The Spare Tyre

No, that's not my waist and granted it is nowhere near this picture I found randomly on the web, I have developed it ever since I entered my thirties.

The norm would be (in this part of the world, anyway) developing this so-called spare tyre after one has gotten married. The excuse (for the man - I'm smart enough not to risk guessing how women get theirs here) is that he gets to go back to his wife's wonderful cooking every night. That's the sweet or politically correct version.

The other version is that he has less time to keep in shape now that he's got a family - a more plausible reasoning in this day and age where we have career women who would be too busy to labour in the kitchen for hours. Or am I still too presumptuous?

Anyway, for me, I am not married so I don't have the luxury of using any of the above excuse. So it really is time for me to be freaking about it because even when I see my gorgeous naked body everyday in the mirror, I do notice the changes; how one part of the torso MIGHT be getting bigger. 

I do admit, I've stopped going to the gym consistently this past year. But at the same time, I have begun reducing the amount of food, especially rice, that I eat in every meal. I am also refraining myself from eating over the amount that I need no matter how good the food displayed in front of me is or whether or not it's a buffet. But still, the spare tyre is there.

I don't need a spare tyre. I detest this spare tyre. I loathe its shape.

Disclaimer: This is not to say that I don't love myself.

On the contrary, I have to say, it's because I love myself too much. And call me a narcissist but I really want to get rid of it. It's useless and yet significant, and it has to go.

Well, the good thing is that I have recently started a very intensive circuit training with the Get Fit group organised by a few Alpha Males. I've started a month of it already and am loving how it makes me feel after a great workout.

But unfortunately, I don't foresee this ever being sufficient. I'm also guessing a huge part of this comes from my metabolism rate being slowed down by the big 3. It is at that age where I really have to watch what I eat. I have to reduce the intake on fats, sugar, and mostly meat, I guess. Well, this is what I've picked up so far, or this is what has been blaring louder in my subconscious these days.

More vegetables is the way to go from here on out. And no matter what, this will always be the healthier choice.

... Wow, it just hit me. This is a serious change in my lifestyle. And there will be more to come, more refrains and more discipline.

Thankfully I never have a craving for fast food. Inside joke if you know me.

Just One Pint Of Beer

I didn't wake up with a hangover today. The hangover woke me up in the middle of the night.

I have been conditioned by my ever-determined mom not to take medicine as much as I can help it. And through her constant, determined, preaches; I even have this phobia that if I take too much Panadol to cure the ever-predatory headaches, one day my bodily system may be immune to the effects of the chemicals. Which is why I will only take Panadol when the pain becomes too much to bear. Okay, I admit that might have come off sounding a little bit sadistic; but then again I think it's a good practise for someone who gets headaches a lot. 

So in the wee hours of the morning, in the hotel room of Royal Plaza on Scotts in Singapore, I reluctantly got out of bed and scoured my toiletry bag for the bag of Panadols that I usually carry around with me (see how ready I am to battle this?). Again, through the determination of my mom's preaching, I reached for the free cookies from the minibar just so I wasn't eating medicine with an empty stomach.

Five minutes later, my body grew hotter inside while the outside was shivering in the cold hotel air-conditioner. I knew it was coming. I could feel it with every burp that forced itself up. And it has always been easy for me to hurl. Just one look at the toilet bowl and I'm there like turning on a switch, or turning on to boobs.

Weird thing about a hangover to me is that, not only do I feel the urge to hurl, but I also have the need to have everything come out from the other hole too. It's like they go hand-in-hand under such circumstance. Can't have one without the other.

So the logical thing to do after vomiting is to rehydrate myself with water. That I did. I even delibrately wait for the kettle to boil so that I could have really warm water for my poor stomach. Five minutes later though, I knew it was too soon to drink. I hurled again, this time it was the water I just drank. Lesson learned. I went to sleep.

And strangely enough, that was the deepest sleep I have had since three weeks ago. A sleep so restful that I woke up feeling fully recharged. A feeling I haven't had the past few days in Singapore as I never really drifted into quality slumber in a foreign bed. I guess it wasn't that strange seeing as how my body was forced into recovery mode.

But one thing that probably showed my ageing more than anything else, was the culprit for this particular episode. It was at Timbre @ Old School. I deliberately chose the date and place to catch this local band called 53A who I find the guitarist incredibly talented (though the quartet was reduced to only a duo yesterday night). And my partner in crime for the night, Darren, ordered the "happy hour" combo. Two pints of beer and a thin crusted pizza.

So, very shamefully, my thirty-something body can no longer process even a pint of beer that it had to wake me up and eject it out, from both ends too. 

Difference In Age, Difference In Needs

Crap, even this image is old...

My nephew who's in his first year in London School of Economics, was spending a week of his summer holiday here in Brunei away from home, Hong Kong. He reminds me of another good friend of mine (shout out to Joan!) who just started her first year in Vancouver University!

I'm really envious of all these youths because I still remember my fantastic years in Sheffield University... a decade ago. (Gosh, has it seriously been that long? Longer because I was in Sheffield in the year 2000...) But I wouldn't have changed a thing. Well, OK, maybe a few things off the top of my head. Which probably means a few more things if I gave it some thought, which I won't.

Anyway, so my nephew was sitting on the sofa going through his Android phone (ah, kindred spirit; so proud of him); and he suddenly announced that, "I need a new Calendar app that looks better than this."

Immediately I thought, "Damn, that just showed how different we are with this age gap. He needs a Calendar app that looks good. I'm satisfied with the default one because it works."

Quarter-Life Crisis

Few years ago, I somehow convinced myself that the twenties were the times when I could make stupid mistakes in life; and how the twenties were the years of trial-and-errors. But once I've reached the thirties, that's it! Time to really get serious and set unachievable targets to change this world.

Because of that ridiculous and unnecessary pressure that I have bestowed upon myself, it's inevitable that I'm a little freaked out right now.

Why this pressure? It's quarter-life crisis, I tell you!

But like the more popular, and normal, condition of this kind of crisis, i.e. the mid-life one, there's nothing you can do to cure it. It's all in the mind. So do I go see a psychiatrist about this? Believe you me that I've considered the option more times than one!

But in lil' ol' Brunei, there's only one (yes, I've asked around). And being in the thirties, I have to be very cautious - to be inline with taking life seriously.

So with only one option, that idea is not very encouraging. Plus, is this really the best use of my hard-earned money? Heck, I'm in my thirties, I have to be serious about life, I have to get into the concept of, and have, "savings"! Going to see a shrink is going to add on to the monthly subtraction of my salary, which a quarter of it already goes into this house I'm living in.

So, I've decided to "shrink" myself, so to speak. Over the years of all the heartbreaks in the twenties, I've learned to project my pain into poetry and songs. Once completed, further basking in them somehow soothes the broken heart and put it back together piece by piece with each strum of my guitar. (See, I'm so used to writing angsty stuff that they would come even without me trying.)

Which is why, here I am, putting it all in words, and hoping to see clarity after I've "spoken my mind". It's really a good exercise, you know. And if you're still with me, perhaps I can interest you with keeping a journal.

I do keep a journal. Especially when my heart is not aligned with my head, it's good to just write out the problem because through it, the solution will also appear - as mystical as how words can be put on paper because our mind wants us to by controlling our hand and fingers.

But seriously, I believe in the power of a journal. Not only does it keep a record of your life, but it really works in providing clarity and a calm frame of mind.

Otherwise I wouldn't be here blogging because this is also a form of journal.

The Beginning

Every beginning is also an ending. Every beginning stems from a point of origin. Every beginning has a reason.

For mine, it was three years ago when I left the cocoon of my twenties, when I metamorphosed into this magnificent butterfly that I am today.

And just to reassure all my readers for I know the previous paragraph can sound a little feminine, but I am indeed one hot blooded male who is comfortable enough with his manhood to be throwing out lines like the above.

So, ladies, it's going to be an interesting ride; and gents, learn to keep up. (Yes, I used the word "gents". I'm old fashioned like that. Learn to keep up - or in this case, slow down.)

Being in the thirties, even in this day and age, but in this culture and society, I am well past that time. What time? That time. Just take a stab at it because you can't miss it. Yes, I'm talking about the next step in life. The next logical step in life. The next normal step in life. The next step in the evolution of man! I'm talking about the "M" word. Sigh. Marriage.

OK, so the sigh was uncalled for. Because I'm not ready for it yet. I'm not yearning to settle down. I don't want to be tied down. Or in the words of Russell Peters... OK, let's not go there. But the point is, I'm alright being single.

Even my parents know better than to ask me about it. Sure, they are probably wishing to be holding a grandchild by now, but they know better than to pressure me. They value the notion of "finding the right one". But in my mom's case, I think deep down she knows that no girl out there is good enough for her eldest. Actually, that's not entirely accurate. I should say, no girl is good enough to be her daughter-in-law.

But I digress. Being in the late twenties, I have relatives all asking about when I'm getting married. Even when I was single, they'd ask anyway. It's like a formality that I have to go through. So each time my response would be a polite smile and modestly decline the idea, or play up the idea that I have too many girlfriends. Thinking back now, that has never been true.

Anyway, now that I'm in my thirties, my relatives don't bother with that question anymore. They probably think of me as a lost cause by now. I see this as a good thing because after a few years, it sort of becomes an unwelcomed routine.

Now, new people I meet, I'm dealing with, "Nohhh, that can't be true. You're not attached?? That can't be true. You're so good looking and talented and capable. Any girl would be fortunate to be with you." How factual is this? I'd like to think it is. But again, I digress.

Fact is, I'm not getting asked that darn question as much as I used to anymore. Not my relatives, not friends, and certainly not from my parents. Except for this, one, person.

She used to be my primary school Chinese teacher. Now, I'm somewhat of a long-time friend to her son - you know, the kind where you've known each other for so long that even though you're not close at all you try to stay in touch whenever you can no matter how impossible it is but you already know that Chinese New Year is the only time of the year you're ever going to see each other. But still you try for the sake of trying.

Small talks and polite conversation ensued in his living room with his new wife who is also my friend, until my primary school teacher saw me and announced, "Hey, 'insert my full Chinese name here', long time no see. Are you still not married yet?" And she would go on and on for a while, talking about how my standards are too high and how my eyes are grown on top of my head and how I shouldn't wait this long to find a special someone.

Now, though I don't go out of my way to avoid her, I do hope I don't bump into her. Because when I do, I'd be dreading for the moment when she'd ask me that question again. More so now that she has a grandson.

Perhaps she doesn't understand that my status isn't by choice. Perhaps she doesn't understand that I don't just go out on casual hook-ups, or that I'm not a "player". (Really, I'm not. Otherwise I'd have a list to show for.)

But perhaps she doesn't understand that each time she asks, maybe it would strike a nerve? A nerve that stems from the ego, that preys on my insecurities and brings up all my defenses? Granted, I don't feel the need to step into the next stage in life, but I'm one of only a couple from my batch of childhood friends that's still single.

I've begun to notice a couple of years back that my circle of friends are getting younger and younger, because I no longer fit in with my batch of friends who have already started a family and who have different priorities in life.

Coming out for casual gatherings would now be accompanied by the occasional crying babies and grown-ups making silly faces.

Sure, I shy away at the thought of being responsible for another little human being but doesn't mean I reject the idea of fatherhood. Sure, I am enjoying being single and am thankful for the solitude but doesn't mean that it won't get lonely from time to time.

But fortunately for me, I have learned to live life by the moment. No two moments are the same, so cherishing each moment of the present is more important than worrying about what's next to come or what is it that I don't have yet.

Sure, this could just be a defense mechanism and it could just be a way of suppressing my fears; but it sure stops me from freaking out. Fear is just fear; it's like what its acronym stands for, false evidence appearing real. Why freak out over things that are just my own illusions? There really is no point in it.

I'd rather live my life and be grateful for what I already have. Life's too short to be worrying in fear.

So with this, it serves as a reaffirmation of my sanity and the positive outlook in life. And by helping myself, perhaps it will help others too along the way.