Brace Yourself My Raihan...It's Over.

Oh farkit.

Let me come clean with all of you.

I am not a stewardess with Emirates. I am a stripper. Hardcore. Every night, I earn a few thousand big ones which would then allow me to triapse into Gucci or Prada orHermes or Chanel everyday to buy a piece of ridiculously expensive blinged arm-candy.

I am not living in Dubai coz I want to. I am living in Dubai coz I was exiled from Singapore for trying to pawn my pink IC so I can buy 4D.

I am not 23 years old. I am a ripe and robust 38-year-old with botox, boob implants and liposuction done in areas unspeakable.

I lost my virginity when I was 13 and a half. How could I not? I went to school with my skirt shorter than my blouse and my backpack full of pointy bras, whips, latex and condoms in all flavours and varieties.

I did not just do ONE National Team footballer. I did the whole team, the coaches, the managers, the physiotherapists, the ballpickers, the cheerleaders and when I ran out of men (and women) in the football arena to screw, I humped the goalposts.

I was never ever rich. My family and I enjoyed the affluent facade of living in Gillman Heights and driving fancy-pants cars so we led people to believe that we are gobsmacked with money. But we paid for our fake lifestyle by selling Tongkat Ali potions to legions of horny men at the corner of Lorong 12. Really. Remember, sex always sells.

I always had to work to get the things that I desired because my parents were just plain sadistic. Other parents made their kids work hard for what they want to teach responsibility and the value of hard work. Mine were just really sadistic, selfish and mean. If they could help it, they'd rather not feed us but they didn't want to get in trouble for child abuse.

I always wore "rundown" clothes coz as I said, I had to work for what I wanted and since I am a lazy-assed nobody and fervently refused to work, I couldn't buy proper clothes that were spanking and new. Hence, I accept hand-me-downs from the nearby old folk's home and hospice. You might recognise that top I wore in one of my pics was one from the old nyonya yang jual sayur at Telok Blangah Market.To those who live in Telok Blangah...it's the nyonya sayur stall closest to the pork stall lah! Bau babi menyerlah! But it's better than going naked.

I am not smart. I am a downright bimbo with a learning allergy. I copied my way through my PSLE, O's and poly life henceforth and WILL be sleeping my way through my university courses, which will commence in 2005. So watch out for I will be valedictorian of the year coz I gave good head and a week-long fantasy to some professor with a year-long abstinence.

I hate all my ex-boyfriends and plan to castrate every single one of them and make them choke on their schlong for breaking my heart. Was it not obvious in my blog posts that I am a serial killer by nature? C'mon...you saw it coming....Shahnaz..you especially.....watch out, Paki boy. I just pretended to be friends with you. All I want is to get close enough....and SLICE. Oh..okay, I will spare Hairul the Berok coz he is the angel of all my ex-es. All 32 of my ex-es.

And.....

My name is not really Raihan too. I'm on the run from the law, remember?

So..... there it is all so far that I am willing to expose about myself.

Which version is better?No prizes for guessing. It's the dirty stuff that's more fun,ey?

Anonymous, I have saved you all the trouble and obligingly told the world the truth about myself. Isn't this truth much easier to swallow and justify than my jet-setting Emirates stewardess life, my stacks of Pradas and Guccis, my oh-so-perfect perfect Azim and our fairytale relationship, my perfect perfect PERFECT lavish Dubai life and all the dosh I'm making?

Does it not make you feel better about yourself now that you have pursued and attained your desire of truth and making Raihan realize what a big,fat pathetic loser she was and always is?

Does it?

I hope so.

For as I type all this and words flow like a geyser on a leak, I let off steam because if I don't put my mind on something else, I might start crying again when I steadfastly thought I won't cry. Ever.

But hey world, I did. I cried.

I cried in Dubai as Azim and I missed the last flight out to Singapore today and had to fly to Bangkok first and catch a Tiger Airways home.

I cried at the airport as I touched down in Singapore.

I cried in the middle of the baggage claim area as Azim hugged me tight.

I swore to myself I won't cry but then again, I am someone so so soft on the inside and I love people more than I know what love means. I love people more than I thought I hate.

So with all that is due and all that I didn't expect of myself, I cried.

For at 3.45pm today, while I was still in the plane trying to make it home in time, my father Ruslan Abdul Rashid, passed away. His body still lies in the morgue at SGH but his soul has left.

And that's the truth.

I will be back. Feel free to believe.