The problem with guilt

[spicycurrypuff]

My first foray down the rabbit hole. Dedicated to all the chiongsters out there.
Now, with your permission, piak piak away we shall.

You know that saying? You know…the one about youth being wasted on the young? Yeah, that one. Quite true I tell you. Think about it. Not just about your youth but really think about it, the things you could have gotten away with when you were that young. All that cuteness, the innocence.

Girls buy into this sort of shit. It lowers their guard. Makes them mushy. Vulnerable.

But we’ll come to that much later.

Youth and school happened years ago. Primary school was really nothing to talk about. That’s where we learn to read and write and discover new things all the time. I was too interested in marbles and playing to really take an interest in any girls or teachers. Secondary school is where things got a whole lot more interesting. It formed the basis of a lot of learning, then and beyond.

[spicycurrypuff]

I was brought up by my stepdad and mother. She had seen a lot of unfaithfulness in her life resulting in an addiction to computer games and chain smoking. In her later years, she took to baby-sitting but it’s not the legal sort. Now days, to even baby sit, you’ve got to apply for god knows what sort of licensing and what not but in those days, it’s just an agreement between neighbours. After all, if she can bring up 5 kids without any visible trouble, then what is another one or two babies.

My family is middle class, legit. No holidays. No extravagant parties with $100 cakes. Birthdays back then, were simple affairs involving family, relatives and absolutely no friends. The operational word here being simple.

Simple to the point, there was really not enough money to go around at all. Don’t talk about new uniforms. I outwore the uniforms on myself till I had to patch up the uniforms. It was like that. I had to suck it up. But socks were another thing. While washing my own clothes, because no one else in the house did it for me, I had to take care of my socks or get it stolen by my other siblings.

Underwear was another thing altogether.

I used and reused my undies till the holes in the undies had holes.
Often, I had to realign the crown jewels to ensure that it didn’t stick out uncomfortably when I didn’t want it to. Little did I know it would lead to interesting developments much later on.

I grew up taking solace in a bunch of soft toys and relying on comic books for role models. Nothing came close. What about the stepdad you ask? Well, he worked a security job. You know the sort, 12-hour shifts. He something took nights and sometimes days but when he was home, he was in bed and resting. We didn’t see much of him. I later learnt that he wasn’t always around because he was busy being a dad to another bunch of kids and their mum. That’s right.

[spicycurrypuff]

He fucked behind my mom’s back and out came a bunch of kids. It’s screwed up. But that’s the sum of my childhood. Except for an outing out to the beach, I really don’t remember anything happy about my childhood or pre-teens with my family. Maybe it got so fucked up that my mind blocked out the trauma. The brain is a fascinating organ. It really has the ability to do that.

And then there was me. The middle child of 5 siblings, I was constantly the odd one out. I grew up thinking it was because of the age gap between me and the others but I later learnt that it was because I was born out of wedlock. Officially, mom had 2 husbands. And my father wasn’t it. He was a seafarer and left when I was 2. I looked like my dad and that was never good for me. My stepdad’s relatives brought me up mostly. I owe them a lot.

But I still had to go home.

So, what does one learn, living in such a chaotic environment?

I learnt to lie. To steal. To appear silent and invisible when I needed to. I learnt to act at that young age. Forget method acting. This is the real school of the arts. In living, fucking colour. And I got really good at it.

But of course, at home. I was the resident thief. The crook that was always in the wrong. That made me hate going home. Hate looking at my siblings who were the angels in my parent’s eyes. It also meant that I was blamed for eating a lot or for taking food that was not mine.

I shrank because of that. At 12years old, primary school, I was a mere 100cm tall. When I hit sec 3, I was 1.2m. Life was quite shit back then. I usually appeared gaunt, often with rings under my eyes since I slept so late all the time reading comics. Arms and legs were odd attachments that stuck out of my uniform like matchsticks. The mess of hair on my head could never be tamed and it always flipped out strangely. Even globs of gel didn’t do the trick. An annoyance I had to learn to live with.

Some call it ugly. I call it having character. It all changed in my second year in sec 3.

[Durategra]

Nice read so far! Keep it going ts!

[spicycurrypuff]

What happened you may ask?

Well, simple – Puberty.Let’s start with my face.

Ever really see swiss cheese?

I had so much pimples on my face, it made my reflection cringe.

Early on in life, I developed this fetish for popping pimples. I’d pop a pimple, then wait a few more days, then pop the same spot. My prevailing theory was that once you pop a pimple, only the surface pus comes out, then the epidermis swells up and closes, preventing anything else from squirting out.

So, I wait for the swelling to die down, usually a day or 2, then I pop it again. Unless I see blood, I don’t stop. It resulted in the almost smooth complexion I have now. I still have pockmarks, but the craters have filled out nicely.

And then there is my belief of hair and its appropriate place on my body.

Pubic hair started sprouting like an invasive tau gay plant. I found it amusing at first. Then it got thicker and I started worrying.

Why worry?

Because to a kid growing up without guidance, you’d think hair belonged on the face or head and maybe armpits but groin areas?

I worry because I didn’t know if it was an infection that caused hair to grow out unnaturally.

Remember my ever-present parents? Well, I just couldn’t ask advice from them right.

And I started being aware of those things on a girl’s chest. Yes, breasts. Boobs, jugs, tek tek. neh neh, whatever lingo you want to call them. They started to get my attention. And I began to wonder. About their bodies. And my body.

[spicycurrypuff]

Of course, I started touching myself. I learnt how to touch myself so that I got little tingles of shiokness. I didn’t orgasm but the stroking and touching brought immense pleasure.

And I started asking myself questions. Do they touch themselves? Do they have these thoughts? Do girls also have pubic hair?

I started looking at the floors when girls walked by. Peeking at their chairs when they got up. Walking over areas where girls ran during PE lessons.

Just to satisfy that innate curiosity. About girls. About hair. About myself.

Then one day, while cleaning the class floor. Yes, I was in charge of the floor. You know. The duties that everyone in the class has during the end of the year clean-up. I did the floor. Not the most glam but it’s definitely better than cleaning the windows or wiping the shelves. The secondary school floors were usually concrete grey back then. As long no visible signs of dust and dirt, confirm pass.

I saw it.

Not the long strands of silky shampooed hair. Not the combed-out tresses from the class ah-lians and minahs.

A single, wavy, short, brownish strand of hair.

And so that’s where it began.

The loss of my innocence.

From a strand of............pubic hair.

[Tengkor]

Nicely written TS

[Durategra]

Looking forward to more!

[spicycurrypuff]

I came from one of those neighbourhood schools that no one would care about nor want to go to, at least not that I heard of anyways.

Being poor in studies in primary school, I didn't stand a chance of getting in anywhere else.

Back in those days we had to fill out a choice of 6 schools that we aspired to attend.

Really, at that age, our dear education ministry allows 6 choices that will l, in a way, decide our fate. Don't know how it works now, but then, I literally saw it as a make or break issue. FML.

I begged my mother endlessly not to fill out that school, unfortunately, she didn’t listen and true enough.

I ended up in the school 6th on my list.

The school sat on top of a hill in a small estate in the East side of Singapore. It was built to serve the residents in that neighbourhood and from the surrounding Eastern islands.

Every now and then, some cat or dog would sneak into the school any drive the teachers and staff crazy. Students would go crazier over the cuteness overload and at times, try to hide them in all corners of the school.

The school only had a morning session and the afternoons were reserved for remedial sessions, ECAs (now known as CCAs) and detention.

I was then, a librarian, nothing special, just a guardian of books. To get up to the library, one has to climb the stairs to the top of the building - the library was located on level 4. There was a staircase right next to the library and another staircase at the end of the corridor. To get to the other staircase, one had to walk past 3 classrooms.

I still remember my first day in Sec 1, everything was so new and rather different. My class consisted of boys that were older than me. Due to my poor score during PSLE, i ended up in the last class. Almost the entire class was older than me and mostly, either Chinese or Malay. I was the class only mixed guy in the class. Neither here nor there. Seems that everyone has formed cliques within the first few days. What made it lagi difficult was my apparently goodie shoes behaviour. The boys were being boys and bouts of vulgarity and such spouted from them. Due to my strict upbringing, I was always afraid of opening up and trying out new things.

This all changed after i met Sylvia.

I remember that day quite clearly.

Still remains as one of the defining moments in my life. It also served as an awakening of sorts for me