Tuesday, 6 August 2001

"When I was just a little girl,
I asked my mother what will I be?
Will I be pretty? Will I be rich?
Here's what she said to me:
Que sara, sara, whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours to see
Que sara, sara,
What will be will be."

Whatever will be, will be. Whoever came up with that song ought to be shot. I mean, whaddahell do you mean by whatever will be, will be? So, if the future edicts that I should die a spinster, am I just going to sit back and let it happen?!

Probably.

That's the problem with me, really. Especially when it comes to men.

I never seem to have luck with them. What am I talking about? Luck has never been in the picture. Sometimes I wonder if it's printed on my forehead: Flora Lee - good only as a friend. Sigh. Yup, that's me. The buddy. The *girlfriend* whom everybody thinks of as 'one of the guys'. It's so bloody depressing.

I stared at myself in the mirror. Okay, I know I'm no supermodel and maybe I'm a tad fat but really I don't look *that* bad, do I? I flicked my hair back, posed about a bit and pretended I was modeling for some photo shoot. Ugh, tummy. I sucked it in and looked at myself again. Oh oh, I was beginning to turn purple. All right, bad idea. I lifted my arms over my head, stretching upwards and looked at myself again. Hey, tummy's gone. Yeah sure, so what are you going to do now, Flora Lee? Walk around with your hands up in the air the whole time? I sighed and tumbled backwards into my bed.

I was 29 years old. What was that old Chinese saying again? Something about if life was good, I'd already be a mother?Okay, maybe that was going a bit too far. I had no inclination whatsoever of being a mother yet. All that maternal thingy, carrying about a huuuumongous tummy for 9 months (the one I have now is huge enough, thank you), the giving birth, the changing diapers, uh uh, nope, no way jose. Those were things I'd worry about later. Now, my main worry was getting myself a man. Did I sound desperate? Well, what did you expect? Of course I was desperate! I was 29. I'd be turning 30 next year. THIRTY! Big three, big zero. Arghh...I was growing older by the day and my stock was beginning to dip below the average index. How I wished life was as simple as a snap of the fingers and a blink of an eye - Wa la (!) and a man would fall right into my lap there and then.

Oooohkay, time to snap out of that daydream.

I stared up at the ceiling and tried to think of the men who were currently in my miserable life.

There's Takeshi, my ex of 7 years. No, he's not Japanese, he's Chinese. So why then does he have a Japanese name? Beats the hell out of me. His parents were probably big on some Japanese idol when they had him. Anyway, I haven't seen him for 3 years now ever since he upped and left for work in New York. But we're still in touch through e-mail. And no, I am not still hung up over him even though I haven't gone out with anyone else since then. The bastard however, has been through 2 girlfriends after me. Face it, Mag keeps telling me. You *are* still hung up over him. C'mon, every other guy you've come across you compare with Takeshi. If you don't call that being hung up, what do you call it? If he's the man you want, get out there and grab him back, she would scream into my ear.

Then there's Kevin, my colleague. I guess you could say he's the only male colleague in my office that I have an out-of-work relationship with. Hey, hey, don't go jumping to conclusions now. He's just a friend (ugh...you know, I'm beginning to hate that phrase). Jess begs to differ though. She thinks the guy is totally infatuated with me. Maybe he is, maybe he's not. Even if he was, I couldn't see myself with someone like Kev though. I know, I know. Someone should knock me on the head right now. *Hello?!* There I was, a moment ago, harping away for a man and now I'm saying I'm not interested in someone who could be interested in me? Well, I don't think I've regressed to the state of being a begger. I would still like to think I have a choice. Kev and I? Let's just say we're from totally different worlds.

Now, rounding it up to a nice figure of five were the three musketeers, Louis, Bowie and Julian. 3 eligible bachelors who unfortunately thought nothing of me except as a friend. I was the fourth musketeer and one of the boys. Sigh.

Louis was Mr Suave. Mr Cool. A lady-killer with the gift of the gab. I must admit that I have been smitten many a time with his sweet words and good looks. This was definitely a guy I could go out with. Well-dressed. Well-educated. Well-spoken. Husband material. If only he was interested in me.

My thoughts then turned to Bowie. Okay, so you have some parents who are obsessed with Japanese idols and then you have other parents who can't get enough of English rock stars. Anyway, I digress. Bo's the sort of guy whom mothers would love at first sight. Thoughtful, caring, a gentleman through and through. Five stars upon five stars, which would put him on a higher rating compared to Louis. Okay, I like the guy. I'm totally infatuated with him. Everytime I see him, my knees go wobbly and my heart melts to a mush. I couldn't stop thinking about him.

And there's Julian. Playboy extraordinaire. Girls, girls, girls. Left, right and centre. I have started to wonder if there's anything seriously wrong with me. I mean, he drools at anything that walks by in a skirt. So, what happened to me? All I get is a slap on the back and a 'Yo man! What's up?' Of the three musketeers, I must say that Jules is the only one I don't consider as being a potential partner. Besides being the player he is, he's also pretty dense. Sometimes I swear Jules is really a natural blonde under that dark head.

There you have it. The five men in my life at the moment. And I'm still single.

Just then my stomach growled, reminding me that I still hadn't had dinner. Oh well, I sighed lazily. Might as well get some food. Maybe I'll bump into my knight in shining armour while waiting in line for take-out.

(Song credit: Que Sara Sara.)