The craziest, craziest thing happened last night.
And now all I'm doing is sitting down here, with butterflies in my stomach.
I haven't had the butterflies in a decade.
It's as if time is hanging in the balance, and should I be so lucky, a few hours from now... should I be so lucky. I may have reconciliation at last.
I never told anyone till last night.
When I turned Catholic, I had to undergo Confession.
It was frightening.
And the words I told the priest, the story I told, was of wronging an old, old friend. And casting her away.
The priest told me that that was not a sin, and surely there is something more my son? He wanted me to talk about sex or masturbation...
But it was a sin, in my mind.
The biggest one.
I pray. I pray to make amends, a few hours from now. Thank you for giving me this chance, Lord.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Friday, August 8, 2008
The Saddest Day
Today will be the hardest day
to smile and hide my heart, and conceal the cracks.
True courage is not about having never felt fear, but about facing a tragic death, expectant of pain, and knowing that it will be done; because it must.
The time is fast upon me now
The hour of our death
*****
Goodbye, no use leading with our chins
This is where our story ends
Never lovers, ever friends
Goodbye, let our hearts call it a day
But before you walk away
I sincerely want to say
I wish you bluebirds in the spring
To give your heart a song to sing
And then a kiss, but more than this
I wish you love
to smile and hide my heart, and conceal the cracks.
True courage is not about having never felt fear, but about facing a tragic death, expectant of pain, and knowing that it will be done; because it must.
The time is fast upon me now
The hour of our death
*****
Goodbye, no use leading with our chins
This is where our story ends
Never lovers, ever friends
Goodbye, let our hearts call it a day
But before you walk away
I sincerely want to say
I wish you bluebirds in the spring
To give your heart a song to sing
And then a kiss, but more than this
I wish you love
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
The Truth about Oberon and Titiana
Something to get off my chest, after an exchange online with someone who used to be my friend, but now apparently has become an unpleasant stranger.
*****
It looked to be a match made in heaven at first; both of them bloggers, both apparently in love, he, charismatic, she, good looking. They wrote online about their perceptions of love developing, and it was sweet.
Coming out of something rather unpleasant (I wouldn't even bother to call it a relationship.. just an unpleasant exerience) I couldn't help but feel just a little envious. I always seem to get the short end of the stick, in love.
Oberon was my friend first, Titiana his handmaiden. I was never particularly close to her. He was charismatic, and easy to like.
I was close to the common pool of friends we shared, friends from before I had even met him.
I write these truths which I have kept hidden for a long time now, because they no longer seem to matter. Titiana has truly moved on, and is safe now in her brave new world. Everything that transpired... inconsequential memories now.
...when things began to sour, Oberon would gripe ocasionally to us about her paranoia and unwarranted insecurities, and in truth he painted a very persuasive picture. She seemed quite the fruitcake.
Titiana spoke a little to me though, and I realised two things :
The first that every coin has two sides, and whilst she was partly fruity, he was no angel either.
The other obvious thing was that he had many friends to support him; she in contrast had so few to hear her truths.
And so I chose to hear her out.
This angered Oberon, who ordered me to desist - which rankled me, because nobody has that right... nobody at all.
As I heard her story, I was disturbed to find that the truth lay incontrovertibly closer to her side of the coin than his.
Daily exposure to precipitants - writing plays with the Ex as the lead, writing about sexual experiences with her - although she was in the past... repeated trips overseas with the Ex, some concealed, all "on business"....
small wonder for her "paranoia"?
But these were just her words; I am too old to choose sides so simply.
The darker side of the story which my ex-friends will never know, unless they read this entry - he turned her into his sex-toy, constantly telling her they could never be and that he was not with her, that it was Over... then choosing to make love to her afterwards, because presumably, she was there, doable, and attractive.
She was torn between the mixed signals despite all the advice from her own friends and myself to dump him like so much bad rubbish, and felt that there must be some hope left for them.
Double standards : he was free to date, but he was also free to become jealous if she chose to try the same. She was not free to do either.
Triple standards, I was judged a competitor, and ostensibly out for her sex, which apparently incurred feelings of jealousy in him. Ludicrous, since our friendship had always ever been nothing but platonic. She is a creature of silence and self; I am the opposite. We operate on different operating systems. There could never be love between us, other than the little care we showed each other as friends and confidants, and wastrels of time.
Caught in the crossfire, it seemed I had chosen a side - the side that had been wronged. And if there was anything I could do to help, I would : help her move on.
And in the end she did, through various men, and it gladdened me.
I alienated myself from the Group; it did not feel right, and meetings were tense, and forced. In the end it simply proved easier to concentrate on work and exams, and my own personal life... I chose the path of least resistance, and put it all away from me.
And that is the story of Oberon and Titiana.
*****
It looked to be a match made in heaven at first; both of them bloggers, both apparently in love, he, charismatic, she, good looking. They wrote online about their perceptions of love developing, and it was sweet.
Coming out of something rather unpleasant (I wouldn't even bother to call it a relationship.. just an unpleasant exerience) I couldn't help but feel just a little envious. I always seem to get the short end of the stick, in love.
Oberon was my friend first, Titiana his handmaiden. I was never particularly close to her. He was charismatic, and easy to like.
I was close to the common pool of friends we shared, friends from before I had even met him.
I write these truths which I have kept hidden for a long time now, because they no longer seem to matter. Titiana has truly moved on, and is safe now in her brave new world. Everything that transpired... inconsequential memories now.
...when things began to sour, Oberon would gripe ocasionally to us about her paranoia and unwarranted insecurities, and in truth he painted a very persuasive picture. She seemed quite the fruitcake.
Titiana spoke a little to me though, and I realised two things :
The first that every coin has two sides, and whilst she was partly fruity, he was no angel either.
The other obvious thing was that he had many friends to support him; she in contrast had so few to hear her truths.
And so I chose to hear her out.
This angered Oberon, who ordered me to desist - which rankled me, because nobody has that right... nobody at all.
As I heard her story, I was disturbed to find that the truth lay incontrovertibly closer to her side of the coin than his.
Daily exposure to precipitants - writing plays with the Ex as the lead, writing about sexual experiences with her - although she was in the past... repeated trips overseas with the Ex, some concealed, all "on business"....
small wonder for her "paranoia"?
But these were just her words; I am too old to choose sides so simply.
The darker side of the story which my ex-friends will never know, unless they read this entry - he turned her into his sex-toy, constantly telling her they could never be and that he was not with her, that it was Over... then choosing to make love to her afterwards, because presumably, she was there, doable, and attractive.
She was torn between the mixed signals despite all the advice from her own friends and myself to dump him like so much bad rubbish, and felt that there must be some hope left for them.
Double standards : he was free to date, but he was also free to become jealous if she chose to try the same. She was not free to do either.
Triple standards, I was judged a competitor, and ostensibly out for her sex, which apparently incurred feelings of jealousy in him. Ludicrous, since our friendship had always ever been nothing but platonic. She is a creature of silence and self; I am the opposite. We operate on different operating systems. There could never be love between us, other than the little care we showed each other as friends and confidants, and wastrels of time.
Caught in the crossfire, it seemed I had chosen a side - the side that had been wronged. And if there was anything I could do to help, I would : help her move on.
And in the end she did, through various men, and it gladdened me.
I alienated myself from the Group; it did not feel right, and meetings were tense, and forced. In the end it simply proved easier to concentrate on work and exams, and my own personal life... I chose the path of least resistance, and put it all away from me.
And that is the story of Oberon and Titiana.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Moments magical
Life is funny.
I was born into a very sterile family; it has something to do with the way my own parents were brought up. We love each other, but can't show it, and what few moments of emotion we do display when we can spare them are wasted on angry or irritated outbursts at each other.
I'm sure there're many who will empathise with me; Singapore is a slightly fuc... mixed up country, and sometimes the blend of east meets west doesn't turn out quite right...
I was pretty much a creature of science from the word go, and I even have vague memories of playing chess on the national circuit and doing fairly well at some point. It wasn't entirely by choice, the Father, being the classic overachiever of his time was an athelete, playboy and brainiac all rolled into one, and having fathered an athlete he then invested his efforts into creating a brainiac... trusting to genes to fashion the ladykiller, methinks.
My world was ruled by logic, and cold, hard facts. I was a cynic to the core, and love was a construct hollywood scriptwriters and producers crafted to lure guilliable moviegoers into enriching their already engorged pockets. I wanted to be a cynic, and I thought of irrationality as weakness...
It's funny how some people spend their lives without really falling in love, or experiencing movie moments, and how others trip over their feet into love and magic almost daily. Breaking it all down, I think perhaps life is just a fickle creature, and for those whose lives are already filled with warmth and laughter they don't really encounter the same chances as those whose lives are cold, and rigid... perhaps it's some karmic balance thing.
*****
The First
We were young, and complete strangers to each other; seated at a chinese banquet directly across, yet miles away from each other, it was hard not to notice her.
She was very pretty, fair with flawless skin, with large, yet delicate eyes. She had a very angular face, and was very, very sleek.
Trapped against our wills at a not-at-all random parents-introducing-kids-to-each-other (think arranged-marriage within the upper-class, only not quite so formal) meeting, there was nothing in the dinner conversation for us to do except pick at the food.
We took turns glancing at and away from each other, yet always feeling the other's gaze brushing the peripheries of our own; we didn't speak a word.
After dinner it became obvious what the real deal was. The Brother was bundled away into her family's car, and she was hustled into ours. Subtlety is always lost on parents, somehow.
The Inquisition began (somewhere out there my brother must have been squiriming... haha) with the Mother launching the first salvo : "So what do you do in school?"
The words left my mouth before my till-then relentlessly scientific brain could kick in...
"air rifle, and track-and-field..."
I tailed off into a shocked silence, and she, seated on the far side of my mother in the back seat gazed wordlessly at me.
"how did you know...?" Her voice was melodious, and she spoke well.
I shrugged. I just knew.
We arrived at the mansion that her parents owned. It was colossal, and the parents bundled the brother off to see the Karaoke room.
To my mind, any home (back then) with a Karaoke room in it would have been a palace, but... take my word from it, remembered from the point of view of a thirtysomething old-geezer... the house was pretty damn big.
We stood in silence for a while, then she turned to me. Would you like to see my room?
And so we did; I, in silence, letting my gaze run over the racks of trophies on her mantle, before becoming transfixed by a painting. I don't remember what it was now, but it was abstract (a genre I have never really been able to get my head around, to be honest... even now) yet somehow engaging.
"Do you like it?" she asked, her gaze never leaving mine.
"Yes, I do. Very much." I replied, as my gaze sought and held hers in return. We smiled, and stared at each other in silence for a while.
I remember how it felt then. Surreal. Exciting, yet strangely distant. Watching from the eyes of an audience, yet at the same time, my own.
*****
She was very, very beautiful. Not merely pretty - she had a quality about her that turned heads... a perfect face, and gorgeous hair. She was one of the lucky child-models who grew up beautiful.
She was clever as well, and could wander into the most complex, yet beautiful melodies on the piano.
She wasn't perfect; her soul was fraught with insecurities about what other people thought about her, and she didn't really believe in herself; masked with a veneer of mild narcissim and stand-offishness.
Even in the battered state I was in back then, there was no mistaking her beauty, and perhaps superficial male that I am, I was drawn to her for it.
Or perhaps it was White Knight syndrome, and I just wanted to help her try to be all that she could, and was honoured that she turned to me for help.
I don't really know.
The moment magical came by way of mirc and icq (roll eyes. Those were the days when it was still fashionable, ok?).
It transpired that we shared the same birthday, and the same tastes in music.
Nights dwindled too quickly into flurries of keypresses. Illegal mp3s were exchanged. Ah, how young we were back then.
The moment was really quite silly... but went something like this :
She : whats your favourite Haagen Daas ice cream flavour?
a brief pause, then simultaneous replies, letter for letter :
Cookies and Cream, and Baileys.
a shocked silence, then mutual laughter.
Surreal.
*****
Another table, another congregation of people.
A much more cosy setting this time, a party of four at a cheap chinese restaurant somewhere in London.
A mutual friend had asked us all out, and it was an odd pair of pairs we made; my friend and her sister, she and I.
Her sister was the original dragon lady; generously sized, with dark eyes and huge, thick, hornrimmed spectacles. And about as tactful as a bullet in the head.
It didn't start well... seconds after the initial pleasantries (I seem to recall being a little late) the Evil Sister launched her assault.
"So I hear you just broke up... why!"
The rest of the lunch conversation doesn't bear repeating.
Somewhere in there, salvation came in the form of her. She sat diagonally across from me, and was very quiet, watching with a little pity, and a little amusement in her eyes.
She had very pretty eyes.
And it wasn't so much desperately trying to escape from her sister's crazy eyes, as the relief of drinking from an unexpected oasis that kept my gaze locked on hers.
Later, as we sat around in a circle with more strangers at their apartment, I couldn't help but notice that she was rather attractive, beyond her eyes. We smiled without-quite smiling at each other, as one does, and then I had to leave - mine is a career cursed with early starts and late nights.
As I left felt a little wistfull. She was flying away the next day to America... and in another lifetime I would have reached out to make contact... but there was little point... as stunning as she had been, I would never see her again.
Some time later, listening to Thush laughing at how the girl had gushed about me after I left, and how the other girls had to remind her she was flying away to america... to be with her boyfriend...
... I couldn't help but laugh.
*****
We were at a club.
My housemate was every girl's dream; tall, rugged, yet sensitive, slightly geeky with his glasses, yet wide shouldered. Mild mannered, gentlemanly, a sensational cook (his thai green curry mussels were to die for...), a master of jazz on his clavinova electronic piano. One of London's Sexiest Doctors (how many of you ever saw that? laugh)
Clubbing with him was always the same story, watching from the sidelines as he got mobbed by male buddies and fawning females alike, feeling slightly out of place.
She was a pretty little thing, brunette, with very fair, pale skin, nursing a neglected drink in her hand..
Our eyes met, and somehow we found ourselves stepping towards each other.
Hello, she said.
It was a familiar accent, and I asked her if she was australian... She smiled, and we stepped in a little closer to blot out the noise of the club around us.
Her speech and body language were shy, yet hinted of an adventurous, humourous streak.
I don't quite remember what we spoke about, but I learnt somewhere in there that she was one of the lab techs, and that holding indefinite eye contact with her was quite, quite effortless. Mutually so, it appeared.
The Housemate stood in mute shock beside me, uttely Ignored for the first time ever. He fidgeted, then eventually excused himself. I don't think either of us really noticed.
Eventually, it was time to leave.
In another world I would have asked for, and received her number. The moment was patently obvious, when it came.
I don't think I'll ever be the Player that Sara wants me to learn to become... but in a darker world perhaps I would have tried to create the moment to snog her. laugh.
But there was something on my mind, and the moment passed. We said goodbye, and I never saw her again.
*****
The rest of the Moments center about a single person, and there are too many to write about tonight.
I suppose I've been very lucky, this lifetime.
In my youth I came to hunger for the Moments, and hold them as a basic necessity in life and love.
Now, weary as I am, I prefer to think that life creates these moments for us to remember.
And it doesn't matter that they came to naught, and it doesn't even matter that much if they never come again.
Life is about making memories, and I have so very many in my head now, already. Perhaps more than I deserve.
I was born into a very sterile family; it has something to do with the way my own parents were brought up. We love each other, but can't show it, and what few moments of emotion we do display when we can spare them are wasted on angry or irritated outbursts at each other.
I'm sure there're many who will empathise with me; Singapore is a slightly fuc... mixed up country, and sometimes the blend of east meets west doesn't turn out quite right...
I was pretty much a creature of science from the word go, and I even have vague memories of playing chess on the national circuit and doing fairly well at some point. It wasn't entirely by choice, the Father, being the classic overachiever of his time was an athelete, playboy and brainiac all rolled into one, and having fathered an athlete he then invested his efforts into creating a brainiac... trusting to genes to fashion the ladykiller, methinks.
My world was ruled by logic, and cold, hard facts. I was a cynic to the core, and love was a construct hollywood scriptwriters and producers crafted to lure guilliable moviegoers into enriching their already engorged pockets. I wanted to be a cynic, and I thought of irrationality as weakness...
It's funny how some people spend their lives without really falling in love, or experiencing movie moments, and how others trip over their feet into love and magic almost daily. Breaking it all down, I think perhaps life is just a fickle creature, and for those whose lives are already filled with warmth and laughter they don't really encounter the same chances as those whose lives are cold, and rigid... perhaps it's some karmic balance thing.
*****
The First
We were young, and complete strangers to each other; seated at a chinese banquet directly across, yet miles away from each other, it was hard not to notice her.
She was very pretty, fair with flawless skin, with large, yet delicate eyes. She had a very angular face, and was very, very sleek.
Trapped against our wills at a not-at-all random parents-introducing-kids-to-each-other (think arranged-marriage within the upper-class, only not quite so formal) meeting, there was nothing in the dinner conversation for us to do except pick at the food.
We took turns glancing at and away from each other, yet always feeling the other's gaze brushing the peripheries of our own; we didn't speak a word.
After dinner it became obvious what the real deal was. The Brother was bundled away into her family's car, and she was hustled into ours. Subtlety is always lost on parents, somehow.
The Inquisition began (somewhere out there my brother must have been squiriming... haha) with the Mother launching the first salvo : "So what do you do in school?"
The words left my mouth before my till-then relentlessly scientific brain could kick in...
"air rifle, and track-and-field..."
I tailed off into a shocked silence, and she, seated on the far side of my mother in the back seat gazed wordlessly at me.
"how did you know...?" Her voice was melodious, and she spoke well.
I shrugged. I just knew.
We arrived at the mansion that her parents owned. It was colossal, and the parents bundled the brother off to see the Karaoke room.
To my mind, any home (back then) with a Karaoke room in it would have been a palace, but... take my word from it, remembered from the point of view of a thirtysomething old-geezer... the house was pretty damn big.
We stood in silence for a while, then she turned to me. Would you like to see my room?
And so we did; I, in silence, letting my gaze run over the racks of trophies on her mantle, before becoming transfixed by a painting. I don't remember what it was now, but it was abstract (a genre I have never really been able to get my head around, to be honest... even now) yet somehow engaging.
"Do you like it?" she asked, her gaze never leaving mine.
"Yes, I do. Very much." I replied, as my gaze sought and held hers in return. We smiled, and stared at each other in silence for a while.
I remember how it felt then. Surreal. Exciting, yet strangely distant. Watching from the eyes of an audience, yet at the same time, my own.
*****
She was very, very beautiful. Not merely pretty - she had a quality about her that turned heads... a perfect face, and gorgeous hair. She was one of the lucky child-models who grew up beautiful.
She was clever as well, and could wander into the most complex, yet beautiful melodies on the piano.
She wasn't perfect; her soul was fraught with insecurities about what other people thought about her, and she didn't really believe in herself; masked with a veneer of mild narcissim and stand-offishness.
Even in the battered state I was in back then, there was no mistaking her beauty, and perhaps superficial male that I am, I was drawn to her for it.
Or perhaps it was White Knight syndrome, and I just wanted to help her try to be all that she could, and was honoured that she turned to me for help.
I don't really know.
The moment magical came by way of mirc and icq (roll eyes. Those were the days when it was still fashionable, ok?).
It transpired that we shared the same birthday, and the same tastes in music.
Nights dwindled too quickly into flurries of keypresses. Illegal mp3s were exchanged. Ah, how young we were back then.
The moment was really quite silly... but went something like this :
She : whats your favourite Haagen Daas ice cream flavour?
a brief pause, then simultaneous replies, letter for letter :
Cookies and Cream, and Baileys.
a shocked silence, then mutual laughter.
Surreal.
*****
Another table, another congregation of people.
A much more cosy setting this time, a party of four at a cheap chinese restaurant somewhere in London.
A mutual friend had asked us all out, and it was an odd pair of pairs we made; my friend and her sister, she and I.
Her sister was the original dragon lady; generously sized, with dark eyes and huge, thick, hornrimmed spectacles. And about as tactful as a bullet in the head.
It didn't start well... seconds after the initial pleasantries (I seem to recall being a little late) the Evil Sister launched her assault.
"So I hear you just broke up... why!"
The rest of the lunch conversation doesn't bear repeating.
Somewhere in there, salvation came in the form of her. She sat diagonally across from me, and was very quiet, watching with a little pity, and a little amusement in her eyes.
She had very pretty eyes.
And it wasn't so much desperately trying to escape from her sister's crazy eyes, as the relief of drinking from an unexpected oasis that kept my gaze locked on hers.
Later, as we sat around in a circle with more strangers at their apartment, I couldn't help but notice that she was rather attractive, beyond her eyes. We smiled without-quite smiling at each other, as one does, and then I had to leave - mine is a career cursed with early starts and late nights.
As I left felt a little wistfull. She was flying away the next day to America... and in another lifetime I would have reached out to make contact... but there was little point... as stunning as she had been, I would never see her again.
Some time later, listening to Thush laughing at how the girl had gushed about me after I left, and how the other girls had to remind her she was flying away to america... to be with her boyfriend...
... I couldn't help but laugh.
*****
We were at a club.
My housemate was every girl's dream; tall, rugged, yet sensitive, slightly geeky with his glasses, yet wide shouldered. Mild mannered, gentlemanly, a sensational cook (his thai green curry mussels were to die for...), a master of jazz on his clavinova electronic piano. One of London's Sexiest Doctors (how many of you ever saw that? laugh)
Clubbing with him was always the same story, watching from the sidelines as he got mobbed by male buddies and fawning females alike, feeling slightly out of place.
She was a pretty little thing, brunette, with very fair, pale skin, nursing a neglected drink in her hand..
Our eyes met, and somehow we found ourselves stepping towards each other.
Hello, she said.
It was a familiar accent, and I asked her if she was australian... She smiled, and we stepped in a little closer to blot out the noise of the club around us.
Her speech and body language were shy, yet hinted of an adventurous, humourous streak.
I don't quite remember what we spoke about, but I learnt somewhere in there that she was one of the lab techs, and that holding indefinite eye contact with her was quite, quite effortless. Mutually so, it appeared.
The Housemate stood in mute shock beside me, uttely Ignored for the first time ever. He fidgeted, then eventually excused himself. I don't think either of us really noticed.
Eventually, it was time to leave.
In another world I would have asked for, and received her number. The moment was patently obvious, when it came.
I don't think I'll ever be the Player that Sara wants me to learn to become... but in a darker world perhaps I would have tried to create the moment to snog her. laugh.
But there was something on my mind, and the moment passed. We said goodbye, and I never saw her again.
*****
The rest of the Moments center about a single person, and there are too many to write about tonight.
I suppose I've been very lucky, this lifetime.
In my youth I came to hunger for the Moments, and hold them as a basic necessity in life and love.
Now, weary as I am, I prefer to think that life creates these moments for us to remember.
And it doesn't matter that they came to naught, and it doesn't even matter that much if they never come again.
Life is about making memories, and I have so very many in my head now, already. Perhaps more than I deserve.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Ennui
One of the biggest problems I've faced with living in Singapore is ennui.
It's only natural to think fondly of the "better times" while I was far and away in greener pastures, in favour of dull, drab and dreary blemished reality... so perhaps I'm just biased...
But I do remember how I was happy, doing the simplest things way back then; lying flat in the grass on a warm summer's day, imagining myself escaping the waves of heat rising above knee-level, watching white labradors play so very joyfully with each other.
And I remember the awe I felt as I approched the Golden Gate bridge, and crossed it almost holding my breath; I remember thinking I could do this every day and never tire of it.
I remember walking across sydney harbour bridge and gazing out across the harbour, and thinking... not very much in particular (there has always been too much on my mind when I'm in sydney, for some reason) but feeling... alive.
There is a disease in Singapore; it's a sly creature, almost a malignancy that invades your soul; it's the feeling that one feels... there's nothing to do.
In truth there's a lot to do.
Running with the other... people I work with the other day and looking out over the silly cable-car thing from Mt Faber, it hit me that there's nothing to see.
Nothing that makes your mind go blank with happiness or awe, nothing to be dwarfed by, or to simply precipitate introspective, cathartic moments under a great blue sky.
There is only work, friends, shopping and movies.
And when you're alone it can be oh so acute; movies, computer games, music... not in the mood...
There must be more in life... there must be some meaning.
And so we go about trying to distract ourselves, day to day, from the banality of this humdrum exitence...
Or else we allow ourselves to be consumed by work, so that we don't have to face up to the reality that there really isn't anything else out there.
I want to believe.
It's only natural to think fondly of the "better times" while I was far and away in greener pastures, in favour of dull, drab and dreary blemished reality... so perhaps I'm just biased...
But I do remember how I was happy, doing the simplest things way back then; lying flat in the grass on a warm summer's day, imagining myself escaping the waves of heat rising above knee-level, watching white labradors play so very joyfully with each other.
And I remember the awe I felt as I approched the Golden Gate bridge, and crossed it almost holding my breath; I remember thinking I could do this every day and never tire of it.
I remember walking across sydney harbour bridge and gazing out across the harbour, and thinking... not very much in particular (there has always been too much on my mind when I'm in sydney, for some reason) but feeling... alive.
There is a disease in Singapore; it's a sly creature, almost a malignancy that invades your soul; it's the feeling that one feels... there's nothing to do.
In truth there's a lot to do.
Running with the other... people I work with the other day and looking out over the silly cable-car thing from Mt Faber, it hit me that there's nothing to see.
Nothing that makes your mind go blank with happiness or awe, nothing to be dwarfed by, or to simply precipitate introspective, cathartic moments under a great blue sky.
There is only work, friends, shopping and movies.
And when you're alone it can be oh so acute; movies, computer games, music... not in the mood...
There must be more in life... there must be some meaning.
And so we go about trying to distract ourselves, day to day, from the banality of this humdrum exitence...
Or else we allow ourselves to be consumed by work, so that we don't have to face up to the reality that there really isn't anything else out there.
I want to believe.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Random thoughts
What is love?
Is it even important?
I tell myself from time to time that I would rather die alone and loveless, than trapped in a love that does not become me.
It's been a constant refrain ever since Karin.
Time has shattered the sanctity of these memories; once I protected my past from prying eyes... not so much for me, but for Her.
Now I realise it really really doesn't matter anymore. Time heals some things, and breaks others.
Time has shown me the ultimate truth - that I really don't know anything at all. And where once I lived in black and white, everything now is just shades of grey.
I have become a Grey man, like the timestealing creatures in Momo. One of the hordes.
I don't think I ever knew what love is; I was just trying to find meaning in my life.
Things have been rather bleak these last few weeks, resulting in an attempt to relinquish what little meaning I had rediscovered, from my life.
I'm just so tired, tired of soul-consuming work, tired of this country; tired of the rigid mindsets of those around me; tired to discover that those like me have relinquished their.. life, and blended comfortably into the comfortable, calm, lulling little niches this society opens up for them. I am tired of fighting to stay alive.
Love, to me once, was that pitter patter (or the Singlified version, as a friend of Ting's said in passing, the pikpokpikpok) in your heart when you met someone.
It was the thrill of looking into Her eyes, every time you met Her, and falling.
It was listening to her very witty comments, sharp like a razor's edge, and being caught off-guard, and laughing from the soul.
Scrutinizing her as she said Grace - and unconsciously shutting the world out; the other people around us... friends, strangers, or even an absence of people - everything faded. Tunnel vision. And feeling something tender, yet fierce.
Listening to Her ramble about what our friends would think, if they knew we were together (and in truth, just her friends, because mine wouldn't know what to think. Hers, methinks, would have been shocked, because She was so very much, and so clearly unsuitable for me)... hearing incredulously, her say things about a future that I knew could never be.
And believing Her for a while, and feeling only happiness.
Wanting to stay forever friends.
Leaving because you did not wish to seek to jeapordize her world any longer.
I took all that to be love. An even mix of infatuation, perhaps-love, and.. the knowledge of an impossible love, fleetingly conquered by hope.
I look back now and realise that perhaps I was wrong.
There are so many different kinds of love.
Wanting to exist for someone.
Craving affection and adoration from someone - anyone.
Appreciation of someone loving you.
There are more; I have not, this lifetime experienced the full complement.
I don't know what I want anymore.
All I know is that, looking back...
I remember Grace, a little.
She had a pretty face, and a wickedly curved beak of a nose. Her attraction lay in her love for life, and her laughter. She was fiercely alive... spoilt, and passionate.
She wanted to be loved, and was capable of betrayal to serve her own needs.
I don't remember her eyes.
I remember Lynette.
She, too had a desire to be loved, and a great capacity to give love in return. She craved the perfect little life... to show off to the world.
I don't remember her eyes, either.
I remember Vaya, we were more friends who spoke of loving, than two people truly in love..
She was vivacious, and quirky. She had a pretty, elfin face that belied her age, and a mind that lived for, and thought in music. Something in my gut told me that her random-ness was born of something painful in her past, a front that had become so practiced it was her new persona.
I wish her well now; I wish her all happiness with her new life.
I don't really remember her eyes very well, but there is a slight memory in my head.
And then I remember Karin. Chia Kim Mae, Karin.
And all I remember are her eyes.
The knowledge is here now, hammered in by age and a life thus far wasted.
It is all gone, all my past.
It doesn't matter any longer, because it was so long ago; and I can speak freely here at last, now that I have nobody left to read this, or care about it.
All I wonder is ... next week, when the axe falls.
Or the week after next.
Or years from now, perhaps a myriad relationships from now
One day when I am old
Whose eyes will I remember?
Is it even important?
I tell myself from time to time that I would rather die alone and loveless, than trapped in a love that does not become me.
It's been a constant refrain ever since Karin.
Time has shattered the sanctity of these memories; once I protected my past from prying eyes... not so much for me, but for Her.
Now I realise it really really doesn't matter anymore. Time heals some things, and breaks others.
Time has shown me the ultimate truth - that I really don't know anything at all. And where once I lived in black and white, everything now is just shades of grey.
I have become a Grey man, like the timestealing creatures in Momo. One of the hordes.
I don't think I ever knew what love is; I was just trying to find meaning in my life.
Things have been rather bleak these last few weeks, resulting in an attempt to relinquish what little meaning I had rediscovered, from my life.
I'm just so tired, tired of soul-consuming work, tired of this country; tired of the rigid mindsets of those around me; tired to discover that those like me have relinquished their.. life, and blended comfortably into the comfortable, calm, lulling little niches this society opens up for them. I am tired of fighting to stay alive.
Love, to me once, was that pitter patter (or the Singlified version, as a friend of Ting's said in passing, the pikpokpikpok) in your heart when you met someone.
It was the thrill of looking into Her eyes, every time you met Her, and falling.
It was listening to her very witty comments, sharp like a razor's edge, and being caught off-guard, and laughing from the soul.
Scrutinizing her as she said Grace - and unconsciously shutting the world out; the other people around us... friends, strangers, or even an absence of people - everything faded. Tunnel vision. And feeling something tender, yet fierce.
Listening to Her ramble about what our friends would think, if they knew we were together (and in truth, just her friends, because mine wouldn't know what to think. Hers, methinks, would have been shocked, because She was so very much, and so clearly unsuitable for me)... hearing incredulously, her say things about a future that I knew could never be.
And believing Her for a while, and feeling only happiness.
Wanting to stay forever friends.
Leaving because you did not wish to seek to jeapordize her world any longer.
I took all that to be love. An even mix of infatuation, perhaps-love, and.. the knowledge of an impossible love, fleetingly conquered by hope.
I look back now and realise that perhaps I was wrong.
There are so many different kinds of love.
Wanting to exist for someone.
Craving affection and adoration from someone - anyone.
Appreciation of someone loving you.
There are more; I have not, this lifetime experienced the full complement.
I don't know what I want anymore.
All I know is that, looking back...
I remember Grace, a little.
She had a pretty face, and a wickedly curved beak of a nose. Her attraction lay in her love for life, and her laughter. She was fiercely alive... spoilt, and passionate.
She wanted to be loved, and was capable of betrayal to serve her own needs.
I don't remember her eyes.
I remember Lynette.
She, too had a desire to be loved, and a great capacity to give love in return. She craved the perfect little life... to show off to the world.
I don't remember her eyes, either.
I remember Vaya, we were more friends who spoke of loving, than two people truly in love..
She was vivacious, and quirky. She had a pretty, elfin face that belied her age, and a mind that lived for, and thought in music. Something in my gut told me that her random-ness was born of something painful in her past, a front that had become so practiced it was her new persona.
I wish her well now; I wish her all happiness with her new life.
I don't really remember her eyes very well, but there is a slight memory in my head.
And then I remember Karin. Chia Kim Mae, Karin.
And all I remember are her eyes.
The knowledge is here now, hammered in by age and a life thus far wasted.
It is all gone, all my past.
It doesn't matter any longer, because it was so long ago; and I can speak freely here at last, now that I have nobody left to read this, or care about it.
All I wonder is ... next week, when the axe falls.
Or the week after next.
Or years from now, perhaps a myriad relationships from now
One day when I am old
Whose eyes will I remember?
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Tired
There was a perfect, full moon tonight.
Perfect to run under,
with her,
In another lifetime.
*****
It seems I have my answer now.
There are no second chances.
Perfect to run under,
with her,
In another lifetime.
*****
It seems I have my answer now.
There are no second chances.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Hush, my darling
It strikes me that silence is a secret language all in itself.
It can say nothing, yet speak volumes; imply consent or scream refusal.
It can be premeditated, or borne of spur-of-the-moment neglect.
It can be, by comission, an unspoken truth, or by omission, a lie untold.
It flits by before one can react, or crawls, one exponentially elongating second after the other, an agonising eternity within which to lose oneself..
A double-edged sword of the keenest intent.
*****
You say it all... when you say nothing at all
It can say nothing, yet speak volumes; imply consent or scream refusal.
It can be premeditated, or borne of spur-of-the-moment neglect.
It can be, by comission, an unspoken truth, or by omission, a lie untold.
It flits by before one can react, or crawls, one exponentially elongating second after the other, an agonising eternity within which to lose oneself..
A double-edged sword of the keenest intent.
*****
You say it all... when you say nothing at all
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Big Fried Fish
It amuses me when Sara tells me that my rightful place is in the Premiere league, not being wasted in the S league.
It reminds me of the scene in "Wanted" (which was very bloody with a so-so plot, but had angelina jolie in it...) when whositwhatsit (Somethingorothermorgan) is doing his Do you want to be like Them?? Ordinary?!?! rant (strangely reminiscent of something an ex girlfriend said to me once, but that had something to do with dress-sense)
I have no super powers, no lightning quick reflexes or bullet-curving skills.
But apparently I have (according to Sara, also known as HostSara, whom I shall publically name and shame today as one of my closest friends because she is not-shy-one, and doesn't care if being seen in public with shabby re-minisce will ruin her rep) charm, and am well-spoken, and if I learnt to control my powers, confidence and wit enough to melt a girl's heart, or at least her panties.
Oh, it would be fun.
And I think I would like that... play-acting like Style till it became second nature to me.
It's all sleight of mind. Being the string, and not the cat. Never professing your love, or even attraction. Being Bad.
And I can do Bad. It's been in my blood ever since primary school. Laugh.
But the thing is... the day I start playing the Game, I have lost hope in Good.
And the truth is I've never been playing in any league.
Just... walking on by.
From my past? Or from my future?
*****
There are three tenets in life, I believe.
Truth,
Love,
and Courage.
*****
Speaking online to a pretty stranger (If memory serves me right) tonight, she reminded me how good it felt, to be past trivial concerns like faith, and fidelity, and trust and truth.
It reminds me of the scene in "Wanted" (which was very bloody with a so-so plot, but had angelina jolie in it...) when whositwhatsit (Somethingorothermorgan) is doing his Do you want to be like Them?? Ordinary?!?! rant (strangely reminiscent of something an ex girlfriend said to me once, but that had something to do with dress-sense)
I have no super powers, no lightning quick reflexes or bullet-curving skills.
But apparently I have (according to Sara, also known as HostSara, whom I shall publically name and shame today as one of my closest friends because she is not-shy-one, and doesn't care if being seen in public with shabby re-minisce will ruin her rep) charm, and am well-spoken, and if I learnt to control my powers, confidence and wit enough to melt a girl's heart, or at least her panties.
Oh, it would be fun.
And I think I would like that... play-acting like Style till it became second nature to me.
It's all sleight of mind. Being the string, and not the cat. Never professing your love, or even attraction. Being Bad.
And I can do Bad. It's been in my blood ever since primary school. Laugh.
But the thing is... the day I start playing the Game, I have lost hope in Good.
And the truth is I've never been playing in any league.
Just... walking on by.
From my past? Or from my future?
*****
There are three tenets in life, I believe.
Truth,
Love,
and Courage.
*****
Speaking online to a pretty stranger (If memory serves me right) tonight, she reminded me how good it felt, to be past trivial concerns like faith, and fidelity, and trust and truth.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Love, actually (rehashed)
I've written about love quite a few times, dating back to the days when dinosaurs roamed the earth and modems spoke in audible handshaking signals to each other, and blogs were web-pages lovingly created by hand.
I look back now and marvel at my naivete.
Love, when I was younger, was something that was given freely. You give yourself totally to someone, and what happens in return is immaterial. You have loved.
Then I grew older, and after the infamous story of K, felt the need to receive love, but was strangely unmoved when I did. I thought then in my self-obsession that I had perhaps lost the capacity to love.
Now I realise that relationships between two people are by definition dynamic, and bilateral (bicameral? heh). They need not necessarily be completely reciprocal, but a balance must be struck between giving, and taking.
Or else all you have is an effigy of a relationship.
Slide the balance too far to the left, and one becomes the giver, taken for granted; the other, the taker, wielding power and the right to be merciful, or not.
I believe now that to give love a chance at growing (after initial infatuation, aka the inaptly named honeymoon period), there must exist a mutual respect, and admiration - which can only exist with Balance.
Having listened to Sara on the phone (sounds like a song title. Sara on the Phone) for almost the entire night now... the question foremost in my mind is this.
Can there truly be Second Chances? And can love grow once the balance has been lost - will the slider ever be able to rest comfortably in the center again - or does petty vengeance and self-obsession invariably tilt the scales.
I wonder.
I look back now and marvel at my naivete.
Love, when I was younger, was something that was given freely. You give yourself totally to someone, and what happens in return is immaterial. You have loved.
Then I grew older, and after the infamous story of K, felt the need to receive love, but was strangely unmoved when I did. I thought then in my self-obsession that I had perhaps lost the capacity to love.
Now I realise that relationships between two people are by definition dynamic, and bilateral (bicameral? heh). They need not necessarily be completely reciprocal, but a balance must be struck between giving, and taking.
Or else all you have is an effigy of a relationship.
Slide the balance too far to the left, and one becomes the giver, taken for granted; the other, the taker, wielding power and the right to be merciful, or not.
I believe now that to give love a chance at growing (after initial infatuation, aka the inaptly named honeymoon period), there must exist a mutual respect, and admiration - which can only exist with Balance.
Having listened to Sara on the phone (sounds like a song title. Sara on the Phone) for almost the entire night now... the question foremost in my mind is this.
Can there truly be Second Chances? And can love grow once the balance has been lost - will the slider ever be able to rest comfortably in the center again - or does petty vengeance and self-obsession invariably tilt the scales.
I wonder.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
The Game
I've started reading a book Sara literally bent my arm into reading, recently.
I don't know that I'll ever be out there playing the Game, but it's a good laugh, and, in retrospect there's a grain of truth in there...
There've been a few rather fetching women I've captured the attention of, this lifetime - in settings just such as the book describes. And in retrospect I realise it was quite possibly because I followed the "rules" of The Game, quite by accident.
Perhaps I am my father's son after all.
Laugh.
****
and besides, who knows? The thought is intriguing. None of the "students" in the book were remotely players to begin with.
In my youth I would have been horrified. laugh.
I don't know that I'll ever be out there playing the Game, but it's a good laugh, and, in retrospect there's a grain of truth in there...
There've been a few rather fetching women I've captured the attention of, this lifetime - in settings just such as the book describes. And in retrospect I realise it was quite possibly because I followed the "rules" of The Game, quite by accident.
Perhaps I am my father's son after all.
Laugh.
****
and besides, who knows? The thought is intriguing. None of the "students" in the book were remotely players to begin with.
In my youth I would have been horrified. laugh.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Sempre Fidelis
This isn't a boast, just a ramble.
Through this last relationship I have learnt a lot about my own kind.
The medical circle in S'land ... somebody has to say this... It's deplorably unethical.
Just the other day, one of the regs was commenting how disturbed he was by the lack of ethics as practiced here. (foreign trained too)
This is the kind of hush hush thing that is only said in private. Saying it in public like this is virtual career suicide, but since nobody reads my blog anyway, what the hey.
In my hospital (let's call it Old Chang Kee) it's a known fact that the doctors sleep around, with the product reps, with other doctors, with nurses, with physios, and most anything that wears a skirt, except perhaps clinic assistants. I postulate that clinic assistants skirts are not conducive to quickies.
Of course everyone here is whiter than white, so you can only hear all this on very exclusive grapevines. It's a bit like going satellite tv, or digital radio. Everyone else around you is stuck on regular viewing, which only shows PG.
When you're hearing it from the horse's mouth, it becomes that much more real. Hard evidence, ahaha.
There're other forms of para-ethical dilemmas of course, like mowing through patient queues for doctor's relatives (sometimes at the expense of patient safety) or politicians and their relatives. All the kettles of fish Oriental societies brew, because we respect face, power and position above all else, and all others. It's institutionalized, and it's not relevant to this article, so... skip.
You can see how it happens, doctors here routinely marry other doctors (early, too) and wind up with vastly contrasting schedules, never really meeting up with your spouse, young beautiful product / device reps and... the nurses (i have no idea what the appeal of these are, shrug. high hemlines??) all around you. one thing leads to the other... etc.
Or perhaps the wifey is always at home taking care of baby, and again the medicine man is surrounded by sweet, young, attentive women who flash their pearlie whites at them and engage their eyes, with whatever bits of their anatomy they commonly employ.
And then there are the floundering marriages - perhaps the wifey is too demanding, too argumentative, or perhaps the husband is starting to grey, or perhaps starting to cheat himself, or there's this hot young guy at work, and nobody will ever know if we bang each other...
So you meet up with her, and she looks you in the eye, and you meet up for dinner, and then drinks, and then one thing leads to another...
Or perhaps you eye each other at different desks in clinic, and when the doors are closed hands reach for one another...
I can see how it all happens, now that I know where to look. It's a bit like looking for a ghost in a window, in those horror movies. Blink, and you've missed it.
Back in the UK, it was much healthier, really. Everyone bonked everyone after going to the pub, and everyone else knew precisely what had happened the next day, and everybody would have a laugh.
Down here its all very cloak and dagger. Very reputation ruining to be caught, high stakes, high risk. And once in a while heads of departments are caught with their cigars out and their pants down. laugh.
Whilst I can understand it all, I don't condone it.
Maybe I'm just a prude.
But if you're really committed to someone (and isn't marriage the ultimate committment? aside from work. hah.) even if she's turning into somewhat less than angelina jolie...... you made the choice when you married her. through thick and thin, sickness and in health.
If some sexy slinky sweet young thing lands in front of your desk giving you an inviting view down her cleavage... then keep the door open, and your hands where everyone including the nurses can see them.
If marriage is turning into a routine, find something novel to do with the other half, that excites both of you. Perhaps a holiday somewhere exotic, perhaps... s&m. shrug.
If you don't want to cheat on your spouse, don't go out one on one with anyone tasty at work, period.
It's really all about minimizing risk, and preventing scenarios of tempation from arising in the first place.
Because, really, once you're both taking off each other's underwear in some dark, private hole somewhere, it's rather too late to stop.
But that's where my argument breaks down.
The truth is that people here may not confess to it, but they do want to cheat. As long as they don't get caught.
I've never been married, but I do tend to enter serious relationships. I've never cheated. Not because I am pristine, but because I steer clear of uncapped soy sauce bottles.
Through this last relationship I have learnt a lot about my own kind.
The medical circle in S'land ... somebody has to say this... It's deplorably unethical.
Just the other day, one of the regs was commenting how disturbed he was by the lack of ethics as practiced here. (foreign trained too)
This is the kind of hush hush thing that is only said in private. Saying it in public like this is virtual career suicide, but since nobody reads my blog anyway, what the hey.
In my hospital (let's call it Old Chang Kee) it's a known fact that the doctors sleep around, with the product reps, with other doctors, with nurses, with physios, and most anything that wears a skirt, except perhaps clinic assistants. I postulate that clinic assistants skirts are not conducive to quickies.
Of course everyone here is whiter than white, so you can only hear all this on very exclusive grapevines. It's a bit like going satellite tv, or digital radio. Everyone else around you is stuck on regular viewing, which only shows PG.
When you're hearing it from the horse's mouth, it becomes that much more real. Hard evidence, ahaha.
There're other forms of para-ethical dilemmas of course, like mowing through patient queues for doctor's relatives (sometimes at the expense of patient safety) or politicians and their relatives. All the kettles of fish Oriental societies brew, because we respect face, power and position above all else, and all others. It's institutionalized, and it's not relevant to this article, so... skip.
You can see how it happens, doctors here routinely marry other doctors (early, too) and wind up with vastly contrasting schedules, never really meeting up with your spouse, young beautiful product / device reps and... the nurses (i have no idea what the appeal of these are, shrug. high hemlines??) all around you. one thing leads to the other... etc.
Or perhaps the wifey is always at home taking care of baby, and again the medicine man is surrounded by sweet, young, attentive women who flash their pearlie whites at them and engage their eyes, with whatever bits of their anatomy they commonly employ.
And then there are the floundering marriages - perhaps the wifey is too demanding, too argumentative, or perhaps the husband is starting to grey, or perhaps starting to cheat himself, or there's this hot young guy at work, and nobody will ever know if we bang each other...
So you meet up with her, and she looks you in the eye, and you meet up for dinner, and then drinks, and then one thing leads to another...
Or perhaps you eye each other at different desks in clinic, and when the doors are closed hands reach for one another...
I can see how it all happens, now that I know where to look. It's a bit like looking for a ghost in a window, in those horror movies. Blink, and you've missed it.
Back in the UK, it was much healthier, really. Everyone bonked everyone after going to the pub, and everyone else knew precisely what had happened the next day, and everybody would have a laugh.
Down here its all very cloak and dagger. Very reputation ruining to be caught, high stakes, high risk. And once in a while heads of departments are caught with their cigars out and their pants down. laugh.
Whilst I can understand it all, I don't condone it.
Maybe I'm just a prude.
But if you're really committed to someone (and isn't marriage the ultimate committment? aside from work. hah.) even if she's turning into somewhat less than angelina jolie...... you made the choice when you married her. through thick and thin, sickness and in health.
If some sexy slinky sweet young thing lands in front of your desk giving you an inviting view down her cleavage... then keep the door open, and your hands where everyone including the nurses can see them.
If marriage is turning into a routine, find something novel to do with the other half, that excites both of you. Perhaps a holiday somewhere exotic, perhaps... s&m. shrug.
If you don't want to cheat on your spouse, don't go out one on one with anyone tasty at work, period.
It's really all about minimizing risk, and preventing scenarios of tempation from arising in the first place.
Because, really, once you're both taking off each other's underwear in some dark, private hole somewhere, it's rather too late to stop.
But that's where my argument breaks down.
The truth is that people here may not confess to it, but they do want to cheat. As long as they don't get caught.
I've never been married, but I do tend to enter serious relationships. I've never cheated. Not because I am pristine, but because I steer clear of uncapped soy sauce bottles.
Bittersweet
When the moment came, there was a flash of relief, as expected
but then panic stepped in.
And then the realisation :
The crafted dream is over, but I wanted the reality, after all.
These thoughts always come too late.
I hate them...
*****
Being patient, going out of the way to pick someone up at three in the morning, with morning shift at seven, swallowing pride and losing arguments, bending over backwards to accomodate someone...
... those were the easy parts.
Patience? It's nothing special. Anybody can be patient, if they want to be... it doesnt bite. And if you do it out of love, it's really quite easy.
The hardest part was when I'd tell her as she got ready to go out, or as we stepped out the door that she looked wonderful, or beautiful, and she would brush me off, or almost sneer in disbelief... so saddening
... if she could have only known what I was thinking, as we lay side by side looking at each other, or as I sat over her at sunrise and looked down upon her sleep bedraggled face...
Thinking, feeling : the deepest, most aching sadness, for when the time would come, inevitably, when I would never get to see her again.
Thinking, seeing : Gut-wrenching, each time, looking down on those eyes closed in repose, and on her ears, and hair, and jawline, watching her breathing, and thinking how ugly she could look from some angles, and how how pretty from others, yet from all of them she was so, so beautiful to me.
And sometimes for no good reason at all, I found my vision misting over, as I drew my fingers lightly across her brow.
Perhaps I should have realised earlier, that it is in my nature, like it or not, to fall in love. And perhaps then I would have given us a real shot, and tried to live with her, rather than for her... who knows.
******
I set this up. I was ready for the consequences.
And maybe I will be, in time.
*****
I loved it when she bent my fingers or shoulder around at funny angles as we walked along, not because I loved the inherent sadism in it, but because it made her laugh...
Perhaps the lines got blurred, between loving, and falling in love, in my head.
Perhaps sometimes loving someone is as simple as wanting to make them laugh.
I hope I gave you something good out of all this, my love.
but then panic stepped in.
And then the realisation :
The crafted dream is over, but I wanted the reality, after all.
These thoughts always come too late.
I hate them...
*****
Being patient, going out of the way to pick someone up at three in the morning, with morning shift at seven, swallowing pride and losing arguments, bending over backwards to accomodate someone...
... those were the easy parts.
Patience? It's nothing special. Anybody can be patient, if they want to be... it doesnt bite. And if you do it out of love, it's really quite easy.
The hardest part was when I'd tell her as she got ready to go out, or as we stepped out the door that she looked wonderful, or beautiful, and she would brush me off, or almost sneer in disbelief... so saddening
... if she could have only known what I was thinking, as we lay side by side looking at each other, or as I sat over her at sunrise and looked down upon her sleep bedraggled face...
Thinking, feeling : the deepest, most aching sadness, for when the time would come, inevitably, when I would never get to see her again.
Thinking, seeing : Gut-wrenching, each time, looking down on those eyes closed in repose, and on her ears, and hair, and jawline, watching her breathing, and thinking how ugly she could look from some angles, and how how pretty from others, yet from all of them she was so, so beautiful to me.
And sometimes for no good reason at all, I found my vision misting over, as I drew my fingers lightly across her brow.
Perhaps I should have realised earlier, that it is in my nature, like it or not, to fall in love. And perhaps then I would have given us a real shot, and tried to live with her, rather than for her... who knows.
******
I set this up. I was ready for the consequences.
And maybe I will be, in time.
*****
I loved it when she bent my fingers or shoulder around at funny angles as we walked along, not because I loved the inherent sadism in it, but because it made her laugh...
Perhaps the lines got blurred, between loving, and falling in love, in my head.
Perhaps sometimes loving someone is as simple as wanting to make them laugh.
I hope I gave you something good out of all this, my love.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Unspoken
She took pity on him, and asked her to walk with them back to their cars; to give him some company while he waited for Her.
Later, alone, in her auntie's car she said you're very patient to wait for Her like this.
He laughed, and said oh it was nothing special. Anybody can be patient...
Later, alone, in her auntie's car she said you're very patient to wait for Her like this.
He laughed, and said oh it was nothing special. Anybody can be patient...
The Cruel Game
No apology
No attempt to reconcile
Only silent tears (of rage? of anger?)
A near-end
And so it stands
my cross to bear
*****
I remember when she was telling me how she told some guy who liked her that she couldn't be with him, because she would hurt the guy she really liked.
I remember falling, a little more.
*****
Two ways to fall. In and out.
Is this my lot? Always reminiscence.
I remember
when you would go out of your way, even at risk of losing your sacred siesta, or waking up early on a Saturday morning - unthinkable for you! - to accommodate me.
I remember when you warned me not to do things for you, lest you take me for granted
I remember how, watching you, asleep in the mornings, with the sunlight playing about your face, and tousling your morning hair, vowing silently to myself to do all I could, be all I could, for you.
I remember how you told me you would rather stay home with me, how you didn't enjoy the meaninglessness of clubbing; I remember releasing you to your friends because I could never want to cage someone whose independence and spirit I cherished.
*****
Perhaps the best things about you
Not that you were beautiful (to me), or gentle
Not your body, or those legs which are the stuff of men's fantasies
Not your wit or intelligence, which are apparent
But that you were considerate, and selfless, and kind
That you could look upon my kind - the whiter than white Pretenders - discern in them hypocrisy, selfishness, self-servitude, unfaithfulness, greed and deceit, and that you shied away from them
That you knew right from wrong, you had morals.
You were Good
No attempt to reconcile
Only silent tears (of rage? of anger?)
A near-end
And so it stands
my cross to bear
*****
I remember when she was telling me how she told some guy who liked her that she couldn't be with him, because she would hurt the guy she really liked.
I remember falling, a little more.
*****
Two ways to fall. In and out.
Is this my lot? Always reminiscence.
I remember
when you would go out of your way, even at risk of losing your sacred siesta, or waking up early on a Saturday morning - unthinkable for you! - to accommodate me.
I remember when you warned me not to do things for you, lest you take me for granted
I remember how, watching you, asleep in the mornings, with the sunlight playing about your face, and tousling your morning hair, vowing silently to myself to do all I could, be all I could, for you.
I remember how you told me you would rather stay home with me, how you didn't enjoy the meaninglessness of clubbing; I remember releasing you to your friends because I could never want to cage someone whose independence and spirit I cherished.
*****
Perhaps the best things about you
Not that you were beautiful (to me), or gentle
Not your body, or those legs which are the stuff of men's fantasies
Not your wit or intelligence, which are apparent
But that you were considerate, and selfless, and kind
That you could look upon my kind - the whiter than white Pretenders - discern in them hypocrisy, selfishness, self-servitude, unfaithfulness, greed and deceit, and that you shied away from them
That you knew right from wrong, you had morals.
You were Good
Monday, June 9, 2008
broken
i knew it was going to be a bad week when i was scheduled to present not one but two morbidities for tomorrow.
I prepared the cases over the weekend; nevermind that there were several amendments today; it was done by five.
The department secretaries chose to dump tomorrows pre and post op presentation on me tomorrow morning too by SMSing me that they were leaving me the thumb drive in my pigeon hole, somewhere around 11 am.
Not known entirely what this entailed, I thought I'd try to take it in my stride; today I was supposed to meet the other half after work to go shopping, and I'll admit this (sheepishly) - I was really looking forward to it.
I found out what it entailed around five thirty, after the day was over, when my registrar told me exactly what I needed to have prepared...
it was a lot more than I expected.
There was nothing for it but to grit my teeth and start preparing... what's so hard about filling in histology results and outcomes.... well it gets hard when there are about fifty of them to do.
I finished (triumphantly) around seven thirty and was getting ready to fly when the other MO on call told me I needed to create a list of the preops as well, so that when they ask to see the scans at random tomorrow I'll have it all ready.
How long could that possibly take?
Five minutes turned into ten, and then fifteen.
And then suddenly I was done, and suddenly it was seven fifty.
And then I got The SMS.
And suddenly everything was too late.
And suddenly, I am unforgiven.
I tried so hard. So god-damned hard. And I'm so very, very tired now.
So very tired.
*****
Why I didn't call? I thought I would make it on time, and call you and wake you up as I was driving over... the way we used to be. I hate waking you up... I know how much you treasure your sleep.
More fool me.
I prepared the cases over the weekend; nevermind that there were several amendments today; it was done by five.
The department secretaries chose to dump tomorrows pre and post op presentation on me tomorrow morning too by SMSing me that they were leaving me the thumb drive in my pigeon hole, somewhere around 11 am.
Not known entirely what this entailed, I thought I'd try to take it in my stride; today I was supposed to meet the other half after work to go shopping, and I'll admit this (sheepishly) - I was really looking forward to it.
I found out what it entailed around five thirty, after the day was over, when my registrar told me exactly what I needed to have prepared...
it was a lot more than I expected.
There was nothing for it but to grit my teeth and start preparing... what's so hard about filling in histology results and outcomes.... well it gets hard when there are about fifty of them to do.
I finished (triumphantly) around seven thirty and was getting ready to fly when the other MO on call told me I needed to create a list of the preops as well, so that when they ask to see the scans at random tomorrow I'll have it all ready.
How long could that possibly take?
Five minutes turned into ten, and then fifteen.
And then suddenly I was done, and suddenly it was seven fifty.
And then I got The SMS.
And suddenly everything was too late.
And suddenly, I am unforgiven.
I tried so hard. So god-damned hard. And I'm so very, very tired now.
So very tired.
*****
Why I didn't call? I thought I would make it on time, and call you and wake you up as I was driving over... the way we used to be. I hate waking you up... I know how much you treasure your sleep.
More fool me.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Unexpected
the sudden warmth about his eyes caught him by surprise.
stupid. so very stupid.
he would have left earlier had he pre empted it. It is not... decent to let these things be witnessed.
and now it simply remains a matter of time...
I do not wish to venture in uninvited; nor wish to linger, unwanted.
I'll miss all of this, all of it. And especially You.
You, of course, will not do anything of the sort, and one of the new flames who doubtlessly messages you daily with the passion of youth and determination will administer you his gentle amnesiac of love.
stupid. so very stupid.
he would have left earlier had he pre empted it. It is not... decent to let these things be witnessed.
and now it simply remains a matter of time...
I do not wish to venture in uninvited; nor wish to linger, unwanted.
I'll miss all of this, all of it. And especially You.
You, of course, will not do anything of the sort, and one of the new flames who doubtlessly messages you daily with the passion of youth and determination will administer you his gentle amnesiac of love.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Horse and Charriage
It's been a while, hasn't it.
The Other Half has been egging me on to write for the longest time, till she tired of it and stopped. Somehow I've always found reasons not to write, not the least of all being the all- encompassing, all-consuming Final Examination.
I'm guessing she doesn't even check this blog anymore for updates; perhaps I've become too familiar to her, too much of a known entity. On some chinese serial on telly the other day two evil women opined that one must never open up too much in marriage, always preserve some mystique or else your partner will flutter away...... Then the "good" character opined that she believed in absolute trust, till of course the "twist". Chinese serials are all about twists and turns and very not-irony, really. Now she suspects her husband of cheating on her, for all that purported talk of trust. I bet the script writers really have a ball dreaming up which new unlikely and implausable plot device to employ next. That's what makes watching the serials so compelling, really. To see if you're one step ahead of the plot, or not.
Perhaps that's why Singaporean serials fail where hong kong ones shine - a lack of creative duplicity. Anyway, I digress.
I watched a peer yield to the forces of matrimony the other day. A peer not (just) because of his career, but because he was a blogger once too, and because of the way he wrote which I sort-of identified with.
They hadn't been going out for that long, just about two years methinks.
But leaving jokes about shotgun wielding in laws aside, he yielded - quite gracefully in truth, in a way that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand in an even mix of envy and sugar-overload - and watching him I felt a strange mix of happiness and sadness.
It was the perfect wedding - lavish, extravagent, flawless, and the happy couple and their families were - disgustingly radiant. Disgustingly. I couldn't help but smile - along with the thousands of other people who were there, I bet - for them. I almost wished I could have mounted the podium and waxed lyrical about the hope I had for them - which everyone else in the room doubtlessly, watching their forty five minute video (which was like being bludgeoned soundlessly to death with a six foot chocolate cake) and listening to love and marriage being like a horse and charriage... gah. And about a long time ago when I first made A's acquaintence, and how he had turned out to be a friend worth keeping.
It was so not the wedding I would ever wish upon myself. Laugh. But it suited them to a T.
I'm rather more low brow, or so I tell myself. Quiet, reserved. Happy without showing it. Perhaps I have taiwanese blood?
So whither marriage?
There're a million opinions out there, when and how, who and who not to marry, good boys, bad boys, good girls, bad girls, play around before marriage or settle down with the golden catch. It's enough to make your head spin.
Watch enough serials and talk to enough people and you'll have more than enough information to become - thoroughly confused. (kinda like studying for this stupid exam)
I remember running once, from L, when I woke up one morning so very comfortably in bed. Everything a comfortable haze, my mind in low gear for the last two years; I wrote about this once on my previous blog. It was like rising from the depths of a spongecake.
I was wasting her time, and mine - I didn't love her in the right way to marry her.
And then again, with P, when committment became a vague reality I realised how little right I had to waste someone else's time. How little right I had to waste the time of someone four years older... and by that dint (sigh how silly I was) "old" -- too old to be "playing" at couples setting up house.
If I had to peg a character type to myself, I would mark me a committment phobe.
Yet with G, and now with the current other half...
... have I changed?
A decade and a million thoughts later from the time I first opened my bleary eyes and felt stark awareness hit me in the face...
... I think perhaps I'm at the point where I don't know the answers anymore; I just know when I love someone enough to stay forever, and when I don't.
When infatuation fades and leaves us with (as the sermon the other day went) Agape love... is that Agape love right for you, or not?
The rest - about giving other people chances not to waste their lives... about security being the antithesis to love
... excuses. Just another way to say - I didn't love her enough.
I was selfish.
That's the way it goes.
The Other Half has been egging me on to write for the longest time, till she tired of it and stopped. Somehow I've always found reasons not to write, not the least of all being the all- encompassing, all-consuming Final Examination.
I'm guessing she doesn't even check this blog anymore for updates; perhaps I've become too familiar to her, too much of a known entity. On some chinese serial on telly the other day two evil women opined that one must never open up too much in marriage, always preserve some mystique or else your partner will flutter away...... Then the "good" character opined that she believed in absolute trust, till of course the "twist". Chinese serials are all about twists and turns and very not-irony, really. Now she suspects her husband of cheating on her, for all that purported talk of trust. I bet the script writers really have a ball dreaming up which new unlikely and implausable plot device to employ next. That's what makes watching the serials so compelling, really. To see if you're one step ahead of the plot, or not.
Perhaps that's why Singaporean serials fail where hong kong ones shine - a lack of creative duplicity. Anyway, I digress.
I watched a peer yield to the forces of matrimony the other day. A peer not (just) because of his career, but because he was a blogger once too, and because of the way he wrote which I sort-of identified with.
They hadn't been going out for that long, just about two years methinks.
But leaving jokes about shotgun wielding in laws aside, he yielded - quite gracefully in truth, in a way that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand in an even mix of envy and sugar-overload - and watching him I felt a strange mix of happiness and sadness.
It was the perfect wedding - lavish, extravagent, flawless, and the happy couple and their families were - disgustingly radiant. Disgustingly. I couldn't help but smile - along with the thousands of other people who were there, I bet - for them. I almost wished I could have mounted the podium and waxed lyrical about the hope I had for them - which everyone else in the room doubtlessly, watching their forty five minute video (which was like being bludgeoned soundlessly to death with a six foot chocolate cake) and listening to love and marriage being like a horse and charriage... gah. And about a long time ago when I first made A's acquaintence, and how he had turned out to be a friend worth keeping.
It was so not the wedding I would ever wish upon myself. Laugh. But it suited them to a T.
I'm rather more low brow, or so I tell myself. Quiet, reserved. Happy without showing it. Perhaps I have taiwanese blood?
So whither marriage?
There're a million opinions out there, when and how, who and who not to marry, good boys, bad boys, good girls, bad girls, play around before marriage or settle down with the golden catch. It's enough to make your head spin.
Watch enough serials and talk to enough people and you'll have more than enough information to become - thoroughly confused. (kinda like studying for this stupid exam)
I remember running once, from L, when I woke up one morning so very comfortably in bed. Everything a comfortable haze, my mind in low gear for the last two years; I wrote about this once on my previous blog. It was like rising from the depths of a spongecake.
I was wasting her time, and mine - I didn't love her in the right way to marry her.
And then again, with P, when committment became a vague reality I realised how little right I had to waste someone else's time. How little right I had to waste the time of someone four years older... and by that dint (sigh how silly I was) "old" -- too old to be "playing" at couples setting up house.
If I had to peg a character type to myself, I would mark me a committment phobe.
Yet with G, and now with the current other half...
... have I changed?
A decade and a million thoughts later from the time I first opened my bleary eyes and felt stark awareness hit me in the face...
... I think perhaps I'm at the point where I don't know the answers anymore; I just know when I love someone enough to stay forever, and when I don't.
When infatuation fades and leaves us with (as the sermon the other day went) Agape love... is that Agape love right for you, or not?
The rest - about giving other people chances not to waste their lives... about security being the antithesis to love
... excuses. Just another way to say - I didn't love her enough.
I was selfish.
That's the way it goes.
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