Friday, September 19, 2008
Tears and the 4a.m Syndrome
I haven't had the wake-up-at-4am syndrome since my return from Nepal. I attributed this to a healthier lifestyle of less drinking, more exercising and exhaustion from a more hectic work schedule in the day (of which some of you could tell from the weaning frequency of my blogging; but be warned I still have a bag full of tales). I have been very focused at the tasks at hand during the day.
But right now it's past 4a.m and since I woke up about half an hour ago, I find myself having a hard time going to bed. I decided that without further waste of time, I might as well start writing...
****
It must be the one too a many whiskey that I have consumed in the span of 2 hours between 9pm and 11 pm with Uncle G. I woke up feeling slightly pukey.
Earlier in the evening, the Old Boy and I went to a supposed Porsche car launch that ended up being more like a property developer's pitch to market its pricey condominiums in town. A few days ago, I caught up with Techie, whom I hadn't seen in years. He came to pick me up in his black Boxster and over tim sum at the Oriental Hotel, he propositioned a business idea for me to collaborate with him. Then he mentioned about the event and passed me the invitation.
"I don't like going to these events cos I don't like to be tempted," Techie confessed.
I reckoned I could do with him handing over his invitation card since the Old Boy would have loved to check out what's the latest in store with this big boy's toy. The Old Boy loved Porsches.
The Old Boy warned that we might well bum into his parents' friends so we better have a story should the occasion arise but fortunately, we had none of the sightings. His parents also happen to live in that area.
As usual, the Old Boy was his usual uncomfy self in "richie poos" events of such. There was a line up of Porsches parked outside the vicinity and the Old Boy has warned that we should spend no more than 30 minutes once we were done with ogling at the monster machines.
We did well, spending about 40 minutes at the event. It was mainly attributed to my gluttony- I applied my dexterity at procuring free gourmet food for the Old Boy and me. You would have spotted me gorging sushis, sashimis, mini wagyu beef burgers and other prissy canapes if you were there. Once I have decided that the culinary fare was getting a tad too repetitive, we finally sojourned upstairs to take a tour around the showroom flats.
After which, the Old Boy decided it was time to go. Uncle G, his parents' friend but also his, had invited us to join him at the prestigious country club where he golfs. An avid lover of whiskey, Uncle G is.
The club reminded me of the traditional big boys' club of gentlemen. At the bar, I noticed only 2 other females and myself. I observed that tanned golfer middle aged men and their cronies engaged in leisurely banter, chewing the fat over drinks, cigarettes and some food. We spotted the Old Boy's cousin at the next table. Earlier at the car park, he noted a Porsche Carrerra and recognised it to be his cousin's.
After a glass of whiskey, Uncle G and the Old Boy decided it was time for dinner. We went to Uncle G's usual haunt in that area.
The Old Boy was being his usual sensitive self at dinner. I was eyeing my favourite drumstick and his chopsticks beat me to it. Just as I thought he was going to pick it up and place it on his own plate, he had actually put it in mine before he moved on to get another piece of chicken for Uncle G. Maybe it was sheer chance that he got it right with the chicken parts (I absolutely abhor breast meat!). Anyhow like any other girl, I always loved to be taken care of in this way. I was reminded of DL and his unfailing attention to me. There are days where I quietly wonder if I actually like being showered tender, loving, care by a boyfriend/ man or I simply like good service and to be serviced. I can't quite tell anymore. At least if it was hired service like my trekking guide who went beyond his duties at making sure I got top class service and waited on me hand and foot and acted cautiously according to my erratic temperament, I could reward him with a generous tip. But what do you do with someone you love and who doesn't love you? How does one make it up to the person?
Uncle G being the clown that he was spent the night making jibes at me. Then he suddenly asked if I had a boyfriend of which I said no.
"How could someone so good looking like you not have a boyfriend?"
I didn't know what to say except in my mind, I was thinking that I couldn't have a boyfriend cos his friend, the Old Boy is married and that I love him with all my heart but he doesn't feel the same for me so how to have a boyfriend.
Post dinner, he made me down a small bottle of Umberberg straight that tasted like licorice to me, which he claimed would be good for my digestion.It has 44% alcohol content. Then we sojourned to the little tavern karaoke pub next door and Uncle G and I belted the songs out in the era of Rolling Good Times. The Old Boy joined in at times. Croners of the good kind, we all were.
I don't know if it was the alcohol that had already made my eyes a tad glassy but I found myself feeling somewhat bordering between emotional and touched by this outing. I was truly having a great time, what with the music, drinks and the company and there are times I felt that if I didn't hold my breath, tears could be streaming down my eyes. I looked at the Old Boy sitting next to me on the tall bar stool-he looked a little like a half stranger to me but ironically, a man I also realised I have never stopped loving since the end of last year. At that moment, it felt really surreal
Uncle G's mistress came to join us shortly but not for too long, the Old Boy realised that he had forgotten to take something from his office for his 7.30am meeting in the next day. So our night of fun was curtailed and we left the two lovebirds to more singing and drinking.
*****
The journey back home felt really short (for me) and the Old Boy dropped me off at my house.
We said our goodbyes and in my tipsy, pensive state, I made my way slowly into my house or the mansion, as he calls it.
I greeted and said my goodnight hastily to my parents who were watching television in the living room and hurried up to the third level where my bedroom is.
I found my eyes filled with tears and then felt the teardrops falling.
In my semi-drunken state in the late of night, I texted V and told her I still love the Old Boy.
I like to think that my emotions were heightened by the (at least) 5 glasses of whiskies and a white wine.
I haven't cried over the Old Boy since my time at the monastery.
In fact, I haven't thought about crying. I stopped living in angst and pain, I guess. Maybe just acceptance of my fate and our karma as lovers.
It's all good to come to this calmer state- acceptance. It helps to dispel the very root of suffering. But how does one get over loving? After all, in Buddhism, it is still a desirous attachment and this attachment causes suffering.
****
I am now sober. This present moment, I am as I type. I must say I am in love with him. Very much so.
I haven't had the wake-up-at-4am syndrome since my return from Nepal. I attributed this to a healthier lifestyle of less drinking, more exercising and exhaustion from a more hectic work schedule in the day (of which some of you could tell from the weaning frequency of my blogging; but be warned I still have a bag full of tales). I have been very focused at the tasks at hand during the day.
But right now it's past 4a.m and since I woke up about half an hour ago, I find myself having a hard time going to bed. I decided that without further waste of time, I might as well start writing...
****
It must be the one too a many whiskey that I have consumed in the span of 2 hours between 9pm and 11 pm with Uncle G. I woke up feeling slightly pukey.
Earlier in the evening, the Old Boy and I went to a supposed Porsche car launch that ended up being more like a property developer's pitch to market its pricey condominiums in town. A few days ago, I caught up with Techie, whom I hadn't seen in years. He came to pick me up in his black Boxster and over tim sum at the Oriental Hotel, he propositioned a business idea for me to collaborate with him. Then he mentioned about the event and passed me the invitation.
"I don't like going to these events cos I don't like to be tempted," Techie confessed.
I reckoned I could do with him handing over his invitation card since the Old Boy would have loved to check out what's the latest in store with this big boy's toy. The Old Boy loved Porsches.
The Old Boy warned that we might well bum into his parents' friends so we better have a story should the occasion arise but fortunately, we had none of the sightings. His parents also happen to live in that area.
As usual, the Old Boy was his usual uncomfy self in "richie poos" events of such. There was a line up of Porsches parked outside the vicinity and the Old Boy has warned that we should spend no more than 30 minutes once we were done with ogling at the monster machines.
We did well, spending about 40 minutes at the event. It was mainly attributed to my gluttony- I applied my dexterity at procuring free gourmet food for the Old Boy and me. You would have spotted me gorging sushis, sashimis, mini wagyu beef burgers and other prissy canapes if you were there. Once I have decided that the culinary fare was getting a tad too repetitive, we finally sojourned upstairs to take a tour around the showroom flats.
After which, the Old Boy decided it was time to go. Uncle G, his parents' friend but also his, had invited us to join him at the prestigious country club where he golfs. An avid lover of whiskey, Uncle G is.
The club reminded me of the traditional big boys' club of gentlemen. At the bar, I noticed only 2 other females and myself. I observed that tanned golfer middle aged men and their cronies engaged in leisurely banter, chewing the fat over drinks, cigarettes and some food. We spotted the Old Boy's cousin at the next table. Earlier at the car park, he noted a Porsche Carrerra and recognised it to be his cousin's.
After a glass of whiskey, Uncle G and the Old Boy decided it was time for dinner. We went to Uncle G's usual haunt in that area.
The Old Boy was being his usual sensitive self at dinner. I was eyeing my favourite drumstick and his chopsticks beat me to it. Just as I thought he was going to pick it up and place it on his own plate, he had actually put it in mine before he moved on to get another piece of chicken for Uncle G. Maybe it was sheer chance that he got it right with the chicken parts (I absolutely abhor breast meat!). Anyhow like any other girl, I always loved to be taken care of in this way. I was reminded of DL and his unfailing attention to me. There are days where I quietly wonder if I actually like being showered tender, loving, care by a boyfriend/ man or I simply like good service and to be serviced. I can't quite tell anymore. At least if it was hired service like my trekking guide who went beyond his duties at making sure I got top class service and waited on me hand and foot and acted cautiously according to my erratic temperament, I could reward him with a generous tip. But what do you do with someone you love and who doesn't love you? How does one make it up to the person?
Uncle G being the clown that he was spent the night making jibes at me. Then he suddenly asked if I had a boyfriend of which I said no.
"How could someone so good looking like you not have a boyfriend?"
I didn't know what to say except in my mind, I was thinking that I couldn't have a boyfriend cos his friend, the Old Boy is married and that I love him with all my heart but he doesn't feel the same for me so how to have a boyfriend.
Post dinner, he made me down a small bottle of Umberberg straight that tasted like licorice to me, which he claimed would be good for my digestion.It has 44% alcohol content. Then we sojourned to the little tavern karaoke pub next door and Uncle G and I belted the songs out in the era of Rolling Good Times. The Old Boy joined in at times. Croners of the good kind, we all were.
I don't know if it was the alcohol that had already made my eyes a tad glassy but I found myself feeling somewhat bordering between emotional and touched by this outing. I was truly having a great time, what with the music, drinks and the company and there are times I felt that if I didn't hold my breath, tears could be streaming down my eyes. I looked at the Old Boy sitting next to me on the tall bar stool-he looked a little like a half stranger to me but ironically, a man I also realised I have never stopped loving since the end of last year. At that moment, it felt really surreal
Uncle G's mistress came to join us shortly but not for too long, the Old Boy realised that he had forgotten to take something from his office for his 7.30am meeting in the next day. So our night of fun was curtailed and we left the two lovebirds to more singing and drinking.
*****
The journey back home felt really short (for me) and the Old Boy dropped me off at my house.
We said our goodbyes and in my tipsy, pensive state, I made my way slowly into my house or the mansion, as he calls it.
I greeted and said my goodnight hastily to my parents who were watching television in the living room and hurried up to the third level where my bedroom is.
I found my eyes filled with tears and then felt the teardrops falling.
In my semi-drunken state in the late of night, I texted V and told her I still love the Old Boy.
I like to think that my emotions were heightened by the (at least) 5 glasses of whiskies and a white wine.
I haven't cried over the Old Boy since my time at the monastery.
In fact, I haven't thought about crying. I stopped living in angst and pain, I guess. Maybe just acceptance of my fate and our karma as lovers.
It's all good to come to this calmer state- acceptance. It helps to dispel the very root of suffering. But how does one get over loving? After all, in Buddhism, it is still a desirous attachment and this attachment causes suffering.
****
I am now sober. This present moment, I am as I type. I must say I am in love with him. Very much so.
