Monday, June 30, 2008
On Marriage
When I was in Manila last year, a lady of the high society type asked me if I was married. I said no. The advice she gave me was "Choose well."
For a long time now, I have been meaning to write a piece about "Being Ready". Somehow I have always procrastinated in working on it and putting it on the back burner.
I suspect it has something to do with my inwardly serious value I hold regarding marriage. I view penning my thoughts on this impending piece as a challenging undertaking that I need to take great care to express myself adequately.
Better to stay single for the rest of my life than to be divorced, I have told the Old Boy. There is nothing wrong about divorces but I guess it's something to do with my view of perfection.
Marriage is like sealing a deal, I guess. But the perfect deal of my life.
I love happy endings at the end of the day. All the romantic mishaps and misadventures of my errant life must one day culminate to the day where I would make ONE right decision, mustn't it?
I am still hopeful.
Before "Being Ready" gets blogged here, have a read at the article I found below. It definitely makes sense to me and eloquently expressed the many points I have taken into consideration in my own view of what makes a sustainable marriage.
*****
PARTNERS AND MARRIAGE
By Eduardo Jose E. Calasanz
I have never met a man who didn't want to be loved. But I have seldom met a man who didn't fear marriage. Something about the closure seems constricting, not enabling. Marriage seems easier to understand for what it cuts out of our lives than for what it makes possible within our lives.
When I was younger this fear immobilized me. I did not want to make a mistake. I saw my friends get married for reasons of social acceptability, or sexual fever, or just because they thought it was the logical thing to do. Then I watched, as they and their partners became embittered and petty in their dealings with each other. I looked at older couples and saw, at best, mutual toleration of each other. I imagined a lifetime of loveless nights and bickering and could not imagine subjecting myself or someone else to such a fate.
And yet, on rare occasions, I would see old couples who somehow seemed to glow in each other's presence. They seemed really in love, not just dependent upon each other and tolerant of each other's foibles. It was an astounding sight, and it seemed impossible.
How, I asked myself, can they have survived so many years of sameness, so much irritation at the other's habits? What keeps love alive in them, when most of us seem unable to even stay together, much less love each other?
The central secret seems to be in choosing well. There is something to the claim of fundamental compatibility. Good people can create a bad relationship, even though they both dearly want the relationship to succeed. It is important to find someone with whom you can create a good relationship from the outset. Unfortunately, it is hard to see clearly in the early stages.
Sexual hunger draws you to each other and colors the way you see yourselves together. It blinds you to the thousands of little things by which relationships eventually survive or fail. You need to find a way to see beyond this initial overwhelming sexual fascination. Some people choose to involve themselves sexually and ride out the most heated period of sexual attraction in order to see what is on the other side. This can work, but it can also leave a trail of wounded hearts. Others deny the sexual side altogether in an attempt to get to know each other apart from their sexuality. But they cannot see clearly, because the presence of unfulfilled sexual desire looms so large that it keeps them from having any normal perception of what life would be like together.
The truly lucky people are the ones who manage to become long- time friends before they realize they are attracted to each other. They get to know each other's laughs, passions, sadness, and fears. They see each other at their worst and at their best. They share time together before they get swept into the entangling intimacy of their sexuality.
This is the ideal, but not often possible. If you fall under the spell of your sexual attraction immediately, you need to look beyond it for other keys to compatibility.
One of these is laughter. Laughter tells you how much you will enjoy each other's company over the long term. If your laughter together is good and healthy, and not at the expense of others, then you have a healthy relationship to the world. Laughter is the child of surprise. If you can make each other laugh, you can always surprise each other. And if you can always surprise each other, you can always keep the world around you new. Beware of a relationship in which there is no laughter. Even the most intimate relationships based only on seriousness have a tendency to turn sour. Over time, sharing a common serious viewpoint on the world tends to turn you against those who do not share the same viewpoint, and your relationship can become based on being critical together.
After laughter, look for a partner who deals with the world in a way you respect. When two people first get together, they tend to see their relationship as existing only in the space between the two of them. They find each other endlessly fascinating, and the overwhelming power of the emotions they are sharing obscures the outside world. As the relationship ages and grows, the outside world becomes important again. If your partner treats people or circumstances in a way you can't accept, you will inevitably come to grief. Look at the way she cares for others and deals with the daily affairs of life. If that makes you love her more, your love will grow. If it does not, be careful. If you do not respect the way you each deal with the world around you, eventually the two of you will not respect each other.
Look also at how your partner confronts the mysteries of life. We live on the cusp of poetry and practicality, and the real life of the heart resides in the poetic. If one of you is deeply affected by the mystery of the unseen in life and relationships, while the other is drawn only to the literal and the practical, you must take care that the distancedoesn't become an unbridgeable gap that leaves you each feeling isolated and misunderstood.
There are many other keys, but you must find them by yourself. We all have unchangeable parts of our hearts that we will not betray and private commitments to a vision of life that we will not deny. If you fall in love with someone who cannot nourish those inviolable parts of you, or if you cannot nourish them in her, you will find yourselves growing further apart until you live in separate worlds where you share the business of life, but never touch each other where the heart lives and dreams. From there it is only a small leap to the cataloging of petty hurts and daily failures that leaves so many couples bitter and unsatisfied with their mates.
So choose carefully and well. If you do, you will have chosen a partner with whom you can grow, and then the real miracle of marriage can take place in your hearts. I pick my words carefully when I speak of a miracle. But I think it is not too strong a word. There is a miracle in marriage. It is called transformation. Transformation is one of the most common events of nature. The seed becomes the flower. The cocoon becomes the butterfly. Winter becomes spring and love becomes a child. We never question these, because we see them around us every day. To us they are not miracles, though if we did not know them they would be impossible to believe. Marriage is a transformation we choose to make.
Our love is planted like a seed, and in time it begins to flower. We cannot know the flower that will blossom, but we can be sure that a bloom will come. If you have chosen carefully and wisely, the bloom will be good. If you have chosen poorly or for the wrong reason, the bloom will be flawed. We are quite willing to accept the reality of negative transformation in a marriage. It was negative transformation that always had me terrified of the bitter marriages that I feared when I was younger.
It never occurred to me to question the dark miracle that transformed love into harshness and bitterness. Yet I was unable to accept the possibility that the first heat of love could be transformed into something positive that was actually deeper and more meaningful than the heat of fresh passion. All I could believe in was the power of this passion and the fear that when it cooled I would be left with something lesser and bitter. But there is positive transformation as well. Like negative transformation, it results from a slow accretion of little things. But instead of death by a thousand blows, it is growth by a thousand touches of love. Two histories intermingle. Two separate beings, two separate presence, two separate consciousnesses come together and share a view of life that passes before them. They remain separate, but they also become one.
There is an expansion of awareness, not a closure and a constriction, as I had once feared. This is not to say that there is not tension and there are not traps. Tension and traps are part of every choice of life, from celibate to monogamous to having multiple lovers. Each choice contains within it the lingering doubt that the road not taken somehow more fruitful and exciting, and each becomes dulled to the richness that it alone contains.
But only marriage allows life to deepen and expand and be leavened by the knowledge that two have chosen, against all odds, to become one. Those who live together without marriage can know the pleasure of shared company, but there is a specific gravity in the marriage commitment that deepens that experience into something richer and more complex. So do not fear marriage, just as you should not rush into it for the wrong reasons. It is an act of faith and it contains within it the power of transformation.
If you believe in your heart that you have found someone with whom you are able to grow, if you have sufficient faith that you can resist the endless attraction of the road not taken and the partner not chosen, if you have the strength of heart to embrace the cycles and seasons that your love will experience, then you may be ready to seek the miracle that marriage offers. If not, then wait. The easy grace of a marriage well made is worth your patience. When the time comes, a thousand flowers will bloom... endlessly.
When I was in Manila last year, a lady of the high society type asked me if I was married. I said no. The advice she gave me was "Choose well."
For a long time now, I have been meaning to write a piece about "Being Ready". Somehow I have always procrastinated in working on it and putting it on the back burner.
I suspect it has something to do with my inwardly serious value I hold regarding marriage. I view penning my thoughts on this impending piece as a challenging undertaking that I need to take great care to express myself adequately.
Better to stay single for the rest of my life than to be divorced, I have told the Old Boy. There is nothing wrong about divorces but I guess it's something to do with my view of perfection.
Marriage is like sealing a deal, I guess. But the perfect deal of my life.
I love happy endings at the end of the day. All the romantic mishaps and misadventures of my errant life must one day culminate to the day where I would make ONE right decision, mustn't it?
I am still hopeful.
Before "Being Ready" gets blogged here, have a read at the article I found below. It definitely makes sense to me and eloquently expressed the many points I have taken into consideration in my own view of what makes a sustainable marriage.
*****
PARTNERS AND MARRIAGE
By Eduardo Jose E. Calasanz
I have never met a man who didn't want to be loved. But I have seldom met a man who didn't fear marriage. Something about the closure seems constricting, not enabling. Marriage seems easier to understand for what it cuts out of our lives than for what it makes possible within our lives.
When I was younger this fear immobilized me. I did not want to make a mistake. I saw my friends get married for reasons of social acceptability, or sexual fever, or just because they thought it was the logical thing to do. Then I watched, as they and their partners became embittered and petty in their dealings with each other. I looked at older couples and saw, at best, mutual toleration of each other. I imagined a lifetime of loveless nights and bickering and could not imagine subjecting myself or someone else to such a fate.
And yet, on rare occasions, I would see old couples who somehow seemed to glow in each other's presence. They seemed really in love, not just dependent upon each other and tolerant of each other's foibles. It was an astounding sight, and it seemed impossible.
How, I asked myself, can they have survived so many years of sameness, so much irritation at the other's habits? What keeps love alive in them, when most of us seem unable to even stay together, much less love each other?
The central secret seems to be in choosing well. There is something to the claim of fundamental compatibility. Good people can create a bad relationship, even though they both dearly want the relationship to succeed. It is important to find someone with whom you can create a good relationship from the outset. Unfortunately, it is hard to see clearly in the early stages.
Sexual hunger draws you to each other and colors the way you see yourselves together. It blinds you to the thousands of little things by which relationships eventually survive or fail. You need to find a way to see beyond this initial overwhelming sexual fascination. Some people choose to involve themselves sexually and ride out the most heated period of sexual attraction in order to see what is on the other side. This can work, but it can also leave a trail of wounded hearts. Others deny the sexual side altogether in an attempt to get to know each other apart from their sexuality. But they cannot see clearly, because the presence of unfulfilled sexual desire looms so large that it keeps them from having any normal perception of what life would be like together.
The truly lucky people are the ones who manage to become long- time friends before they realize they are attracted to each other. They get to know each other's laughs, passions, sadness, and fears. They see each other at their worst and at their best. They share time together before they get swept into the entangling intimacy of their sexuality.
This is the ideal, but not often possible. If you fall under the spell of your sexual attraction immediately, you need to look beyond it for other keys to compatibility.
One of these is laughter. Laughter tells you how much you will enjoy each other's company over the long term. If your laughter together is good and healthy, and not at the expense of others, then you have a healthy relationship to the world. Laughter is the child of surprise. If you can make each other laugh, you can always surprise each other. And if you can always surprise each other, you can always keep the world around you new. Beware of a relationship in which there is no laughter. Even the most intimate relationships based only on seriousness have a tendency to turn sour. Over time, sharing a common serious viewpoint on the world tends to turn you against those who do not share the same viewpoint, and your relationship can become based on being critical together.
After laughter, look for a partner who deals with the world in a way you respect. When two people first get together, they tend to see their relationship as existing only in the space between the two of them. They find each other endlessly fascinating, and the overwhelming power of the emotions they are sharing obscures the outside world. As the relationship ages and grows, the outside world becomes important again. If your partner treats people or circumstances in a way you can't accept, you will inevitably come to grief. Look at the way she cares for others and deals with the daily affairs of life. If that makes you love her more, your love will grow. If it does not, be careful. If you do not respect the way you each deal with the world around you, eventually the two of you will not respect each other.
Look also at how your partner confronts the mysteries of life. We live on the cusp of poetry and practicality, and the real life of the heart resides in the poetic. If one of you is deeply affected by the mystery of the unseen in life and relationships, while the other is drawn only to the literal and the practical, you must take care that the distancedoesn't become an unbridgeable gap that leaves you each feeling isolated and misunderstood.
There are many other keys, but you must find them by yourself. We all have unchangeable parts of our hearts that we will not betray and private commitments to a vision of life that we will not deny. If you fall in love with someone who cannot nourish those inviolable parts of you, or if you cannot nourish them in her, you will find yourselves growing further apart until you live in separate worlds where you share the business of life, but never touch each other where the heart lives and dreams. From there it is only a small leap to the cataloging of petty hurts and daily failures that leaves so many couples bitter and unsatisfied with their mates.
So choose carefully and well. If you do, you will have chosen a partner with whom you can grow, and then the real miracle of marriage can take place in your hearts. I pick my words carefully when I speak of a miracle. But I think it is not too strong a word. There is a miracle in marriage. It is called transformation. Transformation is one of the most common events of nature. The seed becomes the flower. The cocoon becomes the butterfly. Winter becomes spring and love becomes a child. We never question these, because we see them around us every day. To us they are not miracles, though if we did not know them they would be impossible to believe. Marriage is a transformation we choose to make.
Our love is planted like a seed, and in time it begins to flower. We cannot know the flower that will blossom, but we can be sure that a bloom will come. If you have chosen carefully and wisely, the bloom will be good. If you have chosen poorly or for the wrong reason, the bloom will be flawed. We are quite willing to accept the reality of negative transformation in a marriage. It was negative transformation that always had me terrified of the bitter marriages that I feared when I was younger.
It never occurred to me to question the dark miracle that transformed love into harshness and bitterness. Yet I was unable to accept the possibility that the first heat of love could be transformed into something positive that was actually deeper and more meaningful than the heat of fresh passion. All I could believe in was the power of this passion and the fear that when it cooled I would be left with something lesser and bitter. But there is positive transformation as well. Like negative transformation, it results from a slow accretion of little things. But instead of death by a thousand blows, it is growth by a thousand touches of love. Two histories intermingle. Two separate beings, two separate presence, two separate consciousnesses come together and share a view of life that passes before them. They remain separate, but they also become one.
There is an expansion of awareness, not a closure and a constriction, as I had once feared. This is not to say that there is not tension and there are not traps. Tension and traps are part of every choice of life, from celibate to monogamous to having multiple lovers. Each choice contains within it the lingering doubt that the road not taken somehow more fruitful and exciting, and each becomes dulled to the richness that it alone contains.
But only marriage allows life to deepen and expand and be leavened by the knowledge that two have chosen, against all odds, to become one. Those who live together without marriage can know the pleasure of shared company, but there is a specific gravity in the marriage commitment that deepens that experience into something richer and more complex. So do not fear marriage, just as you should not rush into it for the wrong reasons. It is an act of faith and it contains within it the power of transformation.
If you believe in your heart that you have found someone with whom you are able to grow, if you have sufficient faith that you can resist the endless attraction of the road not taken and the partner not chosen, if you have the strength of heart to embrace the cycles and seasons that your love will experience, then you may be ready to seek the miracle that marriage offers. If not, then wait. The easy grace of a marriage well made is worth your patience. When the time comes, a thousand flowers will bloom... endlessly.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Teaser
Tell me, do you actually remember the person or persons who have cock/ pussy teased you in your life?
I actually do. But then again, of course, I do. I am female. How often does a girl get rejected by a man for sex?
I say rare as hen's teeth. Well, so naturally a girl like me with a big ego would remember the “injury” committed on me. The seemingly “attractive” P.
In case you are wondering how many men have rejected poor P, I can recall two. But then again, they were both already charted territories hitherto marked by P. Why the later rejection was purely circumstantial. So perhaps they don't quite count.
*****
For men, I reckon it's a different story.
Harry said to me earlier this year (on the crowded dance floor on a Mambo night) that guys naturally have a roving eye. It's in the genetic make up of the male species to want to “spread their seeds”. So with that theory in mind, I reckon that a man's propositions of getting women into bed is purely a numbers game. Try your luck with as many as you can, you hit and miss some but you score some.
*****
Yesterday, I massed mailed my friends on Facebook.
I informed them that I will be re-locating back home indefinitely next week.
Of the handful of prompt replies I got, here was one from E.
Yes, innocent school boy E turned some Mr. University Pageant sports jock turned sleaze bag 10 years on who went to school with Harry.
ha ok. maybe there s time to finish what we started the last round.
Last round eh? I thought we finished it there and then with no deal. Moved on already.
I would imagine he would by now have forgotten about 2005 post x number of fucks by now. I am sure it was no defeat for him since he must by now have conquered or deflowered many varieties of female flora ;)
We crossed paths briefly again in 2006 when I bumped into Harry in Velvet Underground all excited, only to realise later that E was quietly standing behind him.
E definitely wasted no time that night and tried his luck again but too bad, Dr. Jekyll & Hyde was my flavour of the night.
Come to think of it, E does have a memory (duh!). When we first got in touch again perhaps after seven years of non communicado, first thing he wrote was that he still had the white bear holding a silver hard shaped chain I gave him before he got siphoned to Brunei for army. Oh, those were the days where P was all sweet and innocent.
I remembered E fondly as a blockhead- the weekends out of the army where we would go to Far East Plaza for his favourite chicken rice, iced teas at Bourke's Coffee in Pacific Plaza and then there were movies. It was ego boosting for me then that E would want to spend his weekends with me.
When Harry and I used to do our usual weekly Mambo Nights pilgrimage post A-level exams, those were exciting times. One night he mentioned a new guy from his school coming that Miss Young P had yet to meet. Harry emphasised that he was quite popular with the girls at school, sports jock , good-looking and all BUT he didn't seem interested in girls. A challenging enigma he was made out to be and I was curious but egotistical me didn't think he was any big feat for me to conquer. But then, I only had eyes for Mr. London then so there.
So that night, it was ego boosting when he joined us on the dance floor and came straight up to me to ask for my name in that shy way. It was like a no-brainer and I did liked him instantly because he was boyish. But nothing came out of it.
Not until National Day where coincidentally, I saw him at the bus stop outside Zouk. I was nineteen. He asked for my number and the rest was history. We went out on the weekends for a bit before he disappeared from me post the bear gift. No returning of missed pager calls.
I did took it to heart.
Maybe that's why I never spend money on men or buy them any gifts until they put out for me.
Funny thing is, I think I am open and generous by nature and I do like pampering my men.
Call it self-defense mechanism or whatever.
It was a bit of life's lesson for me there.
Teased. Emotionally, I felt, that was.
It definitely hit my weak spot.
*****
Harry and I communicate on a comfortable level. In a way, I guess I am his female buddy with the “seeding” mentality equivalent of a man. In the past leading up to his more emotionally stable relationship, Harry liked confiding in me about his on- the-side conquests.
With every visit back home, Harry is sure to hear about my hooking up with a new beau or maybe two or more at the same time- never a fixed preference type and well rounded in her collection of men. P is such a laugh and she laughs at herself- good fun as a friend, probably not the best girlfriend. A bit of a cavalier but then a bit of a romantic mishap. Tragic comedy figure.
Harry shakes his head sometimes. To date, I must have been interested in four of his school friends and intimate with three.
*****
When a man scores a great number of women, he is often deemed as a stud.
But when a woman does likewise, she is perceived as a slut.
(It's now the twenty first century- we are supposed to be progressive in the emancipation and empowerment of females).
How does that work?
Now I feel brain teased already.
Tell me, do you actually remember the person or persons who have cock/ pussy teased you in your life?
I actually do. But then again, of course, I do. I am female. How often does a girl get rejected by a man for sex?
I say rare as hen's teeth. Well, so naturally a girl like me with a big ego would remember the “injury” committed on me. The seemingly “attractive” P.
In case you are wondering how many men have rejected poor P, I can recall two. But then again, they were both already charted territories hitherto marked by P. Why the later rejection was purely circumstantial. So perhaps they don't quite count.
*****
For men, I reckon it's a different story.
Harry said to me earlier this year (on the crowded dance floor on a Mambo night) that guys naturally have a roving eye. It's in the genetic make up of the male species to want to “spread their seeds”. So with that theory in mind, I reckon that a man's propositions of getting women into bed is purely a numbers game. Try your luck with as many as you can, you hit and miss some but you score some.
*****
Yesterday, I massed mailed my friends on Facebook.
I informed them that I will be re-locating back home indefinitely next week.
Of the handful of prompt replies I got, here was one from E.
Yes, innocent school boy E turned some Mr. University Pageant sports jock turned sleaze bag 10 years on who went to school with Harry.
ha ok. maybe there s time to finish what we started the last round.
Last round eh? I thought we finished it there and then with no deal. Moved on already.
I would imagine he would by now have forgotten about 2005 post x number of fucks by now. I am sure it was no defeat for him since he must by now have conquered or deflowered many varieties of female flora ;)
We crossed paths briefly again in 2006 when I bumped into Harry in Velvet Underground all excited, only to realise later that E was quietly standing behind him.
E definitely wasted no time that night and tried his luck again but too bad, Dr. Jekyll & Hyde was my flavour of the night.
Come to think of it, E does have a memory (duh!). When we first got in touch again perhaps after seven years of non communicado, first thing he wrote was that he still had the white bear holding a silver hard shaped chain I gave him before he got siphoned to Brunei for army. Oh, those were the days where P was all sweet and innocent.
I remembered E fondly as a blockhead- the weekends out of the army where we would go to Far East Plaza for his favourite chicken rice, iced teas at Bourke's Coffee in Pacific Plaza and then there were movies. It was ego boosting for me then that E would want to spend his weekends with me.
When Harry and I used to do our usual weekly Mambo Nights pilgrimage post A-level exams, those were exciting times. One night he mentioned a new guy from his school coming that Miss Young P had yet to meet. Harry emphasised that he was quite popular with the girls at school, sports jock , good-looking and all BUT he didn't seem interested in girls. A challenging enigma he was made out to be and I was curious but egotistical me didn't think he was any big feat for me to conquer. But then, I only had eyes for Mr. London then so there.
So that night, it was ego boosting when he joined us on the dance floor and came straight up to me to ask for my name in that shy way. It was like a no-brainer and I did liked him instantly because he was boyish. But nothing came out of it.
Not until National Day where coincidentally, I saw him at the bus stop outside Zouk. I was nineteen. He asked for my number and the rest was history. We went out on the weekends for a bit before he disappeared from me post the bear gift. No returning of missed pager calls.
I did took it to heart.
Maybe that's why I never spend money on men or buy them any gifts until they put out for me.
Funny thing is, I think I am open and generous by nature and I do like pampering my men.
Call it self-defense mechanism or whatever.
It was a bit of life's lesson for me there.
Teased. Emotionally, I felt, that was.
It definitely hit my weak spot.
*****
Harry and I communicate on a comfortable level. In a way, I guess I am his female buddy with the “seeding” mentality equivalent of a man. In the past leading up to his more emotionally stable relationship, Harry liked confiding in me about his on- the-side conquests.
With every visit back home, Harry is sure to hear about my hooking up with a new beau or maybe two or more at the same time- never a fixed preference type and well rounded in her collection of men. P is such a laugh and she laughs at herself- good fun as a friend, probably not the best girlfriend. A bit of a cavalier but then a bit of a romantic mishap. Tragic comedy figure.
Harry shakes his head sometimes. To date, I must have been interested in four of his school friends and intimate with three.
*****
When a man scores a great number of women, he is often deemed as a stud.
But when a woman does likewise, she is perceived as a slut.
(It's now the twenty first century- we are supposed to be progressive in the emancipation and empowerment of females).
How does that work?
Now I feel brain teased already.
Monday, June 23, 2008
State of the Soul
I have been feeling like a high roller since the wee hours of Friday morning despite my persistent cold virus . You see, my girlfriends and I got inspired to embark on a business venture at 2a.m in the morning as we sat at the casino and chatted excitedly of how we could best take off our plans. I got home at 4.30a.m in the morning and lamented at the untimeliness of our discussions, taking place on my last day in Sad Town. At 8.am that morning, I was to board the bus back to Sydney.
We didn't waste anytime. Tina has been scouting for a suitable location whilst I have been a busy bee on the internet trying to work on researching for ideas, typing up communication to interested parties and keeping everyone committed and excited at the plan. It's only Day three and our ideas looks like it is taking shape in good form. Give it a few more months, hopefully, we would get it right and ready to launch once we get the paperwork, discussions underway and iron out any potential glitches from our initial optimism of our grand plans.
So you see, keeping me busy and on my toes (for things with a self motivated agenda) have kept my spirit up, on top of juggling on how freaking best to pack and look for a new apartment for the Older Sibling....
I am even beginning to hate myself for having to leave Australia soon. Naturally, I should have headed back to Sad Town and settle there when I handed in the letter.
*****
Times like this I feel almost invincible.
Perhaps, the more appropriate description is feeling in control.
P taking the lead in the discussion, forefront of ideas and friends who believe in your abilities and would like to follow your lead to jointly build your dreams together.
The week couldn't have ended any better.
*****
Have you ever felt that slight pinch in your heart triggered by a visual image or provoked by what you might possibly infer from things you hear or see?
That discomfort sticks out like a sore thumb or rather, alarm bells you wish your ears could be deaf and be shielded from hearing.
House of cards tumbling.
It instantaneously makes the soul very unbearable.
Just that split second of information taken in by your senses, processed by your brain and digested by your heart.
It has a way of tipping your emotional balance.
Some days, the heart squeeze becomes all too painful, your hand physically holds on tight to your chest.
Then it dawned upon you.
You always found excuses, citing your job as the main culprit. Then you recall worser days of your life from that distant past working and feeling like shit and being treated like shit. But you took the punches and blows resiliently.
With your last job, it wasn't all too bad if you weren't so emotionally wretched and affected by your private life. No wonder your colleagues see you as a bit of a Dr. Jekyll & Hyde. One moment all fiesty and motivated, another heavy and depressed. You have always been a bit of an odd-ball that way; your team couldn't quite figure out what you were thinking. They initially took you because you were the brightest spark of the unspiring lot that they picked out to interview. You were supposed to be sharp and intelligent.
Now- you have no job. You have only you to deal with.
Wherein lies your misery, you ask?
Much as you always hate to think that you could let your emotions in your personal life affect your career, you did let it fuck you up alright.
There is no escaping this time.
Tonight, you felt that dark shadow of your heart rising post your one second of chancing upon a visual image of something. You hold your breath to prevent it from seizing you.
You have no job to worry about.
You know what's getting you- that frail nerves of yours.
Still not invincible. No. You definitely need time off to retreat- the pilgrimage you mustn't do without.
Maybe you will learn to let go and forget.
I have been feeling like a high roller since the wee hours of Friday morning despite my persistent cold virus . You see, my girlfriends and I got inspired to embark on a business venture at 2a.m in the morning as we sat at the casino and chatted excitedly of how we could best take off our plans. I got home at 4.30a.m in the morning and lamented at the untimeliness of our discussions, taking place on my last day in Sad Town. At 8.am that morning, I was to board the bus back to Sydney.
We didn't waste anytime. Tina has been scouting for a suitable location whilst I have been a busy bee on the internet trying to work on researching for ideas, typing up communication to interested parties and keeping everyone committed and excited at the plan. It's only Day three and our ideas looks like it is taking shape in good form. Give it a few more months, hopefully, we would get it right and ready to launch once we get the paperwork, discussions underway and iron out any potential glitches from our initial optimism of our grand plans.
So you see, keeping me busy and on my toes (for things with a self motivated agenda) have kept my spirit up, on top of juggling on how freaking best to pack and look for a new apartment for the Older Sibling....
I am even beginning to hate myself for having to leave Australia soon. Naturally, I should have headed back to Sad Town and settle there when I handed in the letter.
*****
Times like this I feel almost invincible.
Perhaps, the more appropriate description is feeling in control.
P taking the lead in the discussion, forefront of ideas and friends who believe in your abilities and would like to follow your lead to jointly build your dreams together.
The week couldn't have ended any better.
*****
Have you ever felt that slight pinch in your heart triggered by a visual image or provoked by what you might possibly infer from things you hear or see?
That discomfort sticks out like a sore thumb or rather, alarm bells you wish your ears could be deaf and be shielded from hearing.
House of cards tumbling.
It instantaneously makes the soul very unbearable.
Just that split second of information taken in by your senses, processed by your brain and digested by your heart.
It has a way of tipping your emotional balance.
Some days, the heart squeeze becomes all too painful, your hand physically holds on tight to your chest.
Then it dawned upon you.
You always found excuses, citing your job as the main culprit. Then you recall worser days of your life from that distant past working and feeling like shit and being treated like shit. But you took the punches and blows resiliently.
With your last job, it wasn't all too bad if you weren't so emotionally wretched and affected by your private life. No wonder your colleagues see you as a bit of a Dr. Jekyll & Hyde. One moment all fiesty and motivated, another heavy and depressed. You have always been a bit of an odd-ball that way; your team couldn't quite figure out what you were thinking. They initially took you because you were the brightest spark of the unspiring lot that they picked out to interview. You were supposed to be sharp and intelligent.
Now- you have no job. You have only you to deal with.
Wherein lies your misery, you ask?
Much as you always hate to think that you could let your emotions in your personal life affect your career, you did let it fuck you up alright.
There is no escaping this time.
Tonight, you felt that dark shadow of your heart rising post your one second of chancing upon a visual image of something. You hold your breath to prevent it from seizing you.
You have no job to worry about.
You know what's getting you- that frail nerves of yours.
Still not invincible. No. You definitely need time off to retreat- the pilgrimage you mustn't do without.
Maybe you will learn to let go and forget.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Down
I am feeling really down at the moment. Again, I have fallen sick for the nth time this year. I am real sick from a cold virus and throat infection. I nearly fainted this morning from a pounding headache. My entire being is weak.
DL’s infected too. He’s now lying in bed, has turned in since 7pm. Fluffball is asleep next to him. The entire household is a dead silence.
I have slept the entire day away.
Yet another delay in my schedule.
I was supposed to be back in Sydney a week ago or was it two weeks ago- one day of nostalgia turned procrastination after another and then I fell sick last week so Sad Town I have remained here since.
******
I notice most lucidly at the moment that physical sickness has a way of getting my spirits down.
I mean suicidal down.
It’s scary.
My hormones feel like all over the place and I get emotional. My stuffy nose and sleepless nights has a way of stuffing up my brain too.
The past few nights I wonder how I would be able to make my pilgrimage in 2 months. What I propose to do is going to be arduous post my meditation retreat. Trekking more than 5000m in altitude is no joke. I have neither the stamina nor the lung power. I need to train up fast.
My poor health is not doing me any good and I have no control over my schedule. I am panicking.
******
Poor health equals weak mental resolutions.
In my state of unrest compounded by my pounding headache, he is in my head, like a persistent ghost.
I need to snap out of this. I cannot go on like this…
I love him, I love him, I love him…
But lost cause it is, lost cause. He never loved you.
Move on will you?
Maybe after the pilgrimage..
My soul desperately cries out in plea.
My body feels powerless and useless in fighting this perpetual struggle.
My heart finds every reason to falter and love him.
******
We’re not talking, I said.
Why? Josie asked.
We argued over a washing machine, I said.
That’s silly and childish, Josie said.
Yeah, I think so too. So old and still so childish. He said if I don’t apologise he won’t speak to me ever again.
He’s just an old kid.
I don’t think I am at fault. So I don’t want to make the first move.
Aiyoh.
But I miss him.
Then talk to him first. Life is too short to get into such petty arguments.
I guess so. Don’t know why Josie but I do love him very much. So maybe it’s for the best.
Huh? Do you mean “strong like”? “Love” is too strong a word.
Yes, I know. I use “love” very sparingly so I know what I say.
I thought you were just fooling around. He’s too laid back for you.
Well, he is laid back. But I still loved him. Anyways, he will have others to love him…
Huh? Many others? How many will fall for him?
It’s true but maybe not like me. Never mind.
I am feeling really down at the moment. Again, I have fallen sick for the nth time this year. I am real sick from a cold virus and throat infection. I nearly fainted this morning from a pounding headache. My entire being is weak.
DL’s infected too. He’s now lying in bed, has turned in since 7pm. Fluffball is asleep next to him. The entire household is a dead silence.
I have slept the entire day away.
Yet another delay in my schedule.
I was supposed to be back in Sydney a week ago or was it two weeks ago- one day of nostalgia turned procrastination after another and then I fell sick last week so Sad Town I have remained here since.
******
I notice most lucidly at the moment that physical sickness has a way of getting my spirits down.
I mean suicidal down.
It’s scary.
My hormones feel like all over the place and I get emotional. My stuffy nose and sleepless nights has a way of stuffing up my brain too.
The past few nights I wonder how I would be able to make my pilgrimage in 2 months. What I propose to do is going to be arduous post my meditation retreat. Trekking more than 5000m in altitude is no joke. I have neither the stamina nor the lung power. I need to train up fast.
My poor health is not doing me any good and I have no control over my schedule. I am panicking.
******
Poor health equals weak mental resolutions.
In my state of unrest compounded by my pounding headache, he is in my head, like a persistent ghost.
I need to snap out of this. I cannot go on like this…
I love him, I love him, I love him…
But lost cause it is, lost cause. He never loved you.
Move on will you?
Maybe after the pilgrimage..
My soul desperately cries out in plea.
My body feels powerless and useless in fighting this perpetual struggle.
My heart finds every reason to falter and love him.
******
We’re not talking, I said.
Why? Josie asked.
We argued over a washing machine, I said.
That’s silly and childish, Josie said.
Yeah, I think so too. So old and still so childish. He said if I don’t apologise he won’t speak to me ever again.
He’s just an old kid.
I don’t think I am at fault. So I don’t want to make the first move.
Aiyoh.
But I miss him.
Then talk to him first. Life is too short to get into such petty arguments.
I guess so. Don’t know why Josie but I do love him very much. So maybe it’s for the best.
Huh? Do you mean “strong like”? “Love” is too strong a word.
Yes, I know. I use “love” very sparingly so I know what I say.
I thought you were just fooling around. He’s too laid back for you.
Well, he is laid back. But I still loved him. Anyways, he will have others to love him…
Huh? Many others? How many will fall for him?
It’s true but maybe not like me. Never mind.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Rebound
I have an applied theory for the purpose of rebounds.I didn't invent it- but I wanted it to make sense to me.
I used to be of the opinion that newer personal histories can confound older ones. Hopping from one affair after another once had an instantaneous quick fix way of mending my tattered heart from one guy to another. In short, it helped me to write off someone and moved on much faster with the arrival of a new beau. Usually, there weren’t any abnormalities in the sample pool of men that I have had such experiences with- let’s start from W (did some injury to my Ego) to Random George (instant write off) to Fucker A (best to permanently lose this one from memory) to M (broke my heart but managed to move on temporarily) to the Aura (whom I was heartbroken for a while and the good sex continues to haunt me. Damn!)… then came Dope (permanent grey arrangement fixture for 1 year) and simultaneously E (that came 8 years later; junior college target turned sleazebag) and back to M (came to rock my boat and broke my emotional pattern like a lingering ghost but my mind was still resilient or was it faithless? and continued moving onwards) to the Man and then Ted to Dr J & H (who broke my heart) to Nano (who caused some stress to my emotional well-being and I knew my past trauma and present guilt with DL was getting the better of me; was going to “get” him post my single hood but knew that if I didn’t succeed my then frail nerves would have driven me insane) to the Old Boy (who saved me from misery and disappointment with Nano) and simultaneously the Norwegian (that is absolutely a short fling and I will give him no more attention; but wants to return to Singapore for F1) and Koran (closest to me in spirit)… oh and that Argentinean cheap thrill of 2 weeks that I don’t care to know his proper name…
Every so often, Nano still gets suggestive about possibilities short-term and long term (would my parents mind if I married a white boy, he asked). His current focus on the opposite sex has now been Chinese. Don’t know what I have done to him, he said. Then there is my married Aussie banker friend who has just married himself a nice Singaporean girl who every so often, tries his luck to get “lucky”. DL continues to hold his feelings close to his heart- “You go meditate first.” He would say quietly. I.e. he wants me to go sort myself out first. Ever the sensible, old soul.
So yeah, having one after another was supposedly handy in not getting too “hung up” about someone. You must know that I haven’t got the best disposition to stomach casual affairs or relationships although ironically, I have always had an unwitting way of finding myself in one. I have since hoarded quite a “collection” of men of diverse backgrounds. Tall, short, fat, thin, poor and rich, married, engaged, attached and single. W, a Parisian bummer on the dole that inherited an apartment in the 9th arrondissement and who counted his Euros before buying me a drink (or me sometimes paying for drinks in big Euro bills in frustration); Random George who hailed from a pedigreed background (family owning the oldest investment bank in that part of the world, possibly with ancestors of the white colonial kind)whose enigmatic and aloof aura reminded me of a ex from long ago and strangely also had a mother who died of cancer; young M who lives his life travelling and borned by intellectual journalist parents of Chilean (but really Austrian Jews fled to Chile in WWI) and English descents; Nano, an even more similar aura to Random George also of the white pedigreed moneyed colonial descent, like Random George oldest son of 2 boys and exists as the more serious and Daddy-anxious eldest son; the married but polygamous Old Boy who is more the laid back poor little rich boy growing up with the pedigrees of old wealth associated with his boarding grammar school education abroad since high school (when yours truly was barely a toddler) and chauffer driven rides to school, but have since lost the seemingly prissy lifestyle of his childhood (though the trust fund still exists), a mummy’s boy no doubt and also somewhat a daddy fearing eldest son and then there is Koran, the brainy genius of Central Asian and Chinese descent- a modern Muslim (and like I said to him my prejudiced mum “is going to be so proud of me!” Not) with the excessive and free spirited disposition typical of the youngest child in the family. We have a similar childlikeness.
*****
Someone asked me if I was still “hung up” about him.
What if your own “newer personal histories can confound older ones” theory is proving you otherwise?
Your heart tells a different story from your mind. Even mechanical fucking seems an awful prospect; if not, disgusting.
Watching porn does nothing to spin your wheels or motivate you to snare a lover. In fact, you find you find yourself fast forwarding to the ending because perfunctory mating bores you to tears (in fact, you feel an anxiety rising within you for fear that your life could only be so moving forward; you take care to suppress it from bubbling over)
How do you get a move on?
I have an applied theory for the purpose of rebounds.I didn't invent it- but I wanted it to make sense to me.
I used to be of the opinion that newer personal histories can confound older ones. Hopping from one affair after another once had an instantaneous quick fix way of mending my tattered heart from one guy to another. In short, it helped me to write off someone and moved on much faster with the arrival of a new beau. Usually, there weren’t any abnormalities in the sample pool of men that I have had such experiences with- let’s start from W (did some injury to my Ego) to Random George (instant write off) to Fucker A (best to permanently lose this one from memory) to M (broke my heart but managed to move on temporarily) to the Aura (whom I was heartbroken for a while and the good sex continues to haunt me. Damn!)… then came Dope (permanent grey arrangement fixture for 1 year) and simultaneously E (that came 8 years later; junior college target turned sleazebag) and back to M (came to rock my boat and broke my emotional pattern like a lingering ghost but my mind was still resilient or was it faithless? and continued moving onwards) to the Man and then Ted to Dr J & H (who broke my heart) to Nano (who caused some stress to my emotional well-being and I knew my past trauma and present guilt with DL was getting the better of me; was going to “get” him post my single hood but knew that if I didn’t succeed my then frail nerves would have driven me insane) to the Old Boy (who saved me from misery and disappointment with Nano) and simultaneously the Norwegian (that is absolutely a short fling and I will give him no more attention; but wants to return to Singapore for F1) and Koran (closest to me in spirit)… oh and that Argentinean cheap thrill of 2 weeks that I don’t care to know his proper name…
Every so often, Nano still gets suggestive about possibilities short-term and long term (would my parents mind if I married a white boy, he asked). His current focus on the opposite sex has now been Chinese. Don’t know what I have done to him, he said. Then there is my married Aussie banker friend who has just married himself a nice Singaporean girl who every so often, tries his luck to get “lucky”. DL continues to hold his feelings close to his heart- “You go meditate first.” He would say quietly. I.e. he wants me to go sort myself out first. Ever the sensible, old soul.
So yeah, having one after another was supposedly handy in not getting too “hung up” about someone. You must know that I haven’t got the best disposition to stomach casual affairs or relationships although ironically, I have always had an unwitting way of finding myself in one. I have since hoarded quite a “collection” of men of diverse backgrounds. Tall, short, fat, thin, poor and rich, married, engaged, attached and single. W, a Parisian bummer on the dole that inherited an apartment in the 9th arrondissement and who counted his Euros before buying me a drink (or me sometimes paying for drinks in big Euro bills in frustration); Random George who hailed from a pedigreed background (family owning the oldest investment bank in that part of the world, possibly with ancestors of the white colonial kind)whose enigmatic and aloof aura reminded me of a ex from long ago and strangely also had a mother who died of cancer; young M who lives his life travelling and borned by intellectual journalist parents of Chilean (but really Austrian Jews fled to Chile in WWI) and English descents; Nano, an even more similar aura to Random George also of the white pedigreed moneyed colonial descent, like Random George oldest son of 2 boys and exists as the more serious and Daddy-anxious eldest son; the married but polygamous Old Boy who is more the laid back poor little rich boy growing up with the pedigrees of old wealth associated with his boarding grammar school education abroad since high school (when yours truly was barely a toddler) and chauffer driven rides to school, but have since lost the seemingly prissy lifestyle of his childhood (though the trust fund still exists), a mummy’s boy no doubt and also somewhat a daddy fearing eldest son and then there is Koran, the brainy genius of Central Asian and Chinese descent- a modern Muslim (and like I said to him my prejudiced mum “is going to be so proud of me!” Not) with the excessive and free spirited disposition typical of the youngest child in the family. We have a similar childlikeness.
*****
Someone asked me if I was still “hung up” about him.
What if your own “newer personal histories can confound older ones” theory is proving you otherwise?
Your heart tells a different story from your mind. Even mechanical fucking seems an awful prospect; if not, disgusting.
Watching porn does nothing to spin your wheels or motivate you to snare a lover. In fact, you find you find yourself fast forwarding to the ending because perfunctory mating bores you to tears (in fact, you feel an anxiety rising within you for fear that your life could only be so moving forward; you take care to suppress it from bubbling over)
How do you get a move on?
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Hope
I have been accepted into the monastery.
August- my spiritual de-tox will start.
Hopefully, I would see the light and be purged of all self-inflicted suffering.
Peace is what I seek, of the heart, mind and soul.
****
Being alone with me and my frenzied thoughts, a perpetually stuffed up and infected sinuses and a pair of chronically weak lungs, I get insomniac.
My soul turns a few shades darker, suicidal thoughts continue to hover.
My heart tighten its grip.
Then I am overcome by pain and fear once more.
Arduous is the path that my soul trudged on in the loneliness of the night, praying that my body and mind could finally knock out and ease into a blissful rest.
SOS- the voice of my soul continues to ring in my head for now, not unless the Sudafed occasionally work its magic and unwind me into drowsiness.
I have been accepted into the monastery.
August- my spiritual de-tox will start.
Hopefully, I would see the light and be purged of all self-inflicted suffering.
Peace is what I seek, of the heart, mind and soul.
****
Being alone with me and my frenzied thoughts, a perpetually stuffed up and infected sinuses and a pair of chronically weak lungs, I get insomniac.
My soul turns a few shades darker, suicidal thoughts continue to hover.
My heart tighten its grip.
Then I am overcome by pain and fear once more.
Arduous is the path that my soul trudged on in the loneliness of the night, praying that my body and mind could finally knock out and ease into a blissful rest.
SOS- the voice of my soul continues to ring in my head for now, not unless the Sudafed occasionally work its magic and unwind me into drowsiness.
Easy Living
Sad Town affords me with a simple lifestyle, quite close to what I think might be domestic bliss. Of course, that wouldn’t have happened without having the necessary characters in place for me to appreciate the surroundings. I have my friends, DL and Fluffball. What happy days!
Routine has its comforts. In Sad Town, I know I would not be allowed to sleep past 10a.m because the living alarm clock in the form of a snowy white shaggy dog would place her face so close to yours, sniffing to see if you are truly asleep and if not, would lick your face until you surrender and yield to her demands for her daily morning walk.
A creature of habit, she knows the usual walking route you would take her, albeit longer and different from where her Daddy would typically take her. Returning from a 30-minute walk, she heads for the balcony to contemplate and then lie in the sun, whilst you prepare her brunch and then wash some straying dishes and think about what to cook for lunch for DL and yourself.
Comes afternoon, you decide what you want to do-to write, to read or to nap? The house is all peace and quiet. Sometimes, you are not given a choice- Daisy turns up and drags your lethargic self out of the house. You get extremely excited if she comes to you with a potential business opportunity and you jump to your feet to check out that shop front or hop onto the internet first to do some preliminary research, whilst you fire her a million questions on points for consideration. When you get tire of sussing out places, you beg her to stop shopping (since you have no interest in stocking up on fashion given your mobility) and can we please adjourn to sit on our fat asses at a café or visit a beauty parlour to possibly get our nails done. And you are not even a nails person since manicures and pedicures are what you have always considered an excessive luxury; you much rather spend money on your face and body. But there are only this number of facials and body wraps one can do in a week.
You suggest going to the one and only newly opened Karaoke in Sad Town for the Happy Hour Rate to kill time. Even the young owners have began to recognise Daisy and you, thinking that like them, you are the prodigal, rich kids who are more interested in playing than attending classes at uni. It’s almost 4pm and you need to be home before 5.30pm to make dinner for DL. Daisy will join the household for dinner.
Night times are always nice. DL always helps with the cooking since he is the chef. Daisy comes from a family in the food business too. So is Tina. In fact, all your friends in Sad Town are related to food and you have since acquired nimble palettes. You and your bunch take eating good food rather seriously. So home cooked meals are rarely screwed up as there are enough people in the know to remedy a flawed sauce.
In our abode in Sad Town, it seems to be a nice gathering place for friends. We have no children except for the Fluffball and we are child-like. You will notice that DL’s child-like temperament as evident in the number of toys we keep is in contrast with a comprehensive selection of alcohol, always ready to whip a special cocktail for that special guest or ready to host a simple dinner with some nice and moderately priced-wine. We would probably make the best dinner party hosts- you remember in those years of working your arse off, this was your dream-to buy that love nest with a nice kitchen for your man to show off his culinary skills as you shine as a hostess-always the perfect pair that complementary!
Post dinner, Daisy and I continue yakking. Sometimes we log onto the internet to research, inquire and talk more about a business opportunity. Then there is also that one nice blissful occasion where we gather around the kitchen bench to watch DL mix up and bake a raspberry cheesecake as I awaited the electric kettle to boil whilst I make some fragrant Chinese tea blended with ginger and honey to soothe our poor throats in the autumn cold. Then we all sat at the couch with the Fluffball and we watched TV and cracked jokes.
Later in the night, when Daisy has taken leave from our apartment, DL and I watched a bit more TV. I have always been very much a no-TV peace and quiet house type of person. When we finished watching the news and I have asked him for the umpteenth time to stop snacking throughout the night, drink more water and take his daily intake of liver cleansing tablets, we settle into the comfort of our quiet joint presence. DL would read his newspapers or log onto the Internet between stroking his favourite daughter, the Fluffball whilst I sit contentedly reading my Joyce Carol Oates novel.
Every so often, I look up to pause and enjoy the peacefulness of the surroundings. I am loving every moment of it.
Past midnight, DL would indicate gently it’s bedtime. We would drag our pillows and comforters from the living room as he balances Fluffball in his arms and kisses her head gently and the three of us would retire into bed.
Another new day awaits us.
I think I might be able to do this for a long while.
Sad Town affords me with a simple lifestyle, quite close to what I think might be domestic bliss. Of course, that wouldn’t have happened without having the necessary characters in place for me to appreciate the surroundings. I have my friends, DL and Fluffball. What happy days!
Routine has its comforts. In Sad Town, I know I would not be allowed to sleep past 10a.m because the living alarm clock in the form of a snowy white shaggy dog would place her face so close to yours, sniffing to see if you are truly asleep and if not, would lick your face until you surrender and yield to her demands for her daily morning walk.
A creature of habit, she knows the usual walking route you would take her, albeit longer and different from where her Daddy would typically take her. Returning from a 30-minute walk, she heads for the balcony to contemplate and then lie in the sun, whilst you prepare her brunch and then wash some straying dishes and think about what to cook for lunch for DL and yourself.
Comes afternoon, you decide what you want to do-to write, to read or to nap? The house is all peace and quiet. Sometimes, you are not given a choice- Daisy turns up and drags your lethargic self out of the house. You get extremely excited if she comes to you with a potential business opportunity and you jump to your feet to check out that shop front or hop onto the internet first to do some preliminary research, whilst you fire her a million questions on points for consideration. When you get tire of sussing out places, you beg her to stop shopping (since you have no interest in stocking up on fashion given your mobility) and can we please adjourn to sit on our fat asses at a café or visit a beauty parlour to possibly get our nails done. And you are not even a nails person since manicures and pedicures are what you have always considered an excessive luxury; you much rather spend money on your face and body. But there are only this number of facials and body wraps one can do in a week.
You suggest going to the one and only newly opened Karaoke in Sad Town for the Happy Hour Rate to kill time. Even the young owners have began to recognise Daisy and you, thinking that like them, you are the prodigal, rich kids who are more interested in playing than attending classes at uni. It’s almost 4pm and you need to be home before 5.30pm to make dinner for DL. Daisy will join the household for dinner.
Night times are always nice. DL always helps with the cooking since he is the chef. Daisy comes from a family in the food business too. So is Tina. In fact, all your friends in Sad Town are related to food and you have since acquired nimble palettes. You and your bunch take eating good food rather seriously. So home cooked meals are rarely screwed up as there are enough people in the know to remedy a flawed sauce.
In our abode in Sad Town, it seems to be a nice gathering place for friends. We have no children except for the Fluffball and we are child-like. You will notice that DL’s child-like temperament as evident in the number of toys we keep is in contrast with a comprehensive selection of alcohol, always ready to whip a special cocktail for that special guest or ready to host a simple dinner with some nice and moderately priced-wine. We would probably make the best dinner party hosts- you remember in those years of working your arse off, this was your dream-to buy that love nest with a nice kitchen for your man to show off his culinary skills as you shine as a hostess-always the perfect pair that complementary!
Post dinner, Daisy and I continue yakking. Sometimes we log onto the internet to research, inquire and talk more about a business opportunity. Then there is also that one nice blissful occasion where we gather around the kitchen bench to watch DL mix up and bake a raspberry cheesecake as I awaited the electric kettle to boil whilst I make some fragrant Chinese tea blended with ginger and honey to soothe our poor throats in the autumn cold. Then we all sat at the couch with the Fluffball and we watched TV and cracked jokes.
Later in the night, when Daisy has taken leave from our apartment, DL and I watched a bit more TV. I have always been very much a no-TV peace and quiet house type of person. When we finished watching the news and I have asked him for the umpteenth time to stop snacking throughout the night, drink more water and take his daily intake of liver cleansing tablets, we settle into the comfort of our quiet joint presence. DL would read his newspapers or log onto the Internet between stroking his favourite daughter, the Fluffball whilst I sit contentedly reading my Joyce Carol Oates novel.
Every so often, I look up to pause and enjoy the peacefulness of the surroundings. I am loving every moment of it.
Past midnight, DL would indicate gently it’s bedtime. We would drag our pillows and comforters from the living room as he balances Fluffball in his arms and kisses her head gently and the three of us would retire into bed.
Another new day awaits us.
I think I might be able to do this for a long while.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Clutter
in the quiet of the night
my heart still beats
at the thought
of you
in the silence of the day
my heart still wrenches
knowing you are
still there
merry-making I indulge to tire
the restlessness of idling
to exhaust my
insomniac sleeps
chitter chatter my head will banter
sore points it touches
my heart wrenches
in pain
stop it stop stop it
enough of the reminders
hardened once more
I persevered
calmness I seek in my mind
meditation I would try
to blank out
lingering you
your ghost still continues to haunt
I toss and turn
In agony my
tormented soul
in the quiet of the night
my heart still beats
at the thought
of you
in the silence of the day
my heart still wrenches
knowing you are
still there
merry-making I indulge to tire
the restlessness of idling
to exhaust my
insomniac sleeps
chitter chatter my head will banter
sore points it touches
my heart wrenches
in pain
stop it stop stop it
enough of the reminders
hardened once more
I persevered
calmness I seek in my mind
meditation I would try
to blank out
lingering you
your ghost still continues to haunt
I toss and turn
In agony my
tormented soul
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Callousness
Daisy knew me from a time where I was more of someone else’s girlfriend than a lover.
Daisy has known me for almost a good decade now. She is my best friend in this part of the world in Sad Town. In the past, we saw each other everyday and even during the time where we initially both moved to Sydney separately but around the same time. But she returned to Sad Town six months later. Like V and B, she knew everything about my life.
Prior to last week when she drove down from Sad Town to visit me in Sydney before we drove back here again, Daisy and I must have not seen each other for almost a year. With the number of rainchecks we took to catch up and the missed calls that I never returned (as I bury myself in depression in Sydney and she too have personal issues to tackle), time has simply slipped through our hands.
During the course of the last few days, Daisy and Tina (my other best friend in Sad Town) tried asking me about recent “updates” of my romantic sexcapades and flings. I gave Daisy a quick overview in the form of a one-liner summary and said no more. If asked to comment about the sex, I would simply rate the experience as “good” or “not too good”. I didn’t try adding colour to the profiles of these people as I was wont to be descriptive in the old days.
Last night, the 3 of us girls were having our usual girl talk about the birds and the bees. It started with me coming up with creative ideas for Tina to re-kindle her dwindling sex life with the hubby post 3 young children (of which 2 sleeps with them) and an expanding business that sees the man looking more tired than ever when he returns home past midnight. Tina was all excited with the hitherto unexplored possibilities of her house and giggly with my visual demonstrations of the number of positions that she could try out. I impressed upon her the importance of a healthy sex life with her partner to keep the relationship alive and the man from straying.
“Oh P, you are good! Next time, you would surely know how to keep your man. Hey, anymore tricks? I am sure you’re not telling me all that you have done with all your men!” She tried to extract more out of me-she was getting excited with the number of ideas that I have pulled out for her.
Then we went on to the topic of orgasms. Daisy was new to the idea of squirting and the external ultimate pleasure that Tina and I agreed to have experience from the arousal of the clitoris. I confessed I rarely get “hit” at the g-spot so I don’t quite get that pleasure that Daisy was more familiar with. Then we discussed about the selfishness or lack of skills of certain men who cummed too quickly and the anti-climax we have experienced.
“I got to have an orgasm! I swear to god I get really mad and irritated when I am building up my own and the guy just cummed before I had enough fun!” I confessed.
“Do you really show your displeasure to these guys?” Daisy asked curiously.
“Pretty much these days but then again, I would have been comfy with these guys. What good is sex with a lover if he is not doing what he is supposed to do for you?!” I replied.
“P, you behave like a man! It’s often the men who get irritated if they experience an anti-climax,” Tina laughed.
“Yeah, you have changed P. You used to talk more about the lovers but now you focus more on the sex,” Daisy said pensively.
Tina went on to the topic about finding male hostesses who service the rich and bored housewives. She heard they are really cheap to hire in Vietnam. We thought we should go for the experience too when Tina’s children were a little bit older and she could take time off for an all girls’ holiday. We all got excited.
“Just for the hell of it- if men could have fun, we too can!” I laughed.
“Hey P, wouldn’t you find these men dirty if you pay for sex?” Tina asked.
“I’m with Tina!” Daisy concurred.
“Of course, I don’t intend to pay for sex! I just want these men to perhaps hug and cuddle me, entertain me and maybe sing with us. Us paying for their time to pleasure us which ever way we intend to do! Plus if you come along, you are married so no sex, just for the experience!” I clarified.
“Hey do you think people fall for these hostesses?” Tina wondered out loud.
“Of course, they do! But that’s stupidity on their parts. One gotta remember the goal- you pay for pleasure so the feeling is never for real. Precisely this needlessness for emotional commitment is the reason why you pay for pleasure!”
“That’s so true! Oh man, P you do sound like a man these days!” Tina said smilingly.
“See, I told you have changed. You focused more on the sex and not the person.” Daisy reiterated.
*****
Sometime back, the Boy cummed, his desire got satiated and the act was completed.
“I don’t know about you but I sure felt that you were good and I had a great time…,” he smiled sheepishly and eyed me self consciously for some clues.
I didn’t quite cum the way I would like to. Given that my sexperience come on an ad hoc basis, I pretty much like to get much out of each session as I could possibly have. The challenge lies in how comfortable I am with the person and obviously the bedroom chemistry.
“Well, it’s not too hard to pleasure a man is it? All a girl needs to do is to make him shoot and cum. Too easy” I eyed him back with a cocky half smile.
He smiled back nervously and got no further re-assurance from a candid P.
*****
A few days ago, it was M’s birthday. I wrote that young ex-lover of mine a very Happy Birthday. He has just turned 25.
I briefly mentioned that I have quit my job and will be back home in Singapore in early July.
Great, he wrote back. I should be in Singapore next month too. I would really love to meet up and see you again.
In the past, I would have been so excited, hanging on to the hope of his words. Now, all I can ever think about was we’ll see. If it happens, great. If not, no loss.
If a meet up turns into a rendezvous, so be it. I can only think about how well endowed he is in the male department and what a great lollipop that would make for a lascivious P.
No more dwelling on those hauntingly tender kisses and cuddles that began in Paris and followed on in Singapore.
No more heart-aches with this one.
*****
Last Thursday, Daisy and I went to the Latino Club where I did a dirty dance with a nameless Latino eons ago.
As we entered the club, I instantly spotted a target that I so desired as an eye candy. He was a tall, well pac-ed and tanned Latino with a seemingly quiet demeanour dressed in a fitted business shirt and trousers, having an after-work drink with a couple of male colleagues.
To cut a long story short, post fending off his other Irish colleague who tried to kiss me during a dance and confessing that ‘P, I do like you”, he attempted to do the “more” gentlemanly thing by asking if I cared to go out for dinner with him sometime before I leave Australia for good, I finally found my way to dance with my Latino properly (given that the Irish intercepted him a few times and I was getting a tad irritated that my plans were not going according to plan).
So I danced with the Latino whom by this stage, has turned from a shy guy (that initially hung close by to me post an eye contact and a smile on my end to effect a self introduction) to a tipsy Casanova. I learnt that he was from Argentina and he happened to work in the same company that Dr Jekyll & Hyde did. He tried to tell me his name which I had difficulty pronouncing and hearing clearly from the loud music and decided to settle on a possible English variation instead- “Daniel” he would be for me.
So Daniel twirled me around, not without trying to cast his net wide and far and did the multi-tasking of gliding his fingers seductively past a passing girl’s arm to get her attention whilst still having me in one arm. The said female passer-by took a double take and realised that the man was not without a dancing partner i.e. moi whom she probably mistook me for his girlfriend and looked slightly embarrassed (perhaps for me and him) and waved amicably at me whilst she walked away.
Daniel never bothered to ask what I did or where I came from etc. He only mentioned that I danced and looked sexy. Also, he asked where I lived and whom I lived with (alarm bells ringing for a one night stand proposition). Later, he asked if I cared to go downstairs.
What for, I asked.
To dance, he said.
I got to let Daisy know first, I said.
Just two minutes, he said.
I went to inform Daisy and we headed downstairs. I excused myself to head for the ladies first and he said he would do likewise.
When I came out, he was gone. I waited for a bit and roamed the dance floor but did not find my Argentinean beau and headed upstairs to re-join Daisy.
A minute later, I saw him come up the stairs again and our eyes met. He came towards me.
Where were you, I asked.
I left, he said.
Where to, I asked since I could find him at all.
He didn’t reply.
Daniel got me to dance with him on the dance floor again. My body was pressed close to his (I mentally made a note to detect any hardening bulge between his thighs as we danced intimately.) He drew his face close to my lips. He asked me for my number.
Do you want to go downstairs? he asked again.
Alright, I said.
Daniel walked slightly ahead of me in the crowd and let me to the locker room.
He leaned against the holed wall that partitioned the corridor that led to the toilets from the lockers. He held my waist and pulled me to him. He slid one of his knees between my legs where my crotch touched his thighs. We kissed passionately (and me somewhat mechanically) in the dark and then I tilted my face away and let his tongue wander around my ear lobe and then along my neck. He started to let his left hand wander and glided it under my short black pleated skirt where he patted my thigh and moved upwards towards my ass and attempted to let his fingers slip under my panties. I pulled his hand away but we continued to indulge in kissing. He led my hand to his enlarging beast waiting to do a jack-in-the box out of his trousers. A couple tried to pass us discreetly as they inched their way into the crammed alleyway of the locker room.
A big part of my detached mind drifted to attempt re-calling when exactly was the last time I have had a kiss and mentally made note that it was with the Old Boy in early March in the private confines of Hotel 81. Even then, the kisses were lacklustre. The Old Boy was never very much a passionate kisser which had often made me wonder about his feelings for me. Then my mind began to play a little game within myself as I did a quick guesstimate of my Latino beau’s manhood. What I felt was a far cry from the substantial (read thick and long) presence of what I had experienced from M or even the Norwegian. I was getting very disappointed as his physical physique sure did not quite match up with what I was groping in the dark.
“Hey, wanna go off somewhere?” He eyed me suggestively and spoke in his Latino accented English.
“Nope. I am not that type of a girl.” I said smilingly.
“What?”
“I am not a one night stand sort of girl.” I tried again, half amused at my speech.
“Maybe not one night, but more nights. Many, many nights. You are so sexy.” He teased cheesily.
“Sometimes…,” he continued. “Sometimes, good things happen once…” He reiterated.
So be it, I thought to myself. Precisely so – I want good sex again and again. Not once. Dumbass!
I was getting amused and wanted to see where all this talk is getting us to.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
“Where to?”
He led me past the toilets and towards the Exit door.
We got out to a brightly lit corridor that possibly would lead us to a rubbish chute.
Daniel pressed me against the wall and we started kissing passionately again. I stroked his engorged rod teasingly.
“Wanna fuck?” He asked breathlessly as I felt him undo his zipper.
“No.” I continued to shut him up and got on with the thrill of kissing. My mind wandered to the existence of condoms in his wallet.
“We could go there,” he eyed another exit door to our right.
I relished the thrill of fucking in public but couldn’t see a stranger as the designated partner more for sanitary reasons.
He freed his beast from the zipper and led me to hold his erected dick in my palm. It felt unappealingly not-too-well-endowed, which one would more or less associate with the average size of an Asian dick (no offence to Asians here!), contradictory to his tall and well built Latino physique. He pressed his hardened member against me and attempted to lift my short skirt up. I pulled his hand away.
At some stage, whilst a man from the bar passed us as he walked towards the rubbish chute with bags of rubbish. He turned back slightly to eye us.
Then Daniel’s left hand strayed from behind my neck and found its way to fondle my right boob. I grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away.
“Stay away from my breasts!” I jumped at him.
He backed off and threw his hands in mid-air. “Ok, ok, I won’t touch if you don’t like it!”
“Hey, it’s been more than two minutes now. Let’s go back up there!” I smiled.
We must have been away from Daisy for at least 15 minutes by now.
I looked down south and for the first time, saw the throbbing specimen with the wet tip that I have been groping before.
It’s pink! And it’s thin and not too long!
I would have imagined it to be brown given the tan of his complexion.
“Oh, kiss it first! Kiss it first please!” He begged lightly, making enticing (not!) kissy noises.
Thanks but no thanks. Not falling into your trap of shoving your pee stained dick into my mouth. And run the possibility of catching Hepatitis quite typical from that part of your world!
I put my palm to my lips, kissed it and transferred it down there.
“See, I kissed it!” I smiled dismissively. My body was half turning back to head in the direction of the Exit door to re-enter the bar.
He continued holding on to his erected dick and begged feebly for me to kiss it.
At this stage, I was getting bored.
I grabbed his dick and shoved it back into his open flyer trousers. He let out a light “ouch” and did up his zip with little choice.
I laughed and grabbed his hand to lead him back from where we came from.
I walked in front of him as I pushed open the exit door to lead us back into the dark corridor of the bar. Daniel lifted my skirt lightly from behind and stealthily slid his finger to feel the moistness of my female opening.
“What’s this?” He teased.
I pulled his hand lightly away and turned my head halfway around and gave him a slight smile.
We walked up the stairs in single file and without saying our formal goodbyes, I headed straight for the couch near the stairs where Daisy sat waiting tiredly and Daniel disappearing to the denseness of the dance floor, perhaps to hunt for another prey that he could get lucky for the night.
“Let’s go!” I said to Daisy.
“So how was it?” she asked excitedly.
"It was pink!” I exclaimed, scrunging my face in mock embarrassment.
“What? Really?” Daisy grew even more curious.
We burst out laughing.
Then we linked arms girlishly as we walked the streets and made our way back to the car.
Daisy knew me from a time where I was more of someone else’s girlfriend than a lover.
Daisy has known me for almost a good decade now. She is my best friend in this part of the world in Sad Town. In the past, we saw each other everyday and even during the time where we initially both moved to Sydney separately but around the same time. But she returned to Sad Town six months later. Like V and B, she knew everything about my life.
Prior to last week when she drove down from Sad Town to visit me in Sydney before we drove back here again, Daisy and I must have not seen each other for almost a year. With the number of rainchecks we took to catch up and the missed calls that I never returned (as I bury myself in depression in Sydney and she too have personal issues to tackle), time has simply slipped through our hands.
During the course of the last few days, Daisy and Tina (my other best friend in Sad Town) tried asking me about recent “updates” of my romantic sexcapades and flings. I gave Daisy a quick overview in the form of a one-liner summary and said no more. If asked to comment about the sex, I would simply rate the experience as “good” or “not too good”. I didn’t try adding colour to the profiles of these people as I was wont to be descriptive in the old days.
Last night, the 3 of us girls were having our usual girl talk about the birds and the bees. It started with me coming up with creative ideas for Tina to re-kindle her dwindling sex life with the hubby post 3 young children (of which 2 sleeps with them) and an expanding business that sees the man looking more tired than ever when he returns home past midnight. Tina was all excited with the hitherto unexplored possibilities of her house and giggly with my visual demonstrations of the number of positions that she could try out. I impressed upon her the importance of a healthy sex life with her partner to keep the relationship alive and the man from straying.
“Oh P, you are good! Next time, you would surely know how to keep your man. Hey, anymore tricks? I am sure you’re not telling me all that you have done with all your men!” She tried to extract more out of me-she was getting excited with the number of ideas that I have pulled out for her.
Then we went on to the topic of orgasms. Daisy was new to the idea of squirting and the external ultimate pleasure that Tina and I agreed to have experience from the arousal of the clitoris. I confessed I rarely get “hit” at the g-spot so I don’t quite get that pleasure that Daisy was more familiar with. Then we discussed about the selfishness or lack of skills of certain men who cummed too quickly and the anti-climax we have experienced.
“I got to have an orgasm! I swear to god I get really mad and irritated when I am building up my own and the guy just cummed before I had enough fun!” I confessed.
“Do you really show your displeasure to these guys?” Daisy asked curiously.
“Pretty much these days but then again, I would have been comfy with these guys. What good is sex with a lover if he is not doing what he is supposed to do for you?!” I replied.
“P, you behave like a man! It’s often the men who get irritated if they experience an anti-climax,” Tina laughed.
“Yeah, you have changed P. You used to talk more about the lovers but now you focus more on the sex,” Daisy said pensively.
Tina went on to the topic about finding male hostesses who service the rich and bored housewives. She heard they are really cheap to hire in Vietnam. We thought we should go for the experience too when Tina’s children were a little bit older and she could take time off for an all girls’ holiday. We all got excited.
“Just for the hell of it- if men could have fun, we too can!” I laughed.
“Hey P, wouldn’t you find these men dirty if you pay for sex?” Tina asked.
“I’m with Tina!” Daisy concurred.
“Of course, I don’t intend to pay for sex! I just want these men to perhaps hug and cuddle me, entertain me and maybe sing with us. Us paying for their time to pleasure us which ever way we intend to do! Plus if you come along, you are married so no sex, just for the experience!” I clarified.
“Hey do you think people fall for these hostesses?” Tina wondered out loud.
“Of course, they do! But that’s stupidity on their parts. One gotta remember the goal- you pay for pleasure so the feeling is never for real. Precisely this needlessness for emotional commitment is the reason why you pay for pleasure!”
“That’s so true! Oh man, P you do sound like a man these days!” Tina said smilingly.
“See, I told you have changed. You focused more on the sex and not the person.” Daisy reiterated.
*****
Sometime back, the Boy cummed, his desire got satiated and the act was completed.
“I don’t know about you but I sure felt that you were good and I had a great time…,” he smiled sheepishly and eyed me self consciously for some clues.
I didn’t quite cum the way I would like to. Given that my sexperience come on an ad hoc basis, I pretty much like to get much out of each session as I could possibly have. The challenge lies in how comfortable I am with the person and obviously the bedroom chemistry.
“Well, it’s not too hard to pleasure a man is it? All a girl needs to do is to make him shoot and cum. Too easy” I eyed him back with a cocky half smile.
He smiled back nervously and got no further re-assurance from a candid P.
*****
A few days ago, it was M’s birthday. I wrote that young ex-lover of mine a very Happy Birthday. He has just turned 25.
I briefly mentioned that I have quit my job and will be back home in Singapore in early July.
Great, he wrote back. I should be in Singapore next month too. I would really love to meet up and see you again.
In the past, I would have been so excited, hanging on to the hope of his words. Now, all I can ever think about was we’ll see. If it happens, great. If not, no loss.
If a meet up turns into a rendezvous, so be it. I can only think about how well endowed he is in the male department and what a great lollipop that would make for a lascivious P.
No more dwelling on those hauntingly tender kisses and cuddles that began in Paris and followed on in Singapore.
No more heart-aches with this one.
*****
Last Thursday, Daisy and I went to the Latino Club where I did a dirty dance with a nameless Latino eons ago.
As we entered the club, I instantly spotted a target that I so desired as an eye candy. He was a tall, well pac-ed and tanned Latino with a seemingly quiet demeanour dressed in a fitted business shirt and trousers, having an after-work drink with a couple of male colleagues.
To cut a long story short, post fending off his other Irish colleague who tried to kiss me during a dance and confessing that ‘P, I do like you”, he attempted to do the “more” gentlemanly thing by asking if I cared to go out for dinner with him sometime before I leave Australia for good, I finally found my way to dance with my Latino properly (given that the Irish intercepted him a few times and I was getting a tad irritated that my plans were not going according to plan).
So I danced with the Latino whom by this stage, has turned from a shy guy (that initially hung close by to me post an eye contact and a smile on my end to effect a self introduction) to a tipsy Casanova. I learnt that he was from Argentina and he happened to work in the same company that Dr Jekyll & Hyde did. He tried to tell me his name which I had difficulty pronouncing and hearing clearly from the loud music and decided to settle on a possible English variation instead- “Daniel” he would be for me.
So Daniel twirled me around, not without trying to cast his net wide and far and did the multi-tasking of gliding his fingers seductively past a passing girl’s arm to get her attention whilst still having me in one arm. The said female passer-by took a double take and realised that the man was not without a dancing partner i.e. moi whom she probably mistook me for his girlfriend and looked slightly embarrassed (perhaps for me and him) and waved amicably at me whilst she walked away.
Daniel never bothered to ask what I did or where I came from etc. He only mentioned that I danced and looked sexy. Also, he asked where I lived and whom I lived with (alarm bells ringing for a one night stand proposition). Later, he asked if I cared to go downstairs.
What for, I asked.
To dance, he said.
I got to let Daisy know first, I said.
Just two minutes, he said.
I went to inform Daisy and we headed downstairs. I excused myself to head for the ladies first and he said he would do likewise.
When I came out, he was gone. I waited for a bit and roamed the dance floor but did not find my Argentinean beau and headed upstairs to re-join Daisy.
A minute later, I saw him come up the stairs again and our eyes met. He came towards me.
Where were you, I asked.
I left, he said.
Where to, I asked since I could find him at all.
He didn’t reply.
Daniel got me to dance with him on the dance floor again. My body was pressed close to his (I mentally made a note to detect any hardening bulge between his thighs as we danced intimately.) He drew his face close to my lips. He asked me for my number.
Do you want to go downstairs? he asked again.
Alright, I said.
Daniel walked slightly ahead of me in the crowd and let me to the locker room.
He leaned against the holed wall that partitioned the corridor that led to the toilets from the lockers. He held my waist and pulled me to him. He slid one of his knees between my legs where my crotch touched his thighs. We kissed passionately (and me somewhat mechanically) in the dark and then I tilted my face away and let his tongue wander around my ear lobe and then along my neck. He started to let his left hand wander and glided it under my short black pleated skirt where he patted my thigh and moved upwards towards my ass and attempted to let his fingers slip under my panties. I pulled his hand away but we continued to indulge in kissing. He led my hand to his enlarging beast waiting to do a jack-in-the box out of his trousers. A couple tried to pass us discreetly as they inched their way into the crammed alleyway of the locker room.
A big part of my detached mind drifted to attempt re-calling when exactly was the last time I have had a kiss and mentally made note that it was with the Old Boy in early March in the private confines of Hotel 81. Even then, the kisses were lacklustre. The Old Boy was never very much a passionate kisser which had often made me wonder about his feelings for me. Then my mind began to play a little game within myself as I did a quick guesstimate of my Latino beau’s manhood. What I felt was a far cry from the substantial (read thick and long) presence of what I had experienced from M or even the Norwegian. I was getting very disappointed as his physical physique sure did not quite match up with what I was groping in the dark.
“Hey, wanna go off somewhere?” He eyed me suggestively and spoke in his Latino accented English.
“Nope. I am not that type of a girl.” I said smilingly.
“What?”
“I am not a one night stand sort of girl.” I tried again, half amused at my speech.
“Maybe not one night, but more nights. Many, many nights. You are so sexy.” He teased cheesily.
“Sometimes…,” he continued. “Sometimes, good things happen once…” He reiterated.
So be it, I thought to myself. Precisely so – I want good sex again and again. Not once. Dumbass!
I was getting amused and wanted to see where all this talk is getting us to.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
“Where to?”
He led me past the toilets and towards the Exit door.
We got out to a brightly lit corridor that possibly would lead us to a rubbish chute.
Daniel pressed me against the wall and we started kissing passionately again. I stroked his engorged rod teasingly.
“Wanna fuck?” He asked breathlessly as I felt him undo his zipper.
“No.” I continued to shut him up and got on with the thrill of kissing. My mind wandered to the existence of condoms in his wallet.
“We could go there,” he eyed another exit door to our right.
I relished the thrill of fucking in public but couldn’t see a stranger as the designated partner more for sanitary reasons.
He freed his beast from the zipper and led me to hold his erected dick in my palm. It felt unappealingly not-too-well-endowed, which one would more or less associate with the average size of an Asian dick (no offence to Asians here!), contradictory to his tall and well built Latino physique. He pressed his hardened member against me and attempted to lift my short skirt up. I pulled his hand away.
At some stage, whilst a man from the bar passed us as he walked towards the rubbish chute with bags of rubbish. He turned back slightly to eye us.
Then Daniel’s left hand strayed from behind my neck and found its way to fondle my right boob. I grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away.
“Stay away from my breasts!” I jumped at him.
He backed off and threw his hands in mid-air. “Ok, ok, I won’t touch if you don’t like it!”
“Hey, it’s been more than two minutes now. Let’s go back up there!” I smiled.
We must have been away from Daisy for at least 15 minutes by now.
I looked down south and for the first time, saw the throbbing specimen with the wet tip that I have been groping before.
It’s pink! And it’s thin and not too long!
I would have imagined it to be brown given the tan of his complexion.
“Oh, kiss it first! Kiss it first please!” He begged lightly, making enticing (not!) kissy noises.
Thanks but no thanks. Not falling into your trap of shoving your pee stained dick into my mouth. And run the possibility of catching Hepatitis quite typical from that part of your world!
I put my palm to my lips, kissed it and transferred it down there.
“See, I kissed it!” I smiled dismissively. My body was half turning back to head in the direction of the Exit door to re-enter the bar.
He continued holding on to his erected dick and begged feebly for me to kiss it.
At this stage, I was getting bored.
I grabbed his dick and shoved it back into his open flyer trousers. He let out a light “ouch” and did up his zip with little choice.
I laughed and grabbed his hand to lead him back from where we came from.
I walked in front of him as I pushed open the exit door to lead us back into the dark corridor of the bar. Daniel lifted my skirt lightly from behind and stealthily slid his finger to feel the moistness of my female opening.
“What’s this?” He teased.
I pulled his hand lightly away and turned my head halfway around and gave him a slight smile.
We walked up the stairs in single file and without saying our formal goodbyes, I headed straight for the couch near the stairs where Daisy sat waiting tiredly and Daniel disappearing to the denseness of the dance floor, perhaps to hunt for another prey that he could get lucky for the night.
“Let’s go!” I said to Daisy.
“So how was it?” she asked excitedly.
"It was pink!” I exclaimed, scrunging my face in mock embarrassment.
“What? Really?” Daisy grew even more curious.
We burst out laughing.
Then we linked arms girlishly as we walked the streets and made our way back to the car.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Sad Town
There is something about Sad Town, a certain beauty that I have taken for granted for a good part of my twenty something years living there before I left it in exchange for a faster paced and energetic city in Sydney. And now I re-visit Sad Town with refreshed eyes…
Sad Town holds a lot of bitter sweet memories and pretty much summed up the emotional and financial struggle of that earlier part of my life living in Australia. It was first jointly shared with my then best friend Gina for the first year and then gradually taken over by DL. I associated this place with a lot of the pain, anxiety and angst I felt trapped in during those dark years living with DL. Then there was also the small minded, government type mentality where people work the routine 9am-5pm hours that I wanted to break out off. I was ambitious and thought this was no place for a career-minded young lady like me.
It’s been six months since I last visited Sad Town. The last time, I returned to the place with the Older Sibling to do a quick pack up of my belongings following my break up with DL. Again, it was a half-hearted attempt where between intervals of sieving through seven years worth of photos representing our joint existences, I stopped to hide my tears and blew my nose. I noticed too from the corner of my eye that DL’s feeble attempt at lightening the situation (again for my benefit) with his face turned from me was also to conceal his brim of tears.
****
This time, I grew a tad nostalgic. For the first time, I didn’t have to worry about not having a job for myself or for DL. Sad Town really looks quite beautiful.
I appreciate Sad Town’s consistency- ever so well planned a small city, the parks, the lake and the government buildings. I have left, changed and returned; the city has developed rapidly over the last few years but the people living here hardly changed. I see the same strangers that I saw in the cafes and shops that I go to since I first lived here in 1999. The soul of this place remains consistent.
Ironically, Sad Town is the only place that I have lived in my life that I could safely say that I actually know the geography well from one suburb to another. I could actually tell you which direction each suburb is located and I wouldn’t have a clue about a small island country like Singapore. In Sad Town, DL and I live on the main avenue which also made everything accessible- I have the Asian Town just across the other side of the avenue and the city a short 3 minutes drive away.
The other day, I returned to Sad Town for the big markets held on the first Sunday of each month. DL hadn’t been there for years since I left for the big city and asked me just to confirm it was indeed the first Sunday and not the last of the month. “Of course,” I replied without a shadow of doubt- Sad Town has a way of making me feel confident. We sometimes linked arms and then held hands lightly (perhaps to rekindle what we had before but just short of kissing) and stopped to buy a giant straw of flavoured licorice to share and chew on and the little home made snacks between looking at dogs, cats and poultry for sale. Then we headed to the wet markets to stock up on fresh and cheap groceries for the next few days, just like how we used to spend our Sundays as poor students before the hardening of our financial situations meant that DL had little choice but to work on that supposed rest day of the week.
****
It’s a typical peaceful late morning like any other day in Sad Town.
I sit before DL’s laptop now as I type this up and my Fluffball sleeps languidly on the bed-sitter next to me.
My heart feels at peace for the most part and I am beginning to fall in love with Sad Town again and living that simple life.
It’s not too bad really- a conducive place to read and write and launch the little projects I had always yearned to in those years where the practicality of our situation meant I always needed a real job.
I am beginning to appreciate the routine in Sad Town (which DL has used to highlight to me that it would do some good in restoring some order to our chaotic and cluttered lives).
I love waking up when DL’s alarm clock rings at 7.30am as I lay lazily in bed to bid him a great day at work. Then I fall back to sleep restlessly for another hour whilst the Fluffball sits patiently at my right leg on the bed to await me to take her on her daily morning walks. After that, I return home to feed the Fluffball and contemplate whether to give her a bath (which is a long affair given the length of her hair and the state of her matted-ness). Then I sit before the computer for a bit before deciding what to prepare for lunch as DL returns home at 1pm each day without fail to eat and take a short siesta.
I usually have the whole afternoon free to read and write, not unless my best friend Daisy comes to “disturb” me with a visit. Yesterday, we spent the entire afternoon at the beauty salon where we had our facial, body wrap and massage. Last week, she visited me in Sydney and we too sat naked in the day spa contemplating on our future paths post readings with a clairvoyant. On Monday night, we successfully pulled our other best friend, Tina out for a girls’ night at the Karaoke and she got so drunk, high and happy. Tina who is our age, has 3 kids and hasn’t been able to go out in years. She said she would really miss me when I am gone. Tonight, we’ll have yet another girls’ night out. Heh, heh…
So yeah, Sad Town has its charms. I feel a sense of domestic bliss from the rather simple life I lead here. I never had time to smell the roses in those years I lived here, always struggling to make ends meet. Today, I feel a sense of inner peace.
“Can I come and live with you for free until I find my footing again?” I asked DL teasingly.
“Of course. See I told you Sad Town is a great place to live. We knock off at 5.30pm and I am home in 2 minutes.”
*****
Last week and the week before seems like eons away.
I am so used to the idea now that I don’t have a job and almost think I could do with not returning to the corporate world again.
I almost feel amazed that my inner fear to constantly want to maintain a tight grip on my life is dissipating. For once, I might just take a punt at living the journey and not worry too much about the destination.
*****
Before I came last Saturday, I bought myself a one way ticket home in Sydney. I fly out in early July. For good.
But I reckon I might well be back. If so, Sad Town it would be.
We’ll see. Que sera sera.
There is something about Sad Town, a certain beauty that I have taken for granted for a good part of my twenty something years living there before I left it in exchange for a faster paced and energetic city in Sydney. And now I re-visit Sad Town with refreshed eyes…
Sad Town holds a lot of bitter sweet memories and pretty much summed up the emotional and financial struggle of that earlier part of my life living in Australia. It was first jointly shared with my then best friend Gina for the first year and then gradually taken over by DL. I associated this place with a lot of the pain, anxiety and angst I felt trapped in during those dark years living with DL. Then there was also the small minded, government type mentality where people work the routine 9am-5pm hours that I wanted to break out off. I was ambitious and thought this was no place for a career-minded young lady like me.
It’s been six months since I last visited Sad Town. The last time, I returned to the place with the Older Sibling to do a quick pack up of my belongings following my break up with DL. Again, it was a half-hearted attempt where between intervals of sieving through seven years worth of photos representing our joint existences, I stopped to hide my tears and blew my nose. I noticed too from the corner of my eye that DL’s feeble attempt at lightening the situation (again for my benefit) with his face turned from me was also to conceal his brim of tears.
****
This time, I grew a tad nostalgic. For the first time, I didn’t have to worry about not having a job for myself or for DL. Sad Town really looks quite beautiful.
I appreciate Sad Town’s consistency- ever so well planned a small city, the parks, the lake and the government buildings. I have left, changed and returned; the city has developed rapidly over the last few years but the people living here hardly changed. I see the same strangers that I saw in the cafes and shops that I go to since I first lived here in 1999. The soul of this place remains consistent.
Ironically, Sad Town is the only place that I have lived in my life that I could safely say that I actually know the geography well from one suburb to another. I could actually tell you which direction each suburb is located and I wouldn’t have a clue about a small island country like Singapore. In Sad Town, DL and I live on the main avenue which also made everything accessible- I have the Asian Town just across the other side of the avenue and the city a short 3 minutes drive away.
The other day, I returned to Sad Town for the big markets held on the first Sunday of each month. DL hadn’t been there for years since I left for the big city and asked me just to confirm it was indeed the first Sunday and not the last of the month. “Of course,” I replied without a shadow of doubt- Sad Town has a way of making me feel confident. We sometimes linked arms and then held hands lightly (perhaps to rekindle what we had before but just short of kissing) and stopped to buy a giant straw of flavoured licorice to share and chew on and the little home made snacks between looking at dogs, cats and poultry for sale. Then we headed to the wet markets to stock up on fresh and cheap groceries for the next few days, just like how we used to spend our Sundays as poor students before the hardening of our financial situations meant that DL had little choice but to work on that supposed rest day of the week.
****
It’s a typical peaceful late morning like any other day in Sad Town.
I sit before DL’s laptop now as I type this up and my Fluffball sleeps languidly on the bed-sitter next to me.
My heart feels at peace for the most part and I am beginning to fall in love with Sad Town again and living that simple life.
It’s not too bad really- a conducive place to read and write and launch the little projects I had always yearned to in those years where the practicality of our situation meant I always needed a real job.
I am beginning to appreciate the routine in Sad Town (which DL has used to highlight to me that it would do some good in restoring some order to our chaotic and cluttered lives).
I love waking up when DL’s alarm clock rings at 7.30am as I lay lazily in bed to bid him a great day at work. Then I fall back to sleep restlessly for another hour whilst the Fluffball sits patiently at my right leg on the bed to await me to take her on her daily morning walks. After that, I return home to feed the Fluffball and contemplate whether to give her a bath (which is a long affair given the length of her hair and the state of her matted-ness). Then I sit before the computer for a bit before deciding what to prepare for lunch as DL returns home at 1pm each day without fail to eat and take a short siesta.
I usually have the whole afternoon free to read and write, not unless my best friend Daisy comes to “disturb” me with a visit. Yesterday, we spent the entire afternoon at the beauty salon where we had our facial, body wrap and massage. Last week, she visited me in Sydney and we too sat naked in the day spa contemplating on our future paths post readings with a clairvoyant. On Monday night, we successfully pulled our other best friend, Tina out for a girls’ night at the Karaoke and she got so drunk, high and happy. Tina who is our age, has 3 kids and hasn’t been able to go out in years. She said she would really miss me when I am gone. Tonight, we’ll have yet another girls’ night out. Heh, heh…
So yeah, Sad Town has its charms. I feel a sense of domestic bliss from the rather simple life I lead here. I never had time to smell the roses in those years I lived here, always struggling to make ends meet. Today, I feel a sense of inner peace.
“Can I come and live with you for free until I find my footing again?” I asked DL teasingly.
“Of course. See I told you Sad Town is a great place to live. We knock off at 5.30pm and I am home in 2 minutes.”
*****
Last week and the week before seems like eons away.
I am so used to the idea now that I don’t have a job and almost think I could do with not returning to the corporate world again.
I almost feel amazed that my inner fear to constantly want to maintain a tight grip on my life is dissipating. For once, I might just take a punt at living the journey and not worry too much about the destination.
*****
Before I came last Saturday, I bought myself a one way ticket home in Sydney. I fly out in early July. For good.
But I reckon I might well be back. If so, Sad Town it would be.
We’ll see. Que sera sera.
