Bad Apples

Much ado about nothing :

Singapore's best choice for the much-coveted crown of Miss Singapore World apparently goes, quite simply, to the best-looking contestant. (bad run this year, hey)

Nevermind if she turns out to have kleptomaniac tendancies and an almost-criminal-conviction for fraud waived for the "fact" that she's schizophrenic to boot.

Aside from the unspoken but obvious point that Sandra Bullock made a lifetime ago ("...world peace?") that International Beauty Queens are as much about an idea as an appearance... about quasi-diplomacy and representation on a world-stage of... many things... about choosing someone with that something extra special from a crowd of incredibly beautiful women, well.

Ris Low isn't exactly beautiful. Perhaps good-looking at best (though not to my eye).
Nor does she possess a heart of gold (it takes an even measure of self-centredness, malice, and sheer stupidity to try to pull off credit card fraud on an ex-customer, methinks) and she doesn't have an impeccable integrity, or, now, even the semblance of one.
She doesn't have poise and grace (most commonly conveyed through cool-headedness, wit, and clear diction)

In short, she doesn't have anything remotely special, that might make her stand half a chance in a crowd full of women possessing at least some measure of the above - who have been SELECTED by their countries BECAUSE they possess qualities that stand out.

I can only hazard how she won her crown (hint, it involves a lot of Boomzing).

I don't know. I think I'd choose a well-spoken plain-Jane (plain but not ugly of course) with grace, poise, wit, intelligence, kindness and... a lack of a criminal record... to represent Singapore any day over a... badly-spoken plain-Jane with... none of the above.

I might even go with the first girl over a beautiful but inarticulate, self-centered, graceless, witless and stupid ah-lian... simply because it's all about putting our best foot forwards to the world. As opposed to our worst.

Yes, it's choosing to represent Singapore in a certain light, in a way that perhaps it's not. Our people aren't well-spoken (thank you, Beyonce) as a whole. Yes, it's all wayang.

But every other country out there is doing just the same. And none of those girls who'll appear on stage on the fateful day looks remotely like the average girl from her country, nor sounds or thinks like them. And none of them has a known criminal record.

Because it's impossible to fall in love with someone who is grasping, selfish and deceitful, if even for an instant, sitting at a desk with three other judges - or sitting halfway across the world in a sofa with the remote in your hand.

And that's what Miss World is about - the paragon of womanhood that all humanity falls in love with.

*****
People who lie, who cheat, who steal, who use, who hurt - selfish, self-serving people.
They are common. They are all around. They are the monsters within us set free by owners who love themselves too much.

*****
Talking to a friend the other night we found ourselves agreeing that you must never try to see the best in some people. And that it becomes too late if it gets personal.

I used to want to believe in people. I thought that perhaps being placed in positions of responsibility over other people made people think a certain way, and that maybe it was because people weren't doing much to contribute to other people's lives that they became self-centered and selfish enough to hurt others for their self-gain. Maybe if they did, they would change for the better. I used to think that criminals, given half a chance could be reformed, and that you can't help being born the way you look, the parents you were born to, the neighbourhood you grew up in... maybe if things were different then, well who knows.

I realise now that I was making excuses for them.

The truth is what I learnt living and working in London for the many years that I did.

Some people just steal because they want to - because it gives them a sense of achievement.
Some people just want so much to win, or to be loved, or to be worshipped... anything at all -- that they are willing to lie, cheat, or hurt others for their own gain.

That's just the way it goes.

Some people are just bad. You can't help them - and they don't want to be helped anyway - they want to be bad. And You must never try to see the best in them. Because if you do and it gets personal, then it's too late.

Other people are just ill. You can't help them. They will die ill. That's just the way it is.

Said friend says he can suss out within minutes who is "real" and who is not, and that the real people are few and far between.

They are; and they are precious.

These are people we are the richer for knowing, for however long we know them.
These are people who were good, or who chose to try to be good, or who turned good from bad - because they wanted to.

These are people to keep close; these are people worth remembering.

I came to the (now obvious) cathartic conclusion when I was very young, perhaps ten or so - that we only live life once. And then I had a host of existential worries about the lack of meaning of life; the lack of a reason for life at all, for order in a world doomed to chaos, for darkness in a world of fading light. I felt an overwhelming need to live my life "right", to tread carefully in places of light and avoid the darkness, to never take a step wrong. I was afraid that the darkness would infect and take some meaning away from who I thought of as "me". I thought that in that final moment just before we died... in that moment when we thought back and remembered our pasts, that that would be the clincher. That would be when I knew whether my life had meant anything to me, or not, or whether I had wasted and cheapened it.

Today I still think that the meaning in life is in how we live it. And I know first-hand that the darkness does rub off on me. Perhaps it does detract from some of my life's meaning, perhaps the bad people steal some of it away for themselves.

How we remember it is entirely up to us.

We can choose to remember the good people, and to not dwell on the bad. To remember the people who gave us truths, and forget the ones who lied to us.

******
Sometimes the other half worries that I might still love my past.

Perhaps it was because I was badly hurt when I met her, and having never been betrayed herself she equates the pain and confusion I felt then with love. I was "emo", and
unhappy.

Two of my ex girlfriends lied to and cheated on me.

One had the decency to come clean about it to me; the other didn't have the decency to even admit it to herself.
It hurt me both times, a lot. And it taught me something - about how to react to betrayal, I think. I'm still not quite sure. But it made a few things clearer in my head.

The reasons it hurts when lies start becoming exposed are - as they like to say in medicine - multifactorial. Firstly it shows you just how bad a judge of character you have been - these were bad people, not just at a moment in time but since they were born, the telltale clues were all there all along; Secondly it leaves you wondering just where and when truth ended and falsehood began - or if there was ever any truth at all. Lastly it makes you feel like your life has been cheapened, and some meaning taken away from you.

It's a different feeling to just breaking up with someone on honest terms. It's more than just disappointment, and it has nothing to do with residual love.

It's bad. Evil, almost.

The thing that lingers in your heart and mind isn't the person, but the betrayal; the pain they wrought on someone else without care - while claiming they loved them.

The people are easy to forget; they were betrayers and can never be trusted again. People like this are no good for friendship - much less love.

I made the mistake of trying to be "good" and to do the right thing and find forgiveness in my heart both times. Once I wound up being infected by the darkness and telling what I thought were white lies in the process.

Ironically in the immediate aftermath of the later-day ex I reestablished - if only for a while - contact with the "old testament"-ex and it was her words : these things (ie girls betraying) happen to you because you are too weak - which made me realise just how these people think. (and had me feeling "dirty" for even bothing to reply to that ex again)

How blind they are to the people around them. It takes infinitely more strength to live for someone else than to live for yourself; to inconvenience yourself for their benefit; to back down when you are right and they are wrong. How full of conceit and twisted they must be to feel that things like this are about the strong and the weak, and to borrow a phrase from Ris Low - "all about me!" (...Boomz)

I realised then that the solution is neither forgiveness, nor hatred, nor hoping for karmic retribution in the future, nor being assimilated and going rogue in return.

The solution is moving on and away, forgetting the past. Re-minisce, no more.

Changes

One of the peculiarities of the singaporean healthcare system is the "black tag". Scaling the rungs of the responsibilitity-ladder earns you a nondescript black name badge that looks suspiciously similar to the low-cost primary school "monitor" tags we used to get as kids. People invariably wear them, it's a sort-of status-symbol cum insignia of "rank" - donning the tag confers on the wearer some form of intangible power which most patients and relatives probably don't know - much less care - about, but which identifies you to another doctor as a "senior" doctor.

The irony is that the nametags for junior doctors are actually kind of nice - sure, the hospital logo tends to rub off over time, but it's actually aesthetically quite appealing.

I've been watching one of my colleagues making the switch to his black tag with a little amusement; shortly after passing his surgical exam he - in typical fashion for him - took to wearing his new badge (almost with... wild abandon...) after his previous badge ostensibly "went missing" in his bosses car. Nevermind that he's wearing the trappings without having to don the associated mantle of responsibility of registrarship... the tag makes him happy, and well, we all share his happiness at taking that step towards the rest of his life. We all know how proud he is of, well, himself. :)

I've been slowly suffocating over the past fortnight after abruptly turning into the registrar-in-lieu for my team, our previous registrar having taken the opportunity to scamper for freedom once I swapped into her team. I don't begrudge her her holiday - I've been doing this a mere fortnight and I'm nearly running on empty... I can't begin to imagine how tired she must be after six months on the job... and I knew what I was in for when I decided to commit my life to my subspecialty. Still... the body is tired, the joints actually hurt (gee) and my back is aching... it's all somatisation I know, all in my head. But staying back till eleven in the evening post-call to chop off bits of my patients because there's nobody else who can do it, and because if I wait too long they're going to die... dozing off multiple times on the drive home... it's sobering.

I'm loth to put on my black tag. I'm not "official" yet, I'm still me. And I'm still weak; I want what little time I have left to zone-out before all this becomes all too real (as it is... right now...) and I can't wait for my reg to come back from her holiday... It's exciting to be handed that instrument that till-now only the consultant would wield intra-op and be told to go ahead and throw that stitch, and it's rewarding to see that anastomosis hold-up. It's.... a little frightening to be told to carry-on without senior support in ops which I've only ever watched or been brought-through once or twice before, but never actually flown solo in... and really rewarding to throw that final stitch and know that my patient ought to be just-fine. And it's humbling to be confronted with a retroperitoneal, retrocaecal appendix and be caught in a dilemma -- to play the registrar you're not-quite-yet and open the retroperitoneum -- or to call for senior support because if anything goes wrong you're still technically a junior - and realise that you're really not all that brave after all.

I guess I'm different from The Gentleman. I'll wear my blocky black tag when I have to - when I'm taking my team on the round when maybe, just maybe it makes that much of a difference when I'm doing battle with that nice old irish man's ex-SPG battleaxe of a wife who's inconsiderately called me out of operating theater just so she can try to browbeat me into keeping him in hospital - against medical advice and against his own wishes - because she needs time to formulate a concerted campaign in her quest to lodge a complaint about the ward nurses. But in between, well, I really like my old tag, and I still like cutting out little tiny skin lumps and creating cosmetically pleasing scars in the quiet sanctitude of the day-surgery OT making small talk with my nurses and patients.

Freedom

Words of wisdom to the inexperienced : never argue with your examiners.

Life after the final furlong, aka the membership examination... goes on. Going out for drinks and meals without a textbook in hand comes like a refreshing breeze after a stagnant summer's night; and then the "arrows" come flying thick and fast, and suddenly there's just too much to do all at the same time, amidst preparing to host the local examinations, applying for advanced training, and returning to on-calls.

Speaking of which, after a month's reprieve from calls, the First Call was absolutely exhausting. The body forgets these things, the way a night without any sleep on your feet feels (which is completely different to a night on the floor or in bed reading a textbook in an adrenaline-charged last-minute frenzy). At one point my back, feet and calves hurt so much I began to wonder if perhaps I was experiencing sciatica...

In older news, I remember a colleague and newfound friend de-stressing with me after work and chatting about life in general; for some (mm. some time back, but perhaps it was after we met the chest-drain bottle product rep) he volunteered that pharma reps are generally manipulative people, because in his opinion people self-select into their jobs. Once upon a time I might have argued that maybe it's the other way around; jobs change people. Looking around at my other medical colleagues, at him, and at myself, I realised he was right. People self-select into jobs; not just doctors, lawyers, drug reps... but pretty much every and any one. There's a reason orthopods all drive flashy cars, and why general surgeons don't...

Maybe it's the ones who selected wrong the first time who cross-careers... maybe... just maybe I'd be happy sending people to jail instead. Hmmmm...

O_o

After arguing with the nice white haired old lady who was in for an investigation the next day about why I needed to take her blood...

Old Lady : "Ni jie hun le mah?" (are you married)

Re-Me : "... err hai mei you..." (no)

Old Lady : "Ni hen piao liang wor..." (you're very beautiful)

Re-Me : "... um. xie xie." (err. thanks.)

Whips out needle, and is taking blood in silence.

Old Lady : "Lang zai... lang zai..." (pretty boy.)

Re-Me : "..." (...)

Yep, that's me. Old lady killer.

Who's That Girl (in progress)

I can't help comparing this to this .

What strikes me most isn't that the two sites share a suspicious similarity but how completely differently they come across to the reader.

Check out the first link. Patrick Moberg saw the "girl of his dreams" on the subway in 2007. He was attracted to her but didn't get to speak with her, so he sought her out by writing on his blog about her, and asking strangers to help him find her.

The thing about his site - NYGirlOfMyDreams.com isn't how eloquent or effusive he is... it's simply how sweetly and sincerely the whole thing was done. It's rather light on text, and pretty in-your-face. There's so much to like there, from the unstated happy-puppy "I met you and I'm bowled over by you" sentiment, to the cutesy line drawings of the girl which betray just how much he noticed about her that he liked (fancy braided hair, flower in hair... etc), what she looked like (rosy cheeks) and just what she was doing (writing in a notepad... awwww) at the time.

This is a man who's either madly in love, or a nutjob stalker with the whole set of Ginsu knives.

But then there's more, he draws himself in too. No self-praise, but a simple self description to try to jog her memory a bit, skinny, tall, and he drew what he was wearing. And then there's that almost self-deprecating, slightly rueful little arrow pointing to his head that says "not insane".

It's just sooo cute; the guy knows he's lost it, and he knows everyone else will know it when they see his site, but he doesn't care... he just wants her.

He leaves his name and his phone number (and email address) for her, laying bare his whole life to all sorts of unpleasant repercussions. He takes a flying leap...

If I'd seen the girl, I'd have called him. Hell, if I'd been the girl (which, cough, since I'm male I couldn't have been) I'd have called him... without any reservations.

And there's more... she really did. There's that next little ecstatic post of mr happy-faced rectangle holding up a sign in joy. You know that something good happened... if only for a while, or perhaps longer.

The whole thing is almost saccharinely infused with hope and then happiness. It's really hard not to smile at.

And then there's our home-grown version, girl on bus.

(now at http://blog.girlonbus.com/)

I can't help but notice how often the word "I" appears in there.

I was labeled stalker. I was described as 'creepy'. How do I become a stalker when I've already lost her?

and

I was labeled 'despo'. Yes I'm definitely 'despo' or desperate. This is how I feel when I've lost something worthy. I have the attention from endless amounts of attractive people whom I think its worthless. If you've been wondering, yes, I'm gorgeous.

...and then

There were people who tried to find out who I am. I wouldn't mind letting you know, if you are a decent person, really. But this thing is set up by a friend who has a credit card to help me pay on behalf

... right. How much does it cost to host a domain again? $7 a month?

His next post, "lightheartedness" goes something like this :

I am taking this lightheartedly. Its like, who knows after knowing her she might disgust me or freak me out in certain ways?

Thanks again to so many of the kind people out there for the inspiring and flattering words. Thanks to those who helped in any way.

To the girl (if you have decided not to respond): I'm fine with it, but at least just tell me why. And you may also ask me to stop looking for you.

Next post on :

I've communicated with some local reporters. Some of them questioned about my identity. And they also advised that people would be more receptive if I were more open.

I tend to be a low-profile person therefore I'm not comfortable revealing personal info, especially on the internet. There are people who think that I'm not 'real'. Some even think that this could be some kind of a viral marketing. However, I need to protect my privacy. It's just simply being careful, although some people might think I must be up to no good.

Some of you might have already seen the article on me in (联合晚报) (31th Jan 2009). But just to give you a picture: I'm in my twenties, chinese and currently an undergrad.

And suddenly he's writing for an audience. About himself, being low-profile, but not, being private, but being in the paper, etc.

And then :

Like what I said in the previous post, I insist in protecting my identity (although some people still think that I'm not sincere/afraid of criticism), simply because but I'm not desperate/crazy enough to the extent of going public. Understand that some people dislike unwanted attention.

However, I did meet up with some of the reporters and had some photos taken. You might want to check out The Newpaper on Saturday the 14th, and The Straits Times on Sunday the 15th.

(Edit: For certain reasons The Straits Times did not run the story. 'D' from The Straits Times [if you are reading this] : I'm sorry to hear about it. But you're a great reporter who made me feel at ease. )

Some of you guys are right about the website being too direct and plain(not fanciful). Perhaps its because I have no hidden agenda and therefore the tendency to get my point across in a straightforward manner.

By the way, Happy Valentine's Day to all of you. Enjoy :)

The thing is, he's not writing to the girl anymore. He's not even writing for her.
He's writing for himself.
About himself.

He even went as far as to say the girl might gross him out, and that he's good looking, etcetc.

Over a month and still no girl; some of his "supporters" (and that's what it's turned into, a popularity contest) blame it on singaporean girls being this, and that, and uppity, and blah blah.

Some of the detractors think the girls will think he's a stalker, that he's creepy etc.

The truth is he's just lost the plot. The girl won't, because he's really more interested in himself now, than he is in her. This is his five minutes in the limelight, and she's just a badly drawn stick figure.

Sweet? I think not.

*****

Perhaps it just goes to show how sometimes there's a "right" way to say something, and .... a very, very wrong, in a "don't-even-go-there"-way to go about the same.

*****

ps : ... there are singaporeans that find the whole thing romantic.
sigh. I guess it's the concept that counts, not the packaging. roll eyes.

Re-minisce and The Assassin (In Progress)

My way

"I'd like... an iced tea, please."

She raised an eyebrow. "I think you should have the ice tea with lemonade, would you like one, it's very nice..."

"Err. Okay, I'll have an ice tea with lemonade."

"Would you like it done my way?" (two thumbs up)

"What's your way?"

"Grande, my way... its good!"

"Rigghht. Okay, I'll have it your way."

(Several seconds later)

"Yeah, it's good."

"You won't get it done this way anywhere else!"

"What, not even at another S*******?"

"Not like this, this is my way!"

"Um. okay thanks."

"Will you be sitting down here?"

"... yes?"

... bemused.

*****
Sitting here pretending to study the RAAS, and missing the assassin.

Ironside

Her eyes on his, as they lie eye to eye, tracing the line of his face with her fingertips.

"...scary"

"... that's just the way it goes..."

Trust

I'll be seeing my ex for dinner...

*****
Trust is earned, not owed, never deserved.
Trust is always given freely.

Trust is eroded one lie at a time, and reinforced, one truth at a time.

*****
You don't know me, I have flaws...

I hurt people

*****
Of course it's okay with me, he said, and smiled.

Anatomy 101

Sometimes as they're clowning around the Assassin does her Bolt impression, complete with huge puppy dog eyes, head tilt, and imaginary ear flop, and that little smile of hers, and although he knows full well it's not anatomical, and that emotion takes root from the cerebellum and not the heart, something in his left chest feels a little give...

Contrasts (completed)

... don't think about it anymore; focus on the good times. There were good times... right?

*****
Some time later I come awake with my arm tucked under the crook of her neck and watch the dawn light diffusing in softly through the glass panes, caressing her edge of her face and creating a ghostly pale glow around the contours of her cheek, her temple and her nose, the rest of her fair, fair skin encased in grey shadow. And then those eyes - dark, dark, eyes, almost doll-like and so very alive - flutter open, and her lips twitch into a smile as I say Good Morning, then lean forwards to kiss them, and I feel... an almost wondrous joy.

*****
I remember I used to think when people asked each other "what do you really, really want in life?" that the answer "to be happy" was too simple, too trite for me. That I was different and needed something... more substantial. I used to think I just needed the truth, and that happiness was irrelevant to me.

Catch me now : ten years down the line, a little battered, edges worn down, paintwork a little scuffed and how I've changed. I just want to be happy now, too.

*****
Every hello? on the line a... leap... an unexpected but welcome surprise.
Every parting... reluctant, an almost sense of... loss.
Every meeting, a wonder.

Not a distant memory from over a decade ago of the mafia don and mafiassimo... but a moment in the here and now, between Doctor Whiskers and the Assassin.

Contrasts

I remember watching in the mornings as the sunlight would creep in through the window and cut a strip of blazing white across the tanned skin of her forehead and right cheek, and glow red in her brown-streaked hair. I remember how very at peace - at last - she used to look, her chest barely rising as she breathed. And sometimes I'd reach down and brush a stray wisp of hair from her cheek.

I remember how very, very sad I used to feel, watching her as she slept.

And just before I left for work I'd lean over and kiss her lightly on the forehead, and most times she wouldn't stir, but sometimes she'd move a little and let out the faintest of squeaks.

And that filled my heart with sadness too.

She pulled me in closer and said, hey... don't think about it anymore; focus on the good times. There were good times... right?

Glass smilies

... that's because smilies was 2 days ago.

... I dunno, I have a funny feeling that memory is pretty much burnt in...

*****
I remember looking through the looking glass as she traced smilies on the surface; i remember the little smile on her face, and the way her hair was pulled back, and that look in her eyes, which words will never, ever be able to capture. I remember the way she glowed.

I remember catching myself smiling that same smile as I reached out and drew in a blob of a nose.

Yeah, that memory is pretty much burnt in.

A play with words

... we shall play tomorrow

*****
And then it strikes me what makes the assassin so lethal to myself.

She plays - we play - with words, with thoughts, with language, with situations as they crop up... and it's so easy to just laugh, or to smile...

... and then we lean in, and the play stops...

*****
... after all, a play without words is a mime.

... == Learn the Words ==

In good company

I remember disagreeing with a friend once upon a very long time ago, seated in a very small chair in her South Kensington apartment that activities were less important than the company you kept.

She, the pint-sized energizer/stress bunny, hard drinking, party-animal with the minuiture furniture and tatami mat (presumably because she was already so near the ground when standing up that lying on a mat made sense) asserted that it was all about doing exciting stuff; nevermind who tagged along. (We travelled in packs in those days, it just wasn't the done thing to go on dive trips or ski trips alone.)

I remembered a then not-so-distant time when lunch / dinner conversation, or just talking on the telephone could be... just about magical, and maintained that in the right company it didn't really matter what you did, at all, and only that you did it together. To my mind it extended beyond romantic love between partners, even to agape love between friends. Company outweighed activity.

Time passed and the years came and went, and with each new relationship / parting it seems a part of me weathered away; with the last ex it became apparent that activities were extremely, extremely important; up to the moment of... near / indiscretion - confessed from her own mouth to have stemmed from boredom.

Through the looking glass, and out the other side - suddenly activities were far more important than company alone; it only seemed natural that the only way two people could endure the mundanity of everyday was an expensive getaway somewhere exotic once in a while, or an out-of-this-world special activity of some form... some form of spice to liven up life; otherwise everything becomes mundane, no? As comfortable as it is to rush home and die in someone's arms, or to go out to all those shops every so often and buy girly stuff, or to watch the odd movie, or the odd meal... it isn't enough. I lamented what all us foreign returnees constantly harp on about : there's nothing to do or see here, in Singapore, except eat, shop and... eat.

And then this past week, just lying with her head on your chest listening to her speak, or sitting across from her watching her eyes sparkling as we eat, that random argument from another lifetime comes back to mind, and something strange seems to have happened to time.

Fallen

You look pensive, she says.

He looks into her eyes, and silently traces the arch of her brow, the curve of her face, that small half-smile of hers with his gaze; then smiles and says but that's just the way my face falls...

*****
When he was young, he used to dream of falling; just falling through space, with the wind in his hair, and all around him, plucking at his arms and legs, caressing his face.

Dry Christmas

So here I am, stuck in my jail cell on Christmas Eve, thinking :

Get me out. Get me out. Get me... out.

Lust, caution

L, in her usual fashion advocated caution. Remember the past; beware the crazies.

I'll admit I'm not usually terribly cautious about things; thinking back I realise it's because (ironically) I wanted to be happy; I wanted for those... strange, yet precious moments to revisit me. I chose to be precipitous in the past - everything is a gamble anyway, and with nothing left to lose, what harm can it do?

There is something amiss this time though; the colours are inverted, the polarities reversed. I bite back the words but once in a while they slip out...

words and thoughts that intimate that I miss her presence when we are apart - even when the parting is but for a ludicrously short while. That indicate a certain... distraction, and memories that burn to remember.

Changed

Until recently, I thought life was about making memories.

The memories I wish to carry with me are the good ones; I suppose this is termed having a selective memory.

I remember us at Chatuchak market; wandering through the puppies and the kittens, and being disturbed by the frightened squirrels; I remember eating in the little shop; but strangely the most vivid memory in my mind was of you sharing a green mango with me by the roadside; I suppose it embodied the best moments of you, and of us, in our relationship. You, sharing things with me, showing me things I didn't know, and taking joy from watching me, wide eyed in my sua-ku ness, enjoying things that gave you pleasure too.

I remember us in korea too, slipping on the ice as we walked late at night through the "snow", sharing moments of wonder with each other. And Coimbra, too, holding hands and walking slightly unsteadily uphill in the heat of the mid day sun after a refreshing roadside beer, and chancing upon a cat curled up on the wheel of an automobile, and laughing.

If I think back, I remember the others before as well; that's just the way it goes. We all have pasts, each and every one of us, and I want to take the best moments with me; I want for things to have meant something, because if I fixate on the worst moments all I'll feel is a lingering pain and sadness. I don't want to want to forget my memories, or to have to hide from other people.

I remember holding G close at the niagra falls, almost enveloping her with my jacket as the fine spray hit us from all around, as we shared the wonder of the lady in the mist, and the power of the niagra falls. I remember wandering along the top of it with her, and marvelling at the rainbow that hangs there, permanently, like some strange three D hologram.

And if I want to, I'll remember more -

- but something is different now; watching the assassin's eyes watching mine as we cup each others eyes with our hands, without need for words; sharing a moment of... almost childlike silliness...

life isn't about making memories anymore.

It's just about living the moment. And feeling happy when someone you care about smiles; even feeling happy, and just smiling of my own accord.

Life

I remember now why we didn't put labels to anything, why it was all very unspoken, why I called it the roller coaster.

I remember common, base feelings in the aftermath... regret. Confusion. Loss. Wondering what we had been, if anything at all - that eclipsed the memories of the moment, which were exhilirating... precious and special at the time, which should not have been corrupted in the aftermath, but were by my own dark nature.

This is the moment, now :

No desire to create boundaries with words; no need to. An almost-fear to... or a burning desire to... once mouthing the words silently against her neck, or blurting them out in the intensity of the moment, or hearing her, just the once, speaking my mind...

... there's no need : no need to think. No need to say. No need to understand, just to live.

No wish to spoil it all, by saying something stupid.

Too fast too furious

From xena :

So i was just at the supermk. The guy in front has problems w his pin. The cashier tells him : "Harder. Enter Harder."

Distracted, too

"It's so easy to spend time with you..."

"...It's so easy for me to spend time with you, and be happy."

*****
"It's strange, it's so easy to talk to you... sometimes thoughts complete themselves... but it's impossible to say certain things to you..."

"What kinds of things?"

"Things that mean too much"

Distracted

Uncharacteristically slightly incoherent for the assassin : sometimes... distracted at work, thoughts about... wondering what you're doing.

He : Yeah.

Unspoken : And I... if you only knew.

The First Day

Three indelible moments in time now, seared into my mind

*****
The First

She, half-turning in her front passenger seat to face me in the rear seat, her hair undone, streaming with wild abandon down over her shoulders, her eyes on mine.

Her eyes : filled with that strange, infinite, yet gentle sadness, somehow still encouraging, and forgiving.

*****
The Second

She, lying on the bed as I stood at the foot of it, gasping for breath, gasping, just gasping. All words exhausted now, all anger spent; all doors closed. There was nothing left to do, nothing left to say. Her brow furrowed in agony, her eyes on mine.

Her eyes : streaming, wet, filled with pain and darkness, and perhaps hatred, perhaps fear, perhaps other dark emotions I won't guess at, silently voicing what her lips were about to say.

*****
The Third

She, a dark, vaguely blue and grey striped silhouette in my car leaning forwards across the divide, her forehead on my sternum, my hands clasping the back of her head, clasping the hair bunched up at the back of her head, holding her forearm; feeling the droplets splattering one by one onto my forearm, left, then right, and feeling them turn cold as we sat in silence.

Her eyes : I couldn't even see her eyes. And yet the moment burnt in. How?.

Falling Stars

I remember the moment.

We were under the open sky; I seem to recall us standing just outside my bedroom door, and suddenly there it was; the first shooting star.

Look! we said, and we reached for each other's hands.

And as I clasped yours in mine, I thought to myself :

I wish this could last... for a little while longer.

*****
This is the kind of ramble that only happens late at night, perhaps only on select nights when you've stumbled upstairs hoping to catch a glimpse of something special, and come away unsurprised by a hatful of sky, and a skyful of clouds instead.

I was so young once.

There are so different many kinds of love. In my youth I knew I had blundered onto a powerful experience - and being the black and white thinker that I was, the logistician, I knew 1 - that was love, and 0 - other things were not. Perhaps I even judged the people around me by that same scale, if I did I was stupid for it.

Love comes in so many different flavours, I see it now, coupled with so many different ways of saying I love you.

There's a wondrous kind of love, the soundtrack of which might sound something like this :

I love you? I love you. I love you! I... love you? I love you!

It won't make any sense to anyone who hasn't walked that path; but it's a very young, very fragile, very childlike thing. Very simple, and perhaps in its own way, pure. I did it once, a world and countless timezones apart from a wonderful girl, and we shared a feeling that, in that point in time was special.

It melted away for me; it wasn't the kind of love that a cynic like me can maintain, or cherish and nurture, and in hindsight the dark side of me likes to laugh at myself - love? You didn't even begin to know the meaning!

But I don't think it melted away for her, in that she found it again, and so did her man, and I'm happy for them both now :) I think perhaps some people can hack that kind of thing, forever.

There's another kind of love, which is just words. I love you. Space fillers, the words spoken in comfort, in consolation, without any real feeling behind them.

I don't need to say much because we've pretty much all been there; I was there once, the second relationship of my life, stumbling through the darkness - I think it's how we learn - by making mistakes.... and for some people it's perhaps a mistake never to be learnt but to be lived by; for myself it's a mistake terrifying enough to run from, and never look back.

I can't live a lifetime by someone's side lying to myself, and to her. A lifetime... means too much to waste on lies; a lifetime better spent alone, in truth.

There're many other variants, I've lived quite a few - not because of any innate appeal to the opposite sex, but simply because I'm so old now... so, very, old. laugh. I've had a few chances, that and the fact that my relationships have by and large been short, dysfunctional affairs, and the concept of "long-term" to me is anything encountering the two year headstone, which is where everything usually falls apart.

There's a kind of I love you which is powerful, very, very dark and wrenching, very taiwanese soap opera; I laughed at Areya once upon a time (more fool me) and thought in my head : that's not love! as I watched her with her... taiwanese guy (laugh) and I saw how they brooded together.

And then I remember my hand on her (not areya. pfft!) cheek, sunlight streaming in the window as she slept, on her brow, my eyebrows creased wondering when the end would come, and knowing it would be so very soon; I remember silent I love yous while she slept, I remember the sense of loss even before the event; I remember knowing when she had betrayed me, before the fact; I remember after the fact and before the confrontation; I remember perhaps even knowing well beforehand that it would pan out this way.

I remember the tears slipping out against my will, the gentle sunlight forming a halo around her hair and face. The feel of your skin on my hand. The heaviness, and pain.

I could never hack that; I don't know what kind of psycho nutcase can, but taiwanese soap operas are enough to do a guy like me's head in.

And I can forgive, but I can't forget. I can in my weakness forgive so very much, but yes, she was right... things had changed. It's not that I would have made you remember... it's just that we were too different, you and I - I can't forget things by not talking about them, I can't un-make things by ignoring them. I can't let the world slide.

We were too different, she and I - she wrote "...I'd just tell him, I would really love for us to be friends again, a friendship with no hidden agenda, just two people who still ...enjoy the company of each other without the complications."

I would have loved that too, but to me friendship can only come to life with a mutual truth.

The "fuzzy friendship" thing that eluded her hinges on truth. Friends first, lovers second - friends who do not deceive. Even if the second follows on from the first rapidly, within weeks. And if it never does, then there's always friendship.

In the absence of truth, all that remains is lovers.. and I love yous that burn to remember, but fade with the breeze.

There's one more kind of ... I think it's love... but I'm really not certain anymore, and reluctant to put words to it.

It's that thing, that thing I knew once that I had pegged as the be all end all, that ridiculous roller coaster thing that in hindsight had been so obvious...

... only it's not. It's something that you mustn't put words to; it's something important that's just the moment, and it really doesn't matter anyway.

It's something that almost excludes the words "I love you" - not until you're very, very, extremely certain, because everything just means too much - This gleaned from a conversation with sasky...

And perhaps it never even reaches the words, perhaps it never reaches the stage... it doesn't really matter.

Perhaps it doesn't matter that there are no words that can capture it, none whatsoever, holding onto someone, or touching her face and looking at those eyes holding your own.

Perhaps there's a reason everything means too much to say things or make committments, and its a reason that's so simple it's selfish - because there's just too great a risk, too far to fall, to much to hurt if...

... and yet that doesn't matter either.

All that matters is now.

*****
I can imagine him, in mind's eye. Laugh.

Pointing at the sky with his stubby arm and saying, dramatically, And that's the Gemenids...

... and behind him cascades of stars beginning to crash through the canvas of sky...

*****
Meteor shower tonight! - ladygrey

I wish I could have been there, not here in the hospital, looking out at the clouds at three in the morning...

Cut and Break

And if I told you that I loved you
You'd maybe think there's something wrong
I'm not a man of too many faces
The mask I wear is one

*****
So hungry... forage for food...

... deja vu.

*****
For all the justifications
all the aspirations
for all the desires to be different

you walk the walk or talk the talk

I know the truth now
I wouldn't have settled.
I would have dreamt, and perhaps hoped

but at the core of this soul

We had that in common, You and I
We have that in common, YOu and I

call it what you may, commitment phobia...

... or a need to run.

You intimidate me.

Grey

*****
"My blog used to be called... A Need for Truth"

Moment

Her hands on his face, her eyes on his.

"You're interesting..."

"so are you"

*****
The phone rings.

"Do you need to get that?"

"No, it's a common phone for the whole house.'

"One ring to rule them all!"

Laugh

Squits

Thanks to some Bad Sushi, re-minisce is experiencing the mixed blessing of a restful day at home alternating between bed, toilet, piano, toilet and bed.

No prizes for guessing the nature of the ailment.

Thus far the Mother has forc... coerc.... encouraged re-minisce to sprawl on the sofa and listen to her playing (why is it everytime i want to play alone she appears...) all sorts of beautiful classical refrains.

I had the remarkable experience recently of conducting a matching scheme for my mummy-mismatched socks.

I now have a frightfully large collection of unpairable socks remaining. Perhaps the washing machine is a portal to another dimension...?

Heroes

The Cheerleader Regenerates.
Nathan Flies.

My Mum Mismatches Socks.

Sliding Scale

D : you were too nice to her, she took your niceness for granted...

I remembered her saying almost exactly the same thing : don't be too nice to me, or i'll take you for granted.

I believed it, for a while too : relationships are a sliding scale of giving and taking, tip the balance too far in one direction and everything begins to unravel.

It was my only source of sanity, of solace during my darkest hours - because I couldn't find any other reason. And I... wanted to bear the cross.

But the idealist in this cynic, who wants to believe that hope springs eternal, wants to think : maybe with a few people it isn't like that; maybe giving just comes naturally to a few, and maybe if two people who give by nature find each other, maybe, just maybe they create... a moment that lasts, and many gifts to remember.

Rabbit Rider

Every so often the Phoenix decides to exercise her "kitten" (that's a kitten?!?! more like a cheetah...) and leaves the Dragon struggling to catch up saddled on his little rabbit with its stubby little paws......

... it always makes him laugh.

Moment

I have many flaws... you're just not seeing them.

... I see them. Everybody is flawed; nobody is perfect.

*****
Uncanny. Words returning through time, echoes from the past.

No mask of perfection, but instead an admission of humanity.

lazy sunday morning, en route to the gym from the StanChart Finish Line



Too many calls...


Something funny in the men's change room...

Infinity Past

I remember this place.
I remember us holding each other close and shivering as the wind buffeted us.
I remember watching in wide-eyed wonder as the sky lightened around us.

I remember feeling that anything was possible, all paths were unwalked, but everything was right, right at that instant as we lay still, and shivered.

I remember this place - it is just a place, now.

*****
I put my soiled hands,
behind my back,
somewhere along the line,
i must have gone off track, with you.

*****
Falling in love is more than a feeling;
it's a decision to make, a sacrifice to take,
an admission of weaknesses,
and vulnerabilities confessed
relinquishing pride
forsaking lies
a time to be true,
a moment past concealing.

Unspoken

You have nice eyes, he said, his hands cupping her temples.

You must get that a lot...

Maybe, she said.

Unspoken : You have nice eyes... even when they're tired.

Aggressive marketing

(In mandarin)

Where did you get this done? The wizened old man asks holding up a re-shod sole, obvious distaste, bordering on contempt oozing off his voice and visage.

... Chinatown? (timidly) he replies.

uncomfortable pause.

... it's not very well done is it?

You said it, I didn't dare to say it. (literal)

I'll come back to you next time, thank you, thank you.

Gerbil

Cut it short, he said.

Shorter than this? Her eyes widened in incredulity.

It's meant to be a... surprise. It has to fit in this plastic bag.

We can do that, she said with a smile.

Tree Frog

And then as I sat holding her in her car, or perhaps she was holding me, and perhaps it was she breathing into my neck, or perhaps I into hers - presents were fading into pasts with the aging night, and it was late and we were so very tired - I knew.

I recognise the signs.

I know what it means when there always seems to be so much left to say to you and yet find myself so very incapable to expressing it, hear myself voicing mere fragments of the truths and thoughts I'd been meaning to share with you, to want to listen so much more than speak.

I know what it means to find myself gravitating unbidden towards you - not for the sake of it, nor because you asked, with or without words, nor because of intimacies we could potentially share... but simply because I'd like to see you again.

I know what it means to not dare to presume you think the same, even if your actions imply your thoughts.

*****
"Let me know if you'll need dinner tomorrow?"

Laugh.
"You know I do."

Scrubbed Text

From the blue.

"Can you remove my full name from your blog."

Silence, for a while.

"I don't have to, you know."

"I know."

"But if you want me to I will, because we loved each other once."

"Z, Why did you use my full name?"

"I don't know."
I guess I just always thought of you as your full name, I don't know why. I guess, somehow you were more than just a first-name to me, or perhaps you were just different, in my head.

And yes, of course I understand how important it is to you - now that everything stands on the brink, now that the Rest of your Life is beckoning.
But I don't understand what kind of foundations you can build forever on, if you have to protect him from the truth, from the heart of the matter.
If he loves you, he will accept all your truths, and all your previous untruths; he will teach you truth, and forgive your past.

The truth of the matter is that truth always finds its way to the surface, one way or the other. And discovery of an intentional absence of truth is a harsh, harsh thing.

I wish you well, truly, I do.

*****
I remember hugging your father hard, man to man, in silence, fighting back the bewilderment and pain in my eyes, trying to beat back the deafening cacophony of silence in my head, trying to smile.

Goodbye, uncle.

I remember as I sat alone in the pathetic, dingy little airport hard plastic seat, staring out into the night.

And then the message from your mother :

"In my heart, you are already my son."

*****
You must be a wise hunter, your mother said.

And as I passed her the red box with my last gift out of time to you, whom I knew once, I knew her for a good woman, and I knew she was right.

I must be a wise hunter.

I must hunt prey that are... right for me.

Just a dream

*****
Watching her gazing blankly at the countertop, occasionally glancing up with those oversized eyes into mine.

"And sometimes, you know, it feels like it never happened... all that time together..."

"I know." I know. I know...

"... I just knew that there was no way forwards except marriage..."

Deja vu.

"I knew that I couldn't do it for the rest of my life... the arguments which ended in his not calling me for days... until sometimes I'd cry. Towards the end I found myself pressing the auto-redial button on my phone, and going about the daily chores... checking on the phone now and again to see if it got through... just to make the effort, you know?"

"I know."

"And then the final time, he realised after a while that I wasn't calling back, and then he called me and was angry with me at first, and said I hurt him, and I thought all those times you made me cry... what, was it just to teach me a lesson?"

She looks up with those beautiful, liquid, sad eyes of hers.

"You're right, you couldn't have done that... it's the rest of every day of your life."

"But I miss him, you know?"

"How will you feel if he moves on?"

"Wah I tell you man, I'll cry...... I don't want to wake up one day, and you know, listening to you... Don't want to be like her, I don't want it to be too late, you know?"

"It won't be; it's totally different... I think you deserve someone who's better for you, someone who won't control your whereabouts, who won't expect you to stay home all the time doing housework, someone who'll give you space and make you happy."

"I want to be... me."

I am the Keymaster

un-surprised

Ah well, all the more soup for me.

ruelful laugh.

Equality

Equality to my mind has always been nothing more complicated, nor less simple than just two people.

Two people, sans the bells and whistles of the attendant circus of the rest of the world.

Two people who understand each other, who laugh together, who dream together, who walk, just walk together. Who are decent to each other, and good for each other. Who respect each other, yet make each other laugh. Who forgive, and are forgiven for their trespasses. Who may not think in perfect tandem, but are able to think together. Who share and communicate the truth, and are stronger for it together.

It's never had anything to do with power careers, with family status, with wealth or poverty, or even with perfect compatibility.

Perhaps in my youth I was extremely hung up on a more superficial equality, of thoughts, of minds, of humours, of wits, of communication.

It was because of Her, because we were similar - and I pegged equality as precisely that. Similarity; near clairvoyance, common language, common turns of phrase to the extent that thoughts need not be completed, that sentences could be read before they were spoken.

As I aged so too did my convictions - perhaps this is the vaunted maturity of years - and my convictions of steel, my black and whites melted into something... wiser.

And so it is that everytime I fall in love with someone - which happens rarely - I burn for equality, and it starts that way - it always feels like an equal. Because if it didn't, I know from experience now when to pull out and escape - Self preservation, and preservation of others.

My friends sometimes chide me after the fact for perceived "inequalities" or incompatibilities, but that's not the way it works at all.

The truth is, while I'm in it with someone else, equality is only about her and I. And only for her and I. Everyone else, family, friends, acquaintences.... well their opinions are important at some level of course, and it's important to hear them out. But really they really don't matter.

Equality only breaks down when either party in the relationship perceives it. Or when they prove it.

*****
"You two look good together."

A remark, from the blue.

Dashboard ornament

Aww a little stuffed toy dog...


and then it moves...


Carpark @ work

Dawn - Eyes rheumy and back aching, walking with leaden feet...


Dusk - Eyes aching, back rheumy, walking with leaden feet...

Fire in the Sky

Behind you, he said.

And for those brief minutes they sat in silence and watched the sky as it flickered, then flared to life, and faded into darkness.

It won't do it justice, she said as he drew his cameraphone from his pocket.

And sitting there across from her he knew she was right; some things simply cannot be captured on film; some things are best preserved in memory. Some memories will always be special come what may, that he was here with her under this blood red sky at all, and that through the span of that evening as she sparkled he drank, and drowned.

Harry Scary and the Goblet of Fairy

So re-minisce decides it's a lazy saturday afternoon, the shop floor's nearly empty, time for a nap...

... so the powers that be decide to admit the uber-man in white himself.

Whimper.

I like my head unbroken.

whimper.

*****
"Oh dear drinks might not be advisable but let me know if you need dinner delivered"

"You know i'd say yes just to get a chance to get foo... a chance to see you again."

Silver lining, or lightning? :)

Moment

"...the reason I'm crippled around you is because as long as you're talking and animating yourself with those eyes and being you, I just want to sit here and listen to you and watch your eyes, and I can't to do anything that might jeapordize the moment...

.... so shut up..."

and then he kissed her.

Whatever

Loving someone is never a mistake, if nothing else because it gives you a chance to learn something about yourself.

The only time you can truly regret having loved someone, truly regret having been involved with someone is if you learnt nothing, or if you lost more than you gained.

I've only regretted one relationship in my past, and it was a rebound thingie to some woman i remember as a nutjob. I don't regret my last relationship with you, I don't regret the sadness that I endured, for you.

If you want to live with the truth, then create truths you can live with.
The photos are out of my wallet now, as are the namecards.

But I won't ever forget, or regret the afternoon you offered me company, on my way to delifrance. I have good memories of us, and you.

Thanks for all the memories, and have a great life.

Irresistable attraction. To floor.

So I started the day by doing the usual effortless flop into chair routine and wound up on the ward floor on my back, with nurses making a beeline towards the source of the loud thump, only to walk away disgusted on discovering it wasn't a felled patient.

I do not. Fall. Over.

*****
LadyGrey : so I am your bad balance bear now?

mutter.

The Question

I misunderstood her then, and assumed she was speaking in terms of mice and men, much the way S, J's friend said it in her oxymoronic hot-mama cool-chick hongkong-triad motherly fashion (it's a stretch of imagination, but still workable, really...) - waah a doctor and a .... hen pei.
But I don't think that way; I just see people.

In hindsight I realise that I hadn't told Sara yet what she did...

Sara : ...So what does it feel like... to date an equal?

I think I understand her question now; not a question of worth and measures at all.

*****
"You have remarkable eyes" he says, looking away before he can catch himself.

What the hell?!
We know how it's done, we've never had trouble before : you look the girl square in the eye and you smile a little; it's that easy. It's an act, easy peasy. And what's a bit of play acting..

... remarkable? Graah.

What was that??

*****
And then the curtain falls -

"when i asked you if you were on the rebound, you said it had been 3 months...
but you see, i don't think i was necessarily referring to your last relationship..."

Not a seer?
With X-ray vision like that?.

graah.

Paralyzed

At some point during dinner while they're leaning in just a tad too close to each other as they speak, and his eyes are searching hers while they laugh, he realises why it's so... difficult... around her, and perhaps why it was so difficult back at fifteen as well.

As long as she's animating herself with those eyes, assaulting him with that wit... there is nothing he wants more, right then and there, than to just watch, and listen.

Hmm perhaps a blindfold might come in handy.

****
A girl who has dreams about saving the world, and dying.

How could anyone possibly resist that?

Fifteen

She's struggling with the cap on her illicit ta-paod coffee martini in a perrier bottle; he offers to help and reaches through the metal bars of the gate. Their fingers touch and remain in contact as he loosens the not-terribly-tight bottlecap.

Hands withdraw and he smiles a goodbye as he backpeddles, laughing silently in his head; the few words exchanged between two habitual wordsmiths simple, honest and spontaneous.

*****
"I forgot to tell you this last night but sometimes you make me feel like I am 15 again."

"Just great, we have a mutually retarding effect on each other. So much for all that university education eh?"

Unexpected

the measure of a woman

*****
"Unexpected like being mowed down by a three tonner while crossing a quiet residential street?"

Almost frightening, how he knew what the message would read, virtually word for word the second his phone chimed.

Different

(nervously) "I've been meaning to tell you for a while now... that you have very intelligent eyes. Just that it's kinda difficult to slip surreptitiously into everyday conversation...."

*****
Remembered from the past:
"You have pretty eyes..."
"Crazy eyes, crazy eyes!"
"I like your eyes..."

*****
(left unspoken)

Perhaps not the most flattering of compliments, but not so much a compliment as a simple statement of fact.
Pretty eyes... attractive eyes... engaging, expressive eyes that talk, and laugh when she's making others around her laugh, or running you into the ground - all true, but also completely missing the point, failing to capture the quintessential :

Quick, watchful eyes that miss little, (except walls, floors and other mundane physical barriers to gravity) eyes that dance with life, and bubble with mirth.

*****
Grappling to search out elusive words, that simply fail to do justice or refuse to be choked out when clearly conceptualized, regardless of effort.

Different.

*****
She : "How do you know you're not going through a rebound?"

He : "Well, it's been three months..."

She : "That's not very long at all."

He (with a smile) : "I've been through it before, I remember what it was like. I'm not."

Unspoken :
I remember the killing blow, delivered over the telephone as I forced it out of her -because the truth is so, so important.

I remember walking through the garden as she spoke, hands brushing the wetness on the leaves of the bougainvilleas, and looking up at the sky, and that full, full moon, and the sparse stars peppering the black canvas of the sky. I remember knowing in advance what was coming, that innate clairvoyance finally kicking in as I heard her speak, and heard instead everything Sara had been telling me about who she would turn out to be.

I remember bewilderment - the I love yous that still appeared on my phone mere days before; and suddenly there it was, the other guy who was always around her, the guy who irritated her for his childishness, the guy who angered her for trying to take liberties with her although she was with someone else.... there it was, we have to break up because he just tried to kiss me, and I did.

And then there was more, a single event turned into weeks, and perhaps months.

I remember walking dazed through life, almost as if the air around me had turned to treacle; hearing words pass me by, hands moving mechanically as i cleaned and draped, or closed wounds; my head an unending chorus of unanswerable questions. I remember how hard it was to relax, how tense, like a coiled spring about to explode I was.

I remember pervasive sadness, and above all that overwhelming sense of betrayal; and then a moment's madness - meeting another woman who sounded like her; someone to take away my sadness with something... familiar. I remember trying to tell myself I knew myself, I remember watching myself in mind's eye as we stood against the car and I looked at her without really seeing her. I remember everything happening too quickly, in accelerated time, that treacley feeling still all around me; awareness not quite regained; and then I remember when awareness returned and I found myself really looking at her, listening to her, and feeling trapped, unhappy, and wondering what the hell just happened...

I don't remember ever wondering if I would feel sadness as we parted, and I Remember the sweet, sweet relief that came at the end, even as she slapped me very deliberately, once to the left, and once to the right, and I raised my eyebrows in return and perhaps smiled in incredulity.

*****
And then I remember us unhappening; things were different. We both expected to feel relief - it wasn't something unexpected that happened overnight, rather something in the making for several months, something I'd tried to subtly and not so subtly shake you out of and failed repeatedly at; and when the moment came and passed there was no relief for either of us but only sadness.

I didn't become depersonalized and the world didn't slide by in bullet time; everything was real, and I didn't want the words in my head, didn't want to remember and hurt.

My salvation wasn't in the bottom of a glass, or in the eyes of a woman who reminded me of her; it began the night J introduced me to K; it began the night MM linked arms with me and we upended our champagne glasses an laughed.

It began with laughter, and friendship.

And it was so, so easy to relax, and to smile as K introduced me to his clutch of gorgeous handmaidens and I met eyes with them and laughed.

I didn't stop to hurt because I don't want to; I don't need to.

I need to laugh, and live for the moment - not for the past.

Intimidating

...you intimidate me, he says.

That's the second time this week that's happened, she says, looking puzzled.

Really? What did the other guy say? he asks with a smile.

*****
They're walking down the waterfront and then a little further along, past a memorial that has always been just a place to walk past, and past empty spaces that have never been anything more than space-fillers, shoulders lightly brushing each others', bumping hands from time to time. He's stunned to find himself struggling with words again, eloquence having fled him like a terrified puppy with its tail firmly between its hindlegs.

"You know how it is when you're fifteen, and you've met this amazing girl, and everything's really important and charged with significance, and everything's so hard to do and say... and then you get older, and it gets easier, and it's something you learn how to do, to pick up on signals and act on them, and you feel like you have nothing really left to lose, and so it's easy... ...What I'm trying to say is that... you make me feel fifteen again..." (!) (Ugh. What the hell, that's was so not what I was trying to say...)

A blank look. Errr... No?

Choke. Sputter. "No what I really mean is that I'm not in control when you're around." (Groan. Me stalker, me like porn! ...just kill me now, before I embarrass myself any further...)

*****
Several hours later, the play by play replay, in a different setting. Alcohol-fortified and by the light of the stars (and bar).

"Why I find you intimidating...

...... it's not that I can't read the signs, God knows I'm too old for that... and I'm most assuredly not gay... it's just...
..... I'm just not used to being at some restaurant with a girl watching her as she ... shines, and feeling this ridiculous urge in the absence of any signals, in full view of the public to want to...

... reach out"

he smiles a little, his eyes never leaving hers as his hand rises and lightly touches the curve of her face; she turns her head a little, into his palm and there's a trace of a smile on her lips. The she says oh! as he says : do you understand now, why you intimidate me?

And then the door opens and the men in black disembark, and the moment passes.

Animal Farm

Gotta love that Sheep of Doom and Tiger of Tidings

But what do I do with all these Rabbits of Wrath?

Broadside

Broadsided : Getting run down by a galleon under full sail while paddling in the shallows.

*****
... and as they ate, she sparkled - her eyes, her wit, her soul. And he was charmed, and seized by an inexplicable urge - sans signals, and inappropriate as it was - to just reach out and touch her brow. But instead, he smiled, and they laughed.

Avenue Q, take two

"I'm glad I met you."

And then the words dry up.

*****
Me give you... ten million dollars!

In volatile market, only stable investment is pornnnn!

If you were gay, I'd shout Hurray! ....

The internet is for porn... The internet is for porn... Why you think the net was born, porn, porn porn!

*****
Jst as enjoyable second time round as first; although Sasky would probably quibble about the precise details.

Oh yes, to anyone watching Ave Q from the Boxes : warning, beware of head injury. Hold onto handrail at all times. You may experience some... turbulence.

****
An unconscious, gradual, imperceptible sideways lean-in only realised with a certain startlement when their shoulders touched and remained in contact; a compelling desire to make and hold eye contact, to watch, to speak, to hear.

Significant, or insignificant. Does it matter?
Everything in life is only for now.

*****
I am the walrus,
fat bottomed girls,
yellow submarine...

this is not a mix-tape, it's... round.

Left unspoken : It's good to have met you, too.

Sound of Music

Remi-mum (creeps up on re-minisce while he's sprawled on the floor repairing the New Guy's laptop), from behind : I think you should get a girlfriend who plays the piano.

re-mi : gah?

remi-mum : you know, an insider. Not an outsider.

re-mi : I have NO IDEA what you're talking about

remi-mum : you know our family name is...

re-mi : yes you've told me before, court musician, blahblah. What does playing the piano have to do with a girlfriend! And I'm not a pianist! And you're not a pianist, you're a lawyer!

remi-mum (drawing herself up) : Excuse me, I'm a housewife!

re-mi : ......

*****
sometimes I worry for my mother.

Treading the line

"So why do you like to run?"

"I can zone out."

Perhaps that's just the way runners are. Perhaps it's nothing special, just something... in common.

I tell people I like to run because it gives me a buzz at the end of it.
But it's not always true. Most of the time I don't, especially when I've been out of it for a while.

The reason I like to run is the same reason I used to wander down the bank of the Thames in the evenings, all those years ago in the immediate aftermath of Her.

It helps me to not-think, for a while.

*****
Listening to some irritating random chick tell me the other day that I needed to take time to grieve (you think you know me? I feel like hacking your head off with my sabre, organic lemon my foot!)...

I told her No.

I do not NEED to take time to grieve.

I NEED to drink, after the ridiculous nightmare that work has become. I NEED to laugh. I NEED to RUN.

So why don't you take that lemon and stick it somewhere... organic.

*****
So this is what happens when you grieve.

The day comes and goes, and is forgotten.
Except something in the back of your mind lingers, and then sadness creeps in like a cat out from the cold, from the lower centers into conscious thought.

It doesn't go away. It doesn't get better with time.
The bewilderment, the... bad feelings.
The memories of how things were exhilarating, so exciting once, the thrill of discovery, of unexpectedness. The familiar sensation of contentment that accompanied us dying in bed in the afternoons. The contentment and...ease I felt, between us. The willingness to experience your world, and the forlorn wish that you would share that same willingness, for me to share mine with you.

The inability to reconcile the growing knowledge of what I must have been becoming to you. How un-special I must be, for you to... play that game. How little I must mean to you; unable to reconcile all this with the words and the actions you showed to my face, the I love yous, which were gradually dwindling, but still being spoken. Unable to reconcile the person I had fallen for, with the person who was falling down into darkness without her even realising it.

Self-doubt. Doubt in you. Doubt in us.

This is what happens when I grieve, alone in my car en route to the gym, eyes blurring as a dark tide rises.

This is where I stand now, on a fine line - where I knew I would be, one day, and where I struggled against you to try to prevent us reaching.

I just wanted to die in your arms.
I didn't want for this : to be surrounded by women attractive to me, and reaching this line, just beyond that last of the bridges linking us, if only a feeble email, as it burns away into faded obscurity.

I wanted us to be happy, again. A simple, futile wish; it takes two hands to clap.

All I NEED now is to run. And run, and run till my lungs are bursting, and my mind is... empty.

So, so bad.

And after that, to laugh, and then to drink.

*****
Just over two months; sometimes I still feel you in the car by me, sometimes I remember the stupid dances you did in the car to the radio, and it feels like only yesterday, and I could just reach out and touch you again, or drive home to you, away from the nightmare.

Sometimes it feels like something from another lifetime; something that was the nightmare, something to let slip into the realms of the forgotten. A forgotten story of not heroes and not villains, just two good people who werent good to each other. Something... unspecial.

*****
Watching Lady Grey's eyes laugh as she befuddles a stranger who is asking her about her chinese horoscopic sign.

I'm a phoenix! The prospective stranger does a double take. Well, okay... just a chicken.

Laugh.

Yes, the phoenix. Rising, from the ashes. The Lady... Grey.

*****
"I almost wish I did sweet nothings, but that's just not my style."

"Don't worry, you're not doing too badly."

Slightly cheesy, but kinda nice lines for a screenplay. Laugh. Must get back to writing that story someday.

Reasons

Sara asked me a question the other day... what does it feel like, to.....

... well to be sure i not sure that I am; but it feels... good. Effortless.

Easy to laugh.

Alive.

*****
There's a reason why I was sad last night; a reason why traffic is one way, why some paths cannot be retrod and why all the foresight in the world cannot prevent the future.

There's a reason why I don't do sweet nothings; I can, and I'm perfectly capable, but sometimes, I just... musn't.

There's a reason for fine, fine lines.

And that's the reason I was sad last night.

*****
There's a fine, fine line
between the present, and the past

A Fine Line

There's a fine, fine line
between together, and not

And there's a fine, fine line
between what you wanted, and what you got

....

There's a fine, fine line
between love, and a waste of time

Alcoholics Anonymous - 9 / 11

out-take

setting : the esplanade

focus on re-mi's mobile screen as the message to the assassin takes shape :
"will you be at klee later?"

finger presses send. pause. On screen : Message send failed - No network coverage

the theater is impervious to radiofrequency waves apparently.

at the intermission an hour later, an incoming message appears the second the doors open :
"from assassin : will you be at klee later?"

laugh.

******
Post musical drinks.

Re-mi found himself separated from his evening companion by dint of duty, each of us entertaining a complete stranger, as one does.

Her stranger was an interesting, reticent artist who looked suspiciously like the lead male from a taiwan serial involving gambling and casinos.

His stranger was probably a nice girl at heart....

probably...

weeell. "I appreciate the flavour of absinthe" does not cut it with re-minisce, who was tempted to ask her if she'd ever tried floor cleaner in that case.

Oh, and "excuse me, is that an organic lemon? I only take organic"...

howl.
Re-mi had to fight hard not to whip the lemon out of the stunned bartender's hand, rub it on the counter top a little, and hand it back to her. There. Organic enough for you now, luv?

The final straw.

"Bartender, this is a really lovely place, I love what you've done with it, now can you do me a favour, make me something that will blow my mind away." (flattery will get you everywhere...)

The third time she repeated it, re-mi looked her in the eye and said "how about a shotgun?"

*****
Honestly, you don't have to act special to be special. Just be yourself; there's bound to be someone out there who'll like you for who you are.

I think.

*****

Lady Grey opined that perhaps the stranger was pulling out all the stops to win re-mi's heart, by acting posh.

Well me no like posh spice. Me like wit and intelligence...

Avenue Q, 08 nov 08

The internet is for porn!

The internet is for porn, porn porn!

ahahahahahahahaha.

*****
There's a fine line

There's a fine, fine line between a lover and a friend;
There's a fine, fine line between reality and pretend;
And you never know 'til you reach the top if it was worth the uphill climb.

There's a fine, fine line between love
And a waste of time.
There's a fine, fine line between a fairy tale and a lie;
And there's a fine, fine line between "You're wonderful" and "Goodbye."

I guess if someone doesn't love you back it isn't such a crime,
But there's a fine, fine line between love
And a waste of your time.

And I don't have the time to waste on you anymore.
I don't think that you even know what you're looking for.
For my own sanity, I've got to close the door
And walk away...Oh...

There's a fine, fine line between together and not
And there's a fine, fine line between what you wanted and what you got.
You gotta go after the things you want while you're still in your prime...

There's a fine, fine line between love
And a waste of time.



*****
One of the girls commented that the song was so emo that she cried.

Dry

Broke out the laptop to use on the call, since I'm effectively a prisoner on my own ward for twenty four hours.

It still has that game we used to play, the two of us; mame-multiplayer, Strikers 1942.

Do you remember? At your old place; the two of us hitting the keyboard madly till our wrists and hands hurt, you constantly scolding me for stealing your power-ups and bombs. And then there was that time when we played on two different computers, but it just wasn't as fun.

I remember.

Sad.

*****
When Lady Grey made a generous offer in the morning to take-out consolatory drinks in the evening for the parched, peeved prisoner of hearts, I thought she was just playing....

...so when she messaged about five minutes ago to say the jealous owner was refusing to allow her take out...

... laugh. Amused? Bemused? ...Touched.

Oracle

The ex-ex asked me when I would settle down and get married.

I guess when I meet someone I want to marry, who wants to marry me too, I replied.

That's how it goes for everyone, no?

Shrug
*****
I watched her eyes as she spoke, as she inadvertently elicited memories of my own about other times, people and places, as she shared our memories.

And I saw in her what The Oracle saw, in all of the five minutes it had taken her.

The First Rule : Never disagree with The Oracle.

Thirsty as the Sahara

Reeling. Is what re-minisce is, from the onslaught of the new posting.
Five alternate day calls in a row, ten calls in a month. An intensive care unit run solely by non-intensivists who pride themselves on being Jack of All Trades.

Things could be worse. On the bright side, I get to tell people I break hearts for a living. (don't tell anyone that they were fixed before I broke them...) It's a step up from what Ken was introducing me as. Laugh.

Day Zero did not go down too well though.

Registrar : You're from Hong Kong right?

Re-minisce : ... !

Registrar : Just that you're damn ang moh lah.

Re-minisce : .

*****
Re-mum : When you eat something you must cover it up, because lizards and baby mice are everywhere!

Re-minisce : ...

*****
Two calls and three nights later, I'm about as flat as, and perhaps even thirstier than the Sahara.

Drinks with the Lady Grey in an hour; I can barely wait... =)

Speechless

Good grief.

Good money down the.. Ho.

*****

Darth Maul @ Klee

Ahahahahaha

Remi - 1 Secretaries - 0

The Assassin-wife was disconcertingly relaxed during dinner even as the warzone unfolded about us (inside joke; wouldn't rather have had anybody else as a companion cum sacrificial lamb on the paramedical battlefield than a member of the assassin's guild) and oddly enough, so was Re-minisce, even despite the presence of the Professor whose fire he had stolen the day before, garbed, disturbingly in leather jacket and reversed cap.

Perhaps it was how... bizarre everything was ("Gun and roses!" "Donna Daniels from australia!" "XXX Rock!") or perhaps it was the wife who was magnificently at ease with herself in the presence of... strangeness... and completely unaverse to leaning in and sliding that razor sharp wit between reminisce's ribs; but as the evening wore on and transformed from eccentric to way-out surreal (nurses whirling napkins with wild abandon!) re-minisce found himself... actually enjoying himself. Oblivious to the familiar yet unfamiliar dinner-companions around us. And laughing a great, great deal.

Nah, it must have been the coke...

Just before saturation point (shortly after Beat it, and Bring me Back to Life) re-mi and "wife" bid the ill-at-ease dinner companions goodbye, to move on to real food, real drinks, and a semblance of normality.

Perhaps one of the funniest moments to re-mi was lost on everybody else, as the oddly rhinocerean (think star wars bad-guy) compere was enthusiastically destroying everybody's eardrums from her perch on the stage.

T (lovely girl that she is) : Where do you work?

Compere : (shout shout grunt grunt, giggle)

Assassin : mumble mumble C

T : What?

Assassin : AGC!

T : Oh.... NDC!

Such a fall from grace, from predator to... nurse. Ahahaha. Ha. Cough.

*****
Lawgiver

Background story : some time in the not so distant past, re-minisce was dodging out of the way of a... playful nurse in OT when he inadvertently got trapped in the sliding OT door.

Instant subcutaneous / intramuscular haematoma, shrug, no biggie. Tis but a flesh wound. (think monty python and the quest for the holy grail.)

Today re-minisce's mum wanders unannounced into the room as always, and beholds her shirtless son on his computer.

re-mum : what's all that blood on your shoulder!

re-mi : just a bruise. grunt.

re-mum : how did you get it!!

re-mi : hit by door.

(can we predict the next line in this script? Something along the lines of oh my god its so big, or are you okay, or does it hurt? Some show of sympathy for the injured duckling?? Hah. Think again.)

re-mum : what kind of door was it!

re-mi : ... ...
(pause)
WHAT DOES IT MATTER WHAT KIND OF DOOR

re-mum : why are you getting angry with me!

re-mi : I'm NOT ANGRY. It's a crazy kind of question to ask!

re-mum : NO IT'S NOT, I'M A LAWYER (sigh. Ok I confess, she's a lawyer.) DON'T CALL YOUR MOTHER CRAZY!!!

re-mi : It makes as much sense as asking one of your friends after she got hit by a car what make of car it was!! Or what colour the handrail of the staircase grandma fell down and broke her hip on was!!

re-mum : It makes perfect sense!!!

argue argue. argue.

*****
When Re-mi was younger (perhaps five) he swore that he would never, ever. Ever on pain of death. Ever.

Never.

In case we're not very clear on this.

Never-ever.

Even think, of thinking of dating a lawyer.

Ever.

I mean they're morally ambiguous right? And they have as much humour in them as dead, gutted fish, right?

And no matter what, you can't win arguments with them; when logic fails they switch into overdrive, right? And arguing is... never fun, right???

Cough.

*****
She opined somewhat contemplatively that men were intimidated by women who weren't their social inferiors; the room murmured in assent.

Re-mi thought : That's just not true. Not all of us see in terms of mice and men. Not all of us see people as careers, or social platforms. Some of us just see people.

Some of us thrive on... humour. Reparte. Wit. Effortless ripostes...

Some of us gun for equality.

Then he said : ... not all men are like that.

...the room murmered in dissent.