They stand on the streets,
Row by row, young and sweet.
Range of prices - not too bad
Still too poor, so quite sad.
Then an Ah Beng comes along.
"How much for one night, song song?"
She points one hand of five fingers
He kisses her, says "I'll pay later".
Geylang girls, they come quite cheap
For unloved men all in a heap.
No love, no fights, no strings attached
As long as you paid to get your catch.
Perhaps why the men go there for fun -
There's no burden after they're done.
Except the nagging fear of death
Of VDs, of AIDS, of whatever's left.
---
It is a twisted notion, I know, but once again I am questioning myself about the other great mystery of the universe: Women.
Whenever I seem (or think) that I am striking a relatively good friendship with one of
them and think that it is possible for
us to move further, they get scared off by my words and/or my actions. It has been a thoroughly humiliating time for me where the subject of relationships are concerned.
It was slightly disconcerting that the girls in particular alleys in Singapore signalled their intentions right from the start - that
hell yeah, they were prepared to take me, as long as I paid for it.
Principle of Equivalent Trade, that's what they were attempting to convince me to believe.
Slightly baffled by their enthusiasm, I kept to my conscience, which was barely there throughout the entire trip to the back-alleys. I marvelled at the beauty of some of them, wondering why they were not trying for an alternative career in modelling. They smiled tauntingly at our faces, trying to unleash our inner beasts.
I kept it under control, reminding myself not to succumb to temptation. But even temptation can be rationally explained sometimes.
Some guys go to the alleys to remember how good it felt the last time they were here. Some others choose to come here to indulge, to forget about the real world.
It is a surreal environment out there, one which the pimps provide arguably the best customer service in the world, the girls openly smile at you when you ogle at them, and transactions are done only by cash.
It is another world altogether, where the ice-cream men are key players of the trade. They are the guards, the people who watch out for the people in blue uniforms, handcuffs and night-sticks. One ring of the bell is enough for the entire alley of people to go running to the nearest shelters.
For all those dangers that I was raised to believe in about indulging in the trade (and I can swear that still have NOT done it - still a virgin, to put it bluntly), the world over there is simple. It is really us who make it look complicated.
It is easier to understand the concept of the ice-cream men instead of a new PAP policy, for example. I am not saying this because government policies are difficult to understand, of course - it is merely to show how simple life is over there.
It is a trade; no emotions, no love involved. These things merely complicate the process. Money changes hands, services are provided, end of story. Both sides don't care about each other's story when they arrive. No teary eyes of sob stories to hear.
Sometimes I wonder: Who is right? Who is wrong?
