The Pressure to Tie the Knot

Published at the Libertines Pub, Hong Kong

Kung Hey Fat Choi! May our readers be as wild and catty as the Tiger in the new year.

There’s no time my company is more “westernized” than the Chinese New Year. Most of my married managers pretend they were gweilos and gweipos in this 15-day festive break, “unaware” of the Chinese tradition of delivering red packets to their single slaves colleagues, when they are as face-loving as the local officials in the rest of the year. A slight hint or suggestion of that (for example, a trying-too-hard passionate new year blessing) would mean you’re a corrupt, uncivilized and anachronistic creature in the inhuman globalised business word.

In private scenarios, the guilt or shame of receiving red packets from your married acquaintances began to kick in, especially when you’re hitting the reproductive deadline “right” age to get married. When I was a child, the Chinese New Year was the Event of the Year, because red packets are my only source of freely disposable income. However, when I grew up and became a member of taxpayers breadwinners, the idea of receiving de facto subsidy from my retired grannies / to-be-retired parents sent a surge of blood to my cheeks, as if I had asked a guy out (I never do of course).

Smoke gets in my hair

Published at the Libertines Pub, Hong Kong

Last week from the second-language newspaper I exclusively read (I leave the job of screening Apple Daily to Henry already), I was shocked to know a government advisory body is proposing bans on people lighting up in the street and on the depiction of smoking in films.

I don’t smoke so I don’t enjoy conflict of interests in writing this article. However, as an empathetic human being, I couldn’t imagine what life would be if the government choose to ban my addictions (namely, the Hong Kong-styled milk tea, chocolates, flirting with bad boys) in the manner it bans smoking.

Whenever I need a caffeine boost at work, I would need to leave the work I’m doing, go outside the office building and hide like a naughty dog.

On every cup of milk tea I buy, there would be a huge sticker on the cup featuring a cranky premature aging lady, warning me milk tea is bad for my heart and skin.

I could only taste my La Maison du Chocolat truffles in the street, the heavenly aroma and silky texture mixed with the fume of vehicles.

Before I hang out in the clubs, I would need to research for the few which allow flirting and hook-ups, or embarrassingly ask the bartender if it’s okay to do so.

In a word, my life, alongside the society, would be extremely bitter.

Why Sex Can Boost Your Luck

Published at the Libertines Pub, Hong Kong

I, as a woman, always believe women should be protected from violence, rape and abuse. They must know to protect themselves because their body is so hot that their male counterparts fantasize about access to it every 5 seconds. Life is too short to entertain all the lonely, bored and inadequate dicks in the world. We should save it for someone who’s not only after one thing, or who’s after one thing but too hot / too cute / too rich to resist. Right? (Provided that you are a well-informed adult and take safety precautions of course. Disclaimer in place.)

However, whenever I read news about some claimed-to-be rape / indecent assault cases, I was as perplexed by the story lines as by the Universe. You left your hubby at home, drank at a hotel bar alone, made out with a horse trainer you just met in your car, decided you were not up for further encounter, then accused the trainer of assaulting you? What reasonale you can put up except you can’t bear yourself to be fondled without spiritual love? You agreed to be driven home by a medical school alumnus you just met at a party, stayed the night at his place and the next morning you accused the guy of raping you? Being shocked to find you can be seduced by a non-boyfriend/husband/Brad Pitt material overnight, or you can have sex but not make love, doesn’t mean you did not consent. Simple logic.

Recently, the case of a teen model being tricked to have sex “rituals” nine times by a Taoist Mao Shan master put me to further wonder.

Hello there!

Sometimes, when I chit-chat with my friends, one or two of them will say, "Bambi, you should write them down and publish them. Someone out there may share your thoughts and like them."

"Really?  Someone will care these silly little dirty thoughts?"

"Yes, you will be doing people a favour. Just fucking write it."

And here I am. This is an experiment to see if my friends are right, or if I'm having a too big ego. This is also my trash can, for me to dispose my trash so that I can be clean and good before people who love me and want me that way. I love them back by not letting them know.