Day 4.

So I met up with French Lady one more time yesterday.

And it was bittersweet.

It was though nothing had happened. Well, nothing as in as though we’d never gotten together, we were just hanging around and chatting as usual while the kids ran amok in the backyard and we were talking about how my job was going and how things were going for her and her laptop and all the usual.

I mentioned that I might be looking at moving away soon for another job as I found it hard to stay here and I kind of looked down, knowing that emotions were pretty much tearing up right behind my eyelids and she mumbled a “I’m sorry” as I looked up and smiled and shook my head and said, “Don’t be.”

Her reasons were justifiable and there was nothing I could really do about it. It was inevitable and it was going to happen and it just depended on when, how, and who it was going to come from.

Was discussing with Pharmacist M and she said, “You were blindsided. You didn’t expect French Lady to go ahead and break  up with you.”

Which was true, to a point. I did not expect this to happen so quickly. I was halfway tossing up between staying and going but all the time, this was causing her that much grief. And it was only fair that the breakup was initiated by her.

I had a good time catching up with her yesterday.

I think, perhaps, it was almost good to the point that it made me regret ever getting into the relationship in the first place.

But come to think of it, the only regret about this was that it was not going to last. Perhaps, I was caught up in the emotional side of it all and the thought of the then potential relationship was enough to throw me into the deep end of the dating pool. I knew it was not going to last but the very idea of it was the last thing on my mind. Through the rose tinted glasses, everything would be okay. After all, we can work it out, no?

But again, quoting Pharmacist M, “After the honeymoon period, reality hits you like a stray bowling ball going at 200km/hr.”

Hell yeah.

Throughout the three months that we were together, we spent two of it pretty much in each others’ faces the whole time. I liked her company and of course, wanted her over as much as possible. She in turn, was obliging. We took road trips, we went everywhere together, we started dancing together (guess who started her on that craze?!) and we both liked Chinese food so much that her neighbourhood takeaway shop smiled like the proverbial Cheshire cat at us two whenever we dropped by asking for one $7.50 and one $5.00 box. And Noodle Canteen became a favourite haunt.

We had our good and our bad moments, I think. I think from this relationship, I understood to the max the two phrases, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder” and “familiarity breeds contempt.”

Sometimes, even couples need a bit of “me time.” I think I’m the kind of boyfriend who’s clingy.

But we got on fine like a north-westerly and a storm.

It was odd, this relationship. This was probably the first woman that I dated that was not long distance and heck, I actually had the means to date her. It was odd. I did not quite know what to do, how to behave.

But from yesterday, we both agreed that it was the friendship part that we missed the most. During the final days before the official breakup, things were just not right. We weren’t a couple. We walked the streets, hands tucked in our pockets. There was the odd occasion that she would hold my hand or I would reach for hers but it always went back to the hands in pockets. Anyone walking down the street would probably have guessed that this couple were not really a couple. Or they were trying to be but failing spectacularly at it.

And here we are, sitting and lying down on the grass talking and chuckling while the kids ran around tearing down branches and picking horse chestnuts to be thrown at the tree trunk or the wall.

Things were good again. For once. For once, the awkward silence did not linger. Conversation flowed like good olive oil. And I looked at her and I thanked her for her politeness and friendliness and her ability to sit down and have a civilised conversation with me, although I could probably think of so many other ways the meeting would have commenced and finished.

But after all had been said and done, I sat down to watch TV that night and I could not figure out why I did not quite feel right.

Talking to Tofupuff, I mentioned that it felt weird to have met up with her. After a bit, Tofupuff said, “Well, if it went well, it went well.” Sure, things ended well, we hugged as mutual friends would and we smiled and waved as she drove off. I felt good that it went well. It did and I couldn’t deny that. But there was something about it that just did not feel right.

So I spent the night pondering as I usually do about things I don’t quite get and the thoughts came to me like spa bubbles breaking the surface.

I had an ulterior motive.

After all the joy and the fun of the meet-up, the insidious thought that potentially “We might get back together again! It’s possible! It’s doable! Look at how well we get along!” started lingering in the recesses of my brain.

NOT a good idea.

It takes constant reminding, for sure. I did not like feeling uncertain. I did not like the feeling that my brain was thinking thoughts without my conscious participation. Dangerous thing, the brain.

I knew, though, for certain, that this relationship had not a chance in hell of ever becoming reality again unless I decided to take a stand. A HUGE one and one that demanded more from what I’m able to provide at the moment.

Reading from several website regarding breakups (easy, Google [how to deal with a break up] and websites galore will show), one tip was to not have contact with the ‘ex’ no matter whether you two had chosen to remain friends. Which, initially, I thought was odd but turns out, there’s a lot of truth to that.

For me, personally, I’ve always struggled with trying to see an ex as a friend. Somehow, I could only see them as the person I dated and nothing more than that. Sure, I guess in time, the feelings will fade away completely and I’m left again with the person I once met but I always struggled without fail to get this new and different perspective. Like this treat. Nice but perhaps NOTHING like what the authentic French delicacy would be like.

And no contact means no contact. 6 months or more, really, to completely erase the thoughts that sentimental beings like moi could never seem to get rid of.

Sure, 6 months. How hard is that?

Until you realise that in 6 months, half a year is gone, an expectant mother is two thirds through her pregnancy and it means that you’re 6 months closer to your expiry date.

Ah well.

So that means no contact. If I ever wanted to heal intact rather than look like Frankenstein from an emotional point of view.

So yup. No texting. Obviously. No calls. No Facebook. No stalking on Facebook. Definitely NO stalking on Facebook. No Googling and trying to find out where they are or what they’re doing. No drive bys and watching what happens at night. No peeping through windows. No hacking. Nothing. Nada.

I just realised that I have the makings of a superior stalker. Honestly.

This also means no visiting previous favourite haunting spots. Like Lone Star.

No ribs. As much as my stomach growls for them. But thanks to me, she’s able to ingest all 12 now! Or 10, I’m still not sure.

And I’m suddenly back to just being me. And I had to take a picture of this because I was so busy celebrating Valentine’s Day that I did not remember that it was also Chinese New Year. Bleh. So much for my Chinese ancestry. I’m sure all my ancestors have turned in their graves like rotisserie chicken.

Uh. Whoops. I think I just majorly disrespected them…

But anyway.

I think my spirit may be at  peace today. And I hope it stays that way.