Two melons and a carrot.

There's a strange vibrancy within the seedy underbelly of Kuala Lumpur. I remember driving Lezel around Chow Kit one night and we stumbled upon a cavalcade of cross-dressers who had, in her opinion, "the most beautiful breasts ever". (She reckoned that they'd most certainly had some work done on themselves). It was tranny Heaven; the floodgates had opened and unleashed a force so potent upon the world that it called out to a caravan of cars, the passengers eyeing the prizes. I don't know the name of the particular stretch, but they were lined up to be counted.

It wasn't as lucid as Patpong, but it had its own gritty, rundown, ramshackled feel to it. The only thing missing were decayed brownstones and the girlboys lining up on fire escapes.

Don't take it the wrong way when I say this...but it was that good. It wasn't something that you'd see everyday (unless, of course, you saw it everday), and in terms of entertainment value, it was as high as watching a monkey sock a man in the balls with a potato sack full of loose change. I'd recommend stalking around Chow Kit to anyone who truly has nothing better to do at 3 in the morning on a weekend in Kuala Lumpur; just keep your car doors locked.

I'm not sure how people get through adolescence without questioning their sexuality at least once. And there might be some of us who're still in denial over what we really are on the inside. Be it that you're a girl trapped in a boy's body or vice versa, would you submit to the conventions of what would be considered proper, or would you do something about it?

My greatest fear would probably be discovering that my son was homosexual (call it a double standard, but I'd be alright with a lesbian daughter). I've sometimes wondered about what my father would think if I was gay. I've contemplated outing myself as a joke to see his reaction but he's known enough about my own activities to come to the conclusion that my ass is tighter than Fort Knox.

I'm relieved that I've never fallen prey to the need for rough love. But I think that I've bought into the misrepresented campiness of homosexuals to the point where I believe more in the parody than the reality of it all.

At the end of the day, there's nothing to judge; as cliched as it sounds, if your love's reciprocated, you've got half the battle won. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. You've got nothing to worry about.

Except for Jakim.