December 31, 2011

PS I Love You

I can't remember exactly how many times I was crying over the novel PS I Love You authored by Cecelia Ahern and when the novel was made into motion picture, I was also one of the earliest to catch it in the theatres.

The short review is that this book is amazing.
The longer review would consist of me rambling on and on about the strength, quality, and message of this novel and its ability to transgress overseas into the States with ease.
I’ll try to stay somewhere in the middle.
Set entirely in Ireland, Holly has recently lost her husband to an unforeseen brain tumour. In the course of a year, she received letters written by Gerry, that he had written before he passed away. These letters help give Holly the strength to get back on her feet and slowly reassemble her life, and are able to move on from this tragic loss and find joy and happiness. She manages to do with the help of her family, and close friends, while making some new friends along the way.
What I love about the book and it was Ahern’s first novel in case you were wondering, is her ability to exactly pin-point the emotions, thoughts and fears that someone in mourning goes through. It’s never easy losing someone you love, and it’s less easy trying to deal with those emotions when trying to prove to your support system that you really are doing fine, especially when you are not. This book will probably be a code of conduct for anyone who has lost someone very special in their lives. Ahern manages to eloquently and accurately address the issues of coping and going back to a normal life.
Ahern writes “They were just formalities, something else to check off the “things that normal people do” list. None of these things filled the hole in her heart” (p 382), in regards to finding a job, and getting her life organized again.
The question of what is normal is a strong theme in this book. How can a person go back to a normal life, when they only life they knew revolved around the one person that is no longer there? You can’t go back to a normal life. You have to start your life all over again, from the very beginning, and that is not an easy thing to do, and that is Holly’s struggle throughout the entire book. Finding her life, her way without Gerry. It’s an emotional struggle, and one I can understand and relate to very well.
My review of the movie will be pretty short. I liked the adaptation from the book. So much of the book was altered and deleted for the movie, but it still didn’t change the message, the essence, and the heart of the book. It was very clear and I honestly like both. They help fill in the gaps for each other. The movie gave Gerry a form, a life. He was otherwise non-existent in the book. While you could feel that he was a strong character, a strong presence in the lives of those around him, it was really the movie that made the viewer cry for his loss. It was the book that helped define Holly and show us how she really changed and learned to evolve without Gerry in her life.
So much for my promise of trying to keep this review short. It’s a beautiful book, and I really encourage anyone who hasn’t, to pick it up.

December 27, 2011

Wedding Songs

I think wedding dinners are dull because all one does is sit there and eat a tonne of food while the newlyweds parade around looking married. It’s slightly more tolerable if you’re a close relative/friend because you’re celebrating with people you know and care about, but if you’re just a girlfriend of a distant cousin’s pet rabbit, the message they’re sending out by inviting you to their wedding dinner is “Get stuffed, we’re married.”

This experience would at least be a little more bearable if they put some effort into choosing the music they play during the dinner. I was at a wedding recently where they played “Lady in Red” while the bride walked down the aisle in a red dress. That’s about as original as playing Michael Jackson’s “Black or White” at a Chindian wedding.

If any thought had been put into that choice (which I doubt), they would have realised it was a bad one. Chris De Burgh (who wrote the song) said it was inspired by his wife Diane, as well as men who can’t remember what their wives were wearing when they first met them.

So if you’re going to play this song at your wedding, don’t be too surprised when he forgets your anniversary and has an affair with the 19-year-old nanny while you’re in hospital recovering from a horse riding accident.

Another one that’s quite popular is that “Two Is Better Than One” song. I know some women find it romantic, but I can’t see why. The lyrics are “Maybe it’s true I can’t live without you, maybe two is better than one”, and it’s by a band called Boys Like Girls.

This is a song which conceals “You are not enough but I’m too much of a jerk to tell you that so let's get married” behind the thin veil of “I’m no good without you.” So girls, if your man has convinced you this is romantic, you need to get the hell out of there and have your head checked.

“I Will Survive” is a song that people like to play when dessert is served. I honestly do not understand this because everyone, women especially, should know that it’s a song about a break-up. So why would anyone choose to play this song at their wedding? Because they are secretly gay, that’s why.

Over the years, “I Will Survive” has been used a lot by gay rights movements, and HIV/AIDS awareness programmes. In fact, it is practically the anthem at gay bars and clubs. Also, the version most popular is the original by a certain Gloria GAYnor. Gosh, it’s so blatant!

So those of you who are getting married soon should be very careful when choosing wedding songs for the sake of your guests and yourselves. Personally, I think you should refrain from love songs and choose neutral tunes such as “Who Let the Dogs Out” by The Bahamen.

In fact, you should get a bunch of stray dogs, have them cleaned and neutered, and release them while that song is playing. Get the MC to announce that these are party favours in an effort to limit the number of strays from being put down by the authorities willy-nilly. This will encourage compassion and help build the self-esteem of the dogs.

That’s just one suggestion. The possibilities are endless. Give me a shout if you need help planning your wedding. I am also available for birthdays and christenings.

Malaysian Drivers


We are united in our contempt for other Malaysian drivers. Lane cutting, double parking, overtaking from the wrong side, not using the indicators, abusing the emergency lanes — the list of transgressions is endless. It’s almost as if the sole use of rules is to show how little we care for them.

Our collective chest-beating in the media on this issue clearly does not seem to have any impact on this recalcitrant lot among us. Even the disastrous consequences of bad driving in terms of fatalities and more seem to leave no mark on us. The causes bandied about for this demon that turns an otherwise gentle Malaysian soul into an aggressive, bullying, road rage-spewing cowboy or Mat Rempit are almost as many as the rules broken.

Lack of education, corruption in obtaining driving licences, disregard for the rights of others, lack of penalties and lack of enforcement, increased pace of life; take your pick. Solutions are offered, regarded and disregarded, and the next time we have a narrow escape on the roads, we just sigh “Malaysian drivers” and carry on.

Maybe there is another way to look at this phenomenon. The automobile, whether on two or four wheels, is a uniquely personal object. We name them, they belong to one person and we look after them almost like they are people. In many ways they are an extension of our personalities. You only need to look at the colours, the modifications, the stickers or the soft toys at the back to make a judgement on the character of the owner.

When we ride them, they become a place where normal societal rules do not apply. We pick our noses in them, eat in them in a way which would make our grandmothers turn in their graves, listen to music in them at a volume guaranteed to turn the neighbourhood deaf if it was at home and generally let loose from the constraints of society. Our private selves come to the fore. And yes, drive as if the rules do not apply to us.

However, when there are colleagues in the car or an aged aunt riding pillion, we modify our behaviour accordingly. Now our public selves are on display. The music is at a discreet volume playing politically correct bands; we use the indicators more often and wave other, more impatient drivers past.

Of course there are exceptions to this as in when a group of young testosterone-fuelled riders go out of their way to break the rules together. But in actual fact, they are conforming to the rules of their in group at the cost of disregarding the rules of society as a whole.

At a certain age, being cool in the eyes of a desirable peer group is much more important than conforming to the laws of the land. But in the main, automobiles are an intensely personal space in which to daydream, throw off the shackles and be who we really are when nobody is looking.

If we are really concerned about our behaviour on the roads, unfortunately the solution lies in making society and the norms of civilised behaviour intrude more and more into this perceived personal space. 

Countries around the world are doing precisely that when they increase visible police presence on the roads, install marked speed traps, have choppers whirring overhead, and encourage citizens to report violations. The idea is to make the driver aware that they are not alone in the automobile. Society in the form of the police and attendant fines are riding with them.

When driving is a completely uniform, public act with no room for self expression through our “style” of driving, the roads will be safer. Of course, that is when nostalgia for the days of driving for pleasure will kick in.

Remember when the front seats of cars were sofas, seemingly expressly designed for making out in while driving?

Jack and the Beanstalk (2011 Version)


There was once a poor widow who had an only son named Jack. He was so lazy that he never did any work, never went to school, and, rather unfortunately, never really took a bath. As time went by, they became poorer and poorer.

One fine summer’s day, Jack’s mother decided to send him to the market to sell their cow, which was their only possession in the world. The cow was no longer giving them milk, having been, well, milked dry since time immemorial.

So really, the cow was a bit like an oil company whose reserves — be it physical barrels of crude oil or cash — had been sucked dry without enough money being reinvested to find replacement reserves for future sustainability.

Jack set out to town to sell the cow but he had not gone very far when he met an old man.

“Where are you going with that cow, young man?” asked the old man.

“I am going to the market to sell the old cow,” Jack replied.

“Well, this is your lucky day,” said the old man, “for I will gladly take her off your hands in exchange for these five magic beans. If you plant them, they will grow as high as the sky by tomorrow morning.”

Although initially skeptical, Jack finally decided this was a fair exchange, as it meant he could go home right away and spend the rest of the day playing “Farmville” and “Mafia Wars” on Facebook.

The old man gave Jack the magic beans, which he put neatly in a biodegradable plastic bag [1]. Jack promptly filled in a Change of Ownership form and surrendered the ownership of the family domestic cattle to the old cow. I mean old man.

Jack ran back his house as fast as he could. “Look mother!” he said excitedly, “I’ve disposed of our cow in exchange for these amazing beans!”

“Wow! That’s actually pretty good,” said his mother, looking rather astonished. “What are the terms? Are they sukuk or conventional bonds? What about the maturity period? Does this mean you have to embark on a road show for investor briefings?”

Jack sighed and carefully explained to his slightly deaf mother, “I said ‘beans’, mother, not ‘bonds’. I got these magic beans in exchange for the old cow.”

“Holy cow!” said his mother, clearly horrified. “You are not only stupefyingly lazy but also unbelievably stupid,” she said as she snatched the beans from his hand and threw them out of the window.

His mother was so furious that later in the evening Jack was sent to bed without any supper. This was just as well, since there was hardly ever any food in the house anyway. After tossing and turning for half an hour, Jack still couldn’t sleep and he decided to go the pub instead, where he ordered the finest lager in the house and drank himself silly.

Jack stumbled back to his house in the wee hours of the morning and slept until almost noon. He woke up with a mild hangover and he was not sure where he was. His room was unusually dark, and when he opened the curtains he saw huge leaves and flowers of assorted colours covering his window. He dressed himself quickly and ran downstairs into the garden.

Jack could not believe his eyes. Just outside the window where his mother had thrown the magic beans there grew a mighty beanstalk reaching towards the sky. It was taller than the Twin Towers (minus the aesthetics) and definitely taller than Burj Dubai (minus the financial meltdown). In fact, the beanstalk was so tall that the top of it was hidden in the clouds.

Jack wasted no time and began to climb up the beanstalk, and it was, without any doubt, a clear breach of safety regulations, as he was not wearing a harness. He climbed higher than the tree tops, higher than the clouds until he reached the blue sky and stepped out into a small town where the streets have no name [2]. He walked along a straight road, hoping to find a place where he could beg for some food, as he was very hungry by this time [3].

To his delight, he came to a castle, which looked a lot like a house of a certain politician, which Jack had seen some time ago in Selangor. There was a very large woman standing at the door, lighting up a Marlboro [4].

“Good morning,” he said politely. “Would you be so kind as to give me something to eat?”

“Does this place look like a bloody deli to you?” asked the large woman, looking patently annoyed.

“I think you had better bugger off as fast as you can,” continued the woman, “unless you want to become lunch yourself. My husband is an ogre who loves nothing better than fried little boys on toast for appetisers.”

Jack was too hungry to run back along the road, so he pleaded with the fat woman to give him something to eat. “I am not going to leave until, urm, the fat lady sings. And you can always hide me from your husband when he comes,” said Jack.

Now the Ogre’s wife was the sort of woman who was actually kind at heart despite her uncanny resemblance to a British bulldog. She took Jack in and gave him some bread and milk, which he gobbled up in record time. He had only just finished eating when suddenly he heard the Ogre’s thumping footsteps walking down the road.

The large woman grabbed Jack and hid him in the oven as the Ogre came into the kitchen and roared at the top of his voice, “What’s its name… I smell the blood of a human being! It’s the distinct smell of rotten cabbage — a Manchester City fan, he must be! Be he alive, or be the dead, I’ll grind his bones to make my bread!”

“Oh don’t be stroppy and sit you down at the dining table while I prepare some food,” said the woman. “Been hanging out with the lads again, haven’t ya Harry? All these drunken nonsense about always smelling humans and smelly football fans — will I ever hear the end of it now?”

Jack peeped out of his hiding place and was terrified to see what a huge, ugly monster the Ogre was. The monster kept picking his nose while wolfing down the buffet spread on the table as if he was at a Malaysian Hari Raya open house.

As soon as he finished his food, the Ogre called to his wife, “Bring me my bags of gold!” She rolled her eyes, cleared the table and put the gold in front of him.

There the Ogre sat counting and counting the coins until his eyelids began to droop. The sound of coins seemed to have had a calming effect on him (or maybe it was the lamb biryani he had earlier) and his head nodded slowly down and rested on the table.

He fell fast asleep, snoring so loudly that people on the earth below thought they heard a thunderstorm. Now Jack knew that thunderstorms were actually caused by ogres snoring and nothing to do with millions of droplets of water vapour suspended in the atmosphere in large, unstable cumulonimbus that produces lightning, rainfall, winds, hail or tornados [5].

When Jack peeped out and saw all the gold, he knew that it was his big chance. He crept out of the oven, tiptoed past the sleeping Ogre, and grabbed one of the bags of gold. He ran away from the castle as fast as his legs would carry him, doing his best Usain Bolt impression, until he reached the top of the beanstalk. He climbed down through the green leaves until he reached his own little garden again.

“Mother, look what I have brought you from the top of the beanstalk!” Jack cried to his mother. He emptied the bag of gold coins onto the kitchen table while he regaled his mother with his adventures in Ogreland. Needless to say, the poor widow was pleased to see her son again and the fact that they had money to buy all they needed.

One morning many moons after Jack’s first foray up the beanstalk, Jack took out the bag and saw that there was not much gold left. By this time, Jack and his mother already owned a pretty diversified and healthy portfolio of investments in Amanah Saham Bumiputra (ASB), unit trusts, fixed deposit and also condominiums, which they bought to generate rent income. But these were really longer-term investments. His immediate concern was the lack of liquidity, as their cash reserves was running a little low.

So Jack decided to climb the beanstalk again. He disguised himself so that the large woman at the castle would not recognise him, and once again she let him in and gave him some food.
The Ogre later returned to the castle and this time Jack hid in a huge copper pot. Then he (the Ogre, not Jack) called his wife to bring him his golden hen, which the wife then placed on the table.

“Lay!” roared the Ogre, and the hen laid an egg of solid gold. “Lay another!” and the hen laid an even larger golden egg. Jack’s eyes popped out of his head as he watched golden eggs popping out of the hen’s arse. He immediately began scheming how to steal the hen from the Ogre.

Soon, the Ogre fell asleep at the table. Jack climbed out of the copper pot and grabbed the Ogre’s arse. I mean the Ogre’s golden hen.

The hen started to squawk as Jack bolted out of the door, and the Ogre woke up with a start. The Ogre was a little groggy and he looked around the dining area like a hippo on tranquiliser. 

After a few seconds, he realised that the hen was not on the table. He looked out of the window and he saw Jack with his prize bird under his arm, doing a Forrest Gump down the straight road and heading towards the beanstalk.

The Ogre chased after Jack with huge strides, and for the people in the world below, it felt like an earthquake measuring 6.0 on the Richter scale. Even though Jack was running faster that he had ever run in his life, the Ogre was almost upon him when Jack reached the beanstalk [6].

The Ogre reached out his hand to grab Jack and retrieve his precious hen, but Jack slipped nimbly down the beanstalk. The Ogre paused for a few moments because (a) he has acrophobia and (b) he wondered if the plant would carry his weight.

After much hesitation, he gingerly stepped onto the beanstalk and began to climb slowly after Jack. The beanstalk began to sway and creak, and there was no way on earth that the Ogre’s manoeuvre could have been HSE-compliant. In fact, it breached at least 25 separate OSHA regulations, and Jack, realising this, went even faster.

When Jack reached his garden he called out, “Quick, mother! Get me an axe, mother!”

His mother came out running with a chainsaw in her hands, the type you may have see on Tim Allen’s “Home Improvements”, which she just bought at Argos [7]. Everything went John-Woo-slow-motion as Jack handed the golden hen to his mother, kick-started the chainsaw and began cutting the mighty beanstalk. It swayed and creaked and then it fell with a tremendous crash!

The Ogre fell onto the ground and sustained serious injury. There were no paramedics, no hot doctors like they do in “Grey’s Anatomy” [8] to give him immediate medical attention. Some passers-by tried to help but there was nothing they could have done to save the Ogre.

Jack and his mother lived hopefully ever after, and the golden hen brought them untold riches. Curiously enough, the hen never suffered from a sore arse despite laying eggs all the time, now that Jack and his mother had a rather expensive lifestyle to maintain.

Jack later spent the bulk of his fortune on the stock market and became heavily involved in commodities and speculative trading, and he was rumoured to be one of the main culprits behind the collapse of Lehman Brothers and AIG in the 2008 global financial meltdown.

Notes:
[1] With EcoPLUS 105, a high density polyethylene (HDPE) by PETRONAS.
[2] Sorry, I couldn’t resist the U2 plug.
[3] He woke up too late for the McDonald’s breakfast meal.
[4] Kids, smoking is bad for your health.
[5] As you can see kids, there’s a lot of science behind my stories.
[6] Classic Tom & Jerry stuff, really.
[8] Yes folks, no Meredith, no Izzie, and no McDreamy. Shocking!

Beauty...The Price We Pay For It


Women are willing to go to great lengths to look beautiful but only inner beauty can withstand the test of time.

Throughout the ages, women have gone to great lengths and subjected themselves to various forms of “torture” in the name of beauty. In the 10th century, the custom of binding women’s feet in China was a culture practised for almost a thousand years until it was finally outlawed in 1949.

Just thinking about the process makes me wince. It involved forcibly breaking the arches of the feet when a girl was between the ages of four and seven. To enable the size of the feet to be reduced, the toes were curled under the soles and then pressed down with great force tillt the toes broke. If you found that excruciating, it gets worse!

The moment a girl’s feet were bound, she was not allowed to rest. She had to immediately walk on her broken and bound feet, despite being in great pain so that her body weight would help crush her feet into the desired shape. Millions of young girls were subjected to this in the belief that smaller feet would attract better husbands.

Fast forward to the present day. Though the feet-binding has stopped, the relentless pursuit of beauty certainly has not. Beauty is just packaged differently, moving with the times the way fashion changes with the seasons. Walk down a street in any city and you will find it hard to find a woman sporting full-grown armpit hair or hairy calves.

It’s not considered sexy or attractive and there isn’t an advertisement in the world I can think of that shows leg hair on a female model. When something starts being viewed as hideous or ugly, women fall into line conforming to societal norms.

I can still remember the first time I got my legs waxed. I screamed when the hot strip ripped the hairs off my calves, taking the roots with them in a few painful seconds. It was my first taste of what women go through in the name of beauty.

Different cultures have their own ideas about what is deemed beautiful. Early Euro¬pean women wore corsets to make their mid sections appear smaller.

Traditionally, women in Fiji were desired for their fuller figures until the nation was exposed to watching television in the mid-1990s, leading to an outbreak of eating disorders. Researchers from Harvard said the western images and values led to the sudden increase in anorexia and bulimia in Fiji.

This is the power of the media and the nature of the beast. They stir the flame of desires in women yearning to attain the widely-publicised images of beauty. Billboards, buses and trains the world over featuring wispy, airbrushed celebrities with deep set, defined eyes have sparked off a demand so great for similar-looking Western eyes that blepharoplasty (eyelid surgery) has now become one of the most sought after cosmetic surgeries in Asia.

This is especially so in South Korea where an estimated 15% to 30% of women are said to have gone under the knife. South Korea has the world’s highest per capita rate of cosmetic plastic surgery (according to the International Society of Aesthetic Plastic Surgery).

The health and beauty industry is a money-making machine with miracle creams bottled with promises of everlasting youth and Botox injections working against gravity to hold people’s faces up, plump their lips and erase the signs of aging.

In our own backyard, Malaysia is well on its way to becoming a medical tourism hub, though neighbouring Thailand still draws more customers in cosmetic surgery. However, according to a CNBC interview last year, Malaysia is already ranked among the top choices in the region due to low cost and high quality medical services, with Penang raking in two-thirds of the RM250mil profit from tourism nationwide.

There are scores of women giving their surgeons references on their favourite Hollywood stars they would like to be “shaped” into. A friend of mine, fanatical about Angelina Jolie, craved to have lips like hers. She had a noticeably thin upper lip and decided on getting Botox injections which at first made her lips look fuller but over time, she had difficulty drinking from a cup because it was hard for her to control her lip muscles. This also made brushing her teeth every day a challenge.

Mind you, this will not deter the average woman who has made up her mind on proceeding with cosmetic treatments so instead, I stress the importance of doing proper research in finding registered professionals who know what they are doing, rather than those who are just motivated by your money.

There are so many manufactured gorgeous faces out there beaming with pride from surgeries done right but no one speaks about the pain of achieving those desired results. For instance, new nose jobs require patients with their swollen faces to stay in bed and keep their heads elevated for at least 24 hours. Nosebleeds during recovery are quite common but patients will be asked not to blow their noses for a week. Patients put up with all this discomfort because they are focused on looking like the person of their dreams.

I am no stranger to trying to improve my own appearance. I tried a fractional laser peel last year that that made my face look like a systematic network of grids and dots as the skin rejuvenated itself. I looked like a freak for a week and I remember running into a friend who exclaimed: “Oh my God! What happened to your face? It looks like a ketupat!”

We are all so driven by looks and first impressions that we need to get back to the basics and remind ourselves of the qualities money and fancy surgical procedures can’t buy.

Beauty emanating from within a person is felt more than it is seen and it moves us beyond words, beyond understanding. There’s something truly magical about it. Yet, when we get so preoccupied with physical, outer beauty, we sometimes forget that inner beauty has the last laugh because it’s intangible and it knows no time.

It can be effortlessly preserved in ways we can’t preserve our looks, no matter how hard we try.

Sherry Argov, the Woman Behind the Bitches


Bitch (noun): A woman who won't bang her head against the wall obsessing over someone else's opinion - be it a man or anyone else in her life. She understands that if someone does not approve of her, it's just one person's opinion; therefore, it's of no real importance. She doesn't try to live up to anyone else's standards - only her own. Because of this, she relates to a man very differently.

Sherry Argov, best selling American author and columnist tells you why you need to shed the good girl tag to win the love match

Sugar and spice isn't always nice. A dash of hot 'n' sour is what turns a bland dish into a gastronomic delight. Likewise, in the dating game, just being nice to your man doesn't make him more devoted; at times you need to be the 'bitch' to walk down the Valentine path.

That, in a nutshell, is best-selling author and columnist Sherry Argov's premise of her seminal books Why Men Love Bitches and Why Men Marry Bitches. "Men secretly respect a woman who is strong, has confidence and dreams of her own," says Sherry. "They don't want women who are needy and desperate for approval."

So the key to conduct new-age relationships is: discover the feisty attitude "that will turn you into a diva from a doormat," says Sherry.


Why nice girls finish last
Ever wondered why despite putting your best face and foot forward, and treating your dreamboat like a dream, he seems to go for someone smarter, sassier and sexier — aka 'The bitch?' It's possibly because:
»You are making it too obvious that you are looking to find a man and your happiness is dependent on that.
»You are unable to be alone.
»You don't want to wait for the right person. Your impatience leads you to rush into a situation you wouldn't have chosen otherwise.


Do men like strong women?
The general consensus is that men get intimidated by strong, opinionated women who pose a challenge. But the truth is that any extreme is a turnoff. Whether you are the super aggressive sort or the dreamy, shy type, extreme behaviour signals insecurity. On the contrary, there is nothing more attractive than a woman who has dignity and pride in who she is. So to woo the love of your life, be someone he desires. And he can't desire something that is too easily available. It doesn't mean you have to be unnecessarily aggressive or too stand-offish. It simply means you must be in control and keep him guessing. Besides, never forget the golden rule of relationships: You don't marry a perfect person. You marry an interesting person. And Sherry gives you the guide to be exactly that.

The 'bitches' don't...
»Call or text him frequently
»Ask where he is or what he's doing
»Say 'You don't call me enough,' or, 'You never tell me you love me.' Unpredictability is your asset. Don't let your loved one decode you easily
» See a guy every night of the week. A woman who is easy won't scratch his competitive itch
»Agree with everything he says. When you never express your opinion, a man starts feeling bored
»Go looking for him or chase him down at three different places where he said he might be having a drink. To be his 'steady', let him come track you down
» Get mad when he doesn't call you in four days
»Rearrange your schedule to spend time with him
»Be rude because being considerate is more effective. But doesn't mean you have to compromise yourself


the bitches DOs

Walk the tightrope...
...between being intimidating and independent by being feminine, yet quietly strong. When you don't telegraph or make obvious what your strengths and weakness are, your partner won't be able to read you. And when a man can't read a woman fully, he respects her more. It's not about demeanour, it's about self-control. A woman with self-control has power and men are turned on by that.


Eliminate the third angle
Worried about finishing second best in the love race? Well, first ensure you are the one he is amorous about. If he meets you and is crazy for you, other women should be a non-issue. If you are number 2 for any length of time, it means there are "too many queens in the castle." Then, just walk out. Calmly tell him the relationship is "no longer interesting" and wish him luck. This resonates self-worth and dignity, and will blow him away. Often, this will get him to play straight and prioritise you. If not, it's no loss. A man with a third wheel is never worth pursuing.


Be happy and positive
Value yourself and your peace of mind. Do not chase happiness outside yourself. Most importantly, try not to give energy to what others think of you; it takes away your power. If you feel good inside, others no longer can control you emotionally. This kind of calm and self-sufficiency is very attractive. Men are used to women who wear their heart on their sleeve and go crazy for the one they can't control.


Pursue your own dreams
Focus on interests outside the relationship. He can know you care, but doesn't need to know how much. Men don't want to compete with other men for your attention; they want to compete for your time because you aren't waiting for him 24x7. When he can't control you mentally, or remain invested in your own life, you become much more interesting to share life with.