Wet And Salty

Maybe it is age but I realize that as I grow older, I've become much, much more emotional in the movies. Yes, I belong to a special breed of men who cries in the movies. At first it was just a case of the misty eyes and a heavy feeling in the chest. But lately, it has been full on drama. I literally, sometimes whimper in the cinema, mucous flowing freely.

Maybe as I grow older, and I have experienced more and more deaths, breakups, hardships and the likes, to see it being picturised on celluloid is a visceral experience for me and the emotions come naturally, and in abundance too.

I remembered watching this Bollywood movie (it is ALWAYS the Bollywood movies) a couple of years back, which was a remake of the movie Stepmom (I know, absolute tearjerker material). A couple of months before the Bollywood remake was showing in cinemas, my aunt had passed away leaving four young children; three boys and a baby girl.

She had leukemia. It was a pretty painful and deeply moving time for us because my family was very close to hers.

So anyways, as we know it, the movie is about a divorced mother who is dying from cancer and she comes to terms and learns to accept her ex-husbands new girlfriend as a mother for her children. I personally have not watched the original Hollywood version so my expectations were close to none.

And boy was I unprepared to the amount of repressed emotions that poured out of me during the climax of the movie. Luckily enough, or should I say, unluckily enough, I was alone so there wasn't anyone beside me to keep my emotions in check. Or pinch my thighs to stop me from crying.

I was a total mess, and I didn't even bring any tissues along. The climax of the movie was a Diwali scene where the dying mother is on a wheelchair and she was being shown a montage of various important and momentous events in their lives as a family. The eldest daughter started to break down, and then the younger siblings, and then the mother and then the husband and in thirty seconds, everyone was crouched around the wheelchair just bawling their eyes out.

I was sitting alone in the packed cinema literally wheezing; I kid you not. My whole body was shaking with emotions because of the memories of my own late aunt and her children was streaming in. I kept muttering, "Oh god, get me out of here. I cannot watch this," over and over again for about forty five seconds before realizing that shit, I'm all alone and I am actually talking to myself in the cinema.

The lady beside me looked (stared actually) at me and went, "Tsk! Shh!"

I was being a nuisance to other movie goers and I didn't even realize it.

"Heartless cold woman," I said in my heart.

I rummaged through my bag to find any tissues or cloth to wipe my entire face which was wet and salty with tears and mucous. Nothing.

So there I was, wiping my face with my shirt sleeve and still bawling at the scene playing in front of me. The lady beside me started shifting uncomfortably, thinking I was this loopy kid crying like someone died in front of me, and could you blame her?

I went back from the movie with a heavy feeling in my chest that lasted for three days.

I recounted this story to my brother back at home and he started laughing hysterically. He started banging the table and kept on saying, "Pussy" in between breaths.

Fourteen Dollars Late

There is something really infuriating about people who have a tendency to come late, especially if you're living in Singapore. This is possibly one of the smallest country in the entire world so it is baffling as to why people still come late to meet up. It takes less than an hour to commute from one end of the island to the other so if anything else, it really shows the lack of discipline and honestly, respect for the other person who is on time and waiting; patiently or otherwise.

Melanie shares my exact same sentiment albeit more unforgivingly. Melanie has been known to just walk away and leave to head elsewhere and not pick up the phone call from the person who is late when they had arrived. Her mantra in life is: To be early is to be on time, to be on time is to be late, to be late is well, too fucking bad then. It is a habit that she is very passionate about and she makes no qualms about forcefully asserting it to everyone that she knows.

"There is no way you can be late in Singapore. yes, we have a rather screwed up public transportation system lately and I understand that. But it's not like the train system breaks down everyday!" she reasoned over coffee this morning.

"Actually...it kinda breaks down every other day this past year," I answered.

"Tsk! What I am trying to say is, I don't have the luxury or the patience in me to wait for more than fifteen minutes for anybody, irregardless of how important you are or you think you are. I can spend the time waiting to do other better things, like pray!" Melanie said.

"I doubt God recognizes you anymore Mel," Steven joked.

"For someone with lots of money, you sure do have very little sense of humour," Melanie smiled sweetly, sipping her coffee.

"My money doesn't buy me humour, but it sure did help you achieve your dreams didn't it Mel...vin?" Steven retorted.

"Oi! Did they lace the coffee with bitchy water or what? And where is Star? She said she would be here in twenty minutes. That was forty five minutes ago!" I sighed.

"You give her too much face," Melanie shook her head.

Melanie was right. I do give Star too much face when it comes to being tardy and fashionably late. The longest duration of time I waited for Star was three hours. yup, I even had the time to grab a coffee, watch a banal romantic comedy in the cinema and I circled Paragon thrice. Every. Single. Level. Three hours later, Star came and all she said was, "I'm hungry. Where are we going to have dinner?"

I didn't talk to her for a week after that. I relented when she texted me saying that from then on, for every minute that she is late, she will pay a fifty cents fine. I have about four hundred dollars worth of "late tardy money". If she keeps this up, I can go on a holiday by the end of the year. Oh don't worry, Star willingly gives the money to me. "It's not like I pay for dinner when I go out anyways," she says.

"That is not helping her control her lack of time management, you know that right Harry?" Melanie did say one time. I just nodded my head. Free holiday was all that was in my head then.

"Hello guys! Sorry I am late! Traffic" Star said, sitting down and fanning her face with both of her hands.

"You're 28 minutes late. Fourteen dollars," I said, stretching out my right palm.

Star took out a ten and a five dollar note from her wallet and asked me to keep the change. She didn't even sigh, let alone bat an eyelid.

"I wonder how you keep your job. The only way you are still keeping your job with this kind of irresponsible tardy attitude is if you're sleeping with your boss!" Melanie chided.

The whole table went silent. We all know the truth now don't we?

A Sword and Barbwire

Halloween is an important event in Star's yearly calendar. Back in the States where she spent all of her childhood and half of her young adult life, Halloween is a national event and the entire nation partake in the event. So Star treats Halloween as important than say, a pap smear. In the last four years that I have known Star, she has become Morticia Addams, a sexy nurse, Amy Winehouse and a nun (the irony).

This year, Star has decided to be Pamela Anderson in Barbwire. That would mean a lot of latex, spandex and leather. Lots of tit show too, which is basically the essence of who Star is. Oh, not forgetting a fake tattoo, a gun and a blonde wig. So yesterday, Steven, Melanie, me and Star went to a costume store downtown to search for her desired costume, otherwise known as "The Filthy Slut Getup" according to Melanie.

"That is deep, coming from a transexual social escort," Star snapped.

"So what are you dressing up as Mel? I have a friend who is a special effects makeup artist and he makes the most sick and believable slash wounds," Steven recommended.

"In the three years that I transited from man to woman, I have gone through countless surgeries on every single part of my body. I have a wound, a bruise, a cut, an incision of every part of my body at any given point of time so no Steven, I am not interested to get a fake slash wound on Halloween," Melanie sighed.

"Oh god what is with the bitchiness Mel? And you don't get menses so don't give me the PMS reason," I said.

"I just have no mood to celebrate Halloween this year," Melanie replied.

"Why?" Steve asked.

"Because it was originally my idea to be Pam Anderson in Barbwire. Star stole my idea!" Melanie said, raising her voice and pointed her fingers at Star who was putting on a blonde wig.

"I DID NOT!" Star screamed.

"Girls! Stop it, everybody is looking at us and they are judging us. And why can't both of you dress up as Pam Anderson in Barbwire?" I said.

"You guys wouldn't understand, it is a girl thing," Melanie complained, playing with the fake hammer she picked up from the shelves.

Steven chuckled. Melanie threw the hammer at his face.

"Ow! This face is worth millions!" Steve yelped, rubbing his cheeks.

"Well I spent a fortune on my face too so screw you," Melanie retorted.

"You know what, if you want to be Pam Anderson in Barbwire, go ahead. I will just be her in Baywatch and wear a red one piece swimsuit," Star said.

"Star, you want to wear a bikini in a club celebrating Halloween?" I asked.

"Harry, I have cumulatively worn clothes lesser than a bikini on some days," Star smiled, raising her eyebrows.

Well that is true. Star, on days when she complains that "It's so warm out there!", have worn clothes too revealing that even Bai Ling would go, "Girl, that's too much."

"Really? Oh Star, you're the best!" Melanie said, hugging Star from behind.

"One minute ago, you wanted to kill her and now you're hugging her. That is why girls have menses. The blood that comes out of your pussy is a liquid made up of fakery," Steve rolled his eyes.

"I'm sorry Steve, I don't menstruate," Melanie said.

"Cunt," Steve muttered under his breath.

"What is Harold dressing up? It has been ages since I saw him," Melanie asked me.

"I don't know, he said he wanted to be James Dean," I replied.

"Nice, he is very good-looking, thank god that is the only thing you two share. How old is he again?" Melanie asked.

"He just turned 21 two months ago. You bought him 21 packs of condoms on his birthday remember?" I said sarcastically. Melanie did and my mum was livid. She thought Harold is sleeping with the entire college population. And I had to spend two hours convincing my mum that it was Melanie's idea of a joke.

"Ooooh, legal," Melanie cooed.

"I don't like the way you said that," I said.

"He can be my James Deen, with a E, not an A," Mel licked her lips.

"James Deen is a pornstar and you are disgusting. That is my brother," I said.

Melanie picked up a plastic sword and thrusted it in and out from under her skirt. Star said, "Oh, and I'm the slut around here?"

A Weighty Issue

Do you have a friend who just eats and eats and never seem to put on any weight whatsoever? At every meal, they are the ones stuffing their goddamn faces with everything and anything like a competitive eater and yet can still fit into their jeans weeks after weeks, months after months, years after years. The most infuriating part about this is they don't exercise. They don't. It's like a gift from god. "Eat as much as you want, I'll take the weight elsewhere, or turn in to smugness."

Oh yes, this very group of people are amongst the most smug. When faced with the question, "How come you don't put on any weight?" the answer will always be, "I don't know. It's genes," and with a shrug on their shoulders. Meanwhile you are at the other end of the table trying to calculate the amount of calories in every dish and for me, always stopping halfway to give my brain time to do the math (I can't, I'm sorry).

"Why are you mumbling to yourself like an idiot? Are you praying or are you playing black magic on the food?" my mum would always say whenever she catches me mumbling to myself trying to calculate the amount of calories that there is in the spread in front of me.

"Just eat, you only live once," my mother would always say.

"You also die once," would be my answer.

"Can, you want to die now? Steak knife is just within my reach," my mum would retort.

At this very instance, my brother would mutter under his breath the same phrase every single time: I'm living with psychos.

"I'll kill you too Harold. Now eat!" my mum would point the steak knife at Harold.

I am pretty concerned about my weight because I have spent my entire childhood plagued with obesity and I have tried my very best (and successfully) to lose all of the weight. At every given chance my mind would work in a frenzy; being fat again is not an option. I gain weight as easily as I lose them so I really have to be careful in order to maintain my desired frame.

Star on the other hand, is one of those smug-never-going-to-be-fat friends that I have. Oh you should see Star at a buffet. Once Melanie actually got scared seeing how much food Star has eaten and is still eating two hours into the meal that she scolded Star in the middle of the buffet queue, "What are you feeding inside? Are you keeping a spirit inside or what?!"

"You should have seen the look on the lady in front of me. She gave me this dirty look, like I gave her herpes or something!" Star complained when she is back at our table.

"Star, that was the sixth time you queued. You mean you're not full?" I asked.

"I will stop if I'm full," Star looked down, gobbling the mountain of sashimi on the plate in front of her.

"I'm about to puke just looking at you eat. And you won't even gain any weight. Why? And how? You don't even exercise. Your idea of a marathon is one that involves DVDs. This is not fair," I said.

"It's genes," Star smugly shrugged.

"Does that mean your mum is a slut too?" Melanie said.

"And your mother was a man before. You're adopted from the slums," Star snapped.

Women and weight, always bitchy.

Snake Goddess

Anyone who has an obsession (good or, let's face it, most of the time bad), would understand the kind of euphoria that one would feel when he or she is indulging in it. I want you to imagine Lindsay's face when she sees a stash of crack (allegedly). That, my dear readers is the look of euphoria. I reserve the kind of look when I'm standing in front of a DVD shop that sells Bollywood movies.

Yes, my obsession is Bollywood. And like every other obsession, it has cost me lots of money, time and effort. It has also affected my social and personal life, to be honest.

It all started when I was nine years old, and this was the earliest memory that I have whenever I talk about the start of my Bollywood obsession. As a routine, at every four o'clock in the afternoon, you would find me lying down beside my late grandmother, watching re-runs of old Bollywood movies on television. My late grandmother was a masseuse and she always smelt of massage oil and lavender baby talcum. I can never forget that smell.

So one fine afternoon, as I was lying down beside my late grandmother, sniffing the faint scent of massage oil and lavender baby talcum at every inhale, suddenly the whole house was filled with a mysterious flute music. On the screen was this old Bollywood movie, and the scene on the screen was this evil priest trying to call out a lady who is also the Snake Goddess.

Yes, go ahead, laugh. At nine years old, this was singlehandedly the definitive moment for me and my obsession. The Snake Goddess was embodied beautifully by the inimitable Sridevi (google that shit up), and at that very point in time, I was completely absorbed in Indian Cinema. For years after that, I would be the kind of teenager that saves every single cent of what I have, and head down to Little India and scour the entire stretch of road finding the latest Bollywood movies that just got released on disc. I knew every nook and cranny of the place and I would brave the sun, the rain and the crowd just to get hold of the desired title.

Once acquired, the disc player, if it had a mouth, would be begging to be switched off. I would replay the movie over and over again. Press pause, rewind, replay. Fast forward to the good scenes, fast forward the bad scenes, replay the songs over and over again. And if you must know, yes I am quite proficient in Hindi. This obsession is initially received with much chagrin from my mother. This was only because the living room would be strewn with a mountain of discs covers and for a neat clean freak like my mother, I am better off taking the dumpster and emptying its contents in the living room.

But when I myself have taken her sick, socially awkward standard of cleanliness, she has nothing left to say. Two shelves, filled to the brim, neatly of course, with all the titles that you can think of.

I knew every gossips, every breakup, every hook ups, who is doing what movie, who fell out with who, the whole shebang. My mum always tell my friends that if I spend as much time studying, I would be a doctor by now. She obviously is saying that because then I can prescribe her slimming pills regularly. Melanie shares the same sentiment too. Like three days ago when she visited my place to send a tray of freshly baked brownies.

"Aren't you too old to be obsessed with all of these?" she said, scanning my DVD collection.

"Coming from a person who has her drug dealer on speed dial, that's judgmental, isn't it Mel?" I answered.

"I only take drugs recreationally. And keep your voice down! Your mum might hear," she hushed.

"You indulge in recreational activities on a daily basis Mel. And what makes you think my mum doesn't know?"

"She knows?!" Mel gasped.

Well, truth is, my mum saw the pictures of us on the dance floor in my Facebook while I was browsing and the first thing she said when she saw Melanie was, "Aren't you afraid that there might be a raid and you all will get arrested?"

I kept quiet and she continued, "You don't have to lie or keep anything. I know a crackhead when I see one. I spent my entire youth working as clinic assistant. I can tell the druggies apart from the rest."

"Is that why you also smuggle slimming pills whenever you're at work then?"

I felt a sharp smack of my head. But thank god it's not any of my DVDs.