Revisiting some of my old blog posts that I wrote about my Stanley and Carl.
The following piece was penned in August 2010:
===
After working nonstop for a stretch of 25 minutes right after breakfast
the other day, I thought I should reward myself with a Facebook break.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the island, someone was already up and
about in the virtual world too. In just one minute, Carl had posted a
grand total of 29 updates on his Facebook page.
A sample of them reads as follows:
I am fat.
No more char-tow-kuay from Ghim Moh for me.
I hate my tummy.
I hate myself for missing gym.
No more supper for me!
No more prata!
No more tummy!
No more!!!
Concerned, I quickly What'sApp-ed Stanley, who replied that a gathering was in order that very night.
"Urgent meeting at Holland V tonight. 7pm. Pontian noodles then coffee club", read his activation message.
Later that night, at 7.30pm sharp, all three of us turned up at the
market, where food and drinks were promptly ordered without so much as
to pause and air kiss one another.
"I have a confession to make," Carl said, after a few seconds of toying with his bowl of noodles.
"Mmmm, it's such a bliss to be finally able to taste food," Stanley interjected in between noisy slurping.
"I've been eating way too much and I haven't been gymming. And, guys, I have a tummy."
"Erm, I think we know that already?" Stanley replied way too quickly,
and was rewarded with a look from Carl that, if he were a puppy, we'd
quickly scoop him up, turn him over, and give him a loving tummy rub.
"No, what I meant was, I think we all knew that at exactly 9.12am, along with the remaining 457 of your Facebook friends.
"Besides, darling, you look fine just the way you are," consoled Stanley. "Hey, Carl, you still want that wanton?"
The meal went on grimly for the next few minutes before Stanley broke the silence again.
"You know," Stanley said, pausing for air from vengeful munching of his
food, "one of the best things of my recent sickness is, when I wake up
in the morning, there's just so much of dried booger for me to dig. It's
immensely liberating. Let me see if I can find them... See?"
Both Carl and I set down our chopsticks at once.
"Anyway, I'm sure you'll be able to lose whatever imaginary fats you have lah Carl," Stanley said.
At the rate Stanley's going with his booger, I'll be damn surprised if he doesn't.
Unfazed by Stanley's string of comforting cliches, Carl looked us in the
eye, then said morbidly, "my fats are not imagination".
There and then, amid some 130 hungry diners at Holland V market, Carl
lifted up his bright orange tee and showed us his offending body part.
"See?!" he said to us, pinching his wobbly tummy in position, jiggling
it with such negative vibes that any stray cat, dog or rat within a
five-metre radius of Carl would swiftly scramble away.
"Carl, please, we're eating!" Stanley pleaded.
That night, after Stanley dropped off a very wounded (but newly rounded)
Carl, I turned to Stanley and asked if he remembers episode Force
Feeding.
Years ago, Carl the beefcake was Carl the cupcake. Petite and very
skinny, our then 19-year-old friend often felt very inferior.
Nobody likes a pack of bones, he used to say.
Then one day, at the now-defunct Burger King in Holland V, Carl announced to us that he had found the answer to his predicament.
But first, I read that "force feeding" is an essential step for skinnies
to take before they start gymming, so that the body has something to
beef up, he went on with the enthusiasm of an insurance salesman.
And before we knew it, Carl put his jaw muscles to good use as he began
chomping on his burger forcefully, mouthful after mouthful without
stopping to chew properly, as Stanley and I stared at him, jaw dropped.
"I wonder how he got that fat," Stanley said without
emotion, as he drove. "That reminds me, I think I'll stop eating beef
burgers for the next few days."
As I showered later that night, I looked down at my own body. Sure, I
don't look like I just stepped out of the pages of GQ, and yes, there
are imperfections. I need a bit of nipping and tucking here, a bit of
lipo there, and I can do with some botox. But the thing is, hey, I love
my body. Well, at least I don't hate it.
But these days, thanks to porn sites, we gay men are doing what fashion
magazine models are doing to anorexic teenage girls. We're force-feeding
and gymming just so we can look like one of the desired body categories
predetermined by porn websites: Beefcakes lah, athletic jocks lah, lean
fit lah, swim bod lah. And so on, and so forth.
Which makes me wonder, why is it that we can't set our own
standards when it comes to beauty? Why do we have to subscribe to the
notion of beauty set by society -- and in this particular case, porn
websites, of all things?
To be honest, we have, on more than one occasion, tried to do something to ourselves in order to look good.
That umpteenth crunch for muscle definition, late night running for the
lean, mean, sexy machine look, or abstinence from carbs (Stanley, if
you're reading this, please stop offering me portions of your rice).
But at the end of the day, trends change. What if, someday, after all
the carb abstinence, and all that religious gymming, society decides
that, hmmm, fat is the new sexy? What are we to do with all those
muslces?!
If we're running for the sake of health, or gymming to strengthen our
core muscles for agility, fine. But overdoing something -- and for
the wrong reason at that -- isn't fantastic.
We have seen with our own eyes how Carl functions in gyms.
As if possessed by the Incredible Hulk himself, Carl huffs and puffs,
each set more intensive than the last, before finally turning green --
from all the exertion.
Yes, it's worth it because results reflect on his body -- as long as he maintains that figure. But to what end?
Just because Carl let loose for a few months, and ate a wee bit more than usual, our dense friend is now also very tense.
So there and then, I came to a karmic conclusion: That we should not
seek acceptance first and foremost, from friends, family, or other
eye-roving gay men.
As a friend once told me, we have to learn to love ourselves before others start to love us.
So, yes. That's it. I'm gonna have to sit Carl down and tell him
this. Over a plate of our favourite char-tow-kuay from Ghim Moh market.
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