I'm learning as I go along. There are so many expectations attached to a friendship in this city. At its best, most friendships are superficial; people are quick to add you on FB but run as soon as trouble is on the horizon. I cling on to the ones I know will go the extra mile in both good times and in bad.

Everybody has an agenda. The key is managing your expectations before you put out your hand to say hi. Expect too much and disappointment sets in, expect nothing and you are often surprised at simple acts of kindness.

I am hurt by the constant bickering and backstabbing in these circles. Within minutes, whole networks can crumble because someone said something about someone else, and the strained relationships can take forever to repair. Has gay culture become so self-absorbed that we can't look out for each other?

It is easier to confide in a total stranger than someone you've known forever. I seem to bite my tongue when speaking with the latter, overly cautious maybe, or baggage from the past makes it more difficult to be honest when times are hard. But as I witness the fall-out from my failed relationship, and the twenty-something contacts on my silent Nokia, I'm left to wonder if the past nine months have gone by without me really giving a damn about other people, because right this moment it seems, few give a damn about me or my existence.

It's almost as if the names are telling me, "you reap what you sow", and reality bites.

It's not his fault he stopped loving me. He had the courage to tell me it was over and I thank him for that. Time to go back to being myself for a bit, one step at a time.

Past ten years has been quite rough. The most important people in my life were either absent or willingly departed from my life. Naturally that left me convinced everyone was out to get me, to walk right out of my life and never come back.

Seeing him leave at the airport every second weekend triggers the same panic button in me. I've become so accustomed to abandonment that I cling on to dear life. Naturally that leaves the other person asphyxiated and they do eventually leave and the whole fiasco becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

What I went through as a child was abuse and that was not acceptable. The trouble is realising I'm doing the same to my loved ones by not letting go.

Death. It's scary how close it comes.

A friend passed away today. He's been in the ICU for weeks, heavily sedated and not doing too well. A lot of people I know are mourning. Ok in our culture we use the word 'friend' too liberally; more accurately I've met the chap twice, both by accident, and never had the chance to chat for long periods at a time. Who was this man and what was his story? I may never know.

I'm wondering what I can say to the people around me who knew him but nothing comes out sounding like it should. There is no RIGHT thing to say, only silence and a deep understanding that sometimes pain doesn't need to be conveyed in words. I'm really bad at these things; it should be easier to empathize for someone you didn't know well. Or is it?

Brings back thoughts from my own childhood. Then, I was still young and had to grapple with the whole concept that someone could just disappear out of your life like that and never come back, not even when you NEEDED them to.

Nightmare again. Stupid thing made me cry.

I am seated on a chair. A brush of hair on my legs and it's pusscat, he's come to say hi.

I gently pick him up by the belly. Immediately he rolls his back into my shoulder and starts kicking his way up my forearm. Front paws up in the air like a little child, with head in anticipation of a good rub.

That's OUR pusscat.

I notice there's a water feature in front of me, not unlike those Made-in-China contraptions you buy at the $2 store. The fountain is spilling milk over its sides and pusscat is busy making paw prints on the floorboards with all the milk. Stupid boy, I yell. Stupid, stupid boy.

He jumps onto me and tears into my shirt, rubbing his milk-soaked forehead against my chin. He wants a hug. A familiar voice calls out - it's my counselor. He's saying something but I can't seem to remember what it is. I wake up in a daze; it's half past midnight and I have goosebumps. I miss Shifty, I miss them all.

The catch is, if you're prone to depression then it's best to stay the fuck away from Facebook. Because when you start dwelling on that place, and spend hours looking at the wonderful brilliant photos from all around the world across all your friend's profiles, count the number of pokes and superpokes other people are sending you and go gaga pressing the Refresh button to see what's the latest thing on your news feed... well that's when you get depressed and crazy and you eat your fingers out. Because the grass usually seems greener on the other side, of course it should, when half the time people spend on that site is to make themselves (and their sordid lives) look good.

It's a clear sign you need to go out, meet some real people and get a real life.

I remember as a child my first ever BMX bike. It was red, had sponge padding on the rails for safety and was about half my height and weight. The bell was cast-iron and had a dial attached to a contraption which spun when suppressed, hitting the underside of the bell to make it chime.

Back in those days pedestrians and cyclists still had the right of way so it was safe for a kid to ride around town. Like most things the bike was Made in China and it came with two training wheels - these are two plastic wheels which are attached on either side of the rear bike wheel to provide support for novice riders.

The training wheels gradually got removed, one at a time, until I was forced to balance the bike on my own. Like a cripple I remember falling and scraping myself against the hot, dry tarmac; the crashing sound of my bike followed by a scream of pain, my scream. I still have the scars on my legs for show-and-tell.

Today while digging through the store at our family home I came across two plastic wheels, one slightly cracked and the other intact, both in a dusty box wrapped in thick brown paper. For some reason dad had decided to save them and they've been lying here for all these years just waiting for a chance to be found.

Going back on the roller coaster again makes me nervous. Not long after I left KL there was a feeling that something inside me had died, leaving behind the vestiges of a soul without meaning or purpose.

Play hard. My existence at work is part hobby and part need. Bills get paid when I turn up at the office and sit in front of my laptop reading Facebook all day.

Recently added Trip Advisor to my Facebook page, not realising three dozen other friends have also done the same. Comparing their travel maps to mine I feel a sense of loss - I've not really traveled beyond Malaysia, Singapore and... well, Australia. While I busy myself being a corporate wage slave these people are going around and seeing places. Doing things. Meeting new people. Eating new food. Experiencing culture. Making mistakes. Being human.

A lot has to do with my incessant need to settle down. In the end after I've decided I want a house a car a Stepford wife the counting follows; every penny quarter and dime to build them sandcastles. Travel has to be put off for later.

But no it's not right, not now at this tender age when most busy themselves with thrill of the ride.

Trainwreck. DJ Dan Murphy was in town spinning the latest hits from Sydney's gay scene, right here at Marketplace. His music style is recognisable - house and handbag with bits of beep boop inserted between pauses when the crowd shows signs of boredom.

Janne is here too. For the first time I get the feeling his Scandinavian background is not holding him back from having a true conversation about his feelings. All this weekend we've spent going through our thoughts on us and even a future together. We are both cautious over my feelings; 'me' because there is potential for what we have to become my rebound.

Feelings. Indeed they've been running all over the place in recent days. The wounds from a past relationship are still fresh (it's only been 2 weeks) and thoroughly reexamining my feelings won't help me decide if I'm ready for another. Initial encounters are always exciting because the thrill of the unknown plays up desirability. We've decided to give ourselves time to see if we can love the other without a veil of infatuation and first impressions.

I was told this weekend that I am a logical person and that is true - I find ambiguity difficult and prefer to deal with things in black and white. Yes or no. Knowing what is, what could be and what will be provides me much needed reassurance and is an excuse for drafting an action plan. My kick in the head is accepting that the most meaningful events in life are usually accidental - you cannot derive significant feelings from a planned process as feelings are rarely logical.

Moving along quite quickly now. Recently got into habit of back-to-back Six Feet Under DVDs and boxes of kauralastuja.

Whatever I say is just going to be cliche, self-absorbed, childish, [insert negative adjective in this box] because someone is bitter and that's okay. I know it's really about who to blame but at least I'm not afraid to talk about it. That's what killed us - it's not that we weren't talking. We just didn't want to talk about all the important things.

Oh and there's someone new already. Rebound? Lots of late night chatting and sex but I'm also not stopping myself from the weekly graze at sauna-land.

Two big projects in the works taking up all my time, new tech gadgets and a few good books - so much is happening at the moment that at times I forget to breathe. Excitement I've not had in a while.

Probably premature. Drugs needed soon.