A man proposed to have gay sex with me today.
He wore a typical army green "Ah Beng" netting shirt, Bermudas and had a face with the consistency of the surface of the moon. He stalked me from the traffic junction all the way to the ground floor of my apartment.
He pitched himself as a man trying to do a survey for a book. Naturally, I was curious, and so agreed to do a survey.
His first question was in mandarin.
"Are you a liberal or a conservative?"
I replied that I was the former. He promptly went on to ask me questions about masturbation and sex. I manufactured answers for him, giving him ridiculous answers such as "I masturbate 46 times a day", "I have three girlfriends" or "Masturbation sucks". Naturally, he was annoyed by this, and he tried to swindle me by telling me that he interviewed people before me, giving them advice regarding what proteins they should take if they masturbated a gazillion times every day.
I was growing weary; for I had just failed my 2.4km run with a stunning time of 14.40. My legs were crying out in both pain and happiness, for this was my best timing in years and I wanted to take a good rest at home. I ended the conservation with him, but he laid bait to hook me back, and I took it, only if in jest.
Now, you must be interested in what bait he laid. You must also have a good understanding of the literary techniques foreshadowing and plagiarism. However, I shall waste your time like he wasted mine, and say that I simply replied "I'm sorry, I didn't catch what you said," to every sentence he managed to fabricate.
Turning the tables on him, I requested the name of this book and its author. It wasn't easy for him to come up with an imaginary name, taking him three seconds to come up with. Calvin Nick, he said. You Need To Know was the title of the book and the author was from Malaysia.
Now this was the final straw. I stood up on him and went home. Not surprisingly, Google proved that there was neither the man Calvin Nick nor the book You Need To Know.
This is my story of how a man attempted (and failed) to have gay sex with me.
The police should really conduct more checks on suspicious looking people like him. God knows (even if there really is no God out there) how many people he has conned in a single day.
I wish I could start with another long-winded introduction to lure unsuspecting readers into my tale, but I can't. I simply can't due to this god damned bout of depression I'm facing now.
It was just another Sunday with golden sunlight blaring down through the windows, shading all objects in the house with a rustic hue of brown. It had rained in the afternoon, and it made me feel slightly good. However, as the hours ticked away, the Monday Blues came, and in a 'fuck you' kind of way made me thinking - what in God's name was I doing on this earth?
Ever since I failed to get into the Junior College of my choice by just a whisker, I had been feeling slightly down. Now, I simply dismissed it simply as my rotten luck and thought that it would go away soon. I made yet another fallacy by selecting the wrong course for my next two years (I think I might just get promoted at the end of this year). It was not helped by the fact that I was posted to a class choke full of retards. Now these were no ordinary retards. They were the most fucking boring retards you could be in a retarded class in a retarded JC with. They made watching slugs race more exciting than class.
But I digress.
Observing my life crumble away in these three months was an easy feat, seeing how I had seen it before in my dark secondary school days. No CCA, no results, no future. Fine, I had thought, seeing that how this was the case in secondary school. I let assignments go undone and failed all the important tests without as much as breaking a sweat. I had no idea what I was doing then, but I never thought about that.
As the cliché goes, ignorance is indeed bliss.
That particular Sunday had me thinking: Why am I in a JC? Much less, what was I doing in one? I know something surely isn't right when you're crying yourself to sleep. It dawned on me how worthless I was. What was I going to do once I graduated? The fantasy of me giving up urban life and going backpacking gave me little, if some reassurance. I would have given up an arm and a leg to have gone wandering throughout the world right then. But I couldn't, seeing that I still had a Biology test to study for the next day. So I went to read The Catcher in the Rye. I didn't feel any better, and so I went to sleep.
Morning arrived too quickly and I found myself lacking motivation to prepare for school. I forced myself out of bed, forced myself to eat breakfast and cheated myself into going to school. I had managed to swindle myself by repeating the fact that I had two more weeks to endure before the holidays arrived and a month to worry about going back to school. I feel cheated by that, I really do.
I slept through the first lecture on respiration, and stoned through the rest of the day. It's great that you can mask the fact that you're crying by stating that you still have a runny nose from the flu. Yes, I was crying throughout chemistry tutorial and nobody fucking knew. It's not helped by news of it being 1/10 of the class that had dropped out now due to how much JC sucked. I ran the thought through my head and promptly dismissed the thought of suffering through extra years of school. I skipped the extra Chemistry practical I should have gone to, and went home.
Once home, I cried myself to sleep.
I woke up three hours later. The fan was still on, making that annoying noise fans do. It took me half an hour to get out of bed. I got myself onto Wikipedia, and spent an hour reading through clinical depression and several articles related to it. It somewhat pleased me to find out that we all have inflated egos when we're not depressed and that we think we can change stuff we can't. Treatment for depression included talking to a therapist, and I wasn't prepared to get one.
I read about The Bell Jar and decided that it might be a good idea to chronicle this relapse of depression. I also read that the author committed suicide a month after it was published. I'm sure comments about this article in real life would greatly contribute to me taking the same path that author took.
I still have no fucking idea what to do.