Gumboot Princess

What comforts me.....

2005-08-16T09:23:00.000+08:00

The warmth of your hand on my neck as we cross the street, the feeling of safety and just knowing that I am going to be ok. The comfort of feeling your belly in the small of my back when I awake in the middle of the night, and the enveloping caress of your sleepy hand on my breast. The fleshiness of your lower lip and how I love to taste it between my teeth. The arch of a raised eyebrow, the quickness of a smile, the fascination of how your presence fills a room. And when I can’t sleep and the world seems to cave in around me, your hand reaches out and your palm rests gently on the flat of my forehead – and I am at peace.

Men and Women......Friends???????

2005-08-15T19:20:00.000+08:00

Harry Burns: You realize of course that we could never be friends.
Sally Albright: Why not?
Harry Burns: What I'm saying is - and this is not a come-on in any way, shape or form - is that men and women can't be friends because the sex part always gets in the way.
Sally Albright: That's not true. I have a number of men friends and there is no sex involved. Harry Burns: No you don't.
Sally Albright: Yes I do.
Harry Burns: No you don't.
Sally Albright: Yes I do.
Harry Burns: You only think you do.
Sally Albright: You say I'm having sex with these men without my knowledge?
Harry Burns: No, what I'm saying is they all WANT to have sex with you.
Sally: They do not!
Harry: Do too.
Sally: They do not.
Harry: Do too.
Sally: How do you know?
Harry: Because no man can be friends with a woman that he finds attractive. He always wants to have sex with her.
Sally: So, you're saying that a man can be friends with a woman he finds unattractive?
Harry: No. You pretty much want to nail 'em too.
Sally: What if THEY don't want to have sex with YOU?
Harry: Doesn't matter because the sex thing is already out there so the friendship is ultimately doomed and that is the end of the story.
Sally: Well, I guess we're not going to be friends then.
Harry: I guess not.
Sally: That's too bad. You were the only person I knew in New York.

Can men and women be friends? I’m going to have to agree with Harry on this one. There is always a sexual attraction that draws at least one of the opposite sex to another. I mean, it’s the most powerful magnet in the world! As I look back on my male friendships over the past, the ones that remain the closest are those I’ve already had sex with (therefore the sex thing is ‘out of the way’) or else either they or I wouldn’t think twice about it if asked to keep toes (or ears?) warm at night. I do also believe that many of us are aware of the sexual tension that exists in a strong friendship of this type – but because both parties benefit from it, it is ignored and hidden beneath the conventialities of what is considered decent behavior between platonic companions. And it is beneficial to both as long as these conventions remain in tact. That is, one friend maintains honest about where they stand in the friendship and the other one lies about it. As soon as the line is crossed in a friendship, the bond that cemented it will begin to fall apart – because suddenly it is no longer a friendship, but a relationship with certain expectations and obligations – and with the risk of getting hurt. As for those who decide to ACTUALLY cross that line in the sand – well, that’s another story altogether!

How many is too many?

2005-08-11T21:13:00.000+08:00

So many men I have met brag about their conquests, and I'm sure its a common fact that they exaggerate this even more to their mates. They seem to think it is a sign of male virility or that women find it attractive that a man has had a lot of experience. While experience is a good thing and we all love to be with a man who knows what he is doing, it does more damage than good to tell us that you have slept with 100 women and that 20 of those were in one night during an orgy that you actually really liked and wouldn't mind trying again sometime in the near future (knowing wink!). To know that our partner has had so many women actually makes us feel insecure - just as the opposite would for a man. It makes us think - what if we are not good enough, and what if the next girl, at the next party, or the next bar, gives you the opportunity to fulfill your sexual needs that we can't? Just like every man, a woman wants to know that she is the best he has ever had. She needs that comfort of wanting to know that he craves for her and could never be satisfied with anyone but her. Once she has this, the so called leash that many men believe are hung around their necks will disappear - cos it's the guy who puts it there in the first place. So, how many is too many. I would be happy to be dating a guy who told me he had been with approximately 20 partners (this is someone in their late 20's and early 30's). 10 means little or no experience, 50 is way too much. And if you have had this many, then take my advice - just as a woman does - lie about it!

Forgiven but not forgotten.....

2005-08-09T15:10:00.000+08:00

Even though I tell myself it's over, you still manage to creep back into my life at the most unsuspecting moments. I find nostalgia hidden at the bottom of a cardboard box. A picture in charcoal. A hint of red. A photograph. Various momentos, pamphlets, notes and insignias. The sofa where we made love. The inscription at the front of a book. Just how easy is it to wipe out those years? A bit like the surface of a new blackboard. Written on in chalk. Wiped with the duster. But underneath, the smudges of knowledge, thoughts, beliefs, impressions - they remain.
I see your name come up in my computer screen. Do I write to you? Will it make me hurt more when all I think I need is to forget? Perhaps it's better to not forget those things that formed us into who we are today. "Hi there" I type..... and wait!

Words men use

2005-08-05T09:42:00.001+08:00

1. "Hmmmmmm" - a common response men make to any type of conversation initiated by a woman that makes it look as if they are listening when in reality, they are simply making a feeble attempt to show their interest - knowing full well that a woman will know this but thinking that perhaps this time they will get away with it!
2. "Just 5 minutes honey!" - never never NEVER means 5 minutes. Bre prepared to wait at least 30 and then perhaps another 30 after your next5 reminder.
3. "Honey, I don't have to get too dressed up tonight do I" - means he will be wearing jeans and a t-shirt - even if you plan on visiting the president.
4. Men are single tasked. Never try to discuss the intimate problems with you relationship or children while he is trying to fish the keys out of the car in which you accidentally locked them.
5. Men LIKE to fix things and feel needed. If you get a flat, they will help. If you have financial queries, they will give you their perspective on the stock market. What makes us think that our personal issues are any different?
6. Men LIKE breasts, legs, stomachs, backsides and all other tactile bits and pieces that they like to play with but may not necessarily understand. They are also visual creatures. Is it any wonder that they are attracted to computer games, hi tech toys, and any other glitzy paraphenalia that verify this character gene?
7. To men, shoes are shoes. Some are black, some are brown. Some are rubber. Do not enter into a conversation with them about this.
8. A facial usually involves a bar of soap and a face washer. It does not take 1 and a half hours.
9. Women cannot drive.
10. Sport is a man's girl talk. All new acquaintences, social interactions and generally everything inbetween have to do with sport.
11. To a man, being a meterosexual is parallel to being homosexual. Don't make the mistake of calling your straight male friends this.
12. A man's brain - at least in the first 3 or 4 dates - is without exception in his pants. After this period of time, all it takes to move it from the skull to the groin is a carefully places garter belt, a low cut cleavage, a strategically placed hand or a few carefully chosen phrases whispered in his ear.

Feelings of Inadequacy

2005-08-05T09:42:00.000+08:00

I’m having feelings of inadequacy. Relocating is difficult enough, what with the daily problems associated with making new friends, establishing your own nest, conquering the daily fears to simply go outside and face the world with all its new smells, sights and language barriers – but to feel that you might not be able to do this job, this job you believed you were born into – well that’s another deal altogether. It’s not that I feel as if I can’t do the job – I mean, I’ve been at it for 12 years now – it’s just that the expectations are so high. What if I’m not the girl they think I am. What if I can’t do this? What if I’m the one that’s going to need the extra support – the one whose report is going to show inadequacies and failings. What if the girl with the job interview smile is not the one that turns up to work on Monday?
My goal is to simply take it one step at a time. This may not be the place for me. I may not fit in. At the moment, things are feeling very strange and alien, but deep inside, I simply know that the ones that really count are not the administrators or nuts and bolts of the organization – but those that I can directly influence, enthuse and inspire. As long as I feel I can still do these things – I can only do good work – right?

Scraps of gold

2005-08-04T14:22:00.000+08:00

My grandmother has an indomitable spirit. She lives amongst all of us whilst being confined in the frailty of her own aging body. I came back to Australia to visit my family at Christmas – and because my grandmother was dying. Whilst somewhere over the tip of Queensland, the doctors told my mother to call the relatives because he doubted my grandmother would make it through the night.

The day after I arrived in Adelaide we went to visit her in the critical care ward where she had just been transferred to from Emergency. She was tired and frail and her complexion was yellow. I nearly cried when she forgot my name and how her fingers barely could lift to her own neck to gently caress the single strand of white pearls I had placed there. That day, she spoke of death and new beginnings – almost as if she had had enough and wanted out of the whole mess. The light was dim in her eyes and she barely had the strength to stop her own tears from running freely down her cheeks – a luxury this woman of steel never could have borne.

A week later, we went to visit her in her home. This woman, who by all accounts and purposes, should have been listening to her own eulogy at that moment – was gaining strength and sitting fully dressed in her own living room. My Grandfather bore her constant demands with patient tolerance and I began to look at this remarkable woman and her husband with new eyes – eyes that had worn their own share of scars and veils – that could now see so much more clearly through the stained glass.

I realized a great many things over the two months I spent at home over the summer vacation. One of them was actually how alike I ma to my grandmother and that I have inherited her legacy of pride and joy in my vocation – a job I was born to do rather than work. I also saw myself through my grandmother’s eyes and realized that I was her inspiration. Somehow she was reliving all the things she had always wanted to do, all the things she had done, and all her hope and achievements through what I chose to do with my life. Through talking with my siblings, I discovered that the many letters my grandmother had written to me over the past 12 or so years of my developing career were mine alone – that I was the only one to which she wrote so frequently and so eloquently.

Now I sit here at my desk in a foreign country. I have just discovered that the reason why her speech has been so impeded of late is because of a large tumor situated in her brain. I cannot fly back – she would not recognize me and whether it is selfish or not, I choose to keep my most fond recent memory of her conversing with me, discussing her hopes and dreams while sitting over tea and chocolate at my grandfather’s birthday.

In the meantime, I am desperately searching for any remnant of those letters I only recently found were so very special and I despair that these little pieces of gold are no longer in my possession.

To be or Monogomy.....Why ask the question?

2005-08-01T15:17:00.000+08:00

I don't know why it is that often times along our past we even try to reconsider compromising the essential values that make us intrinsically who we are - but we do - whether it is because we are unsure of our own strength in our convictions, whether it is because we want to make others happy - or simply through curiosity - we take that step and we accept things we otherwise would not in a different environment. Environment certainly has a lot to do with this. Whilst living overseas, I have found that my friend circle and family circle has chaged dramatically and as I mix with people from different cultures and attitudes, I find myself accepting what they say and do as being part of the norm and questioning my own actions as abnormal or outdated. Take for example the notion of monogomy. I have met several people who don't believe in monogomy, one actually telling me that he did not believe man was supposed to be monogomous - that it was in his nature to procreate and as a result, he did not believe he could ever be faithful to one woman for the rest of his life. This ideal hence made it acceptable for the said male to experiment in sexual encounters outside his relationship because he had made it acceptable to himself - it didn't mean anything - he was simply fulfilling a basic male need.

He took this idea one step further by saying that he believed a person developing a strong friendship with another person of the opposite sex outside the relationship was a sign of cheating - whereas having sex with a prostitute was nothing - simply man living out his essential maleness!

It took me some time, but I gradually found my way back to my own beliefs and whilst I would never judge the lifestyles of my friends and acquaintances - I'm afraid its just not for me. You see, whilst I can accept that we can all be attracted to members of the opposite sex at any time, there always comes a time where you can choose your action. We all have animalistic tendencies, but we all also have the gift of choice. I firmly believe that if you make a choice to be with someone and you cross the line of infidelity, then you don't really want to be with that person in the first place. There are mistakes - yes, but a mistake is usually proceeded with drunkenness and environment - things one can always change. I believe you know when you are in situation that may challenge your will - the choice is to either stay in that environment or change it! It's all got to do with choice and whether or not you can accept the consequences of your actions. What person, with a belief in honesty and trust, can honestly look in their lovers eyes knowing they have slept with another. It's just not a question!

The eyes have it

2005-07-31T00:58:00.000+08:00

Its funny what it is that attract the members of the opposite sex. Of course, the larger the mammaries, the more a man loses focus on the OTHER beautiful attributes of his partner - but it is funny what it is that captures our attention in the first place. I have been told I have a beautiful voice (one might argue this after listening to me for several hours on end - as I have been known to do on occasion - particularly after imbuing several glasses of cheap rum or bottles of Aussie wine) but then i have also been told I have beautiful eyes, nice legs, a great bum and the list goes on (my god, Im begining to sound like a Cindy Crawford clone - I am not a supermodel by any means - just an ordinary farm girl with model tendancies!)
However, i do believe the most attractive thing about any person is their honesty and the fact that they are willing to share their thoughts, their feeligns and their desires with you - that is so sexy it is almost making me melt right on the chair I am sitting on. I mean, how close can you actually get to someone without actually crawling beneath their skin and oozing you way along their blood stream? The only way is through the mind. Capture the brain and you have everything - just treat it right when you are there!

Another word for freedom

2005-07-30T09:03:00.000+08:00

So once again another chapter draws to a close and I wonder if I have learnt anything new. If this time I have taken aboard some new lessons to be taken to the next relationship that doesn’t work. When will this life stop dealing out the Jokers and throw a few aces my way. This sounds pretty contrite – even whilst writing it I can hear the violins playing a melancholy concerto in the background. What have I learnt – what do we all learn.

Never sacrifice yourself to the whims of another? That is so easy to say and so difficult to do. When you grew up on hope and optimism, you always give more of yourself because you never want to give up on what you believe. But what if the other doesn’t share your eternal optimism. What if you continually bang your head against a brick wall until you are so concussed you no longer remember why you were banging your head against the brick wall in the first place and you just live with the fact that you will always have a bruise on your forehead.

I lost myself somewhere – I once thought I had found myself but I was living Alice’s dream. Now it’s time to come out of the rabbit warren and face the world. The sunlight is harsh on my face. It burns and scalds and makes me want to duck for cover again – in the safety and warmth of my burrow where I can hide myself, who I am and who I am yearning to become. The yearning is too strong, though, for me to resist. I see other birds flying free in the air, loving the emancipation from all worries of this world, all heaviness seems to have disappeared from their lives and they live like they want to – free to soar above the less brave. When did I lose my courage? When did I lose that strength that made me who I am and that enticed him to fall in love with me in the first place. And how could he ever accept anything less than what he first fell in love with – unless he actually likes to feel needed and to have someone rely on him for their logic.

When did I lose my own sense of self? Was it when I gave him so much that I had no more strength left to look after me? When every time I started to soar, he found a way to drag me back down to reality – to see that I was being foolish, or impulsive, or foolhardy? Since when did I lose the ability to believe that these are the essential elements of my nature that make me who I am and that make me able to fly – over mountains of regret, sorrow and disappointments so I can look forward to the next day.
Why did he try to make me so much like him?

Then I take a look at the woman I became and have to reassess how much to blame I was for my own failure. They say that in every relationship, there is always one partner who loves more. Many women have told me that I should only marry a man who loves me more, for if the shoe is on the other foot, a woman will begin to mould herself into what she believes the other expects – into what she believes will make him love her the way she loves him. I am guilty of this. I took away everything from myself that I believed he despised and tried to change my inner core so that I no longer knew who I was anymore.

And I ask the questions again and again – what did I really want from him? The answer came to me several days ago whilst talking to a close friend. He told me that every man needs a woman to rescue – his own Prince on the white horse story – just like every woman needs her white horse. This same person told me that he didn’t think he had any white horses in him any more and it got me to thinking – if I didn’t get my white horse I would always wonder what it was about me that was not good enough that warranted that the other women in his life deserved a white horse but I didn’t?

I wanted my partner to ride in with abandon – to throw caution to the wind as he had the first time he met me – to be that impulsive boy and take life by the throat and say “Go to hell the lot of you – I will do what I want because I want to.” I wanted him to throw caution to the wind, to stop analyzing me like I was a part of an intricate puzzle because I’m not and I never would want to be treated as one – but more of an enigma that makes me unsolvable – because that’s what every woman wants – not to be solved, but to be appreciated.

I wanted him to see me. Not to solve me. I knew he was living by adages – that if he let me go and I came back, I would be his forever – but if I didn’t then I never was. What complete bullshit! I wanted to see something tangible. I know it sounds selfish and self centered – but that’s who I am and who I accept myself to be. I wanted to feel my worth. But he sat in his little bubble world, in the safety of his adages, numbers and theories – his manliness and ideas of conventions – and in that world he lost me – because I am not a creature of rock, sand and stone – but one of wild oceans, scorched sunsets and melted chocolate. And now I am free!

Burgos

2005-07-30T09:02:00.000+08:00

The sex trade. That faintly third country word that makes those of us never exposed to Asia and its cornucopia of forbidden treasures understand just how destructive it is. How we try to believe it was a symptom of the country. That only men of weak character and poor marriages ever end up down this strip of deadened hearts, hardened minds and wrecked marriages. How we want to believe so much that we will never fall victim to the lures of Burgos, the thin boned, small hipped women who appear so very childlike in their mentality and their apparent innocence. Long black hair framing angelic brown faces, big black eyes staring out of smooth foreheads, small breasted, heavy lipped – so charming in their childlikeness – yet so damaging to the heart and soul of what is considered commitment and trust. How we are led into believing that it is ok for men to hold their business meetings in the darkened corner of a club. How we are blinded by the apparent façade of regularity that occurred on the outside. How we trick ourselves into believing that it is innocent fun, that some would never be tempted, that our man was different from the rest. How we lost our belief that a marriage could exist without some form of extra marital affair, to what ends had we come to this? That it is in the male nature. That human beings were never meant to be monogamous. That one could set it aside in the corner of one’s brain as if it hadn’t happened. That he could but we could never.

How could he make love to us once his hands had trailed down the skin of a stranger in the dark? How could we ever live up to his expectations when everything he could ever want sexually was at his fingertips two streets away from where we lived – in fact, 2 doors away from anywhere that we lived. How could he look into our eyes, knowing that he had shared the only thing that we had special to give him with someone else?
Burgos. That inconspicuous devil. It creeps up on you like asphyxiation.

The street is dirty and ill maintained – but this just lends it its charm. During the day it is a dirty prostitute. Waking up without its makeup and fishnet stockings. It reeks of dirt and scum and filth. The dirt goes deeper into its pores that the surface allows us to see, but we can tell that no matter how hard she scrubs her face, she will still be a whore. The Christmas fairy lights used to ‘brighten up the place’ at night time are obvious in their cheapness. They are pasted onto the walls with black tape and the cracks in the paint are telling scars of her misfortune. Old white men are seen plodding down her streets, early, looking for what they cannot get elsewhere, their eyes dead and faded – they no longer have any appreciation for what they hold and what they take – as it is paid for and it will never be given feely again.

From the windows, water is thrown onto the streets, she hangs out her dirty washing for everyone to see, cheap g-strings and faded underwear dangle from shriveled lines of cord strung from window to window to allow the breeze to dry them for that nights entertainment. In the daylight, her innocence is lost. Her eyes appear hard and cold. She does not know how to love – she only yearns to make money – to provide for her children (each from different fathers) to provide for her family (living in starvation in the provinces) to simply survive.

The white man is seen as a target. She does not care if he is married, or single or betrothed. She knows it will not take him long to be handing out his money, to be taken in by the accessibility of what she has to offer, of the anonyminity, of the pleasure, of the headiness of it all. He will be pushed on by his peers and it will all seem ok. And then, in some dark corner of the bar, or in some cheap hotel bed upstairs, or even in his own home – he will be pleasured as many times as he can afford to be and she, who knows this trade like the mountains know the sea, will never tell a soul. Because she needs him to come back.

At night time, Burgos lifts up her skirts and performs a can can. The fairy lights begin to glitter and it is almost like a pseudo Christmas. “Come on in! Father Christmas has arrived! Women here! Touch all you like. Bar fines only P2,000. You can keep the girl for US$400. Oh you poor thing! Why would anyone want to treat you like that? You are so handsome. You are so good! Oh Oh OH!!!!!”
Since when did slavery and paying for sex become a pleasure? Since when did love come so cheaply?

The women begin pouring out of the doors, showing flashes of flesh, enticing men with their eyes, looking for their own slice of gold. Her makeup is on now, packed on thickly to hide the scars and lines of old age and wear. Her legs are spray tanned to make them appear bronzed in the red glowing lights. Her pussy is shaved to make her appear more innocent and childlike. Her giggles escalate as the night wears on and she begins to get desperate for her income. Her efforts increase and she will do anything to get her little slice of the pie.

The sleaze of Burgos begins to spill over, just as oil is wont to slick over the surface of the sea. You can scrub and scrub and scrub but it takes more than just a cloth and detergent to clean it up. It is insurgent. It is greedy. It suffocates the city murdering the beauty beneath. Even after the cleanup – the stain remains – forever a permanent scar in a previously beautiful landscape. They spill into the clubs and the city bars – where the white men frequent – places previously before thought free from their disease. You can spot them a mile away. Like pimples on a adolescent youth – short skits hiked up to reveal young nubile flesh, push up bra accentuating a 13 year old cleavage on a 25 year old body. Eyes in young faces peer out like grandmothers – like hyenas searching for their prey. They have no mercy. They do not believe in it. Just as they lost the capacity for love, respect, dignity and compassion.

And in the meantime, in a small apartment in the city, in a large house in Alabang, in a different country, in a different world – a woman waits and chooses to believe.

Ain't life a beach!!!!

2005-07-29T19:08:00.000+08:00

......Ain't Life a beach!!!!!!!! After spending 2 very therapeutic months back home - taking long introspective walks on blustering, abandoned beaches - I finally felt as if my journey has taking a definite hair pin bend. Isn't it funny how life turns out. Looking back over the past 3 years of my life - although at times extremely magical - I've finally seen just how miserable I was. Its as if the relationship I was in was a trial for me to see how I could become a better person, but in so doing, I lost all sense of who I actually was. Now I am back with avengence. I have not cried in 2 months (except for that crying that comes from a happiness deep inside your soul that you forgot existed) I am starting my life fresh with new horizons and challenges rising monolithically before me - and I am excited. And I am content. And I am happy. And I am seveeral pounds heavier due to all that kangaroo steak and home grown wine (no, not the stuff rednecks syphon in their back yards whilst playing the Ukelaile!) but all the good stuff. And Im looking in the mirror and Im happy with what I see!