The jealous woman

She wasn't jealous of them. She was jealous of what they had – people. People to be with on a lazy Sunday afternoon and do stuff together, almost like a family, without the blood ties that bind you down. Instead, a family for the meeting of likeminded minds.

She had no people. And the realization bore down on her like a heavy weight, as though someone had climbed unto her shoulder and just sat there while she lugged him, a terrible heavy weight, as she moved about.

What was it about her, she thought. 

She read enough self-help crap on the internet to supposedly keep her sane. The 7 habits of highly effective people, the 10 things you do that brings you down, 5 things optimists do differently, 1 question you should ask yourself every day, 6 anwers happy people have that we don't.

Really, does this shit help anyone? If she was in the midst of an anxiety attack, would she stop, log on to the net and read one of these posts to make her feel better?

Or would she walk to her kitchen sink, pick up the knife sitting in its holder, imagine it grazing, no, cutting her skin, drawing blood. Thick, red, blood.

So what was it about her – that made her want to pick up that knife?

She didn’t really want to die. She wanted to feel pain. To feel alive. To scratch herself hard, and see the streaks across her wrist. The marks shouldn’t last the night, should disappear by morning. Is that all the guts she's got?

Why did she think herself so flawed, so used, so not worthy of love. Of kindness. Of compassion.

Her mind, reading those internet articles, tell her otherwise, of course. But deep down, she can’t get rid of the picture of her mouth closing in on his dick, a little at first, but then taking it down whole, right to the very end, till it feels like she's choking. Maybe she did choke a little, but he just holds her head down, she has no say. In that helpless moment, she does not feel fear, only need. Need for more.

The ghost of boyfriend past

Photo credit

He pursued me relentlessly. I kept bumping into him everywhere. The cafeteria, the library, the common area, on my walk back across the huge field after classes, in that little convenience shop on campus. At first I thought it was coincidence. Later I found out it was by design. He was stalking me.

The first conversation I had with him was when I sneaked away from playing squash with my friends into the campus empty hall to play the piano by myself. I heard this loud footsteps, purposefully headed towards me. I turned around and saw him there. He grabbed a chair and came sat next to me. I remember he asked me about the song I was playing a moment ago and then casually invited me to go to a fair that was in town that weekend. I don't remember what I said but I remember my stomach doing flips and my hands trembling when he walked away.

He was by far the handsomest guy on campus. Tall, broad-shouldered with a lean athletic build. He was the football and basketball star. He'd dated one of the prettiest girls on campus. But it had ended badly. Everyone knew. He was dark and brooding. With careless, unkempt hair and swag. He walked around campus carrying serious books like Victor Hugo's Les Misérables. He was a charmer and a rebel. My heart didn't stand a chance.

He asked me out a few times before I finally said yes. It was to the movie Armageddon and I had run out of excuses to say no. Till this day the Aerosmith song 'I don't want to miss a thing' reminds me of him. He terrified me somewhat with his intensity but thrilled me at the same time. I was enthralled. At 19, he was the most enigmatic person I'd ever met.

Of course I fell in love.

It was an incredibly hot, unbelievably passionate and awfully short love affair. The days and nights were a haze of endless conversation and lovemaking. We did it everywhere. Both, the conversation and the love-making. The phrase waking up making love to the wall made complete sense then, as even the nights not spent with him, I would wake up dreaming that he was touching me. One time I was away from campus for a couple of days, and when I got back he was standing at my door with a box of ice-cream. The look on his face was utter need and we didn't make it to the bedroom, the urgency of our need to be with each other so immense.  

And then one day, as if on cue, he broke my heart.

It was tragic. I suffered a kind of pain I had never experienced before. I rebelliously and somewhat stereotypically cropped my hair so short I must have looked like a boy who wore dark red lipstick everywhere. I bawled, weeped, screamed and thought I was going to die from my broken heart. But I didn't. I survived and started dating again. Even falling for someone else.

Things between us would have ended there but by some twist of fate, he walked into my life again. An older, supposedly wiser version of ourselves gave it another shot. It was less intense, he was less brooding. His hair was tidier, a product of conditioning at the workplace and he was less a rebel and more a responsible adult. But I saw sides of him this time that I only saw glimpses of before; his kind, giving and generous side. He wanted to provide for me and take care of me, not just get into my pants. And I fell in love with him all over again. It was like a grown up adaptation of our previous crazy, passionate love affair. I thought myself to be the luckiest girl in the world to have a second chance at my first love. It was my happy ending.

We talked of marriage and a lifetime together. Then, precipitously, I got cold feet. It got too hard, I had to make too many sacrifices, I met someone new. It was my turn to break his heart.

But he survived and moved on like I did the first time around. And yesterday (cheers to you, facebook), I learnt of his engagement with the girl he moved on to. I knew they were serious, but the news did make me somewhat sad, nostalgic and want to listen to Adele.

It was Jeffrey Euginedes who said somewhere that the greatest love stories don't have happy endings. If that were true, I guess this was my great love story.

A, I wish you the best. x

I deserve better.

I've been repeating these words in my head like a mantra. This past week, it is how I greet myself in the mornings. I wake up and my mind, as a habit, starts thinking about him. But instead of allowing myself to wallow in some sentimental, nostalgic thought, I shake it off and tell myself, I deserve better.

Because you know what? I do. 

I mean I know this. It is not an overnight realisation. It is not something that just suddenly came to me. I know this. I demand quality in almost all aspects of my life. My family, my friends, my job, where I live, the places I eat.

I work hard and I get paid well for it. I have been blessed with a supportive, loving family. I mean we have our issues but underlying all that is a steady, unwavering love which keeps me strong even in my darkest moments. And my friends... I have no time for wayward friends.

I generally eat well. I take care of my body. My studio is cosy and comfortable because I've made it so. I love going back to my place to unwind after a long day at work. I've filled it with photographs of happy memories, little plants, plenty of books, my travel artifacts and scented candles. The rent is costly, but I pay it because I deserve a good place to live. I bought myself a decent car because I wanted one to drive around. I buy myself gorgeous shoes because I basically deserve those little treats. I spend money on manicures and pedicures and facials and spas and little holidays because I deserve all of this.

So why is it, when I demand for so much from basically all aspects of my life, do I settle for so little when it comes to a boy? Why do I make excuses for him and tell myself it is OK that he did not show on the day we were supposed to meet to have our 'talk'? Why did I so readily accept his apology the next day when he claimed 'some things came up'... when I knew he was deliberately avoiding me? Why did I excuse his behaviour based on some bullshit that I've been fed that says guys hate confrontation and so it makes it OK for him to not show? Newsflash - I hate confrontations too, but I'm willing to do it because WE FUCKING HAVE ISSUES TO RESOLVE!

And that's just the tip of the iceberg. Talking to a friend last Thursday showed me just how many excuses I was making for him. All to justify me continuing to see him, talk to him and be with him. The cherry on the icing has to be when I told her "You know, I feel if I gave up on him, there might not be anyone else who'd really be there for him. He is that isolated."

She looked at me and said what any good friend would in that situation "Babe, that honestly is his problem. You should take care of yourself first, don't you think?"

Hmm. Succinct.

So, no doubt he has been my friend. No doubt he has cheered me up when I was feeling down. No doubt we have fun when we are together.

But, we have crossed lines that friends should not have crossed. We have said and done things which make a platonic relationship impossible. All that loving in the dark, forbidden touches, whispers of sweet nothings, only to be greeted by the harsh light of the next day, where he pretends I didn't spend the night in his arms and I pretend it's fine, because I don't want to bloody rock the boat - it is not what I want.

Because guess what, I fucking deserve better.

Groundhog Day

So, from the 3 questions I received from Lifebeginsat30ty's Blogger Santa project,  I've chosen to write about a day in my life that I wouldn't mind re-living over and over again.

The thing is there are so many days to pick from that I had a hard time pinning it down to one. I mean I’ve had so many fun-filled days where I felt like I was at a theme park trying to pick which ride to go on next.

But when it comes down to actually choose one day, I pick a day, which at that time, signified a possibility… a chance at something potentially wonderful happening in my life…

The day starts with me waking up to find myself in his arms. I stiffen at first at the unusualness of the situation. Then a warm glow passes through me as I realise whose arms I’m in. I stay there basking in the warmth of his embrace as I try to recollect how we got here. The last I remember he’d tucked me in his bed and although I had drunkenly asked him to stay with me, left the room to go sleep on the couch. He must have changed his mind sometime during the night. I smile to myself.

I feel him stirring. And I close my eyes, pretending to sleep. He shifts. He’s probably uncomfortable as my head is resting on his right arm. So I turn towards him and find him looking at me. I smile. His eyes crinkle as he returns my smile.

He then gives me a tickle and jumps out of bed before dashing into the bathroom. When he comes out, he slides back into bed next to me. I smell peppermint on his breath. I know what’s going to happen next, so I follow suit. I wake up to freshen up, brush my teeth and apply some Body Shop shea butter to my lips.

I come back to bed and lie next to him. He’s switched on the TV and I pretend watching it for a while but his fingers moving up and down my arm is distracting me. I turn towards him and he looks at me for the longest time before his lips close down on mine. It’s not exactly our first kiss as I kissed him the night before (drunkenly). But let’s say it’s our first proper kiss.

We stay in bed for the most part of the day, just kissing. We take little breaks from kissing when he orders us some lunch from McDonalds and we eat the lunch not leaving his bed. But other than that we just kiss and kiss and kiss. He doesn’t grope me. He doesn’t try get into my pants. He just kisses me. His hands move under my shirt a few times but stop short from touching my breasts. I’m not sure if he’s teasing me or taking it slow.

We hardly exchange any words. Seems as though words just aren’t necessary. With our bodies glued, our lips entwined do all the talking for us.

It starts getting dark outside, and we get hungry. He asks me if I’d like to eat. I say yes, but we alternate between kissing each other and just lying there, me in his arms, as though reluctant to leave the bed.

Finally, we do get out of bed. I shower and change out of his shirt which he lent me the night before. We decide to go for Chinese. I check the time, it’s almost 10pm. We’ve spent an entire day in bed just kissing.

As we walk into the restaurant our hands brush each others. We order this spicy chicken dish which I love which comes with curry leaves and some rice. Sitting opposite him in the restaurant, as we wait for our food to come, I look at him in a whole new light.

Yesterday, he was just my friend. Today however, he may be infinitely more.

I finally succumbed...

...to internet dating.

After some consideration and given the current state of my love life or rather lack of it, I decided to subscribe to Match.com two days ago. And I must say I have been pleasantly surprised.

In the last 48 hours, my profile has apparently been viewed 149 times and I have received 11 emails and countless winks including a wink from a 90 year-old man.

I was curious about the 90 year-old so I viewed his profile and I noticed he had put up around 10 pictures and had a very long write-up about himself and what he was looking for. He stressed on how fit he was and how he exercised regularly. His profile seemed so eager and hopeful that it struck a cord in me. Here is a guy at 90 who is still out there looking for love like the rest of us.

Then I thought, it bloody doesn’t get easier does it?

Dear god, if that was me at 90, I’d want to kill myself. I’d probably want to kill myself if that was me at 40.

Depressed suddenly, I decided to read through all the emails I’d received. Out of the 11, 3 looked promising. Their pictures were alright and the emails funny. So, I replied to all 3 and now I have 2 dates set for this weekend. Which isn’t bad I guess (?)

Then I went to check out the guys who had viewed me. As I perused through the pages, I saw one guy who looked familiar. I clicked on his profile and realized he was a guy I’d been on a date with a while back, whom I thought was incredibly cute but who hadn’t made a move to ask me out after the date. Since I had found him oh-so-cute, I asked him out instead, to which he politely declined claiming some work commitments. So I wrote him off thinking he wasn’t interested. Later my friend who had set us up told me he had met another girl very soon after he went on that date with me and they had hooked up almost immediately.

So, what then was he doing here? And he’d been active in the last 24 hours!

Remembering how cute I’d found him, I asked my friend of his status but she didn’t know. I did the next thing I could think of. I stalked him on FB. His relationship status was back to single (yes, yes I stalked him before too) and the pictures of him tagged with the girl he’d been seeing had been removed. So, was he single again?

Saying a silent whoppee I decided to message him on FB and not on Match though perhaps I should have done it the other way around…

My message to him (when it seemed like a good idea) said…

“Hey. Didn't we meet once through that thing that Miss S set-up a while back? I can't remember when but I know we met at Chilis. Anyway, you popped up in the people you may know thingy and I thought you looked familiar, decided to say hi. So hows life and the dating going? ;)”

He hasn’t replied.

Crap.

I actually wish now I hadn’t sent the message at all. Why did I message him so impulsively without thinking it through? I’m pretty sure now he knows that I’ve viewed him on Match AND that I’ve stalked him on FB (no matter how blasé I tried to make my message sound). Nobody wants a stalker....!

Okay, so tell me what you think… how lame was it of me to message him that way? And should I even be expecting a response?

Sweep me off my feet already...!

I'm a romantic, still waiting for my knight in shining armour to sweep me off my feet.

In this day and age, I'm still expecting to be swept off my feet.

Here I am, a woman of 30, a professional in the corporate world, someone who makes presentations to the chairman of boards of multinationals and listed companies, who is about to be earning a five-figure salary in a couple of weeks when I start this new job.... wanting, really, really wanting to be swept off her feet.

Am I at the end of the day just a needy, romance novel heroine wannabe, wanting to be saved by the tall, dark and handsome stranger who finds me at my most vulnerable and thinks me endearing enough to fall in love with?

And then, of course, he has to sweep me off my feet.

Love always wins

"Have I told you about the tension of opposites" he says.

"Tension of opposites?"

"Life is a series of pulls back and forth. You want to do one thing, but you are bound to do something else. Something hurts you, yet you know it shouldn't. You take certain things for granted, even when you know you should never take anything for granted."

"A tension of opposites..like a pull on a rubber band. And most of us live somewhere in the middle."

"Sounds like a wrestling match" I say

"A wrestling match" He laughs "Yes, you could describe life that way"

"So which side wins?" I ask

He smiles at me. The crinkled eyes, the crooked teeth.

"Love wins. Love always wins."


-Tuesdays with Morrie
Mitch Albom

Fools in love

I was talking to my friend last night. She’s with a guy who appears not ready to be in a committed relationship. His excuse is that he is focusing all of his time and energy to his work. Relationships require too much effort and he just cannot afford it right now. If that is not an indication of a guy who’s not ready to be with you, I’m not sure what is. But my friend, who despite wanting more from him, is meeting him for drinks this week. She is aware of all the facts, but she just likes him too much to refuse.

Are we all fools when it comes to love?

I’m trying to maintain a platonic relationship with a guy I thought I loved a while ago. But if all I want is to be just friends why does the idea of him being with someone else make me feel that someone has punched me in the stomach? And why is it that whenever Lady Gaga sings her bad lyrics ‘I don’t wanna be friends…want your bad romance’ I find myself bopping my head, nodding and agreeing and thinking of only one person in particular.

Sometimes I wonder, is love really so complicated or am I just making it so. Do I only want what I cannot have? Am I only after the chase? Why is it that almost always the anticipation of my time together with someone feels better than the reality of it? And then why does it again seem better on hindsight? Is it nostalgia - making it more romantic than it really was? Every time we put pen to paper, we are writing on hindsight, riding on something that has already happened, something in the past. And when we write it, do we embellish, making what was only mediocre seem more special than it truly was?

Love should be experienced and not just felt, I read that somewhere. But in most of my past relationships I feel I’ve only felt it, either anticipating something that is going to happen and then thinking about it fondly on hindsight. Was it because the experience in itself was so fleeting? In all honestly I can only think of one time when I truly felt I was experiencing love. My then boyfriend was sitting at the computer trying to get some work done and I was sitting on the couch next to him trying to read. I looked up to find him frowning, deep in concentration. Wanting some attention myself, I went up to him and sat on his lap facing him. I remember him smiling then gently pushing my head to rest on his chest where I could hear his heartbeat. I closed my eyes and allowed him to continue working. The love I felt for him at that point was so overpowering that I made a mental note to never forget it. And I never did.

Is it sad that I can only recall one such incredible moment of love? I’m sure I have experienced others, it’s just that I can’t recall them. Fleeting moments passed by, never to be relived or felt again the same way.

And we keep putting ourselves out there, going on dates, meeting new people trying to make a connection, trying to recapture the feeling of being in love with someone who could possibly make us feel those moments...again.

And therein lies one of my biggest fears - what if I don't?

These moments are so rare, so few and so fleeting – it just does not seem enough. I feel I’m missing out on something bigger. There must be more to love than these rare, few, fleeting moments. Otherwise, I’m thinking.. love is overrated.

First kiss

Wikipedia:A kiss is the touching of one person's lips to another place, which is used as an expression of affection, respect, greeting, farewell, good luck, romantic affection or sexual desire. Anthropologists have not reached a conclusion as to whether kissing is learned or a behavior from instinct.

Interesting.

What's in a kiss.

Personally, I’ve not experienced a terrible kiss, uncomfortable yes, forgetable definitely. But not terrible…though my last kiss over the weekend, I believe is going to make me regret it. He was coughing apparently from some bug, but I kissed him anyway. And then I woke up this morning with a scratchy throat. Fucking caught the bug.. stupid me.

But anyway, I digress.

What's interesting is it isn't clear if kissing was learned or from instinct. I mean if I didn’t watch all those people french kissing on tv or reading about it on those romance novels, would I ever have indulged in it?
I remember being sixteen and wondering when on earth was I going to experience my 1st real kiss. A good proper french kiss. The ones that curled your toes. Like in the romance novels.

Some of my friends at school were already making out with boys but not me… being a late bloomer and all that. One time, I remember being asked by a classmate (I forget who) about whether I’ve kissed a boy. I lied and said yes.. though I hadn’t and desperately wanted to.

Anyway, my time came the following year, when all the major exams were behind me (this was the result of my typical strict asian upbringing.. my life those days basically centered around all the major exams in school). Also I didn’t meet that many boys as I was in an all girls school, but with the exams behind me and an almost urgent need to be kissed, I somehow stumbled upon the opportunity.

I was in Mc Donalds having lunch one day with my girlfrriends and we noticed this bunch of boys a few tables away..so anyway, yadayadayada.. long story short.. I’m suddenly in love with this guy who was 4 years older than me. At 17 that was a lot of years and he was a bad boy of sorts..tall dark and handsome with a big bike.

He kissed me for the 1st time in the cinema. We were seated right at the back and the place was pretty empty.. I remember my heart beating furiously and I was so nervous. Somehow I knew that was the day he was going to kiss me although we’d been to the cinema so many times before and nothing ever happened. Instinct I guess. Or the fact that he was sitting so close almost breathing into the side of my face and he kept looking at me instead of watching the movie. Next thing I know, I turned and his lips were on mine. And it tasted… of cigarettes! And it was very wet. My toes didn’t curl or anything. Then he started kissing my ears and my neck which I liked it better cause I couldn’t smell the foul smelling cigarette odour when he kissed those places..

Didn't love my first kiss but at least I wasn't the only 17 year old who’d never been kissed.

Phuket

I was running up a flight of stairways, he was right behind me. A cool breeze blew, swishing the green ultra flare skirt I was wearing up as I ran up the stairs. The breeze tasted salty.

When I reached the top of the staircase, I turned around and looked at him. He gave me a sheepish grin. Both of us knew what we wanted, what was going to come next and the anticipation was killing us. Only, we had to pretend that nothing was happening. For the benefit of our colleagues. It was a company trip afterall and to avoid being the topic of the office grapevine, it was best to keep things...keep this thing under wraps. Whatever this was.

I looked at him standing one step below me, still smiling, his eyes crinkling at the sides, the way it always does when he smiles. I leaned across and kissed him lightly on the lips. I couldn't help it.

He put his hands on my waist and twirled me around trying to push me forward. I moved reluctantly, my feet dragging. "We're late... move it" he said.

"Don't want" I said laughingly, still dragging my feet as he tried to push me harder.

"Move it... lazy girl" he said giving me a hard smack on my behind and a cause to start a pretend fight.

And before I could do anything and as if he read my mind, he grabbed both my hands and said "Not now... we have plenty of time for this later".

I wanted to say something to retaliate but caught myself nodding instead. And smiling both of us walked across the hotel lobby towards the grand ballroom where our company dinner had already started.

The “new” effect

I was watching a tv progamme yesterday that got me thinking about the “new'” effect in relationships. About the excitement and fun that comes with 'newness' which does not last long and fades away in time.

We probably have many names for it, the 6 month itch or the honeymoon period, etc. but I guess it all boils down to the fact that - what starts off as something new, thrilling and exciting will always fade into something…well...old. There is no avoiding it.

When things are still new, we're all out to impress and please. We're on our best behaviours especially the wooing party which most likely would be the man. He’d probably go out of his way to satisfy your whims and fancies. And you’d probably go out of your way making him feel that he’s an amazing guy to be doing all that. But how long does this last?

Back to the tv programme, this couple who started off great, had so much fun in the beginning, ended up fighting and arguing about the littlest things. They were sitting across each other at dinner one night and she asks him.. ‘What happened to us? We used to be so much fun… you used to eat noodles off my back forgodsake! And now….’

And I could relate. When I think back to some of the relationships I’ve had, there is always this turning point when the things you did together just stopped being as fun, the things you said as funny, and the time spent together as exciting. What you might have tolerated before becomes not as tolerable anymore. And the worst is when you see him not doing the same things for you as he did before. When he starts saying no to the things he would not have hesitated to say yes to and when he’d rather be out with his buddies when once he’d have blown them off to be with you.

In all honesty, I’ve never been able to reconcile this. When this happened to me, I remember getting really worked up. Of course being caught up in the relationship and never being able to see it from the outside, my responses have typically been picking up fights, storming off after the fights and then becoming needy with lines such as ‘you don’t care about me anymore…’.

Which leads me to wonder, how do couples move past this? How do they decide, ‘Look, I know the whole “new” deal is over, but I still want to be with you’ and make it work? How do you get past the fact that he might rather be out with other people than with you… or that you can’t find much to talk about anymore when once two hour conversations flew by in a flash…or …when you don’t just want to lie in and laze in each others company anymore? What do you do, when the newness gets old?