have a common base. I would like to contribute to culture in that way. The way, musicians, painters and sculptors do. Designers should view themselves in that same list, and it is crucial we do that, because our work is viewed by many. Not everyone has access to musicals and art exhibitions, but everyone looks at graphic design – whether they know its graphic design or not, is a whole separate inconsequential issue.
We can debate to the death regarding art versus design, but the very public nature of our work must not be abused to merely sell. It must be balanced by society's thirst for education, beauty and inspiration. Our work must delight the viewers as well as implicitly fulfill our responsibility to sell. "
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Sex and the Unsexy City - The Three
Singaporeans has always assumed that they live in a conservative country, modern yet out of touch of modern values and ethics. Naturally Singaporeans do not generally talk about sex. But the truth is, every young twenty and thirty somethings (and even the forty and fifty somethings) are having sex. And they have sex quite regularly. The fact is, we live in a society that hides under a blanket of conservatism while our actions are quite liberal. Singaporean loves sex. It's just not okay to publicly admit it.
Ever since he was hired a designer at a leading studio who works with big name clients, he was found almost everywhere. Cooperate identity launch parties, industry luncheon, design forums and whatever excuse to party, he will be there. Suffice to say, Wan has never required to ever again queue up to go anywhere. Of course, it was at one of these parties that he first met V.
On the rooftop of Odeon towers, the chic new trendy bar, The Loof, was transformed into a wonderland of pink and black. Black carpeted swirling stairs with pink draped handles leading to French doors. It was all so Victorian, with a color splash of modernity. And this was Wan's idea for the look of the newly founded law firm his studio was working with. The co-founder and principal partner, Mr Wang insisted that the firm be called Wang and Wang, even though the other partners had different surnames. Wan didn't approve, but he also didn't care. Even with such a tragic name, his designs for the firm's identity would be strong enough to be different. No other law firm in Singapore, let alone Asia would dare to use black and bold pink as their primary color. But that's what you get when you work with Wan. Rules are broken, and you get the unexpected.
As everyone was congratulating Wan for his designs, he was suddenly caught in his gaze. He was standing there, against the railing, lighted cigarette in one hand and the other a martini glass with half chewed olives on a stick. He was looking at particularly no where, but for some reason, or maybe it was all the alcohol, Wan truly believed that he was looking at him. Wan grabbed Anne, a friend who he hooked up to work at the new firm, to a corner.
'Who.. is.. that..?' Wan asked, almost unable to breathe.
'Darling. Breathe.' Anne replied. 'He is a lawyer at the firm. Not a partner yet, but important enough to be invited.'
'I don't care if he's a partner or a fucking janitor at Wang and Wang. He's hot!' Wan rebutted. 'Is he gay?' he asked, almost hopeful.
'Does it really matter?' Anne laughed. 'Okay okay. I don't really know if he's gay, but he's 32, single and never married. If that's not a red alert for homo, I don't know what is.'
'You got to hook us up! I am desperate Anne! He is fucking hot and I think he was looking at me.'
'I don't know Wan. I just started here. And it will be awkward.'
'Hey. I practically gave you this job. Now you got to return me the favor.'
Anne gave Wan a slight dirty look, jabbed him in the chest and then smiled. 'Fine' Anne replied. 'And if you do get to fuck him, give me the video as a thank you gift.'
--
'So you are the one responsible for making me carry hot pink name cards?' V said, extending his hand towards Wan. Wan shook it, and felt a little tingle. How could a gay's man handshake be so firm. Maybe its a lawyer thing, he thought.
'Well, you should be so lucky. Pink is really your color.' Wan replied, smiling ever so boldly. V suddenly pulled Wan's hands, tugging his body towards him. He pressed his mouth to Wan's left ear and whispered.
'I don't really date and I think you are cute.'
A million things was rushing through Wan's head. How do one respond to such a comment? What does it all really mean? He doesn't date? So what does he do? Wan thought. Does it all really come down to just sex? Is dating in the gay world dead? He has to say something. Something smart. Something a smart twenty plus year old designer would say.
'Get off me!' Wan pushed V away. 'People are watching.' As soon as he finished that sentence, Wan turned around, grimaced and gave himself a mental slap. He don't care people were watching. All that matter was V was fucking hot (cliché I know, but that was the only way Wan would describe V).
'Hey. Hey.' V called Wan back. 'I do really think you are hot.' As V continued talking, Wan was busy exploring every inch of V's face. His skin was almost flawless, except for a few blemishes around the eyes you get from too much sun-tanning. His neck looked so young. It was the kind of neck that looked so soft. It was impossible those belong to a thirty year old. And that body. It was lean, with enough muscles showing through the shirt to entice. His hands was in his pockets, creating a tension around that nice buttocks. Wan was smitten. He had to fuck him.
'So I really think you should come back to my apartment. It's just around the corner.'
'I don't think that's a good idea.' Wan said, once again grimacing. Why was he saying all this things that's he was not suppose to say. 'I have to work tomorrow.'
'Same here.' V replied, smiling with those eyes. Wan was once again caught in those dreamy gaze. He got to say it. He had to go to his apartment, Wan thought. Suddenly he was reduced from a star designer of the night, to a mere teenage boy with a high libido.
'Perfect.' Wan replied smiling, doing a slight toast with his champaign flute.
--
It was dark, raining and cold. It was those kind of nights where you snuggle up with your love ones, whispering sweet nothings to each other, drink hot milk and watch bad television show reruns. At precisely this moment, it was one of those nights, and Zat was alone, in Starbucks no less. When they said that coffeehouses were the best place to meet other people, they were lying. How can you meet other people, when all other people are with other people, Zat thought. He shruged off the feeling, dug into a huge piece of cheesecake and munched on it real slowly.
Zat's last relationship didn't end that badly. It was one of those relationships where the magic just stops. One of them just decided that it was not working anymore, and the other just did not bother fighting for it. Zat missed him terribly of course, but he also believed he had moved on. He only wished moving on means moving on to another guy. That's problematic part it seems. Zat had trouble finding new guys to date. And he seems to believe that's because he's not exactly the type of gay guy other gay guys are going for.
'I'm too fat Wan. I'm too fat and no one loves a fat person!' Zat suddenly confessed one day, in the changing room of Topman while Wan was trying on some jeans, he himself seems to have trouble fitting into. Wan was shaken, both by the fact that he can no longer fit into a size 30, and Zat's sudden development of an inferiority complex. You see, Zat was the confident one among the three. Even though he's not exactly the thin type – in fact he's quite chunky in certain places, he has this vivacious personality coupled with that indestructible confidence. Zat exude an aura of awesomeness. Almost like a superhero. He just don't look like one.
'Honey. You don't say such things while I am trying on jeans –'
'I'm serious!' Zat cut in. 'It's been a freaking year! I am still single and horny. What's is wrong with me?'
'Nothing is wrong with you.' Wan replied, rolling jeans off his legs he attempted to fit on. 'Just that maybe you could be quite threatening.' Wan added. He really wanted to suggest a gym membership to him, and try to get some sort of exercise routine into his life, but he held back, and tried to be a good friend.
'Threatening? How can I be threatening? I'm a musician! I'm a fucking musician and could not even get a date. A single date. Is that too much to ask for Wan? Am I really that fat?' Zat asked. His face had this serious look like he was expecting a serious answer.
'You really want me to answer that?' Wan looked back pleadingly.
'Yes.' Zat nodded, crossing his arms.
'Well maybe you could lose a small couple of kilos?' Wan suggested.
Zat rolled his eyes in response.
'Urgh. Sometimes I think this gay thing is just so fucked up.'
--
While Zat was contemplating his singlehood, over a cuppa, Hahn's lips was all over Benjamin's nipples. It was the perfect setting for a hot steamy sex session. His place was free, new sheets for the queen size bed and candles everywhere. The setting was perfect, unfortunately the sex was not as hot or steamy as Hahn would expect.
'You.. are.. soft..' Hahn whispered, in between licking, sucking and whatever it is you can do with a soft penis.
'Yeah..' Benjamin replied casually, shrugging his seventeen year old broad shoulders.
Hahn was disturbed. He has had few sex partners, but never has anyone gone soft on him. It was as if, his 'talents' were not appreciated. And he would never expect a seventeen year old, an age of one's sexual prime to be soft in the middle of sex.
'Is there a problem B? Am I doing something wrong?' Hahn asked, genuinely concerned.
'No. You are great, Baby.' Benjamin replied, caressing Hahn's hair and face.' This... happens sometimes.'
Hahn was visibly shaken. Suddenly Wan words - 'If he ain't good in bed, what makes you think he can be good at anything else' comes in mind. If Wan's words were true, this is the part where Hahn would pack, and leave Benjamin high and dry. Well dry and not too high anyway. But Hahn being a sweet homosexual that he is, refused to allow something as mundane as a limp dick to stand in his way of a blissful and great relationship.
'Do you have a problem B?' Hahn asked almost cautiously not wanting to break his fragile teenage ego.
'NO!' Benjamin replied almost uncharacteristically. 'I'm just not in the mood.'
--
It was Wan's dream apartment. The flooring is white marble. The wall is grey with a subtle tinge of beige and sunny yellow. It's the kind of walls that would reflect light really well, Wan thought. The whole minimal look of the apartment, was further accentuated with the bold and strong lines of the furniture.
'Impressed?' V asked as he reached into the cabinets for a bottle of red wine. 'I like clean designs. Minimal. Function over form. You know...'
'I do..' Wan agreed. 'You apartment is really impressive.' Wan was visibly awed. He was practically twirling and spinning around trying to absorb every detail of the apartment. 'Is that sofa a Norbert? Oh my god. It is!' he screamed excitedly as he sat on it, feeling the sofa velvet textured and abstract contours.
'Let me give you a tour of the apartment.' V invited, handing Wan a glass of red wine. He extended his hand, and Wan casually held it, like it was the most natural thing to do. V led Wan slowly to the second living room. It was not big, but it was not contrived either. Wan noticed that the paintings on the walls were all produced pieces. Nothing chosen, or handpicked from a gallery. It was hung merely for its aesthetic values. Wan always hated art hung just for the sake of beauty, but tonight was not the right night to get into a debate about the theoretical value of high arts.
Wan smiled at V. 'I fucking love this place.'
Suddenly V's head darted forward, and ambushed him, closing his mouth down on Wan's. Still holding a glass of wine on one hand, he pulled Wan closer with the other. Wan willingly curved his body into V's, thinking that his soft sweet lips were like a juicy fruit, a mango perhaps. His hard body however, provided an irresistible contrast. The kiss lasted for what felt like several minutes, but in truth it probably lasted only a few seconds. Wan then began to feel overwhelmed, like he couldn't breathe. He put his hand on V's chest and pushed him away.
'Hey, its okay if you don't want to do this,' V said, confused and quickly buttoning up his shirt. 'I could just call you a cab and -'
'No.' Wan cut in, placing his hand on V's luscious lips. 'I want to.'
'Okay.' V grinned, flashing all his white teeth, like a little boy who just discovered a new toy. 'Let's do it slowly this time.' He placed his hands on Wan's butt, pulled him nearer and knelt down to crotch level. Wan pushed back his head with a groan of pleasure. At this moment Wan felt like the luckiest person alive. A hot lawyer was on his knees, giving him the blowjob of his life. He doesn't care if he was not going to see V again after this. He doesn't care if this was just a mere one night stand. He was going to enjoy the sex. He was not about to let reality and conscience to get in the way of this one moment of pleasure.
Ever since he was hired a designer at a leading studio who works with big name clients, he was found almost everywhere. Cooperate identity launch parties, industry luncheon, design forums and whatever excuse to party, he will be there. Suffice to say, Wan has never required to ever again queue up to go anywhere. Of course, it was at one of these parties that he first met V.
On the rooftop of Odeon towers, the chic new trendy bar, The Loof, was transformed into a wonderland of pink and black. Black carpeted swirling stairs with pink draped handles leading to French doors. It was all so Victorian, with a color splash of modernity. And this was Wan's idea for the look of the newly founded law firm his studio was working with. The co-founder and principal partner, Mr Wang insisted that the firm be called Wang and Wang, even though the other partners had different surnames. Wan didn't approve, but he also didn't care. Even with such a tragic name, his designs for the firm's identity would be strong enough to be different. No other law firm in Singapore, let alone Asia would dare to use black and bold pink as their primary color. But that's what you get when you work with Wan. Rules are broken, and you get the unexpected.
As everyone was congratulating Wan for his designs, he was suddenly caught in his gaze. He was standing there, against the railing, lighted cigarette in one hand and the other a martini glass with half chewed olives on a stick. He was looking at particularly no where, but for some reason, or maybe it was all the alcohol, Wan truly believed that he was looking at him. Wan grabbed Anne, a friend who he hooked up to work at the new firm, to a corner.
'Who.. is.. that..?' Wan asked, almost unable to breathe.
'Darling. Breathe.' Anne replied. 'He is a lawyer at the firm. Not a partner yet, but important enough to be invited.'
'I don't care if he's a partner or a fucking janitor at Wang and Wang. He's hot!' Wan rebutted. 'Is he gay?' he asked, almost hopeful.
'Does it really matter?' Anne laughed. 'Okay okay. I don't really know if he's gay, but he's 32, single and never married. If that's not a red alert for homo, I don't know what is.'
'You got to hook us up! I am desperate Anne! He is fucking hot and I think he was looking at me.'
'I don't know Wan. I just started here. And it will be awkward.'
'Hey. I practically gave you this job. Now you got to return me the favor.'
Anne gave Wan a slight dirty look, jabbed him in the chest and then smiled. 'Fine' Anne replied. 'And if you do get to fuck him, give me the video as a thank you gift.'
--
'So you are the one responsible for making me carry hot pink name cards?' V said, extending his hand towards Wan. Wan shook it, and felt a little tingle. How could a gay's man handshake be so firm. Maybe its a lawyer thing, he thought.
'Well, you should be so lucky. Pink is really your color.' Wan replied, smiling ever so boldly. V suddenly pulled Wan's hands, tugging his body towards him. He pressed his mouth to Wan's left ear and whispered.
'I don't really date and I think you are cute.'
A million things was rushing through Wan's head. How do one respond to such a comment? What does it all really mean? He doesn't date? So what does he do? Wan thought. Does it all really come down to just sex? Is dating in the gay world dead? He has to say something. Something smart. Something a smart twenty plus year old designer would say.
'Get off me!' Wan pushed V away. 'People are watching.' As soon as he finished that sentence, Wan turned around, grimaced and gave himself a mental slap. He don't care people were watching. All that matter was V was fucking hot (cliché I know, but that was the only way Wan would describe V).
'Hey. Hey.' V called Wan back. 'I do really think you are hot.' As V continued talking, Wan was busy exploring every inch of V's face. His skin was almost flawless, except for a few blemishes around the eyes you get from too much sun-tanning. His neck looked so young. It was the kind of neck that looked so soft. It was impossible those belong to a thirty year old. And that body. It was lean, with enough muscles showing through the shirt to entice. His hands was in his pockets, creating a tension around that nice buttocks. Wan was smitten. He had to fuck him.
'So I really think you should come back to my apartment. It's just around the corner.'
'I don't think that's a good idea.' Wan said, once again grimacing. Why was he saying all this things that's he was not suppose to say. 'I have to work tomorrow.'
'Same here.' V replied, smiling with those eyes. Wan was once again caught in those dreamy gaze. He got to say it. He had to go to his apartment, Wan thought. Suddenly he was reduced from a star designer of the night, to a mere teenage boy with a high libido.
'Perfect.' Wan replied smiling, doing a slight toast with his champaign flute.
--
It was dark, raining and cold. It was those kind of nights where you snuggle up with your love ones, whispering sweet nothings to each other, drink hot milk and watch bad television show reruns. At precisely this moment, it was one of those nights, and Zat was alone, in Starbucks no less. When they said that coffeehouses were the best place to meet other people, they were lying. How can you meet other people, when all other people are with other people, Zat thought. He shruged off the feeling, dug into a huge piece of cheesecake and munched on it real slowly.
Zat's last relationship didn't end that badly. It was one of those relationships where the magic just stops. One of them just decided that it was not working anymore, and the other just did not bother fighting for it. Zat missed him terribly of course, but he also believed he had moved on. He only wished moving on means moving on to another guy. That's problematic part it seems. Zat had trouble finding new guys to date. And he seems to believe that's because he's not exactly the type of gay guy other gay guys are going for.
'I'm too fat Wan. I'm too fat and no one loves a fat person!' Zat suddenly confessed one day, in the changing room of Topman while Wan was trying on some jeans, he himself seems to have trouble fitting into. Wan was shaken, both by the fact that he can no longer fit into a size 30, and Zat's sudden development of an inferiority complex. You see, Zat was the confident one among the three. Even though he's not exactly the thin type – in fact he's quite chunky in certain places, he has this vivacious personality coupled with that indestructible confidence. Zat exude an aura of awesomeness. Almost like a superhero. He just don't look like one.
'Honey. You don't say such things while I am trying on jeans –'
'I'm serious!' Zat cut in. 'It's been a freaking year! I am still single and horny. What's is wrong with me?'
'Nothing is wrong with you.' Wan replied, rolling jeans off his legs he attempted to fit on. 'Just that maybe you could be quite threatening.' Wan added. He really wanted to suggest a gym membership to him, and try to get some sort of exercise routine into his life, but he held back, and tried to be a good friend.
'Threatening? How can I be threatening? I'm a musician! I'm a fucking musician and could not even get a date. A single date. Is that too much to ask for Wan? Am I really that fat?' Zat asked. His face had this serious look like he was expecting a serious answer.
'You really want me to answer that?' Wan looked back pleadingly.
'Yes.' Zat nodded, crossing his arms.
'Well maybe you could lose a small couple of kilos?' Wan suggested.
Zat rolled his eyes in response.
'Urgh. Sometimes I think this gay thing is just so fucked up.'
--
While Zat was contemplating his singlehood, over a cuppa, Hahn's lips was all over Benjamin's nipples. It was the perfect setting for a hot steamy sex session. His place was free, new sheets for the queen size bed and candles everywhere. The setting was perfect, unfortunately the sex was not as hot or steamy as Hahn would expect.
'You.. are.. soft..' Hahn whispered, in between licking, sucking and whatever it is you can do with a soft penis.
'Yeah..' Benjamin replied casually, shrugging his seventeen year old broad shoulders.
Hahn was disturbed. He has had few sex partners, but never has anyone gone soft on him. It was as if, his 'talents' were not appreciated. And he would never expect a seventeen year old, an age of one's sexual prime to be soft in the middle of sex.
'Is there a problem B? Am I doing something wrong?' Hahn asked, genuinely concerned.
'No. You are great, Baby.' Benjamin replied, caressing Hahn's hair and face.' This... happens sometimes.'
Hahn was visibly shaken. Suddenly Wan words - 'If he ain't good in bed, what makes you think he can be good at anything else' comes in mind. If Wan's words were true, this is the part where Hahn would pack, and leave Benjamin high and dry. Well dry and not too high anyway. But Hahn being a sweet homosexual that he is, refused to allow something as mundane as a limp dick to stand in his way of a blissful and great relationship.
'Do you have a problem B?' Hahn asked almost cautiously not wanting to break his fragile teenage ego.
'NO!' Benjamin replied almost uncharacteristically. 'I'm just not in the mood.'
--
It was Wan's dream apartment. The flooring is white marble. The wall is grey with a subtle tinge of beige and sunny yellow. It's the kind of walls that would reflect light really well, Wan thought. The whole minimal look of the apartment, was further accentuated with the bold and strong lines of the furniture.
'Impressed?' V asked as he reached into the cabinets for a bottle of red wine. 'I like clean designs. Minimal. Function over form. You know...'
'I do..' Wan agreed. 'You apartment is really impressive.' Wan was visibly awed. He was practically twirling and spinning around trying to absorb every detail of the apartment. 'Is that sofa a Norbert? Oh my god. It is!' he screamed excitedly as he sat on it, feeling the sofa velvet textured and abstract contours.
'Let me give you a tour of the apartment.' V invited, handing Wan a glass of red wine. He extended his hand, and Wan casually held it, like it was the most natural thing to do. V led Wan slowly to the second living room. It was not big, but it was not contrived either. Wan noticed that the paintings on the walls were all produced pieces. Nothing chosen, or handpicked from a gallery. It was hung merely for its aesthetic values. Wan always hated art hung just for the sake of beauty, but tonight was not the right night to get into a debate about the theoretical value of high arts.
Wan smiled at V. 'I fucking love this place.'
Suddenly V's head darted forward, and ambushed him, closing his mouth down on Wan's. Still holding a glass of wine on one hand, he pulled Wan closer with the other. Wan willingly curved his body into V's, thinking that his soft sweet lips were like a juicy fruit, a mango perhaps. His hard body however, provided an irresistible contrast. The kiss lasted for what felt like several minutes, but in truth it probably lasted only a few seconds. Wan then began to feel overwhelmed, like he couldn't breathe. He put his hand on V's chest and pushed him away.
'Hey, its okay if you don't want to do this,' V said, confused and quickly buttoning up his shirt. 'I could just call you a cab and -'
'No.' Wan cut in, placing his hand on V's luscious lips. 'I want to.'
'Okay.' V grinned, flashing all his white teeth, like a little boy who just discovered a new toy. 'Let's do it slowly this time.' He placed his hands on Wan's butt, pulled him nearer and knelt down to crotch level. Wan pushed back his head with a groan of pleasure. At this moment Wan felt like the luckiest person alive. A hot lawyer was on his knees, giving him the blowjob of his life. He doesn't care if he was not going to see V again after this. He doesn't care if this was just a mere one night stand. He was going to enjoy the sex. He was not about to let reality and conscience to get in the way of this one moment of pleasure.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Resolution Review
It is week two in January, and it is about time of that month where most people drop their resolutions and go about their lives. I, being an ardent believer of resolutions, and just plain stubborn, however, refuse to yield. Yes it is strange, how a person like me, who is widely believed by his circle of friends to suffer from commitment phobia to be so, well, committed to his resolutions. So, I believe it is only perfect for me to review my resolutions and document them for the world to read (the world being those very few readers including you whom I can count with my toes).
Here goes:
Continue fitness regime I started last year with more resolve
Oh how cliché can you get. Yes. Like almost every gay man on this planet (yes this even include the not so typical gay Zat), I need to get fitter. Aside from the minor problem with the weighing scale – nothing major, just a little inaccuracy on the scale department, making me actually three fucking kgs heavier than I really thought I was. How tragic right? At least I have been discipline on the gym department. Not so on the cardio and food. More running? I don't know. Suddenly the only solitary cardiovascular exercise I like to do, is wanking while watching asian porn.
Save money and be more thrifty
This is sadly more of a necessity than anything else. Having worked at a place I loved and found myself in a career where I had always dreamt to be in, and being there for over a year, I found myself in an unfortunate predicament of having no solid savings. I do not have an emergency stash of money anywhere. I have no saving plans. I have insurances and endowment plans I signed up merely for the attractive cash backs options, and the ability to reap the rewards of my premiums on top of the sad interest rates these insurance companies are paying me. Other than that, na da. No fluid cash storage anywhere. I live paycheck to paycheck, and this needs to stop. So I started myself a little excel spreadsheet (and I took a week to learn how to use those excel formulas!) where I document everything I spent on in a month, and suddenly my bank balance is looking healthier than ever. Apparently documenting that expensive $18 lunch and seeing how it affects your budget makes you think twice about doing that again. Inflation you can bite me!
Be a better Designer.
How do one be a better designer? You spent years trying to understand how those designers do what they do and try to do professional design like them. And then you polish up your portfolio, thinking you are all that, and try to apply for a position at a design studio. Getting a position at a design studio is a dream most designers dream of. It's difficult, requires hard work and many give up after endless unsuccessful portfolio interviews. For reasons that is perhaps above me, I was offered a place in a studio. I was exhilarated. Now that I am looking back at my portfolio, I cringed. There is no way I am hired because of that portfolio. Perhaps it's my height. I don't know. All I know is I need to continue be a better designer. How do one be a better designer? I think this is one of those lifelong aims. You may never know, but that's probably the point.
Go back to school
After talking to a few people (my colleagues, friends, people in the industry, recent graduates), I am starting to reconsider this resolution. But I have this strong gut feeling that I need to do this business degree I have been considering for almost a year. Financials is an obstacle, but it's not an obstacle high enough to stand in my way.
Love more
Still trying.
Here goes:
Continue fitness regime I started last year with more resolve
Oh how cliché can you get. Yes. Like almost every gay man on this planet (yes this even include the not so typical gay Zat), I need to get fitter. Aside from the minor problem with the weighing scale – nothing major, just a little inaccuracy on the scale department, making me actually three fucking kgs heavier than I really thought I was. How tragic right? At least I have been discipline on the gym department. Not so on the cardio and food. More running? I don't know. Suddenly the only solitary cardiovascular exercise I like to do, is wanking while watching asian porn.
Save money and be more thrifty
This is sadly more of a necessity than anything else. Having worked at a place I loved and found myself in a career where I had always dreamt to be in, and being there for over a year, I found myself in an unfortunate predicament of having no solid savings. I do not have an emergency stash of money anywhere. I have no saving plans. I have insurances and endowment plans I signed up merely for the attractive cash backs options, and the ability to reap the rewards of my premiums on top of the sad interest rates these insurance companies are paying me. Other than that, na da. No fluid cash storage anywhere. I live paycheck to paycheck, and this needs to stop. So I started myself a little excel spreadsheet (and I took a week to learn how to use those excel formulas!) where I document everything I spent on in a month, and suddenly my bank balance is looking healthier than ever. Apparently documenting that expensive $18 lunch and seeing how it affects your budget makes you think twice about doing that again. Inflation you can bite me!
Be a better Designer.
How do one be a better designer? You spent years trying to understand how those designers do what they do and try to do professional design like them. And then you polish up your portfolio, thinking you are all that, and try to apply for a position at a design studio. Getting a position at a design studio is a dream most designers dream of. It's difficult, requires hard work and many give up after endless unsuccessful portfolio interviews. For reasons that is perhaps above me, I was offered a place in a studio. I was exhilarated. Now that I am looking back at my portfolio, I cringed. There is no way I am hired because of that portfolio. Perhaps it's my height. I don't know. All I know is I need to continue be a better designer. How do one be a better designer? I think this is one of those lifelong aims. You may never know, but that's probably the point.
Go back to school
After talking to a few people (my colleagues, friends, people in the industry, recent graduates), I am starting to reconsider this resolution. But I have this strong gut feeling that I need to do this business degree I have been considering for almost a year. Financials is an obstacle, but it's not an obstacle high enough to stand in my way.
Love more
Still trying.
The Three - Lies
Stereotypes are only stereotypes because they are true. We all belong to one, and it is an inescapable fact. The gays and straights both have their own clichés. Non-conformity is dead because all the non-conformist are dead. We conform to a certain social standards and form cliques of our own. In a city of four million, Singapore is a like a giant high school cafeteria. Popular cliques rule the roost, and we all secretly want to be part of them.
Zat unfolded the napkin and looked around the restaurant with relief. Even if he's not earning that much, or has anybody special in his life, there is still a place like Mikes where there's no pretenses. The food was great and more importantly affordable. Service is not much to rave about, but at least there is no bullshit. You come to Mikes to dine, talk and enjoy the company of your friends. Not to be treated like kings. Unlike restaurants in the upper town – the Mezza or Carrasale, where no one in there really enjoys the food, or the pretentious service. Mikes straddle the line between class and not-really-there-yet which makes it all hip and trendy. It is expensive enough to make the students with too much time stay away, but yet cheap enough for those who just started with their careers to enjoy themselves.
Zat drummed his fingers impatiently as he waited at the table. Wan and Hahn has yet to arrive, but they will any minute now, appear at the door, waved their friendly wave, smile the best smile ever and just non-chalantly ignore the fact that they were twenty minutes late. Being the earliest to arrive, gave him the opportunity to scope out the scene. The first things he noticed were the sudden increase in the number couples. They were practically everywhere. 'Were they always there?' he thought to himself. Did he only begin to notice them, when he is now at his most vulnerable? Vulnerable not because he is alone, but because he was the only one alone. Hahn is now happily attached. Well attached at least. The happily part can come later. And Wan. Well Wan makes everyone feels lonely.
He remembered clearly when Hahn first made the announcement about the boy he's dating. It was at the very same table. 'I'm seeing someone!' Hahn suddenly blurted out then looking around waiting for some sort of excited response. Wan was suddenly very interested with the paper napkins arrangement, pretending to study them, and Zat stopped his sentence mid air. 'You are?' Zat replied cautiously. 'Wow.. who? When? Why? How? What happened?' Zat asked, expecting an answer in the exact same manner it was asked. Zat suddenly noticed, Wan's suspicious silence on the matter. 'Wan... Why are you so quiet?' he questioned. Wan then looked at Hahn pleadingly and nudged his head towards Zat, indicating that Hahn should explain himself. 'Well.. Wan already knew. I told him like two weeks ago..'
'Two fucking weeks!'
Actually it was more like two months. But telling that to Zat would mean treachery of the highest degree. The three did not keep things from each other, especially not someone you are dating. But for some reason or another, Hahn decided that his illicit tryst be kept from the rest. He only told Wan only because Wan found out accidentally when he was playing around with Hahn's cell. Wan really wanted to tell Zat, but he didn't know how he would react to the part where the boyfriend is only seventeen years old.
'You mean he's not even eighteen!' Wan exclaimed in the most dramatic fashion, when he found out he's age. 'Honey, isn't that like illegal over here?'
'Sixteen is the legal age of fornication.' Hahn explained, knowing that using technical legal facts as an excuse would not hide the fact he is dating a child. 'Besides, we haven't even had sex yet!'
'Great! You are not a pedophile.. yet.' Wan replied, rolling his eyes.
The door at Mikes opened, and enter Wan. He's a tall, this time in a casual long sleeve dress shirts and tailored jeans that shows off his long defined legs really well. Wan is not technically a beautiful person. But his height, and his muscled stature was usually enough to impress. And if that was not enough, there was his smile. A smile he used often to get away with things mere mortals could not. He walked over to the table smiling, water dripping from his cuffs and forehead.
'Did you walked in the rain?' Zat looked up at Wan more amused than surprised.
'Well, I didn't have an umbrella with me, and I can't run fast enough with these silly boots,' Wan said, pointing to his shoes. 'Where's Hahn anyway? He's coming right?'
'Oh he's coming. He better anyway.' Zat opened the menu as Wan settled into his sit. 'Let's order first shall we?' he said, waving to the waiter for his attention. 'I'll have one tuna nicoise salad please, with no potatoes.'
'Potatoes on the side at least?' the waiter asked, smiling almost smugly, as if he had suggested something that was clever and unexpected.
'No! No potatoes at all on the plate,' Zat insisted. 'In fact, if you could remove all the potatoes from this restaurant, that would be ideal.'
The waiter looked at the table blankly.
'Ignore him darling,' Wan assured the waiter, almost bordering on flirting. 'He's trying to lose some weight. He hasn't had sex since last year!' Wan added, the waiter now smiling. 'I will have the chicken quiche, with all the potatoes you could fit in it, in it. We'll have real food soon.' he ordered, ending it with a wink.
And as soon the waiter left, Hahn arrived. He walked steadily towards the table, as Wan excitedly welcome his arrival. Zat too was uncharacteristically smiling. This was the moment, where nothing else mattered, they thought. Their friendship came about almost like an accident. Three unlikeliest of people, sharing in common nothing but perhaps their love for dick. As Hahn took his sit, they looked at each other with affection. Their relationships were invaluable, because it is only among the three of them that they could be vulnerable. They could ask from each other for a pat on the back, without appearing hopelessly insecure.
'Sorry, for being late,' Hahn apologized, exchanging caring glances with both Wan and Zat. 'You know the rain and all..'
It didn't matter. They were going to spent the night dining and chatting their fabulous lives away. And when they were done with dinner, they would stroll down the lighted streets of Orchard, passing by the glamorous Paragon, secretly hoping they could one day afford to shop within the guarded walls of the branded stores. They would end their night in the coffeehouse, sipping lattes and eating muffins. In that moment, their life seemed perfect. If they didn't let go, nothing could go wrong.
Almost nothing anyway. A cellphone beeped. 'It's mine!' Wan pre-empted, waving his cell. It was a message from V. He carefully read it, not wanting to misinterpret the meaning of the words – 'Let's do dinner. Tmr. 7.30. Anywhere.'
He kept the phone almost as immediately as he finished reading.
'Who was it?' Zat asked.
'Oh no one important.' Wan lied. This lie however was necessary. He could not tell Zat the truth he believed. It would shake the foundation of his almost idealistic view of relationships, and that sometimes the attraction of the flesh is greater than oneself. He is fucking V and would end it as soon as it gets boring and it would be a clean end. No one needs to know. Not even Hahn, who would probably find the matter fascinating.
So why did he still feel guilty? Dirty? He shook off the feeling and ordered another cake.
Zat unfolded the napkin and looked around the restaurant with relief. Even if he's not earning that much, or has anybody special in his life, there is still a place like Mikes where there's no pretenses. The food was great and more importantly affordable. Service is not much to rave about, but at least there is no bullshit. You come to Mikes to dine, talk and enjoy the company of your friends. Not to be treated like kings. Unlike restaurants in the upper town – the Mezza or Carrasale, where no one in there really enjoys the food, or the pretentious service. Mikes straddle the line between class and not-really-there-yet which makes it all hip and trendy. It is expensive enough to make the students with too much time stay away, but yet cheap enough for those who just started with their careers to enjoy themselves.
Zat drummed his fingers impatiently as he waited at the table. Wan and Hahn has yet to arrive, but they will any minute now, appear at the door, waved their friendly wave, smile the best smile ever and just non-chalantly ignore the fact that they were twenty minutes late. Being the earliest to arrive, gave him the opportunity to scope out the scene. The first things he noticed were the sudden increase in the number couples. They were practically everywhere. 'Were they always there?' he thought to himself. Did he only begin to notice them, when he is now at his most vulnerable? Vulnerable not because he is alone, but because he was the only one alone. Hahn is now happily attached. Well attached at least. The happily part can come later. And Wan. Well Wan makes everyone feels lonely.
He remembered clearly when Hahn first made the announcement about the boy he's dating. It was at the very same table. 'I'm seeing someone!' Hahn suddenly blurted out then looking around waiting for some sort of excited response. Wan was suddenly very interested with the paper napkins arrangement, pretending to study them, and Zat stopped his sentence mid air. 'You are?' Zat replied cautiously. 'Wow.. who? When? Why? How? What happened?' Zat asked, expecting an answer in the exact same manner it was asked. Zat suddenly noticed, Wan's suspicious silence on the matter. 'Wan... Why are you so quiet?' he questioned. Wan then looked at Hahn pleadingly and nudged his head towards Zat, indicating that Hahn should explain himself. 'Well.. Wan already knew. I told him like two weeks ago..'
'Two fucking weeks!'
Actually it was more like two months. But telling that to Zat would mean treachery of the highest degree. The three did not keep things from each other, especially not someone you are dating. But for some reason or another, Hahn decided that his illicit tryst be kept from the rest. He only told Wan only because Wan found out accidentally when he was playing around with Hahn's cell. Wan really wanted to tell Zat, but he didn't know how he would react to the part where the boyfriend is only seventeen years old.
'You mean he's not even eighteen!' Wan exclaimed in the most dramatic fashion, when he found out he's age. 'Honey, isn't that like illegal over here?'
'Sixteen is the legal age of fornication.' Hahn explained, knowing that using technical legal facts as an excuse would not hide the fact he is dating a child. 'Besides, we haven't even had sex yet!'
'Great! You are not a pedophile.. yet.' Wan replied, rolling his eyes.
The door at Mikes opened, and enter Wan. He's a tall, this time in a casual long sleeve dress shirts and tailored jeans that shows off his long defined legs really well. Wan is not technically a beautiful person. But his height, and his muscled stature was usually enough to impress. And if that was not enough, there was his smile. A smile he used often to get away with things mere mortals could not. He walked over to the table smiling, water dripping from his cuffs and forehead.
'Did you walked in the rain?' Zat looked up at Wan more amused than surprised.
'Well, I didn't have an umbrella with me, and I can't run fast enough with these silly boots,' Wan said, pointing to his shoes. 'Where's Hahn anyway? He's coming right?'
'Oh he's coming. He better anyway.' Zat opened the menu as Wan settled into his sit. 'Let's order first shall we?' he said, waving to the waiter for his attention. 'I'll have one tuna nicoise salad please, with no potatoes.'
'Potatoes on the side at least?' the waiter asked, smiling almost smugly, as if he had suggested something that was clever and unexpected.
'No! No potatoes at all on the plate,' Zat insisted. 'In fact, if you could remove all the potatoes from this restaurant, that would be ideal.'
The waiter looked at the table blankly.
'Ignore him darling,' Wan assured the waiter, almost bordering on flirting. 'He's trying to lose some weight. He hasn't had sex since last year!' Wan added, the waiter now smiling. 'I will have the chicken quiche, with all the potatoes you could fit in it, in it. We'll have real food soon.' he ordered, ending it with a wink.
And as soon the waiter left, Hahn arrived. He walked steadily towards the table, as Wan excitedly welcome his arrival. Zat too was uncharacteristically smiling. This was the moment, where nothing else mattered, they thought. Their friendship came about almost like an accident. Three unlikeliest of people, sharing in common nothing but perhaps their love for dick. As Hahn took his sit, they looked at each other with affection. Their relationships were invaluable, because it is only among the three of them that they could be vulnerable. They could ask from each other for a pat on the back, without appearing hopelessly insecure.
'Sorry, for being late,' Hahn apologized, exchanging caring glances with both Wan and Zat. 'You know the rain and all..'
It didn't matter. They were going to spent the night dining and chatting their fabulous lives away. And when they were done with dinner, they would stroll down the lighted streets of Orchard, passing by the glamorous Paragon, secretly hoping they could one day afford to shop within the guarded walls of the branded stores. They would end their night in the coffeehouse, sipping lattes and eating muffins. In that moment, their life seemed perfect. If they didn't let go, nothing could go wrong.
Almost nothing anyway. A cellphone beeped. 'It's mine!' Wan pre-empted, waving his cell. It was a message from V. He carefully read it, not wanting to misinterpret the meaning of the words – 'Let's do dinner. Tmr. 7.30. Anywhere.'
He kept the phone almost as immediately as he finished reading.
'Who was it?' Zat asked.
'Oh no one important.' Wan lied. This lie however was necessary. He could not tell Zat the truth he believed. It would shake the foundation of his almost idealistic view of relationships, and that sometimes the attraction of the flesh is greater than oneself. He is fucking V and would end it as soon as it gets boring and it would be a clean end. No one needs to know. Not even Hahn, who would probably find the matter fascinating.
So why did he still feel guilty? Dirty? He shook off the feeling and ordered another cake.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Rain - The Three
Rain in Singapore are never glamourous affairs. Unlike those drizzles in London, accompanied by the mist, and defined silhouettes draped in branded hoods and ponchos, Singapore's rain is a different animal all together. Singaporeans carry mostly black umbrellas (and if you are really lucky, you get to see the crazy aged lady with a plastic bag on her head), flip-flops on their feet, running about for the nearest shelter. Rain either brings about the slob in people (practicality used as an excuse to don the flip-flops and bermudas ) or the most glamourous. Suddenly layering, shawls, jackets and all manner of fashion not practical for the humid weather seems, to at least, make sense.
Of course it had to rain when Wan stepped out of his small shophouse office. Leather boots and skinny jeans are never practical in Singapore and made more so unpractical in the crazy weather. And of course, like a planned, twisted divine comedy, Wan would have no umbrella with him. He glanced at his watched. '6.30.' he thought to himself, followed by string of expletives. Like most of those that lived and worked in the city, he takes public transportation. Nothing to be ashamed about. You either have to be really rich or lazy to drive around here. Wan stared at the mocking gray sky, rain drops falling on his tired face. He had to make a dash for it, across the road in the rain to reach the bus station. But those boots. My precious boots, he thought.
'sure! cya there' Zat squints his eyes ever so slightly, reading the text he just received. He looked at it again, just to confirm the message. Then he looked at it again, knowing Hahn all too well. There must be something else behind the innocuous text. But there is not much you can implicitly say in a simple 'sure! cya there'. He shakes off the paranoia and kept his phone. He looked out the rain through the glass panel as he sips his steamed milk. Glancing at his watch, he wondered whether they are going to be late. '6.30,' he muttered under his breath. 'They better not be late,' he went on. Zat was already in the town since 5. You see unlike Wan or Hahn, his schedules are forgiving and flexible. A music director has to do a lot planning and background work, he always say, to assure himself that he is actually a working person. But you can plan and do background work while sipping milk and munching cheesecake.
'What do you mean if he's pretty? Of course he's pretty. He gorgeous!' Hahn exclaimed to Shirley, while folding the last t-shirt. He stared at the pile of t-shirts and his face cringed with displeasure. The t-shirts has some sort of odd grunge graphic printed across them, with the words, 'I heart EARTH!' in bold pink letters. Wan would never approve, he thought to himself. What was sadder of course, was that those monstrosities were the store's best sellers. 'I don't understand the world anymore Shirl,' Hahn sighed. 'What is there to understand? You have a gorgeous boyfriend and I don't!' Shirley replied, her voice hinted a resignation only a single 35 year old woman could have. 'Awwww,' Hahn said, hugging Shirley, trying to comfort her. Realizing something, he glanced down at his watch. 'Shit! It's 6.45!'
'I got to go Shirl!' Farhan rushed behind the wall panels to get out of his uniform. 'Late to meet the Boyfriend huh?' Shirl joked in a semi-mocking manner. 'No Shirl. I'm meeting people more important that that.' His head peaked out from behind as he squeezed into his jeans. 'My girlfriends!'
You need friends in Singapore. A city full of backstabbing opportunist, you need to surround yourself with loyal people. People who would not betray you. People who do not see you as just a mere networking point for something bigger. You need friends. True friends. And some people spend an entire lifetime thinking that they do have true riends, only to be betrayed much later in life. But the risk is worth it, because true friends are just like family only better. Because true friends are families that we chose, to stand by us to enjoy the sun, and get drenched together in the rain.
Of course it had to rain when Wan stepped out of his small shophouse office. Leather boots and skinny jeans are never practical in Singapore and made more so unpractical in the crazy weather. And of course, like a planned, twisted divine comedy, Wan would have no umbrella with him. He glanced at his watched. '6.30.' he thought to himself, followed by string of expletives. Like most of those that lived and worked in the city, he takes public transportation. Nothing to be ashamed about. You either have to be really rich or lazy to drive around here. Wan stared at the mocking gray sky, rain drops falling on his tired face. He had to make a dash for it, across the road in the rain to reach the bus station. But those boots. My precious boots, he thought.
'sure! cya there' Zat squints his eyes ever so slightly, reading the text he just received. He looked at it again, just to confirm the message. Then he looked at it again, knowing Hahn all too well. There must be something else behind the innocuous text. But there is not much you can implicitly say in a simple 'sure! cya there'. He shakes off the paranoia and kept his phone. He looked out the rain through the glass panel as he sips his steamed milk. Glancing at his watch, he wondered whether they are going to be late. '6.30,' he muttered under his breath. 'They better not be late,' he went on. Zat was already in the town since 5. You see unlike Wan or Hahn, his schedules are forgiving and flexible. A music director has to do a lot planning and background work, he always say, to assure himself that he is actually a working person. But you can plan and do background work while sipping milk and munching cheesecake.
'What do you mean if he's pretty? Of course he's pretty. He gorgeous!' Hahn exclaimed to Shirley, while folding the last t-shirt. He stared at the pile of t-shirts and his face cringed with displeasure. The t-shirts has some sort of odd grunge graphic printed across them, with the words, 'I heart EARTH!' in bold pink letters. Wan would never approve, he thought to himself. What was sadder of course, was that those monstrosities were the store's best sellers. 'I don't understand the world anymore Shirl,' Hahn sighed. 'What is there to understand? You have a gorgeous boyfriend and I don't!' Shirley replied, her voice hinted a resignation only a single 35 year old woman could have. 'Awwww,' Hahn said, hugging Shirley, trying to comfort her. Realizing something, he glanced down at his watch. 'Shit! It's 6.45!'
'I got to go Shirl!' Farhan rushed behind the wall panels to get out of his uniform. 'Late to meet the Boyfriend huh?' Shirl joked in a semi-mocking manner. 'No Shirl. I'm meeting people more important that that.' His head peaked out from behind as he squeezed into his jeans. 'My girlfriends!'
You need friends in Singapore. A city full of backstabbing opportunist, you need to surround yourself with loyal people. People who would not betray you. People who do not see you as just a mere networking point for something bigger. You need friends. True friends. And some people spend an entire lifetime thinking that they do have true riends, only to be betrayed much later in life. But the risk is worth it, because true friends are just like family only better. Because true friends are families that we chose, to stand by us to enjoy the sun, and get drenched together in the rain.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
The Three
A fictional tale inspired by real life characters and Sex and the City. Enjoy. Comes in part so stay tune.
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Introduction
The splendors of Christmas and New Years celebrations are over. Champagnes are already popped and the hang-overs gotten over with jugs of water and (for those a little chi chi) shots of Bloody Mary. It's January, and the people of Singapore are already buzzing with work and more work. Singapore is special like that (or unforgiving). Others may look at us with disdain about out no-bullshit attitude and all out spirit about getting what we want, but we all know they are just jealous of us. Where else in the world can you get what you want, by just working really hard. In Singapore, everyone was once a nobody, even the Prime Minister.
It is a Wednesday afternoon, and Wan was already late – by 2 weeks. Design deadlines are vicious, and the internal deadlines are totally unrealistic. But he refuses to allow simple things like deadlines and unrealistic demands to get in the way of his plans he made with his two best friends, Zat and Hahn. It's a Wednesday and that means it's either tonight or he'll have to wait till next week before he can meet them again. Deadlines be damned.
Wan however is never totally out of control. That's what usually impresses his Creative Director. Having mastered the art of bullshitting (just listen to his explanation on how the chopping up of letters and spreading them all over the poster is a symbolism for stylistic freedom from fashion and aesthetic constrains, and you'll understand why) , he usually aces internal deadlines with much valor. He is more concerned with the more important things – The selling of the design to the clients. And it depends on who the clients are. From the start, Wan will always insists on meeting the clients personally and understanding their sense of aesthetics and style so he knows what to show, what not to show and what will win. And if he deemed the clients not to be worth his time and thought, the design will show. However the subtly of the craft means that good design and bad design are quite hard to differentiate. And Wan gets away with it. All the fucking time.
The only other person that perhaps could match Wan's precise sense of design and aesthetics is Zat. That's probably why Wan quite willingly volunteered his services to Zat's school band for free. Pro-Bono. Zat loves that he doesn't have to think about doing the unnecessary promotional designs and can focus on being a better Music Director, and Wan thrives on the fact that he is doing something for the arts and the amount of creative freedom given to him for every project. In a city full of gay men, Zat quite stand out from the rest of queer crowd. While every gay men lives and die to party, drink and gym at least 2 hours a day, three times a week, Zat has never touched alcohol, stepped into a gay club and scoffed at the idea of going to the gym. (He tried the gym thing, only to confirm he doesn't really like it). If one were to look at him from the surface, he would appear to be a straight men. Only the limp wrist and the shawl draped effortlessly on his shoulders gives him away.
Zat is blissfully immune from people's opinions of him. His innocuous comments will come out bitter and stinging and sometimes he doesn't even mean it. This is a gay man, who refuses to participate in the regular social niceties, and to most, he's a bitch. However, under the aloof exterior lies a fiercely loyal friend, a confidant and an extremely hardworking person.
Zat slipped out his mobile, and quickly text Hahn, reminding him about dinner plans. Dinner plans usually revolves around Hahn's schedules, so it is quite silly to remind him about dinner plans. But ever since the BF, subtle and not so subtle reminders needs to be sent across. In an uncertain world, and certainly in an uncertain Singapore, where the idea of love is laughed at, and promiscuity is a viable lifestyle, having an exclusive dating gay relationship is a rarity. Every gay men is single, out there to have fun and seeking that next one night stand. Not Hahn however. His continuos search for The Man is hopeful, and even a wee bit idealistic. Wan thinks its crazy, while Zat is quite guarded about his opinions. His one ever relationship that lasted a year, makes him want to believe in love, but a year later after the breakup and still no men (and sex) had made Zat quite frustrated with the notion of love. Perhaps promiscuity is the way of the future.
Hahn works in retail. So that means though his schedules are fixed, his free times are limited. 12 hour shifts are not uncommon and off days are treasured dearly. And within these limited off days, he has to balance the BF and his two best friends. And to add to the headache, Wan and Zat are not exactly jumping with joy about the BF. Choosing between friends and a partner is a terrible place to be in. And for Hahn, that happens almost every week. Navigating this sensitive social minefield is hazardous and it could potentially blowup in his face. So he did what sweet Hahn would naturally do. Be coy and avoided the inevitable till the last minute. He would apologize to either side he stood up and give out excuses, and hope the whole thing would pass. But not tonight. Tonight he needs to go to this dinner. He received the text from Zat on his phone, and replied 'sure! cya there' after much deliberation and thought. If he stood them up again, he knows it would be quite hard to explain himself to them. And he did sincerely missed them. He just wished the BF would be more understanding. No. He just wished Wan and Zat would be more understanding.
That's the problem. As close as the Wan, Zat and Hahn are, nothing is what it seems in the city of opportunities. Beneath the gloss of glamour and fashion of the tall mirrored towers, lies a city with problems unheard of in a democratic system. Nepotism, suppressed human rights and zero freedom of press. Perhaps it is a little too much to compare their relationship with the dynamics of the city, but it is dramatic that way. And drama is never lacking in the fabulous life of The Three.
To be continued...
---
Introduction
The splendors of Christmas and New Years celebrations are over. Champagnes are already popped and the hang-overs gotten over with jugs of water and (for those a little chi chi) shots of Bloody Mary. It's January, and the people of Singapore are already buzzing with work and more work. Singapore is special like that (or unforgiving). Others may look at us with disdain about out no-bullshit attitude and all out spirit about getting what we want, but we all know they are just jealous of us. Where else in the world can you get what you want, by just working really hard. In Singapore, everyone was once a nobody, even the Prime Minister.
It is a Wednesday afternoon, and Wan was already late – by 2 weeks. Design deadlines are vicious, and the internal deadlines are totally unrealistic. But he refuses to allow simple things like deadlines and unrealistic demands to get in the way of his plans he made with his two best friends, Zat and Hahn. It's a Wednesday and that means it's either tonight or he'll have to wait till next week before he can meet them again. Deadlines be damned.
Wan however is never totally out of control. That's what usually impresses his Creative Director. Having mastered the art of bullshitting (just listen to his explanation on how the chopping up of letters and spreading them all over the poster is a symbolism for stylistic freedom from fashion and aesthetic constrains, and you'll understand why) , he usually aces internal deadlines with much valor. He is more concerned with the more important things – The selling of the design to the clients. And it depends on who the clients are. From the start, Wan will always insists on meeting the clients personally and understanding their sense of aesthetics and style so he knows what to show, what not to show and what will win. And if he deemed the clients not to be worth his time and thought, the design will show. However the subtly of the craft means that good design and bad design are quite hard to differentiate. And Wan gets away with it. All the fucking time.
The only other person that perhaps could match Wan's precise sense of design and aesthetics is Zat. That's probably why Wan quite willingly volunteered his services to Zat's school band for free. Pro-Bono. Zat loves that he doesn't have to think about doing the unnecessary promotional designs and can focus on being a better Music Director, and Wan thrives on the fact that he is doing something for the arts and the amount of creative freedom given to him for every project. In a city full of gay men, Zat quite stand out from the rest of queer crowd. While every gay men lives and die to party, drink and gym at least 2 hours a day, three times a week, Zat has never touched alcohol, stepped into a gay club and scoffed at the idea of going to the gym. (He tried the gym thing, only to confirm he doesn't really like it). If one were to look at him from the surface, he would appear to be a straight men. Only the limp wrist and the shawl draped effortlessly on his shoulders gives him away.
Zat is blissfully immune from people's opinions of him. His innocuous comments will come out bitter and stinging and sometimes he doesn't even mean it. This is a gay man, who refuses to participate in the regular social niceties, and to most, he's a bitch. However, under the aloof exterior lies a fiercely loyal friend, a confidant and an extremely hardworking person.
Zat slipped out his mobile, and quickly text Hahn, reminding him about dinner plans. Dinner plans usually revolves around Hahn's schedules, so it is quite silly to remind him about dinner plans. But ever since the BF, subtle and not so subtle reminders needs to be sent across. In an uncertain world, and certainly in an uncertain Singapore, where the idea of love is laughed at, and promiscuity is a viable lifestyle, having an exclusive dating gay relationship is a rarity. Every gay men is single, out there to have fun and seeking that next one night stand. Not Hahn however. His continuos search for The Man is hopeful, and even a wee bit idealistic. Wan thinks its crazy, while Zat is quite guarded about his opinions. His one ever relationship that lasted a year, makes him want to believe in love, but a year later after the breakup and still no men (and sex) had made Zat quite frustrated with the notion of love. Perhaps promiscuity is the way of the future.
Hahn works in retail. So that means though his schedules are fixed, his free times are limited. 12 hour shifts are not uncommon and off days are treasured dearly. And within these limited off days, he has to balance the BF and his two best friends. And to add to the headache, Wan and Zat are not exactly jumping with joy about the BF. Choosing between friends and a partner is a terrible place to be in. And for Hahn, that happens almost every week. Navigating this sensitive social minefield is hazardous and it could potentially blowup in his face. So he did what sweet Hahn would naturally do. Be coy and avoided the inevitable till the last minute. He would apologize to either side he stood up and give out excuses, and hope the whole thing would pass. But not tonight. Tonight he needs to go to this dinner. He received the text from Zat on his phone, and replied 'sure! cya there' after much deliberation and thought. If he stood them up again, he knows it would be quite hard to explain himself to them. And he did sincerely missed them. He just wished the BF would be more understanding. No. He just wished Wan and Zat would be more understanding.
That's the problem. As close as the Wan, Zat and Hahn are, nothing is what it seems in the city of opportunities. Beneath the gloss of glamour and fashion of the tall mirrored towers, lies a city with problems unheard of in a democratic system. Nepotism, suppressed human rights and zero freedom of press. Perhaps it is a little too much to compare their relationship with the dynamics of the city, but it is dramatic that way. And drama is never lacking in the fabulous life of The Three.
To be continued...
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