Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Blast from the Past (sequel to “The Wrong M”)
As we now know, the life of P is one hell of an uphill struggle.
Erotic action of the legal or illegal variety has come to a complete halt.
This is the story of P’s life and should aptly be titled “The rise and decline of P’s life”.
*****
Social life in Sad Town is virtually non-existent. Well, perhaps if we count Teddy and Gof (whom I am slowly losing to a girlfriend). Teddy has been our eating buddy. Oh and the occasional Soci and girlfriend.
Daisy and I have too fallen out due to her bimbotic brain and callous, foul mouth. So I am completely girlfiend-less, which is a bugger. Well, not that I really care. My real friends are back home anyway.
DL and I are constant companions to each other, completely cut out from a normalised social life (just short of Teddy) and we reckon when the money starts rolling into our business, our joint lives would probably improve and become more “normal”. Well, by “normal” we meant we would have more of each other. Our sex life would probably be re-invigorated, we will buy the house and his nice sporty car, we will be fine dining again, hanging out at the day spa and taking small weekend trips. Everything can then fall into place.
You see, I am beginning to suspect that we are closet misanthropes and self-indulgent individuals. We definitely know how to enjoy life and we know that the more we get wealthier, there would be less time for others but ourselves. We don’t run out of ideas on what we can do SO LONG as we have cash in our wallets. We rarely get bored.
Our lives in Sad Town are a nice little niche, shaped like a capsule as we organise our lives around just the two of us and the Fluffball. Friends (perhaps the lack of and being bothered) have little influence over our thoughts and time. There are not many people we care to socialise or hang out with in Sad Town since they are mainly fair-weathered friends so life is pretty much simplified for a good part of the year unless I make my social rounds back home and around in Asia. Excessive drinking, partying and socialising makes up for my lack of here in Sad Town. I am that special girl back in town once more and once my month is up, it’s back to real world – my insulated sad, Sad Town.
It’s not too bad actually. I quite enjoy time out and then back to my neat, routine life. Makes it easy for me to monitor how my life is tracking along.
******
I rarely get any phone calls unless it is of a business nature, or worst still, the automatic reminder from the bank that my credit card once again busted its limit. So are text messages.
So one day, I suddenly received an sms from an unfamiliar number.
It was the Man.
He mentioned about being in Sad Town on his way to the coast and would very much love a catch up.
To spare you readers all the to-ing and fro-ing of the smses (probably no more than three since being a reformed polygamist and a recluse has made me a rather terse person), we set a time and venue and agreed to meet up. On my part, there is a big curiosity on what exactly did he want from me since the last fiasco sms accidentally sent to him a year ago (his sudden and last attempt to be in touch) should have ward him off a bitch like me. My only thought a year ago was that he was hoping to see if I could extend my contacts to help him score a job whilst he was back in Sydney. I even alluded that I was no longer a headhunter then. But no, he seemed so keen to meet up, nonetheless.
I mean, the Man was just someone (well, sort of a friend for a while who was attracted to yours truly on the day we met on a boat party) whom I had spent a random night with some four years ago.
Then a week after, he had his bucks’ night. Three weeks later, he was back home in India for his big day. I was told by him that it was going to be a big shebang with elephants and the works.
In case you are wondering, nope it wasn’t an arranged marriage. It was more like a whirlwind romance on his holiday back home in New Delhi on that fateful month of October in 2005; where before the next trip home in February 2006 became his wedding day. The wife was his sister’s friend and a girl he was very much infatuated with when he was a boy of eighteen. He felt that she was way out of his league then. But of course, times changed. The Man was now a well travelled young professional within the financial industry living in the hip and affluent lower north side Sydney suburb of Mosman and who had acquired his new found status as an Australian citizen. On a dinner date with the said girl who has become his wife, they danced on the dance floor and with all the joyous music in the background, the light-heartedness of alcohol running through his veins, the air pervading of Bollywood romance, the Man went down on one tipsy knee and proposed to her there and then.
The day before that fateful October trip back to India, the Man finally got to hang out with me one on one (after many rainchecks and reschedules on my end) and it was that day, he realised I had a boyfriend. When we parted, he held my hand and looked at me in a strange way and wished me happiness.
So that was history.
I am sure we have both came a long way in our separate lives.
Never a need to cross paths again.
Not now or ever.
The dirty was done. Dirty linens should be washed and put away. Or even better,destroyed.
It appeared though, the Man was hoping to resurrect that old memory, like his persona and feel good thoughts have been encapsulated in that February summer of 2006.
As we now know, the life of P is one hell of an uphill struggle.
Erotic action of the legal or illegal variety has come to a complete halt.
This is the story of P’s life and should aptly be titled “The rise and decline of P’s life”.
*****
Social life in Sad Town is virtually non-existent. Well, perhaps if we count Teddy and Gof (whom I am slowly losing to a girlfriend). Teddy has been our eating buddy. Oh and the occasional Soci and girlfriend.
Daisy and I have too fallen out due to her bimbotic brain and callous, foul mouth. So I am completely girlfiend-less, which is a bugger. Well, not that I really care. My real friends are back home anyway.
DL and I are constant companions to each other, completely cut out from a normalised social life (just short of Teddy) and we reckon when the money starts rolling into our business, our joint lives would probably improve and become more “normal”. Well, by “normal” we meant we would have more of each other. Our sex life would probably be re-invigorated, we will buy the house and his nice sporty car, we will be fine dining again, hanging out at the day spa and taking small weekend trips. Everything can then fall into place.
You see, I am beginning to suspect that we are closet misanthropes and self-indulgent individuals. We definitely know how to enjoy life and we know that the more we get wealthier, there would be less time for others but ourselves. We don’t run out of ideas on what we can do SO LONG as we have cash in our wallets. We rarely get bored.
Our lives in Sad Town are a nice little niche, shaped like a capsule as we organise our lives around just the two of us and the Fluffball. Friends (perhaps the lack of and being bothered) have little influence over our thoughts and time. There are not many people we care to socialise or hang out with in Sad Town since they are mainly fair-weathered friends so life is pretty much simplified for a good part of the year unless I make my social rounds back home and around in Asia. Excessive drinking, partying and socialising makes up for my lack of here in Sad Town. I am that special girl back in town once more and once my month is up, it’s back to real world – my insulated sad, Sad Town.
It’s not too bad actually. I quite enjoy time out and then back to my neat, routine life. Makes it easy for me to monitor how my life is tracking along.
******
I rarely get any phone calls unless it is of a business nature, or worst still, the automatic reminder from the bank that my credit card once again busted its limit. So are text messages.
So one day, I suddenly received an sms from an unfamiliar number.
It was the Man.
He mentioned about being in Sad Town on his way to the coast and would very much love a catch up.
To spare you readers all the to-ing and fro-ing of the smses (probably no more than three since being a reformed polygamist and a recluse has made me a rather terse person), we set a time and venue and agreed to meet up. On my part, there is a big curiosity on what exactly did he want from me since the last fiasco sms accidentally sent to him a year ago (his sudden and last attempt to be in touch) should have ward him off a bitch like me. My only thought a year ago was that he was hoping to see if I could extend my contacts to help him score a job whilst he was back in Sydney. I even alluded that I was no longer a headhunter then. But no, he seemed so keen to meet up, nonetheless.
I mean, the Man was just someone (well, sort of a friend for a while who was attracted to yours truly on the day we met on a boat party) whom I had spent a random night with some four years ago.
Then a week after, he had his bucks’ night. Three weeks later, he was back home in India for his big day. I was told by him that it was going to be a big shebang with elephants and the works.
In case you are wondering, nope it wasn’t an arranged marriage. It was more like a whirlwind romance on his holiday back home in New Delhi on that fateful month of October in 2005; where before the next trip home in February 2006 became his wedding day. The wife was his sister’s friend and a girl he was very much infatuated with when he was a boy of eighteen. He felt that she was way out of his league then. But of course, times changed. The Man was now a well travelled young professional within the financial industry living in the hip and affluent lower north side Sydney suburb of Mosman and who had acquired his new found status as an Australian citizen. On a dinner date with the said girl who has become his wife, they danced on the dance floor and with all the joyous music in the background, the light-heartedness of alcohol running through his veins, the air pervading of Bollywood romance, the Man went down on one tipsy knee and proposed to her there and then.
The day before that fateful October trip back to India, the Man finally got to hang out with me one on one (after many rainchecks and reschedules on my end) and it was that day, he realised I had a boyfriend. When we parted, he held my hand and looked at me in a strange way and wished me happiness.
So that was history.
I am sure we have both came a long way in our separate lives.
Never a need to cross paths again.
Not now or ever.
The dirty was done. Dirty linens should be washed and put away. Or even better,destroyed.
It appeared though, the Man was hoping to resurrect that old memory, like his persona and feel good thoughts have been encapsulated in that February summer of 2006.
