lost_in_the_lallang on Xanga

Weblog

Friday, 29 May 2009

What I Really Really Want

I sit by my window at night, comtemplating out into the world. The stars are not out, the quiet wind became my soothing friend, wisps of soft breeze hugging me. My lit cigarette burns away, a tower of near-crumbling ash lengthens, bent.
It was like any other night, the melancholy and general ambivalence crowding in my head. I don't think too much of it, for it has been my constant companion for the past decade. Is it possible then, that this solitude is what I'm all about?
I thought about my past, my present and what I want my future to be. Each second my resolve strengthened, only to melt away in disappointment at the acid of obstacles tears it away. I contemplated and I thought, what do I really really want?
I want a career that is fully, naturally my own. I want fame and fortune, something that I enjoy, something that brings joy. Some way, somehow. One that propels me to sleep late at night and wake early in the morning cos I just don't want to miss a second of revelling in the job. I want to resent the idea that I have to sleep to rest my body cos that would just tear me away from the joy that is work. I want to skip and twirl and have a huge grin on my face whenever I'm slaving away. I want to be able to widen my eyes in wonder and be thinking, oh my god, I can't believe I'm blessed enough to be doing this!
I want a man that is fully, naturally my own. Someone who supports and protects, someone who won't resent my support and protection too. A man whom I can share my thoughts and my neurosis, my moods and my hypotheses and bottomline is, not only will he understand, he will love me even more for it. He knows my every nuance, my every intention, my every emotion. He knows when I need space and when I need to be held. He does his own thing but like siamese twins, our spirits are entwined - each an individual being but somehow intertwined to double every joy and halved every sorrow. He has his own life, and I have mine but our lives don't collide - it melds, it blends into a beautiful, miraculous third life.
In this modern world of possibilities, it's ironic that in the end, we are unable to choose a plausible destiny. I have been too spoilt, too indulged in the idea that the sky is the limit when the hard, cold truth is that it really isn't. Sometimes, it's best that we get back down to earth. Even though doing so must be the biggest disappointment in one's life.
Maybe that's why people realise that since what they really really want is impossible and incomprehensible, they might as well have declared that what they really really want is a zig-a-zag-ah.

Monday, 25 May 2009

Shot Through the Heart

It always comes as a surprise whenever a flitting thought whips in front of my eyes. Or that acidic clench bursting in my chest, just for that moment. Truth be told, I didn't expect my the break up of my relationship with D to be so.. unmemorable.
I guess it's a culmination of time, as we plod along from one day to the next, there's always that inane knowledge that every step taken is a step towards the finishing. Though I knew, I had hoped the finishing line would be further off and filled with a suprising win. But then again, cliches happened for a reason, the simple reason that it has happened to so many other people.
I am not the exception. Unfortunately, no matter what that movie might seek to inspire in my cautious, practical demeanour. No matter if my romantic, soaring shadow is struggling to break free. I am not the exception.
In a way, I guess we both knew the holiday was a last salvation, a last chance to close the chapter, to say goodbye. And I'm glad that out of the 5 days together, we spent a beautiful time with the four blessed days. And on the fourth, it was too poignant, too heartfelt, too intimate. I have never thought I'd see the day I would literally cry with the beauty of our love together, that I couldn't put up the strength to hold in the brilliance of light coursing through our veins. This is what true love does to people. This is what true love did to me.
Sure, I seemed to have gotten over it quickly enough. Or perhaps it's just for the simple fact that there was nothing more to say. And there really wasn't anything more to say. But the poignancy is there, the bittersweet feeling is there, the sadness that we weren't just strong enough - that you weren't strong enough - is still there. Perhaps we just weren't right for each other, despite the time we had together which seemed to dictate otherwise.
Perhaps we're just two people who needed each other at the right time.
But like I said, you won't be forgotten. You won't be detested, but you won't be thought of most fondly either. Like I said, at times, I've thought of you and a burst of acid clenches my heart, almost as if I'd been shot through the heart. Then invariably, I could feel a choke at the base of my throat and an overwhelming melancholy that I had played my part and though you vehemently denied it, on some sub level you did play your game.
It had been a real pleasure knowing you Mr Delavega, in every sense of the word. It has been a roller coaster ride and on hindsight, I've enjoyed every second of it. The fears, the exhilaration, the tears, the laughter, the pain, the pleasure, the doubts, the convictions, the downs and the ups, the support and the slags, the enlightenment, the molding, the giving and killing of spirit - like a roller coaster ride, it's addictive, it's dangerous and after all that, it hasn't put me off. In fact, I want to get right back into it.
But this time round, I hope the next guy I meet is everything that you're not, and everything that you are.

Thursday, 21 May 2009

There's a Picture of You

I wonder, a year from now would I even care that you chose to take the coward's way out? Just as I promised I wouldn't be the one to take the step to ending the relationship, so you have promised to say it out loud instead of slinking away as you usually do.
I wonder, a year from now would I even care that you chose to hide essential parts of the truth from me - the person you supposedly love? Knowing full well that your habit of telling half-truths is what got me into this chapter in the first place. I admit, with a tinge of shame that I sneaked a peek into your messages. And it wasn't just the 3 of you who went to Thailand. So don't tell me you had no choice, for the choice was staring blindingly at me from the message screen.
I wonder, a year from now would I even care that you chose to deny a civil gesture that last night? That you may see it as a cruel act to be kind but in which I view as a presumptuous opinion of your behaviour is just another reason for me to pick up my feet with more haste. Even if you felt it was better to let go, it would have been preferable, more respectful even to be an adult and enjoy a last evening dinner together instead of leaving me alone and hungry in a strange land.
I wonder, a year from now would I even care that you tried to mold me into a person you see in your tinted glass and didn't even bother to properly discover the real person that is me. It must be a puzzle to you at how I morphed into the person you didn't accept but did it ever occur to you that you metamorphosized too? We should have grown with each other but you chose to grow and keep me stunted.
I wonder, a year from now would I even care that you saw me as a filler, an alternative to your staid life yet you tried to mold me into that selfsame life without caring that it was slowly killing me. Not that you didn't know it. You just didn't care. Cos if you had cared, you would have tried harder to make things right. But brushing off the topic each time it comes up do us no justice. Nor does telling me that it was none of my business because in this triangle, I'm entangled in every part of your business, whether you like it or not.
I wonder, a year from now would I even care that though you showered me with gifts and kisses, time and wishes, in the end all that mattered was us. You weren't ready to have an us. Nor were you brave enough to risk a lot to have an us. It crossed my mind that maybe you weren't aware of this but I didn't want your money, your car, your house, your holidays, your gifts, your dinners. Maybe you weren't aware that all I wanted was for you to accept me.
All of me and only me.

Monday, 18 May 2009

And the Dreams Played On

I am in a room full of people from the present and the past. There's a dark, dank staircase leading to the outside. I followed two men, whom I vaguely know in the spiritual present but not the physical across a large green patch. They're walking through what would be described as acres of land and burst upon a gorgeous view of the river. It looks like I'm looking over Clarke Quay in the distance.
The two men were talking about the grand view. I had to agree, it is quite a breathtaking sight. I am still unknown, still undiscovered. In my mind, I wonder why these two men are holding on to such a land, for surely, in a country like ours, they would be billionaires many times over if they were to build properties unto it. But a whispered voice floated through - that it is the intangible value of such a sight that is worth many more billions unbought.
I am sitting on a parapet, overlooking this wondrous view. A scraggly good looking dark haired Caucasian is beside me. We are talking about nothing in particular, but we were joking about jumping off the parapet. I held on to his legs while dangling down to the far ground below. He chuckled saying that he didn't want me to jump. I teased him not to let me go. All the while, my feet are safely on the jut-out of the ceiling of the storey beneath. I felt safe.
I turned around, and looped my arms around his legs. He felt like my best friend. I looked up into the sky and saw the most beautiful sight of flocks of white-winged birds flying our way. Look, I pointed, look at that! We looked up and as the flocks flew above us, little white drops pitter patter like rain. I couldn't stop laughing. We better get inside, I giggled, white drops dripping down my hair. We ran into the door behind us.
I could have felt disgusted but wasn't. He laughed at the irony of the situation and gave me his skullcap. I put it on and we walked down the stairwell. Like the change outside on the parapet, we were subdued. I was getting more burdened by the minute and was dreading the inevitable.
He grabbed my hand and kissed me. It was a desperate kiss, of longing and forbidden yearning. I saw a boy at the corner of my eye. I pulled away and turned to the boy. S--, you didn't see anything, I warned him, a tinge of positive, coy embarassment colouring my cheeks. The boy grinned cheekily and ran off. We opened the door and went into the room.
I was a mess. I needed a shower. I took off the skullcap, unbraided my hair. I took off my big white watch, his big black watch and my dress watch. He kept quiet and did his own thing. I look down and saw I hadn't taken off my dress watch. The precious watch from D. I took it off again and reminded myself that I have to take off that watch. I wished I was wearing his big black watch instead. He looked at me, silent, lost. I knew I couldn't go through with it again and went into the bathroom.
I stripped off my clothes, leaving only my underwear. He entered without knocking. We might as well shower together, he said, a pleading in his eyes. I stared at him sadly. Maybe we shouldn't, I whispered. I saw two other girls behind him. I turned upset. Maybe we should do a foursome, I spat. He tried to lighten the mood, yeah, maybe that would be nice.
I went out of the bathroom, knowing I did the right thing. I'd gone through it before and it's best to stop before I get in too deep again.
Madeline and Janet are outside, chatting excitedly. Two friends from two different schools. Madeline was happy and when probed, she revealed that she had a proposal. From this guy called David, she said, her face a blushing bride to be. I felt happy for her and looked at the ring. I was glad someone is happy.
Then I knew it was time to wake up. But I knew too that even without my spirit there, the dreams played on.

Sunday, 17 May 2009

The Trick is to Learn Not to Care

The end of yet another chapter resides in my life. It was, like the movie suggests, an affair to remember. But more significantly, it was the relationship that taught me to grow the most.

I'm not going into the details of the End, though it may be a cathartic experience to do so - help me to achieve closure, if you will. But that's a story I'll dig up for another day, when it's more keenly felt, when the absolute loss is sharper. As of now, it still feels like a cliffhanger episode.

What quirks me is that I realise, as you grow older, when relationships end, you're expected to be able to cope with it. When you're in your teens or early 20s, friends gather in a ritual male-bashing moment - while you go through boxes of tissue and gallons of alcohol in an attempt to compete with the copious flow of your tears. It seemed okay to completely go blotchy and desperate in your hiccuped despair at a breakup.

But once you passed the quarter century mark, a different etiqutte presents itself. Grief becomes a dignified fashion, grief becomes private. You are allowed a few tears, a couple of drinks. But in no circumstance are you allowed to express that honest truth - you loved and lost and therefore you will never love again. For in truth, sure someday you will fall in love again, and sure you'll get over this man who wasn't really quite worth your while - but you're just not allowed to say out loud your honest opinion that perhaps there's a minute possibility you will never go through it all again. There is a certain strength that you must display, a strength that contains pride and belief that the breakup was the best thing that could have happened to you - even if you feel otherwise.

When the relationship in question is a questionable one to begin with, the grief not only becomes private, it is almost a lonely grief that encompass you. You realise that to expect your friends to grieve with you at a demise of a questionable relationship would be pushing the boundaries of friendship a bit too far, but at the same time you expect that little bit more from the same friends. So it comes as an acute disappointment to discover that your grief is not only private, but it isn't even acknowledged. And then came the strange martyed comprehension that you had no right to expect an acknowledgement to the end of your questionable relationship. If in any case, you wouldn't be surprised if your friends nod their heads and go "Good decision, that. You did the right thing." Even though at this point in time, you feel that doing the right thing is equivalent to backing your self into a lonely, miserable corner.

And so I curse my pride for it is the boulder that blocks me from saying out loud "I'm heartbroken and I need some support." It is my cursed pride that stops my own self from grieving a questionable relationship, which instead of giving me full relief at the burden of the deceitful skulking, sought to give me a heavy ache of bittersweet. It is my cursed pride that I'm home, alone on a Saturday night, a day fresh from the realization that the past 3 years of my life has been chucked into the memory of the exes, shouldering the disappointment that none of my girlfriends are available to provide cooing platitudes and forced distractions.

And then I understood that the trick isn't to learn not to have any expectations, for that is an inane trait of human nature that you just cannot cease.

The trick is to learn not to care at all.