Strangers in the night

"Why didn't you want to stay for coffee? Did you really find him too flamboyant*? I'm just curious, that's all." (*In his own words.)

"Yah... and he's a stranger." He frowned darkly.

"Doesn't everyone start off as strangers? Don't you remember how we met everyone else back in NUS?"

"Yahhh... but..."

It was an impromptu (I suppose?) invitation from the stranger - a stranger of sorts to me as well - for both of us to join him for a drink. The plan was only to pick up the book. But, I would not have minded coffee, even if I had showed up alone. It was a Friday night after all. And I have had to find ways to entertain myself on Fridays since the "BF" spends most of her time entertaining the "bf" now. Sniff. SNIFFFFF.

But "ethics" (to steal a word from a very ethical fellow) dictated that I could not force an extension of the brief encounter on my friend, even though he had known of this more than a day in advance. And, reluctance aside, he did remember his manners and stepped forward to introduce himself, albeit warily. So, there.

After dinner at this Japanese place in International Building, he asked if I would like to join his colleagues at Bar None. Another impromptu invitation? I went and met several more strangers, who he "warned" me were "even more flamboyant" and there would be a few "suave" ones around - but he was eager for me to meet them nonetheless. I suppose they were "flamboyant" - by his standards. They were very different from him, but nice and rather interesting people - from what I could understand from the snatches of shouted conversation over the loud music. And I must say, there is a very nonchalant and charming confidence exuded by people who work with a lot of money. (Not the showy wannabes - who reek of something else altogether.)

It was also interesting how those closer to him tried to figure out the nature of our relationship (when he was away), while maintaining a very careful distance. I told the truth: "We're very old friends from school." Though I teased him mercilessly in front of them (and he "threatened" never to take me out again), I kept my body language cool - turning my body away though I looked at and listened to him intently; and making sure there were no opportunities for lingering touches when we were passing things.

I knew he sometimes watched me from a distance when I was talking to his colleagues, or leaning in so one of them could shout into my ears. Again, "ethics" (sigh!) dictated that I had to maintain some level of social conservatism and "face-saving" for his sake. That, and I knew he was still coming to terms with things about me that he had not been aware of before.

Sometime around midnight, he kept asking if I had too much to drink - because of the teasing. I told him that on the contrary, because my reflexes start to slow, I tend to become more inhibited and quiet. He said inebriation did that to him too. Later, he got a little high. In addition to a fine mist which I felt on my face and arms whenever he came up to talk; he also chose to tell me about a much younger woman who he was dating occasionally and her hypothetical scenarios about age differences and making intentions known.

I left - alone - after the band's second performance. The week has been tiring. After I did the "nice meeting you" with some people, he walked me out and then returned to his colleagues.



The morning after

"BTW, D was pretty appreciative of you... hmm..."

"Ah :-)"

"He asked how come I am not dating you... hehe..."

Ah. So, it finally comes. Yes, I did expect to be "appreciated" by D (what the hell does "pretty appreciative" mean anyway) - though that was probably just an excuse to bring up The Question, which I did not feel like entertaining, or exploring hypothetical scenarios. And I know I would not be able to help myself from telling some white lies. So, I told him I was going out for yoga - which I did. (See, I'm an honest woman.)



Itching. Shedding. Evolving.

There are things that you obviously never realised about me. Things that you know only now. Things that are new - even to me. Things that I find myself telling you. Things that you couldn't help but saw for yourself on Friday night. (No, I was never high; I knew exactly what I was doing and saying.) Things that surprise and bewilder you. Things, also, that you chose not to know or see or acknowledge. You didn't know that I've always had a penchant for music with Arabic (no, not Indian - Arabic!) influences. You didn't know that although I don't smoke because I hate cigarettes, I enjoy the occasional cigar (after picking it up from the Ex). You didn't know that I have engaged strangers who fascinated me. You didn't know these things - and when you knew, you frowned. (Did you realise that you were frowning?)

I know how you hold on dearly to the old days. Yes, they were good. I can see how fondly you smile when you recount your meetings with old friends who are still as you remembered them. And I'm a part of those sepia memories that keep you sane in a changing world - your comfort zone.

I miss some of those old times too. And I wish some things didn't have to change. But some things are still the same - like the way I can still read you like a book.

You will not spend a whole lifetime knowing me - wanting to know me. Perhaps, you think you already know all there is to know about me - or need to.

But I'm cool with that, really. I don't need to know everything there's to know about my friends anyway.

Old times

Saturday. 1515 hours.

It felt like old times again. Perhaps, having just decided on his new place and gotten the bank loan approved, there was now less on his mind and he was in a more light-hearted mood.

After a spirited exchange of the usual taunts and Brownian conversation over ICQ, he suggested meeting for a movie - at Lido, because he had an "ulterior motive" to check out the iPod Shuffle at Wheelock Place. (And apparently, I shall be buying the Shuffle off him once his order of the U2 iPod and Shuffle comes in end of the month. Damn. I hate my friends. I really do.)

"Are you sure that's your ONLY ulterior motive?"

"Errr.. well.. I was thinking of having nice Japanese food at that place H showed me the other day."

An hour later, we found ourselves trying to figure out the missing plot elements in Elektra; but I, at least, gave up and just allowed myself to be entertained. After the movie, he figured that the Japanese restaurant would already be closed. So, we settled on dinner at Borders' Olio Dome instead. Dinner conversation picked up from where we had left off in the afternoon - kidding around (mostly at his expense, and occasionally below his belt, heh heh heh) and skipping from topic to topic.

It was an old comfort that I know well, and am glad has returned in spite of what had happened. I shall be loathe to lose a good friend, again - even though he tried to bite off more than an arm and a leg the last time.

And yet, there was something subtly different about the evening - though I believe he is, mostly, still the same person I know. Perhaps, it was how I often steered the conversation a certain way and spoke quite openly about several things that evening. But I know this: a new level of comfort has been reached, at least for that evening. When we were talking about H and how lawyers could not keep secrets, he brought up, almost nonchalantly, the Misfired SMS and subsequent boo-boo thanks to H. I was taken aback and a little embarrassed - I did not expect him to bring up the incident after two years of careful silence. Fortunately, he was easy about it and I laughed it off. I had almost forgotten about the boo-boo. H had decided to do him a "favour" by relating the incident, including the actual message, over the mailing list that went out to our mutual friends, and asked for opinions - not realising that the shooter in question was yours sincerely. Obviously, some temper tantrums over betrayed confidences, frayed nerves and hurried apologies followed. In retrospect, it was all quite funny. And then, I do not know why - other than feeling comfortable about revealing something that had happened so long ago anyway - I told him about the poem that H wrote for me back in school, and the phonecall that same night to ask me a very direct question. He was absolutely delighted with the little tidbit as he schemed how to get one back at H. And then, he told me about H's penchant for online pick-ups. Heh. Boys.

We left the restaurant just before midnight as it was closing, and I picked up a copy of Vanity Fair on our way out.

On our separate ways home, he messaged me and so we continued the evening over SMS, and then ICQ back home - until I got distracted by my blog.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My sister wondered if I was not afraid that he might push things again. I shrugged and said we have an understanding - from before. But if he did try again, then I suppose I would run. Again. But this time, I will make damn sure the handphone is out of my reach.

Anyway, the whole week has turned out rather well, I think :-)



Itching. Shedding. Evolving.

Don't think. Don't turn to look. Don't stop. Just keep on going. Go. Go. Go.

Something stale

Monday. 2005 hours.

After a last minute errand for my boss, I was left with only ten minutes to make it to yoga class. I had two choices: [1] Stay on and work late - it was unlikely I could make it to class on time. [2] Grab a cab and pray (yes, I do "pray" - though not to any entity in particular - and for "things") the class starts late, as it sometimes does. If not, I would just drag my long face home.

So, I fled. I fled from the office - literally. At the carpark, someone I work with offered a ride. But neither he nor his wife knew where Telok Ayer Street was, and I was not sure of the way. (Not even when I have been to a place a hundred times before.) Anyway, I did not think he would be too happy if I had gotten all three of us on a car rally around Chinatown. I thanked them anyway and continued my hasty flight. They seemed a little concerned; I must have been quite a sight - all wild-eyed with hair flying and the words tumbling out of my mouth.

I managed to join the class in time - it started about ten minutes late.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lately, something in me has been revolting against staying in the office past 7 or 8 pm. Not because I hate my work. Not so much because there is usually some place to go - yoga, climbing, the occasional dinner with SF and assorted creatures, or personal errands. Some nights, I have literally fled the office, usually to get to yoga... because I needed to... clear my mind, I suppose. And I suppose it gives me the strength and focus to get through the week.

Heck, some weekends, I even find myself needing to be out of the house. And when I am out... in the day... the light... the sun on my face and arms... the open space all around me (okayyy, the slivers of open space in between the HDB flats and concrete buildings)... I just know it - out there - is where I should be.

My feet are trying to tell me something.

So, when A talked to me again about his plans to move to UK (before that, it was Canada) and whether I would consider going together with him and his wife, I found myself considering and looking forward to an alternate reality; and my usual fears about friends/strangers, job, family, love (or lack thereof) and so on, barely mattered. I am, however, certain that I will not move unless I can write or be involved in publishing - I do not want to spend the better part of my days hating what I have to do for food and shelter. (Unfortunately, current finances are not looking too good. Heh.)

The truth - my truth - is out there.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I am not the only who feels it.

My colleague asked if I had ever thought of a career change. A few of us know that we cannot do what we are doing forever, and there are only so many creative ways of doing our work. Then, she commented about the office "feng shui" and that there is something stale and oppressive about the air. Morale has - always - been low; though, better in recent months after a few major changes. And there is that other thing about our not-altogether-undesirable singles whose situations have remained status quo.

Maybe it is the mortuary next door - though I have never felt anything of the supernatural kind.

Maybe we just need to let in some natural light. I just do not understand the point of spending thousands of dollars to repaint the building, among other selected and superficial improvements, but do nothing about the thick, ugly and green-frosted windows. I am very tempted to take a baseball bat to the windows one of these nights.



Walking with giants

I dunno. Everytime I accomplish something significant, someone would get envious (not always someone in particular; and it never comes from the guys at the top who are really the ones pushing me ahead) and throw spanners into the gears. Why? Why does it always have to be like that? Why - me?

The latest was an extremely hostile attempt - albeit unsuccessful, because she came barging into my territory and I was determined to keep her out.

Meanwhile, the-four-legged-fire-breathing-creature-of-myth-who-keeps-breathing-down-my-neck thinks I should start writing and putting my name to articles. (And the recent episode did not escape him - I wanted him to know.) Which, is not a bad idea since I really cannot continue what I have been doing for almost four years, and it is about time for a career change within the next two years.



Itching. Shedding. Evolving.

Is this the way that things must be? Indeed?

Then, I will. I will - change. And I will - embrace change.

Older

I would think someone who took a 15-minute cab ride to have a long lunch would try a little harder to enjoy the pleasant afternoon; any weekday afternoon spent doing anything but working is always pleasant in my books. And I would like to think, my not-altogether-unpleasant company. Why else would someone take a 15-minute cab ride just to have lunch on a busy working day, and one that he had suggested anyhow.

It was not that he was sullen or whiny; there were still things to laugh about. But, there was this hardness in his face and words as he brusquely waved off casual observations about current affairs and life, which used to get him started on the most irreverent conversations and hysterical laughter. It was not just disinterest I saw and heard and felt, but a growing tiredness and bitterness with life that I think has settled in a little too deeply.

I suppose having to go home to a couple of unhappy faces every night, after a long day of work, does not make things any easier. Maybe it also has to do with growing older and having more responsibilities (above-35-single-and-looking - for that elusive HDB flat so that you can have two or three rooms smaller than the next to take turns sleeping in throughout the week) to worry about. And naturally, all your old drinking buddies and friends have moved on and are now busy building their own nests and spawning little monsters making beautiful babies.

Now, I know that everyone has their good days and bad; including myself. But, I dunno... lately, I just do not feel like spending too much time around people when they are feeling down or seem more preoccupied with... their own worries. It is not that I am incapable of sympathy. I certainly do not think I am a fair-weather friend. I do not only want to share my friend's good days. It is just that... with the way I have been lately... I dunno... things are strange... and much as I want to talk and listen to my friends and even strangers, I also need some time and space to... live my own life - for now.

So, I was looking forward to lunch; to doing something other than working on a weekday afternoon; to meeting an old friend who I only see very irregularly; to getting my hair coloured after that. And I had made a mental note to not let the pile of work and deadlines back in the office, or any of my thousand and one random worries, spoil the afternoon (which went pretty well, I still think) for my friend AND myself. I suppose I could have been a little more charming, or maybe flirted a little just to cheer up my friend. But, eh, nah. Smothered fires should not be re-started.

It was really what someone said. That, no matter how bad her day was, she would try to not to bring it along with her when she meets her boyfriend / friends. Seeing them makes her happy and she does not want to waste the time together continuing to feel miserable about something that happened earlier and has nothing to do with present company anyhow.

I wonder if that is why some old friends "lose" contact (and for that matter, couples who gradually lose interest in each other) - when friends start to take each other for granted. And after a while, we stop feeling guilty about cancelling a high tea, or not calling our friend just for a quick chat to catch up. After all, are we missing out on anything?



Till death do us part

Does living become harder as we grow older?

Is it the monotony of doing the same things over and over and over, again and again and again?

Is it that as everything and everyone around us change, we begin to feel the tedium of keeping the pace?

Do we then continue to live life as we have, holding on to the things that we are familiar with; that give us something to look forward to; that make us happy? But, what happens when these very things begin to feel... unfamiliar? What happens when they no longer give us the same pleasure? What happens when they no longer make us happy? What happens when everyone else has moved on? What happens when life itself has left you behind?

Do we really desire, above all, Constancy? The Constancy of our creature comforts. The Constancy of a man's heart. The Constancy of our very existence - that our every breath will lead to another, and another, and another...

Or do we crave Constancy because we fear Change; the Un-certainty of Change; the Un-known?

What happens when we allow this fear to eat at us? What happens when we begin to resent changes? What happens when we begin to resent the future - our future? We will grow old. And, we will grow bitter with this burden - of living. And, we will wish we were dead.

I do not think living ever gets easier - even with the lessons from our past experiences. It is a constant effort, though not necessarily a chore. Every day is different. (And we can never know if our next breath might be our last.) There is always something different, if not new, to discover and to learn. Living only becomes a burden when we deny the changes around us and in us, and we allow ourselves to stop being interested about life.

(Just as loving a person can become a chore, and eventually, a burden, when you stop wanting to learn about him, and to grow with him as he changes.)

We must never give up on living.


Unpacking

Someone had this to say: "If you don't stop comparing the new guy with the old, and let go of your past, you would never be able to give your all to the new relationship, and the new beginning that he and you both deserve."

I thought these things were understood, and that we go into each new relationship with that as the first thing in mind. But I guess people just have to be reminded.



From the present to the past

It is not hard to remember what it was like to have loved someone.

The difficulty is that we have a tendency to forget what it is like to be love-ing another person.

You must never stop love-ing. Every day. Every quirk that makes him so different from everyone else - and you. Every hour. Every witty remark or word - no matter how ordinary. Every minute. Every little smile to himself. Every second. Every eyelash resting on the pale shadows under his eyes as he sleeps. Every - precious - moment when you are with him.

Suffer the little children

*** RANT ALERT ***

Frankly speaking? I know that my well-being does matter to some people. Others probably just want to be part of, or have a connection to - no matter how far removed or spurious - the recent tragedy. (Which, is understandable - Man is driven by his need to belong.)

And then, there are those who seem intent on having me choke to death in my own blood. You see, it was not enough that I had thanked (and a few more times in my heart too) those who had tried contacting me to express their concern. Apparently, I was also supposed to feel bad about causing worry to my mother. (And unspoken in those unforgiving eyes, to everyone else.) This is especially since, after realising that I couldn't get a strong enough signal on my handphone to reply to the worried messages, I didn't then approach the resort to use their IDD line. And there I was thinking that my illiterate parents and lowly educated sisters would have had the common sense to look up Sipadan on the map or ask around, for example, well-informed people like the abovementioned, who knew that Sipadan was outside the quake zone. And, since I came from the same gene pool, I must be just as stupid. Which, then explains why it didn't occur to me to borrow an IDD line from someone else. Which, also, explains why I was then given a Dummy's Guide to Earthquakes are Formed When a Tectonic Plate Slides Under Another Tectonic Plate - even after I very casually mentioned that I did Geography for my 'O' Levels.

Seeing as to how I was too unrepentant to proffer the profuse apology that was expected, the lecture (?!) continued (?!?!) for a while (?!?!?!), until I very gently pointed out that it was pointless going over the "Why did you not..." of something that was already in the past. What really mattered was that I was back and SAFE, no? (Oh wait, maybe the point was that I didn't DIE.)

Even my own mother didn't give me shit about not calling back within the first few days. The others were just happy enough to hear my voice again (when I got a signal back on the mainland of Sabah about a week later). And I certainly didn't need this from someone who really doesn't give a flying fuck for my well-being, and was actually envious about my trip to one of the Meccas for diving. And, what's this shit about blaming other people for everything bad, and expecting gratitude in return for your good deeds? The point is not whether selflessness should be applauded, but whether, without such acknowledgements, the good that has been done is any less diminished.

If you are thinking I sound like I was really pissed, that's because I was.

Anyway, since the guilt trip was not getting through to my thick skull, I then got a sermon about the quake being one of the signs of Armageddon. And the point of these... signs... that have claimed so many, many, many innocent lives AND children? A chance for the non-believers to repent, and to believe. Since this was followed with a very meaningful and expectant look, and I was an outsider of the faith, I didn't think I had the moral authority to then ask:

"What about those who died?

What about those who BELIEVED?

What's the point to that?

ALL of that."