The ultimate perfecto

In the city, powerful women are everywhere. Some of them earn more money than men; some of them wear more pants than men.
In my dental building, women dominate the faculty, from the classroom to the clinic. I have 4 female class reps 4 years in a row. Damn right Beyonce, one day girls are gonna run the world.

*Princess Diana, the most perfect woman in every universe.

The woman empowerment arises so quick and so impacted that sometimes I think women secretly want to be their own man. May be plus a vibrator.
That way, they can keep their head focus on the career and protect their hearts from breaking into million pieces, and still get orgasm.
They get the best of every world. They make the best out of every world.
Men can't be the ordinary man anymore, either the supreme womanizer, or a piece of boring shit. And of course, there is always a friendship forever, let's not forget about this.

From what I learnt from movies, woman dated a guy then she will figuratively dissect her date with her bunch of posse, until they all found one tiny nano blemish out of the guy who happen to like the girl very much.
"He likes to shower after sex." "That's so weird.""I know right!"
"He still goes to church with his mum every Sunday..""A HOLY son, seriously?"

*Jamie Oliver, cook and british, flawless!

The process is inevitable, like how men will talk about the same stuff with their buddies.
"I scored again yesterday night.""AGAIN?!"
"Eh check out her twins."
For most city men those trivia doesn't really matter, penetration is the only real deal after all.

Women's expectation towards men is getting higher and higher, they expect man to be as charismatic as spiderman, and exuding the sense of mystery at the same time, like batman. When men's commitment issue is still an insurmountable conundrum, under the colourful neon light, everyone starts looking for a one night fling, nothing serious.
They replaced love with the idea of companionship.

Whore and manwhore, they are the new love.

5 letters. Starting with T and ending with G.

Am I sensing someTHING between you and that cute butt?

How's the THING going on?

Wow check out that sexy little wild THING!

Honestly it feels..relieved, to replace whatever-it-is with the term THING. It's like as long as you don't label it, or you don't figure out what the hell it is, then you don't have to carry the responsibility on your shoulder.

"Dude/Girl (I don't wanna be a sexist here), you broke her/his heart!"
"Whatever, it's not like we have love, it's just one of those things you know."

I blame it on our age, that sometimes when it comes to love, we sorta..handle it offhandedly.
Is it because we've waited long enough so when the sweet moment left and we don't feel right anymore, we tend to skip the middle-whatever-it-is part and jump right into the verdict.

Let's see..set eyes on the target..stalking on FB..scratch off your scalp thinking how to get the handphone number..sms everywhere everytime..sitting in cafe/library/swimming pool forever just to bump into that person accidentally on purpose..the pretentious FB chat..ceaseless flirting and scheming..FINALLY.FIRST.DATE.

Well, it's indeed a long preparation.
Boy was enchanted to meet the girl; Girl was thinking how to be the person he misses at night.
Both side want to know how the thing leads them to any level, see how thing goes!
I believe that's why some people ended their relationship hastily before the boiled water manage to soften your instant cup noodles, because they CAN leave everything behind and get ready for the next exciting, refreshing, better experience (they think.HA!).

It's like root canal treatment, we take multiple visits to access and shape the desirable form, but when the thing is done, we only take 15 mins (30 mins top) to seal the whole thing that we've worked for the past few weeks. BYE. Never going to see you again.

Beep.

"Hey clement you wanna hang out?"
*Staring at my tumblr and other window tabs
"Err, no. I have a thing later."
*Continue tumblring.

Easy. No guilt at all.

To the moon. And back.

I've been away for so long but what can I say, tumblr has more fascinating pictures than clementomy.
It's such a convenient tool to express what I want to say, and what I don't want to say. Just strolling down the page and click "Reblog" whenever I see pretty/funny/obscene picture.

The brilliant creator designed it in such a simple form, to the extent that I don't care if I ever put any effort in explaining my smile and tears. A picture tells it all, which lead me to a belief that one day all the novel will be evolved into picture form, just like kid story books, because adults are too busy to translate words with their brain.

When I feel sad I reblog a picture of strangers with their tears rolling down.
When I am happy I reblog picture of Nicole Scherzinger.
When I get lonely I reblog picture of couples kissing in bed. or something like that HAHAHA.

My emotion has became less valuable because it's not as beautifully photographed as others'.
Because I, the master of my own body, don't give a damn to put it down in words or if I choose the right word to express my feeling anymore.

But things will come to a halt no matter how terrific it has been, like how I came to this point finding watching adult movie as meaningless as waiting for poo to come out.
But I know the ending of something will carry out the outset of something else, in character radiation style, the vacancy will never be empty.

It's these little things

That remind me of you.

I googled so many stories about how others miss their grandpa I wanna write the best story of you.
What should I do to let you know how much I've missed you since you've been away?

The caring eyes of Charles Xavier in Xmen.
The wit of Gandalf in LOTR.
The physique of Albus Dumbledore in Harry Potter.

There are moments when I wanna call you but I know you won't be there.
And there are countless nights when I need bedtime stories but I know those untold stories will be remained unfolded.
Also there are moments when I thought "Ah I should tell grandpa this I think he'll like this" and I know you'll get my message, somehow.(you do right?)

Are you proud of who I am?
I remember you were so proud of another grandson of yours who scored 5As in UPSR.
Do you think I can trace the same happiness in your eyes if I told you I'll be a dentist one day?
I need a reassurance, which I can't get from anyone else.
How I wish I have just one more chance to look into your eyes and see you looking back.
Would you tell me if I am doing the right thing?

Flashback.Swirl.
Regret is the only word I managed to rummage from the mixed up memory.
I should have held your callous hands more often.
I should have walked with you to the park more frequently.

I wanna know if you used to ponteng class too.
I wanna know did your heart race in your skin tight jeans when you had your first kiss.
I wanna know the story when you hid in jungle during the 513.
I wanna hug you. Simply.

I am done, smoking gun.

Putting back 'A Special Providence' to my little bookshelf and slowly, very slowly choosing another book, all the emotions that I've managed to muster get bewildered.

I just finished soaking myself in a second world war story and soon I'm gonna explore another different world, it also means my holiday entertainment just got cut down to a countable number.

Diagnosis: another Tuesday night with insomnia.

With the dim tinge of disorientation lingering in the damp atmosphere, I am losing something I can't quite recognise, bit by bit. I can't help thinking what would have happened in my life if the word "what if" could prove its significant existence.

If I insisted to continue my art lesson, may be I can be a happy painter one day.

If I had a big brother who can teach my basketball or some lame pick up lines, may be masturbation wouldn't be a very sinful thing afterall.

If I had a patient tomorrow, I wouldn't be holding my warm milk around 2am, listening to my new favourite singer.

If I never spent 6 years in a boarding school, right now my heart would be pounding frantically at the thought of going home this weekend.

If I can be less sentimental, who knows I'll have a wider acquaintance.

Now I am aware, I am losing the sense of reality.

Exactly.

Sophomore, such a beautiful word, like sapphire.
I think these two words are equally valuable. Not only they sound sexy they are intelligent too.

In Freshmen Year everybody was like-just-light-cured-composite. Some are rough some are as absorbable as the radical oxygen layer ready to be filled in with every raw thing and some are already very pretty(this is so totally not me).

Come to Sophomore Year. After a whole year of polishing everybody get so close with everybody we shrink into one piece. We are so ready to shine like a sapphire in the coming future, naively.

I got so chagrined to learn that the next year is called Final Year and I've only accomplished less than 10 restorations how could it be final? I name the third year Valour Year. We need to get rid of any stymie or dummy and treat REAL patient ok. And we practise many challenging stunts.

It's very despondent not able to write something brilliant at the age of 22 and still bemoaning in my self pity. The 18 years old me can find the flaw in Newton Third Law (i was such a cool kid); now my bed time story is Sex and The City (manwhore alert!).

Devolution. Like how the old handphone dai gor dai developed into tiny handphone and recently transformed into my face-sized Galaxy Tab. It's a sign. One day contact lens will be so obsolete and my 6 years old nerdy specs will be the fashion icon again.

What an emo entry! What can I say. Everybody got so busy soaking themselves in the romantic Valentine Day and I'm staying in my room sharing this with my only viewer chelseaorange, and youtubing Apple Bottom Jeans Dance. I got so low low low low low low...

"They gave up days and weeks of their lives, addicted to someone else's drama."-Tuesday with Morrie. (so damn true.but it's ok.teenagers are supposed to be fun, and stupid.)