More People (Sitting Behind Me)

I've been a captive audience to some odd conversations lately. Apparently there are no limits to what can be said when you're sitting inside a public bus.

So the other day the bus to work was a little crowded, but I managed to squeeze into a seat somewhere towards the back. In front of what sounded like a pair of tertiary students. A girl and a guy, accents from China, seemingly friends.

So the guy says, I think my self control has improved.

And the girl asks, How long?

And he says, Do you know what I'm talking about?

She says, What do you mean?

Well, recently I was going to do it with this girl, he explains. So I got her clothes off and then I decided not to do it, because I thought it would be a betrayal to my girlfriend.

So how did the girl react? she asks.

She wasn't too happy, he says. “他妈的，把我弄成这样然后说不上了！” But I didn't want to anymore. It's clear that she's willing to go all the way, so I've already got her in a sense. Doing it or not doesn't matter.

After that the conversation turned to their respective significant others, boring compared to what just transpired. Then I fell asleep.

On another occasion, I was on the bus home when another pair of secondary or tertiary students, both Chinese male, boarded the bus and made themselves comfortable in the seat behind me.

They were apparently sharing stories about murder out of their hometowns (somewhere in Malaysia).

Boy #1's story was about how a girl, a school mate and friend's girlfriend, was murdered by a politician's son after she rebuffed him.

All the townsfolk went on a manhunt after it happened, particularly the "black" elements of the community, forming their own road blocks and so forth. But the boy eventually appeared in police custody and even went on trial.

However, due to his status as a minor, the suspect was freed soon after.

As expected, the townsfolk were angry. But the shrewd politician sent his son overseas (Australia, it seems), pronto. We're talking immediately after being released.

Boy #2's story was a little different.

A girl in his school went missing. A rich man's son was the main suspect.

Problem is, they never found her body until years later, buried in some forest.

I have forgotten the rest of it, but I'm guessing the killer was long gone by then.

People

Several months ago, I met a girl who's visiting her brother on our sunny shores. She's an Asian expat who lives in the UK.

We kept in-touch via email after she left to continue with her very long Asian vacation. It continued on for several weeks until Facebook reared its ugly head. We became 'friends'.

By then, she was back in the UK, and turns out to be a consiencious updater. So I start getting posts in my feed of cookies being baked, lazy days of reading books I've never heard of while up in a tree, rainy countryside cycling adventures and even a slacklining adventure up in the mountains made into what looks like a professionally-edited video (yes, complete with a soundtrack I've never heard before; 'quotable quotes' from participants; people looking cool while laughing, dancing, singing; mood shots; angles, angles and more angles).

And the yachting. Out at sea photos. People lounging on a shiny white deck. People fishing. More sea.

Then I realised that while she says she has a 'business', she had not been working for months and can afford not to.

If you say I'm jealous - yes, I suppose, of her being wealthy or from a wealthy family (which I hadn't realised before Facebook).

That other stuff - cookies, yachting, Save the Whales! causes - not really my thing. But looking at them, I've never felt more middle-class. And it's not a bad thing - just a sudden realisation of something I never thought about or never had to think about.

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And then there were the people I haven't been speaking to for some months.

The business of 'making up' after you've had a tiff or some other awkward event is a strange thing - but pretty easy when you're facing a computer screen. Neither party talks about or makes reference to whatever happened. Politeness is at an all-time high. Perhaps just so that you know they got on fabulously without you, some people talk about things they did or are going to do, or how busy they are hanging out with their friends. Others are civil but tight-lipped, providing short and sweet answers to questions, and making general comments in response to things that are said.

But the proof of the pudding is whether anything happens offline.

So far, through no fault of mine, nothing has happened.

I wonder if some people are in it for the appearance or reassurance of having 'made up' or being 'friends' again. Why bother?

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They are young, they run free. Stay up late, they don't (need much) sleep. Got their friends, got the night. They will be alright!

Happened to get to know a new group of people and now end up hanging out (literally) with a couple of youngsters.

One of them turns out to be the friend of a friend's youngest brother (Facebook strikes again!). When I met the friend in question, she accuses me of being a paedophile(!!!). So for the record, I'm not dating the kid.

But I've realised that while they may have this effervescent guileless quality about them, youngsters these days are in fact adapt at using people. It's not done so obviously, so one may or may not realise it after it has happened. So no, I won't date these kids - they're dangerous.

Incidentally, I was reading a comic the other day, where one character was complaining about 'youngsters' and then asks, 'What makes me old?' And his friend retorts, 'When you start using words like youngsters!'

Ho ho ho. Scary youngsters.

How it got like this

When you find yourself on your hands and knees at 3am, scraping away at shits stuck to your brand new floor, it will eventually occur to you that being a homeowner is over-rated.

And by shit, I mean carpentry glue, plaster, paint and the worst shit, cement.

Then there will come the moment, or many moments, you will want to kill your lousy contractor. And just 'cause he's lousy doesn't mean he's working for you for cheap.

Which makes you keener in plotting his murder.

And to cast a really lustrous gloomy glow over the whole clean-up operation - an internal injury. Apparently not only pugilists can get it - just cough hard enough and you'll get it too.

Hard enough to regurgitate the cheezels you just ate. Or perhaps vomit the entire dinner you've been happy to keep in your stomach.

Once the pain appears in your ribs, you really ought to stop coughing. But of course you can't, when you're still suffering the symptoms of a crappy 2-week-old flu and phlegm.

And so, it spreads. Doctor says the pain is coming from the lung membrane and it can hit you with every little movement. Prob'ly she means, whenever lung comes into contact with ribs. She gives you painkillers - and only painkillers - because there is no treatment. The kind of painkillers that have to to be paired with anti-nausea drugs.

What exactly does this pain in the lung feel like?

Excruciating in a sneeze or cough. Try not to cough and you'll just start wheezing and eventually lose the battle anyway.

Doctors say, Take lots of rest. She means sleep, right? Try lying down on your back - it feels like ribs are crushing lung.

Soon, you'll be constantly clearing your throat to keep the cough down and avoiding abrupt movements.

That's what I'm doing anyway. Let's figure out how to survive Ophir in 10 days in this condition, shall we?

Promises

I wonder,

what the message is, when out of the blue, a guy who was single when you first met a few months ago, quite purposefully but very casually informs you that he is no longer single?

Had my unexpected but opportune arrival served its purpose and was now no longer required?

Or was it meant to press the point that today was just the obligatory honouring of a promise made before the battle was won? (And now we can no longer be friends.)

Don't get me wrong - the news doesn't bring a wrenching to the heart. Just a confirmation in the brain of old suspicions, and an old melancholy that's often misunderstood.

Like when I go to the wedding of a friend, a 100% platonic vegetarian lunch buddy, and his bride's friends comment that I look sad. I know what they are thinking, but I can't be bothered to explain.

Like when we are cruising in a sun-roofed car along the cliffs, and the driver reaches over and asks, What's wrong? You look sad.

I never even knew I looked sad, thinking fleeting thoughts about nothing in particular. But I like it.

Reno tracking episode 4: Paint

Renovations are going ... slooooooooooowly. Painting is kinda almost done, the toilet doors are up, and that's all the progress there is. I really like the green room! But it's not mine. Boo.