Wednesday, November 29, 2006

One Reason Why I Do Not Want to Leave Perugia

Crooning on my STEREO:
Sei Parte Di Me by ZERO ASSOLUTO

It's quite funny that when you are close to a crisis, God suddenly picks you up with a beautiful blessing that will make you think twice about throwing your life off the hill. This time last week, I was suffering from a chronic eating disorder that has been wrecking me every now and then, especially when I am down.

Very down.

I was down because I had PMS. I was down because I was told that I was fat. I was down because apart from all that alcohol, there wasn't really much to do. I was down because the weather was downright wintry. I was down because a group of trusted friends in Perugia turned their backs on me.

But such is life. Shit happens. When you tell yourself and everyone that everything is wonderful, it is actually not quite the case.

I know, it was the PMS getting to me. But it was also the time of the month when all that bottled-up insecurities start eating you.

My self esteem hit rock bottom. I was compared to the skinny, tiny girls of my race. I was surrounded by the blonde, leggy girls of the other race. And here I was; stubby, short and fat.

I've always been that way. I was blessed enough to be brought up with luxurious food. I was never hungry.

In my massive extended family of 30+ cousins, I am the least attractive of them all. Trust me, this is a family where skin and bones is considered beautiful and successful. I am obviously the loser of that race.

But you know, I have my immediate family who will never disown me no matter how fat and ugly I become. I have such wonderful girlfriends who will never laugh at the hideous size of my calves. I am so blessed in that way.

As you can tell, I am very insecure about my looks. I cannot help it. Blame it on the circumstances I trap myself in, in all my failed auditions to win an acting job as well as the men who have abused me.

Yes. I am confronting my past. It pains me to do so, but i know the day will come when i have to write about this.

I have only dated two men in my life. These are the rare times when I actually gave my heart to another living soul with such great expectations like a lovelorn puppy. In the end, I got nothing back from the two.

First one dumped me because I refused to spend the night with him. And commented that I wasn't fit.
Second one dumped me because he was getting popular with the M'sian crowd, and had two other anorexic girlfriends at the same time.

Both refused to hold my hand in public. And if the contact times are calculated properly, both relationships lasted less than a week.

Of course I was devastated. As both men were commercially attractive, I blame it upon myself on the fact that I was simply ugly. I poisoned my mind with so much of self hate that I found it almost impossible to fall in love. In a way to redeem myself, I diverted all that hopelessness in lusting over Sebastien from Il Divo. As well as binge-eating.

I told some close friends that I was taking a break in Perugia to escape and reevaluate. I did not come here to look for love. Of course, people expected me to come here to get laid by Totti lookalikes.

2 months have passed and the idea of picking up strangers just didn't seem lucrative to me. So I stuck to getting drunk and dancing to Bob Sinclair.

A man walked into my life 7 days ago, and has stayed eversince. For me, this is amazing. Simply because for the last seven days we have been inseparable.

Burdened by my insecurities, I expected him to leave me after 2 days but he didn't.

He came to me when I was ill, laid down beside me and made sure that I was okay. He covered me with a warm duvet when he realised that the temperature will be dropping to 0 degrees that night. He told me jokes so that I would look at him and smile.

Even if it meant a 30min walk in the cold across Perugia, he will still come and see me everyday. He isn't ashamed to introduce me to his friends, though he knows the whole of this little town. In the club, he will look out for me, and if a man ever harasses me while I am having fun, he'd claim me as his girlfriend.

He treats my friends with equal respect.

He walks me home to the door, come rain or shine. He cooks for me in his home, and made sure I was never hungry. He will fill the refrigerator with the food and we can both get drunk on champagne.
And the most beautiful thing he has ever said to me was,

'Lyn, please eat.'

It made me cry. This is because an ex-boyfriend actually starved me because he thought I was fat.

I feel loved. I have never felt this way before. Even if he leaves me tomorrow, I will be forever grateful for the last seven days.

As my buddy Jenn tells me,


I think I am.

Monday, November 27, 2006

Juice and Spoleto

Crooning on my STEREO: Malo by BEBE

This morning my dearest Boh-Sia Girlfriend sent me a picture that appeared in this month's Juice magazine.

Who would have thought that this girl had a gallon of Long Island waiting to pour out of her digestives. (Thanks, Slut and Trish... for handling me plastic bags in the car). Besides, when the heck was this picture taken? I vaguely recall cam-whoring at the Velvet Member's Party. And what's with that ultra-lame diva pose?

Again, I thank the Lord that they didn't publish names.

If you're interested, the lovely boy is Casey, otherwise known as my friend-stealer. He's really cool so you can date him if you wish.

I can't stop jeering at my distorted arms. I look like a drunk maniac. The papparazzi is EVIL. This has to be the worst commercial picture of myself in living memory. (okay, second to my bikini/ cheesy 'love your body' feature in London's New Woman magazine last year or the very ugly Eversoft informercial on telly this year... the list is growing.)

Why can't they publish better photos such as this:

I will have to do some damage control in January 2007.

Okay, back to ITALIA.

Last weekend I journeyed to the sleepy medieval town of SPOLETO. There isn't much to brag about, except for this centuries old aqueduct which is known to be ideal place to take your (or somebody else's) life.

It's pretty grand and eerie. And it's apparently cool to push somebody off the bridge here. I have a long list of names for that sole purpose.

Oh, my scholarship money came out. I am all happy and rich now. As long as I have the decency to keep an eye on expenses, I no longer have to down cheap vodka and sleep on the streets for the following month.

Guess what? When it comes to manhunt, I am no longer in the market for Perugia.

That riddle will be explained in the next post.


Wednesday, November 22, 2006

PERUGIA-10 Random Facts

Crooning on my STEREO: Walking Away by THE EGG

Lord knows how swiftly time flies. 5 weeks left till the end of my Italian stint.

I can't, quite, digest that either. To my secondary despair my camera broke.


Thats okay. Memories and experiences are eternal. I am never obliged to share them with you anyway.

Apart from the very useful Italian foul words.
Oh, and 10 random facts about this bizzarre city.

1) This is the TOWN CENTER. Small, I know. You see the stairs behind the fountain? I used to do my Italian homework there when I first arrived until it got dreadfully cold. Plus, my yellow skin was also attracting lots of unnecessary attention from asianphiles.

Everyday after midnight, 100s of student-drunkards (including me) will pile themselves on the steps chanting mangled Italian and throwing plastic cups at each other. (glass bottles are prohibited after 10pm for obvious reasons)

2) By law, smoking is not allowed in all pubs and nightclubs in Italy. Of course, you do get the occasional idiot who lights up and causes an inferno.

3) Crime Rate in Perugia is almost nil. But that doesn't mean you can leave your flat with its doors open.

4) Somewhere along every 100m of the city's pedestrian paths, you are bound to have nearly missed a mountain of dog poo.

5) RnB is not big here. HOUSE is BIG. I think its due to the lack of English lyrics in the latter.

6) You can never catch any non-Italian matches live. Be it champs league or coconut cup. You can search till the world's end and the pub owners would never have heard of AR-SE-NAL.

7) 2/3 of the student population does marijuana. So don't bother calling the police. Thank You.

8) 60% of the student population are below 21. Depravation has forced me to lie about my age on several occasions.

9) A full length CD (yes, they do have half-length samplers with incomplete songs) costs 20 Euros.


Saturday, November 18, 2006

La Settimana Discoteca

Crooning on my STEREO: My Love by JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE


I've been capitalising on my teacher's absence. Yeah, I know I shouldn't. I am a worthy scholar. I should recite my Italian verb tables 5 hours everyday. Y'know, I am working so hard on doctorate level sentences such as, 'Hi. My name is Lyn. I am from Malaysia. I am 23. I am here to learn Italian. I love pasta...'


Lessons don't do anything for me. Truth is, I pick up the most useful Italian phrases from pagan hangouts such as the DISCOTECA. Its all thanks to you, Mr Disco Ball, for tempting me. Well, you make me get up and dance. And be merry. And be drunk. Despite all the U-20 boys who constantly surround (haunt) me eversince I stepped foot onto this country, you are the reason why I married Bob Sinclar in an impromptu ceremony.

Look at the pile of first year undergrads in this party. Why do they all flood Perugia? Surely they are all below 21 and should be arrested for some sort of under-age alcohol consumption and juvenile boh-sia. No point telling the polizia. I should have the Mafia lock them all up instead.

Or why don't YOU collapse onto them?

Somewhere along the lines of Phantom Of The Opera. Y'know, the scene where the Phantom is sawing the chandelier?

Love Generation aside.

Mr Disco Ball, you are also making me FAT. Because I've turned into a nocturnal creature, I have this daily innate craving for wholesome KEBABS. I may proclaim my undying love for mayonaise drenched kebabs, but all that double portion and extra garlic sauce is adding even more inches to my elephant hips. But I wont hold you responsible for all of it, at least having a kebab is the only time I actually eat vegetables.

So it's not all that bad isn't it? A swiss friend once told me that pasta is the best hangover cure. And because I suffer from this sort of migraine almost every afternoon, I am officially the maker of groundbreaking pasta. No more Carbonara. I discovered the Gevonese.

Life's good, I know. And I will be seeing you again tonight.

I can't wait. Dance with me. And Bob Sinclair.

Lyn xxx

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Go South

Crooning on my STEREO:
Rock This Party by BOB SINCLAIR

I've been waking up to non-existent classes and I am collapsing from the lack of sleep. Don't ask me why. I am too lazy to write. Just indulge in the pictures.

We were given 2 miserable hours to run across the entire city of POMPEII.
CAZZO. It's like asking you to circle Hyde Park 8 times in 1 hour. CAZZO!


Can you see the mighty Vesuvius in the background?

Here's something for the bored:

The infamous lava-coated people. Everyone's been asking me about them. Well, they just look like, chocolate manequins.

After doing a 2 hour marathon run across the city of Pompeii, I had to SCALE MOUNT VESUVIUS.


Cazzo. Mount Vesuvius is a frigging huge volcano. We were expected to hike to the crater and down again before sunset. That gives us, let's say, 2 HOURS

My shit photography doesn't do the volcano justice. You have to see it yourself to believe how magnificently HUGE it is. I bullshitted the rest of the troupe to believe that if you throw a stone into the crater, all your wishes will come true.

Within seconds, every gullible person in sight were flinging stones into the crater. This sudden meteoric shower was a great way to wake a dormant volcano.

Damn, I was THAT convincing.

We arrived NAPOLI the next day. The capital of theft and Pasolini-esque characters.

And it was raining. Like hell.

As usual I was under-dressed. Cold. Hungry.


Friday, November 10, 2006

That's Amore

Crooning on my STEREO: Rock Steady by ALL SAINTS

In NAPOLI where love is king
When boy meets girl
Here's what they say....

(Lyn dances around the room with a hairbrush)

When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie
That's amore

(Lyn gets smacked by an oncoming pizza)

When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine
That's amore

(Lyn downs five shots of limoncello)

Bells will ring ting-a-ling-a-ling, ting-a-ling-a-ling
And you'll sing "Vita bella"

(Lyn takes to the streets of Perugia chanting, 'IL DIVO- TI AMEROOOOO!')

Hearts will play tippy-tippy-tay, tippy-tippy-tay
Like a gay tarantella

When the stars make you drool just like a pasta fazool
That's amore

(Lyn pukes out hot liquid)

When you dance down the street with a cloud at your feet
You're in love

(Lyn attempts a quadaxel jump on a cobbled slope)

When you walk in a dream but you know you're not
Dreaming signore

(Lyn crashes back into her room half conscious)

Scuzza me, but you see, back in old Napoli

That's AMORE

(Lyn passes out)

This weekend: I am spending the night in a VOLCANO and I will be dancing all the way to NAPOLI.....

I am falling in love with Italia.

Tuesday, November 07, 2006


Crooning on my STEREO:
Svegliarsi la mattina by ZERO ASSOLUTO

My second trip to MILANO ROCKED. Though not as fabulastic as ROMA but I've achieved my primary target of material satisfaction for this month. The only arduous endeavours were the 6 hour train rides that comprised of sitting next to stinky old geezers, perverted asianphillic Europeans and wailing toddlers who deserved a tight smack on the face. Fux. So much for two nights in Milan.

Speaking of long-haul train rides, I miss the infamous RED ARROW which my family and I took from Moscow to St Petersburg. It's an overnight train ride through the subzero terrains of the Soviet Union, and boy, check out that glee in my face. (below)

In my previous post, I went into a temporary frenzy and complained about the lack of gentlemen I've encountered so far. This morning, given sunshine through my frozen windows, I decided to count my blessings.

The solution to my woes was simple: OPEN MY EYES TO THOSE AROUND ME.

I did a shortlist of gentlemen candidates in my vast directory of random friends in Italia. And hooray. I found TWO.






I shocked myself there as I've expected the good specie to be extinct.
Thus I will decribe the two candidates briefly here and YOU VOTE THE WINNER. (I promise you that I wont stalk them....)



Age: Approx 25-28

Good Points: Makes amazing cafe e latte and unlike most Italianos, this clean shaven dude has NEVER shortchanged me.
Never fails to greet me at 8:30am every morning (Mondays to Wednesdays) with a boyband smile while putting up with my almost daily hangover sulk. Consistantly hands me the BEST CHOCOLATE CROISSANT and predicts that I will (always) order acqua minerale - naturale each time I loiter at the counter. Feels sorry for my inability multitask: to dig out coins from my purse while juggling the croissant on the other hand. Thus he has learnt to carry my food while I rummage for lose change.

Basic manners: SUPERB.

Bad Points: Has never asked for my name. Hence I've not asked for his.


Name: Withheld for privacy. MY FRIENDS' ITALIAN HOUSEMATE.

Age: 25

Good Points: SPEAKS ENGLISH. (thank god!) Lives with the other two Malaysian scholars and I've been hearing fantastic stuff about him EVERYDAY. Apparently makes the best pizza in the world. Chubby, I like. And he knows how to fix the heater. Respects the fact that I LOVE Bob Sinclair.
Helps his homesick housemates whenever possible. And drinks. And clubs. ALOT. Makes wonderful sangrias. Even rescued me from a probable stalker by claiming that I was his girlfriend. PHWOAR. It's so rare for a man to be proud of me.

Basic Manners: Nice.

Bad Points: He seems slightly more smitten with the prettier housemates. Or maybe its because he lives with them. Non Lo So. Or maybe I am fat.



Wednesday, November 01, 2006


Crooning on my STEREO: Starlight by MUSE


nah, kidding. Welcome to the decadent life of bladder poisoning.

Screw the notion that every Italian is a carbon copy of Rudolph Valentino. I'm very sore from the fact that MEN HAVE NOT BOUGHT ME DRINKS SINCE I STEPPED FOOT HERE. Sure, I pay for the rounds and end up skint for the rest of the night. I am so used to having to find my way back on my own after that. Thankfully, I have become such a PRO at it after 8 years of practice.

You men pay for the drinks. and ask for my money back.




Let's get real, you will never meet gentlemen in clubs everywhere around the world. I can testify that.

Unless you are PRETTY. Or HOT. Even the biggest prick will morph into a subservient bellboy.


You have no idea how much I despise your type. It's all because of you that I've got myself into some sort of atkins-gone-wrong weight gain. Yeah, I binge on 3 kebabs a day because I KNOW I will never be a size 0. I drink and dance because I LOVE BOB SINCLAIR. And dont come back to me whingeing that you choose personality over looks.


You guys are just DUMB. Let me tell you something,


I love my wonderful girlfriends. You all know who you are. Here's a abbraccio grande (big hug) from a rarely sunny Kew Gardens.

Back to handing out pub flyers on the street.