what kind of fuckery is this?

why are malay boys so berlapokz? and by berlapokz I mean dusty, viscous and sticky and rank-smelling? I do not want to be near most malay boys for fear of mostly, and in fear of mostly, breathing in their foul smells and their noxious manners, diseases and the like (besides the obvious fear that girls like me are squid bait for these cretins because of language inefficiencies, off-tangent allegiances and socio-economic differences). so why is it such, that when I do meet someone from these bracketss who'd you expect to be as physically distasteful and perhaps even as rank-smelling and mentally-incapacitated too he turns out to only be as distasteful in an emotional sense and whose olfactory unpleasantness can only be metaphorically correlated to his love ethics and bedroom behaviours and whose flooziness proudly matches his kin the same and it hurts even more cause he promised you the idea of white picket fences, proud and content daddy, sembab and sunshiney hari rayas sans cultural/language/social barriers - issues I'd expect from and eventually find novel from my yellow-feverish picks for mate - and it was hard to begin with for you to even begin with to feel this way, towards, on colour alone (own kind notwithstanding), and then grow to even semi-love him, almost finding him as treasureable as those you find cherishable on their being alone - if not for anything, but your own fantastical prejudices (which you attribute are a hotpot of daddy issues, far east fetishes and daddy-don't-speak rebellions) - and this one, this crispy yummy muffin defied that, with pure grit, handsomeness, witties and just fucking darling charm and you want to love him, enough to make you feel worthy enough for normalcy and just less enough to make you feel like you can as easily flutter away and never pang after normalcy ever again but it is festivities such as these and the recency of which it ended (it never really ended. I'm telling you now boba, it's ending) and the duration as such where I fall into morose at every bright metallic shimmery blues yellows mattes and reds, songkok-ed up, songket-ed and ready to impose upon you wafts of rank dreams broken, biased preferences re-revved, hurl you shards slivers splinters of white feather-edged wood, stealing glances from resigned daddy sighing silently enough for it to be deafening and it drives you sweating, thrashing, resenting, then finally relenting - fuck yes relent this - "enough! enough! I am a malay girl who finds having a malay boyfriend novel enough to want it every this-time-of-year regardless of normality-anxieties, mediocrity-impieties and I will colour-match and let you hold my handbag and I will like it and it will be enough." and it will be. because from far enough away, when you and I walk together in our grey black or white handsomely tailored bajus, we might even look like one.

what kind of fuckery is this? the combination of having drank your body-weight's worth in F&N drinks, mindlessly being civil and staring into the pulsating humdrum of too many a lap-lips have driven me to such.

also, stop fucking asking me when I'm gonna get married. NEVER DAMMIT.


ok maybe next week.