Jailbait Julep

"You’re only as old as who you feel"

I can’t remember who said it, but it was often quoted to me when I was dating Jailbait. Honest to God, I had no idea how old he was when we met. He looked older, certainly sounded older, and most definitely has more emotional maturity than any other man I’d ever been involved with to date.

Like I always thought, you don’t stop dancing when you get old, you get old because you stopped dancing. I had my dancing heels tightly on.

Jailbait was the sweetest. When we finally had our first date, I tried my best not to approach the age conversation. He already knew I was sensitive about my age, and knowing my experience (professional, thank you, and not the walking the streets kind either ….) and a bit about my background, he was well aware I was older than him.

It never bothered him, and I tried my best never to let it bother me, but my Asian upbringing was far too ingrained for that. Nevertheless, I don't regret one second of our time together.

As he was in still at university - the best I could hope for was 22. But as he looked about 24, I figured he could’ve been on a Masters or a PhD even. (I desperately hoped, more like!)

When he said he’d "pick me up" at the train station, I waited in anticipation. Every Dutchman I knew, with the exception of the Baron (who claimed to be more English than Dutch anyway – public school educated tosser that he was, and would sooner confess to his French lineage before his aristocratic Dutch roots), rode a bike. Even my boss’s mode of transportation was of the two-wheeled variety. When I asked Jailbait if he was picking me up on a bike, he answered mysteriously -

"Wait and see. This is a real Dutch Date."

And so it was ….

He greeted me at Amsterdam Centraal on a bike. And apparently, he’d expected me to get on it - heels and all. I looked on in disbelief as he patiently repeated his instructions to get on the backseat. As elegantly as I could in my short summer dress, I clambered onto the backseat and held on for dear life. (I bet he liked that part … I eventually grew to love it!)

My hair may have been held back by my Dior shades, but at that moment, I was no different from my ancestors who started their lives in Malaysia at the rubber estates back in the day. All that was missing was a big fat plait down my back! If only my great grandmother could see me now.

It was quite the experience. We zipped around the traffic of Amsterdam with amazing ease. Jailbait was certainly adept (in more ways than one, as time would tell) … but then again, he probably could cycle before he could walk! There was a bit where he suddenly stopped at the traffic light and said, very seriously, "In this life or death situation, you get off."

I thought he was joking - he wasn’t!

He took me to a pub. I was pretty resigned to it, and was not expecting anything more than a casual drink any way. The Dutch were known to be casual as well as thrifty. Very used to the British boy’s idea of a date (football and beer, down to the pub), I didn’t think much of it.

The entrance to the "pub" read "Dolce". Still new to Holland, I was surprised, but not suspicious. It turned out that it was a pub, but the most beautifully decorated pub I’d ever been in. It was very Creole-New Orleans, the one city in the USA I’m dying to visit. It had musical instruments hanging from the ceilings, amazing murals on the walls, and instead of lights – chandeliers, candles and lamps. It took my breath away.

But that was not all. While Jailbait jabbered on in Dutch with the waitress, I looked about at the full capacity crowd and thought at best, we’d get seats at the bar. But no. Apparently, Jailbait had all of this immaculately planned. I would quickly learn to give the boy more credit…

The waitress, smiling at me in what I now know must have been a mixture of envy and pleasure (for me and for the sweetheart I was with), lead us out to the back, which opened up into a cozy little garden dining area, with ornamental trees I’d never seen before, decorated with christmas tree lights. The sky and the stars were our ceiling, and there were a few small wooden tables spaced apart in a beautifully set up romantic little enclave.

I was too stunned to move. No one had ever made this much of an effort for me. On a first date, no less! And he didn’t even know me. This was meant to be casual, it was meant to be me taking a chance on someone who was obviously not right for me. But from the very start … it was simple magical.

Over rose wine, the Dutch summer favourite, all my fears about not being able to make conversation with a very Dutch young man still in school (university!) quickly disappeared. Despite our incredibly different backgrounds, we could talk. Despite the language barrier, we could make each other laugh. Despite everything – age, nationality, life paths … we seemed to be connecting on a deeper level.

I didn’t really know what he wanted out of it … but finally, when he held on to my hand one time too many, I knew I had him. I remember our first kiss vividly. We were talking – at least, I was talking, and I noticed he was suddenly quiet (amazingly, the boy could talk as much as me! A definite first.). He was looking down, seemingly fascinated by playing with my fingers, like he’d found a new toy. Then he just locked his gaze with mine … the way one only reads about in romance novels.

He had laughing blue eyes, and a permanent smile. None of those dark broody smouldering looks I’m always talking about. But I was drowning in those baby blues all the same. I restarted my sentence a few times, before finally giving up.

He knew it was coming, I knew it was coming. I can’t believe how such knowledge transpired without words, without actions. I almost stopped breathing, for fear of ruining this storybook moment. He must have been taking lessons from Hitch. He leaned towards me, a bare invitation, and waited for me to meet him halfway … so, whats a girl to do?

Like I said, magic.

Much later, he casually dropped this in our conversation, "I’ll always remember the day I met you."

Thinking he was just being very sweet, and honestly, not really believing him, my answer was flippant, "Neither will I". But for me, because it was the 7th of July 2007. 070707. A lucky number all around. I was already thinking of the meaning of signs.

He was keen for me to understand that was not what he meant. Earnestly, he explained. "No, its because it was the day I stopped smoking." All I could think was "Thank God, I don’t want to date a smoker!" because no matter how old this boy was, I wanted a second date. There was such magic here …. I needed to find out more.

Casually, I asked him how long he’d been smoking. The clanger was in his answer – "Well, I started smoking when I was 15. So … five years now."

As much as I hate math, I could do it. Wasn’t this just typical of my life?! Ladies and gentlemen, I was dating a foetus!

"If grass can grow through cement, love can find you at every time in your life." Cher

This is not us, but we did this often enough in the streets of Amsterdam. Our running joke was how we were going to get ourselves our own bench (you're not allowed to sit on benches outside other people's houses in Amsterdam.) In fact, I know this exact spot this picture was taken. The hair colour may be reversed .... but it could have been us. Definitely, some of my sweetest memories. Me and my toyboy. Hey, Demi and Cameron could do it ... Mariah MARRIED hers, so don't blame me for this trend!

Lambrini Liar

Friendship is the marriage of the soul, and this marriage is liable to divorce.

– Voltaire-

To forgive or not to forgive? That is the question of the day. I’m done playing the Victim. I no longer roll over and play dead while someone sticks her stiletto deep into my back. I’d done all that with the Tart and her posse. I may not have grown claws, but I don’t have to be stupid anymore either. I’ve long wiped the "Walk On Me" sign on my forehead.

Now, I don’t claim to be without sin, but I have never ever wished ill or was malicious to anybody in my entire life, whether they deserved it or not. (Exception being the Singaporean Slut, but I think I’m allowed.) I’ve been nothing but the best friend I could be to my friends, and yet, time and time and again, I get slapped in the face.

But like I keep saying – nothing bad lasts forever, and so I grit my teeth to try and see out this storm and wait for the dawn of a new era. I hope it comes soon. Patience has never been one of my virtues….

I have just returned from Ireland. I know what you're thinking - everyone has the same reaction to that – as must the first time reader of this posting, after the last one. How can I blame anyone? No, I didn’t go back for a romantic encounter. And while Connor was in the picture, there is no happy ending to this story. Consider yourselves warned.

It was not a planned visit and it was not for a good reason. And while I was there, I got far more than I bargained for. When I texted Connor to let him know I was on his shores again, I got a furious text message back.

"Don’t call me. You are a Liar."

Never in all my life have I ever been called that. Laughable, I know - given my education and training, but honestly, I can’t lie to save my life. I wouldn’t know how, plus I do not have a poker face. Every emotion is right there for the whole world to see. If I liked someone, I don’t need to blush – I would have what my friends have long called "goo-goo eyes". If I didn’t like someone, they’d know it. There wouldn’t be any pretense of nicety or friendship.

I am just not made that way. What you see is what you get.

I had a sneaking suspicion that I knew what was up, but I gave her a chance anyway. Texting Aoirish immediately, I asked her what the hell was going on. At least she was honest. She admitted she had said some things to O about me that were completely untrue. But she also had the audacity to say "but I honestly didn’t mean for him to tell Connor." Which is total bullshit as those boys were joined at the hip, and told each other every last thing, a fact we both were very much aware of.

Maybe one day I’ll bring myself to put down what lies she spread. I’m just too mad now, and I certainly do not want to add to her crazy fictional account. My reputation has been damaged beyond repair in County Galway. I cannot blame Connor for taking his childhood friend’s word over mine, a girl he knew for all of 2 minutes. But this is not about him, and me – even more than that, this is about a girl who calls herself my friend. I can’t begin to even guess why any friend of mine would ruin such a beautiful memory for me.

I don’t care if its jealousy (she admitted to me she had a big crush on Connor when they were growing up. But seeing as she was with his best friend, I didn’t really think that was an issue anymore.). I’ve been nothing but a good friend to her. I did not deserve this.

Since I returned from Holland, I was already getting some bad vibes off her, but despite what the whole world was telling me, CJ included, I stood by her, maintaining she’d done me no harm. She was a good friend to me. I genuinely liked her, and enjoyed our time together. Yes, she had some negative points, but who didn’t?

I had slowly come to realise when I was in the Netherlands and getting a new outlook in life that she was not a good friend, but one of those emotional vampires. In her own way, she was happy when I was not. It was like she lived off my misery … and I was done being that crutch for her.

I guess in KL, I played the part of her sidekick, the ugly friend, if you will. I always saw our friendship as equal, but you can’t really be equal in a superficial place like KL. When it was just out for drinks, it was grand, but when it came to talking to the boys, being chatted up and bought drinks, her blonde hair and blue eyes pulled more weight. I didn’t mind so much – she was enamoured by the kampung boys, just as I was enamoured by her Bog folk (Irish for country people). I was even amused by this.

Then came to us meeting up in Galway last Christmas. I was no longer the weak Malaysian sidekick, but truly, Vixen in my element. I was confident, I held my head up high and enjoyed the attentions I got everywhere. There was no room for doubt – and believe me, in this town, when we walked into a room, it was my tanned skin, dark curly hair and big smile that got the lads talking, not her dime a dozen bottle blonde.

Okay, so I’m being petty, but she was just plain cruel.

It was what drew Connor to my side – but what should she care, she had a boyfriend in O, and a few more here in KL. I don’t understand why she did what she did, but nevertheless to say, she walked all over my dreams.

To be fair, I do not know Connor well, and he may have not really planned on taking this any further. But I will never know now what would have happened if she didn’t poison his mind.

I don’t see how this can be salvaged. The relationship with the boy, nor the "friendship". The bonds of trust, once broken, are broken forever. I’m done making friends with the world, I’m done inviting strangers into my world and befriending everyone with no sort of screening process. This lesson was a hard lesson to learn, but I have learnt. Like with men, I will be more discerning in all my friendships.

If Rex destroyed my ability to believe in a love ever after, Aoirish has ruined that part of me that was open and trusting to the whole damned world. Things happen for a reason, and I have earned my battle scars.

Never again.

"God save me from my friends – I can protect myself from my enemies." - Proverb-