Thursday, June 18, 2009

 
Time

My remembrance of some distant memory at a point in time in my life is always linked back to say, how so-and-so's child was x years old when the said incident occurred; whether person Y was single at that point in time and is now married for x months or years and so on and so forth.

Therein, my notion of time is intrinsically connected to the significance of certain past experiences being etched in my nostalgic mind. Whenever my mind turns to an unresolved experience, be it at present, occuring only in my mind, heart or in real life, unwittingly I refer to the chronology of my personal history like a timeline to gauge how and when all these events have come into play in that certain era of my life.

Lately, though my mind continues it routine of lurking around the periphery of my recent past life of 2008 doing its usual repeated revisions of making sense, I feel a strange metamorphosis in the way I view or feel. Quite indifferent this time, I must admit. And quite sexless. No matter how I try to rouse myself to excitement

I am trying to keep myself sane. If one were to chart my emotional patterns of the last five years or so, it would have been markedly patterned into one with some high peaks and many deep troughs. These days I find the pulse of my emotional constitution weak, slight tremors or reverberations carried over from my recent past continues to rattle me a little. But I stop myself whenever I find myself beginning to dwell too deep and begin to feel the oncoming onslaught of pain defeating me once more. I run away from the wave of panic and anxiety before it could engulf me. The tide subsided but a new one awaited me for another day. I keep running and running away...

*****

Time heal all wounds as they say.

Maybe I can stop running from that wave one day. The wave might stop at some stage. It must stop, mustn't it?

*****

De-toxing has always been the hardest thing to adhere.

Recently, I stop going to events, parties and most things socially glamourous. I cold turkeyed.

By keeping to a routine and going home at a godly hour with little alcohol in my system this season, I realise my angst has quietened down by leaps and bounds.

However, I still keep waking up at various intervals of sleep.

I even stopped pining and pro-activing missing a certain individual (whom you all know who he is).

Other propositions coming my way are beginning to confound my recent history.

A dirty trip was recently propositioned by another individual. It kept my dirty mind occupied with an excitement that could never beat the peak of my hysteria when I was propositioned by the Big Boy years ago. Controlled excitement is what I find myself feeling this day (as I temporarily put my guilt on hold at the back of mind). I try to indulge myself with the pleasure, mainly in thought not action. I need something to keep P alive, mustn't I?

But I know the Gods are smiling my way and will effect some form of intervention that will render the propositioner busy to make his fantasies remain as it is-wanking fodder. For I, the sinner in me will be spared from committing yet another carnal crime.

I have just digressed.

I meant to say time helps to smooth out any kinks incurred during a certain era of one's life.

I slipped a little again last night, in fact still did at 3am this morning. I felt the pulse of my love for that certain individual still. My sad, glassy eyes betrayed my panic and vulnerability again, darting nervously, making a sad frown every so often.

It is what it is. I have already rode with the roughest wave since. In time, I believe I will have rode it out until I am brought to shore forever more. Some day, somehow.

Monday, June 15, 2009

 
Ramble

There is something about my old world that I miss whenever I am back in Singapore. The late afternoon rendezvousing, the seedy hotels, my whisky intoxicated smoky eyes and then tiring myself out into the wee hours of the morning...

I like to be incognito at times and then playing the role of the mistress, the Lolita and the high school sweetheart. Role play is what I like- I used to participate in school plays.

When I was a child, I aspired to be a private detective to satiate my intrigue and curiousity of mystery. I searched the Job Classifieds section on jobs and one day, I found a job looking for a Trainee Private Investigator above age 18. I was thrilled that jobs like that did exist! But they needed someone who could ride a motorbike. I was neither eighteen nor did I have a riding license. But I thought perhaps someday...

During the age of eleven, I decided to pick up an Usborn published guidebook and settled on the “Spy Guidebook” instead of the “Detective” one. I tried to teach myself Morse Code but to no avail. I set up a secret gang amongst my classmates of boys and girls. I made myself the No. 2 in the group but the one with the controlling power who made the houserules and congregated them for meetings of secret assignments during recesses. I still flip through the book every so often when I am back in Singapore. I love it to bits.

Guess, the closest I ever came to becoming anything as cladestine and coverted was a headhunter having to map teams and organisations on a daily basis. I should have tried getting into a forensic job like B if I had wanted more excitement. Ah well, over with the corporate life! Shudders I get. I much prefer sitting in one dark corner of my house in Sad Town these days.

I grew up loving dark, cloudy days. I hate the sun. Maybe that explains my fairness. In fact, some days I simply look pale. I avoid the sun like a plague. I never get over why I stopped upping my offer for an Art Deco era basement apartment at hip Elizabeth Bay two years ago. It was dark enough for me and it has plantation shutters which I absolutely adore. The older sibling told me it might be too depressing for my soul. The Old Boy advised against it for the impracticality of it- things might get damp and mouldy too easily. I would have furnished it with dark wood, like a Polo Ralph Lauren boutique. Dark chocolate wooden book shelves from head to toe. A nice sturdy reclining leather arm chair with a standing white lamp shade for me to read or lie down to contemplate. My vintage 78s vinyl record player spinning away. The plantation style ceiling fan spinning away. White Sheridan continental hotel style crisp clean white bedsheets for me to take a lover home whenever I fancy. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise I didn't buy a place. Or how else could I have freed myself from the shackles of the corporate monster?

In the humid heat of Singapore and the number of close girlfriends wanting to conquer the world with me coming to a trickle since I dare say everyone is now pretty much settled down or unsettled in a recluse and want-to-be-left-alone way, I feel sedated half the time. I stopped feeling motivated to attend parties. In fact, I now develop a habit of standing people of the smart- set- kind up and never turn up on events I promised to attend. Before too long, the smses will stop coming in when I burnt up the end of my bridges. I just cannot be bothered to dress up and drag myself out of the house within my close friends at hand. I am turning into a recluse myself. It makes me severely depressed on some days to feel I am losing my friends.

Last week, I went to a party thrown by an American expatriate (seemingly an ex art dealer) in a shophouse refurbished to look like an Asian museum with artwork and balinese style wooden beds. There was a Buddha and water feature at the basement and more beds and rooms upstairs the three-story building. There were people galore and alcohol galore, obviously. Two Pinoy maids worked tirelessly to ensure there was enough food to keep going. There were also shishas galore in the living room on the topmost floor. Tipsy, sexy ladies were sprawled on some of the beds and other engaged in tittle tattle. I, too was in a daze, not from alcohol but a lack of focus. I wandered around talking to one person to another until I got bored and started staring into space next to small groups and nodded coherently whenever required. I brought a male friend, Coolios with me and he was awestruck with the quality of hot babes in the party as we bummed into our common friends. Singapore Society is small, I gather. “Please help yourself, Coolios,” I said. I couldn't be bothered. I have lost my roving eye.

The same day in the afternoon, I attended Harry's solemnisation at the Botanical Gardens. Finally, he has decided to tie the knot with the girl I knew would be his last girlfriend. They are such a good match. It was a hot day. I was there alone. Then came Dr. Jekyll & Hyde and his current girlfriend. She sat opposite me and him on her right. He said hi. She was quite nice and started talking to me. Another close guy friend of Harry sat on my left. We even went to get food from the buffet queue together. She asked if I knew anyone at Harry's wedding. I mentioned someone and also said I have met Dr. J & H briefly through Harry a long while ago. ;) During lunch, Dr. J & H tried to include me in the conversation. We were being polite as strangers who are wont to be when being allocated to sit together for meals. No, I didn't feel anything for him. When the ceremony ended, everyone was asking Dr. J & H for a lift to get out of the secluded place. “What about...?” he pointed at me quietly. I said I would be fine and would arrange for a cab. Thank you very much. So I bidded farewell to them all and left.

Friday, June 05, 2009

 
Back Home

I am sad. I am tipsy.

I realise that the construction is still going on in Orchard Road, just like when I last left it last October. The only thing that hasn't changed much since I left, like my wretched heart.

But many things have moved on. V's fling of two years ago, the same night I met Dr. Jekyll and Hyde, is getting married to some girl. Harry's getting married too this Saturday to the girl we both predicted he would marry. It seems like Dr. J & H will be sitting on the same table as me, his current girlfriend to be there too. Now, that will be interesting...

V has recently bought an apartment too with her German we met through Oscar on Christmas Eve 2007, the same holiday the Old Boy and I hooked up. People have all moved on. But why am I still feeling the same wretched feeling that I feel? Sometimes I really cannot bear myself. I keep feeling this wrench within my heart, I feel so fucking pathetic...

I love the familiarity of Kampung Bahru in Singapore with Dancer. He takes me there for cheap beers, catch ups and chinese-sy (read “Cheena”) karaoke sessions. I love hearing the crooners belt out their love songs, each Chinese lyrics a resonation to the heart of Dancer and mine. Ironically, we both could sing along to the lyrics on the screen, even when we have only heard it for the first time in our lives....

I feel sad. A tug at my heart. These are the times when I cannot stand myself any much longer... I wish I were dead.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?