Roomful of people

Last Friday. "Hey. Up for a drink?"

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We made our way home shortly after dinner, so that she could get back in time to fall asleep and be jolted awake again by the next exciting episode of the locally produced sequel to the successful Scream trilogy: "Scream 4 (Me) - Love in the Woodlands." Also touted as Singapore's first reality show set in the heartlands where real people live their real lives, "Scream 4 (Me)" features the vocal talents of your neighbours.

No longer are horror movies visual feasts of serendipitously ripped clothing and aesthetically blood-splattered bosoms that make most males see, well, bosoms (and girlfriends / wives see red - not of the same variety on said bosoms). How can anyone appreciate the riveting plot with all that visual distraction? Instead, the intrigue of the unseen - but heard, and very loudly too - which the Japanese horror movies often use, builds greater psychological suspense and drama. Never doubt the power of suggestion, and your sleep-deprived imagination going into overdrive, as lying on your bed trying to sleep, you wonder why the voice of the usually more vocal woman has fallen silent, to be replaced by the grunts of her male co-star. Oh. Ohhh... Heh. Heh. Heh.

Meanwhile, I went to meet W for drinks. The rest of my evening out wasn't quite as titillating; though it did get just a bit weird towards the end. Roomful of Blues was a nice place to chill out - great vocalist (Filipino - the good ones all seem to be) who seemed as happy to perform as the patrons were to listen, and laid-back patrons. Everyone seemed content to soak in the atmosphere and enjoy themselves. Stepping in for the first time, and for the rest of the evening, the air was not charged the way it usually is with the hunting grounds along Mohamad Sultan, where appraising eyes and anticipatory smiles zero in on every piece of fresh meat. Or maybe the combination of sleep deprivation and alcohol had numbed my defences that night. Heh.

As the pub closed in the early hours of the next morning, and most of the patrons had already left, the small group of Americans (I suppose) who had been dancing earlier and were evidently in high spirits (of more than one kind) were still saying their goodbyes to the staff, and one of them was wearing black briefs under his pants. Eh?! Hold on, why do I know that?! Turning to look again - Black Briefs had his pants down around his mid-thighs and was trying to prove some point or other about his briefs, as he waddled towards the waitress, mostly with his butt leading the way, to everyone's bemusement. I could not tell if they were designer briefs, but I did notice BB's shirt was just a little too small and he had been dancing with another guy. And there was something asexual about his touch - when he came up behind me at the bar and put his arms around my waist to say goodbye. "You smell really nice." (Funny that the only female in his group also said that to me too as we bid our farewells, and she wanted to know what I was using.) Well, asexual or not, it was definitely a good thing BB's pants were already pulled up by then!

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W asked me if I had really gotten over the bear, because it did not seem so, from the way I still write about him here. He thought that when people have moved on, they will forget.

Will they? Should they?

Most of my feelings about the bear have faded and there is a certain finality that tinges the memories. But I still remember, and I still write - though not so much about him as a person, but the relationship - because the relationship and the lessons in the aftermath took up so much of my life as it was (six years), as it is, and as it will be. I grow through my relationships with people.

And so, some stories just have to be told. Before they are forgotten. And lost. Forever. And before I forget. Before I lose myself so completely that I fade into nothingness.

When we feel that something is missing from our lives, is it really that elusive search for the other who will complete us, or the parts of ourselves that we have lost along the way?

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Sometimes, when you have lost the words (to write), talking helps.

Thank you for the Long Island Horse Piss and Kilkenny. And the ride home :-)