HANI's Honey

Wednesday, March 12, 2003

09:56 a.m. Kuala Lumpur Standard Time

google my mother, google me

I am doomed.

Never mind that I was number 52 out of 335 results of my mother's name, someone actually found it and clicked on the link and landed on the one single page I stupidly mentioned my mother's name.

I am doomed.

The most horrifying part is that I am on pitas, and with lovely pitas, once archived eternally on the web.... You can't even delete the goddamned account. Not that I would want to. Just that one entry....

I want my own domain, damn it. Then I could control my past indiscretions.

I'm doomed.

I doubt that my family would find my website. They're not the type to scroll though 335 entries of google results to find my website. The problem is that to some people, my behaviour reflects back on my mother.

And really, my mother is a wonderful and amazing woman, and it's really sad that she has me for a daughter, so I try to stay in the background of her life as much as possible, and not ruin her reputation in any way.

However, if any tabloid journalist can google my mother's name and come up with my weblog, not only am I doomed, so is my mother.

And no matter how much I complain about her, I would never want to see her hurt.

Argh! Stupid idiotic google and pitas!!!

Be honest.
Link to the start of entry: #20030312

Tuesday, March 11, 2003

10:23 p.m. Kuala Lumpur Standard Time

Console, don't Congratulate

Cranberries - Animal Instinct

So Daffy comments: "....I'm proud of you in attempting to stay celibate."

Religious Muslim ladies and gentlemen, let me clarify to you that Islam encourages you to marry and procreate more lovely little Muslims. Please don't confuse Muslims with Catholics. I will not thank anyone who is proud of me for staying celibate.

I love Tariq very much, and the thing I will miss most about trying to stay celibate is not the actual intercourse, but sleeping naked with him afterwards, with the night lights streaming through the window from the street outside,Tariq's intoxicating scent surrounding me and feeling his bare skin directly on mine. Loving Tariq, emotionally and physically, is a joy and a beauty.

There is nothing to be proud of, or to congratulate, about being deprived of something that, with a simple ceremony, becomes not only acceptable, but essential and right.

Console me. Tell me that this is a test from God. Tell me that you're very sorry for my loss. Tell me that it is such a great pity that society is more interested in preventing troubled marriages than pre-marital sex.

I don't want to hear about what a great thing I'm trying to do. I don't want to hear that this is the right thing, and I'm deserving of admiration and respect or whatever it is. I want to hear that what Tariq and I have is beautiful and special and right, even in the eyes of Allah s.w.t.

The point is that if we were all so really goddamned religious, I'd have been married off the minute I started showing signs of being so goddamned highly horny. I tell you now that every second of sexual frustration Tariq and I suffer should pile sin on those who hinder and discourage our marriage.

Be honest.
Link to the start of entry: #20030311

Monday, March 10, 2003

02:14 p.m. Kuala Lumpur Standard Time

The Shame of Sex

Poor Rand0m had made this comment:

"sex is overrated. but then again, maybe it's because i'm not getting any."

Desire is like hunger. You will find that if you're very hungry, but there's no food around, you will eventually feel not hungry at all.

But try not feeling the urgency of the hunger if your favourite dish is put in front of you. Can you imagine how your stomach growls and how your mouth waters, when you're hungry and you can see the food, smell it, touch it, and you're just so close to tasting it?

That is temptation. That is desire. That is hunger. For food or for sex.

Sure, I can tell myself that chocolate cake is bad for me. When there's no better food around, and I'm starving mad, and the chocolate cake is right in front of me, I have always had the tendency to eat the chocolate cake anyway. Willpower and abstaining for my own good have never been my strong suits.

Unfortunately, sex is not quite like chocolate cake. A cake harms merely my figure, my teeth, and my digestive system (if poorly cooked). Sex shakes up my integrity.

Let's just say that honesty is important to me. I need it. The reason why is a whole blog entry of its own. Sadly, the lifestyle of having sex outside marriage is a lifestyle of secrets and lies. It's not a one-off lie. It's a constant lie. It's a pile of constant lies.

My mother disapproves of extra-marital sex. A lot of Malaysian society disapproves of extra-marital sex. It's not something to be proud of. It's shameful and to be hidden.

I hate that. To me, sex with Tariq is one of many expressions of love we have for each other. Nothing about us should be shameful. Our love should be a cause for joy and celebration. I hate that we must hide it and keep it secret instead.

This is why I want to and will keep attempting celibacy. I want to wait until the day when I'm married to my beloved, and I can freely tell my mother that Tariq is an amazing lover. We will both than giggle and celebrate, and I will never feel ashamed again about my love.

Be honest.
Link to the start of entry: #20030310

Saturday, March 8, 2003

11:42 p.m. Kuala Lumpur Standard Time

In Gratitude to HANIfans

Avril Lavigne - I'm with You

Truth be told, I think my breasts had a great influence on my attitude towards life. There was nothing gradual about my breasts. One day, I was being teased by my family for being small in the chest, and the next, men everywhere were just staring at my chest. Suddenly, people started frowning at the attention I garnered. Having done nothing worse than skipping my class to attend a friend's class, I had old ladies frowning at me in disapproval, just by taking one look at me. To make it worse, my younger sister put on the hijab and despite non-stop dating and plenty of rule-breaking, everyone always approved of her.

Peculiarly, although I could do no good in the eyes of the old ladies, and all the guys thought I was fast, my close friends would tolerate and accept the most annoying things in me. I squashed them in bear hugs that left them breathless and they kept coming back. I bullied my friends to no end. I forgot birthdays and they forgave me. I couldn't seem to do anything that would push them away.

It began to occur to me, that no matter what I did, people would see me the way they want to see me. So I decided to do what I want, and to hell with their biased opinions. That is the underlying logic behind most of my actions.

Behind the need to tell all about my actions, is the need to be seen as a person, instead of a pair of breasts. Maybe I wouldn't have noticed the stares people gave my breasts so much if my breasts had grown gradually. Maybe I wouldn't have gotten so many stares if I hadn't been around boys aged fifteen and sixteen. Have you ever tried to talk to someone who was sadly failing to look up at your face?

Then, just when I finally got used to all the staring, I went to New York, and nobody stared. It was so weird. Suddenly, I was no longer amazingly big-boobed. I was a short, quiet, goody-goody Asian, instead. Completely invisible under the loudness and aggressiveness of New York teenagers. I am saddened to report that most of the people who graduated with me probably don't remember my existence at all.

At both ends, I didn't have a voice. No one heard me. I didn't care who heard me, I just wanted to be heard. As a person, with a very intelligent, interesting mind. I didn't want to be a pair of breasts, nor a timid Asian girl. I wanted people to remember my name and associate it with me.

Aiz mentions:

"Blog writers (myself included) may believe that their writing doesn't mean anything to anyone besides themselves and their close network of friends."

I have never been one of the above. Such bloggers may find it disturbing to have complete strangers know their intimate details. Those bloggers probably fear that those strangers would somehow gain power and advantage over them. I have always desperately needed people to know my intimate details. I have a need to be heard as much as I hear, to feel connected mentally and emotionally with the human race.

To me, being known and remembered is a power of its own. My blog has touched other people's lives and I have left them with the knowledge that there is yet another human being out there, struggling to make sense out of her life. I welcome and embrace everyone who seeks to make a genuine emotional and mental connection with their fellow human beings.

To my HANIfans: thank you for getting to know me. Thank you for paying attention to the words in my head. I freely give you what is on this blog, with no fear that it leaves me at a disadvantage. Being heard by you, having even such small influence in your life, even though I don't know you, makes me feel like I'm contributing something unique and different to the human society. Thank you for your support and this opportunity to be with you.

Be honest.
Link to the start of entry: #20030308

Friday, March 7, 2003

09:10 p.m. Kuala Lumpur Standard Time

Celibacy Attempt No. 3

It's been so long since I've touched him, hugged him, kissed him, played with his hair, and smelled his scent. I'm really looking forward to all that. I love his physical presence. It's such a comfort.

We were looking forward to having sex too. I sent him a picture of me wearing a present I just bought for his welcome home. It's a fancy set of dog-tags. They looked really nice nestled in my cleavage, between my breasts. Yes, I was naked in the picture.

I've been celibate for so long. Tariq was the one who insisted on my celibacy, since he couldn't bear the idea of me sleeping with anyone else. Ironically, I've become comfortable without having sex.

It's such a comfort not to have to lie to my mother, running around trying to hide condoms and lubricants. It's relaxing to be free of the constant worry that I'll get caught. And damned for sure, if we got caught, it will be me in deep shit. Tariq's parents are of the opinion that he can go ahead and fuck me, just don't bloody marry me. Wee.

I hate the lack of honesty in having sex outside of marriage. This is me and my obsession with pouring out my life to the world. I have great difficulty keeping secret what to me is beautiful and to be celebrated. Hiding my physical affection for Tariq makes me feel very bitter.

So, there just might be a chance, that for this visit, Tariq and I will try not to have sex.

Maybe then, I'll be able to balance enjoying his presence, and the internal bitterness of feeling like I'm just stealing something that I have no right to.

Then again, it's just so goddamned difficult to resist his scent. Bloody pheremones.

Be honest.
Link to the start of entry: #20030307

Thursday, March 6, 2003

10:26 p.m. Kuala Lumpur Standard Time

Hani Hunts Her Homies....

Since I failed all my subjects last semester, Mom confiscated the use of my car. So I have difficulty going anywhere. Not that she allows me to go anywhere much.

I don't mind not being allowed to go out on weekdays. I just pretend to stay in college and go out. The problem is getting anywhere without a car.

I don't mind not being able to go anywhere, either.

What I really miss are my friends.

I miss just sitting somewhere with them and having a chat. I miss the mental stimulation of our conversations. I miss the side of me that I am only with my friends.

I really need to set up a more systematic method of pestering my friends.

Be honest.
Link to the start of entry: #20030306a