Daquiri Dutch Dating

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies

I'm not cute or built to suit a model's fashion size

But when I start to tell them

They think I'm telling lies.

I say

It's in the reach of my arms

The span of my hips

The stride of my steps

The curl of my lips.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally

Phenomenal woman

That's me.

-Maya Angelou-

Something I said off the cuff the other day struck a chord within me. I have dated more guys in my 6 short months here than the whole of 4 years in KL put together. And yet, I’m in the same position now. (Still) Single, and Disappointed! Perhaps it doesn’t matter if you’re having an active dating life or not … the truth is, when you’re meant to meet the One, you will, and not one day before, regardless of how many notches on your belt you rack up.

Speaking of notches, after the Philosopher, I’ve decided to take a vow of celibacy. Honestly. Next time I decide to be with someone in that way … he’d better be the One. (Or at the very least, very hot. :P) At least I’m going to be (more!) discerning from now on. Dr. Dish/Dr.Dense from now on, for example, is never, ever getting his hands on me again. EVER. Please remind me if I ever get desperate in KL.

Anyway, back to my Dutch experience with Dating. I have enough stories to fill a whole new blog/book – but I’ll give you the summary here, picking out the juiciest of them all.

I walk into a room

Just as cool as you please

And to a man

The fellows stand or

Fall down on their knees

Then they swarm around me

A hive of honey bees.

I say

It's the fire in my eyes

And the flash of my teeth

The swing of my waist

And the joy in my feet.

It has been a weird experience to me… I’d almost forgotten how being different makes you more desirable. I remembered it from my days in England, but after being back in Malaysia for so long, it was so long repressed, that it almost took me by shock. I walk into a room, and (if it’s predominantly Dutch…) I get more attention than any of my other (very much hotter, thinner, etc) mates (who are mostly paired up anyway, and would not be interested, it must be said!). I’ve been asked for my number – and to my utter shock, they always seem to call. And ask to see me again.

First guy in fact, was not the Philosopher, but this guy who looked like he should be on Baywatch. Complete with shaggy blonde hair, and ice blue eyes, the Surfer Dude took all our breaths away. He was the waiter at the bar we went to on our first Friday night here, as part of the getting to know each other session. All the girls at the tables were making goo-goo eyes at him, but to my utter shock, despite the cool eyed blonde from South Africa, the cheery Brazilian beauty or the darkly dangerous Portuguese chica, it was ME he lavished his attentions on, it was MY phone number he asked for, it was ME he called the very next day and asked out.

Thankfully, I was still in my Malaysian mind-set and was wary. I didn’t think it was a date – and maybe he did, but he included 2 other women on this date as well! Almost amused, and certainly, not at all surprised (but Surfer Dude is too cute for any woman to get annoyed with) I was just about to leave the party when a happy jolly bouncing bundle of light barreled through the masses to get to me. He had the bluest eyes, shining in the setting sun, and a big head of golden curls. Those cherubic lips looked painted on, and the smile, completely infectious. I was taken in an instant. His first words to me, as he stuck out his hand cheerily in my face was “Hello, I’m the Philosopher”.

Just like the man, happy, simple and direct. Hello, I want to know you.

The rest is history. I really did meet my man my first weekend here, though it was a bit slow to get off the ground. There is no contest, the Philosopher wins hands down. I did meet the best at the start of it all … unfortunately, as the sun set on this romance; I went back to dating the frogs.

There was my Scottish Stalker, immediately after. He was an absolute nightmare! Despite the fact I met him the very night me and the Philosopher broke up, he was undeterred in chasing me. When it turned out that despite the fact I was vulnerable, and hurt, I still wasn’t about to let him get into my pants … he turned nasty. I hope I never see him again, or ever hear that gawd-awful Glaswegian accent ever again.

My friends will never forget the story of how he absolutely attacked me en route to the loo. I was determined not to kiss him, not to even touch him. Lulling me into a false sense of security by taking me to the pub to watch the football, he was talking about nothing as he got up to excuse himself to the loo. I barely glanced up at him, engrossed in the game. All I remember was him saying "But first, I'm going to -" and he planted one right on me. I was too shocked to react, and truth be told, only kissed him back to be polite.

Eugh! Can't move on past this weirdo fast enough!

Then theres the infamous Baron – an actual member of the Dutch aristocracy who turned out to be an absolute toad in Prince Charming dress. From meeting him pre-Philosopher romance and almost having to be scraped off the floor (he made me so weak at the knees!). That smile (his mother was an actual French model), the height (he modestly claimed to be “average” – for the men in Holland, that’s like 6’3”!), the fact he admitted to having the Dirty Dancing soundtrack in his car … I thought he MUST be the One.

There were complications, my flatmate saw him first, I was having too good a time with the Philosopher to think about anyone else, titled or not. Then the Baron morphed into a pure and utter arsehole. Or maybe he was finally displaying his true colours?

Whatever it is … I definitely dodged a bullet there! It would be a day too soon if I ever saw those flashing pearly whites again.

Finally, there was this nice guy who had a lot of potential, but for the fact he still had a girlfriend in Australia – a fact he only revealed to me after a night of buying me drinks and acting like a free agent. Still, as long as he just wined and dined me, and nothing more, I was happy (enough!) to get to know him better – or rather, let him get to know me better. (Plus, he had incredibly gorgeous friends!)

Until he became totally Dutch and wanted us to GO Dutch on our last “date”.

I’m definitely moving on from this one. And from Holland in general. I’ve decided, enough is enough, and I am happy to leave here. The memories are great, the lessons have been learnt and taken to heart, but I do feel like the sun has set on this place for me too.

And yes, I’m returning home, as Single as the day I left. But like I said in my previous post, I feel complete again. Holland has been so good for me personally, that I could never have foreseen this. I’m myself again. I’ve regained my confidence, my self-belief, and my hope in a brighter future. I’m certainly not that bitter broken shell of a whimpering girl that Rex and the Singaporean Slut forced out of London. I am, the London Vixen again, and hopefully, despite my return to Malaysia, I will not let her get too far under her Lair that she forgets who she is or what she is capable of.

For I believe, she really is, Phenomenal!

I say

It's in the click of my heels

The bend of my hair

The palm of my hand

The need for my care. '

Cause I'm a woman

Phenomenally

Phenomenal woman

That's me.