MAYDAY. MAYDAY.

I just had to, had to, had to, had to have a glass of cold milk-coffee. But we ran out of milk.

Being wonderfully persistent I refused to give up (I strongly believe that problems in the office entitle one to give up, really complex maths formula entitles one to give up, but I for one will never, ever give up on a quest to get a decent cup of coffee, be it cold or hot, black or white) and so I assembled this concoction. A concoction that resembled iced milk-coffee and tasted nice too, and being plain generous I'd share with you the recipe:

- A packet of Indocafe cappucino (when you don't have any milk at home, you'll have to make do with the fake cream found in Indocafe cappucino. I know it doesn't even taste like milk. Thank you.)
- Extra spoonfuls of Nescafe instant coffee (because the cappucino mixture isn't black enough to my liking)
- Extra sugar (you're gonna put some ice in this drink later so you really, really need extra sugar)

I mixed these up and put in some ice cubes and -- as I mentioned earlier, the resulting drink looked and tasted nice. I sipped happily, and sipped, and sipped, and finally it struck me: it was BAD. It tasted like medicine.

And the scary thing was I didn't even realize that, I couldn't even think straight, until a certain amount of coffee got in my brain cells.

I thought I was merely desperate.
But now I figure I must be a desperate addict.

WHEN A WOMAN LOVES A WOMAN

Dear Miss Complainer:

In reply to your latest complaint regarding my tendency to depict
woman-to-woman relationship tinged with romantic nuance in some of my fictions, I would like to share the following with you:

First, with all due honour, I hereby request that you take off your religion-tinted glasses when you read my fictions, and whenever you try to discuss my fictions with me. Once you raise the issue of religion, then there’s no point going further with the discussion, because as we both fully understand, religion dogma is not debatable. And because we understand that mentioning religion teachings while poking about the faults of my fiction is simply bizarre. Of course my fictions don’t go along with any religious teachings you can think of. My fiction is the work of a sinful, lowly human, done without any intention to drive any dogma into my readers’ brain, because I know my readers are intelligent enough not to get fooled into acting out my fictions. I know my readers are mature enough to distinguish facts from fictions. Some of my readers are mature enough to accept the fact that a person might fall in love with another in many ways, in ways unlimited to race and age and social background, yes, and regardless to the other person’s sex.

Secondly, I am fully aware of your intelligence too. I am fully aware of your ability to distinguish facts from fictions. Acutely, I know that you know that we both know the reason you become so bitter about all this, the reason why suddenly you attacked me brutally, angrily accusing me of being a filthy, immoral writer.

Dear Miss Complainer,
I am mature enough to accept the fact that person might fall in love with another in many ways. I am mature enough to accept the fact that you have fallen helplessly in love with me.
Sometimes you want me to be a man, so that you can love me freely, legally, in accordance to all religious teachings you can think of. But you don’t want me to be a man, because you fall in love with this person you don’t want to change, because you love me for me --- for the woman that I am. I know that it is very painful for
you to acknowledge this feeling has grown inside you and that it has grown so big inside your chest.

Lastly, I know that you would rather die than ever admitting that you love me.

And I know that you have died more than a thousand times when I am not around, when you admit to yourself how much you love me.



Sincerely yours,
L.S.