Five cents only.



Dr A Chan. BSc(Hons)(First Class) The shrink is - IN. Heh.


Yesterday.

Last Sunday seemed like only yesterday. Then, scrolling through my mailbox, I realised that two months have already passed. Really? I can barely remember when time has passed so quickly; and so imperceptibly. (Except when cramming for exams last minute. Arrrgh!!!) Everything has been an inconsequential blur. Everything - except.

Ride the wave and live the moment?

Until you will become someone else's fairytale, to amuse my idle mind, at times like these.
~ The Girl on the Beach

And then, I think about the wonderful (mostly) six years that have marked me, and changed me. And they seem an eternity away now; a chapter in my (not so ordinary, after all) life - closed.


A life less ordinary.

I: "would you consider yourself an ordinary person?

A: "not really."

I: "why? why do you consider yourself not ordinary. i kinda think i'm ordinary. sure i do strange things sometimes, but i am kinda, well, not outstanding i think"

A: "well, i think my intelligence is above average. i think my experiences are above average. i think my perspective on things are broader. and i think it shows in my advice to people. i feel that the quality of my life is quite a bit above average. not about being rich but being wealthy."

Now this - this is self-awareness and self-confidence. Or else, one really arrogant BSD. Laugh.

Was just telling SF how I used to envy her post-KW days, when she became a swinging AND much sought after bachelorette, again. Her amazing story-telling skills aside ;-) I genuinely thought she was one happening chick who got chatted up at pubs all the time (true), hung out with happening people (well, they were interesting in their own ways), and hot Korean Lieutenants / Admiral Aides from the US Navy (true also). Strangely, I did not salivate over Hank, like all the other females. (Man, you should have seen the way they were all over him - except he had the hots for only SF.) Because it is bad manners to lust after your best friend's romantic interest. And, especially after he saw me in glasses sans make-up. Boy, was I worried about my mortality if word got out that I shared a room with him - unintentional, I swear! Of course, SF knew. But, she already had a room at her father's holiday place in Sebana, and we could not possibly switch places in the night - NOT under her father's watchful eye. And, just in case, I apologised to her for the "arrangements" - Stupid Eel-Phobic Alan and Stupid Eel-Killer Ragu roomed together with glee. See? How to feel hot like that? More like cold sweat!

I remember thinking how different SF was pre-KW, with-KW, post-KW (ah, how very different), and now, just being SF. Strange that we have known each other for 12 years, and I am still getting to know (or just increasingly aware of) her. In the last two years, I got to know her even more - when we found ourselves alone (she, a year earlier), together. Yet, not quite alone - in our not-so-ordinary encounters (all her ideas! not mine!), our fears and our dreams, and shedding our old skins. I also started to observe her in her ordinary moments - in wonder.

A: "everyone has ordinary moments. our lives are not continuous episodes of sex and the city."

I: "laugh. ok interesting analogy."

A: "there're highs and lows but there's also ordinary moments. but that does not necessarily make u ordinary."

In spite of the ordinary moments, I know she is not ordinary. She IS special. Well, not necessarily in a superior sense. (Though she may beg to differ. Sigh. I am surrounded by BSDs - Dickettes?) I suppose, she is just SF. The SF I know. The one and only. The one who pulled me firmly from the brink of despair - in spite of her own broken heart which she is still healing - and self-hate two years ago, and helped me to shed my old skin. The SF I trust.

Do you know why I have so few friends? Because none of them are ordinary. Well, that, and some of them have a few too many screws loose. They are NOT ordinary - to me, anyhow. And I do not always choose them. Often, they choose me. Like a certain someone who ransacked my overnight bag and tried to make me buy her lunch sandwiches a week later. Grrr.


The Bear Hunt.

I used to be proud of the fact that I was the one who made all the moves on the EX-communicated. I am still quite open about it. People either find it unconventional (not in a bad way) or brave - she knows what she WANTS.

They do not realise that I was driven by my insecurity and lack of self-confidence. I grew up a little differently from some people. Perhaps, it had to do with the temperament I was born with. And my mother said things to me - not in malice, I suppose. Perhaps, she was unhappy. Sometimes, my sisters and relatives made careless remarks too. And every single one of them stuck in my mind for a long time.

I did not think anyone would give me a second look, much lest make a move - unless I made it "easy" for him. I hunted the Bear down for an entire year. (Admittedly, there were distractions in between. Well, if he was going to take that long to respond, I figured I needed to take the edge off occasionally, before I lost my BEARings. Heh.) Heck, I even grabbed his hand in the cinema. And that was how the six years started. (Roll eyes. Desperate - me.)

While we were together, I was always trying to keep him happy and make him laugh. Then, the unreasonable tantrums and fits of jealously. (But, perhaps, my paranoia was not so unfounded after all. Hmmm.) He used to talk about this pretty friend a lot, who also worked with him on the same team. I almost went insane when he told me that she stroked his stubble at work one day. (She whattt??? Ok, she had better know some self-defence. Because!!!) And it did not help a bit that he would stroke his own stubble over the next few days, with that silly grin on his face. Grrr. (Actually, I like her. So. Shrug. Heh.)

H: "it was obvious. whenever i hang out with you two, it's always you 'taking' care of him ... it has always appeared to me that you were going after him more than the other way round."

I suppose we had something good going. But, perhaps, my insecurities destroyed it. AND, perhaps, he never loved me enough. I still think that - actually. It was something about the way it started. And, the way it continued. And, finally, the way it ended.

It drained me - in many ways - always being the one calling the shots. Especially, to be the one who started things AND being "forced" to end it. The ball was always in my court. So tired. So empty inside. Nothing left to give.


Itching. Shedding. Evolving.

Obiwan: "That boy was our last hope."
Yoda: "No, there is another."
~ Star Wars

Things will never change unless I stop hating myself, and living in the past.

Hence, the target practices - the Friendsters, the strangers, and occasionally the Fish. Heh. What? Not as if they are not using me as one too! Then, watching SF and her (very natural) moves, and trying to figure out where she drew it from. From inside. Ah. And, watching the people who were drawn to her. They can smell it - your confidence, and your fears. And so, I learnt to WAIT. And I learnt to smell.

After some time, I do not even think giving the men a "hard time" is deliberate; baiting; a game. Sometimes, it just IS like this.

"It's not you. It's ME."

I do not know when I stopped obsessing if a guy thought I was good enough for him. Hey, if I am not, I am not. It is not a case of apathy or lack of interest. If he finds me interesting enough, then let him make the move. If he does not, well, there is always another train pulling into the station. I know what I want. I just do not do bear hunts anymore.


Thank you.

"Because some stories end, but old stories go on, and you gotta dance if you want to stay ahead."
~ The Amazing Maurice and his Educated Rodents, Terry Pratchett.

Well, I guess as long as my toes do not get stepped on. Heh. And if I do not want to dance anymore, well, what better way to let him know than when he feels my heel digging into his toes, eh?

Me and my negative buoyancy. Now, what was it that the Divemaster told me about ditching that fourth weight? Duh.

Thanks, A - for the male perspective :-)