kastaway_83

Whenever I miss the past, I will wander around aimlessly in Chinatown. There, I will always find tiny artifacts like VCR players, cassette tapes, rooster bowls and camera film which crystallize my 'era.' Unlike the fickleness of memory which fades and contorts with time, these are real items which make sense to me and comforting to hold. It worries me slightly how it's becoming more and more difficult to find these low-tech objects.

Living in such times of rapid evolution, I find myself increasingly appreciative of places like Chinatown which hoards these cultural paraphernalia. Chinatown is like my grandmother. They're both sentimental women who refuse to throw out anything and possess a huge accumulation of kitsch.

While browsing old cassette tapes in a music store, I found an old Faye Wong cassette tape. My god it's 《迷》! Back in the days when 王菲 was still called 王靖雯. With a silly smirk on my face, I bought it almost immediately. This is golden. This cassette tape represents my first time ever listening to her. I used to have an old copy but threw it out because it grew mouldy. One of the album's track, 我願意 was featured very prominently on a TCS telemovie. That was how I came to know about Faye Wong. I was probably 11 or 12 years old, when Sentosa still had the monorail.

I'm just so psyched to use the very nostalgic cassette tape case (which has the words 'Polygram' embossed on its front) with the cassette tape notebook I got from Clique.

( Body Composition Analysis )

After gym yesterday, I took a body analysis on the Tanita Body Composition Analyzer. Within a few minutes, the machine churned out a long receipt detailing the fat/muscle makeup in my body. I still don't really understand how the machine works but I'm guessing it ran some current into me to get those results. To be serious, I still don't quite understand what the figures really mean except to build muscle mass while losing body fat at the same time. The trainer said to work more on my legs and that resistance training is a much more effective way to burn fat than just cardio. And it was only until yesterday than Bellie told me that past 45 minutes of cardio, one moves beyond the fat burning zone into the muscle burning zone?! I shuddered just thinking about the amount of muscle I had carelessly burnt over the years?! Sport science is something that still obscures me and always will.

All in all, the experience was quite surreal. All of a sudden, the whole of me was broken down into pure statistics filled with obscured acronyms which I don't really understand. BRM. FFM. ABC. DEF. GHI. OH WHATEVER!

It was quite disturbing to see my body parts analyzed in segments and to know how much they weighed individually. In my mind I imagined myself as a pieces of meat hung on the rack in the wet market. For sale, $X/gram and people'd buy parts of me home and brew as herbal soup.

When chatting up someone on the internet, one is almost always asked for 'stats.' Funny thing, the next time I'm asked for my stats, I'll give them the whole works! Hahaha, like they can imagine how I really look based on a bunch of numbers. I cannot help but think of that song by Marina and the Diamonds, "Guess what...I'm not a robot, a robot..."

I must have liked Jack Russell Terriers when I watched The Mask. I remember K had one. A had one too which I loved a lot and would even carry it around in my arms like a baby. Damn, I even nicknamed myself JRT for a period of time. Earlier at 小妹's place, we were playing with her JRT puppy and that feeling of excitement and love all came back. If I had one, I'd let it sleep in my bed on weekends. I'm thinking of that song again, "if only I could have a puppy, I'd count myself so very lucky, just to have some company to share a cup of tea with me, I'd take my puppy everywhere, la la la la I wouldn't care, we'd stay away from crowds, besides it's said no dogs allowed..."

Continued from:
Part 1 (http://kastaway-83.livejournal.com/450898.html)
Part 2 (http://kastaway-83.livejournal.com/477897.html)
Part 3 (http://kastaway-83.livejournal.com/478639.html)
Part 4 (http://kastaway-83.livejournal.com/478876.html)

That night, they joined bodies three times. With unbridled passion, they shed their clothes like second skin and pressed against each other. Steve felt his brain explode with sensation as Adam clutched at his erection from behind. It’s been weeks since Steve masturbated so his erection is hard as a steel truncheon. Adam tightened his grip as he slipped his fist up and down, his other palm cupped over Steve’s left pectoral muscle, planting the nape of Steve’s neck into his heavy breathing. Steve moaned uncontrollably, his hands stretched backwards, clawing at Adam’s outer thighs. With his lower back arched like a taut bow, he shoved his opening carelessly towards Adam only to feel his testicles being chafed by pubic hair. Adam was not about to give in to Steve’s begging expression, he spun Steve around and stared into Steve’s eyes with deliberate tenderness. The hollow of Steve’s chest was damp with perspiration. Adam buried his face into it. Steve’s fingers dug into Adam’s scalp in pleasure.

The two men were locked in deep embrace, faces melding into each other’s body parts as a wave of lust swept over them. Wetting his fingers with spit, Adam’s head bobbed up and down between Steve’s legs like driftwood while slipping his fingers into Steve’s opening. Steve squirmed as Adam’s warm fingers carefully split his insides apart. Adam’s passionate kisses whittled down to light pecks on Steve’s forehead as his busy hands reached for the rubber.

At first when Adam went in, Steve’s bodied writhed in pain. With open palms, Adam cradled the back of Steve’s head like a baby and slowed his pace in accommodation. Steve’s pain faded into momentary numbness, then into pleasure as their unity picked up rhythm and sang the body electric. Beads of sweat dripped from Adam’s rocking hips as their love making culminated in orgasm. Heat effervesced from their masculine bodies as the backwash of their love making rose and fell with the ritualistic passing of time.

That night, the men were sleepless. Instead, they found endless things to talk about.

For instance, Adam found out that Steve had an elder brother. That he doesn’t talk to his parents because they were unable to reconcile the fact that their favourite son turned out to be a cock sucking faggot. His father especially, who used to be a military official slammed hard into the truth and forced Steve out of the household.

In return, Steve also learnt about Adam’s painful double life as an exemplary member of his family while also lurking in the shadows of his secret life as a closeted gay man. Upon closer inspection, it seemed that the men had more in common than differences. Very quickly, Adam found himself sinking deeper into genuine affection for Steve as a partner. Valves to the core of his heart which were previously inaccessible suddenly became apparent. Once the flood gates came down, the irrepressible humanity which came gushing out overwhelmed Adam with emotion as the physical sensation from sex fizzled out.

Thinking of all the hours between then and dawn, Adam felt grateful.

“How do I know if this is for real?” Steve asked, raising his head from his pillow, his voice drowsy.

Adam laid on his side, stroked Steve’s sturdy back and said, “Nobody really knows anything for sure, I think. But I know that when anyone knows anything for sure, then it’s definitely unreal. Real things aren’t meant to be known...” Adam paused.

“Like love, right? We can’t know it. It transcends human understanding,” suggested Steve with a mock enlightened expression. “Ommm!!!” Steve’s comic bellowing invited a tirade of tickles and hysterics.

Adam took a look at his watch. Almost 5 a.m. “I’d better go home,” Adam said.

Steve gave a little frown. “Love me then leave me,” he said. “You’re the man.”

So Adam changed his mind. He stayed with Steve. Adam spooned Steve. The fusion of physical warmth lulled Adam into a state of pre-sleep.

Adam closed his eyes and thought about his childhood, times when he was happier with his family. His mom would soothe his cries with pats on his back and whisper reassuring nothings into his ear. He could hear his racing heart calming down.

He fell asleep listening to his heart beat.

FIN

( What I write about when I write about writing )

(continued from http://kastaway-83.livejournal.com/478639.html)

“Finally it has happened to me right in front of my face and I just cannot hide it...” sang Steve.

“...Meeting Mister Right, the man of my dreams, the one who shows me true love or at least it seems,” joined Adam in song as he passed Steve a bottle of salt.

“Sorry to trouble you,” Steve apologised.

“I don’t mind,” Adam said. Steve sprinkled a dash of salt into the wok of sliced beef and green peppers and continued to stir fry them. Adam sat behind him at a table. Occasionally, he would read aloud ingredients and their required proportions from a Jamie Oliver cookbook.

“Dinner will be ready soon!” Steve announced. With a sharp ‘clack’, the stove was turned off. The still simmering beef and green peppers gave out small clouds of fragrance which billowed and filled the kitchen with the heartwarming glow of a home cooked meal. Steve dimmed the lights. Setting the mood with music by John Coltrane, he arranged the food on the dining table by candle lights which emanated an air of tenderness.

“Let’s!” Steve invited Adam to dig in. The saxophone had a strange effect on the room. If one were looking at the room through lenses, it’s as if someone has altered its state with a sepia-tinted filter. It’s as if a huge arm had choked the arrogance of time and forced it to trickle preciously with each note from the sax that drawled sensually.

Adam carefully arranged the green peppers into a pile, stabbed at them with his fork and forced it into his mouth with a grimace. Sitting across him, Steve raised a brow, “Is it really that bad?”

Embarrassed, Adam admitted, “I hate green peppers, actually.”

“Hahaha, you’re just like Crayon Shin-chan! Why did you eat them then?” Steve chuckled.

“I don’t like to waste food,” Adam said, washing down the slight bitter with a gulp of water. “Normally, I just finish what I hate first.”

“That’s cute,” Steve said.

Both men smiled and dissolved into silence. Gentle night breeze drifted in from the balcony, leading the shadows of curtains in a dance. Adam and Steve savoured the dinner in small bites, allowing Duke Ellington’s tinkling of the piano to wash over them. Taking a sip a red wine, Adam asked, “How did you learn to cook so well?”

“I used to live alone in London for a few years,” Steve replied in between bites.

“I like your kitchen. It’s very well kept,” Adam said.

Steve shook his head. “I like to keep things simple so there isn’t much housekeeping to do.”

“For a man, you are very neat. In fact -”

“Listen Adam. I just want to tell you that you were kind of in my thoughts today.”

Adam could tell from Steve’s voice that he was serious. “I understand.” Adam said.

“Understand what?” Steve was quick to pick up on Adam’s change of tone.

Unable to respond in time, Adam’s face blushed a deep red. “I couldn’t get you out of my head either.”

“Really? That’s like my favourite Kylie Minogue song!” That was the way Steve was. He could always turn the mood around before it got too serious. With a cheeky smirk, Steve stood up and motioned at Adam’s empty plate and glass, “There are no princesses in this house. We all have to do our own dishes around here.”

“With pleasure!” Adam walked towards the sink. Like a couple with great chemistry their actions were well synchronised. Adam soaped the dishes while Steve wiped the dining area until it glistened with mild antiseptic. Occasionally, Adam would sneak peeks at Steve’s bubble bottom whenever he bent over. The high-cut running shorts which Steve was wearing revealed a healthy pair of buttery brown thighs. Adam felt a mild stirring in his pants as his thoughts wandered further and further.

“All done!” Adam beamed, spinning around to face Steve.

“Let’s have sex now...” Steve purred. Grabbing his own groin through the dri-fit material roughly, he was staring at Adam with lust. His erect nipples poked through his skin tight undershirt. “Fuck me, hard.” Of course, this happened only in the fevered imagination of Adam’s horny brain. In actual fact, Steve simply acknowledged with a nod.

to be continued...

(continued from: http://kastaway-83.livejournal.com/477897.html)

Once at home, Steve loosened his tie, dumped his Boston bag onto the dining table and headed towards the kitchen. He swung the refrigerator door open and poured himself an ice cold glass of water. Chugging down the chilly liquid, Steve walked towards the living room and slumped into his Barcelona chair. Setting the glass onto a coaster, he reached into his pocket and whipped out his cellphone. With his feet propped on the Ottoman, his busy fingers started texting a short message:

“Hey Adam, I’m home. Hope you enjoyed yourself tonight. See you again soon, yes? Good night!”

The morning after, all Adam could do was think about the night before. Steve’s boyish face. His head of fine black hair. How Adam relished the way Steve’s fringe cascaded across his broad forehead each time he broke into an animated expression. Instinctively, Adam felt compelled to reach forward and sweep the fringe behind Steve’s unusually small ears but resisted. Throughout the evening, Steve laughed a hearty lot. That explained the fine lines that surfaced whenever his face crinkled with genuine interest. It’s been a while since anyone had paid Adam so much attention.

Adam was used to being a man of few words. He hardly spoke to his parents even when he was at home. In real life, he hardly had true friends. Instead, he forged a string of acquaintances on the internet world under the pseudonym “MUSCFUN_74”. Sometimes, he wondered if the avatar of his shirtless torso reflected his shallow nature where only tadpoles and guppies deemed fit to swim. He wondered without resolution, trudging along nevertheless. With time, he grew accustomed to the superficial world of anonymity. Without anyone who truly understood him, even Adam was beginning to feel like a stranger to himself. It was hardly surprising that Steve’s enthusiasm came like a breath of fresh air in Adam’s otherwise dull existence. In a way, Steve made Adam feel important again and he had a pleasant time getting reacquainted with that familiar feeling.

Adam looked up from his desk. The classroom of secondary school students scrawled furiously away on their writing pads. The whirring of the ceiling fans seemed to create a vacuum that sucked away the cacophony of domestic living across the school building. With the click of a pen, Adam rose from his seat.

“Class! The test will be ending in 5 minutes. Please remember to check that you have written your name, class and index number on every sheet of paper.”

The cellphone vibrated in the deep pockets of Adam’s chinos. A knowing smile permeated through his tanned skin. The peace from before was broken as the recess bell’s shrill holler jolted everyone back to present time. Sheets of papers were languidly passed to the front as the chatter of students began to fill the cavity of silence once again. Shuffling the stacks of stapled sheets into a neat pile, Adam dismissed the rowdy class. With the answer scripts tucked under his defined arms, he headed for the water cooler.

Time moves at a peculiar pace. Some days, Adam felt like he’d never make it to the end. Other days, he might as well have stepped through a time warp. With his head wrapped in thoughts about the dinner date he was about to have with Steve, time zipped by like a ten-minute QB House Quick Cut. Before he knew it, he was fighting the evening crowd, making his way home to get changed.

After a quick scan of his wardrobe, Adam decidedly threw on a casual Lacoste polo t-shirt and berms. He shaved away his 5 o’clock shadow, splashed on some Davidoff Cool after shave. The astringent stung his skin. With swift economic actions, he was ready to go. Holding a bottle of red wine in one hand, Adam slipped into his crocs and left for Steve’s place.

to be continued...

Instead of finishing The Wind Up Bird Chronicle (pg.12) over these two days, I completed a movie marathon - Departures, Tokyo Sonata, and The Girl Who Leapt Through Time. I feel like I've taken a short trip to Japan and back. All of them were good. Departures made me cry, it wouldn't be the same without Joe Hisaishi's accompaniment. Tokyo Sonata introduced me into the curious but obstinate world of a salaryman. And The Girl Who Leapt Through Time piqued my curiosity about what I would change if I could go back in time. If there is a common thread running through all three films, it's a delicate respect for silence. I love the scenes where the drama comes to a standstill, the music bed fades out completely and the screen flashes a series of stark images. Soundless and slow. In saying nothing, volumes are said.

As I appreciate these moments of silence, I realised my mentality has changed again. Until now, I used to think "whatever you feel, just say it." Then I discover that sometimes, words are not the most beautiful way to express something. It's like typography, I heard someone say that typography is not about how the letters look but how the letters makes the spaces around it appear. So, it's all about the spaces after all? I took this realisation, extended it to the meaning of life and found profound wisdom within.

So words are not always the best way to say something. As we learn to become more sensitive and intuitive with experience, we let go of our dependence on the literal power of words. Is this part of growing up? Is this the way people grow closer together with years? Upon reflection, I suddenly recognise a fact:

The people closest to me are more than just people I can talk to about everything. They are also people I can be comfortable about saying nothing at all.

(continued from: http://kastaway-83.livejournal.com/450898.html)

Adam sat with Steve in the cafe.

Night had fallen and the crowd was thin. Other than a few other patrons engaging in casual chatter over their round timbre tables, the cafe was relatively quiet with occasional hushed laughter and the familiar clinking of coffee cups onto their saucers. Adam and Steve sat tentatively across each other, not knowing how to break the ice. While blind dates are not uncommon in the gay community, it is strange how hard it is for some to pick up the art of conversation.

“How did you find me on the internet by the way?” Adam took the lead.

“I’m actually an insurance agent. I was looking to make appointments with potential clients near me so I did a search by area on guys4men.com and your profile came up!” Steve offered.

“What?”

Steve’s faux stoic face burst into a soft chuckle. “I was just kidding silly. But I really live near you though. I’m in Novena.”

Adam softened. His erect posture slackened as he leaned back into the upholstered seat. “Ahhh... Okay, nice. I’m a teacher.”

“Hmmm, okay. I’m a sales manager, but let’s get back to you. What kind of things are you into?”

“Well, I love sports. All sorts. Jogging, swimming, tennis. Yea.”

“I guess the only thing we have in common is swimming.”

“You sure have the body for it,” teased Adam.

Steve blushed. Despite being dressed in a pinstriped suit, Steve’s solid build was hard to go unnoticed. Compared to Adam, Steve looked bulkier with broader shoulders and beefier arms which filled his sleeves nicely.

“Thank you,” Steve gushed. “You’re hot too. What type of guys are you into anyway?”

Adam slipped into a rehearsed soliloquy: “Sculpted chest, broad shoulders, come-fuck-me arms, 6-pack abs, thunder thighs, killer calves, chiselled face. Funny, intelligent and pleasant personality.”

Steve gave himself a quick check over and remarked with a sigh, “but I’m not funny or intelligent. I’m also rude and nasty.”

Adam laughed!

“Seriously, don’t you have trouble finding someone to settle down with? Your expectations are so high...” a deep furrow formed across Steve’s forehead as he punctuated his statement with a sip from his cafe latte.

“Who said anything about settling down?” Adam defended himself quickly. “When the right one comes, it will come. Meanwhile I’ll just have as much fun as I can.”

“Come? On your face you mean!” Steve chided.

Adam retaliated with a firm squeeze on Steve’s thigh which felt taut, tight and ready.

Naturally, the pace of the men’s conversation picked up. They sticked to light topics such as sexual preferences, dating history and religion. At the end of three hours, it felt like they had known each other forever, a feeling commonly associated with the heady innocence of newly developed crushes. In a city where people are eager to have unique love stories to call their own, Adam felt his resistant heart stir because the coffee with Steve was turning out better than he had expected.

Their chemistry however was unwillingly broken by a very apologetic waitress. “Sorry, but we’re closing in 10 minutes time.”

“Fantastic,” Steve nodded and promptly fished out his wrinkled Braun Buffel wallet, “Please, this one’s on me.” Adam said okay. As soon as the waitress returned with the change and receipt, Adam cocked his head to his side, “Shall we?” Adam and Steve made for the cafe exit.

“Let’s share a cab home?”
“Promise you won’t hold my hand?” cooed Steve in mock embarrassment. Adam tried punching Steve playfully in the arm. Steve ducked.

From the lively lanes in Arab Street, both men hopped into a cab. Once inside, the silence resumed, as if afraid the presence of the driver will expose the truth about their sexuality and jeopardize their careers. Even though their homes weren’t far off, the snaking roads prolonged the ride. Delayed by a long series of traffic lights, Adam and Steve slouched in their seats each looking out of their side of the window. The towering street lamps cast an ominous strip of shadow over their shadows at intervals as the cab sent the men home on a road glowing with urban orange.

Should Adam invite Steve home? He couldn’t bear to ask. He couldn’t bear to risk the possibility of ‘ruining it.’

to be continued...

Sufficient sleep, the weekend vibe and the rain usually puts me in an unusually good mood. So I'm wrote a poem. "Where I'm likely to find it" is the title of a Haruki Murakami short story in 2005 I quite enjoy, hence the reference. Here's to an accomplished week and fruitful weekend ahead! =]