On The Road

A long trip by road often bring back that one particular memory. Some hours later, after I wrote this, after I woke up from sleep, I'll be on the road heading to Kuching. Nena urged me to go, and not to go at the same time. She is probably confused, but one thing she sure of (she told me this), is that she love me dearly. Yes, I do too.

Ah the memory. I was in the two door-hatchback car with Jeffrey (read earlier post if you don't know who this guy is) and my Mum. I believe we were going to the capital (Bandar Seri Begawan) from Seria in Brunei. As a kid, it was a long ride. It sure feel like one. I slept in the back of the car after counting the lamp post and got dizzy from it.

I can feel the car braking. No, make it like FEEL. I actually fell from the back seat to the floor. It was suddenly noisy. Mum and Jeffrey was arguing. He pulled my Mum's hair and slapped her. Countless of times. I put my hand between them, trying to stop the fight, but I was thrown to the back seat with ease. I was dizzy again.

Jeffrey then got out of the car, surging to the passenger's door, where my Mum is. He opened it, grab my Mum by the arm and and pulled her out. My mum was on the ground, crying. Jeffrey got back in the car, and start driving. By the time the car moved, I cried. I was watching my Mum behind us, chasing the car. Then Jeffrey stopped again.

This time he hold me under my armpit, opened the passenger's door and threw me out. By the time the car moved again, my Mum is with me. Hugging me. I stopped my crying. But my eyes were still following the car moving. Something I need is in the car. Then I saw it got thrown outside. My favourite pillow, with the 3 octopus-like tentacles on either sides, are on the road. I got up and ran for it.

I walk up slowly towards my Mum. She is still crying. Sobbing actually. I know what she is worried of. How do we go from there. I know she doesn't have the money for cab. I can see the beach from the road. Surely it's not that far from home, in Seria.

I don't speak. I just hold her hands and start walking, my pillow on my other hand. I think I got a blister on my left feet, but I don't show it. Mum stopped, and that moment I knew what she was going to do. She carried me on her back. At least I was light enough. After some distance, "Mum, put me down."

I knew she was tired. I don't want to become a burden to her. So we walked again. No car stopping to give us a ride. I understand. We probably looked like some dangerous pair, swindler or con artist. Then I see some familiar landmark. The cemetery. Not far from the house we lived in. My energy came back. I'm holding my Mum's hand tighter, knowing we can make this.

Home. With no Jeffrey around, yes, this is home. I took a peek at my feet, and washed it. I laid down on the bed, hugging my pillow. My Mum followed soon after. It was still a hot afternoon, and we slept till the next sunrise. I was probably 5 years old.

I love my pillow

Sometimes I woke up in the middle of the night and there are still no one sleeping with me. My girlfriend said she want me to be there for her when she sleep, like every night. But of course I cannot do that.Well then I remember something about waking up in the middle of the night.

I have been sleeping alone since I move in to be taken care by my aunt, who is my Dad's eldest sister. It is not a big room, and my clothes are not actually that much. The cupboard for my clothes is actually too large, so I keep my books in there too. A single bed, my empty travel bag below the bed and nothing more. And of course a standing fan. The room is facing the veranda, as many Melanau's traditional house has a veranda and my room have 3 windows facing it.

I remember this one night I woke up, it was around 2 a.m. I was hugging my favourite small pillow, it is smelly with my body odour, but I love it because my Mum made it for me. It was total silence that night. The occasional sound of frogs and crickets break the silence, like a melody. I'm not sure what made me woke up.

I was probably dreaming, but I could not remember my dream. Then I thought about the last time I slept with my Mum. It was school holiday, some months ago. There will be a time when I no longer can sleep with her like that. And each time I went back to Mukah, I am growing older.

I opened the front door, went outside to the veranda, sitting on the wooden floor, looking at the big moon. Bright, because there is no light pollution in Mukah. I was thinking about counting my days until the school holiday, when I will go back to Brunei, to meet with my parents. But then I decide not to. Better for me to have less thing to think about. I let go a heavy sigh and walk back to my room.

I miss my Mum. Or perhaps hugging her. Or someone to hug me. But I am hugging my favourite smelly pillow. Well, better than nothing. I was 8 years old.

This is my therapy

It seems like my writings (lately) is giving my girlfriend a good picture of my childhood. Sorry babe, I didn't meant to make you cry reading these. But she requested to hear (read) more. I couldn't talk to her face to face about my childhood. My mouth just seem to zipped up by themselves, a protection mechanism of the body to protect feelings of me and others. But here I go again.

Sometimes, just sometimes, I sleep with my Mum. She would pull my small hand to hug her, putting her other hand on my shoulder. It was heavy, but it gave me the sense of security. I love the warmth of her body.

She is always tired. You could hear her heavy breathing, all the system in her body trying to suck more oxygen to replenish the lost energy. She always sleep earlier than I do. So her hands and mine are stuck like that. I could move my hands away of course, but I did not. I don't even move my body no matter how much discomfort it cause me. The reason?

I don't want to wake her up. And I want the feeling of her breathing on my skin to continue. I watched as her fingers or toes twitch in the middle of the night. Her body slight move when she sleeps made me calm. Put it simply, I don't want her to die while I'm watching.

I have done some thinking about that. If she is gone at that time, I will walk to my Aunt's house, my Mum's sister. It could be 10-20 km, but a slow walk would do it. Even if I went blank, someone would definitely save me. I'm just a kid, who wouldn't save a kid?

I still remember watching the clock (Mum taught me how to read the clock) and it was 2 a.m. I haven't slept yet. Her body doesn't move. Her face were facing opposite mine, so I couldn't feel her breathing. I don't want to touch her yet. I raise slowly, and put my finger in front of her nostrils. A rush of warm breath came through. I was relieved.

I must be dreaming after that. Or I just felt asleep. I woke up early, looking for Mum but she is nowhere to be found. A bottle of Milo is on the kitchen table. Surely she went to work. I'm alone in the small space I call home. I was 5 years old. Please read this in past tense where necessary. For example, I no longer have a girlfriend so you can discard that. Chingchongchingchong.

How I met my father (back)

To fill in the missing gap in my previous post, I'll tell you this. The story of how I met my father after some years separated from him.

It was a picnic. In the jungle near the river. Lumut, Brunei. There was me, Mum, Jeffrey, my Aunt(who just lost her husband, read previous posts), her daughter, and some of their friends, probably drinking buddies. Well, more like a BBQ. They brought marinated chicken wings, pork(the meat which I never like, it makes me puke I believed, and so my Mum never fed me pork again) , fishes, and some fried rice or such. Beers and alcoholic drinks are aplenty.

I just watched them. I was lying down, with a gas lighter in my hand. I like how it sounds so I put it in my ear. Suddenly it feels funny. When I got up, I lost my balance. I fell and I cried. Mum blow my left ears and it all becomes better. I got hold of myself moments later. I never cried for a long time. I don't want to annoy people, especially Jeffrey. I am holding down my tears as a kid.

I walked to this girl, I think she is younger than me. I just sat there, saying nothing. I don't know how to speak to people other than my Mum and the teacher. In a flash, she held my hand, and drag me running with her. For a moment it was a rush of adrenaline. Then we realized we are lost. I called for Mum but no answer. The girl started to cry. I held her in my arms and wait. Surely those adults would not leave us here in this jungle.

It was almost night. Lumut is quite near to the ocean, so we can see the red sky. Some of those guys found us. She cried, I didn't. Then when we arrived at the BBQ base, my Mum ran at me and hold me tightly. A voice yelled not long after. "Take care of your son b****!". It was Jeffrey. He hold a 2 X 2 plywood in his hand. I don't see the swing, but I heard it hitting my Mum's hand. She was protecting me. She broke her third finger metacarpal and fractured others in that hand. Jeffrey was drunk....and violent. The other guys hold him down, but still he rages. My aunt brought my Mum and me to the roadside.

A stranger's car stopped. We went to the hospital. All the way to the hospital, my Mum cried, but all I can do is hugging her. Then I fell asleep. When I woke up, I smelled a familiar scent. Smell of concrete. And a man standing in front of me. I was still holding my aunt's hand. Then he opened his arm, an invitation for me to come with him. Like hypnotized, I walked towards him. And he hugged me, carrying me in his arm. But I don't speak a word to him. Neither did he.

Before he went to work the next morning, he asked me, in English "Stay here or with people?". What he meant was do I want to stay at home alone or be in the care of the neighbour in front of the house. I stayed alone, watching tv. There was a doodle I did on the wall. The first time I hold a pencil in my hand. I remember the home. I miss it. And I miss Dad too.

Some days later, we went to the hospital. Mum looks sad, and shy. My aunt carried me to the cafeteria, leaving my Mum and Dad alone. Adults matter. I was probably 7 years old.

Later.

I'm trying to remember

As a kid, I was, frankly speaking...lonely. At least that was the way I remembered it. I have two elder brothers, the closest age gap is 5 years. And even then, I hardly recall memories with them as a child. The only memory I got with them was when I learned to take my first step. I walked some step into one of my brother's arm(yes, this memory is blurred) some feet away and fell halfway. That particular brother laughed and the other pick me up. And that's it. No more memory until I met them back some years later in Mukah.

It seems that somehow during that period, both of my brothers were sent back to my father's hometown Mukah for schooling. I don't know what happen next but the next thing I remember was I am living with my Mum. Dad was nowhere to be found. Heck, I don't even remember how he looks. I was probably 3 or 4 years old, so the memories about him were probably suppressed. Met him back some months before I was sent to Mukah for schooling. Will get to that in another post.

Mum took care of me like how a mother should. But there is always this guy with her. Not my Dad. I just knew. Let's call him Jeffrey. And he is a drunkard. You can always see his bloodshot eyes. And that also makes him a violent person. Let me tell you this one thing, I definitely remembered how he pick me up by the collar, and threw me to the wall. I didn't cry on the spot, but started sobbing when Mum came to console me. Adults life, I was trying to understand them at that time.

Mum worked as a maid for the foreigners. Her English was not bad, and she does house chores diligently. Some of these foreigners had children, some about the same age as me. So they became my friend. For a while of course. Foreigners move when their job is done. So I don't get too close with them. Mum always get a job as a maid for foreigners quickly. Perhaps recommendation from former employer. When Mum went to worked, I stayed alone at home. I was 4 or 5 years old.

I became an observer. I try not to meddle into people's business. My friends are made up. Some small, little, useless toys other kids have became my precious treasure. I talked to my toys, a lot. I don't make real friends in school. I make enemies. They hate me because I condone bullies, and the fact that I'm protecting those who were bullied, makes them hates me more. Those who were bullied, afraid to be associated with me. Those who talked to me, usually asked for helps in their exercise. I duly helped. I was the top student in my class, so no big deal(at least to my Mum). I still stayed alone at home when Mum went to work. I eat alone in the cafeteria. I was 6 or 7 years old.

When my Mum is home, and no Jeffrey around, we played cards. Yes, she taught me how to play cards. I recall this one question I asked my Mum. "The bad guy (Jeffrey) is not coming home tonight right?" And she smiled. Temporary peace, based from the fake smile she produced. At least I get to sleep in her warm hug. I usually sleep alone. It's always like that.

Later.

Erm, what old story? (Now I remember)

It was after school. Year 1992. I was just released from the principal's office after I got into a fight with some Filipino kids who were bullying another Filipino kid. His name was Thomas. With a small, frail figure and buck-teeth, I can see why they like to bully him.

We all speak in English in the class, I'm the only Melanau-Iban. The other are either Filipinos, Thais, Bruneians, Europeans or Australians. Some are of mixed parentage, just like me. What happened on that day is fuzzy. All I know was some kids were screaming for me to stop and then I realised I got bloods(and hair) on my hands. Not mine. They belong to the kids who bullied Thomas. I was called into the principal's office (yes they call him principal, not the headmaster) and stayed there until the bell rang. No punishment. The principal knew I was not at fault, even though it was not my first time getting involved in a fight.

Some guy picked me up from school. My mum's boyfriend. In the car, he told me that my uncle just passed away that afternoon. I smiled. Then I asked how did he died. He told me he died in the toilet.

Why did I smiled? Simple. I don't like him. He was a bully. My aunt(my mum's sister) and my cousin were constantly abused on daily basis. And sometimes that includes me, when my mum left me in their care. I wanted to fight back, every single time, but he is not some Filipino kid. He was a soldier for the Brunei Army.

Thinking back about it, I'm glad I am the cool, level-headed person I am now. I think of consequences. I was a bully. Now I'm not. No one is strong forever. Al-Fatihah to my late uncle(he is Muslim).

Erm, what old story?

I remembered this one time.....

By this time, I abandoned my writing to make myself a (not so) nice Iced Milo which is far from the taste that Nena made. It was just for a few minutes. Then 'It' happened.

I forgot. I forgot what I wanted to post here. Is it dementia? Or alzheimer? It is not that uncommon as new study indicates that some young adults and even kids already begins to suffer from alzheimer....Nah! Maybe what I wanted to post was not that important.

I'll get myself a brain diet. Fishes' eyes. Berries. Milo. Sweet lollipop. Mee goreng without bean sprout. Salted Fish Fried Rice. Grilled Triple Beef Burger. Some good pictures of girls.

Later.

Looking for old friends from St Patrick Primary School

Hi. My name was Michael Clair Bin Miris. Now it is Muhammad Mikhail Clair Bin Miris. People call me Mike, still (unless you're my lover). I am looking for my friends from the same batch. The school is SRB St. Patrick. I went there for approximately 5 years (spent the first year in Brunei). That was from the year 1992 to 1997.

If you remember the first year, I was the kid who were left in the class by my parents crying( I'm the one who cried, they didn't). The last word I heard from them (but not directed to me, it was for the teacher) is " Nebei taaw telabau Melanau atau Melayu siyen itew. English un taaw." which means this kid doesn't speak Melanau or Malay language, he just speak English.

Then there was a girl named Aaqma(they call her Emma) who came to me and speak to me, in English. I was still sobbing when she hugged me. My first hug from a girl. It feels consoling, for a moment. Then I freaked out. She transferred school some years later, met her again in the same class when I was at Miri Science School and the she transferred again. Oh well, the first 3 months was absolute silence from me, except if they speak English to me. Imagine what I did in Malay Language class. Fill in the blanks question.

N _ _ g k _ and there was a picture of jackfruit there. I just cancelled all the question and wrote jackfruit. First sign of creativity shown.

Then I remember Jimmy Lanie. He was my best friend up until he transfered school in Primary 5. Do lots of things together. Shooting, cycling, chasing girls and we compete too. Last I heard of him was that he became a Mat Rempit of some sort. Guess all that cycling pays (for money, booze, drugs and sex in the later days). Nah I'm kidding! There was someone else in our clique(which includes Ken) but I couldn't remember. I always give up when it comes to girls at that time. I also remember Ken, Edwin, Simon, Azlan, Khairuddin, Ateng, Jaafar and Hafiz which later becomes my best friend after Jimmy transferred. Some guys I just barely remember your faces.

The girls I remembered Farah Hijanah (my right hand, I'm the Head Prefect), Norliza, Fiona, Laura, Watie, Melissa, Rachael, Dewi, Philomena(never got her name right), Hjh Emma, Farah Wahida, some Dayang in the class with the hot sister, Noor Fairuz and some other.

The school band. We were sponsored by Mobil. Seriously. Look at the cap.

Now, I'm just hoping for the miracle of the Internet and networking to find you guys. Not that I miss you guys like crazy, but these are the crowds that shaped me the way I am now. So would you please, look for me in facebook by using my current name. I just don't want to lose contact. My years in Mukah is somehow 60% about you guys. Yes that much. (0.2 % is about my parents, haha!)

If I left your names out, it doesn't mean that I forgot about you(it's a lie, I do forget). Thank you. My writing sucks. Don't mention it.

Later

As you noticed(or not), I just changed the templates for my blog. Will get to the details later, when I wakes up and in the mood for it...Oh what the heck! Like anyone cares.

It all works out(NOT)

I am astounded to see my own blog. No spiderwebs, no small dead creatures, heck! Not even a speck of dust! But it is the virtual world after all. And I have to thank this world. So here it goes my dear.

I'm pretty sure what I got for you was just an infatuation. It will go eventually, this is temporary, you always had this feeling and such are just some of the reassurance I gave to myself since I laid my eyes on you. How wrong I was...well I am naive to some extent. Like I always said, people think I'm a genius but in these sort of things I'm pathetic.

Little things remind me of you. I ate some yogurt and it reminds me of you. The smell of milo reminds me of you. Commercials on tv makes me think of you. Even every time I brush my teeth I see you (in my imagination of course).

This has been going on for too long. I am not used to this. I'm not even supposed to believe in this thing called 'love'. But you know what dear? I want this feeling to last forever. NF I love you.The End of mushymushy posting. I won't do it again. I'm shy. I'm doing it just for you. So lets continue being daring my love, you and me both. Muamua~ Chingchongchingchong nothing last forever, even our death. And the fact that I'm lied to(I asked you for an honest answer!) ...ah well, I deserve the lie one way or another. Should have stick to my principle, don't trust people completely, no matter how much you love them. Now you are freaking heart broken, how to mend? The end.

Manchester United; youth, talent, experience and luck.

King Eric seems like imagining something. Oh, why imagine when you can do it. Yes, Manchester can do it. They can win every trophy, provided they want to. Maybe it is because of the youth that the team has. Evans, Anderson, Rafael, Nani, Gibson, Welbeck, just part of those who have shown their qualities. These young blood are those who can play all day long, with enthusiasm to match.

Talent is abundant in the squad. If this is a Winning Eleven or FIFA game, the team would have a great stats. By talent, I wasn't only referring to the youth, but also the oldies in the squad. Neville, Giggsy, Scholesy and Edwin. Lucky kids they have people who are great to teach them.

Experience. Sir Alex has told us over and over again he is building a team that is capable to dominate for a long time, be it domestic or Europe or world. So I guess all the experience he has gather is combined to make a team that is worthy of a mention in the hall of fame.

Today, Albert Riera, the Scouser, told that Man Utd are luckier than Liverpool. Reason? We scores late goals. Wait a second....I thought it was Liverpool that are luckier? You scored in the final ten minutes and scrape a win for most of the matches in the first half of the season. And that includes the win against us. Probably the worst match I have ever seen. Please let that be the last. And excuse me Senor Riera, we, Man Utd, actually play that way(hold on, wait, score and give no chance for them to claw back).

I guess this season will be a great season. If it is football, I am a Mancunian. The End.

W, my first love.

I love writing. My first real love. It was not video games, or television, or porn, or Manchester United. It was writing. So I'm sorry that I abandon you. Sorry to think you could be left out of my life and I would not even have the slightest thought of you. When I was little, reading books meant for adults, I got the vision, or rather a dream, that this is what I'll do for life. People look at me like I'm some kind of freak, reading Malay and English classic literature. It would seem alright if I look like in my 20's, but I was barely 8. So now, I'll write, regardless of what people thought of my writing. Hello again my love.

Warm Liking Song lyric

They sounds like Arctic Monkeys, but they sure not. They are a local band, from Alor Star, Kedah. I like them. The Bourjuis. I found them on Nokia Independent Artists Club on Friendster. Then I search for their Myspace page as usual http://www.myspace.com/bourjuisband. Great! I had a Myspace page before but since there are too much attention, most unwanted, I probably deleted it, or was it only abandoned? I can't really remember. By the way, the song title is Warm Liking Song, the first song on my playlist(well, not anymore. But still in the playlist nonetheless), and here are the lyrics. Which I could not sing with. Could you?

Warm-Liking Song

It's hard to fall in love, I mean it's easy to love somebody but the cover,
when this occur, it's pretty damn hard it's happen together and hardly to
get in side her heart, to get her perfect loyalty as she really wants me
this maybe could be, as if we're kissing we'll know what type person are

But I believe that the first love sight so totally amazing
It's only God's work, we can accept it or we can just let it go
and I believe when she said just me in her heart, but one day
I found there's another man with her

It goes for several times I got to rewind scene,
on how when I met her last year
I feel something on my shoulder and it's really heavy to carry on
and I keep wondering out how I want to beat him, cuz I want
her back to me
Yeah, I want to beat him but there my best mates they told me

Now go up, look up to the sky, there are bugs fly,
there are more butterfly in this whole world
Just love it when you're in the blues

Well this is love

No, you need help.

Oh big city funny laa

Cooler Master(a brand of cooling devices for computer) have 'supper silence'. No chat huh?

I don't believe in coincidence. Just like I don't believe in true love, or the existance of healthy relationship amongst human or everyone is born with the same capabilities. No, still don't believe it. Like i don't believe that a big city such as kuching still does mistakes in their language or how big companies still don't know how to spell 'super'.

Or how they messed up their language just to tell people not to steal. Which is as realistic as it gets. You really 'won'. Police call your parents come visit you....what if the shoplifter is 50 or 60 years old? Stupid. Want to know what happens if there are too many shoplifter in one time?

Instead of a 'free ride' in police car, you get free ride in police truck. Like this kids. Bad kids. Don't follow them. They are bad influence. Like me in school. Daa~

Mike's Kuching road trip(or is it?)

The journey from Miri to Kuching took 10 - 13 hours, depending on the courage and navigation skills of your driver.

Went to Kuching last Sunday. Missed most of Manchester United match against Southampton. Don't even know why I went to Kuching. Yes I never been really to Kuching except for Damai(for the Young Entrepreneur Convention). Hmmm...maybe I could check out the statement that Kuching's girls are hotter than any other girls in Sarawak. Yes..I think I'll do that.

The journey also depends to how hungry you are, where you are having your lunch and again, your navigational skill.

Remember how I wrote about the navigation skill? This is why. Stuck(got lost, in other word) in Sarikei...or was it Sri Aman?

But we found this good Digital Copy services that provides laminate, fax and ......you figure out what. We asked for direction.Well, at least the journey was on a Kelisa, not a moped like this. For information, I went with Hafiz and Sivaji. Slept for 30 minutes. Daa~

I hate that place...Qi sucker!

I never thought I would have my energy or qi sucked out from visiting a place. Just a tiny thought of it makes my head spin and my knees numb. The place? No, its not a fish market, nor it is a non-halal restaurant. It was E-Mart. Hafiz made me go to that place. And he also persuaded his mom(well, more like forced. the exact word is " at least sekali jak mak".)

You see, even my usual chrystal clear picture is blurred from lacked of energy.

The moment you stepped in the complex(or from here I would refer to it as Energy Sucking Pit - ESP), you would start to hear the 'feng tau' songs. The chatter of people who amazingly have the energy to even chat. Families with children who does not care the effect of the place to their child's growths. And LOTS of people PRETENDING like nothing is going on! For God sake, I was having a panic attack, increased heart beat, nausea and weak knees!(and so does Hafiz's mom).

Ahh, this is the real E-Mart. Couldn't took pictures outside of this mart because of the energy sucking effect.

Ok, maybe I was being mean in the description. The ESP is more like the Klang or Selayang morning market mixed with Sungei Wang pre-year 2000. Yes...hard to imagine. And its not even a real building. Just a big roof placing everything under it, like a mom taking care of children from various dad. I hate the place. No equivalent to it. Not cemetery(which I love), not shopping complex(which only gives me panic attack for the first 2 minutes), not government offices(oooh~do they have to look like their job is the worst job in the world?) or even the hospital(hey, I practically lived there, know my ways around a hospital since I can walk).

But at least nothing was bought there. But then we went to Kenyalang/Ng Sian Hap/Pasu, and bought something for our long drive to Kuching tomorrow. I played with the trolley, as usual. No, the cat food is not for us. I don't eat cat food, even if I'm super hungry, or when I'm imagining I'm a cat. I would eat fish. Thank you, and I hate E-Mart.

Shopping, the Hate and Love relationship

The brand is Mi Rou. The other is Issey. And Miss Top. Nice name(no, honestly).

Shopping. Hate it. I mean when it is me doing the shopping. You see, I have a small body frame. And for a male in a fashion world where the male model are broad chested and have weight more than 60 kgs( I'll stop here before I sound more gay), I just lose out to have my pick. So there you go ladies, lucky you to have something that actually fits you.

What does this meant? Guys don't have this fashion thing.

As for me, its either Topman, Giordano, Mooks, Polo, Burberry, Seed, Nike, Local Indie Design, Super-Shrinked-Bundled-Shirt or the Tourist- Souvenir - TShirt. All either sized at S, XS, XXS, or kids size 14 or XL. Makes me jealous everytime its shopping time with the ladies. Not to mention the varieties of fashion, geez, now I know why God gave you ladies those 9 months of pregnancy. Its to compensate all the fun you had/will have during shopping. Hurmmm....guess

I just have to continue wearing my old shirt until I got a chance to shop at thsoe boutique again. Anyway, I love accompanying ladies to go shopping. Where else you can say "you look fat in that" and steal some glance to the cute girl trying on the sweater?(no, haven't happened to me).

My Topman hoodies. Size XS. I asked for S but didn't fit right. The salesman 'smiled'. Fuck him.

So please ladies, you can bring me shop with you. I'll give you my honest opinion and maybe I'm not around much(probably sitting somewhere or took a nap in the fitting room), but I will be at utmost help( and jealous with the cheap prices of stylish womens clothes).