Friday, December 29, 2006

 
The Memory of Affection

I am looking up at the wall before me filled with pinned up photos in my older sibling’s room. I spot a few family photos taken in Singapore exactly a year ago- me in my green vintage dress.

I remember that night distinctly. That night, after our family dinner at the Ritz, M was due to arrive from Hong Kong. Time flies- a year has just passed.

But I remember our weekend ever so distinctly.

****

When I was a child, I had this theory.

When you like a person, you cannot seem to recall his/her face in your head. He/she is always blurry in your mind’s eye. But once you stopped liking him/her, quite instantly you would remember the face! That happened with many people that I grew up being infatuated with. Just like Mr. London whom I liked dearly for eight years, the moment I decided to let him go, I could automatically see his face when I imagine him.

I thought it was my own theory until Po said the same to me one day in the living room of my bohemian apartment in Paris.

Try testing it, maybe you might find a similar result.

****

I never seemed to remember M’s features clearly.

Just like that day where we bumped into each other at the Odeon train station where I caught him with Julie. He recognized me, frowned and walked away from me. It took Pato coming towards me to say hi that dawn upon me that it was my lover boy with another girl. And all day, I was going around town with a sense of blissful light-headedness dreaming of my beautiful M.

I would have missed him if not for the fact that I missed my previous train by a minute for the bathroom.

****

At Changi Airport, I stood at the arrival hall, searching through the throng of human traffic.

I have not seen M for thirteen months.

I squinted my eyes, attempting to spot his face impatiently in the crowd of passengers, awaiting for their luggage from the revolving conveyor belt.

It was close to 12 midnight. B and her then latest crush were awaiting for us to meet them at MOS. She had been hurrying me on SMS as she required my assistance as a social buffer, given that her night has proven to be non-eventful with Mr. Blockhead.

From afar, I noticed a Caucasian guy holding onto the handle of a trolley and waiting at the conveyor belt. He wore a white shirt and a blue jeans, similarly to what M used to wear in Paris. I figured that must be him and waved wildly at him to catch his attention. I have slipped under the metal bar and was standing at the glass panel. My eyes continued to focus on that man who was still oblivious to my presence.

Out of nowhere, a Caucasian guy came into my view. It was M! I was caught unaware and felt slightly embarrassed as I had previously waved excitedly at a stranger and he saw me.

He exited from the door into the arrival hall and while we looked slightly awkward (perhaps since we never formally bade farewell in Paris and left much unsaid), we threw our arms into each other’s embrace.

****

Later that night, I confessed that I mistook someone else for him at the airport before.

“I know,” he said.

“Just like the day where you saw me at the train station. I knew you didn’t recognize me at first.”

****

By the way, I could never remember the colour of M’s eyes. I remember his beautiful eyes, as in his look and his tender gaze. Strangely, his eyes or rather the look from his eyes are what I remember most lucidly of his look.

I remember where exactly at Sentosa I asked about the colour of his eyes in the dark of the night. I don’t exactly remember the answer but I know he didn’t give me a straight answer because the colour varies under different light. But he did say it is mostly a certain colour.

The other week I finally found a picture he sent me of us hugged together (when he arrived back in Hong Kong)- B, M and me. The first night where we all looked happy as we sojourned to Velvet Underground- B, sufficiently drunk from sadness (for Mr. Blockhead’s stupidity for not picking up any romantic hints) but decided to let loose and enjoy the night nonetheless, me drunk with surprised elation that M still had feelings for me (since I was careful to psych myself into thinking that he was visiting as a friend) and keen to make amends for his duration in Singapore, and M was simply happy to see me and rekindle our Parisian romance again. Paris- la ville d'armour, he once wrote nostalgically to me. I was in the middle, dressed in that green vintage dress.

But the picture was poorly taken. He had mostly red-eye effect in that picture.

Somehow, I managed to make out that he has blue eyes.

****

I wonder what happen to our favourite picture- that one, where we took during New Year’s Day countdown at Indo Chine that he denied me? Just him and me- hugged together, that blissful look on our faces with our cheeky smiles, although I was to learn later in the wee hours of the morning that he was hurting from his inability to get over the knowledge of my truth…


 
Solo Thoughts

She has been spending much time with DL and Fluffball. Most of the time, it has been great. As always, DL makes the No. 1 loving and caring boyfriend and father (to Fluffball). They even discussed at great lengths about wealth planning and what he had learnt about tax planning for investments, which never failed to restore a sense of fuzziness and tenderness she feels towards him. But his fidgetiness late at night brought on by a boring movie plot on DVD and thus having nothing to do (fast replaced by an insatiable hunger that requires him to snack every hour) mildly irritated her. But then every man in her life irritates her in one way or another; even her beloved M was not spared.

Just now, they had a tiff. Well, best described as a mini staring incident that led on to cold war. It all started with the DS Lite Nintendo machine that DL was playing. It was really her fault to “assist” him in playing the memory word game as she is naturally inclined towards. Then he got irritated and switched it off, which in turn annoyed her. Then he hurled a vulgarity, which piqued her to no end and he threw the game machine on the floor.

There began the staring game. All this while, Fluffball watched keenly and slowly inched her way to her daddy and attempted several times with her paw and a lick on his cheek to wheedle a ceasefire. When all that failed, she rolled over belly up to encourage a tummy rub from him.

P and DL continued staring at each other.

Again, her dark thoughts resurfaced and it reminded her once again of their destructive past.

Both are careful not to exchange words. P was conscious that the older sibling was upstairs. But she could have acted for a buffer against yet another irreversible eruption.

Again, those words are at the tip of her mouth. She would like to hurl and lash out those terrible words to hurt him so deep. But she knows he is capable of out-doing her. So she takes a deep breath to suppress that burning anger, perhaps mainly to protect herself.

Fluffball got down from the couch and walked towards P. She pawed her mummy to affect a kiss or cuddle of some sort to end the cold war. As usual, P complied and broke away from the stare, but she remembers the score.

What would they do without Fluffball, she wonders?

The answer is perhaps simple- they would have long ended the relationship.

Perhaps that is why some marriages trudged on (just like her parents but sometimes they seem to be able to rekindle that old magic), the children are always the cementing factor.

Funny how she feels this way even for a dog.

But Fluffball made her understand the great love a mother feels for a child. (She means most mothers, though in her screwed up social environment, there are some she knows, whom have chosen to leave their real children; she still cannot comprehend and greatly disturbs her.)

Fluffball will always be a Daddy’s girl and her love and bond for her deemed master is inseparable and vice versa. But P loves her so much and has never felt that way for any living creature before she came along. She would never have claimed custody over her in the event of a break-up because deep inside her, she knows Fluffball is much happier with her father.

Some days, she thinks she could deal with not seeing Fluffball again if the day ever arrives as she mentally psyched herself. But on most days, her will is weak.


Sunday, December 24, 2006

 

BUYING TIME PART II

( a sequel to Part I and letter to Big Boy)

That chosen gentleman hails from a professional and intellectual background. His eloquence and clever wordplay has appealed to P’s senses and that never failed to titillate her mind and fire up her imagination of what he could possibly be made for. A bit of a writer he is and with that wicked sense of humour, P knows this is it! His tall physique and his manly demeanour quite fired her up and she finds the receding hairline that marked the maturity of that Big Boy rather sexy. He might well be the one to invigorate her long dormant soul. Mutually attracted to each other physically and intellectually, she wanted to lead him to her world to share what she believes he might be capable of understanding. She had placed her bet on him and would still have continued to do so…

Ingrained in her mind that joint experiences should arise meaningfully, she was convicted that they could both satisfy their respective agendas. His, she figured stemmed from the desire to be carnally satiated and the possibility of marking her as his territory. She can be quite a charming female companion to a society man really and therein lays her good value. Here, her usually assertively self is rather intrigued into submission. And she knows that he would pleasure her in many ways. Saliently, she reckoned he might well form the muse and companion that she seeks to be inspired through their engagement in intellectual and salacious banter. That might well be the key to helping her comprehend those bits that she could identify herself with him. She has caught glimpses of him captured in his writings and like her, Big Boy is the middle kid of same sex siblings and is too born on the same day but the following month. P is a strong believer in the birth order theory and numerology, where the combination of social theory and “superstition” have helped her to gain a better feel for one’s psychological disposition and facets of one’s personality- through the combination of one’s pre-disposed nature and the nurture.

This exercise (which she deemed in all her joint experiences as a laissez faire intellectual) could well be the rite of passage that would mark the dawn of a new era – that much anticipated intellectual break and satisfaction that she had struggled to find in her life and amongst lovers. The experience with the one who could engage her mind, body and soul. It has to date been an uncharted territory.

She loves a good deal- that is, killing as many birds with one stone. He had provided her with the possibilities of what her A and B-lists of prospects had failed to inspire. She would grant him but most importantly, herself that one last chance before she would hang up her sails. He, who was chosen to be her one last social experimentation/ encounter. He, whom she entrusted with that influential task of making a mark in her dark secret being. So Big Boy was to play the significant role in the annals of her secret history and to mark the grand finale to that privately unorthodox life that dyes the very core of her dark soul.

****

Big Boy had propositioned to take her for a dirty trip somewhere in Asia in September. Serendipitously.

It was proposed that she would be entirely his. Such a bold request to P, an individualist who only ever lives life on her own terms and has shunned the notion of being the someone’s possession. What ever happen to the rise of the modern, independent woman? However, this time the mere idea of being owned by someone spun her wheels. Saliently, he would dominate that span of her life and when taken place, would be irreversible. She was all ready to give in to that request without a fight.

Having been rather acquainted with P electronically, she wonders if he has come to realization that she has placed a huge emphasis on one’s history. The opinion of what goes down in one’s experiences is important despite whatever flaws it possesses. It must be something that one could reconcile with or even better, being able to look back and say, “At least, been there done that” to mark whatever milestones that may arise from an egotistical or meaningful agenda. That is, one must be at least satisfied with the choice of work one has done to contribute to the history of oneself and live with it. Life is too short and she has no wish to dwell in regrets. Regrets from one’s actions could be confounded through making newer histories. Hopefully with time, the regrets would recede with an ageing memory.

****

She welcomed all the great possibilities of this joint experience. She had planned to give him her utmost attention to pleasure him and vice versa. To put her vulnerable self in his sole care and be aware of what she might be capable of feeling. And let him catch on the nuances of her persona.

So for weeks, the meaning of life took on a certain vigor. P found herself sweating more excessively in the gym and paying more attention to her body. Then she would come home laden with new outfits to complement the new- found adventure of her life. She even started playing dress ups again and perhaps felt like she was eighteen once more. But this time, a tad sexier and a little more womanly. At nights, her imagination got fired up as she was filled with naughty, dirty thoughts of their prospective playtime. Her creativity too experienced a lift as words flowed more easily and it made her surer that he was to be that patron to her laisseiz faire intellectual soul.

(Big Boy, more to come in a bit ;) Still trying to re-arrange the words and do serious justice in expressing my thoughts. )


Friday, December 22, 2006

 
Tis the Season...

to be reflecting, I think. The year 2006 came and went just like that. By that, I mean the zero working days left for the year in this part of the world where I live. I have lots to reflect on...

Outstanding work from last year still lies on my desk undone (didn't help that the database was down; only the problem on my PC remained unresolved when the system went up and running again), then there is career progression and opportunities to think about, the skeletons of my unfinished emotional love affairs left unexorcised, the bargain deal that needs to be had in our (DL and I) quest for our own little love nest or rather, adult investment...

The Life of Young P and adulthood.

I don't know- so much have happened within these 365 days.

A year and a bit ago, I was left jobless. Down but not out. I am a lot well placed financially now. But really worse off, if I were to examine my own balance sheet at the moment.

Two years ago, I was recovering from Paris. Recovering because I nearly had that big break, working with the best of the best. The man who made Claudia Schiffer famous- to be his apprentice or assistant. Watching "The Devil wears Prada" makes me somewhat nostalgic. I was nearly there. As far as one could enter into the realm of fashion royalty. Then there were the heartaches that shook up my dormant soul, only to make it somewhat wretched...

Today, I met up for lunch with Dope. I wonder if he realises that perhaps we are a thing of the past. We were at it for a year or so since October 2005. And today when we parted, he took the initiative to kiss me. Well, that requires a fair bit of initiative from a restrained Dope. I think he meant to aim for my forehead but I didn't expect the kiss coming and tilted my head to look up and hit him on his mouth. You see, he is a lot taller than my short self and I would normally tiptoe for our mouths to reach. Today, I didn't. I blew him a kiss back instead and say we'll see each other next year...

During lunch, I told him that I went the cocktail party of The Big Man (of the i-bank he works for) last week. I actually felt bad for not taking him along for this gig. It would have given him a bit of a lift and exposure to his career, being found to socialise with the MDs of the organisation. He could have possibly been viewed more favourably in the big boysy world of his organisation and join that "in" club through this association with the CEO and his wife, having already been given some recognition for his good work. I did once promised that we'll do our "flesh" out together to give him a leg up in his career. The CEO was once told by my colleagues and his wife that he is my "part-time" boyfriend. After all, he did also put in a fair bit of effort to help me to get back on my feet when I was down and jobless. And isn't it the duty of a headhunter to best place the interests of professional welfare for the selected few, especially one that one really does care for as a person?

The one good thing that I have learnt from fashion school is always to remember the kindness of people who helped you along the way. Call it professional integrity or plain integrity, that is something that has been deeply ingrained in me.

But my bad conscience was somewhat allayed by the knowledge that Dope, too has been approached by a headhunter and has been given some other opportunities. So at least his name is now in the market. He also updated me that his rankings have gone up and did I see that on the BRW? That was self-affirming for him and I recognised that tone, not of arrogance but one that was seeking some self conscious form of approval and recognition from me.

Yesterday, I was summoned for my second round of interview with the headhunter who approached me. I will see the Managing Director and his team when we return to work on the second week. They are very keen to meet up and resume talks. I have been doubting myself at work for the good 4 months or so now. I have no real skills and am really a charlatan. How did I manage to make a name for myself out in the market, I wonder? My previous postulations of ex-colleagues and mentors with an axe to grind with the firm, thus proffering my name have turned out to be incorrect and I was revealed the name of the mysterious headhunter who have worked for my interviewer to track "talents" like me down. I happened to be one of the four shortlisted candidate who is reputedly to be "good" at what I do. But really, I have done naught and rode previously on the coat tails on The King and a super elite team, led by supposedly the best leader in what we do within our space in the Asia Pacific region.

Being with the best team and working in one of the largest firm of its kind in the world, is this all there is for one to expect in one's career? I have been stagnated in what I do for a while now and I questioned my own tenacity and weighed it with the fast diminishing opportunities that I hope to seek to progress in my job. I am indeed the least valued member of the team, I feel and I know as I have paced my own expectations for my work progress and could see that the gap is fast widening and I must be behind by at least six months now. I almost feel that I am done with the financial ride if things do not shake up on my end.

There are only these many teams that one could map out and it has been ironic that I, of all people got landed a job like this by sheer accident (ie. responding to a job ad under the impression of doing something else and was broke and penniless at that time and was this close to working as a stockbroker with four big men). Because you must know that I have the biggest phone phobia.

"You need to be in the mood", many research gurus of my industry has told me regarding our frequent extraction of information exercise. I know what they meant and can relate that to writers' block. But then these days, I don't seem to be "in the mood" and often go in with a detectable bravado and exited knowing that I have been busted and would have to lie low for a while, perhaps re-visiting the site again with yet a different pseudonym, persona and an altered accent. Then there are sudden deadlines to be made that does not allow for research tantrums as such to act up. The seniority of this corporate food chain is dependent on my abilities. I do the hunting in the wilderness with some or little clues and save it for them to do the killing. That is how the deal goes- I do the shit job.

I wonder what has happened to my socially tenacious self. My friends were so happy when they first learnt that I have finally secured a suitable job. After all, I am supposed to have the best memories in remembering people's backgrounds and scoured the Tatler pages in my youthful late teenage years and could single out the Who's who quite easily in a club or at the race course (when the best friend and I watched the races in the horse owners' exclusive stands) and when I was child, the Spy Guidebook was my bible. The best friend still gets me to check people out and to provide her with a quick download of profiles (which I have said to her that I no longer live and operate in that part of the world and hence, have not been as up to speed with the social scene; besides, her "espionage-y" background would provide her with some wily ways to find things out). Then I am told that I have this larger- than- life personality and I have this special intuition and insight to people that attracted people to me as their confidante. I suit a consulting role like this. But I have not seemed to have applied my natural talents so well to my profession. I think before I know it, the practice would run out of their ever supportive patience for me. I almost feel it coming...

My best friend in the firm is the accountant. I really treat him like an older brother and he is the only man that I ever partied with in this great big, lonely city apart from Dope. And there are advantages in having the accountant as your best buddy. I get an insight about the financials of people there.

The accountant told me what to expect for my bonus today- ballpark figure (we tend not talk in real figures but we could possibly reach a mutual understanding and not compromise on anybody's professional integrity). It was within my expectation but somewhat disappointing. Disappointing because it was not enough to pay my debts but also because I think I could have gotten more if I was being able to take on higher responsibilities (there are only this many times you could "take the initiative" and get subtly rejected or get pushed sideways) and possibly be of better use to the team.

Also, really, I think there are better ways to make money.

I wonder again should I move or not. After all, I was to expect lesser frequency of bonuses after this one and do I want to sit out till February 2008 for the next?

The dates for my overseas conference is confirmed today. I would be flown overseas for six days and was told by colleagues who have been here longer that everyone gets their own room with a good view. Then there is the training in the conference that would benefit in the longer term for me to extend myself in my career.

Timing again is an issue, given that the other end might look to hiring the right person early in the year. I will need to buy much time...

Ah well, so much to think about.

I am glad I have till the end of this year to gather my thoughts and strategy for 2007. If ever I am a failure at managing my soul and emotional grip, well, at least, I better be good at bringing in the money. Just in case, I have no harbour to return to at the end of the day...

(Oh as an aside, my colleague asked how was my lunch with Dope. I said good- he kissed me but I blew him one.

"So you don't like him no more? Well, that's good. DL is a good guy."

"So is Dope. But no, I think I must agree DL is better for me."

"Well P, at the end of the day, all a girl wants is to return home to a man who can cook."

"AND hopefully, do the tax returns and planning. Yes, we'll help him get there and then I'll be a lucky girl...")


Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year for readers who trudged on to finish reading this post!


Monday, December 18, 2006

 
The Awakening

Dear readers (whoever who cares to read),

Something happened to my soul on Friday night going into the wee hours of Saturday morning.

It was stirred and I felt my soul alive again. My instinctive soul as a lover triggered by the dance with a Latino stranger. Frankly, he was a quite of a sleaze bag but he managed to invoke my soul and free it...

I am in the midst of writing a more considered piece. Somehow I feel the urge to put down my thoughts on blog immediately now although my thought process is still trying to take in what I felt and capture the essence by arranging them into coherent phrases. But I have been restless over the weekend over a few things. Today, I was bursting to share my thoughts with someone in further detail and I told Dope, of all people. Not because he was a grey arrangement that made him an inappropriate confidante but rather, I wonder if he understands what I might possibly mean. But I felt that night so strongly I have to tell someone and capture those raw feelings that was invoked within me in the plainest possible language I could describe. Anyway, here's a snippet of what happened, hastily written by the way.

Oh, and if those handful of you have been observant enough to realise that my last blog was written "really" in the first person narration for the first time about "my" feelings- no "quotation marks" , past journal exerpts lifted, you might like to know it has something to do with that night and the change in the aura of my soul...

I almost feel I can be bold again...

DilettanteP

****

From: P
Sent: Monday, December 18, 2006 5:57 PM
To: Dope
Subject: RE: Tell you something...


Something happened to my soul the other night, Dopey.

I thought I found myself again.

As in the uninhibited free spirited self- I salsa-ed and did the meringue with 2 Latinos…

And I wasn’t even really drunk though I have been drinking for 12 hours. Like I was wide awake, conscious and not drunk… no nasty hangovers whatsoever…

From: Dope
Sent: Monday, December 18, 2006 6:02 PM
To: P
Subject: Re: Tell you something...

the meringue?

12 hours! impressive

doesn't sound that different from what you're normally like?

From: P
Sent: Monday, December 18, 2006 6:12 PM
To: Dope
Subject: RE: Tell you something...

No- I didn’t know I could meringue and dirty dance because since I was with DL, I stopped dancing really…and back then, it was more disco dancing…

But I did and I wasn’t even drunk.

Then the 2ndLatino was a bit of a sleaze bag and rubbed himself hard against me while we dance and tried to steal a kiss from my mouth with his tongue but I was quick to tilt by head and I teased him, allowing him to breathe the perfume along my neck and smother it with kisses…. He held my butt with both his hands and tried his hands also on my off-limit area (the bosom!) and I was quick to pull that away and twirled with him and what do you call that when the guy hold the girl and she bent backwards? Miss P is still quite flexible considering the lack of practice over so many years!!!

That pure game of seduction on the dancefloor while I twirled away from him and he spun me back to him and I felt his hard knob on pressed against my butt and slowly he ran his hands along my body to my hips and then trying to work his hands down my thighs and towards my centre as we swang from side to side in sync and went lower and lower to the dancefloor and back up..

But it was the essence of the art form, I got it! Like I think I have danced like that before and I enjoyed it because I felt there and then (though he was a stranger and what the heck) that I found my lover self again- the scent of a man on me… except he was not my real lover and I couldn’t look him in the eye that way when u feel the heat and the desire to f*** the person because you are in passion and in love…

I can’t quite tell you-it’s been a while…

It’s like the way I should have danced with J in Cuba or the Chilean ex- lover in Paris… which never happened…

I never used to drink, I went to the clubs for the music and to dance. But somehow it all changed over the past years and I was relegated to a drink in hand and being an observer of merry-making at bars and clubs…

That nite, I found me again and I went home at 3.30am and I couldn’t sleep from a sense of revelation… and I rang B...








Saturday, December 16, 2006

 

THE PHONE CONVERSATION

Is it true that one would always shed much tears of pain for the one you love?

I spoke to M just before and why do I always end in tears?

I seem to be the one holding the bucket of tears for him all the time.

There are days where I just think that if ever I were to lose my composure before him (and disregard any of my self-consciousness ness to chase him further away from me, given my remaining at status quo with DL), I would probably break down and cry so hard and I know all I could ever say when I bare my soul would be “I love you, I love you, I love…” because that is the core of how I feel when ever I put on that mock smile to speak over the phone while we exist now on two different time zones. I would wish that for some reason, we had some form of telepathy and he would have caught on my signs and intensity of love for him.

I have suppressed the pain truly well over the course of the last five or six months that I thought I am well above it now. But our resumption on electronic correspondence lately regarding his desire to see me soon and his ever discreet inquiries into my travelling schedule into Asia have simply flushed my resolution down the toilet.

But we will miss each other again this time. He flies to Cheng Du tomorrow and onwards he would travel to Tibet and India over the course of the next few months. So again, I wait, for perhaps he might do a stopover in Sydney during March and April on his way back to Santiago. But as usual, everything would be tentative.

****

I must be somewhat special to M, I figured sometimes.

After all, M is a traveller, not a tourist. He does his research before he travels and he does it rough, backpacker style. He takes time to smell the roses, capture the local sights, understand the history and culture and is bold enough to try any local side street stall food. After all, he grows up with journalist parents and inherits that adventurous get up and go streak and takes long trips away to explore each regions thoroughly. He is never the yuppie style long weekend holiday within a five or six-star hotel type of person who bags souvenirs and goes trigger happy with the camera of himself in the foreground at places of interests.

So when he did make it into Singapore for the long weekend without doing much research upon short notice that I was coming home and he paid an expensive ticket (I asked him how much) in time to catch me, it then dawned upon me for real that he came for me.

I have long “condemned” M in my mind that he has a wandering eye prior to this last visit to Singapore. After all, my short-lived happiness with him in Paris ended there when I saw him with a new girl at the train station. Julie, her name was and she is a Danish lass.

Julie and I had our farewell gathering in Paris the same night. I left Paris the next day and M and I, naturally did not formally say goodbye. The last I caught sight of him then was a couple of nights before during my last week there. It was Thanksgiving Day. I was at “The Mazet” with W, my French ex-lover and I caught sight of him in the crowd and then, he was gone within split seconds…

Apparently, he came to Singapore to make amends because he never stopped thinking about our time in Paris. He was to be all mine that weekend, he promised emphatically while we renewed our relationship at Velvet Underground. He hugged me so tight like before and again, I wanted to believe that M had eyes only for me and was in love with me.

He always turns that magic on me. The magic, that a cynic like me could be led into believing- it emanates from the sincerity of his eyes, his sensuous kisses, those tight hugs and his keen, attentive ears.

And so he was that ultimate lover once more- I noticed during our time together the whole weekend, it was all about me. He did not care where I was taking him. He took pictures of me between close up shots of older style architecture and filmed my “rubbish” introduction of the Merlion and our time in the cold ice room at Indo Chine where we took shots of vodka. He would make me stand in the foreground to pose for him and like a disgruntled child (which I now regret), I would resist before obliging to his requests as the humidity raises the heat of my impatient temperament a notch higher. I frowned a lot (where his collection of photos would hold evidence) post his rejection of me in our private chambers (upon learning about my long term relationship with DL) but I now think that it was his way of preserving a memory of me since there is no real future between us given that I am quite as resolute to stick with my DL.

When we walked past Attica, there was a queue of scantily dressed and well-toned Sarong Party Girls waiting to get into the club. One attractive SPG eyed my gorgeous M suggestively and then me distastefully but M took no notice of anyone over the weekend except for myself. He always held my hand firmly and was always patient in attending to my fussy needs (I sulked a lot in the day given that I cried a lot at night over our heated debate of him deciding to do the right thing for us) and paid detailed attention right to adjusting the sliding strap of my handbag to my wrist to be slung back on my shoulder.

I almost fooled myself there. A suspension of my disbelief of the reality- I could solely be his and only his and that he belonged entirely mine.

****

Travelling alone or with a friend? I asked.

There was a delayed pause before he replied.

Yes, he will be travelling with “a Chinese friend” tomorrow. And the friend, I know will also happen to be the same “friend” who has also accompanied him on his recent travels into Malaysia, Myammar and Thailand. He sounded careful not to mention a “he” or “she”. But I know better.

So he has got himself a new girl in his life. They must travel well together.

You know what they say about travelling with your partner? It marks a good test on your compatibility because that is when all good and bad habits of each other surfaces. When being placed in a tight situation as such where a couple will cross each other’s personal zones, their abilities to adapt and compromise with each other is put to a real test. It is also a time where one could assess the suitability of a serious relationship and how realistic it could be taken to the next level.

When he mentioned a friend the last time, I had that nagging suspicion. Call it intuition or a girl’s sixth sense. We girls are never wrong about such things.

And he appears to be living with “the friend” (though he did not mention if it is this same travelling companion) temporarily in Hong Kong since he quit his work and gave up his lease

M never has a long-term relationship. It has never gone beyond four months previously. But for some reason, I think this girl is here to stay for quite a long while. After all, they have already survived the previous month long travels. To know she’s Chinese makes me feel even more un-special. I feel it is time I take my leave.

There is no competition to start off with. M and I were never meant to be. I always have a boyfriend when we first met and it is not my place to soak up in jealousy and envy. I simply don’t have that right. My position was compromised right from the start and I know the rules of the game and entered it at my own peril. So I cannot demand for exclusivity.

“So how’s everything going on your end?” He must have asked me at least twice during our phone conversation just now. It almost feels like we have nothing to say to each other but behind all those question marks we have about each other, those subjects could only be broached subtly.

I always reply him with answers regarding my career progress to deflect him away from very personal information.

But I know he meant to ask if I were still with DL. But like myself, he is careful when asking questions that really matter as we could both easily upset the balance there. After all, I am quite sure he has this girl now and I figured he was wondering how I would take the news.

(Oh, and just last night, I texted him that I always love him.)

I can do omission but I do not wish to tell lies.

Well, I could lie pretty much with a straight face and it is not too hard over the phone as I should know best since it is something I should be well accustomed to do by now within my profession. And I know M was doing likewise. Neither of us wants to be the first to show hand because those elements of hurt and pain would definitely ensue. So we remain poker-faced while we try to extract information to clarify our own understanding and to make sense of our next step to shield ourselves (and especially, myself) from the pain of this lose-lose situation.

So by the time we have put down the phone, I have braced myself mentally once more that I would forget M. There would be no next time or seeing him soon. And again, I would break my latest short-lived promise from a few days ago via email to take a long weekend trip soon-ish when he returns to Hong Kong in 2007.

Little did he know that I nearly hastened my promise and would have parted with AUD$2000 to impulsively book a trip to Hong Kong to see him just for this weekend for two nights. Fuck the surmounting debts, I tried convincing my commercially pragmatic self.

So maybe it was a blessing in disguise I didn’t. I guess it is the best way one could console oneself, perhaps?

As we uttered what would possibly be our final goodbyes, as usual the mock smile visible on my face still to ensure I sounded somewhat positive to his attentive ears, I let my tears flow on my end while the pain that I have once carefully locked away with gritted determination unleashes like a busted dam…

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Monday, December 11, 2006

 

Pinochet's Death

Readers (well, not more than a handful) who know P would wonder what has that got to do with her? P is neither interested nor well versed in politics to start a discourse on the implications of his death to the reactions of the Chilean population or on the legacy he had left behind with his drastic economic reforms.

While all this is happening today, P was trying her hardest to draw blood from stone in coming up with a eulogy she had to write on behalf of a parent. Yes, she is morbidly interested in Death and yes, she likes to secrete her juices in more ways than one. Ahem, one being the obvious- writing, but to undertake writing a eulogy for a highly revered spiritual leader that she does not really know albeit a few hazy memories honed from childhood of having met the benevolent old man who got (was conned and) flown in to bless their house (by a charlatan monk whom, having promised her gullible parents upon receiving “charitable donations” gave the senior monk the impression the designated site to be blessed was a school which he kindly obliged) in the midst of its grand construction during their hey days where the stock market was collapsing and their wealth multiplied. She reckons her parent(usually wise) does not realise the significance and honour associated to the power being handed over for the immortalization of one’s history. Of all times, this is not the best time to allow the errant daughter to take a free rein in testing out her creativity, especially when it is intended for publication!

****

She now recalls a distant memory where she was eight.

The year was 1987 and it was the one and only time she has visited Thailand and her very first ride on the plane. And it was all very exciting.

It was a spiritual trip for the adults. They went to the temples to visit the monks that they have made acquaintance during their periodic visits to Singapore.

P remembered spending some afternoons in the abovementioned monk’s monastery.

It was one of those hot humid afternoons and P and her siblings were done with playing in the courtyard and being fascinated with the wandering poultry.

The adults seemed to have lots to discuss with the spiritual elders. The revered monk ordered two of his young disciples who were not more than twelve years of age to set up mats and triangular pillows for the girls to take a nap in airy, open air guest room at the wooden planked building supported by stilts.

She was fascinated with one of the darker and handsomer boy monk. Being precocious even at that age and being well aware that these boys are not even supposed to be in close contact to the opposite sex, she was tempted to use her little feet to brush across his forbidden arm and seduce him.

Such a naughty girl she was and a devil’s advocate she still is…;)

****

Oops, P has just digressed.

Yes, she meant to talk about Pinochet.

Well, not really- someone related to the nationality of Pinochet.

The person is none other than M.

She wonders what is his view of Pinochet. Funny, she never asks him- whether him and his parents were a great supporter or not. The dictator had lost his power in 1990. M would be seven then and why did his mother deem Santiago a better place to raise the children than London?

She is sure M would have a view on politics. After all, he came from a highly intellectually charged background. His Dad’s a war correspondent (he even went to Jerusalem with his Dad during those peace talks in 2005; must mean something significant to him- P only realized during M’s last visit that his Dad’s side is Jew and his grandparents fled Austria during WWI) and his mum used to write for The Financial Times. Pincohet did a lot to contribute to Chile’s economic progress and M, a first class honours in Economics would definitely have a view. Today, must be an important day for both supporters and opponents of Pinochet in Chile. The irony- the man who made Chile one of the most economically progressive nations in Latin America will not receive a state funeral!

Strangely, she found an article written by M in 2005 on the Chinese economy today. Shame that the yahoo translator translated the Spanish article poorly into English.

Coincidentally, China allows greater access by foreign banks today.

She hopes to search more, she knows he writes more than that. He mentioned once that he writes to a Chilean newspaper every now and then. He is quite the clever thing!

She has forgotten how much younger M really is. In fact, she never thought to have liked a younger boy but with him, she feels young and in love once more…

Bit by bit, she continues to dig further to know her Beautiful Boy to uncover a little bit more about his talents…

Quietly, she wonders with whom would he be spending the coming NewYear?

****

Reports also mentioned that Pinochet’s death led to some demonstrations in the city center. Two of the local banks were damaged.

She wondered if one of the banks belong to Random George’s family. According to M, their family owns one of the oldest investment bank in Chile.

Random George who had forced himself on her. Too much weed and drinks (while her thoughts were still on “The Aura” whom she had met that night at the same bar; M saw her too that night but it was only a week after that they met), she obliged not without much resistance. Now where did he come from- he was the ultimate one nightstand. She remembered staring at the ceiling and half thinking repeatedly, “ This is THE one nightstand and I am in one…” while he was at it.

Ah well, considered an experience experienced! (Or two in one)

The next morning when she left with her girlfriend (who slept on the other side of the wall with his housemate; the only reason why P even bothered to do sleepover), they laughed so hard and P called them “The trash can Couture sisters” before reality sinked in…

Her consolation was that he resembled Malc (the fling whom she was enamoured with and whom she feared for his aloofness) in looks, physical statue and aloofness, albeit one white and one Asian version. Spookily, both have mothers who died of cancer!

And perhaps the sex was better than with W, which she would like to obliterate from remembering that experience at that point in time. Now everything can only be slightly amusing...

The next morning when she woke up, she noticed that random George like reading books written by the same author as she did. Even afterwards, when she still hung out at their place post Random George and M whirlwind romance(the boys went to the same British school in Santiago; how very incest of P and even more later, when George seemed to have taken a liking for M’s younger sister) with the other girls, sharing wine, whisky and joints (always the top grade smuggled from Amsterdam, the extension of George’s largesse), amidst her hazy state, she liked to test her own sobriety and was found to share similar appreciation of The Wall Street Journal as Random George who had subscribed for it to be sent to his temporary residence in Le Marais to keep himself up to date in preparation for his heavy responsibilities in years to come. After all, he is the oldest pedigreed son who had to carry the family tradition in learning the ropes of an investment banker.

She also realized that Random George tends to be as cold as anything even to his male friends. He never melts his cold exterior and maintains an exceptionally practical demeanour. Even when a fellow female of friend puts her arm around him, he instinctively shrunk from the touch and drew an invisible perimeter around himself. Really, George is a poor little rich boy- with an eccentric but enterprising father that has a new wife, a younger rock band chic brother who went in and out of rehab, a bi-polar mother who died of cancer after ten years of battling it and him and his brat-pack friends donned a bad reputation as recreational cocaine users at dance clubs (in Chile, it’s ok to do weed but cocaine, that’s a no-no, according to Pato) perhaps to indulge and forget it all. So that is how he braced himself for the lonely world.

Silently, she wondered about his emphatic (but somewhat tender) tone that night (“I can be your boyfriend!”) while they fucked , did he feel really lonely? After all, he was in Paris, a city of romance and what better place to take a lover? The boy has money (almost every weekend he would travel to a different part of Europe since he had no luck at having a girlfriend; he smell and dressed differently from what one would expect from a resident of a developing nation; but then again, all the three boys were well traveled and dressed and were privately educated in the British Grange School and are permitted with traveling passports); all he needed was some loving.

Like the Beatles’ song, “All you need is love, love… love is all you need…”

Ah well, P did compromise and gave him a bit of loving that night. Don’t say she didn’t ;)

****

Gosh, Pinochet’s Death is stirring up some candid thoughts and confession from P.

If ever one is to ask what is the impact of Pinochet’s Death on people, well, he sure has liberated P’s skeletons laden soul!


Saturday, December 09, 2006

 

The Parting

They had earlier joined a crowd outside the Chinese temple to watch a fortune-teller display his supposed “supernatural” prowess. P tried her darnest at translating the presentation extravaganza from her limited understanding of Hokkien into English to satiate his curiosity as a keen foreign observer. He pointed out the loopholes to a gullible P who was quite mystified with the gig.

“So what was it that you want to tell me before you leave?” she asked him along the busy street at Bugis.

It has been bugging her.

(Two days ago, they lay in bed. After she told him the story of “The Respectful Murderer”, he opened his mouth to speak except that he decided to withdraw his speech at the last second.

“What is it?” she asked getting self-conscious, at the back of the mind thinking of the worst and had feared terribly that a certain friend had betrayed her and had divulged to M the key of the story during their time in Paris.

As if he had read her mind, he had replied, “No, it isn’t anything bad.”

“Then tell me.”

“I will tell you but not now.”

“So when?”

“I promise, before I leave.”)

“That I love you too. I didn’t want to encourage you further but I thought I would only let you know before I leave.”

****

They arrived at the airport. There were three of them. B was there. P figured she would need her best friend afterwards.

He had an hour before departure.

They went to the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaves where she ordered for a cherry flavoured tea that tasted like cough syrup. It was piping hot.

The three sat down at a table. He watched the time as he had about twenty minutes while she carefully avoided the clock. She sat next to him while B sat across from her.

B, the usually quieter chicky duo did her best to sound bright and cheery in her attempt to lighten the lingering tension. Under the table, P quietly slid her fingers to interlock with his. They held their hands tight together and he squeezed her firmly.

Small talk surrounding Hong Kong was exchanged between M and B; like how B should come visit with P when she makes a trip down to visit him the next time. P made bold to snuggle up closer to him.

Moments later, he decided he had got to go, as it was time. Seeing that she had barely touched her drink, he went on to ask her to stay on with her friend. He mentioned that they needed not to see him off any further.

No, it was okay she told him.

B quickly intervened the situation. Communicating quickly in Mandarin, she asked for P to go and see him off. He probably wanted time alone with her and B would stay put.

B and M hugged and kissed each other farewell.

****

We walked briskly to the departure gate. Our hands held on to each other tightly. That sinking wave of resignation overcame me once more. My knitted eyebrows formed creases with my forehead. I braved myself from tearing.

We stood outside the departure gate.

He held my face tenderly and looked intently into my eyes. He kissed my forehead and we rubbed our noses like before as we looked into each other’s eyes. Then he further kissed my lips, my face, then my forehead again until it was about time to leave.

“It would be really good if you could come to Hong Kong to visit. Hopefully, you could make it before September. I’m glad I came this time.”

I looked into M’s captivating eyes once more. I tiptoed and pulled my mouth close to his and kissed him one last time.

He knew I was about to slide my tongue into his and he retracted and insisted he had to go.

Then he entered the departure gate, went through customs and then quite quickly, he was gone.

Just like that, an entire year of anticipation for my Beautiful Boy packed into four days.

Pain was gradually replaced by that feeling of hollowness and void filled by the submission to defeat (for that lost cause)- it really saps away the energy of one’s soul.

Think I’ll aim for the waiting and anticipating and take a perpetual raincheck at meeting up. Perhaps it’s more merciful that way for my frail heart. That feeling of yearning might hopefully dissipate with time and I might perhaps wake up one day and realise that the pain has gone because somewhere along the way I have grown numb and I have forgotten how much it hurts.

To see M again would only re-open a wound that has left a deep enough scar and all I would take away with me distinctly would be the pain. The pain that I love him but perhaps never enough to will myself for a shake-up and take the bold step to give it a real go, the reminder of pain left by the irreversible mark that marred a part of my personal history because I cared more about him than he ever knew before and got myself into a mess and the pain associated with his once upon a time betrayal and why did he have to come and make amends to rock my boat once more when I have so strongly psyched myself that he was not worth it and he came back to allow us to know each other at a deeper level, only to make me love him harder?

I could not justify my emotions after all the hurt he was so capable of inflicting upon me, or at least he was so capable of allowing myself to do that. I take responsibility for myself and although I forgive, I am not one to forget. Call it having good memory or perhaps one trapped in one’s own suffering.

M embodies the Pain I feel as a consequence that I am to bear for the fallacies of my heart where emotional trappings could only compound upon one another and forever reverberate and echo to haunt my troubled soul until alas, one very fine day, I awake from Enlightenment and could suddenly sever those emotional bonds I feel for many and learn the true meaning of Love and taking courage to love The One and only.

****

Post Parting Notes:

“P, I really enjoyed the WE, though I think everything is a bit complicated for me.

I felt a bit strange when I arrived in HK but I guess that is normal.

Got to get back to work, big kiss and hugs, and thanks again for everything. Will keep in touch for sure.

M”

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Friday, December 08, 2006

 
Restive Notes

Been bothered by a few things today.

Leave has not been approved. Would like to get airfare booking done by end of the week.

Stony BROKE. Where the hell did she spend her money?

Embarrassing situation with a Capital E- Agreed to meet Dope for lunch only to realise P had less than $20 to her name (or at least her spending a/c). Walks straight up to the waiting Dope and said that don’t think they would be having lunch cos she only has $17 in her bank. Then she got caught unaware that his gf was standing next door. Double shock. Such strange coincidence, X just bumped into them. Dope said he’ll shout (wonder if he’s just returning a favour since she had given him $$$ in a similar situation once. Both P and Dope are just so bad with $$$, esp when Dope earn heaps more) X looking slightly confused and Dope turned to explain the situation only to stop mid way because he caught on P’s “look”. P pulled her usual jovial smile and said why don’t you guys go for lunch. X said no, she have had lunch and is going back to the office, indicated that they go ahead, like she’s interrupted them. Anyhow, P was quick to interject that something’s come up and it was last minute so she better get going. She heard Dope mumble what was she going to eat…

She was looking forward to a catch up since they are back to "normal" again and she had so much to tell him. Not the best way to meet for the first time after 2 months...

Ah well, might as well take comfort in the fact that she's trying to lose weight for January. If she eats less or doesn't eat at all, she'll get there... heh!

Then there’s M.

He wrote to say he’s just got back to Thailand. Spent 3 weeks in Mymmar. Going back to China and don’t know what he’s doing going forward but would be travelling India in Jan and Feb. Let him know where she would be and “hopefully” they would meet up.

Guess he’s got India on his agenda. P has S’pore and Manila and she’s not about to switch plans given that she’s only has 2.5 weeks and bloody hell, the PA of the Big Man has sent an email for everyone to compulsorily take 28th & 29th Dec off their annual leave, which leaves her with lesser outstanding leave and fucked up her working schedule…
She has put M on hold for more than 6 months but what of it after they meet… Best to leave things as it is, she guess….

What a Fucked Up day!!! P’s feeling quite sorry about herself and cannot wait to get home to bash up that pillow…sigh…

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

 
The Stalker's Stalker


Strange how one is able have so much conviction in oneself that it actually points to self deceit? P is getting somewhat amused with herself.

In her day to day existence, she gets in quietly and exits swiftly with answers she needed. That is the key to her survival. And of course, the quality of the information she managed to wheedle and cajole out of the unsuspecting parties.

These days, she feels lesser and lesser as part of the team she operates in. She sits quietly in the office and often utter no more than ten sentences in total. Again, she has stopped being very chatty with her colleagues for a long while. She thinks it’s her nature- the fear that familiarity would breed contempt. As the lowest member in the professional food chain, P is constantly aware to thread her food lightly in places that she sets her feet on and hence, she manages everybody’s expectations.

So P has led herself to believe that she is invisible. As a little fish amongst the big sea of sharks, she adopts the mentality of “catch me if you can”. And because I always plan my exit strategy and being a small non-existent dot, I don’t think you would even think to get me.

Now she went to meet the mysterious man who made that surprise call a week and a half ago. It was a clandestine meeting at a quiet corner bar in a grand hotel. She thought she had it all figured out how he found her. But when an unknown name who proffered the name to this man in question was dropped, P could not help but be more than surprised. It was a name that she has never heard of. This equally mysterious woman had shortlist her as one of the four within the market to speak with because P was deemed really good at what she does. And how does that happen, P does not have the answer.

Equally strange, she speaks the mysterious man’s language. He uses exactly the same tactics she would use to engage one. Then they talk about the fit and the man said he feels a connection with her and would like to proceed with further discussions. The man is an ex- Commando who studied psychology at university and a profound interest in property investment. Property- the only asset class which P could comprehend well enough to take a shot at her money. She thinks she might have found the mentor that she has been seeking to advance herself. But wait, let’s hear more….

To find herself now at the receiving end of having her profile and history tracked by strangers whom like herself, have wily ways, a dark smile slowly crept up the face.

Sunday, December 03, 2006

 
The Look of Death

Have you ever had a dream you felt it so real that even after you wake up from it, you believe that it happened for real and you cannot get over it? Like there is this first hand connection and no matter how you try to convince yourself about the illusory nature of it, you just could not shake away the bits that have awaken your senses. The smell, the taste and the aura of that dream…

****

Do you know I always have vivid dreams? It is strange because I seem to have a gift since I was a child. I would dream of something and sometimes it would come true. Especially, the bad things…

I lost that sense for a while. I think it must have been the dark years where I was not in touch with my soul. Recently, I seemed to be regaining my senses…

Well, I guess I have just digressed…

****

About a year ago, I had a dream. It still disturbs me mildly. But when I first dreamt of it, I was left disturbed and depressed for days. I often wonder if it did happen once upon a time in another life…

I never forget his look.

****

I was with my family having kueh chap for dinner at a kopi tiam (coffee shop). We sat at an outdoor table and my family members were chatting away about daily mindless things. I sat amongst them quiet.

About less than a hundred metres across from where we sat, there was an older style walk up private apartment block. In front of it was an unlit garden, which was part of that apartment compound and there were dark bushes surrounding its perimeter and before its entrance. The entrance of the compound must have been about fifty metres away from where we sat.

Oblivious to my family’s careless chatter, my mind wandered away aimlessly. I looked up and wondered about the household activities of the lit up apartments units that I could see from my position and from some of their un-curtained balcony sliding doors. Then I noticed a man on the fourth floor.

The Chinese man is about in his late thirties or early forties. He wore a white cotton singlet and a pair of tailored shorts (the style typical of what our fathers would wear in the 1970s and 80s that I recall about childhood). He did not look very tall and in fact, he was quite a small built man. He looked rather thin. From his tanned complexion betraying his frequent contact with the scorching sun and his compact and muscular arms, I figured he must be a labourer or possibly a tradesman.

He was attempting to climb over the edge of the wall that ran up to his chest in the common corridor. I wondered if he had forgotten the keys to his house and was trying to climb from the edge of the wall to step over to the edge of the railing of the balcony to get into his apartment. It would be quite a dangerous and fatal undertaking. Then another thought struck me. Could he possibly be a burglar?

When he made it to the edge of the wall, he perched there for a split second. He looked afar. Our eyes met and I was fixated on him. His face was calm. I felt that connection. Before I could register any further possibilities, the man looked down and jumped. From the look to that act of committing suicide, it took no more than 3 seconds.

His look. Our connection.

“I think someone has just committed suicide,” I told my parents rather calmly.

No one seemed to have heard me “properly”.

Someone in the family made a non-committal reply, like “Really?” and they continued on with their banter between eating pigs’ intestines and slurping the richly flavoured soup.

I continued waiting and observing quietly the dark apartment compound and counting down time before someone discovered the dead, mangled body. The dark bushes obscured my view of the aftermath of suicide. I waited silently and privately grieving for my stranger, I counted the time before I would hear the first cry of alarm.

It must have been between eight to fifteen minutes.

I heard a shrieking passer by running away and out from the bushes, screaming about someone having committed suicide. My family turned their heads to look at the hysterical man but made no further effort to investigate what the racket was all about. Getting slightly exasperated, I repeated, trying to control my emphatic tone that I saw the man jumped when he did. Again, the quick re-enaction did little to rouse any concerns.

As we paid up to leave, I heard a mass hysteria of screams. More people have discovered the man. It must be someone amongst the middle aged and senior residents who were practicing social dance in the committee room that has glass walls on the ground floor next to the foyer. Then curious passers-by and the disrupted dancers crowded around the body. People rushed to get help.

By now, we strolled pass that apartment compound and my family walked towards the crowd out of curiosity. In the dark and in the crowd, I saw him.

The man’s body lay on the grassy ground. About a couple of metres away, I saw his severed head. His eyes were closed.

Having satisfied their curiosity, my family moved on jolly, the younger sibling linking her arm to Dad’s and the older sibling continued talking to Mum and we headed for Cold Storage.

****

Thoughts went through my head even after I was awake.

I felt a connection with that man.

When our eyes met.

We shared that moment.

That morbid moment before he decided to join Death.

The moment before he decided to slip away. I thought I felt that slight gratitude on his part for me to have shared the pre-moment of solitude and solemnity of his decision. Just three seconds and he was gone. No grand fanfare for exit and no hesitation. He was a resolute man.

I could have possibly saved him, I continued experiencing that feeling of guilt. I was the only person who saw him and could have possibly done something.

But then again, could I have possibly hastened his decision to jump, I wonder? Since he might have fear that I would alert the attention of others that would have thwarted his plans?

In my head, I continued to question why- what drove him to end his life in that calm and slightly forlorn way. Was it out of desperation or was it a resignation to his weary life? What went through his head that very moment he acted upon his decision? I continue to be disturbed because of his look.

Ironically, it was a look of peace. It was definitely not a lost look because he registered me in his eyes but he was bent on leaving, like experiencing enlightenment in the acceptance that this was the best for him- to be in another place.

There are days when I wondered about how respect could possibly come into the equation. Perhaps, he did lead a very long and tired life and he wants to hasten his journey to rest. Am I not to respect a man who has enough and feels that it is about time that he deserves that rest? Especially so, a stranger like me who know nothing about his personal life? Who am I to play the superhero and think that I would do him a favour by saving his life if this is not what he wants?

Is this how one looks when one decides to submit to one’s will, not one’s “actual” Time (which is an oxymoron since really, time being a man made notional measure for span)?

I continue to wonder about the man. He feels like someone or something that I think I know. I still feel that strong connection there and my dream remains vivid.

The look of Death- I was touched by it. I almost felt that I was nearly there.


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