Something orange

A gift.

Sometimes, I just get so tired of running or side-stepping the whole thing. (Because some people react to direct confrontation with denial and hysteria.)

And then, I start to get "creative".

So it was not very nice to bring along two lamp posts - charming and entertaining as they were tonight - without prior notice. When the waitress came over to ask whether we would like to order first or wait for the other two to arrive, he managed to recover quickly - but not fast enough. He chose not to ask me about the other two; and I did not volunteer an explanation either. Nonetheless, he was a rather good sport throughout dinner, though he was subdued and looked a little lost sometimes.

How much more does it take?

What happens when two friends cannot be "friends only" anymore?

Running with Wolves

"...you will become increasingly aware that all the truly important events in your life occur without your conscious intervention. This will help you to act with more calm and composure in those areas where you had difficulties in the past or found it hard to make any headway. You should now find it easier to deal with things in a relaxed manner, not brooding so morosely over your own failings and inadequacies. This will also help you to be more understanding when others make mistakes, making you more forgiving."

It does not feel so much as being buried - which would imply paralysis - in work and all that other stuff that life is made of.

It feels more like I am running... and running... the irony of which does not escape me since I doubt I would even last 200m in real life.

Through a forest. Towering trees. Old. Very old. No - ageless. Trees. Everywhere. I look up - the trees are patterned intricacies of greens and browns against the undifferentiated blue. So many, many different paths; going everywhere and nowhere at the same time; and yet, not so different after all. (Sometimes, it is only months, or even years later, that you realise that there was NO CHOICE to be made. You only have to understand why things were; and why things are. And then, you move on.) Where does it all begin? (November? The good-looking stranger with the beautiful brown eyes; whose photo now adorns my workspace; and at least two other besotted women? Heh. Heh. Heh. June 2002? Or even earlier? Before Time?) Where does it all end? (Will it end? Will I fall?) I cannot see where I am going - not because it is dark. I can see - but I only know that it is not dark where I am. Running. With the wind. Amongst unseen... things. Pacing me. In my head. "Keep up. Don't stop. Keep running. Just a little further."

But these are not their words.

There are no words.

Only mine.


Left. Right. Centre.

Monday.

Another attempt to meet up (I guess I cannot run forever - but he may wish he had run sooner...) and two offers of coffee - all within a day. Raise eyebrow. They say three is a magic number. Well. Nothing "magical" here. Hardly.

And then, the short thing followed me around the classroom, which was not as unnerving as him getting in my face - literally - because he was always so close; his face talking to mine, while we were all just standing around, leaning over the counter, sitting at the coffee table; sometimes, he would come over and... just look. If I were not as mentally numbed as I was from sleep deprivation and a long work day, I would have snapped off his head. (Hint: Women do not like to have their faces scrutinised at close quarters, especially when they are having a massive outbreak.) The homicidal part of me wants to push him overboard on the boat ride to Pulau Dayang. It will be almost pitch dark - we board past midnight - save for the silent stars. The engines will be loud, reverberating through the entire boat. Everyone will be fast asleep in various corners - getting as much rest as we can in preparation for the hellish weekend of rescue drills (and near-drowning) in open sea. No one will notice... until it is to late...


Tales from the Crypt

"You ok with the colour of orange? Hints of orange in colour."

?????

So sleepy... so tired...

The days are too short.

I have been sleeping like the dead the past few nights...

The nights are not long enough. (I do not want the night to end - because then, you have to leave.)

Each moment passes by too quickly; before I even realise what has just happened. There is simply not enough physical time to behold the entire significance of each little action and utterance - sometimes so small as to be almost imperceptible, and hence, so easily missed; and only realised later; too late - crystallised into these fleeting moments; these millions and millions of moments that make the whole of life; that make our lives complete.

I can only re-live the memories of these moments in my head; each time a little differently; each time unfolding a little more; each time seeing more in its entirety. Thought. Emotion. Doubt. Fear. Desire. Hope. The Past. The Present - of the moment. The Future. All come together in this little action and utterance. Perfection.

And then, there is the rest of life. Waiting to be experienced.

It is beginning to feel as if this one life is not enough.


Don't ask

I write for myself.

I write to be read.

But I don't write for you.

The whole truth and nothing but the truth

"Free tonight?"

"No. Actually on way home now. Just conducted interview, need to write article by tomorrow. Not sleeping tonight."

(radio silence)

Not even the usual grouchy tongue-in-cheek comeback or an acknowledging grunt, which would have made it so much less awkward for two adults (especially himself, I should think) who clearly knew what just went on, no?

Had I been too effusive about work? Which is true, by the way. Cross my heart. Too much information, I suppose.

And you would think older men have less fragile egos, especially since he has been around a fair bit - much more than I have (which is not even much), anyway.

Sometimes, it just does not make sense. How does someone like that manage to keep trying? Or is he just masochistic?


What goes up...

She said that something must have changed last year.

As I took a physical and mental breather at the train station, while waiting for my sister to go for dinner, I thought about the hectic start to the week, and how my days seem to be filling up with work and other stuff, much faster than what I have been used to. I do not think it is even due to any conscious will on my part, mostly.

But, whatever it was that had changed, it feels like I have gotten on the G-Max and have not stopped flying.

And then, as you stop screaming and learn to appreciate the unusual scenery, you begin to wonder what happens when the bungee cord reaches its end. In that defining moment when the cord strains against itself to reach for the skies, frozen in a longing that would never be fulfilled, you wonder what will happen on the free fall back down...

The Geomancer

"The day pillar. Fire? Hmm... If it is fire, then something must have happened in year 2002... 2002 is a year of Yang Water (heavenly stem) on Yang Fire (earthly branch). For a fire lady, the element that controls her - that is, water, is the element of the man (boyfriend/husband) in her life. If the fire lady is single, 2002 is a year where she might meet someone interesting. However, the water in 2002 is sitting on fire, which, to a fire lady, represents competition. In short, the man who appeared in 2002 is either attached or married. For someone attached, they have to be careful of their men - another fire appearing in the earthly branch might indicate the presence of a competitor - another fire lady."
~ The Geomancer

Waaah...

And we were not even talking about 2002. Postrate. Kowtow.

Damn, I wish I had a fire extinguisher to ice The Other Woman. Or any heavy object over her head should do it too. Heh.


Tokens

Mr One-Stone-Two-Birds staggered over with a wide grin. A hand on each of our shoulders, Mr OSTB blabbered some appreciative comment while his friend gestured frantically that the former was drunk, before pulling Mr OSTB away.

He leaned in immediately and asked me what the "chow angmoh" said. (Well, not that the angmoh stank...)

"What do you think?" Shrug. (The usual lah.)

At the end of the night, he passed me another book.

"You can keep it."

"Oh. Thanks."

Soon, I'll need a shelf just for the books. I can't even keep up with the mp3s and URLs that Mr Two-Stones-One-Bird (okay, maybe it's Multiple-Stones-Multiple-Birds, but hey, I ain't counting and I don't really care) keeps sending me.

I feel... inundated. Sigh.

Ex Etiquette

I called the Ex - almost a week after his dad had passed away; after I got over my... fear.

His dad had been very depressed since his grandmother's passing - half a year ago. And his health, which had not been good, deteriorated until he needed dialysis. The end was over quickly - a week in a nursing home/ICU for pneumonia. I suppose his dad would have wanted it this way too - quick; he would not have wanted to linger at Death's Door, or live a few more years as an invalid.

We talked about his dad's love for the "finer" things in life and shared a fond though rueful laugh. I was glad to hear that his dad made peace with the family in the last few months. I also asked about his sister - before it occurred to me whether it would be appropriate to bring up something that is so personal; something that I was privy to as the Girlfriend.

We chatted for a little while more about life, and he thought we should meet up the following week to catch up. He said he would call me. (Yeah. Whatever. Shrug.)

After I hung up, I thought about my earlier anxiety. Though we no longer share our lives, and we walk different paths, it was nice to know that some things we once shared are still there.

I am glad that I had called.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I remember his dad used to call me "Christine". I got used to it after a while.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Why do people say they would like to "catch up" or "will call" - but they don't?

It just seems like such an awlful waste of words to me.

Just like old times again

Last Friday night.

As we were waiting in the queue at Bar None, he gave me a quick run-through of a few of the people I would be meeting - one from his team and a few traders. It was evident from his enthusiasm that he was very fond of them. There would be other people there, but he had minimal interaction with the rest.

"... oh, they are even more flamboyant than that guy just now... charming... very suave... be careful of them... and the one who keeps fishes in the office... he's a rich kid and drives a BMW."

"And I need to know all this beeecccause???"

He said something to the effect that I would have a better idea where these people were coming from when they talked or behaved in a certain way.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Wednesday night.

"I went out with a friend I haven't met in ages for lunch. Then I think someone saw me (secretaries cum receptionist gang) and they jumped straight to only one and ONE conclusion - I am having lunch with a possible girlfriend. Groan. The bane of all single and ongoing bachelorhood men out there. And not the first time too. That's why I damn scared to ask any *single* ladies out for lunch sometimes. You will never know whose tongues will start to wag."

"Why you care?"

"Not that I care. But not one, but multiple women kept asking me. So I have to stop the forest fire from spreading by hitting the source - the receptionist. Hehe."

His opening line seemed almost scripted.

And then, he asked if I would be free for dinner the next evening. No - I would be going out with SF.

Some things never change. The time lag between our meetings is shortening - Saturday, Friday, and then Thursday (which did not happen). He is moving in quickly, but a little slower this time.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The consensus from SF and A - providing the gender perspectives - is that he was trying to up his social standing.

Some things have not changed. But a thing or two have. This posturing - the company he keeps, and especially, the "other women" - is new and puzzled me initially; not so much because I did not understand the motivation behind it but how he chose to do it.

While I have found most posturing efforts from other people extremely flattering, I could not help but saw how different he was from his colleagues, and realised how unmoved I was by his "other women" - only because he tried so hard. Nevermind that posturing or not, successful or otherwise, it would not have made a difference to how I felt about keeping things platonic. And, after a while, I found his, shall we say, choice of "poses", rather distasteful as it made certain assumptions of the kind of person I am. And more so, because we are such old friends, I thought he would know me better - that these things do not matter to me even though they are certainly very nice to know. Perhaps, he does not know me.

Or, have the stakes become higher after the earlier failed attempts?



Like a moth to the flame

"His heart will be broken. And it will be worse this time."

Not so much because we could never be more than friends. And NOT because *I* would break his heart.

It was not a realisation that I arrived at after a deliberate process of thought. It just came to me when he re-initiated contact (which I have always left to his prerogative in case he mistook my intentions as anything more) a few months ago, and I was wondering what I would do if he decided to get over-friendly again. For a while, things seemed platonic enough, and so I did not think too much about the what-ifs. Until now.

Like a moth to the flame. I would not have known, or even thought this two years ago. Now - I just know; I know because of what I am becoming.

And I wish it does not have to be so. For him, I mean. Not me - because I will not stop becoming.

First impressions

It was not just the way his eyes seemed to see so much and not miss anything that intimidated me.

It was how there seemed to be so much that was being suppressed, consciously and unconsciously. It was something in his eyes that reminded me of the Ex - of things that I would rather not remember about him.

Still waters - not so still, after all. And it scared me.

Message for a friend

It is easy enough to love someone. But, not so easy to change - yourself.

What if being with you meant that he had to change; that it was inevitable that he had to change? What if it made him realise that he had to change - not so much for you, but for himself, and for the better?

Perhaps, he was just afraid.

And now, he is angry.

"Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering."
~ Yoda

I know. I know...