Restructure- on your own terms

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Am 10 mins away from boarding time.

Hopefully to a life of new adventures. Some adventure of a lifetime!

Only 3 sms texts reeved consecutively last night- Evie (my new found friend from my beauty therapies- my beautician actually accessed my records to find my number to send me well wishes), Big M and then V (who cautioned light-heartedly for me not to pick up "ang mohs" at the monastery).

Next stopover at Bangkok and then onwards to Kathmandu.

Wish me luck- one needs heaps when travelling...

May serendipity and peace comes my way.

Readers, no news from P may well be good news. 39 days of pilgrimage and retreat!

See you guys then at the "arrival hall" of inner peace! Until then, have a great month ahead!:)

The Night before the Pilgrimage

I haven't slept well in the last two nights.

In less than five hours, I am supposed to wake up to get ready for my flight to the place of spirituality.

I haven't finished writing “Ballatine” and most importantly, “How deep is your love?”.

The latter might never be written. It was about my thoughts and feelings for the Old Boy.

I have been insomniac of late because I know the pilgrimage would be an arduous path for me, spiritually and physically.

I have so much love for the Old Boy, so much angst. But guess I have been good. We haven't communicated since he bid me farewell via sms last Thursday and I replied back a standard thanks and have a safe trip message. Easy for him but painful for me in the weaning off process.

We know old habits are hard to break and there are more to come for cleansing. One part of me anticipate and hope for that relief of my earthly suffering called Dukka and another part of me find it too unbearable to let go. My heart continues to squeeze hard and I find myself having difficulty to sleep. To top it off, my muscles and nerves hadn't been well aligned and sore. I have been on intensive Chinese traditional medicine and physical therapy for the past three weeks. It's even hard to alter the habit of my sleeping position, let alone the errant heart that has a way of its own.

Bedtime has been a constant struggle with the devil. With the impending arrival of the big pilgrimage trip, my feelings and thoughts cling on tighter to the memory and attachment I have for the Big Boy. I haven't been too well at all but the least I could do and have control over is not making contact for now, I guess.

****

Dearest Old Boy,

I love you so much. Typing this brings tears to my eyes.

I cannot say more. I love you with the bottom of my heart but it's been painful. So painful that I lost control big time in my life, my work and yes, my self-respect. But maybe I needed a shake-up since I am hardly a machine and I was just a pressure cooker waiting to explode. You know my story from way back, you know me. Maybe too well that you know what buttons to push to make me hurt real bad and that's how I crumbled.

I didn't know how we would end when we first started. I was having a good run for my feelings with you. But the futility of this relationship, I knew somethings got to give somehow someday... I thought non-exclusivity would work for both of us, given our situation and I could focus on putting our egos aside and loving each other for what we really are. But the relationship could barely stand any tests...

I hear that voice in my head for the past six months as I lay restless and sleepless in bed, that sad and helpless voice that could barely help herself to snap out of her predicament, reiterating, “I love you, I love you, I love you... will do anything for you...if you want me back again...”

You have never said you loved me, maybe cos you never did. I remembered you taunting me shortly after our break up that you never loved me. It was your pride. I always remember the words but not well enough to keep my pride away from you. Even your manipulation, I let you get away with, knowing full well the psychological tricks you play on me to gain an upper hand. Remember we used to hold the thieves' honour cos we were birds of feathers? But still, I let you because I never counted scores hard enough with you.

I was advised by those close around me to forget you and cut you off for good, as you know. Remember your bad habits, your polygamy and to have more self-respect from mixing with you when you are lacking in that and sold yourself low. I am down-valuing myself and ironically, on the first day we met remember Art Fart who shot her mouth at me and asked me what my value was?

But still I only choose to see the good side of you and the endless possibilities that you could have made for yourself. I love you so much that I want things to happen for you- that music cafe you always wanted and then the food business which I would want to be there for you in a heartbeat to make it into a reality... simply because I love you and because I know you well enough to understand you would need encouraging and egging along to follow through with confidence...

The so-called love you claimed you have received from the wife, the mistress, the namesake and the low lives... I never quite understand... what have they done to fight for their love by you and for you? I am not comparing but I never understood them... people who are fond of engaging in trivial, jealous lovers' tiffs and maybe the wife who never quite understand you, just like how you probably could have let your heart make that one important life decision of marriage for you instead of letting your head and coupled with that moment of weakness from your trip back to Brunei.. Losing that wedding band the week before the wedding was a bad omen, followed by replacing it with another, only to find the old one a year later. You have two wedding bands now, like the duality of your life now.Meaningful relationships as you know is what I treasure.... I thought I could give that to you and you to me since we were good friends first...

It's senseless rambling here cos my eyes are going puffy from crying and I should really consider sleep. Too much emotions and I am finding a loss of words to express them to you.

I gotta go and get myself well again.

This pilgrimage- I anticipate with fervour but also pain... if I get well, it means I have let you go. I cannot handle this thought for now. But if I don't get better, I don't know what else could heal and fix me...

The watch that you gave me is like you watching and timing me... how ironic- you always being there and a little hard to shake off even if I have any intention to (but unfortunately not) since I, too am your weekday morning habit. You have since eased into relying on me in cyberspace to fill up the void and meaninglessness of your work time...

Called me “an unwanted stalker” you did. Guess how I found out? Ironies of ironies! I didn't. It found me. That voice in my head pointed me at 1 a.m in the morning when I had absolutely no intention or interest to be a web detective (because I couldn't afford to fuck myself around anymore with my frail nerves) and voila, there it was. Still, I let you off cos I like to think that you have every right to your own creative outlet as I do with mine. But most importantly, I never bear grudges cos I love you.

I have said enough “I love yous"-it's beginning to sound blasé, like something I am fond of uttering carelessly so I would say no more.

Bye now- I do hate goodbyes cos' I hate finality. But I have a new journey to embark on... it's going to be an uphill struggle for me but I need to put myself back in the grind...

Didn't your bible says “What doesn't kills makes a man stronger”? I would like to think that although I was hanging on to my dear life as I fell from the tight rope, I am still surviving.

Guess, this is enough comfort for me that there is still room for some salvation. Us Buddhists believe in harnessing strength from within ourselves to build up our core so tomorrow, I will begin that self-healing journey...

But do pray for me- I will need strength. Guess that's the least you could do for me even if you never loved me...

That's not too much to ask from you, is there?

The Compulsive Gambler Part II
(Sequel to “The Compulsive Gambler”)

At the spa in Holland Village, the Old Boy and I were awkward as I undressed. I turned my back against him.

It didn't help that the dynamics between our Mainlander Chinese masseuses and us were more than uneasy. I got the feeling that they were attempting to make sense of the relationship between the Old Boy and me. Our elicit dynamics and uneasy body language towards basic communication with each other must have made our intimate onlookers curious. The masseuses were less than professional and didn't take us through the steps of the treatments; there were communication problems and they needed prompting from me since I was the one who could speak Mandarin. Being completely naked with two strangers (who did little to ease me into comfort for a really body conscious P) and the Old Boy (now a half stranger) in the same room, my spirits were going downhill.

My masseuse and the Old Boy's masseuse were hardly in sync and I always ended my treatment before he finished his. After the ginger scrub, I was motioned to sit in the private spa in the room to soak up in the milk bath whilst I watched the Old Boy still stuck on the treatment bed finishing up his scrub. It was all very awkward and I didn't feel that the service was discreet enough and they did little to ease me into comfort. When his scrub was done, I had to double check with the masseuse as to whether she was going to leave both of us alone in the room for a while and when exactly should I be expecting them two to return and what should we do next to prepare for our massage.

Finally, the Old Boy joined me fully naked in the spa albeit with some reluctant awkwardness. We sat in the water making small conversation. He told me how he hated the taste of ginger given childhood memories of being punished by the Chinese amahs in the household who babysitted him where he was made to chew on small pieces of them when he was naughty. He then mentioned a hot and burning sensation on his neck from the ginger scrub. I reached over and gently touched his neck and examine the slight abrasion.Then I kissed him gently on his lips before sliding my tongue into his mouth to interact with his.

As expected, the Old Boy's kisses were lacklustre. I withdrew my tongue and looked at him sadly. I got the sense that he must have felt violated by me although once upon a time, he probably could not wait for me to touch him. We held hands lightly under the water and he squeezed my hand a little. I knew he was obliging me. The Compulsive Gambler in me by this stage felt that I was losing fast and big time at this hand of poker. Losing my cool, I did the unthinkable- I showed hand....

Defeated. That was what I felt. Instead of withdrawing away from him, I laid on his chest and wrapped my arms around him. It must be my last emphatic plea. I tilted my face upwards and planted a peck on the right cheek. Then I searched his face quietly.

“I miss you, Darling.” I rested one side of my head on his chest.

The Old Boy squeezed my hand.

“You know that, don't you?” I repeated feebly.

The Old Boy nodded vaguely without a smile.

I laid on his chest for a bit longer until I felt I outlived his emotional charity.

My heart was heavy and I felt that heart squeeze once more.

I was short of speaking my mind and hung on with what little was left of my last ounce of pride.

I love you very much Darling. Couldn't you give me another chance?

I rested one hand on his thigh. He didn't touch me.

The Old Boy decided to break the tension and attempted to change the topic to something light. Then he decided that the spa was getting too hot for his comfort and decided to get up and go for a shower.

I sat alone in the spa and the unbearable depression overcame me once more. I was becoming withdrawn and sat in the water hugging my knees, staring into space. I held my breath to prevent my tears from swelling up my eyes. At this stage, we supposedly still had ten minutes of private time before the masseuses came in for the next treatment.

I got in to shower when it was my turn and noticed the reflection of my pathetic face in the mirror. The make up on my left eye was smudged black from lying on the Old Boy's wet chest. Loser. I wiped hard at the stain. My mouth hardened and crooked to my right in despair.

When I got out into the room, I saw the Old Boy pacing up and down the room. I walked towards him and hugged him affectionately from behind. I found him furiously texting on his mobile phone away. I turned away knowing full well it would be that Mistress of his or my namesake (an ex-fuck buddy of long ago who coincidentally shares the same exact name, surname and profession as yours truly). I could do worse, putting myself vis-a-vis some of his low life female friends. I turned away resignedly.

“We should get the masseuse to come in now.” The Old Boy turned his body towards me and recomposed himself.

I complied weakly. At this stage, I had become withdrawn and conceded that harbouring any hopes of reconciliation could only seek to compound my pain.

I have acted beneath me and sunk down deep enough.

*****

Having a thousand depressing thoughts darting across my head during my not-too-satisfactory massage, I got out with feeling anything but relaxed.It didn't help that I also requested for firm treatment and was constantly feeling the finger pressures of pain on my sore and tender skin. I took it out on the feedback form and began giving my two cents' worth of how the establishment could better improve their services on discreet and professionalism. My spirits felt weak with defeat.

The Old Boy must have sensed my mood and threaded with caution. Attempting to mitigate the situation, he wondered out loud and rambled on about dinner possibilities at Michaelangelo's or Original Sin but flagged that he hadn't made a reservation yet for us. His voice flew past my ears since at this stage, I had lost my appetite and any nice or fanciful places he would desire to take me out of any good intentions (given that he was actually broke) would have been rightly or wrongly be interpreted by me as his way of repaying me for the afternoon treat at the day spa. There was no way I could find excuses to appease myself. You must know I hate to become a case of pity or charity.

I paid the manager in cash, together with the tips the Old Boy handed over for me to give our masseuse. At this stage, I was too disheartened to debate as a usually critical P over the justification to warrant rewarding extras to be given that the quality of professionalism to my standards was not mad. As I was crashed by my own emotions, I left the reception without asking back for my own change. As you can tell, a Compulsive Gambler who doesn't exercise focus and discipline can easily incur financial losses of the careless kind.

As we got out of the establishement, the Old Boy walked behind me and put his hands on my waist and squeezed it cheekily (or was it patronisingly?).

“Thanks dear for the afternoon,” he whispered affectionately.

At this stage, nothing could assuage my sadness. I smiled weakly back at him to loosen up the tension. God knows why when the hurt was committed on me.

*****

We were still early for dinner when we reached our destination.

“Darling, it's quite expensive to eat at XYZ Restaurant isn't it? I don't want you to spend so much money,” I said gently.

“Remember I used to tell you about the place and how good the food is? You know that I have meant to take you to XYZ Restaurant in the longest while.” As usual, the softness of his voice has a way of weakening my heart and yielding to him once more.

The Old Boy went into the restaurant to make reservations and then took me to the neighbouring row of shops to browse at upmarket utensils, cookbooks, baking items and gourmet deli food. As we walked around the shops, I noted that he continued being kept busy with his texting on the mobile phone. I had resigned to fate that I wasn't going to get his undivided attention like eons ago.

Instead, I texted V occasionally to fill in the gaps since I already knew what the advice my best friend would strongly serve me back to execute and sever my pain would be. It didn't help that I had absentmindedly dissed her and didn't realised that she was meaning to spend dinner time with me.

*****
Seated at the dining table, I noted that the Old Boy continued his anti-social behaviour where he could not get his hands off his mobile phone. Busily texting away, I noticed on several occasions that he had a hard time in hiding his angry emotions (which I first witnessed a week before when he returned to the bar to join Cathy and me after taking a phone call), shaking his head frustratedly post receiving and reading a text. It must have been a case of him engaging in his senseless lovers' tiff with the Mistress or my Namesake that I had always found mindless and beneath me when he tried to provoked me into one.

I sat there quietly and uneasily. My heart felt burdened like lead. I was treated like I did not exist and I found myself first compromising my already dwindling position with him.

After several replied sms-es from the other end, the Old Boy finally looked up and smiled.

“It's home again hurrying me to get back.”

“What time do you need to be home?”

“8.30pm.”

“Ok then.”

I wasn't 100% convinced it was his wife given the consecutive smses that was taking place the whole of the afternoon up till this point.

As a Compulsive Gambler, I have lost all my emotional chips, what could I do but to have some faith and take his words for it since I have already fallen? There was the option to keep believing (the power of blind faith) that you could make a comeback or cut your losses.

I wasn't emotionally ready to do the latter. I remained seated tightly on the not-so-hot seat.

*****
The Old Boy was rushing for time to get home.

First off, he had to drop me off near V's place where I had proposed to meet her.

On the highway, the Old Boy's phone rang. Anxiously, he picked it up.

“No. I already told you I had company function!” His tone was defensive and hostile.

I remembered this tone all too well during an incident where we were having our rendezvous also on a Friday night at our usual hangout. The wife had called to check if he was coming home for dinner and the same defensive excuse was used that he had already told her about his client entertainment plans at “a comedy club”. Indeed, he was going to a comedy club later post our tryst but his “clients” were non other than V, her boyfriend and me.

The Old Boy turned to me and tried lightening up his mood.

“My maid just called to ask if I was coming home for dinner. Heh. Don't think I could eat anymore after the amount of food we ate!”


Busted. Liar. That was his wife. The smses were his mistress or the ex-fuck buddy (and maybe current too). I noted his lies.

Still, the Compulsive Gambler remained silent and even managed a weak smile.

“Yeah, don't think you could eat anymore. You are stuffed with all the food we ordered.”


The Compulsive Gambler was too sucked into the game of poker. She lost her bargaining power by playing her cards ironically too close to her heart (and not with her head) and let the swindler got away.

*****

When I got off the car, the Old Boy gave me a friendly cheek to cheek goodbye. No french kisses or even a contact of his lips on my cheek.

My heart was gripped with pain once more as I said my goodbyes.

Then I remembered the “clandestine injury” he had bestowed upon me and of which I have chanced upon uncannily due to sheer coincidence. Or rather my sixth sense. I never confronted him about it. In self-denial, I let the matter slide.

Fool. The Swindler got the Compulsive Gambler. Lovefool and Ultimate Fool- I have allowed myself to be.

Now I understand what people meant when they say they sometimes even lose self-respect from love.

Now I finally get it.

*****

On the very first day when I finally met the Old Boy, he gave me a pair of Morgan et toi black see-through panties folded neatly in a red and pink gift box. The empty box is still on my desk. It says:

Dreams Comes True
Don't try so hard, the best things come
when you least expect them to.


I believe in the above. Beginner's Luck, yes that's what I buy.

Take it from the Compulsive Gambler though, there is only one way to go from thereon when one gets hooked to winning and starts losing control, finally reduced to becoming all too ready to show hand.

Look at me now. I am down on luck

Moving Along

All work and no play makes P a very dull girl. As a lady of leisure, I found myself in this paradoxical state- neither do I work nor play. Well, guess I work a few hours on week days on my own initiatives and the beauty of it is that my timing is flexible. But with the luxury of time on my hands, I noticed a dwindling number of friends to play with since miraculously, the friends who used not to have a job and had all the time in the world to indulge me in late night drinking and parties have now got themselves a real full time job. V also no longer lives close to me and B is now married and will from hereon remain a social hermit.I don't even get to see her very much anymore. Falling out of favour with the Old Boy also means that he wasn't about to bend backwards for me, even if I became the doormat, my social activities were dependent on his willingness to oblige me. The past three weeks, I have waited on the sidelines with little success.

Still trying to mend my tattered heart from the Old Boy, I find my emotional self being caught in a mental fix. On one hand, I am frisky and itching for intimacy. I haven't had any real intimacy since March- the Argentinian doesn't quite count. On the other hand, I have found myself losing interest in sex. Not sex per se but sex with anyone apart from the Old Boy. It's been hindering my bedtime fantasies since I would only want him to be that character in my dreams but at the same time, I have been trying to abstain from indulging in reminiscing about him. It's a strange dilemma I find myself being caught in- my physical desires are being barricaded by my emotions. I am even too disheartened to DIY with the vibrator and I find myself losing my mojo.

*****

On Thursday, I received a text from the Old Boy:

Hello good morn. I drive up to I*** tomolo morn n don't tink i'll see u nor communicate until u get back from yr hiatus. Have a gd trip dear. Take care ok?

My best friends have been really sick and tired of my strong feelings for the Old Boy where I worked myself into emotional knots. Even my Old Boy-breaks-my-heart is getting a tad stale for myself and I am beginning to hate me heaps. So there, I thought this occasion might well be timely for me to wean myself off him before I fly off for my pilgrimage next Thursday. Thirty-nine days of non-communication might well be a circuit breaker to break all bad habits. You see, for the past year and a half, the Old Boy rarely have a complete break from communicating with each other, especially online and apart from the childish incident of the washing machine. I was his weekdays 9.am habit as he was my 11a.m Aussie time habit.

My heart grew heavy with the thought but I had gritted determination since I am becoming aware of my out-of-hand condoning/ weakling/ soft behaviour towards the Old Boy. It was getting all too emotionally unhealthy and heart wrenching for me to handle. If I didn't do anything to extricate myself from my irrational behaviour, I will be going down. I can't afford to.

*****
As if heaven (with flexible morals) is also getting bored with my lack of new romantic adventures to re-enact, that very evening, very coincidentally, yours truly found new play.

(More to be unravelled in the next post).

The Compulsive Gambler

I have a “Complusive Gambler's theory” that ties in with human behaviour. Instead of cutting one's losses, one often does the opposite- up one's stakes and hope to recoup one's losses. Similarly, savvy financiers have also highlighted in wealth creation books about the ease for most investors to grasp the timing concept of buying an investment but not when to sell. Here, the virtue of “patience” in waiting and/or throwing in more capital to hold on to it longer is used as justification to bid one's time in order to chase that lost dollar. But really, if one is stop and think what's happening here, it's likely a case of one's emotions acting up one's sensibilities. This is closely linked to the human ego that further exacerbates the the human condition of finding it hard to let go.

There is little wonder why it's so easy for one to jump into a relationship but often trickier to get out even when it is heading or has already headed into a dead end. It's more familiar to put up with a challenging arrangement despite the discomfort than to simply say, fuck it, let go and be relieved of any suffering.

Ironic eh? Still, humans have the tendency to behave in this stupid manner.

Well, this is simply because one's EMOTIONS are very good at fucking up one's actions.

*****

I am not excepted from the above theory.

In a bid to win or re-coup one's losses, the Compulsive Gambler continues to up her stakes.

Ever heard that the higher the stakes, the harder the Compulsive Gambler falls?

I am emotionally bankrupt to date. The Compulsive Gambler in me is still revelling in my January 2008 emotional “win” where I was the high roller with the beginner's luck.

Despite having lost the Old Boy since March 2008, I have been upping my stakes, surpassing my usual pride threshold.Simply because I wanted the Old Boy to love me too. Or at least I was hoping to recover his level of pampering and showering me with affection prominent at the peak of his emotions for me- since he has confessed when we broke up that he never loved me.

Every so often, I make a conscious effort to block the Old Boy with various degrees of short-lived success and methods to prevent him from affecting my nerves.

But for the most part, I wait and suffer, like the Compulsive Gambler, still hoping to make a come back.

On quiet nights, I drift to sleep with fond and agonising thoughts of the Old Boy and wake up with some more.

I love the Old Boy, if not more with time.

******

The nights filled with angst and the mornings where I woke up but with my face buried in the pillow; too afraid to face up to another day of reality, I find myself suffering incoherently. That's how I exist on most days.

Lying in bed, rhetorical questions continue to clutter my thoughts.

I love the Old Boy. I think I could even love his children. I even accept every flaws of his, vile ones included. I take the good and bad of him, simple because I love you Darling.

A number of times, the Old Boy even managed to successfully make me take the humble pie and apologise to him grudgingly (of things I didn't feel guilty of) with threats of never talking to me again. You must know, I hate to apologise, especially where I didn't feel that I am at fault.

These irrational emotions I am experiencing has defeated my usual self-denfensive armour- in the form of my usual assertive combination of rationalisation and cynicism.


*****
I learnt the Old Boy has been broke lately and living frugally.

The provider in me didn't like the sound of it. I felt bad that while I was having a great time pampering myself at the beauty parlour on a weekly basis, the Old Boy has been limiting his lunch expenditure to $2.20. Despite so, he had mentioned about getting me a watch for my pilgrimage because his watch wouldn't fit my slim wrist.

“But I didn't get you a birthday present.” Everytime I wanted to shop for one, he would have made me upset and I would renew my resolutions to forget him.

“We are not counting scores ok? I just want to give you a present for your pilgrimage.”

“ Yeah, but I did remember I didn't buy you a present. Besides, the present I have been looking for you, I don't think I can find the right one.

By the way, do you need a massage?”

“:P”

“I am asking a real question.”

“If you need me to answer it in capital letters...YES.”

“OK, I will book us one this Friday if you are free.”

“These things are not cheap, dear. Don't spend money like that, a simple meal would do.”

“It's not expensive lah. Anyway, I need one too so I'll book one for us.”

“You're so sweet. You make it sound like it's a buy one get one free deal and that I am just tagging along.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, to make me feel less bad about accepting it.”

“Don't worry about it. You were good to me before.”

Finally, I booked a spa package for couples.

The Old Boy has flagged that he had family stuff and most likely cannot spend time with me for dinner after the spa session.

That was fine I told him. I didn't dare expect anyway, having known already that the triumph card has long slipped out of my hand. I was just happy that we get to spend some time alone together at all.

Shortly, the Old Boy texted back to say he would find some excuse at home so that he could take me to dinner. Naturally, I was happy with the initiative- once it was a given (where at my whim, I would only have to be mindful of his sensitivities by minimising my other extra social activities that caused him much discomfort, especially since my male friends outnumber my female friends) but now I wait hopefully on the sidelines. What would you like to eat, he had asked. Just not in Holland Village, he had cautioned me given that the area was familiar territory with high prospects of bumming into people. It was up to him- he could decide that for us, I told him. But don't spend too much money.

*****

On the day, he picked me up at my house for the spa. Serendipitously, Mum wasn't home. It was the second consecutive Friday where I had the entire house to myself. I invited him to come in while I got dressed. He declined and chose to wait in the car instead.

The previous Friday, the Old Boy had also declined my invitation to come visit me despite light attempts of luring him with food (since he hasn't been eating well). I waited for his call until I could no longer do so since I would go stir crazy staying at home, hoping and waiting for him. I finally texted him, to which he promptly returned my call and said he was on his way home to his domestics. He must have noted my disappointment but attempted to lighten up the mood and tension on the phone. I began with asking him whineyly why he didn't ring me blah, blah where the echo from my empty house sounded to him on the other end of the line like a raised voice. Of which then, I buried my sad face in the cushion where I laid on the stiff Chinese sofa and mumbled sadly.

In the past, I am sure that the Old Boy would been excited at the opportunity of entering my house where there are enough rooms (I could think of six non-out-of -bound ones), nooks and crannies for us to get up to some serious hanky pankering. It also helps that all the windows in my house are tinted. Three-stories of fun. There are so many ideas for some real play-the dining table, the baby grand piano, the bath tub, my room where my toys are kept. The list goes on...

I have never ever really invited or proposed for a guy to enter my house for intimacy. I find that rather disrespectful to my parents. Even the ex-lover, M was invited as a guest to stay at my house when he visited Singapore.

I didn't know what I was hoping I could get out of the Old Boy coming to my place, perhaps just hoping that maybe we could be together in a private place where I could put my head on his shoulder and hold him tight. I didn't dare think about the rest. I would be elated for him to take me back as his girl again.

(Dear Readers, more stupidity to come from this Compulsive Gambler later in Part 2.)

Brides and Weddings

They say that the bride always looks her best in her wedding.

I think so too.

I haven't been to many weddings of my peers to date. Only B's. She did look gorgeous.

Someone found the photo album site of the Big Boy's wedding and pointed me to take a look.

As curious as a cat can be, I took a trip down that information highway.

The bride looks beautiful in the photos. I am just not sure if I like the look of the church. Set in black and white, the background where they kissed, my peripheral view seemed to alter my perception and I keep imagining the existence of a coffin in the background, with Jesus Christ on the cross hanging from the ceiling.

But important thing is, they look happy in the pictures.

As the cliché goes, a picture says a thousand words. Yes, for the moment.

I wonder if the Old Boy's wife too looked just as good-looking and happy on their big day more than ten years ago.

Marriage better last since weddings are expensive. Then the exercise gets even more costly thereafter.

V nearly had her big day last year, except that she called it off. She had cold feet after putting on the wedding dress specially tailored for her, stared at herself in the mirror and knew she couldn't do it. Thank goodness, it was just a loss of deposit for the wedding reception and the costs of 2 gowns. Better to apply the brakes before the deal is done, sealed and delivered if one isn't too sure.

Tomorrow, I have been asked by a good friend, Stephy to accompany her to try on wedding gowns. I happen to be one of the bridesmaids for her wedding. Second time in less than a year. I hope that everything's going to be blissful for her.

I heard that there is this superstition that if a girl becomes a bridesmaid for more than three times, she will remain a spinster. Then there is also the Korean superstition that if a bridesmaid does not get married within a year, she will also remain single for the rest of her life.

Tough luck for me then. Ain't seeing any wedding bells ringing my way anytime soon.

Scar

I have this scar
that still hurts
comical it was
how I fell

in my hoity toity
four inched heels
my sinking foot
twisted and tripped

genuflected on right knee
his firm hand
gripped my arm
left knee spared

it cut and bled
wound he washed
my history tattooed
in two centremetres

I have this scar
that still hurts
March I fell
it's now July

Picking Me Up

Since my return, I have tried focusing on my physical and spiritual well being.

A few exciting things seem to be brewing on the career front. It is likely that I might be able to work for myself in the near future. The thought of returning to corporate life and working for others still has a way of gripping my heart and sending palpitations of the unpleasant kind. It's a kind of phobia I have had as an employee for not being in control of my own destiny.

I am quite surprised to find that I haven't been working for nearly two months now. The initial days of discomfort I felt for having such luxurious freedom has now been dispelled and insiduously been transformed into a quiet sense of self-satisfaction. I am finally making peace with myself of not measuring my own capabilities with how well I could manage the expectations of others or worry about other people's problems that I have absolutely little interest in. I have always been an individualistic person, a bit larger- than- life but the feeling of being strait-jacketed in my day-to-day movements at work has mellowed me quite a bit and I found my personality diminishing slowly each day. I was losing that magic touch.

I need to recover my passion. Perhaps this is the dawn of salvation for my wretched soul- I need to start thinking of my own ambitions and transforming it into a reality . For once, I am freed from that sense of restlessness, dissatisfaction and anxiety I have experienced one too often in my life as a working adult since moving to Sydney from Sad Town.

So yeah, I have been indulging in myself, mostly alone since most of my friends are hard at work in the day. I have been going for my weekly, sometimes twice weekly body massages, flesh eating fish massages, Chinese accupuncture and back massages, reflexology, facials and beauty treatments. Then there are my regular morning or evening jogging to the beach, after-dinner strolls with my parents and working for myself from my father's office daily. Life has been set up with quite a routine.

My heart remains weak. Yes, I am still stirred and tormented by the attachment of my emotions. Suffering, I am- still hankering after my hey days with the Old Boy. My emotions going free willy. My heart still skips a bit when I see him- I still let him have a hold over me despite what little he feels for me. My nights in bed gets unbearable when I lay in bed, a thousand thoughts flying across my head, my heart in knots and making futile sense on the intensity of my feelings for him.

I realised that the number of massages or facials I have had to attempt rejuvenating and relaxing my being have been proved useless. Ironically, I lie on the beauty bed with a swarm of thoughts darting in and out of my head. I even try meditating or blanking out during these sessions, yielding minimal results before switching to friendly attempts at engaging my masseuse or beauticians to distract my mind.

In less than two weeks, I will head off for a more than month-long pilgrammage to a monastery where I hope to achieve inner peace, understand my suffering, yes that Dukka and hopefully dispel it. Then I would take in the sights of the mystic and culturally rich country before trekking to the region's most revered mountain tracks. Maybe I might then be operation-ready to kick off and launch my dream once I re-boot and re-stablise my core that has long gone haywire.

*****

For my pilgrammage, the Old Boy gave me his digital watch that he wore to run a marathon before he turned 40 a few years ago- so that I could keep time and could spare myself from ruining my diamond dial Longines watch given by DL which I wear faithfully each day, even when I jog. Oh, he also bought me the little metal notepad with the 60s pin-up girl (and a matching metal business card case) to jot down any notes of inspiration for my grand journey.

I thought I was supposed to go solo on this spiritual journey. Cut the world out and start afresh.

But the Old Boy continues to linger near.

Picking me up but ironically, bringing me down.

My dukka. Will my soul ever find peace if I don't set myself down and do the inevitable?

Still , I allow my heart to rule my actions.

Girlfriends

Listen, you all! I don't enjoy heart palpitations or squeezes!

In fact, I have been spending some time trying to get my health and well being on track. My Chinese physician has mentioned that I have a weak heart. Physically, not emotionally, mind you!

I am getting really quite sick of feeling down and sick of myself.

I really can't go on like this. I am stuck in January 2008.

Now I feel like going for an intense jog and run hard for my life. Dispel that perpetual shadow that clings on strongly to the fibres of my emotions, which echoes continously, “ But I love him... I can't help it... I love him... I so very much love him... I don't know what to do... shit, what the fuck is wrong with me...Someone Up there please help me... I love him... I can't help it...”

I even detect his bare faced lies before me.

You must know that P's mind moves faster than a bullet hitting its target. Sharp and swift as a throat slitting knife. She hasn't yet lost her marbles, much as she wished she did at times.

I did not interrogate him as a fiesty P is wont to do.

I managed a weak smile- even after having been taken a fool. On me knowingly.

Condoner, I am.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

What the fucking fuck?


*****

I am grateful that I have best girlfriends like V and B.

I really do.

So there I was getting myself into a senseless emotional fix. Again, self-inflicted.

V came to my rescue.

I was out of my mind to forget that I have promised to spend the entire Friday evening with V, including dinner. Instead, I let the Old Boy take me out for dinner.

What was I thinking? I actually dissed my best friend.

Still, V was cool. She bought me drinks for the night. Then she proceeded to ask what was wrong with me and what was it that I have done when I forewarned her to refrain from scolding me prior to confession. I cannot keep anything from my best friends.

For the first time in my life, I committed the obvious mistake and even took care to avoid self- confession to my best friend until I have done the deed. It was beginning to spell a bad sign.

Thank goodness, I still experienced guilt, which means to say I haven't lost my self-awareness.

V took the story calmly and asked me sensible and logical questions to assist me in facing up to myself and reality. Still, my heart was getting the better of part of me where my pragmatic and cynical faculties have ceased to connect.

Why am I so stupid? I must have asked her a dozen times for the night both rhetorically and searching for an answer. This would be punctuated with my venting “urrghhhs” in out-of -the-blue mid-sentences, similar to the level of frustration and shame I experienced that typically led to my typical pillow bashing sessions at home.

Intervention, V proposed. V would make my decisions for me from now on, especially social ones suggested beyond 6pm since I am incapable of restraint or sound decision making. She continously drummed the two Chinese idioms in my head that somewhat translates literally into the following- “To chop the grass, you need to get rid of the root.” and “a good horse never returns to eat the grass it has previously passed.”

I was still useless all night.

But you know what?

Your best friends never give up on being there for you.

So thank you V for being there for me!

Insomnia

They say that exercising helps one to sleep better.

It doesn't seem to work for me. I have been exercising almost everyday.

For some really strange reason, no matter what time I go to bed, I find myself waking up at around 4.30a.m everyday. I tried to make a mental check to determine whether it is merely a case of jet lag but my last few weeks spent in Australia saw me streteched my waking hours beyond 10a.m. That makes it 8a.m Singapore time.

It has since become a daily ritual. I would have a hard time falling back to sleep after that. Then comes 6.50a.m, the alarm clock rings when I am just about to fall asleep, only that it is time for me to get up and run to the beach.

The two hours lying in bed must be the darkest hours. I am almost getting a bedtime phobia, knowing full well that I am being roused to awakeness at the ungodly hour.

Last Night in Sydney

I'm feeling a little strange.

In about 12 hours, I will touch down in Singapore. My first home.

I only just finished packing.

I don't know what to expect.

I haven't quite made any concrete social plans as I am wont to do, as I typically whisk in and out of Singapore and would need to maximise fun time.

As you know, I suck at packing although I have had to do it for at least 5 times this year. Before I packed in the evening, I had only just taken my folded clothes out of the suitcase from my last trip in Sad Town some one and a half weeks ago.

Going home this time involves getting into a routine.

First, I need to re-establish broadband connection at home so that I can work at least a solid four hours a day.

There is also the daily training I need to get into to get fit for my prilgrammage.

Then there are people that I need to contact for serious things.

I must even get used to showering at least twice a day. During my past visits home, I had the tendency to be in my Pjs from morn to evening and only begin to think about showering when I am getting ready to go out boogie-ing. But this time round, I forsee a decline in social activities, let alone romantic possibilities.

I hope I haven't overpacked- - ironically a suitcase of finery of the silk variety, like I am hoping to be invited for cocktails and nice dinners. In contrast, there are some rather technical looking trekking gear thrown in the mix.

I didn't pack any of my suits. There was no place for them.

The last thing I need is to start taking stuff out from my lugguage at the airport for overweight baggage and being further interrogated about the dubious looking long brown paper bagged item which exists in the form of a long pink new vibrator for V, and or more spot checks to find my toys in that black dustbag carefully hidden between sheets of finery.

Goodbye Sydney. I think I am pretty much done with this city.

For now, I am coming home.

Neurosis

My mood swings from one end to another. As we all know.

There are days where I think I might just able to take a knife to stab at my own heart to stop the gripping palpitations. The accuteness is most felt when I feel betrayed- be it by words or actions.

****

There was an injury committed to me not too long ago in 2007 that never served to harshly remind me of my bad judgment. Maybe call it emotional stupidity.

It was a painful memory that I would rather forget but I never quite dare to because I want it to serve as a good tight slap for any stupid actions that I could potentially commit going forward. It's a strange conundrum. I try to shove it at the far end of my mind but not so faraway that I could obliterate this experience from my memory bank.

****

I had to cut my losses then.

For that last ounce of pride's sake.

Now I have a choice.

****

Funny how, an hour or so ago, my mind was at peace.

Well, I did feel trepidation about returning home in less than 48 hours- simply because I haven't lived at home for a long time.

****

I guess one should be thankful to be born with an uncanny intuition.

Those messages or cautionary voices that comes into you head or the flashes of dreams you get as a child to forebode an impending incident about to unfold.

Heaven knows why that word came to my attention.

And voila, I found what that image led me to. I wasn't even looking to find anything.

I mean for heaven's sake, it's past one in the morning and I just got back from yet another night of singing at the Karaoke with Daisy.

I was brain dead.

Now my heart is stirred.

****

As I sat on the ferry for the first time today to get to the north side of town(ironically all my years living in Sydney, I have never quite taken a ferry until now when I am about to leave this city pretty much for good), the inspiration came to my mind.

I meant to work on a piece, “Seasonal Cues”.

I wanted to write about the usual anticipation or indication of my emotional state from the seasonal cues I would normally get upon returning home. January/December has always been the typical time of the year where the merry mood of festivities would spill over to my personal emotional situation. I normally get a new beau or two and some romance. Such happy days! I would fall for one and then comes March when I returned home, I get my heart broken. Badly.

By May, I become so poorly. I recuperate and comes the end of the year, the cycle begins again.

Thus going home in July is a relatively new experience. I have no preceding experience to guide me. I am so being ditched and single at this juncture, I don't know what to expect, really. My heart hasn't been mended so I have no freaking idea what to expect, except a sense of feeling quite lost.

Up to an hour or so ago.
****

No need to look for cues now.

I got the answer.

Thanks to my sixth sense.

I know I should always heed that instinctive voice in my head, a constant companion she was through my mortal existence, guiding me and fending off my rational mind that had time and again failed me. Why did I always try to fight her?

What can I say?

Timely.

Ok, I get it this time alright.