Eugene (Curly Hair) -- My Sexless Friend

Eugene (curly hair) is Eugene (curly hair) because there is one too many Eugenes in my phone contact list.

He is as sexless as an amoeba.

To be sociologically correct (afterall, Sociology is what both Eugene and I study in NUS), he is *genderless with respect to me.

Eugene (curly hair) is currently my favourite male friend. He makes me feel more human than woman. Gender is a complicated thing, something which has given me much trouble recently in my relationship. So it was nice being with my "agender" (to the tune of 'apathy' and 'apolitical')friend yesterday afternoon. We went shopping together at Raffles City. I am honestly no fan of shopping; I don't take too well with parting with my money over obviously-overpriced merchandise (which is basically almost everything in Singapore malls). Yet, his company not only relieved me of the moodiness I have been experiencing the last couple of weeks, but also made my shopping experience therapeutic.

He gives me attention, but not because I am female. He isn't lecherous in the way he looks at me; he doesn't focus on my physical attributes in his gaze or comments. Neither does he try hard to be a 'man' in my presence. Simply said, my feminine side isn't self-conscious when I am with Eugene (curly hair). I am purely human, untainted by gender.

I admit I was in a vulnerable state yesterday, but this very decent guy took no advantage of that. He advised me totally as a friend with my best interests at heart.

I trust him so much that I know if I were wasted (which I have never been, and doubt I would be in the near future), I could trust him to take me home safely.

Thanks for a wonderful time yesterday, Eugene (curly hair).

*Sex is a physical attribute; Eugene (curly hair) definitely has a penis (not that I've seen or felt it, but I believe it exists somewhere, some size under that zipper). Gender, on the other hand, is a social construct. Gender is what makes men feel compelled to take care of women, pay for their drinks and conquer them, and what makes women wear ridiculousy uncomfortable apparel to be feminine, expect men to be decisive, are attracted to men physically larger etc. Gender is such a powerful social construct that we never notice how corporate women in pants often command more respect and power than women in flowery skirts (i.e. because it is still very much a man's world and feminism is regarded a symbol of weakness).

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The morning after: On hindsight, Eugene does practise gender. He opened the door for me and sent me home in a cab that night. Perhaps at the end of the day, sex and gender aside, what I got from Eugene was simply his care, respect and regard for me as a human, as a friend.

Hollywood 1: Hink 0

I don't trust men.

I thought I had gone past that stage, looked beyond my own upbringing, when I found myself trusting my happiness to Ly. But on second thought, it's probably just him -- his inability to lie and his simpleness. How many men are truly like this?

If this relationship does not work out, I'll probably not love again. I still want my kids, I think. So I'll adopt. One, maybe two. Be a single mum. It's ok. My mum did it, and did it well too. Who needs a father anyway? Of course, he'll be nice to have, but not a necessity.

I might date to pass time, but I'll never commit and I'd reject love all the way until I'm in my late 30s or 40s when the fear of loneliness outweighs the risk of getting hurt. At that point, I might be at the peak of my career (yes, I'll work on my career then since there isn't anyone left to invest my energies in); a seemingly confident, self-sufficient woman.

He'll probably be someone who has been through something similar too, but years of hardening and lovelesssness have made him forget what it was like to be hurt and those self-protective jaded feelings would by then have given way to a stronger yearning for a loving companionship.
He'll resurrect my insecurities (women don't forget as easily as men) and then gently settle them. He'll do something ridiculously romantic -- Hollywoodish -- and I'll fall hopelessly prey to him. He'll take care of my children like they were his too. I might have that kind of romance and a wedding with an aging bride and groom. My kids would like him and would be happy for Mummy.

Ah.. Stupid Hollywood. Why does that money-churning industry leave its stupid dreams in my mind? Stupid dreams that never get fulfilled and leave me wanting. I am a sucker.

Cramps

And a sore below is the penalty for wasting yet another one of my precious eggs in the prime of my life -- by not allowing it to fuse with a sperm and reproduce myself. My poor egg got dispelled in a mess of tissue and blood. No good came out of it. Couldn't even make an omelette out of it.

This daughter has died.

The last tear for my father fell today.

None of my heart will go to this man anymore.

I've tried for more than a decade to work things out between us. Mum always told me not to try talking sense to him, not to hope that I can change him. She knows him best, she would say. "He can't change. You can't reason with a child. You are no hero, don't think you can do anything about him. I've tried for years and I have long given up because I know what he is capable of. Just leave it to God."

There came that point when I started questioning the source of authority and love that brought me up. Could she be wrong? Is he that hopeless and unchangeable as Mum claims? Is he that unreasonable? I tried. I really did. Sometimes, it seemed I broke through and things improved, communication channels opened. Then in the middle of good times, just when I begin to feel that I have a father, he erupts, spewing threats and violence. And I wonder.

Once all things are well again, the cycle starts. We build things up again and they go up in flames several months later.

I am 21 now. I have been fighting with him since my eyes were opened to the injustice plaguing my household. That man sleeps with and hurts dozens of women and gambles till he is a bankrupt -- but the worst of his sins is his pride. He bullies and uses my mother because he can't get to me. If I say something unpleasing to his ears, she gets the brunt of it. She'll come to me the next day, scold me, coax me and at the end of the day, I'll have to apologise to that animal. Put on on act. Pretend to take in all that he says. Pretend that I am indeed that rude, unfilial daughter whom the church has not been able to change. Yes, he blames the church too. Anything.

I should be jaded now. That is my only self-defense. As long as I continue to hope, I will keep trying to talk with him -- and that often means disagreeing with him, which he sees as disrespect and the lack of filial piety no matter how well-intentioned and polite I am. So I cannot afford to bear hope that anything will change. Not on earth anyway. Not by my own strength. I have to swallow my own pride and leave it to God. For the sake of my mother, for the sake of our sanity and safety.

I am defenseless; I am powerless against this demon. I was a fool to think I could turn things around.

I am coming to accept this. Gradually.

No space for hope, besides that in God. Honour your parents. I suppose that, in my case, means submitting. By submitting to this earthly demon and submission to the Creator, I can conquer the Devil and whoever he places in my life.

There is still hurt, spite and anger at the injustice in me as I write this out. I am human as much as I am Christian. I don't deny these feelings. Give me time, give me grace and they will fade.