The dreaded "us"

Let's talk about us. And there shall be a storm, going down so hard, you wouldn't know what happened and why you had a big gash on your forehead. Okay, that's an exaggeration. But, have you notice that any conversation that starts with that line will end up, more or less, like a perfect nightmare?

I had that conversation earlier. It's not even in a "committed-monogamous"-relationship-mode. At all. I shot the question to make a comparison, to state pretty obvious facts. The other side thought it was a waste of time, which later on prove to be right. Waste of time because we then argued. And my discussion partner asked that ultimate question, "Why do women always love talking about 'us'?"

Yes, why do women love talking about us? My answer to that question was because women (I, in particular) want to know the other side of the story. I want to hear the so-called ugly truths (my god I'm throwing so many cliches I think my blog is going to self-destruct if I use more) from the other person. But it's that really the reason? I don't know since I haven't really analysed it properly. This is one reason why I'm writing this now. Assessing. I know by labeling myself and one other person as "us", I embedded a sense of proprietary into the whole thing. It's not you or I anymore. It's us. A unit, inseparable, working together. That's more or less leaning to a certain commitment. Whatever the commitment is. No wonder my friend dreaded this talk.

And why do men dislike it so much? My friend was probably the first one that challenged me with the question "why", but I've had a similar reaction, conveyed in different words of course. I don't think any of my ex boyfriends enjoyed talking about us. As a matter of fact, when it came to the "us" conversation, the relationship was on the brink of irreparable destruction. The last time I had it with a boyfriend, he dumped me straight in... taking the easy way out.

An important point was taken from previous discussion (argument?) with my friend though. "We" need to stop talking about "us", and just be "us" without having the long talk about what "us" is all about. I appreciate that and didn't argue, despite the incredible urge to spit out another cliche: "men just don't talk". And I will add if they do, they're like a four-year-old, answering with (maximum) three syllables: I-don't-know, I-like-you, I-think-so, I-like-sex, and the list goes on and on and on...

I'm glad my blog doesn't self-destruct... yet.

Ramadhan Oh Rah Rah Rah

credit: featurepics

Today is the first day of Ramadhan, the holiest month in Islam calendar; the time when people deprive themselves from any temptations: be it hunger, thirst, anger, lust, anything that is basically your basic needs in day-to-day living. The only thing that it's not deprived from you is air. I guess it's because air is not sexy or filling at all.

Facing the holiest month, some people pray, some people visit the dead, some people make family/office gathering to say and give forgiveness and some people go to their local clubs and get seriously pissed. Because starts from today, you have to resist every temptation. So, I should have expected to see a club on a Friday night, two days before the fasting month starts, to be full-packed, right? Well, d'oh.

Two friends insisted in dragging me along for their weekend's clubbing agenda. I, reluctant as I ever be, tried to wriggle myself out of this plan to no success. I told them that with no heels at all on my shoes, the door bitches wouldn't let me in in. They were stubborn. And for sure, the door bitches didn't let me in. Plus the sinister look on one of their fully make-up faces at me. As if I was a mere flea, improper and disgusting. But the place itself was full. People outside, people inside... there were people everywhere! It was the same on the second club we went to. Less than 500 metres away and several floors from the first club, the smaller club was very much alive. All was excited to celebrate the coming of Ramadhan. Or they just carried on like it was any other Friday: the last day of drudgery, the coming of a short time-off.

Everyone is a little bit drunk and horny in the club, just like the usual. Nothing's changed. I was on the dance floor, sipping my gin and tonic, avoiding people crashing into my drink, while watching girls in tight-fit dresses dancing on a long higher platform in front of me. The music thumped and roared behind me, sending invisible pressure to my chest, making me feel I was going to have a heartache anytime soon. And people danced danced twisted turned leaned and swayed. Falling down into the rabbit hole. Oblivious to other things, their senses were blunt. I was entertained. I guess this is the literal interpretation of celebrating the coming of one holy month: to celebrate as hardcore as possible before you are told to repress yourself. All clubs will be shut anyway for a couple of days. I'm sure when it's open for business, the same people will go back to the dance floor (or table) and dance like they don't care.

I guess moral of the story is like always, holy or not, it depends on one's way of doing it; whether it's going to matter or not, it will depend solely on the individual, not the society, the thugs in white robes, or the so-called high ulema. I am now thinking about the waking up before the crack of dawn... THAT is going to be painful.

Odd partners

credit: Zanskar, dreamtime.com

I was doing my weekend stroll with a friend, me: looking for a yoga mat, him: doing groceries. Our destination of the day was one of the largest malls in the city. It's insanely big, I cannot comprehend the very purpose of the building, other than: 1) housing the hardware shop and supermarket we headed for, 2) providing a sore sight on a blue-sky background. It was sunny and the weather was nice (read: quite hot). My friend complained about the lack of pollution layer on the weekends, as always.

We managed to waste our time in the hardware store, because apparently we shared the same fetish when it comes to any hardware store. I like the neat alignment and he likes hardware. We are both weird with a different way. Later on after a quite long hardwarergasm, we stood at the plaza of the first floor of the mall. We knew we had to eat. The question "where" has always been a constant problem in our everyday routine. So, we stood there for I don't know how long, definitely long enough to attract people's attention. And watching other people.

I was eating a chocolate bar, while my friend stood looking bored. He's tall and I'm pixie size, which made us look a bit dysfunctional. Plus our significant age difference and colours. We became the-best-to-avoid-sight-of-the-day. But lo and behold! After standing around for about 10 minutes, while munching away my chocolate bar, we saw one couple walking pass us. The man, white, in his late 30's, semi-bald, not so good looking with a normal outfit. The girl, chocolate, super skinny with thin flat legs, probably in her early 20's, long hair, full on make-up, not so good looking with a skanky outfit. She was all over him. Naturally.

I stared at them (yes, I know that's impolite) while they walked away. She was laughing quite loudly while at the same time trying to dig her nails onto the poor man's flesh. Oh. Wait a minute. He's not poor. He's just semi-bald. Anyway, what gave her away was her overall appearance. She is not horrendously ugly or anything. Not beautiful, but not bad either. She definitely could have made herself look more interesting if she uses her slimness to her advantage. Plus her outfit was just way too skanky for someone who doesn't think that one's body is one's source of income. And I mean literally, not metaphorically.

Apparently there is another couple trailing behind these two lovebirds. Strikingly similar to the first one. Probably they know each other. Odd enough, the second girl has the same appearance. She was wearing a short summer dress though, unlike the super short red mini skirt the other girl had. She also looked anorexic, a healthy six-year-old will fit her dress.

At that point I only had degrading judgment upon these girls. I know it's unfair and sexist, and probably, hypocrite. Sadly though, I know I won't be the only person who would think that way. It's easier to judge by the cover. And that's why people create brand or image. What about these girls? Were they doing it on purpose because they embrace whatever stigma coming from other people? Because they just didn't care? Because they didn't realise it?

I was disturbed because these women exposed themselves to social judgment. The problem is, IMHO, they did it on the wrong way. The same with the men. If I want to make a comparison, I basically did the same thing by standing on the plaza with my friend. As individuals, nothing's wrong with us. Pair us together, you start thinking there must be something wrong with the picture. And of course it's judgmental. Everything is.

I wonder though if those girls chose an entirely different outfit (say, a knee-long free flowing summer dress with flat shoes or a loose t-shirt with a short skirt and wedges), would I have thought differently about them?