Monday, March 29, 2010

Day 11.

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I’ve decided that I’m going to leave because…its hard to continue living here without…

“I know. I’m sorry.”

You were my one reason to stay. As much as I despised my job, you gave me that one reason to stay.

***

Its been 2 days. Maybe 3. I’ve lost count.

My phone remains silent. No texts. No calls. Nothing.

Nada.

Michael Buble’s “Lost” has become a staple on my playlist.

There are no more tears. No more mind-blowing sorrow. No more. Just a dull ache somewhere beneath my sternum.

People say that heartbreak sometimes is worse than childbirth. There’s a slight disagreement from my point of view about that statement.  Sure, you can never beat the sensation of trying to fit a rock melon through a hole intended for a ping pong ball but heartbreak tends to drag on. Longer. It might not hurt as much but it sure does cause a lot of grief. A lot of tears. A familiar scene. A whiff of perfume. A song playing on the radio. Salsa parties. Chinese takeaways.

And its always these moments that things seem so unfair. Why, when I thought I was okay, had to dance a rueda with a girl who wore EXACTLY the same perfume? You stayed in my mind the entire night.

That dull ache continues to pulse slightly when I sleep. As I wake up and look at my ceiling and pretend you’re still next to me, sleepy, eyes half shut as you smile at me and throw your arm over my chest, my heart thumps away and I wonder if I blurred my eyes whether it would bring you back.

I keep telling myself that you’re getting over me now.

Its also hard to imagine how when you’ve spent time with someone and you’ve become so engrained into their lives like fragrantly polished wood and then suddenly, POOF. You’re at the sidelines. You’re out of their lives. You pretend or try and ignore the fact that I exist. You want, desperately hope for life to return to the way you remembered it. Before me. So that you don’t have to deal or bear with the pain any longer. I know. I’m trying to do that right now.

But its weird how I can’t quite seem to imagine life before you. What was it like? What did I do on my weekends? What did I do? Who did I talk to?

I’m not sure. You were there every step of the way and now….yeah.

I wrote my CV and my cover letter today. And I’m getting ready to pack my bags all over again.

Thanks for the memories. They were great. And maybe, in another life, in another time, we would have worked out just fine.

But all I can do right now is huddle in my corner and lick my wounds while I pray that there is some deity up there who would relieve both you and me of our torment.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Day 9.

So I was browsing through Michael Buble’s songs and I came across this one. Never listened to the lyrics well enough but now that I have, I wished I didn’t.

I can’t believe its over
I watched the whole thing fall
And I never saw the writing that was on the wall
If I’d only knew
The days were slipping past
That the good things never last
That you were crying

Summer turned to winter
And the snow had turned to rain
And the rain turned into tears upon your face
I hardly recognised
The girl you are today
And god, I hope its not too late, its not too late

Cos you are not alone
I’m always there with you
We’ll get lost together
Until the light comes pouring through
Cos when you feel like you’re done
And the darkness has won
Babe, you’re not lost
When your world’s crashing down
And you can’t bear the cross
I said, babe, you’re not lost
 

Because all it really did was make me miss you.

Now some of you might have been following the interesting debacle that occurred with the previous post. Kevral_79 and I were exchanging comments and she had very valid points to make. 

However, I must admit that I had held back certain facts and figures about the whole shebang. This perhaps, made it harder to judge or make conclusions regarding what the hell was happening. But I do not think that I will ever feel comfortable to air dirty laundry. I won’t do anything. And I’ll leave this problem be. Sure, everyone has their opinions. But I think I might let this matter rest. I still respect her and I do not want to tarnish what we had in this manner.

Today, I’ve got a flu and Pharmacist M was kind enough to drug me so that my nose has stopped running but I still feel like shit.

I’ve got an inservice on BKA (below knee amputations) to prepare and a CV plus cover letter to send Monday. And I feel like taking a day off.

And you know what? Maybe I will. Maybe I will.

Friday, March 26, 2010

Bleh.

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Thursday, March 25, 2010

Day 7.

So I got this in my inbox today.

blog comment

For those of you who have trouble reading it, click on the picture and a bigger one will appear.

But I got this in my email yesterday and it left me intrigued. Dear kevral_79 who did not have a blog of any sort whatsoever and the only thing written on this person’s LiveJournal account was a title. Not very helpful but I think it brings up a discussion topic.

Sure, I’ll give him/her the benefit of the doubt. S/he may have read through my entries and thought that s/he may have the solution. And if only it was that easy.

So why don’t I take the bloody stand?! I can literally feel the frustration as kevral_79 pecked away on his/her keyboard. Maybe I was so blinded by my emotions and my frustrations that I could see nothing else. There was nothing else for me in this case. But as an outsider, perhaps kevral_79 saw more.

So I’ll put it out to you readers. What do you think is going on here? And when I talk about you readers, I mean, you, my friends, who have heard the personal story from my side. You know my email address. Drop a line.

I know my reply to kevral_79. But its always that much more fun when other people analyses my problems for me. And people say that you need a shrink for that. Pfft.

All you need is a blog and people interested to give a damn about your goings-on.

On a completely different note, this song is pounding through my room and shaking up my one remaining eardrum.

I never thought that I'd fall in love, love, love, love
But it grew from a simple crush, crush, crush, crush
Being without you girl, I was all messed up, up, up, up
When you walked out, said that you'd had enough-nough-nough-nough


Been a fool, girl I know
Didn't expect this is how things would go
Maybe in time, you'll change your mind
Now looking back i wish i could rewind


Because i can't sleep til you're next to me
No i can't live without you no more
Oh i stay up til you're next to me
Til this house feels like it did before
Feels like insomnia ah ah, Feels like insomnia ah ah
Feels like insomnia ah ah, Feels like insomnia ah ah

Remember telling my boys that I'd never fall in love, love, love, love
You used to think I'd never find a girl I could trust, trust, trust, trust
And then you walked into my life and it was all about us, us, us, us
But now I'm sitting here thinking I messed the whole thing up, up, up, up


Been a fool (fool), girl I know (know)
Didn't expect this is how things would go
Maybe in time (time), you'll change your mind (mind)
Now looking back i wish i could rewind

Because i can't sleep til you're next to me
No i can't live without you no more (without you no more)
Oh i stay up til you're next to me (to me)
Til this house feels like it did before (Because it)
Feels like insomnia ah ah, Feels like insomnia ah ah
Feels like insomnia ah ah (Ah), Feels like insomnia ah ah

Ah, i just can't go to sleep
Cause it feels like I've fallen for you
It's getting way too deep
And i know that it's love because

I can't sleep til you're next to me
No i can't live without you no more (without you no more)
Oh i stay up til you're next to me (to me)
Til this house feels like it did before
Feels like insomnia ah ah, Feels like insomnia ah ah
Feels like insomnia ah ah, Feels like insomnia ah ah
Feels like insomnia ah ah, Feels like insomnia ah ah
Feels like insomnia ah ah, Feels like insomnia ah ah

I think I’m allowed to listen to music no matter what mood I’m in. And its club-ish. Double the fun.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Day 5.

There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under Heaven. – Ecclesiastes 3:1.

There is that thing called time. And there is that thing called the right time and place and hour and minute and purpose.

Just being pedantic here, probably but I look at what Jim wrote and it just reminded me that before I do anything else, there’s always that time that I need to stop. Think. Breathe.

And nothing like a good song.

Everyone heard of Michael Buble’s new song “Haven’t Met You Yet?” The American Idol’s Top 12 sang it before elimination night, I think. What a brilliant song.

And every morning when I wake up now, I youtube a favourite worship song and I sit and tell God that I cannot do this on my own. As much as I would like to and He can go back to wherever He came from, I’m powerless to intervene in my own emotional/rational brain battles and I need divine intervention.

To verbally vocalise it out loud this sentence, “I cannot do this on my own” can sometimes be the fork in the road. For better, for worse, I don’t know. But I think  I need to trust in Someone Else rather than myself right now.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Day 4.

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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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

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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.

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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.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

New Face.

I guess the real reason that I go through a makeover literally on the day is to free myself from what I used to be. I'm trying to reinvent myself. Yeah, I know. Its old.

So I've taken the liberty of completely shaving my head and having like 1mm buzz all over and I'm sitting here, looking like I am recovering from chemotherapy. And I like it.

Every time I touch my head, I am reminded that I no longer have to use shampoo, showering takes a minute less, and every time I look in the mirror, I don't see me.

I'm looking through you
Where did you go?

I thought I knew you
What did I know?
You don't look different
But you don't look the same
I'm looking through you
You're not the same -
Beatles

I don't see the me that I remember. I used to spike my hair up. Now, it lies flat. Dead. Whatever. It doesn't exist. Nada.

I wished I was courageous enough to get contacts so I change my look even more. It would be so cool if I could do that. Buzzcut and without glasses. Absolutely awesome.

I still miss you, you know.

But it does not matter, does it? No.

I stayed at work because I don't want to go to an empty house. Empty houses too full of memories that I am not sure that I can remember without going insane.

Weather is cloudy as anything today. I think the universe is mourning with me. Like my haircut.

Back in biblical times, you used to shave your head to show remorse, beg forgiveness, to show mourning. And I'm doing exactly that. I think I need to.

I read this article and it speaks straight to the heart.

It speaks of change and it speaks of having the courage to face yourself or whatever it is that is out there that will get you, that will hurt you, that will want to pull you down.

I want to echo his words, "I need the primal ferocity that a buzz cut proclaims."

We differ a lot, we two. I am picking up the pieces after a break up. He is fighting through hormone and chemo from cancer. Some will proclaim that I cannot compare myself to him. Sure, of course, I can not do that and call myself a man. It is unfair, stupid, foolish, unjustifiable even, that I dare compare my emotional turmoil to a man who is standing on the border of death and still laughs and growls.

But at this moment in time, I need as much courage from wherever I can get it. Whether its slapping myself in the face with the yelling chorus of "toughen up, boy!" or shaving my head so I look like an ex-criminal or listening to songs that talk about putting on a new face (thanks, Jason Mraz) or falling down on my knees at the altar of a church, I need to get courage wherever I can find it.

Because Lord knows...I cannot do this on my own. I cannot not because I do not want do but because I am unable to.

Day 2

It seemed easier to cry last night.

Whilst on the phone with a caring friend who read and knew what I was going through, she sat and listened and murmured the appropriate encouragements and condolences while I sobbed and dried my tears on my t-shirt, embarrassed a little but release settling in shortly after.


Day 2 does not really seem any easier. Perhaps, the tears flowed a little more quickly after the deletion off Facebook. I cried then. She seemed to disappear from my world. But then again, I guess I've disappeared from hers just as quickly.

I looked at my bed and I wondered how on earth I was to be able to sleep in my bed again. When once upon a time, sleeping on my own seemed like the normal thing to do, now, the bed feels empty without her.

She sleeps on the right side of the bed, facing the windows. I'll throw my left arm around her waist from behind her and cuddle her to sleep. Sometimes, she would link fingers with me as we slept. And there was always that little bit of movement throughout the night that reminded you that you're still being cared for. That someone still cares for you.

But after all the hullabaloo, it was just something you do, I guess. Maybe the tired eyes and the exhausted mind from the consistent pondering required that much more sleep compared to the normal status quo. I slept a glorious 9 hours yesterday. Something I had not done since the last weekend where I pretended to ignore the inevitable.

And like I said, Day 2 does not seem any easier.

I finally overhauled my computer's system after talking about it since 5 days ago. Looking back at those posts, I wondered what on earth was going through my mind. The troubles had already started by then. She had already disengaged. The lock was broken. The wheels were spinning out of control. And all I seemed to do was to try and ignore it and hopefully, it would go away.


The day before the lunch breakup, we had talked on the phone the night before and everything seemed...normal. We were talking, we chuckled on the phone just a little bit, she reminded me that there was lunch. But in hindsight, it was probably just a formality. Lets just meet for lunch and then we'll settle this once and for all, eh? Little did I know that nothing was ever going back to normal again. We had to learn to live our lives separately again. As though the 21/11/09 never existed. Which was the hard bit.

I downloaded and opened up Google Chrome this morning and I was sitting here putting in the sites that I wanted open on startup. I looked at the selection I had typed in and I, for the life of me, couldn't quite figure out what was missing. And then I thought, oh yeah, Facebook.

And while I plugged that in, all my senses suddenly reminded me of why I would not want to do that.

Looking through the news feeds, your name wasn't there. It didn't linger with the coloured dot on the side where I could just click your name and you would be there at the end of the invisible line. I did not see any updates about Buffy or Spike or how much you hated Twilight or Black Book quotes or all the French updates that you would write out to your French/French-speaking counterparts and all I could do was sit there and wondered what on earth you were saying.

And in a way, I'm glad you never handed over information about your blog although I pestered you repeatedly about it. I don't think I would have been able to keep off it at all.

To say that I miss her would be an understatement of the century, probably. Comparable to phantom limb pain, not having her around is like not having an extension of yourself around. We were the proverbial peas in a pod. People commented on how cute we were as a couple, how good we looked together, and how happy I was. Yeah. I was happy.

Hm.

But this aside, I am glad that I have work today. I am glad that my mind and my hands will be occupied by stupid discharges and people with sore hips. I am glad that my job will be paying me overtime for my unwilling dedication to my job. I am glad that I will be busy for part of the day.

Because I know I don't want to have to spend the rest of the time in my room missing you.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Day 1.

I start again. Today, I told myself.

Its the beginning of a brand new life. Have to move on. Have to let go.

But no one ever told me that letting go would ever be this hard.

You remind me that I was capable of liking. Loving?

I can only say yeah. I guess there was love, after all.

Although I never mentioned it. It slipped past my lips a few times but I was so afraid that I would have to take it back.

I remembered the first time you texted me goodnight and you said, “Goodnight, my love.”

And me, probably being a typical male, didn’t reply in kind.

I look back at the posts that I’ve written. When I had jumped in with my heart open wide and my eyes shut tight, taking the plunge because I knew I wanted to and I knew that it would be good because you’d be there at the end of it all.

But now you remind me. Of everything.

I slept on your pillow last night. I had initially decided that this is something I could not do anymore. Just because there was nothing I was going to get out of it that would keep me sane. But no.

I woke up and there I was, my head on your pillow, the slight scent of you left drifting in the air.

I remember wrapping my arm around your waist as you slept. And on the occasions that I turned to the other side, you would roll over and hug me instead.

You kept me warm. On those cold nights.

I think it there’s always that element of reflection that you get after a breakup. The analysis part of it, somehow, seems warranted.

You start going through the little bits and pieces. You analyze how awesome Life has been with that person that you once knew. And you look around the room and all you can see if the ghost of that someone still lingering there.

Your bathrobe hangs on my chair. Your earrings in the trophy cup on the dresser. How you’d tousle your hair in my mirror. I’d make you a cup of tea in the kitchen. The living room couch. You sitting on my computer whilst I lazed in bed, looking at you and smiling.

I knew it was coming. Her reasons were justifiably concrete. There was no two ways about it. That was it and that was that and I could fight against the gods but nay, nothing good arose out of that. I could have won the battles but I would have lost the war.

Her smile was still lovely. I loved the way she smiled at me.

And her memories cling on to everything I see.

Farmer’s market.
Town.
KFC.
Maccas.
Salsa.
The Hill.
The footpath outside the White House.
A bachata playing on my computer.
Pizza at Stellar.

But I’m trying. I’m trying here and I’m trying hard.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

When Two Worlds Drift Apart.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hDWzmL23KqQ

We met over lunch, Thursdays, just the usual. It was a normal occurence. Nothing out of the ordinary. We used to meet for lunch quite regularly, discuss the day’s events and the days to come. Just the usual.

She walked in with a frown on her face and kind of rubbed her forehead while she was at it. She was tired. Drained.

I stood up as she walked in through the door and kind of awkwardly rubbed her upper arm as she clutched her head. No, things were not the usual. Not this time round.

So we sat down together and ate as usual. She went on about what was going on in her life, the stories, needing to get her computer fixed, doing her groceries and going for a swim later that afternoon.

I smiled and talked about my day. What was going on, that my work was busy but manageable and its just the usual.

So the conversation went on until it paused for a little bit. I decided that this was probably the time to make myself heard.

Hey.

“Yeah?”

Can I ask you a question?

“You just did.”

I know. I smiled. She chuckled softly to herself.

Good one. But can I ask you a question?

“You just did it again.”

I smiled. Can I ask you two questions?

She brushed her hair out of her eyes and folded her arms on the table in front of her and looked at me.

As I looked down at the table, I wondered what I was going to say. I did not know the right way to get around to the topic but hell, I had to bring it up. It had to be done.

So, the question I want to ask is, are we still romantically linked in this relationship?

Why do I always end up wordy when I bring up something complicated? She did not reply.

See, because I need to know. I need to know whether we’re still romantically together because if not, I need time to get over you.

She did not say a word. She smiled at me and looked into my eyes and all I could do was look back and sigh.

I know you said that you needed your own “me” time. And I know you do. I’ve been having you around ever since I got back in January. And suddenly, this emptiness and this blank that you’ve left here is something I’m not used to. Believe me, I've had to find things to do just because you’re not around.

“Yeah, you should.”

Not quite the answer I was after. But anyway.

I’m not sure why we’re behaving like this. But I think I understand. Sure, if this ends here, it ends the whole thing about us in this relationship and this makes it so much easier when I actually go at the end of the year. It won’t be hard on you emotionally and you don’t hurt when I’m finally gone.

Sure, I’m finding it hard because we’re not texting anymore. But I’m used to having you text me like 80 times a day. But now, there’s pretty much nothing, no terms of endearment, nothing to show that we’re still a couple. So I’m assuming that we’re just maintaining this as friends. I’m probably going to be the first one to freak out and kinda go all ugh about all this…

I gestured with my hands, palms in front of me, as though trying to prevent myself from getting beaten up. She giggled.

“Yeah, like what you said on Saturday, about the whole friends thing.”

Yeah, I know. So I’ll try my best to keep this platonic. Its hard but I’m going to try.

You’ve given me two months of your life. I can’t thank you enough.

I looked into those eyes that I’ve become so familiar with, that I knew so well. One that was grass green and one that was grayish green. How her hair fell over the left side of her face whenever she ruffled her hair. How she hated the “lack of volume” in it.

My pager buzzed angrily on my hip.

I gotta go.

We both stood up. And as we walked to the door, she asked, “Do you want a ride?”

I shook my head. No. I’ll walk.

And that was it.

Now, I’ve got nothing worth staying for.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Stories.

I love stories.

Ever since I was a young boy and I borrowed books from the library detailing the heroic prince and fainting damsel in distress to the books that were dark and scary and mentioned things that probably teenagers should never read about, I was hooked.

The amazing repertoire of all that could be told regarding the human being and its flaws and flawlessness captured my imagination and I, in turn, started to write stories of my own.

However, I’ve never been able to successfully write a story and keeping it going. Sure, I’ve written a few that made me smile and made me re-read it and think to myself that somehow, I’ve got it made and I’m going to become a huge-ass writer some time in the near future.

But here I am. I’m still blogging and my blog hasn’t quite gained popularity just yet but hey, that’s all right. I’m getting there.

Owl City’s Fireflies is playing in the background and absolutely loving it at the moment. I can probably zouk to this too. Hm. I’ll try not to tempt myself too much. I’m supposed to get down from my high pedestal and listen to non-danceable music, right? Hehe.

So go ahead and read this. Great story and its one that will be guaranteed to make you think.

Just got the Windows 7 software in my hands. Time for a computer software overhaul!!!! MUAHAHAHA!

Sunday, March 14, 2010

I’d Like.

I’d like to make myself believe
That Planet Earth turns slowly
Its hard to say that I’d rather stay awake when I’m asleep
Because my dreams are bursting at the seams –
Owl City

I’m growing to like this song. A lot.

I heard this song a few times as I’ve been around in town and thought it was a pretty catchy tune. However, I never thought too seriously about it because it wasn’t something exactly dance-y or something I’d pick up to dance to. But then again, I’d like to think that I’ve come down from that high perch that I put myself on when I wouldn’t listen to music I couldn’t dance to. And indeed, I have.

So I’ve been wowed by the genius that is Adam Young and this dude is amazing, if nothing short of probably one of the great synth artists of our time. I’ve played the keyboards before with all the electronic gadgets and this guy just makes me want to get back to all that again. And to think he created all this because he was an insomniac. So don’t ever underestimate all your sleeping problems at night. Creative genius, you might just be.

Here, I’m sitting and I’m wondering where the time has gone. The last time I looked at my watch, it was 3.46p.m. and the afternoon was still there. And I look out at the remaining of the day and it looks the same but the sun’s hitting the house opposite at a different angle and its suddenly 5.15p.m.

We need time
Only time

And too many things hang in the air
And I’m probably pretending
That if I close my eyes it isn’t there
In the hope I wake up next morning

Friday, March 12, 2010

Sh-tuck.

spider ring

Oh yeah, Sociologist. I totally mean it.

Was talking to ShortStuff who was thinking of relocating after this year and when asked where was she headed to next, cheerfully replied (on the Internet, mind you), “No idea. LOL.”

I’ve thought of this for a while now. The sudden idea that the possibility of getting out of here lay just beneath my fingertips. That I was able to again, as I’ve always liked to do somehow because I always make a happy mess of my life no matter where I am, move and try and see what’s happening on the other end of town. Or the country.

It seems that I’ve found (well, not really) the bit in my contract that mentions nothing about a duration. I don’t actually have to stay for two years. Even though for all this time, for last year and the beginnings of this one, I’ve been mentioning, “Oh yeah, I have to stay here for the next two years. TWO YEARS, MAN!” and then grumbling up and down and all around about it, there isn’t actually a basis to that statement.

And it used to be so easy before.

I had thought to myself, “I’ll just up and leave. I’ll do my bit of dancing here and then I’ll up and leave. I’ll gain a bit of experience in all the stupidly different fields of physio and then I’m out of there. I’m not wanting to stay any longer in this place than I have to.”

But that was last year.

It was when I voluntarily took days off work because as much as  I felt bad for overloading my colleagues with the extra work, I just needed that extra break as well. I would take “sick” days off work because I knew I could use them up and besides, some days, I felt sick just thinking about the fact that I had to go to work.

Sure, this can probably be counted as a really foolish thing to do. Call me an ingrate. Especially with the way things are right now, job-wise, the economy and so on, I’m thinking to myself that I’m lucky just to have a job. I don’t want to have to move and then scramble around like a headless chook trying to look for one.

I’ve not taken any days off work yet. I might start soon because I think I honestly need a bit of a break somewhere.

But with all this talk about work, its easy to just call it quits and run.

I’m a coward. Perhaps, that one fact hasn’t changed very much. Sure, I’ve lived in some rather harrowing situations but I think I made it through okay. I didn’t “triumph” above it all. Scraped through, more like. Cuts, bangs and bruises but damn me if I don’t decide that its not quite my time yet.

So why don’t I just leave?

Its you.

Dear deities, its you.

Nothing else was supposed to keep me here. I wanted to leave, clean and simple. No ties to break, no hearts to break (Lord knows I’ve broken enough in my time), no imprints of my ever belonging here. Like Jean-Baptiste Grenouie in Perfume, I wanted to just literally disappear.

But you. You give me a reason to be here. You give me a reason to stay just one more day.

Even dancing doesn’t quite cut it. Sure, there’s dance but that’s all. I could pack my bags and I can, will, and always dance somewhere else and all I need is my dance shoes, a wooden floor and music and I’m all good but you-

Sigh.

Work calls.

Toodles.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Call This A Mix.

So this is going to probably be a mix of photoblog/rant/off-the-cuff thoughts and what else have you. I’m in a bit of a thinking mood at the mo.

So last weekend. Let’s start there, shall we?

Didn’t get particularly much done. But I did head down to Welly and the French Lady was kind enough to give me a lift down. ‘Course, the company was much enjoyed as well. And no, Sociologist. Don’t make pukey-faces. This is not supposed to be a romantic statement.

Kiwi Big Breakfast

After I put this picture up, I realised that most of the pictures that I took over the weekend are food pictures. Oh well. Deal with it. +D

So we started off nice and healthy at Maccas with the usual Kiwi Big Breakfast.

See the irony in that statement?

And as much as I like the convenience of breakfast being right there and me not having to cook it, I looked at the contents and my first thought was, “I could do better than this. Any day.”

One of the things that was mentioned to us as both French Lady and I were the first customers of the day was that we were getting fresh eggs used for our scrambled eggs. We thought that this was a nice touch but then, the staff decided to really prove to us that fresh eggs were used in the making of our breakfast.

Eggshell 

After taking two bites, the French Lady soon discovered that our eggs were indeed, fresh. So fresh that we needed that extra calcium carbonate to kick start our morning nutrition. She complained but got nothing. Sucks. Although I did kind of hear the poor boy who was the chef getting an earful from the manager about the eggs so I guess they were at least proactive about the whole thing.

Te Whaea sign

I turned up here after about 2.5 hours drive on behalf of the French Lady who put up with my incompetence regarding map reading. And to think I lived about 15 minutes away from here 2 years ago. I think I was definitely in the wrong school/university.

Te Whaea windows

Now these were a nice touch, I must admit. It was bright and sunny and the windows were awesome and it just all kind of hit me as to what I might have potentially missed out on with not doing dance as a career and instead, walking steadfastly to the hospital 5 minutes further down the road everyday.

Te Whaea layout

I walked in and the whole thing was a bit of a dream come true. Imagine what I could have done with my talent if I had worked/studied in this place. The place was modern, airy, funky, gym-like. They didn’t have classes. They had dance halls and speakers and sound systems all ready for your laptop or iPod to blast your song of choice. Students, both male and female, clad in singlets and shorts or cargo pants or tutus or skirts or leggings mingling outside the studios, stretching, chatting, practising spins, turns, jumps, leaps, pirouettes, and poses whilst inside, students rhythmically followed music doing incredible stretches and splits in time with a more limber-than-usual instructor. Pianos galore in the corner and ballet barres await in front of gleaming mirrors, ready for the day’s work and sweat and tears.

Oh, why and how did I end up doing physiotherapy again?

poster on wall

Posters proclaiming the latest performance by drama artists and dancers alike. Beats lecture and lab schedules any day, if you ask me. Bleh.

drama 4

Location: Drama Four. The Choreography was going to happen here.

dance hall

And stepping into the studio felt a bit like coming home. I’ve always been used to dancing with mirrors and to have a proper dance floor and the right music/speakers/shoes/gear just made everything click in place.

I had my reservations, though. There was a whole bunch of people that I hardly knew that I was going to be spending pretty much 12 hours of practice with and the only person that I was familiar with was Mama Salsa. But I, being obsessive compulsive regarding dance and everything to do with it, told myself that I was here to learn a choreography first of all and secondly to get some socialising in place. If I felt like it. Which I don’t, usually.

team neo zouk 2010

Spot the token random Asian guy in the group. Talk about feeling out of place. Good fun, though. I think I work better when I’m on the move.

The choreography was hard, no doubt. Especially since most of us only had the basics of the dance in place rather than more moves and we were expected to do some really hard and complicated choreography. A comment that I passed on to someone else was that if I had known that the routine was going to be that complex, I wouldn’t have done it in the first place. But all good now, though. We’re getting there. Slowly but surely. I’m tempted to put the name of the team here but I’m wondering how much publicity we’re wanting to get at the moment so until further notice, this bunch of dance vigilantes shall remain unnamed.

sustenance

As much as this looks like a rubbish bin, its not. That’s lunch. Shredded chicken with some peanuts, a large orange and a large apple. I pretty much had the same thing two days in a row for lunch and honestly, that kept me dancing for hours. Good thing to have, really. Didn’t feel tired at all and I think I mastered the routine quite well. Initially, Mama Salsa had inquired whether Cleopatra and I were keen to debut the choreography earlier on in the year but team decision was that it was done as a team. Sucks to be me but it was a fair call.

Window sunlight

And this is where this picture came in. During lunch and I got bored and noticed that when I pointed my camera phone at the sunspots on the floor, the entire thing darkened to show only this. Artsy-fartsy shot. Just because I thought that someday, I could even try my hand at some amateur photography.

shoe

And this was Lefty of the ole faithful pair that lasted me throughout the weekend, holding my aching feet up and allowing me to do spins, dips, slides, and the general whole dancing action footwork.

everybody

And the rest of the team goofing off during lunch half hour. This was taken on day 2 of the weekend so half of them were nursing hangovers and some totally decide to pass out from tiredness/not sleeping enough from the drunken antics of the night before. Convenient that there were mats in the corner. The rest that were still conscious decide to catch up on gossip.

Notice the angle of the shot. I’m away from the crowd because my social skills aren’t particularly the best and I’m more comfortable taking photos from my vantage point than to try and figure out what everyone had done when they were alcoholically biased last night.

funky building old

The French Lady had questioned me about what on earth did we as Malaysians eat. And so thus, still trying to hang on to bits and pieces of what remained of my patriotism and the whole Malaysian pride thing, I decided to take her to the only place I knew in Welly that served half decent traditional Malaysian food. For those of you reading who live in Welly, you probably would know where that place is.

And if you look carefully at the above picture, you can see the French Lady’s right arm. +D That’s all we’re showing today of her, folks.

*picture was taken courtesy of my trusty but soon dying Sony Ericsson k800i because the French Lady likes old decaying funky buildings. I personally think there’s something really bohemian and hip about living in a place older than my great-grandma.*

So I started off with, what else? Starters. Typical normal stuff you’d get back home. Um. Typical is debatable.

wontons

Maybe this wasn’t a particularly traditional Malaysian dish. Fried wontons? Please. That’s to satisfy the Western crowd. We Malaysians like our wontons soaked in soup and filled with minced pork. But this was chicken and I was hungry and this was a good shot with the macro setting on.

satay

And what could be more Malaysian than good ole satay/sate. Though this wasn’t traditional either. Good satay/sate should be slivers of chicken/beef stuck onto wooden bamboo skewers and barbecued over hot coals while an elderly pakcik/makcik fans the dying flames and get the meat to a nearly but well controlled burnt crisp. We had chicken cubes lightly grilled and then probably skewered post-grill, making it a bit too chunky rather than mouthful-by-mouthful like the meat slivers back home. The sauce, though it didn’t look too bad here, in reality resembled baby puke from my perspective. The French Lady took one look and said it had the consistency of cat puke. Well, at least we agreed on the puke bit. But there was no peanut butter involved, only actual peanut bits that were a tad too clumpy and didn’t really coat the satay well. Good try, though. I commend them on their attempt to make satay sauce from scratch. It still needs a lot more work.

The mains were a bit of a toss up. I personally had my own favourites of what I would call typical Malaysian fare. Roti Canai, for one. Cha Kway Teow would be the next. And for die hard Sibu-rians, Kam Pua Mee is a must.

But adapt I needed to and adapt I did. After browsing the menu, I decided that the best way to get the French Lady to share the love of Malaysian food (haha, tour guide me!) would be to get nasi lemak and Hainanese Chicken Rice.

nasi lemak

So we got the usual rice cooked in santan, beef rendang, one half boiled egg, cucumber slices, peanuts, and sambal. Only thing missing was probably the sliced fried squid ring-ish things and ikan bilis – salted anchovies fried with the peanuts. Not bad, although the rice was a tad plain. Fragrant, though. The French Lady thought it was nice but she wasn’t a big fan of spicy. I wanted to show that a true Malaysian can take any degree of spicy and ended up dabbing my forehead with a soaking wet napkin due to overproductive sweat glands and chugging down water by the bottle. In short, she found it highly amusing while I was dying on the inside from the heat.

hainanese chicken rice

This was a dish I was really looking forward to. Even back home, this was one of my favourite dishes whether it was authentically cooked by an actual Hainanese person or whether it was from the Singapore Chicken Rice (SCR) franchise. Things missing out that I would have liked seen was the sweet pickled cucumber slices and the mandatory (like duh!) bowl of chicken stock/soup that the chicken and the rice had been boiled in.

And the chili sauce? Totally underestimated. I spent like 2 minutes trying to save the remnants of what was left of my tongue after the sambal sauce. Again, macho-ism= EPIC FAIL.

Met up with the Sociologist and MediMart to introduced the French Lady to them and we went to this really neat bar where I had an alcoholic drink which made me understand why I stuck to generic mixers of rum-and cokes. My already tortured-to-bits tastebuds and actual proper decent alcohol don’t get along too well. All I tasted was the alkie.

*Just realised. It seems as though I’m doing a restaurant review update thingie. THAT WASN’T THE PLAN!*

Oh well. Hee. I did mention that most of the pictures were of food. Forewarned is forearmed.

wellington fine sunday

Welly. Ah. Dear Welly. As much as you promise nice and wonderfully clear weather, I don’t think I can ever believe your big lying mouth again. Especially when we go from the above…

dark outside

To this. In a span of less than 8 hours. Honestly.

So while you’re still salivating from the awesome pictures of food, here’s some more.

The French Lady and I were hunkering for breakfast and we thought we’d try this spot. It wasn’t particularly well known as a breakfast location but we hoped for the best.

strawberry fare logo

It is more well known for its desserts and the luxuriousness of its dessert menus but we wanted to carpe diem and pray that they would at least match their reputation for sweet stuff in their savoury department.

They didn’t disappoint.

strawberry fare breaky

Piled high with kransky x2, tomato halves x2, mushrooms x2, bacon x3, poached eggs x2, hash browns x2, toast x2. A veritable Noah’s Ark of breakfast plus an extra bacon slice stowaway. It sank down nicely, aided by a cup of tea.

english breakfast tea

Yes, that is 2 sugar sachets. Yes, I’m going to die of diabetes. Shut up and drool.

tea logo

Tea was a bit bland. We suspected trim milk as the guilty party. Trim milk and tea ≠ not good. After all, you’d want full cream goodness in your cuppa, not some half-arsed watered down version of cow’s breast milk.

And before we headed back to good ole’ Wangy, there was only one real place to go for dinner.

wellington lone star ribs

I remembered asking her whether she had ever been to Lone Star before and when was the last time she had BBQ ribs. Following answers were no, never, and the last time was ages ago where the ribs were home cooked. Incredibly tasty and with lashings of love as per usual with home made food but as I had not a clue where on earth to begin, I introduced her to Lone Star ribs. She’s obviously never stopped ranting about them since.

i'm never gonna be a vegetarian

French Lady says: I can never be a vegetarian!

Classic.

We’ve been to a few different Lone Star restaurants and I’m sure she’ll agree with me, the one we had up in Not-So-Old Plymouth was still the best one thus far. The coleslaw was brilliant, the ribs, divine, potatoes slightly battered and crispy-ly hot.

wellington lone star coleslaw and potatoes

Though I’m not quite getting why the ribs and the coleslaw/potatoes had to be separated when we were served here. The first time we had them, the ribs were piled high on top of everything else and the rib sauce drenched everything beneath it so it was rib-flavoured throughout. This was a tad annoying to have to eat off two plates rather than one. Not only that, the ribs weren’t even smothered properly in the rib sauce! But perhaps its just us being pedantic about these things. Lone Star Not-So-Old Plymouth still gets my vote of confidence.

kiwi joker

My dish. I was craving a steak. And I ended up having two ribs as well as French Lady got full. Gotta love being the human food/waste disposal unit. +D

dessert

And what a way to end an awesome meal. This got French Lady moaning about how good this was all the way back to Wangy. But I must admit, this was a good dessert. Of all the times I’ve eaten dessert here back in ‘08, I don’t think I’ve ever been that impressed with it until now. As we were both waddling from the previous meal, we split this one in two. Thank goodness for that because if we actually had a plate each, the dessert would have split me in two.

moon

And the moon was bright that night. And this ends the weekend tale.

Honestly didn’t expect to write that much.

And moving on to the rather more mundane/emo-ing bits. You’re more than welcome to close the tab/window right now if you wish.

Pharmacist M and I were discussing about whether we thought that life was ours to control (as in we held our destiny in our choices) or whether life was fated to happen (as in no matter what you do, there’s no way in hell you could escape your fate in life.) After much discussion, we ended up with the solution that there were elements of both self-controlled destiny as well as life’s fate in reality. However, it depended strongly on which one we believed in more. I favoured the “I control my own destiny” approach whereas she thought that “life was pre-determined” and there’s nothing she could do about it.

Dory had decided to write a similarly entitled post so I thought that I’ll link on to it and let y’all decide for yourselves which is which.

I thought to myself today in my quiet moments about what I had imagined my life to be. Or what I had wanted it to be.

Somehow, my focus on this primarily has been around what my future home would look like. I had envisaged something minimalistic, chrome and metal and silver. Hard and soft edges blending together. Something like this.

I’m a sucker for a modern, minimalistic apartment.

I would be sitting on my couch with my feet up on the table, blow good manners. Latest laptop on lap, me typing away, creating wonder after wonder of my own successful dance business. I’m wanted, at the beck and call of men. I don’t answer to anyone, people come to me. And at night, I would draw back the curtains and look out over the city skyline, the sparkling lights, and get dressed in the finest tailor-cut suits with pure white linen shirts to head out for a night on the town.

And then I get woken up by a huge dose of reality and the fact that I’m living in a wooden house and apart from my two suitcases and two boxes, I basically own nothing else. Talk about wow factor, huh?

The Higher Authorities rang earlier and talked about work/life/dance/etc. Just the usual. They continued to encourage me to “hold on” and that things will be okay as long as I kept my head up and kept working away at it.

And after all the pep talk, I remembered one defining moment during work the week before where I pondered quietly to myself regarding my job and my career.

Its sad when you hate your job so much at that point in time but yet, you keep your mouth shut and the lies pouring like fine wine when the Higher Authorities ask you how its going and you tell them that things are fine and dandy because honestly, if you tell them the truth and what you really want to do with your life, you know that it will break their poor hearts. So you keep your mouth shut and you don’t utter a single word. Isn’t that right? Just to keep the peace, boy, just to keep chaos from breaking loose.

Smile and no one will know the difference – Poet, 2007.

In a conversation I had with the French Lady earlier this week, I mentioned that I had a look at my contract. And realised that there was no end date for my position which basically meant that I could leave anytime I want, as long as I provided a month’s notice.

She kind of looked down at the floor and shrugged as in to say, “Well.”

And in that moment, I would have emptied my wallet to know what she was thinking.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

The Choreography.

Window sunlight

So last weekend, I headed down with the French Lady to Welly where I was pretty much thrown in head first into a Neo Zouk choreography.

I really like this picture. Its one of those abstract kind of pictures that people take when they’re trying to aim for one of those arty fart-y kinda things.

As crazy as the choreography was, I enjoyed it and it was fun to do a choreography again. Granted, it was hard and I need practice. Like heaps. Like heaps until it starts to pour out of my ears for me to actually be good enough to perform it.

On a completely different note, I’m wondering why the aggressive mode seems to have been ramped up with my work colleagues. Is it just me or is it the fact that I’m missing something really important. Is my fly down? Or my face too annoying? Or my attitude towards work unprofessional?

I don’t know. But honestly, I’m starting to despise work. A LOT.