The Guilty Little Secret We ALL Share

(This piece was written as a response to an article featured in Glamour's June, 2010 edition. I am not normally a magazine reader, but I came across this one and felt something had to be said for the girl's side. So, here it is. Hope it can stimulate some interesting conversation, if not imagination.)

"jake" is the pseudo name of a "real, live single guy dating in New York City" and writing editorials for Glamour magazine. "jake (a man's opinion)" is the title of his editorials.

"Highlight reel" definition: the mental tape that rolls in one's head of other sexual partners while in the act of making love to your partner.

“Off in your own world again”?
The Guilty Little Secret We ALL Share: A Response to Jake’s confessional “Highlight Reel”

Looking beyond Vince Vaughn’s “highlight reel” scene in the popular Hollywood blockbuster hit Couples Retreat, is an equally telling scene in the less popular romantic comedy Young People Fucking. The latter film intertwines the stories of various couples in which one of the main plots is that of The Couple, Andrew and Abby. The long-time daters are having trouble with their sex life and, looking to confront the issue, girlfriend Abby challenges her partner to open up sexually.

Unlike Vaughn’s scene where the men assert their guilty pleasure of thinking about other women during sex, in Young People Fucking the so-called “highlight reel” of sex isn’t gendered as a purely male phenomenon. Indeed, when broached by her prodding boyfriend for being “off in her own world again” while in the act, Abby reveals that her imagination often takes her elsewhere and most often to Ian Ziering (in his Beverly Hills days as the heart throb, Steve Sanders).


This is an interesting comparison and it brings to question Jake’s confessional article in Glamour. In an overtly apologetic and revelatory tone, Jake tells his readers that he is guilty of sin like other normal men of mentally wandering during sex. What was well done by Jake is that he reassures us (the females) this is nothing to worry about, for what he and our men are doing is rather quite healthy for relationships. As he points out, nearly all men do it and at the very least it can serve to keep the guy going for longer, if you know what I mean.

Thanks for the reassurances, Jake, but no need to apologize-- women are guilty of sin too! Indeed, watching Abby acknowledge and confess her affinity for Hollywood hottie, Ziering makes the audience realize that women, like men, are wanderlusts. We too fixate on various other fantasies during sex.
Perhaps we are not as vocal about it. Perhaps we do not recycle through as many people in our reel. And perhaps some of us won't ever admit it, either to others or ourselves. But women too have wild imaginations that help keep their sex life going. And as Jake concludes this is healthy for men; it's healthy for girls. Actually, it's healthy for US.

So I don’t think Jake should be expecting any "serious hate mail" for his revelatory confession. If anything, after reading this revelation about women and our wanderings in bed I hope he’ll be able to accept the fact that Strawberry (the pseudo name of his female Lover) isn’t 'there' half the time either... .

The Anti-Climax and Borneo

The idea came to me about 3 months ago. You see, when you think of Borneo, you think of jungle, trees, orangutans, and carnivorous plants... but surf? So, I began to ask around, casually.
Most people just gave me blank stares. “Surf in Borneo? No can.”

Until finally a local Malaysian gave me my first lead with a nod of her head. And that was that, I was going to Borneo in search of surf!

So, here I am about three months post-revelation and after five days on the northern end of the Island. Sad to say but I came back without having had my surf :(

We headed to Kota Kinabalu for two days of island hopping. From there, we gave ourselves three days to find surf at the most northern end, Kudat-- a land that boasts some of the most beautiful beaches.

Given the season, the time of day, etc. I’m sure our plan would have come through. Simpang Mengayau, for instance, had some solid beach break surf that could prove quite exciting given the right time. But in any case, even with whatever surf we found we couldn’t ride because there were no boards to be found. Our guide didn’t even understand the concept and kept calling it “standing tree” (which he probably thought meant standing under a tree and looking at the waves. Poor drawing skills on my part).

Moral of the story, surfing doesn’t figure into the locals’ lives. And it wasn’t going to figure into our holiday either... But I wouldn’t rule it out forever. I’ll be back some day with board in hand to chase the waves in a land of jungle on the South China Sea.

Despite not having found what I came looking for, the trip did not disappoint. Instead of surf I found some of the nicest waters and beaches. Stretches of white sand looking out into the ocean without a single other person there to take it away from you. I reckon when backpackers first started traveling and discovering Southeast Asia-- in places where they would stumble upon like Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia-- this was exactly the highs they were getting. Lonesome, lost, foreign, guide-less. But, with nature unfolding and unwritten right under their feet.




Overall, Borneo was the perfect beach holiday-- a welcome break before the turmoil of exams!

Now I’m back in Singapore with two weeks left of my undergraduate degree.
Suddenly I’m having flashbacks to day one: running through the Vancouver Airport, drying my tears and hopes high for the Big Wild World just across that ocean.

Well World, you definitely did not disappoint.

With the End in sight, I feel slightly nostalgic about the adventures I’ve had and equally scared about what is to come next. For once, I really don’t know where to be. I don’t have class attendance to make; nor a flight to catch. And I definitely don’t have a commitment that can’t wait a year... .

I have my bags, and a world that just got a whole lot bigger.

Slowly I'm beginning to realize, there was no “first day” and there sure as hell isn’t a last either. So I’ll stop keeping track of time for now...

Shame on Us, Quebec

This piece is a response to a Globe and Mail article concerning the recent niqab case that has surfaced in the news.

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“I think it would be better if everybody could stay calm,” said Shaheen Ashraf of the Canadian Council of Muslim Women. “There is a fear factor in this province that doesn't do any good. But I don't know why a niqabi [a woman who wears a niqab] would come here and expect to live in comfort as the only person wearing it. Why would you come to a society where you know you will be shunned?”

- taken from article


I am deeply concerned with Mr. Ashraf’s comments on women who wear the niqab. As a member of the Canadian Council of Muslim Women, I am shocked that he could be as unforgiving of his own people as to ask the following of niqabis, “Why would you come to a society where you know you will be shunned?”
Shunned?
Really?

I would at least give Canadians more courtesy than that...

Overall, as a resident of Quebec, I am ashamed that this case has unfolded and of the nature it is acquiring. Whatever happened to our ideals of laissez-faire?! If it doesn’t hurt you, nor me, nor them, who cares. Remember Pierre Trudeau? He told us that the private affairs of individuals were not for us to judge in law and state. What could be more personal than an individual’s right to express their faith?

Canadians espouse themselves as being multicultural. As I write this, I am currently sitting overseas in Singapore where religious tolerance would put Quebec Canada to shame. And this is an authoritarian government we are speaking of...

Are the burqa, hijab, or niqab really symbols antithesis to Canadian culture, or democracy, or modernity? As rational people I think we could all agree that, at the very least, the best way to settle this cultural clash (for indeed, this is an issue of cultural bigotry) is not to go the French (France) way as this case seems to be, but to agree to disagree and let the women be!
If Muslim women choose to cover their bodies, so be it! If Canadian women choose to reveal cleavage, so be it! Let the women choose for themselves what is appropriate for their own bodies.

And as for what is appropriate for society at large, let time speak for itself in terms of what is wrong or right -- not uninformed individuals venting a moments ego. Do not force people to change simply out of caprice and ignorance. Remember-- ignorance is not a defence under reason.

It is in tolerating ‘others’ that we will bridge the bonds of social harmony. By disregarding or failing to understand the ‘other’ or to accept practices of the ‘other’ we breed hatred. French Canadians are all too good at this. Even though the Quite Revolution sought to break society free from a religious orthodox bound, a disconcerting social orthodoxy still seems to cling to much of those in the province.
Let it go.

This is Phnom Penh

I sit back and flip through pictures from three days of travel in Cambodia. It’s hard to believe that it was just three-- I am quickly reminded of suffering, poverty, war, desperation, and equally, hope, comfort, and happiness. These are the toils of humanity. The ups and down. And this is what we put each other through, day in and out.
How bizarre it is to be human.


Day 1:

The room is on stilts, hovering among twenty others over the river, a dirty brown. When the men take their prostitutes you can feel their movements from down the boardwalk. The unit rocks back and forth, threatening immanent collapse down into the water below.

It smells-- everywhere. People are too poor, or uneducated to worry about proper plumbing. Garbage litters the ground that children play, piss, and shower in. There are beggars-- all over.

Day one is reserved for the sites, and it begins early with a somber walk through S-21. Tuol Sleng is the infamous former-high school-turned-prison. It is a museum of a three year genocide. It is a memory of atrocities; a reminder of our darkest side.
In between the rows of prison cells and barbed wire walls I see blotches of dark red taint the tiles. I think of Pol Pot and his Khmer Rouge. How could they have done this?
There is a picture of Comrade Duch, chief torturer of S-21, where his eyes are scratched out and writing is scribbled across his face. I thought of the pain he caused others, especially whoever defaced him. And then I thought of the people’s faith. How could the Buddha expect us to offer compassion to a man such as himself?


We followed the prison with a walk through the nearby Killing Fields in the city’s outskirts. Hollowed out pieces of land dotted the field. These were the graves of prisoners who had been forced to dig their own beds.
Around the premises, on the other side of the fence, kids pressed their faces into the grills, hands outstretched past a barricade commemorating their own, begging. They had mastered the art. Cunning little bastards: they would grab your attention first by asking you to take pictures of them, or by asking your name, and then they would turn on their puppy eyes and stretch out their hands. I hesitated for a moment not wanting to be outplayed by 6 year olds. And then they begged for my water. And I thought, these bastards have every right to win.




The tuk-tuk ride back home seemed longer than usual. The seats were stiff and sticky. It was hot. The sun had heated the land and offered it no shelter. The grass was dying, not because it was the dry-season, but because everything else was dying. The Buddha taught us this a long time ago. He also taught us that life is suffering.

And yet, he also taught us that there is a way out. Back in the city, people walk the streets.

This is Phnom Penh.

The Speak Good English Campaign

Singlish
part of speech: noun
definition: English as it is spoken in Singapore; an English-based creole

If you have never had the honour of hearing a Singaporean speak, then you are truly missing out on one of the great wonders of the world. There is nothing quite like Singlish...

A few months ago, Nic sent me this amazingly hilarious youtube link that more or less lets you hear Singlish at its finest: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NIW8WfqoJUA.


(2 minutes and 6 seconds later...)


I guess you wouldn't be too surprised now to hear that in 2000 the Singaporean Government came out with the Speak Good English Movement.

"The Speak Good English Movement is a nationwide movement to encourage Singaporeans to speak grammatically correct English that is universally understood."

When I first heard of the Movement, I thought it was a joke.
Having been in Singapore for only a few weeks, I couldn't fathom why the government was trying to control their language-- It's bad enough they can't chew gum...
At that point, however, I didn't think there was anything odd about their speech. When I first started hearing Singlish, I simply shrugged it off as the speech of new immigrants.
But when I realized that it was there at the beach, in the clubs, and in the classroom I realized that Singlish really did exist, and it really was the unofficial National Language of Singaporeans.

I was nothing short of amazed.
How did the English language ever become so bastardized?
(And unfortunately, Singlish doesn't have the sex appeal of other bastardized tongues such as Trinidadian English.)

So, after a month of trying to re-learn my mother tongue, I started to fancy the idea of the Movement. Suddenly, English Pronunciation workshops seemed like a brilliant idea. And, Giving your citizens Skills for Reading Aloud? Definitely. Priority.

That was, until now...

By this point, I've had many conversations with locals in which they tell me about their identity-- or, lack there-of. What is Singapore? What is Singaporean culture? "What makes us, us?" They ask, wide-eyed and lips quivering.

Well, I can't completely answer that, but whatever it is, I know Singlish is part of it.

As much as Singlish hurts the ears and works the brain, it gives these people their own... thing, for lack of a better word. So, there's something about the idea of changing it that stricks a chord. It is in every way a rejection of something that is uniquely Singaporean. For a country that is looking to define itself, then, I say start by keeping the Singlish.

After a couple months of being here, I have to admit it's growing on me... slowly. And actually, I kinda think it's cute... .

So as of today, I'm For Singlish.

http://www.pitara.com/news/news_world/online.asp?story=162

Indonesia In 13 Days

First Up, Bali!

Bali is truly the Island Paradise everyone says it to be. What is amazing about it is that it has a bit of everything, and every bit is uniquely Balinese it seems.
I had picked the island as a first destination due to its surf. Even despite it not being surf season we managed to find some incredible waves down on the Southern tip where spots like Padang Padang and Lacerations lived up to their world renowned status. We, however, too timid and amateur could only observe in awe and chose to stick with some safer beach surf in Kuta.

I quickly learned that the best way to see the landscape in Bali was by motorbike. Refusing to compete in the jungle traffic that litters the island, I was happy riding shotgun behind my more motor-conscious friends. So we drove for a day, up and down the coast line. Seeing the beaches, the rice paddies, the architecture, the locals, and the sunset. What struck me the most after having had multiple near run-ons with other drivers was the lack of safety protection on the children. It's an odd thing: the adults usually wear helmets, but the kids jump on and off their bikes all day with no protection or inhibitions. A friend soberly explained it to me this way: "You can replace a kid, but you can't replace an adult."

Wise man.

In the end, we extended our time in Bali because we had all fallen in love with the island, and each one of us for different reasons. Some of us for the beaches and surf, and some for the legal shrooms. Bali was every bit a paradise of deep sea diving, ethnic cultural dancing, temple galaxies, open water surfing, and late night debaucheries.

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Then There Was Java

If there is one word to describe Java, or at least our time there, it would be 'Epic'.
In Java everything was supersized: the good and the bad.

Compared to Bali, Java is huge. Therefore to explore the island takes that much more time. As a consequence we found ourselves in a lot more car rides that were a lot bumpier and bitter. We often found ourselves squeezing through traffic and flying over potholes we thought were our last. To add to the road-side frustration, by the time we had arrived in Java our diet had caught up to some individuals and turned their vacation into 3 days of hell. Keep in mind, (Western) washrooms are a near foreign concept to Indonesians. They mostly consist of holes in the ground with no flush nor toilet paper. Doesn't make for a peaceful duty.
Then there was also the haggling and the bargaining. In Bali the street vendors, hostel attendees, and car drivers had all mastered the art of befriending us tourists. Every where you went they would shout, "Nice price for you, my Friend". And friends indeed we thought we had made after a minute of bargaining. As for the Javanese, however, no length of time could turn them into your friend. Most of the time we walked away with a price double what we had asked for.
I should have known it would have been so by the peculiar lack of "my Friend" after all their haggling.

Bitterness aside, Java was also thankfully, Amazingly, Epically Good.

First there was the wee-hour-morning Trek of Mt. Bromo, an active volcano. This was hands down one of the most amazing things I have ever done/ seen: watching the sunrise over a land dotted with active volcanoes as you walk around the rim of one that is spewing up hot, sulfurized smoke. And to add to the beauty of it all, there you find one giant Hindu temple at the foot of the mountain, the only sign of humanity for miles and miles of desert land.
Epic.
Then there was the Borobadur Historical Park. Java is rich in history, and we found it here at the center of the island. We started our day off with Pranamban, the largest Hindu temple in SEA before making our way to the ancient Buddhist temple, Borobadur.
It has been a couple years now that I have dreamed about visiting this very temple. Fortunately for us, when we arrived the days rain had driven away nearly all the tourists. I was, amazingly, able to get beautiful shots from the top of the temple without having to worry about cropping out others-- a highly rare occurance. Walking the six platforms, contemplating the images of the Buddha on the walls was one of the most fulfilling things I have ever done. Even now thinking back upon my visit I get shivers and can't help but to feel an amazing sense of accomplishment. I will never forget how I felt when I reached the top, with the mist lifting off of the mountains around us, and the stillness of the air in which a historic smell still clung to it, as I stared at the Buddha and 72 Buddhas stared back.

There is one Epic check off my List.

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Last Stop-- Sumatra

“That’s it, leave me here. Day two in the Jungle and I have become Jungle Lady. Orangutans, Black Siamang’s, they are my new found kin. Lizards and turtles, future delicacies. Tigers, don’t scare me! This is my home.” (Feb. 21.2010)

We ended our ‘holiday’ in Sumatra, Indonesia with a base camp in Bukit Lawang where the Island's National Park for Orangutans is located. Here our goal was to confront a lost frontier-- the Jungle!

The best way to describe our time in Bukit Lawang is through song, namely the Lion King’s/ Beach Boys’ “Mighty Jungle”. We sang it as we hiked, ate, bathed, chilled, and dreamed. After Bali and Java, the quiet and peace of this natural enclave was a welcome change. Looking back at my travel log and reading the thoughts that had come to me then I realize that the Jungle really did clear my mind and calm my nerves. On Day 10, The Night We Camped in the Jungle, I write about lightning and the lightning you do not see, but perceive (?). No, I was not high (the guides were though, see picture below), I was just what you might call, aimless... . Sometime during the night, just before bed, off in the distance a storm had settled over the land. From our camp, lying on the rocks by the river we could see the random flashes of light every now and then light up the sky. While resting there, eyes closed, I had a perplexing thought come over me: what do you call the act of seeing lightning with eyes closed? Surely not seeing I concluded within two journal pages. (In hindsight, I would like to retract my conclusion and leave it up for debate.)


Aimless thoughts abounded no doubt. Sumatra was the Jungle Paradise I had been looking for.

“We-de-de-de, de-de-de-de-de-de, we-um-um-a-way
We-de-de-de, de-de-de-de-de-de, we-um-um-a-way”

Picture courtesy of UCok,
our Jungle guide assistant
who when high was put to
the task of staying silent by
keeping busy and drawing
in our journals.

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After 13 days, I am ready for more. Indonesia is a beautiful country, rich in nature, culture, and history. If I could, I would make it a point to visit all 1,000 plus of its islands within my lifetime. But alas, life expectancies and bank fees restrict me and I'll have to settle on finding the magic and feeling complete at my next Indo destination, to be soon told....

6 days of Freddi le grand and Walt disney

3 Days of Singapore: How an Ambassador would Do It

Meeting new people is always nice and exciting.
But after a while new becomes old and past is wanting for future. Last week, I had the luxury of hosting part of my past: Freddie le grand!!!! (as well as now new-old friend, Walt disney!!!).
Already, only a month in this city and I felt like a young ambassador showing it off, from historic Raffles, merry Sentosa, to ippity Clarke Quay (pronounced 'key' f.y.i.). In terms of my knowledge and diplomacy, you'd have to ask the boys how I scored. But in terms of tastes, I know without a doubt all bases were covered. In all, I guess you could say that our time together-- Srah, Freddie, and Walt-- could best be described by a series of tastes...

First, there was Durian.

Bright and early Wednesday morning, before setting off for the day I dared the boys to try something new-- and bold-- for breakfast.
Never again.
If you have ever tasted durian, then you would know why-- if not, you should look it up. It's no wonder these signs are popular warnings throughout Southeast Asia: http://blog.tropicalsky.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/no-durian.jpg

It took five hours of beach and sun to get the rotten (garlic? or p****?) smell off of our fingers. Eating durian in the morning is a bad, bad idea.

Our taste buds then wandered to the ah-so-famous Singapore Sling.

The Sling is Singapore's historic drink. In search of it, we traveled to the iconic Raffles Hotel where in 1910 the drink was invented by a now iconic historic bartender whose name evades my memory. Unfortunately, after learning that 24$/drink would be our price and, hence, out of our league we settled on finding it elsewhere.
Luck have it Sentosa island was having a 1-for-1 (forget 2-for-1) on all drinks. So we order 4 slings for 30$ thank you very much Mr. Historic Bartender, only to quickly discover it's 30$ too much-- the Sling Sucks (sorry Mr. Historic Bartender). (on a side note: the mojito's also sucked... may have been the bar, or, what I've concluded, typical of Singaporean drinks....).

On our way back to the mainland, after a day of bad tastes I was craving a good chocolate. Indulging my senses upon finding the only imported stall, I happily purchased the best 20$ brownie of my life.

Taste buds relieved, shock therapy over, we head over to Clarke Quay (Key) for a night of drinking and dancing. Pre-drinks in order, buzzed to spins, with the boys sharp in their tailor made shirts we quickly get rejected from the clubs.
Unfortunately, flip flops don't "go" with tailor made.

Looking for the next best, we make our way to Clinic. Known for its atmosphere-- wheelchairs, operating tables, and IV drips-- I decide to join the ambiance and order myself one red IV drip, please!
Let it be said, Clinic is the place to be seen. But what all the onlookers have never known until now is that the thing to see is a bunch of tipsy tourists getting ripped. Fifty-dollar non-alcoholic kool-aid does not make a great cocktail...
As Obama's cousin (yes, I did just casually throw her in) told us: "Don't put my face up on Facebook, I don't want people seeing Obama's cousin drinking koolaid."
Blunt. Well said. (few words omitted, like "shit", "fuck", and "waste" (but only I could know the full extent of that last word...)).
Anyways, 50$ later we leave, I as drunk as when I came only slightly more sugar-buzzed and armed with a nice 2 hour photo-shoot with IV drip.

Defeated, we begin the trek home stopping, but of course, at the Golden Arch for one last taste to complete the day.

Tab for the day:
Durian: 2$
Singapore Sling: 30$
Other Drinks: Lost count
Hawkers: Part of Surviving...
Brownie: 20$
IV Drip: 50$
Mccy D's: 6$
Priorities: straight