While typing a desperate attempt to please HRH MK (apparently procrastination doesn't win her favor), I FB-walk and met a few of my old crushes. W is dying, not quite sure of what, or why. Not quite sure of where and when in life too. M, the teaser, is cute as always, younger than me by one year, somewhere in China. Probably a future chinallionaire, but dorky. He needs to grow up a little. And A, the smartass genius high school sweetheart, has gone all the way to Kangarooland to redefine his identity as an independent, solitary photographer whose work consist of social criticism and sharp messages. Yet he balded. Not the cool punk bald. It's my father lost his hair slowly kind of bald.

I'm a fan of badboys and cassanovas. But A was an exception. And an exception I got. What this tells me? I, too, need to grow up and redefine my keywords in men. ...