Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Another Year, another time...
Nostalgic me. Yes, me again.
I was going through the emails between the Old Boy and myself exactly a year ago. We must have exchanged at least 5 long ones that day.
Significantly, I realised it was only 365 days ago that he finally guessed my real name after a long and tedious search, drawing clues from famous literary characters and in the midst must have acquired some literature knowledge along the way from the number of false starts.
Found a strangely ironic paragraph in one of those electronic correspondences:
(Note: italics for P, normal for the OB)
"The Mistress lives in a rented place with her sisters who help out with the
>biz...her biz...and no children. she wants mine...remember?
>
>But would you though? Also, does she realise how irresponsible it would be for the child (shd it happen) and the psychological and emotional impact it has? Let not one’s errors be brought over to the next generation!
NO WAY! you know i am a responsible person...right? NO WAY!!!
>
>That is what I figured I would do… since I was a child, I thought maybe who knows one day I might be romantically involved with a married man that could be the love of my life right so would I bear his child even if I really wanted to be a mother and have a baby that came from our love? My answer always lies with having social responsibility for others. Maybe I couldnt control my emotions and get into such an involvement but I could prevent making a life and the suffering or imbalance of such an environment wd bring to the child…
agreed!!!"
Was it only 365 days ago?
Nostalgic me. Yes, me again.
I was going through the emails between the Old Boy and myself exactly a year ago. We must have exchanged at least 5 long ones that day.
Significantly, I realised it was only 365 days ago that he finally guessed my real name after a long and tedious search, drawing clues from famous literary characters and in the midst must have acquired some literature knowledge along the way from the number of false starts.
Found a strangely ironic paragraph in one of those electronic correspondences:
(Note: italics for P, normal for the OB)
"The Mistress lives in a rented place with her sisters who help out with the
>biz...her biz...and no children. she wants mine...remember?
>
>But would you though? Also, does she realise how irresponsible it would be for the child (shd it happen) and the psychological and emotional impact it has? Let not one’s errors be brought over to the next generation!
NO WAY! you know i am a responsible person...right? NO WAY!!!
>
>That is what I figured I would do… since I was a child, I thought maybe who knows one day I might be romantically involved with a married man that could be the love of my life right so would I bear his child even if I really wanted to be a mother and have a baby that came from our love? My answer always lies with having social responsibility for others. Maybe I couldnt control my emotions and get into such an involvement but I could prevent making a life and the suffering or imbalance of such an environment wd bring to the child…
agreed!!!"
Was it only 365 days ago?
Monday, April 21, 2008
Rhetoric
Today we bumped into each other online the first time in the longest while.
("Dear, do you ever regret being with me?")
("No- I love you. And I still do. That's a fact.")
("That the sweetest thing that anyone has ever said to me in the longest time. Your statement makes me miss you so much.")
("Since you have already made your decision, let's just leave it as it is.")
No, shit stirring please, I meant.
Still, our joint memories continue to haunt me. Just let me be.
Today we bumped into each other online the first time in the longest while.
("Dear, do you ever regret being with me?")
("No- I love you. And I still do. That's a fact.")
("That the sweetest thing that anyone has ever said to me in the longest time. Your statement makes me miss you so much.")
("Since you have already made your decision, let's just leave it as it is.")
No, shit stirring please, I meant.
Still, our joint memories continue to haunt me. Just let me be.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
That Imperfect Man
During my quiet evenings as such, my mind often wander nostalgically to The Old Boy. I love reading and re-reading our old lyrical correspondences. Sometimes, I would read the emails that took place exactly one year ago and try to recall my state of mind and the dynamics of interaction.
What of it, I often asked myself since nothing could come out of this relationship. I am not sure even what I expect it to turn out except that one cynical part of my mind has already flagged that I could only come out with a bucket of tears or that pain I've experienced one too a many time...
I've been asked by my best friends to please stop doing this to myself...
I found myself playing the tune repeatedly as I lay.
****
I'll String Along With You
Lyrics by: Al Dubin
Music by: Harry Warren
From the Film: Twenty Million Sweethearts (1934)
You may not be an angel
Cause angels are so few
But until the day that one comes along
I'll string along with you
I'm looking for an angel
To sing my love song to
And until the day that one comes along
I'll sing my song to you
For every little fault that you have
Say I've got three or four
The human little faults you do have
Just make me love you more
You may not be an angel
But still I'm sure you'll do
So until the day that one comes along
I'll string along with you
During my quiet evenings as such, my mind often wander nostalgically to The Old Boy. I love reading and re-reading our old lyrical correspondences. Sometimes, I would read the emails that took place exactly one year ago and try to recall my state of mind and the dynamics of interaction.
What of it, I often asked myself since nothing could come out of this relationship. I am not sure even what I expect it to turn out except that one cynical part of my mind has already flagged that I could only come out with a bucket of tears or that pain I've experienced one too a many time...
I've been asked by my best friends to please stop doing this to myself...
I found myself playing the tune repeatedly as I lay.
****
I'll String Along With You
Lyrics by: Al Dubin
Music by: Harry Warren
From the Film: Twenty Million Sweethearts (1934)
You may not be an angel
Cause angels are so few
But until the day that one comes along
I'll string along with you
I'm looking for an angel
To sing my love song to
And until the day that one comes along
I'll sing my song to you
For every little fault that you have
Say I've got three or four
The human little faults you do have
Just make me love you more
You may not be an angel
But still I'm sure you'll do
So until the day that one comes along
I'll string along with you
Monday, April 14, 2008
Recent Snap Shots
So much happening at the moment.
Am at a big crossroad with my career.
I don’t know where I might be in 3 months- could be back in Asia for good.
Spent most parts of last month travelling.
I was glad I spent last weekend at home alone.
Finally. Must have cleaned out at least 10 kilos of garbage.
The week before, DL, Fluffball and I went into the countryside.
A place famous for vineyards.
We were so wined out tasting one wine after another.
Just like the good old days where we did the family thing.
Took the Fluffball on holidays-this time we sat in a horse carriage to do the wine tour.
Fluffball is a lucky bitch we rescued from the RSPCA.
No one ever guessed since she is so well groomed and lives like the princess.
She has been with us for almost 6 years now.
She has gone on a boat to whale watch, sat on a train, now a horse carriage and countless of road trips, quite the sophisticated traveller she is.
But she is getting old and her hearing is beginning to fail; we need to spend more time.
No DL and I are still not back together.
I found myself tearing out of the blue in the car during our journey into the country.
We slept on the same bed but did nothing.
Strangely we were still comfortable undressing carelessly before each other or leaving the bathroom door slightly open.
We cracked the same familiar jokes as we were wont to as a couple.
We got each other’s nerves like we were together with no need to distance ourselves with politeness given our changes in status.
He still had the same problem with my lethargy and inability to rise early from bed during our holidays together.
I still couldn’t get rid of my old habits of commenting on his scary driving.
Again, he never failed to forget my birthday.
I had earlier asked jokingly if he remembered to get me a present.
He said of course, or he would get into trouble with me.
I was surprised when he presented me with a beautiful Sorwarvski crystal bracelet.
I really didn’t expect anything from him.
I had previously bought him a Style guide on San Francisco- my latest favourite city in the world.
I could see myself live there- guess I could see the 3 of us including Fluffball live there happily ever after.
Why the fuck then am I not building that life together with him?
The Old Boy is constantly on my mind.
I suppressed any temptation to initiate contact with him.
He had brought his mistress to our favourite hangout, the whiskey bar, I found out.
I would not allow myself to be humiliated, especially when we have always been associated as a couple there.
Ironically last month, a fellow regular asked if we were married.
I said no we are not and that guy looked at me questioningly searching for an alternative answer.
I didn’t know what to say and said we were in love.
To which, the Old Boy looked at me half smiling and said, “Are we?”
Almost two weeks ago, my frail nerves nearly crumbled.
I was doing my last minute cramming less than 3 hours to my exams.
The Old Boy came online and chatted.
Then he attempted to pick a fight, accusing me of accusing him of lying.
He said I was trying to keep tabs on him.
I said I just asked him a simple question about his day at the zoo.
If he were to see my expression or hear my tone, I meant no harm.
He said he gets very sensitive to me these days.
I shot back and said unfortunately he is sensitive to me in all the wrong ways.
When I decided to lighten the mood and mentioned my possible transfer back to Singapore, I got no reaction.
I mentioned that I was hoping he would congratulate me.
He said he hoped that I wasn’t doing this for the “wrong” reason.
Then he added, “You know we won’t get back together…”
My heart felt that constriction of pain plus my anxiety for unprepared exam revision, I felt really sick.
Maybe like the aftermath of high levels of intoxication combined with the intake of a number of drugs.
“I would really appreciate if you could do me a favour and stop causing me grief. I have to sit for an exam in less than 3 hours.” I told the Old Boy.
So there we finally logged off.
Since then we must have only spoken online briefly once.
The longest time we have gone without speaking regularly, if not daily like how it used to be for the past year or so.
Last Friday we chatted briefly online.
He mentioned he has missed me.
Shit stirrer.
Counter productive conversation since he has set his mind to ditching me.
I have no time to reciprocate his words no matter how much I feel.
Best to suppress it than to live in any pathetic hope.
I know better. I cannot cope with any more crashed dreams and hopes.
Talk is cheap- his words pressing against my bruised heart.
I am mindful of his impending birthday.
Last week I psyched myself to ignore it at the last minute prior to late night Thursday shopping.
I was determined to cut him off my life.
Yesterday, I found myself wandering into shops looking for his present.
I was looking at shirts and imagining how he would look in them.
Then I turned my attention to his favourite CK boxers.
They had his size and there were a few nice designs that I would fancy seeing him dressed in and that I think he would like.
Inappropriate gift, too intimate, I figured.
Every time I listen to Dianna Krall sing that song that goes, “I’ll string along with you…”, I could so relate to how I feel for Old Boy.
Apologies for the crap post and my mind is again jumping from one thing to another.
Mind is heavy with serious thoughts about my next move.
Lots have happened within a short period of time.
I seriously don’t know where I would physically be in the next few months.
I want to write more about a Danish eye candy and my being asked for two dances by the two elderly gentlemen in an Octogenarian Swing night at the Green Dolphin Street. A jazz club in a city famous for it jazz in the United States.
Recently, I find my writing sounding monotone.
Kind of resembles my real life- if I am not high strung like a lune, I sound dull like a sedated lune…
Still- there is madness and too much clutter.
By the way, I have decided that pending what’s happening in the next few months with my career, I might be taking some time off. Would be spending some time in India to meditate.
Enough of my mental clutter. Enough of me.
Ok, more in a moment.
Tomorrow I have some battles to fight. Hopefully, I could gain more clarity in my life going forward.
Do wish me luck.
So much happening at the moment.
Am at a big crossroad with my career.
I don’t know where I might be in 3 months- could be back in Asia for good.
Spent most parts of last month travelling.
I was glad I spent last weekend at home alone.
Finally. Must have cleaned out at least 10 kilos of garbage.
The week before, DL, Fluffball and I went into the countryside.
A place famous for vineyards.
We were so wined out tasting one wine after another.
Just like the good old days where we did the family thing.
Took the Fluffball on holidays-this time we sat in a horse carriage to do the wine tour.
Fluffball is a lucky bitch we rescued from the RSPCA.
No one ever guessed since she is so well groomed and lives like the princess.
She has been with us for almost 6 years now.
She has gone on a boat to whale watch, sat on a train, now a horse carriage and countless of road trips, quite the sophisticated traveller she is.
But she is getting old and her hearing is beginning to fail; we need to spend more time.
No DL and I are still not back together.
I found myself tearing out of the blue in the car during our journey into the country.
We slept on the same bed but did nothing.
Strangely we were still comfortable undressing carelessly before each other or leaving the bathroom door slightly open.
We cracked the same familiar jokes as we were wont to as a couple.
We got each other’s nerves like we were together with no need to distance ourselves with politeness given our changes in status.
He still had the same problem with my lethargy and inability to rise early from bed during our holidays together.
I still couldn’t get rid of my old habits of commenting on his scary driving.
Again, he never failed to forget my birthday.
I had earlier asked jokingly if he remembered to get me a present.
He said of course, or he would get into trouble with me.
I was surprised when he presented me with a beautiful Sorwarvski crystal bracelet.
I really didn’t expect anything from him.
I had previously bought him a Style guide on San Francisco- my latest favourite city in the world.
I could see myself live there- guess I could see the 3 of us including Fluffball live there happily ever after.
Why the fuck then am I not building that life together with him?
The Old Boy is constantly on my mind.
I suppressed any temptation to initiate contact with him.
He had brought his mistress to our favourite hangout, the whiskey bar, I found out.
I would not allow myself to be humiliated, especially when we have always been associated as a couple there.
Ironically last month, a fellow regular asked if we were married.
I said no we are not and that guy looked at me questioningly searching for an alternative answer.
I didn’t know what to say and said we were in love.
To which, the Old Boy looked at me half smiling and said, “Are we?”
Almost two weeks ago, my frail nerves nearly crumbled.
I was doing my last minute cramming less than 3 hours to my exams.
The Old Boy came online and chatted.
Then he attempted to pick a fight, accusing me of accusing him of lying.
He said I was trying to keep tabs on him.
I said I just asked him a simple question about his day at the zoo.
If he were to see my expression or hear my tone, I meant no harm.
He said he gets very sensitive to me these days.
I shot back and said unfortunately he is sensitive to me in all the wrong ways.
When I decided to lighten the mood and mentioned my possible transfer back to Singapore, I got no reaction.
I mentioned that I was hoping he would congratulate me.
He said he hoped that I wasn’t doing this for the “wrong” reason.
Then he added, “You know we won’t get back together…”
My heart felt that constriction of pain plus my anxiety for unprepared exam revision, I felt really sick.
Maybe like the aftermath of high levels of intoxication combined with the intake of a number of drugs.
“I would really appreciate if you could do me a favour and stop causing me grief. I have to sit for an exam in less than 3 hours.” I told the Old Boy.
So there we finally logged off.
Since then we must have only spoken online briefly once.
The longest time we have gone without speaking regularly, if not daily like how it used to be for the past year or so.
Last Friday we chatted briefly online.
He mentioned he has missed me.
Shit stirrer.
Counter productive conversation since he has set his mind to ditching me.
I have no time to reciprocate his words no matter how much I feel.
Best to suppress it than to live in any pathetic hope.
I know better. I cannot cope with any more crashed dreams and hopes.
Talk is cheap- his words pressing against my bruised heart.
I am mindful of his impending birthday.
Last week I psyched myself to ignore it at the last minute prior to late night Thursday shopping.
I was determined to cut him off my life.
Yesterday, I found myself wandering into shops looking for his present.
I was looking at shirts and imagining how he would look in them.
Then I turned my attention to his favourite CK boxers.
They had his size and there were a few nice designs that I would fancy seeing him dressed in and that I think he would like.
Inappropriate gift, too intimate, I figured.
Every time I listen to Dianna Krall sing that song that goes, “I’ll string along with you…”, I could so relate to how I feel for Old Boy.
Apologies for the crap post and my mind is again jumping from one thing to another.
Mind is heavy with serious thoughts about my next move.
Lots have happened within a short period of time.
I seriously don’t know where I would physically be in the next few months.
I want to write more about a Danish eye candy and my being asked for two dances by the two elderly gentlemen in an Octogenarian Swing night at the Green Dolphin Street. A jazz club in a city famous for it jazz in the United States.
Recently, I find my writing sounding monotone.
Kind of resembles my real life- if I am not high strung like a lune, I sound dull like a sedated lune…
Still- there is madness and too much clutter.
By the way, I have decided that pending what’s happening in the next few months with my career, I might be taking some time off. Would be spending some time in India to meditate.
Enough of my mental clutter. Enough of me.
Ok, more in a moment.
Tomorrow I have some battles to fight. Hopefully, I could gain more clarity in my life going forward.
Do wish me luck.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Doped
Almost a month ago on the Friday before I left for Asia, I finished work close to 8pm, having just shuffled to and fro from one end of town to another to manage a certain client’s expectations. By now I was exhausted and the prospect of having to unpack my suitcase which I have procrastinated since my January trip back from Singapore and having to repack them again to get ready for the early morning flight next day appeared a daunting task. The sky was spitting rain and I juggled between balancing my umbrella on one hand and carrying a heavy box of dietary supplements that was worth close to a grand. It was delivered to my offices earlier in the day and I had been under strict instructions from my mother to take them back to Singapore for her.
It was one of those big weeks I had at work. My hair was dishevelled and my face pale with fatigue. As usual, I left my stilettos at work and had my old, comfy and crumbly white loafers on, looking totally mismatched with the classic black and white printed satin dress I had on and my mixed strand of black and white pearls hanging around my neck. Given the weight of my cumbersome box, I walked awkwardly towards the train station. I looked like shit and felt like one. My only suppressed excitement was the thought of reuniting with my friends and the Old Boy at Prive where a table was booked for me for the following night to celebrate my homecoming. I would be home in less than 24 hours…
Walking towards the traffic light, I noticed a couple walking towards me in my direction. I could not believe my eyes.
To call or not to call out to him since I looked like shit? Anyway, I thought why not since our affair has long been over and he was still very much a dear friend to me.
“Hey C!” I called out to him in his informal name. I found the voice addressing him sounding a little like a stranger.
He acknowledged my presence with a nod and a mumbled hi but continued walking past me as composed as ever with the girl holding his hand. I didn’t quite expect that reaction. Isn’t it more “normal” for someone to stop, say hi and make small conversation with an old friend when one bumps into another? After all, our affair was a thing of the past. It ended about a year and the half ago.
That must be his new girlfriend it seemed. She was long- haired, tall, slim, pretty and fair girl. She looked like she was originally from China. I wonder what happened to his Designated Love of almost eight years and how they broke up. After all, she was enamoured by him and built her entire life around his plans. Conversely, he never had the intention to leave her since he often felt that strong sense of duty towards her. Every so often, we emailed and I would asked if anything new was happening in his life and the answer was always the same- nothing much, still the usual. I was under the impression that they were still living and being together.
I continued standing at the traffic light waiting for it to turn green. I turned my head in their direction and my eyes followed the back of their silhouettes, watching the couple walk further away from me and into the dark.
Out of the blue, C turned back and glanced back my way. In that split second, I noted a slight twinkle in his eye. He gave me a half conspiratory smile.
Seemed like my dear innocent Dope is dopey no more.
Almost a month ago on the Friday before I left for Asia, I finished work close to 8pm, having just shuffled to and fro from one end of town to another to manage a certain client’s expectations. By now I was exhausted and the prospect of having to unpack my suitcase which I have procrastinated since my January trip back from Singapore and having to repack them again to get ready for the early morning flight next day appeared a daunting task. The sky was spitting rain and I juggled between balancing my umbrella on one hand and carrying a heavy box of dietary supplements that was worth close to a grand. It was delivered to my offices earlier in the day and I had been under strict instructions from my mother to take them back to Singapore for her.
It was one of those big weeks I had at work. My hair was dishevelled and my face pale with fatigue. As usual, I left my stilettos at work and had my old, comfy and crumbly white loafers on, looking totally mismatched with the classic black and white printed satin dress I had on and my mixed strand of black and white pearls hanging around my neck. Given the weight of my cumbersome box, I walked awkwardly towards the train station. I looked like shit and felt like one. My only suppressed excitement was the thought of reuniting with my friends and the Old Boy at Prive where a table was booked for me for the following night to celebrate my homecoming. I would be home in less than 24 hours…
Walking towards the traffic light, I noticed a couple walking towards me in my direction. I could not believe my eyes.
To call or not to call out to him since I looked like shit? Anyway, I thought why not since our affair has long been over and he was still very much a dear friend to me.
“Hey C!” I called out to him in his informal name. I found the voice addressing him sounding a little like a stranger.
He acknowledged my presence with a nod and a mumbled hi but continued walking past me as composed as ever with the girl holding his hand. I didn’t quite expect that reaction. Isn’t it more “normal” for someone to stop, say hi and make small conversation with an old friend when one bumps into another? After all, our affair was a thing of the past. It ended about a year and the half ago.
That must be his new girlfriend it seemed. She was long- haired, tall, slim, pretty and fair girl. She looked like she was originally from China. I wonder what happened to his Designated Love of almost eight years and how they broke up. After all, she was enamoured by him and built her entire life around his plans. Conversely, he never had the intention to leave her since he often felt that strong sense of duty towards her. Every so often, we emailed and I would asked if anything new was happening in his life and the answer was always the same- nothing much, still the usual. I was under the impression that they were still living and being together.
I continued standing at the traffic light waiting for it to turn green. I turned my head in their direction and my eyes followed the back of their silhouettes, watching the couple walk further away from me and into the dark.
Out of the blue, C turned back and glanced back my way. In that split second, I noted a slight twinkle in his eye. He gave me a half conspiratory smile.
Seemed like my dear innocent Dope is dopey no more.
About a Boy
There was this guy that I had an intimate affair with. There was something nice about that arrangement. We really had this laisseiz faire attitude towards our joint arrangement. I hung out at his place, like how you would in high school with a schoolmate of the opposite sex- the usual official context (to seek permission from parents) being to do project or discuss assignments together but really, the objective was just to hang out and play. Play in those good old days often meant watching a video, playing computer games, listening to music or just lying in bed side by side and staring at the ceiling while the both of you chatted away. Everything then would be so platonic or innocent- the mere notion of hanging out at someone’s place was exactly what it meant and where the word “sex” has not made bold its debut on the vocabulary of your hormonal development.
Of course, this guy and I would have engaged in intimacy since we were now way past our age of innocence. But there was something about the mere essence of our relationship. In hindsight, I do not for a shadow of doubt think that we were ever physically attracted to each other instantly when we first met. It had arisen out of the mere flirty playfulness and light-heartedness of our outer personas. Our eventual affections for the other had gradually transpired from the camaraderie of our friendship. After all, we were both of the free spirit dispositions in our attitude towards romance, well or at least for each other. Yes, following that, we did develop a healthy dose of attraction and liking for each other. Nothing too intense or emotionally draining, like anything I have since experienced to date. It was quite a liberating experience.
Whenever we met, the notion of lust was of the least priority on my mind. I like the light-heartedness and playfulness of our relationship. We held hands, kissed and laughed a lot. His kisses are always affectionate and passionate like how I must have found myself to be with a boy in the days of my teens. Somehow, his aura emanated a sense of familiarity of what I think I had once experienced many moons ago at a time where I must be between the age of 15 and 19 which I couldn’t quite place except that I know it embodies the notion of youth and boldness…
When we ran out of places to go, he would suggest either taking me home or hanging out at his place to watch a DVD or whatever. For some strange reason, I have developed a nocturnal habit. If I weren’t tipsy sleepy enough to knock myself to sleep in the late of the night, I would rather hang out till I exhausted myself so that I could avoid the cruel company of my insomniac thoughts that often have an adept way at raising my anxiety levels to perform that unbearable and painful constriction on my heart. So I appreciated his company and accepted the offer of chilling out at his place like how my friends would often do at my house when I am back home in Singapore.
At his place, we surfed the Internet on his laptop whilst we perched on his bed. We would recite funny or interesting paragraphs of web articles or quotes, which we have found to each other. We listened to music and lay in bed together and chatted. I would fall asleep at some stage and later found myself awake with the boy still beside me typing away on his laptop in the wee hours of the morning. I would then re-joined him at the laptop as we continued our banter.
Being somewhat physically at ease in his company given that we are about the same age and since I viewed him as very much a big child as I am, I often find myself not very mindful of the way I rested. My languid and relaxed body often found comfort from lying on the stomach where my legs were drawn slightly apart, unwittingly pulling a Lolita-esque pose. My short dress by now had ridden up my thighs, with my pert butt naked cheeks wearing a girly lacy thong half peeking out at him suggestively. The Boy would indicate somewhat sheepishly that my resting style wasn’t doing very much to assist him from abstinence as I continued lying there as a lazy tease, eyeing him with the come hither look and mocking him for his weakening will until he caved in and dived onto the bed to indulge us in merry-making…
I remembered my favourite Cuban bolero “Besame Mucho” playing away repeatedly on his laptop. When we finished our love-making, I would continue lying on the bed, spacing out into the ceiling and singing “Besame Mucho” away. The Boy would sit up and lit his Dunhills, taking long drags at it and falling into a pensive mood. I involuntarily took in the smell of his cigarette and noted the upwards spiral of the smoke.
“Don’t grow too fond of me,” he once said.
“Don’t worry. I won’t."
I have heard this all too familiar line one too a many time. So there.
****
We once touched on the topic of how callous we have become towards handling relationships with the coming of age.
****
When the sky brightened to indicate the arrival of a new day, I found that I could no longer sleep. By now, the Boy has fell into a deep, blissful slumber as our conversation trailed off.
I kissed him lightly on his lips and quietly unlocked the front door behind me and took leave.
****
We never quite fixed dates to meet up and if we do, we never quite keep to our appointed times. It was all rather ad hoc.
Neither of us gets too upset with the arrangement either.There was something unassuming about his views of the world. He was easy going, which made the process of picking things up from where we left every so often rather straightforward. He was never bogged down with my inconsistencies and that certain callous, demanding behaviour that I was ever so capable of inflicting on a guy. He was quick to take me back as I was quick to dispel my sudden dramatic outbursts. We were both quick to forget and held a mutual understanding to not cram each other's lifestyles.
Our expectation of each other is really having no expectations. Our arrangement caused no real grief to each other. That’s the beauty of it.
Que sera sera- he must have mentioned that to me at least twice in regards to us.
Some words of wisdom there. Then again, he has always been quite the brain between us.
There was this guy that I had an intimate affair with. There was something nice about that arrangement. We really had this laisseiz faire attitude towards our joint arrangement. I hung out at his place, like how you would in high school with a schoolmate of the opposite sex- the usual official context (to seek permission from parents) being to do project or discuss assignments together but really, the objective was just to hang out and play. Play in those good old days often meant watching a video, playing computer games, listening to music or just lying in bed side by side and staring at the ceiling while the both of you chatted away. Everything then would be so platonic or innocent- the mere notion of hanging out at someone’s place was exactly what it meant and where the word “sex” has not made bold its debut on the vocabulary of your hormonal development.
Of course, this guy and I would have engaged in intimacy since we were now way past our age of innocence. But there was something about the mere essence of our relationship. In hindsight, I do not for a shadow of doubt think that we were ever physically attracted to each other instantly when we first met. It had arisen out of the mere flirty playfulness and light-heartedness of our outer personas. Our eventual affections for the other had gradually transpired from the camaraderie of our friendship. After all, we were both of the free spirit dispositions in our attitude towards romance, well or at least for each other. Yes, following that, we did develop a healthy dose of attraction and liking for each other. Nothing too intense or emotionally draining, like anything I have since experienced to date. It was quite a liberating experience.
Whenever we met, the notion of lust was of the least priority on my mind. I like the light-heartedness and playfulness of our relationship. We held hands, kissed and laughed a lot. His kisses are always affectionate and passionate like how I must have found myself to be with a boy in the days of my teens. Somehow, his aura emanated a sense of familiarity of what I think I had once experienced many moons ago at a time where I must be between the age of 15 and 19 which I couldn’t quite place except that I know it embodies the notion of youth and boldness…
When we ran out of places to go, he would suggest either taking me home or hanging out at his place to watch a DVD or whatever. For some strange reason, I have developed a nocturnal habit. If I weren’t tipsy sleepy enough to knock myself to sleep in the late of the night, I would rather hang out till I exhausted myself so that I could avoid the cruel company of my insomniac thoughts that often have an adept way at raising my anxiety levels to perform that unbearable and painful constriction on my heart. So I appreciated his company and accepted the offer of chilling out at his place like how my friends would often do at my house when I am back home in Singapore.
At his place, we surfed the Internet on his laptop whilst we perched on his bed. We would recite funny or interesting paragraphs of web articles or quotes, which we have found to each other. We listened to music and lay in bed together and chatted. I would fall asleep at some stage and later found myself awake with the boy still beside me typing away on his laptop in the wee hours of the morning. I would then re-joined him at the laptop as we continued our banter.
Being somewhat physically at ease in his company given that we are about the same age and since I viewed him as very much a big child as I am, I often find myself not very mindful of the way I rested. My languid and relaxed body often found comfort from lying on the stomach where my legs were drawn slightly apart, unwittingly pulling a Lolita-esque pose. My short dress by now had ridden up my thighs, with my pert butt naked cheeks wearing a girly lacy thong half peeking out at him suggestively. The Boy would indicate somewhat sheepishly that my resting style wasn’t doing very much to assist him from abstinence as I continued lying there as a lazy tease, eyeing him with the come hither look and mocking him for his weakening will until he caved in and dived onto the bed to indulge us in merry-making…
I remembered my favourite Cuban bolero “Besame Mucho” playing away repeatedly on his laptop. When we finished our love-making, I would continue lying on the bed, spacing out into the ceiling and singing “Besame Mucho” away. The Boy would sit up and lit his Dunhills, taking long drags at it and falling into a pensive mood. I involuntarily took in the smell of his cigarette and noted the upwards spiral of the smoke.
“Don’t grow too fond of me,” he once said.
“Don’t worry. I won’t."
I have heard this all too familiar line one too a many time. So there.
****
We once touched on the topic of how callous we have become towards handling relationships with the coming of age.
****
When the sky brightened to indicate the arrival of a new day, I found that I could no longer sleep. By now, the Boy has fell into a deep, blissful slumber as our conversation trailed off.
I kissed him lightly on his lips and quietly unlocked the front door behind me and took leave.
****
We never quite fixed dates to meet up and if we do, we never quite keep to our appointed times. It was all rather ad hoc.
Neither of us gets too upset with the arrangement either.There was something unassuming about his views of the world. He was easy going, which made the process of picking things up from where we left every so often rather straightforward. He was never bogged down with my inconsistencies and that certain callous, demanding behaviour that I was ever so capable of inflicting on a guy. He was quick to take me back as I was quick to dispel my sudden dramatic outbursts. We were both quick to forget and held a mutual understanding to not cram each other's lifestyles.
Our expectation of each other is really having no expectations. Our arrangement caused no real grief to each other. That’s the beauty of it.
Que sera sera- he must have mentioned that to me at least twice in regards to us.
Some words of wisdom there. Then again, he has always been quite the brain between us.
Labels: THE P-oignant Moments
