Sarong Party Girls

chapter 4

First, we figure out the Chinese bitches.

At least that was the plan. (Part one of it anyway.) If girls from Mainland China were coming over here to try and steal our men, we need to figure out how they’re doing it! I had texted Fann and Imo first thing Friday morning before going to work that day—I’d just laid out my strategy to them the night before after all, so it was still on my mind. Besides, I was trying to find a way to distract myself from my mum, who I suspected would try to drag me out to the wet market before work that morning. My god, that woman really had never met a chicken backside she didn’t like—whenever I go marketing with her, each chicken backside also must stop and look ten times before walking on. “Meet outside Lunar—11 p.m.,” I said to the girls in my text. “Last one buys first round.”

Then, just when I was lying there, thinking of our strategy, what to do tonight at the Lunar, a club that we’d heard was just filled with China girls, my mum of course decided to bang on my door and nag at me. Hello, people here have a serious mission, you know—after giving the girls that big lecture last night with all those Excel spreadsheet-type points, we need to follow through tonight!

“Huay ah! Sleeping still?” my mum was shouting. I could tell from how her voice was getting louder that she was starting to open my door and pop her head in. Aiyoh, I don’t know why, after so many years already she’s still calling me by my Chinese name. My god, Ah Huay is so cheena! I told her how many times already that my name is now Jazeline, but she still catch no ball. Before I started working, I changed my name already—not in my passport lah. That would be too much work. But starting from secondary school I already told everyone—from now on, just call me Jazeline. This name is quite power, you know—I know I made it up lah but it’s a name that nobody else has! Jazeline is not Jasmine or Celine or any boring name like that—it’s damn special. In the whole of Singapore, only I have this name. When people hear it, they confirm know they’d better pay attention to me. All these things, I told my mum so many times already. If she wants me to succeed outside of her small world, how can I do it without an ang moh name? Why she cannot understand?

“So lazy!” my mum said, shouting even louder when she saw I was still in bed. Aiyoh. “I need your help to buy things from the market—you better hurry up otherwise I got nothing to make for your pa’s dinner tonight!” She didn’t even wait for me to say anything before slamming the door. I knew that if I didn’t just jump up to follow her, she confirm would come back in two minutes so—no choice is no choice.

By the time I quickly put on some clean shorts and T-shirt and brushed my teeth, my mum was already sitting by the door holding her wallet, wearing her slippers, looking damn grumpy. When she saw me come out, she just jumped up and started walking out the door. I swear, this woman moves faster than anybody I know.

When we walked to the wet market, I realized how late it was—no wonder she was in such a bad mood. If you want to go to the wet market, you must 6:30 A.M. wake up and fasterly go. Eight A.M. then go marketing? At that hour on a weekday, a lot of market uncles got air also they won’t bother selling to you. They’re tired already—time to close shop and balik kampong.

So by the time we started walking around, her favorite fish uncle was holding a fat red rubber hose, washing his stall and splashing pink water everywhere. Even though my mum tried to smile at him a bit, he had nothing to sell her. “Sorry lah—even my reserve fish all no more already,” he said, actually looking apologetic. “Hallo, now what time already! You now then come?” Luckily her second-choice fish uncle still had a few pieces and the pork uncle also hadn’t packed up his stall otherwise my mum will confirm spend the whole weekend saying I made her to go to NTUC and buy not-so-fresh fish and pork.

I was feeling quite sotong at this moment. Damn tired, first of all—didn’t sleep enough, of course, since I ended up having more drinks with the girls last night to celebrate our plan. On top of that, my mum was walking so fast through the wet market, trying to get to her vegetable boy and the flower auntie before they closed shop. Since some uncles had already started cleaning up, the floor was damn slippery; running water sloshed around our toes. But my mum was not affected, of course—she just glided through the market as if she were going down a slide. Guniang over here was just desperately trying to keep up—and not splash any pink water on my legs.

Whenever my mum stopped, she would try and give me some lesson. “Huay ah, when you buy chicken or duck ah, if the uncle doesn’t kill it in front of you, you must remember to always press the skin a bit—got bounce back then it’s good. Never bounce back then don’t buy. Too old already.” Or, “Make sure you see the color of the fish eyes before you buy—cloudy one means not fresh.”

All these things—I don’t know why she’s wasting her saliva to tell me. I’ve heard it all how many times already! Finally, I got a bit fed up. “Ma, you damn long-winded lah,” I said when she kept trying to push a winter melon into my hands to make me feel it. “If you use less saliva, maybe you can finish your shopping faster.”

Wah—that’s when she got angry.

“You think I’m just being naggy for the sake of nagging you, is it? Ah Huay ah, you how old already? You won’t always have your mum here to buy food for you, cook for you every day, you know? One day when you get married, who is going to go shopping for you? You’d better learn now otherwise nobody will marry you! Or worse, you get married and your husband so unhappy he divorce you. Then your life will really be over. With men—you must always know how to feed and pamper them otherwise their stomachs will lead them outside.”

I almost wanted to laugh. Me? Go shopping in a wet market? As if! When Jazzy gets married, a Filipino maid is going to do all her marketing. Some more, the kind of shopping my family will do is confirm not shopping at a wet market—it’s the “drive your car and go to Cold Storage on Sunday with the kids” type of shopping. More expensive also no problem. You think Jazzy’s husband is going to want food bought in a low-class wet market with bloody water and chicken shit all over the floor?

I know this is all my mum always expected from her lousy life—in fact, all things considered, it’s much better than the life that her mother had. Her ma grew up on one of those old pig farms! But please—my mum should know that their lives will not be my life.

“Ma, please lah—this kind of lesson, I don’t need to learn,” I told her.

My mum stopped walking. Right in the middle of the wet market corridor some more. When I saw her eyes, my god, I knew that now I’m really going to get scolded.

“You ah—I tell you, just dream dream dream only,” she said loudly. “You think I don’t know what you think you can get? Some ang moh prince to come and bring you home with them, far far away from me and your pa? You better wake up your head, Ah Huay! Once we are gone, you’ll have no one to take care of you if these are the kinds of guys you want. These ang mohs—they only want one thing. When they take already, they don’t need you anymore. You think I don’t have eyes, is it? Cannot see what is going on with you? See you how late then come home all the time? You think I don’t know what you do when you are outside, is it? See how you dress, put lipstick and perfume all? You think the neighbors don’t ask me why you always have strange ang moh guys sending you home so late? I tell you—seeing your daughter do all these kinds of thing, break your pa’s heart only. He want to talk to you also don’t have words to say.”

I, on the other hand, had many things I wanted to say, but my mum had talked for so long and was clearly so angry that I was scared she was going to cry. In fact, people walking by us were staring a bit by then. If she cried, then habis. The whole neighborhood will start gossiping about how Jazzy made her mum cry in the wet market.

“Ma, please don’t be upset,” I quickly said. “Sorry, sorry. I promise I will listen.”

My mum looked like she didn’t really believe me, but she also didn’t know what else she could say.

“One more thing,” she said, “you’d better watch your language, Ah Huay. I heard you say the word damn just now—do you know how chor lor that is? That word is a men’s word, you know—women are not supposed to use it! Please—don’t shame your pa and me by saying bad words like that.”

I guess it’s a good thing she never spies on my texts with me and my friends. My god—with all the kani nah here and cock there, Ma confirm will vomit blood.

Like that, I guess my mum’s lecture was finished. So she turned around and started walking again.

We were both damn quiet on the walk home—guniang made sure to walk a few steps behind the old lady so we had no eye contact. I didn’t want anything to somehow get her started up again.

Her words, even though I don’t agree, actually upset me a bit, I have to say. Clearly she and Pa think I’m no better than one of those KTV lounge girls. And obviously, I know they worry about me. Pa spent his whole life working in some cock factory as some lousy low-level manager and never earned that much lah. And Ma—I’m not sure if being a hairdresser in one of those super old slightly sleazy hairdressing parlors really counts as a job since she basically earned peanuts. And once they’re gone, I’m really on my own since I’m the only child. But this one is also their fault. Who asked them to take the government’s population control campaign so seriously? All the government posters clearly said “Two is enough” but they wanted to be super patriotic so they just stopped at one. So now, if I end up alone, whose fault is that?

Also, hello, she should know that our guy friends and the ang mohs we meet and fool around with don’t pay us for anything. We are free modern women! (Drinks are just drinks lah—even at three hundred dollars a bottle, it doesn’t count. Everyone is just having a good time.) And please, it’s not like we were like those China girls who were coming to Singapore in herds to marry rich guys. In fact, it’s girls like that who were pushing us to go out that night. Our goal: to find out how Mainland girls hook our men.

When I sat down to think about getting to the bottom of how these China girls operate—it seemed very straightforward. If you want to understand the mind of the enemy, then you must bravely go into their territory! If they want to come over to our country and steal our men, then we must invade their turf and learn what their strategy is. And with these girls, everyone knows there are many places where they like to do their business. But for the more decent ones—or rather the ones who try to attract guys in decent areas that me and the girls would actually show our faces in—there’s only one place that we can go to see the most daring (and successful) cases: Lunar, in crazy Clarke Quay.

Of course, everybody knows about Lunar. The location of this club, I tell you, is super primo. It’s right in the middle of Clarke Quay, where—confirm—all the most happening bars and clubs are right now in Singapore. And on Friday or Saturday night when you want to meet your friends outside a club first before going in together—you know, so when you walk in the door, people automatically know you’re with a group instead of being some fucker who has no friends—usually you will choose a meeting place in the middle of everything. So people always just say, “Come, we meet outside Lunar.”

So that Friday night, after guniang here got ready steady nice and sexy, I quickly hopped in a taxi. Looking out the smudgy window, I wondered how everything got so boring. After all these years in Singapore, honestly, I’m quite tired of the scenery lah. All the buildings look the same—every year even if new ones get added to the skyline also at the end of the day, nothing looks different. If I knew this early on, aiyoh, Jazzy here confirm would have become an architect, man—get paid big bucks to design new buildings that look exactly like everyone else’s? This one really is win. Half-sleeping at work also can become millionaire. But then sometimes at night, like now, looking out of a taxi as it’s zooming through traffic, past the Singapore river, past the stupid tourists and expat drunks on Boat Quay, past the flashing lights of the towering bank buildings, OK lah, this is when I think, maybe this island is not so bad. I guess once I meet my ang moh and move to London or Melbourne, maybe—maybe—I will miss this longkang.

Things were damn happening by the time I got to Clarke Quay. The moment I opened my taxi door, people were rushing over to try and snatch the cab before it got to the taxi queue. I never understand these people. Now only eleven o’clock—hallo, most of the clubs are only just starting to fill up with people besides Ah Bengs and their smelly girlfriends. Why would anyone be so toot as to leave right now?

Although, we should all be glad that some losers were actually leaving and clearing some space. Even though it was still quite early, the wide open-air concourse slicing through the heart of Clarke Quay was jammed with the usual sea of warm bodies—each one feeling all the more sticky as I pushed through because of all the sleeveless tops and too-short skirts that everyone was wearing. This was the part that I hated the most. Technically it should only take about three minutes to walk from the taxi queue to Lunar—and hallo, guniang here is talking about doing this in my four-inch heels, OK! But because of all these babis and wannabes, the walk always takes damn fucking long. Like tonight lah—I purposely planned my outfit so I could look super chio in front of all these China girls at Lunar, but the crowd at Clarke Quay was unbelievable! By the time I got to Lunar, not only were my arms coated with this thin film of Ah Beng sweat, but I also almost fell down from trying to avoid some lumpar flicking around his cigarette as he pushed through.

Sher, Fann, Imo and I—of course we’d been to Clarke Quay many many times. We never want to admit it lah, but we’d been to so many of these clubs so often that we usually don’t need to pay cover charge to get in. Once the bouncer sees us, he just knows to let us in. Unlike those people who come in, order one drink and sit in one corner, watching other people dance and go crazy all night because they themselves are too shy or too low-class to participate, these bouncers know that not only will we buy drinks ourselves but also we usually dress nicely enough that other guys confirm will buy us more drinks. Of all the clubs though, the one place we had never been was Lunar. If you are a guy, and you specifically want to meet a China girl—like, not one from one of those red-light shophouses in Geylang or a sleazy KTV lounge, then Lunar is the place to go.

So, why would we ever have reason to go there? Those guys who want China girls usually are not the type to chase us. Singaporean girls to them are too bossy, too opinionated, not quiet enough. But, as I told the girls, if we want to understand the competition, then Lunar is confirm must.

Louis had been to Lunar a few times before—China girls actually prefer rich Singaporean guys to ang mohs. I also don’t know why. Sometimes I think maybe they’re scared of big cocks or something. Or maybe they’re not used to so much hair? Sometimes it’s true lah—ang moh guys, if you rubba them too long, it’s like fucking sandpaper. Anyway, when Louis goes to Lunar—he confirm can always score. For these China girls, the other thing also is that Singaporean guys are easier to control. Ang moh guys often want to be independent and all that shit. When they meet you, even if they really like you, they usually want to date a few people at a time type. After months and months where you end up having to hang out with their boring friends for all these nights playing darts and pretending that you like drinking Guinness, then maybe they suddenly will wake up one morning and think, okay lah, this girl not so bad—can go steady.

But Singaporean guys, aiyoh, if you hook them properly and fasterly, they will pamper you for a long time. So when I told Louis we wanted to go, he texted his guy at Lunar to book a VIP table. Since it was our first time there, Louis agreed to come out earlier to meet us. This wasn’t easy. His wife, Mary, usually doesn’t start her mah-jongg game until 11 P.M. so Louis cannot leave until then. But tonight was a special case—we were not meeting at the usual club and in this Lunar world, we quite toot, China girls are quite fierce. So, Mary—once she heard where we were meeting, even she was OK with Louis coming out early just this time. After all, she probably thinks, if us girls slowly one by one get married, maybe Louis will see his friends settling down and he’ll start staying at home more. Even though Louis never talks about it, we all know that it’s getting to be time for him to pop out a son. And Mary, of course she wants that too—once that happens, she’s really set for life! Dowager status—earned.

“Eh, Jazzy, tonight is really happening ah?” Louis said when Imo, Fann and I finally got there and made it through, past the VIP bouncer. I tell you, this was the first time he was so on time. Must be he’s a bit worried for us. Louis of course was nice as usual, holding up the bottle of Chivas after we double-kissed. We used to just hug when we saw each other, but then last year he and Mary went to Paris for a holiday. When he came back, he started doing that Frenchy double kiss that you see those atas people do. So now, like that lah.

“Jazzy, you’re looking good,” he said, running his right hand through his nicely styled fringe and smiling. He was not bad-looking for a Singaporean guy, actually. Married lah, but I still might have considered. His family is so rich—who wouldn’t want? Except that we all knew Imo had her eye on him. She never told us if anything happened, but sometimes we could see her drinking very little and then waiting for Louis to offer to send her home. Sometimes she had to wait for hours, watching him drink Chivas after Chivas, pulling random girls from his office or sometimes me, Fann or Sher close to him if we happened to be nearby during one of his favorite songs. Whoever it was, he would wrap his arms around the girl as he sang each word, his mouth so close it sometimes felt as if he was eating our ears. Imo never got upset—pointless, after all. Dancing is just dancing. And she knew she didn’t have any real right to be upset. Not that we knew whether anything was going on, or wanted to ask. These kinds of things, better not to know too much. It made it easier on those few nights when Mary actually agreed to set aside her mah-jongg game and come out with us. If none of us actually officially knows anything about Imo and Louis, when his wife is out with us, we all can still smile, say hi hi and everything is OK one.

“Of course lah,” I said to Louis, pulling back my new sexy black tank top and puffing up my small boobs. “People went shopping all—just for you!” Louis rolled his eyes, stuck out his third finger and then held up his other finger to ask me whether I wanted one shot or two. “Aiyah, two lah, two lah,” he said, shaking his head and starting to pour. I could see him looking around to mentally count how many drinks he had to pour, and he had a slightly confused look for a moment when he saw that Sher wasn’t there. “Married,” I said. I could see him sighing and blinking his eyes; he shook his head and started pouring.

After handing out glasses to the three of us, he rubba-ed my neck a bit and whispered in my ear, “China girls! They are havoc, man. You sure you want to be in their territory? You can still change your mind, you know. Terence is holding my table at Studemeyer’s until one A.M. if we want it.”

“Crazy! You think I’m scared?” I said, holding up my hands and hitting my left palm into my right fist. “Lumpar lah!”

Louis thought for a moment, then just raised his eyebrows and nodded, smiling. He raised his right hand and gave me a big thumbs-up. He should know better. He’s known me for how long already—and he still dares to ask me this kind of rubbish question? China girls are nothing compared to us!

Actually, to be honest, we were a bit scared when we walked in. When we walked in, the first thing we heard was this damn loud Hokkien singing. Yes, I know some Hokkien but walao, this song was so cheena that even I couldn’t understand what the guy was singing about. Something about girls and love and other cock stuff, I’m sure. The waitresses were all wearing these bright red glittery cheongsam-style bodysuits that were super tight and super short. From the looks of them—hair dark dark and straight straight, fair skin, flat nose, crooked teeth, concave chest—I could tell that they were all really from China.

When we first started seeing China girls popping up in the 1980s—at first in Geylang around the brothels but then after a while, everywhere—we at first thought these girls were so plain-looking, what harm could they be? With faces like that, how can they win? Especially back then, those SK-II type face creams were all still quite expensive so not everybody had fair skin—some were still a little dark-looking, like those coolies in padi fields type. But I tell you ah—these girls are quite cunning. They only look simple—if you see their eyes close-up… scary! Each and every one of them, they all have that hungry look. Even if a guy has a wife, girlfriend, kids, grandkids, they also heck care one. All they care about is what they can take—Singapore citizenship is number one. Coach handbag, condo, car and cash even better—nice, but not so necessary. If they win the man then everything set already—no need to go home to their longkangs in China.

At Lunar, the whole place was filled with these girls—the cheongsam sluts were fawning over the guys, some even daring to sit in their laps out in the open. Walao eh, we couldn’t believe it—this place is a decent club in Clarke Quay, you know. It’s not say super atas like the Orchard Road bars—but it’s also not sleazy like Geylang at 3 A.M. Kani nah—so daring! And in all the little white shiny banquettes on the side there were groups of China girls just sitting around, looking pretty—as pretty as they can try and look lah—and trying to catch guys’ eyes. Fann and Imo were quiet, looking around quite shocked. We were dressed up rather nicely—that day, Imo came from stylo work drinks so she was wearing a little black dress (new one—Marc Jacobs, don’t play play!) and Fann, well, Fann was looking as nice as she can. And I was feeling quite chio in my new Seven jeans. If any guy is not staring at my backside tonight, I tell you, he is confirm agua.

When we came out, we knew we were looking damn steam. But these cheongsam sluts—walao. The competition really was a bit unfair. I stared at Louis and he shook his head, leaning over to my ear. “Woman,” he said, “don’t forget—it was your idea to come here.”

Aiyoh. Well, since we were here, we might as well stay, I thought. Better don’t waste a Friday night. Louis poured another round of double shots to make us feel better. It worked. After a few sips, we could actually relax a bit. Soon after, when a few of Louis’s guy friends showed up, we were already a bit high. So high in fact that we actually forgot why we went there. Until the Ah Beng emcee in the sparkly purple suit and the Elvis Presley hairstyle got in the middle of the stage and started shouting some nonsense in Hokkien that we couldn’t really understand. But from the way he was pointing at the crowd and shaking his mike around, we could tell that something was about to start.

In our VIP section, Fann, Imo and I all stood up so we could see better. We were all squinting squinting at the stage, trying to see what was going on but eh? Nothing was happening. At this point the lights had gone down and the place was quite dark except for these two bright red circles of spotlight that were chasing each other around the room. This kind of light show—fucking toot, man. I was just about to whisper to Fann, “My god, this is damn boring,” when Louis tapped me on the shoulder. “Guniang, look over there,” he said, pointing toward the center of the room. When we first walked in, I had noticed this big divider in the middle of the room—there were two long lines crisscrossing in the middle, separating the room into four parts. Quite strange. Usually these clubs like to have a large, more open space so people can have more dancing dancing and all. But then I thought, well, Lunar is owned by some old man from the Mainland, after all. These kinds of modern stylo design features, how is he supposed appreciate?

The lights suddenly all came on at once and the Ah Beng emcee started singing this old Hokkien song—I could understand the first part, since sometimes people sing it at weddings. Some love song about two people sharing an umbrella—a bit toot, yes, but when someone explained the lyrics to me recently I was actually quite touched. So I thought, OK, this is not bad. But only the first few lines were sweet and slow—after that, this Lady Gaga — type disco beat suddenly started and then the umbrella song become half romantic, half Rihanna’s “Umbrella.” And the red spotlights started moving around like crazy again and everyone started cheering and clapping because these long rows of China girls started coming out from the four corners of the room, dancing down the aisles between the tables and then climbing onto the crisscrossed divider in the middle.

Each girl was wearing shiny black shoes with a small button strap across them, like those shoes you see schoolgirls in England wearing except these had very high heels. Some more they were wearing knee-high white socks and tight white buttoned shirts that were so see-through you could see that underneath them, each girl was wearing a sparkling red bra—their tetek were all so big the bra is confirm push-up one. They all had hair tied up in two ponytails, eyes painted big big, super long eyelashes—fake one lah. But the thing that all the old Ah Peks and Ah Bengs were really staring at was their skirts—aiyoh! These China girls—kani nah! Not shy! Each of their little black skirts was so short it couldn’t even cover their whole backside—whenever they moved you could see their white frilly panties underneath. And then the way they purposely danced, they kept pushing up their backsides for everyone to see.

Walao! By this point, Louis and his friends were all out of control, shouting and clapping like crazy. One of them even started loudly saying over and over “Teng kor! Teng kor! Teng kor!” (As if those girls would actually take off their panties—mad! I almost told Kelvin, “Hello, you buy them a Coach bag first then maybe can negotiate. If buy Louis Vuitton, then they confirm will suck your pretend big cock.”) Fann, Imo and I just looked at each other—we had nothing to say.

Like this—how can we win?

Just the other day, my mum was lecturing me about life again. These days ah, in my house, people cannot just quietly drink kopi and eat toast. Now, every day, breakfast is my mum’s big lecture time. The topic never changes: my future.

That day, mum had clipped out this Singapore Airlines advertisement from the newspaper. They were doing their annual recruitment, looking for new Singapore girls and stewards. Every year when this advertisement comes out, every year my mum confirm will cut it out. “Huay ah—you see?” she said, pushing the paper to me.

“Aiyoh, please lah. Guniang here so old already—as if they want me!” I said. She should know this better than me—Singapore Airlines, they usually want those twenty-one-, twenty-two-year-old girls. “Old birds like me? Please lah. If I apply, they sure laugh until fall down.”

“You cannot think like that, Ah Huay,” mum said, trying to push the advertisement in front of my face again. “The cutoff now is a bit older. Not like my time, when only young girls can apply. You got chance, why you don’t want? Flying can really change your life you know, Ah Girl—SQ will teach you how to dress, how to put on nice makeup, how to eat properly at those nice restaurants, look pretty, meet the right kind of men. You not young anymore, you know—please lah, why you don’t want to find a good husband? Your ah pa and I won’t be around forever to take care of you, you know.”

This argument ah, she every week also say. I don’t know why she still tries. She knows I listen until tired already. Cannot listen anymore.

Yes, of course I know she always wished she could have joined SQ. Then maybe she could have done something more with her life than be a hairdresser in a sleazy Excelsior Plaza salon where only cheapskate housewives go for those 1980s tight spiro perms. My ah pa is an OK guy lah, but he’s not rich, definitely not handsome, boring job, whole day watch football or go downstairs to the kopitiam to drink Tiger beer and smoke cigarettes type. Of course when you add all those things together, my mum was not happy. This kind of life, my god, if you dare to offer to me I confirm will tell you, “Eh, thank you ah—but balls, lah!”

But my life is actually not bad—I don’t know what my mum complaining about. Be an executive assistant to newspaper editor, you think it’s an easy job? Boss is always grumpy, I sometimes end up staying late because there’s always some news breaking somewhere. And now with texting, I’m somehow always on call—late at night also sometimes get text from the boss to ask me to book a table or buy a present or make an appointment or something. This one is not an anyhow kind of job you know—it’s a real career! Got future! My boss is a big guy, which means I am actually quite important. If my boss someday becomes publisher, then I’ll be the publisher’s assistant. Serious one! Don’t play play.

Yes, I know some of my school friends, all the smart girls, they managed to grow up to be lawyers, accountants and banking types. Even one of them actually became a surgeon—I also don’t know how. When we found out about it, we were all damn stunned. I mean, I didn’t go to the most terrible school in Singapore but even I also know that judging from the kinds of girls who went to my government school, for any of them to become a surgeon is almost as difficult as winning the Toto big prize. (Although if you saw this surgeon girl and the kind of backside face she has, you can tell that she’s quite smart.)

But me, I may not know much but at least I know what I can do—and I know what is just crazy to consider. I know I’m smart enough to be a secretary or executive assistant. But to become a doctor, lawyer or banker? I’m smart enough to know not to dream about it.

Don’t talk about becoming a doctor, I can’t even imagine marrying a doctor. Usually they are not the types of guys that you meet at the clubs and bar. At least not the ones we usually go to. But then again the doctors who come here from America or Australia are usually older, married already, stay-at-home type. I guess it’s a bit weird if you see them at Clarke Quay at 1 A.M., chionging in the SPG clubs. And the doctors who are Singaporean—my god, please, those are the most boring. Sure, if you marry one then your life will be good money-wise, but I tell you, those guys are the ones with the bossiest mothers, who will live with you and interfere with every single thing you try to do with your husband and kids. Give me that kind of life—hallo, I’d rather stay at home with my parents until I drop dead.

This Singapore Airlines issue though, I’ve explained it over and over to my mum until I’m fucking tired. It’s just wasting my saliva to even try telling her again.

But seeing the China girls at Lunar tonight, I started thinking that maybe my mum actually has a point. Maybe joining SQ or some shit like that is better than us trying to run around Singapore and anyhow hit balls. So many girls out there, so many different things to fight. I suddenly felt quite tired. And I also suddenly wished Sher was there at Lunar with us.

If Sher was here, confirm she would find something funny to say. (Also, usually when Sher is around, more guys talk to us, even if there are other chio girls around for them to look at.) I was trying to think where she was tonight. The wedding was a few nights ago—where did she say she was going for her honeymoon? Langkawi? Or Batam? Typical Ah Beng honeymoon. Marrying an ang moh means you get a honeymoon that’s not a cheapo Malaysia or Indonesia trip. Our friend Dolly last year went to Paris for her honeymoon when she married that American guy, OK! He’s not even that rich but he said Paris was very romantic, so honeymoon must go there. By the time Dolly came back, she was pregnant already! Talk about number one win. But if you marry an Ah Beng, aiyoh—they just want to bring you somewhere nearby so you don’t need to fly for so long and there’s cheap local food so they don’t have to pay big money for Western crap. All they want is to garabing garabung—fast fast one so then they can smoke a cigarette, text their friends and play Candy Crush.

What time is it now? One something in the morning? I’m guessing that Sher’s Ah Huat confirm must be snoring away already. If he had anything to drink then he’s probably been sleeping for hours and hours. Whatever lah. Her life; she chose it. As long as Fann, Imo and I don’t end up like that, I heck care what happens to Sher.

Just thinking about Sher made my blood boil all over again. No—no matter how fucked up Lunar and its China girls were, my mother was not right. Sher was not right. There was a better future for me, Fann and Imo out there—there had to be. We just had to push out there and get it. Cannot be scared.

“Eh, girls,” I said, tapping on Fann and Imo’s shoulders and pointing at the Lunar VIP section exit. “Come, let’s siam.” We tried to air-kiss Louis goodbye but he was still staring so hard at the dance show that even Imo couldn’t get his attention. So we just left. Nobody looked even once at us—not even at my chio Seven jeans backside—as we squeezed our way through all the guys to get to the door.

Outside, I was so angry I just started walking. Fann and Imo quietly followed—I didn’t know if they were drunk or just being blur. As long as I could hear their click clack heels behind me I didn’t quite care. Before we went to Lunar, I was thinking OK lah, we go, we try to understand their game, then we can try and figure out how to beat them. But those bloody cheongsam and schoolgirl China girls—they have no standards! Even the ones who were not performing, those just there to flirt and hook husbands and boyfriends, they’re all the same! Unless we are willing to just do anything to hook a guy, we have no chance against them.

“Oi—Jazzy! Don’t walk so fast lah!” I heard Fann shouting behind me. “People’s feet pain, you know. Where you going?”

I actually didn’t know. It was only 1 A.M. — too early for supper and definitely too soon to go home. I was feeling quite sad and had no mood for partying anymore. But then Imo pointed at the queue in front of us. “Eh,” she said, “the bouncer at Attica tonight is Louis’s old friend.” Win Toto lah! This means we wouldn’t need to pay the thirty-dollar cover charge.

“OK,” I said. “Let’s go in and see how.”

The music was damn loud the moment we walked in. At that time in the morning, Attica was just starting to get happening—they have a license to close at six, after all. So 1 A.M. is when people really start showing up. The front part of the club is nice—newer-looking, less grungy, got nice shiny podiums for people to dance and all. But this part is where they play hip-hop lah—so unless you want to meet black guys or those wannabe black guys, you’d better fasterly walk through and go to the second building in the back. I tell you, Singaporean guys who want to act black are the worst—all attitude and they think they’re so cool, but when you get to know them better you find out that they are just as no-balls as all the other Singaporean guys. Some more the ones who are really into trying to be black are usually short short small small one. You just need to see them one time and you know—if you go home with them, their cocks confirm will also be short short small small. Waste time only.

So Fann, Imo and I quickly walked through to the building in the back, where a different crowd hangs. This second building—my god, the first time I went there, I remember I was quite scared. Sher practically had to hold my hand the whole time and push my backside up the carpeted stairs—the stairwell was so dark I couldn’t see where I was going and it was so narrow that there were people pushing and shoving, trying to come down right when we were walking up. Kani nah—fucking annoying! The whole thing was so small, tight and scary I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I almost wanted to go home, but Sher said she had heard the place was very worth it. So, even if I was scared also better keep walking. In the end, once we got to the second floor and got used to the super loud Euro techno music, it was quite a good evening lah. Those really white really skinny ang moh guys always seem to like Euro techno the best. So this club was quite the primo place to hook them. We were with Louis at that time so we had a VIP table and of course, Chivas bottles. We met some cute Scottish guys and Fann ended up going on a few dates with one of them. So overall, it was worth it—even if Fann had absolutely no idea what cock her guy was saying every time he opened his mouth.

Tonight was different though—we didn’t have Sher. And usually she’s the one who starts conversations with guys. Or rather, guys try to start talking to her first. Also, we didn’t have Louis there, so we didn’t have any bottles. So we all knew what had to be done: fasterly find some guys to buy drinks for us. Fortunately, Imo’s dress was looking exactly the kind of chio that these Euro Euro guys like—small black dress, a little bit more sophisticated-looking, sexy sexy one. So the moment we got there, some ang moh guy from the VIP area came down to the bar to ask if we wanted to join his friends.

The rest of the night, I was quite blur. I remember doing tequila shots. Then drinking beer from a jug. Then someone ordered champagne. Then I remember Fann getting quite sick. By that time I was already a bit gone. And I was dancing with this guy whose face I couldn’t really see—it was so dark! But he was tall, no glasses, quite skinny and his accent ah—super British, man. Like those old butlers in those British movies—sexy! — but as far as I could tell, he wasn’t that old.

At that time, Imo started ignoring everyone because she started texting like crazy. Ah, must be 4 A.M. already—Louis was probably looking to leave Lunar. I guess he didn’t find any Chinese backside that he liked.

“Jazzy, ah,” Imo said, tapping me on the shoulder. “I think I’d better make a move first.” I was so high by that point that I just nodded and kept dancing.

“Eh, Jazzy—I’m going to send Fann home with Louis. You leave also lah—we can send you home too.” I could tell she was a bit worried about leaving me alone there. Usually we have Louis or one of his friends around to make sure we’re OK—to either send us to a taxi stand or make sure that if we’re going home with a guy, that the guy is decent. But these people, we’d only just met them a few hours ago. We didn’t know anything about them beyond the fact that they were British and they all worked in Jurong on one of those oil refineries. (Which means they confirm are not rich.)

But aiyoh, guniang over here was finally having good time tonight—why must Imo be so naggy? I just waved and said, “Aiyah, no need lah. I how old already—I don’t need another mum, thank you very much. I’ll be OK.” She still looked a bit worried. So I pointed at the guy behind me rubba-ing his crotch into my backside and touching my stomach with his hands as he danced.

“Please,” I said, giving her two thumbs up in case she couldn’t hear me since the music was so loud. “He’ll take care of me—don’t worry!” So she just said “OK” and started helping Fann off the couch and toward the door.

After they left, I started to panic. The music was so loud my feet were hurting from the “boom boom boom” I could feel from the floor. Each time there was a “boom” the guy behind me was rubba-ing into my backside even more, pushing me forward, until I felt like I was almost going to fall over the railing in front of me. Walao! I wanted to say something to him but then I remembered that I actually don’t remember his name.

Some more I couldn’t even hear what song was playing because all techno songs sound the same. And the laser lights shooting all over the room were starting to make my eyes a bit pain. I looked at the dance floor in front of us and it was jammed with all these ang moh guys and Singaporean girls, all of them rubba-ing and hugging and pushing and touching. Long black hair was flying around; white hairy arms were holding on to backsides and waists all over the floor. Maybe Imo was right. I should have left with them.

“Hey, sweetie,” my ang moh suddenly said in my ear. So I turned around. And the moment I did that he just started kissing me—big, wet slobbery ones. His chubby lips were like suction cups, man. And he kissed me for so long that one of his friends started pointing and cheering, actually spilling beer all over himself because he was jumping up and down. Kani nah—never see people hook up before is it?

The kissing actually wasn’t that shiok. His tongue and my tongue were not quite in sync and some more he was quite the aggressive type—move head, move hands, everything also rubba. I started thinking, now it’s maybe four something? If I leave now, the cab queue is probably still quite short—no need to wait for so long. Maybe can even buy supper on the way home.

But then I thought about how chio I looked tonight. In my Seven jeans, my backside was super power! And my small black tank top was damn sexy. Even so, all those guys at Lunar didn’t even look at me one time once those China girls came out. How can like that? I know Louis had warned me about the situation. But that was total defeat. And Jazzy cannot lose!

No. Even if this guy is a lousy fuck, I must have something to show for tonight.

So I stopped kissing him for a moment. He looked a bit confused, but then I smiled sweetly at him, then looked a bit demure and all, even fluttering my eyelids a little bit. (I tell you, ang mohs—especially drunk ang mohs—really love that geisha shit.)

Then I slowly slowly moved my right hand to the correct position—and squeezed his cock.