Archive for the ‘Merry Traveller's Moleskine’ Category

Waiting For A Havest

Wednesday, July 1st, 2009

Everyone’s darkest desire is to be half of a couple because it is human nature to be afraid of being alone. Words like ‘Single’ and ‘Alone’ have huge social repercussions tagged to them. You become the burden of your parents and the amount of worry your parents cast upon you is inversely proportional to your age. During the occasional friends’ gathering, you feel like the oddity because you did not repeat the word ‘husband’ more than thrice and coo the word ‘babies’ (with pride) infinitely throughout the duration of the meal. You are the topic of discussion when you perform obligatory visits e.g. festive gatherings with relatives you were never close to. When the big question about whether you are currently attached is finally broached by one of the many curious aunties, you feel all conversation round the table coming to an abrupt halt and you have never felt more popular as a person about to make a public speech since Martin Luther King. And when you answer in the affirmative that you are still single, stinging looks of pity and consoling words are doled out in generous measures so much so that even you who was originally unbothered by your singlehood starts to resent your lonely existence. You start to despise those who wear the cloak of concern but are really hiding under the shadow of insensitivity. And if you have any good sense left in you, you shy away from these meetings ever after by making up plausible excuses.

Being single, by choice or otherwise, seems to be socially criminal.

There is no right and no wrong in being single if you are comfortable with your status. The sun does not stop shining because you have no beloved, the world does not stop spinning due to a lack of dates, the rain does not stop falling because there is only one person under the umbrella … In short, Life goes on.

If you are the kind who needs Love to nourish your Life so that you may grow green and healthy, go forth and do not be afraid to fail. If you are like me, one who accepts Providence’s hands without feeling the need to bemoan, the choice is yours to be proactive or to pace yourself so that you can also smell the flowers in your quest.

When asked if I miss the feeling of having someone around, I honestly think it’s a silly question. Of course I do miss the good parts about being with someone – the warmth of another body, the girlish giggles that only one in Love can produce without feeling absurd, the furtive glances stolen when he is not looking and his big hand guiding yours as he walks you down the trodden path that you wish will never end. But if it is not possible right now, one has to learn how to live by herself too.

Some become reliant on friends to feel ‘wanted’ but there will always be a point in time where you won’t have a friend around who can keep company so it is a steep learning curve to being only you. You learn to go to the library to borrow books and read them in your bed. What you lack in companionship, you make it up in knowledge. You learn not to judge another who goes to the cinema by himself. You learn to occupy a whole table in a restaurant without feeling guilty (because remember, singles have their rights too!).

Even though I am now comfortable with doing some things on my own, I want to learn how to do things differently – to be a different person but the same me. I want to experience new things I would never try. I want to see things from a different angle. I want to wear my hair in a different way. I want to hold things with a different hand. I want to speak to others in a different manner. I want to watch programs I would never bother. I want to call friends whom I’ve not kept in contact. I want to read books I’ll never touch. I want to try food I never ate.

Right now, I want to be wholesome and know how it is like just to be fully me without being half of another because I know I will learn that when the time is ripe.

To Stick Your Finger Where It Doesn’t Belong

Friday, June 5th, 2009

I’ve had this revelation recently, watching my neighbour’s youngest daughter unwittingly stick her finger into a door knob and got stuck. It was an arduous process, really. Being young and afraid of pain, once her finger was stuck, she gave up trying, asking help from her siblings who then came running to my dad watching television in the living room.

As I stood watching the locksmith extricate the knob from the door, it was clear that the rest was up to the little girl. There is not going to be anything the doctor can do and sawing was out of the question since the little finger is in peril. Her anxious father poured oil over the finger and encouraged her to ease it out slowly but everytime she felt a little pain, she slumped back and gave up. Three grown men stood hovering over her – one decidedly nervous (her father), one concerned but amused (my father) and one sarcastic (the locksmith). If not for the fact that it would be improper to giggle, I would find the whole scene comical. Least when expected, the little finger suddenly came free of the door knob, reasonably well-oiled but none for the worst. I was thinking: Do not stick your finger where it doesn’t belong.

Almost immediately, I thought of Jack Horner whose thumb was in the pie and I thought of myself, wondering if I have, metaphorically, been cast in the same situation. Have I been sticking my finger into where I don’t belong?

The man is not yours and not for you. Do not insist on sticking your finger in where it doesn’t belong because it will hurt and it takes a lot of pain before you are smart enough to extricate yourself from further hurt. You make the people around you worried but yet the only person you can help yourself is you. Tempting as it is to create a little drama out of curiosity, the aftermath is usually not so pleasant. I’ll now leave the little girl be and hope that one day she has the same epiphany as me.

“Expired Blogger” – Is There Such A Term?

Tuesday, May 26th, 2009

If you have read my about page (no, it’s not a shameless plug), you would have known that I started blogging since the later part of 2001. I could call myself a rather religious blogger initially, having painstakingly followed many people’s footsteps to document their lives the same way I did and I had a great deal of blog friends whom I’ve never met and why should it matter? Sometimes taking the privacy out of blogosphere kills the joy you had in reveling in the life of perfect strangers even those you love to hate. For example, you have disliked this female blogger and all she represents for the longest time and viola! The next thing you know, you actually met her at a party and she has proven to be nice unlike her undesirable online persona and it can be rather disappointing. In short, it leaves a narrow room for imagination.

Of course, there were times when Curiosity overwhelms Sensibility and you find yourself trotting into a cafe for a coffee session with a few of your faithful readers and you of theirs.

Merry Traveller: Where are you seated? I’m at Starbucks already.
Blogger A: Oh I am wearing a blue shirt with spectacles and Blogger B is wearing a white shirt and jeans.

And you thought the description would vaguely suffice only to turn and look around a cafe full of blue and white shirts and jeans before you caught sight of two enthusiastic, waving hands clothed by .. well … white and blue. As I made my way towards the people whose lives I’ve known so initimately but not themselves, I felt guilty admitting that I harboured an impulse to turn around and run. Of course, I could never be that rude and then what ensued were moments of initial awkwardness, shy smiles, what-the-fuck-am-I-doing looks and stumped speeches.

Merry Traveller: Hey! Uh, erm, finally we meet and you look like this …
Merry Traveller: Uh I mean not in the bad way definitely but I’ve never thought you’ll look like this …
Merry Traveller: And wow, blue, it’s a common favourite colour. No, I mean you guys look great in blue. I don’t like blue very much though.
Merry Traveller: No what I really mean is that you guys have great blogs, really enjoyed reading your entries and .. uhm the fantastic blue layouts. They are so … organized.

And words go free-flowing even though they may not sound quite the same way you meant to. Anything to mask the sense of anxiety you feel. It is easy to experience nervousness especially when you meet a respected blogger or your favourite blogger you’ve never missed a post. I do not know which is worse though, saying way too much that doesn’t make sense and spell ‘a-w-e’ or keeping totally quiet, clueless on how to proceed but luckily enough for me, I warm up after a while and everything will go right again.

Between June 2001 and now is a difference of 8 years. I cannot tell you how many people I’ve met (I’m not totally anti-social, just a little) but there are very few that I kept in touch with since the only linkage between me and most of the others was a link on the blog or an add to bloglines but other than that, we thrive in different professions, we have dissimilar clothing preference, he likes savory and I like sweet, he enjoys coffee and I live with tea, though we drank beer but he prefers Heineken and I like my Hoegaarden and despite six degrees of separation, we still have no mutual friends.

Simply, we are as different as Night and Day.

And so years passed and now that I am back blogging, not as zealous as before since there are much less things I had to say without feeling repetitive. As I visited some old blogs I used to follow, it is not hard to be surprised at some of the changes that had taken place while I went missing on myself. I see blog posts being replaced with tweets as newer technological utilities made it possible to convey our thoughts in a different manner, I see inserts of advertorials pitched snugly between blog posts full of photographs, I see upholders of Nuffnang thanking them for every single event they have attended (I had to google for Nuffnang, I had no idea at all), I see only fragments of their older selves as new considerations take priority over their current lives. Mr. Miyagi is now married with a kid, Little Miss Drinkalot no longer blogs about alcohol intake (not in the recent posts at least), La Idler is not longer enjoying any idle days

At the end of the day, I am left wondering – How have I changed?

Did I just expire?

Rage, Rage Against The Dying of Light

Sunday, May 10th, 2009

I thought I got out of that whole late night clubbing notion, except when there are my favourite DJs playing in town, usually in Zouk for that matter. Did I mention Zouk is my favourite club? Well now you know.

On a typical Saturday night, I fancy myself cuddling up in the couch or bed, reading a book or listening to some music, spending a rejuvenating evening all to myself. I treasure my weekends now since it is the only time I really get to forget all about work and prepare for next week’s battle. Maybe I wouldn’t have minded a go at the film theatre since there is something I really want to watch. The idea of clubbing scares me – the throes of people who are determined to mow down any obstacle on their way to alcohol and the dance floor and that includes you, the drunken louts who unconsciously or consciously become insufferably rude or horny or both and of course the young ladies who lose all decorum after rounds of drinks and are incapable of taking care of themselves. But worst of all, worst of all, the ridiculously long queues at the bar, making a girl without alcohol, namely me, really upset.

Now on this atypical Saturday, I was feeling a sense of bereavement at staying home, facing the walls and the boredom that envelopes me threatened to suffocate me and so I hurriedly dressed, invited myself to someone’s house (just give me anywhere with people!) and followed on with clubbing. And if there is one thing that is even worse than what I consider is the worst of having to queue absurdly long for alcohol, it is the snaky queues right outside the club I thought I was about to go. Nothing can save you from these sensible people queuing up to get maniacal with a combination of music, crowd and a wholesome liquid diet.

There were three queues – VIP, Table Reservation & Guestlist and the Paying. Even the paying folks with money to spend have little hopes of getting in till much much later when the mood has gone sour. I am perfectly guilty at nepotism when I saw him and leeched onto him till I breezed my way through at least 80 people just fifteen minutes after arrival. I just wanted to go into the club!

I won’t follow on with what I did because I was doing the perfectly normal and hence provide no fodder for gossip. Yes, there was dancing involved but not too dirty. There was alcohol in jugs, there were moments I sneaked into the Smoking Zone for a long-needed puff and under the influence of the jolie petit fleur, she made me dance with total male strangers who are not hot. It’s not that I am superficial but I don’t think they are sincere enough to be friends. I met acquaintances, ex-classmates, coworker in the space of a dance floor and it’s like everyone has decided to come out to rejoice in the Dark Night.

The night was moving along splendidly – the relative darkness of the room, there were too many people that everyone became inconsequential, the alcohol-induced senses was lured to transform into something darker and more sinister, the pretense of they who were coquettish but unwilling to take the first step, they who are emboldened by the proximity of Desire well within touch and the smiles of Goddesses encouraged their baser instincts into immediate, rapid advances to attack and devour the sweetness of their beings, claiming a union of souls and gratification.

I was an instant party girl when the sweet drinks wetted my lips and flowed down my throat in a desperate measure to uninhibit me. I was flitting in and out of the dance floor. There were so much to watch, observe and snigger at. Everyone is human afterall and we are all having a go at what we are necessary for – to procreate. For me, I am not going to be hypocritical and declare that I am a patron saint amongst the sinned or say that the halo of light just inches above my very messy hair shines a path to illumination but I am always waiting around for the Right One because I am either old-fashioned or cynical. And that’s where everyone scored where I fail. I care too damn much about the morning after.

When Did You Lose Yours?

Sunday, April 19th, 2009

The fan hype is now upon a certain Miss Susan Boyle of Scottish origins who before a week ago, remains an obscure church singer, a regular woman on the road you would not cast a second look at …. until her performance at “British Got Talent” that had Piers Morgan giving the biggest “Yes” he had to her throughout all three years of being in the show and even Simon Cowell, the infamously ruthless critic stared dumbfoundedly at her the moment she sang. That performance, now available on Youtube, has made her an instant celebrity with more than tens of millions of view hits.

Golden question: Why Susan Boyle?

Susan Boyle

There are hundreds and thousands of people who auditioned and hoped to get lucky in competitions like these. I may have laughed at some of the less-than-perfect auditions which were usually compiled into some sort of a rejects video but I had never doubted the amount of courage and conviction one must have had in order to take part and face the likelihood of becoming a public spectacle. The fact that I am comfortably ensconced in my office throne, watching their videos is a fact that these people already did more than me – they tried to make something out of their lives.

The only thing I cannot withstand is a confrontational after scene when the contender gets rejected. The cursing and all the “You-don’t-know-who-I-can-become” shouting turns ugly and whatever little respect I have for the person evaporates. The reason to why even the plainest people can command attention and respect from others or from me at least is because they have no illusions about themselves and they accept defeat graciously.

I don’t think we are so far past the age of remembering William Hung. Many people would remember him for the laugh-inducing audition in which he did Ricky Martin’s “She Bangs”. He became famous overnight. And although years down the road, many only remembered that he was a “joke” but I distinctly recalled that although I was not a fan, I admired him for a different reason. After brutal rejections given by the American Idols’ judges consisting of Randy Jackson, Paula Abdul and Simon Cowell, he replied “Um, I already gave my best, and I have no regrets at all.” No offense to William but even though he did not exactly exhibit talent the way Susan Boyle did but both of them did have one thing in common – they radiated the same positive energy towards the competition they were in.

William Hung wanted to give his best and live without regrets. Susan Boyle was urged by her ailing mother to sing for a bigger audience other than the church and I have no doubt that the reason why Susan gathered her beige skirts and marched up to the stage with her white matronly pumps was mainly due to her mother’s encouragement who knew her for who she was and had faith in who she can become or maybe that was her final act of generosity – to share Susan’s sweet and unassuming self with the rest of the world, to humble us.

I did not really know what to expect when I was watching the Youtube video but I was rooting the underdog. I wanted Simon Cowell to be taken aback, I wanted her to put the eye-rolling and heavily eyeliner-ed girl in the audience in place, I wanted her to render the jeering people speechless and choke in their throats. In short, I wanted her to be amazing.

And she was.

Amanda Holden, one of the “British Got Talent” judges could not better describe my feelings.

I am so thrilled because I know that everybody was against you. I honestly think that we were all being very cynical and I think that’s the biggest wakeup call ever. And I just want to say that it was a complete privilege listening to that.

I read nasty remarks after about how people who applauded her performance are probably less than confident themselves. I just want to say that perhaps he/she is partially right. Susan Boyle lent hope to some who may have been experiencing dejection in turbulent times like these but Susan Boyle is not suffering from a lack of confidence the same way Paul Potts, a previous winner of “British Got Talent” who had been bullied in his younger days leading to self-esteem issue, did. In fact, she refused to change her appearance because she did not think it was a problem as long as she could sing beautifully. What Susan Boyle did do is to give a voice to the discriminated, restore faith in the underestimated, shone a ray of sunlight into those who had been jaded for too long and threw the judgmental people who believed only in the power of exterior beauty and first impressions offtrack.

Her voice resonated and vibrated in the audition hall with her artfully chosen rendition of Les Misérables’ “I Dreamed A Dream”. She exuded Clarity, Honesty and Hope. Today, I teared and found back a younger version of myself with the powers invested in me by a stranger of a woman whose voice traveled across lands and mediums to make me feel alright again as I remembered how my voice no longer rang true and pure as when I was young throughout the years of growing up. My smile dimmed to the hurting remarks made by people who thought themselves better than me and got the better of me. I lost my ambition, a desire to succeed, an ability to cry and optimism to the sharks-infested corporate world and Murphy’s Law.

When did you lose yours?

Download: Susan Boyle’s “I Dreamed A Dream“.mp3

No Fats Good, Got Fats Bad

Wednesday, April 8th, 2009

This is a visual world.

I wonder how others, as an ice breaker, could possibly broach on rude subjects to be unknowingly (or knowingly) rude. If I could win awards for being the most popularly insulted female in cabs, I am possibly well on my way to nomination and greatness. The first time, I was in a cab and the uncle deemed fit as a conversation starter to mention how fat I am. Ok, perhaps it’s hardly even a “mention” since I considered it as a rhetorical question because I have no suitable responses for it. And I’ll let you judge for yourself.

Thoughtless Cab driver: You very fat hor?
Clueless Me: *speechless*

The thoughtless cab driver looked expectantly at me, presumably waiting for an acknowledgment. Now what should I say at that point in time really? Does the cab driver expect a ‘Thank You’ with eyes brimming full of grateful tears or a pair of bright eyes accompanied by friendly tones of ‘That’s right!’? Or should I be rude in return and tell him to mind his own business which is to drive safely and send me home since his only concern would be to make sure that I pay him for the ride. I think I just blurted out a ‘Why? Why do you ask me that?‘ in feeble retort. He only managed a ‘huh‘ and kept quiet till I arrived at my destination.

The second time, I shared a cab with someone and apparently after I alighted from the cab and the someone continued on his way, the balding cab driver made disparaging remarks about me. The person was embarrassed to repeat the content but I do not have to think in order to guess.

I’ll be lying if I say it does not matter and I do not hurt since fat people have more in their flesh to hurt than anyone else. Listen carefully:

I did not steal your kids’ food and leave them with none. I do not make you earn money and buy me bread. I do not wear your clothes and rip it apart with my width. I do not mow you down when you walked headlong into me. I do not crash an entire plane, make the Titanic sink and burst your car tyre. I do not kidnap anyone, keep them in the fridge and fry them in grease for breakfast. And no, I do not keep the bones and make them into soup for supper after.

And since I do none of the things above, why am I being sentenced to seeing the pity in your eyes and the smile leaving your lips when I draw near?

Keep out of my way or I just might be tempted to ask you how is it possible that you have so little hair left.

The Tuesday Workout Bunny

Wednesday, March 11th, 2009

Tuesday is now an unofficial gym day with some pals since they are avid gym-mers and I am like the tourist who lands for a day and drops by to do an one-time sightseeing. The good news is, I found out how therapeutic it is to exercise in a 10% occupied environment at 5 p.m. on a work day. I’ll work out just enough to head out when the crowd starts flooding in so I might be going more often. I know ‘might’ is a very non-commital term but .. I just might! For now, I’ll stick to once a week. I know a lot of people will gawk at the prospect of eating dinner after working out hard but I think different. I view the gym as a social playground where I get to meetup with some friends whom I don’t see on a regular basis. It is my one motivation to be able to sit down and enjoy dinner with friends after exercising some.

You see, the point is, I’ve gotten past the stage whereby I think I will actually lose weight if I go gym and once you get past that mental hurdle, the process becomes more enjoyable. You start thinking of exercising as a mean to improve your health. You no longer trigger the panic mode and visually assess the distance of that nearest traffic light when you encounter a gigantic overhead bridge you had to cross. You feel good about being able to climb that overhead bridge without fear and evade the telltale huffs and puffs and have your heart swelling like it would burst. Sure, it is a very small thing, small enough to be negligible but all big things start out small.

I did not run at a speed of 8.5 for an hour, neither did I ‘cycle’ through the terrains. I merely started with 25 crunches, climbed 5.46 km worth of steps, walked at a pace of 5.7 for half an hour next to my very fit friend (who did run at a constant speed of 8.5 for an hour), cycled leisurely while browsing through a copy of free Catalog magazine and did 15 minutes worth at those ‘running simulators’ (I have no idea what’s the name of those machines). It is really pretty mild in the eyes of the hardcore gymmers but I did not have to push myself hard to do them either. The next time I will do better.

How to motivate yourself to go back to the gym:

  • Understand the importance of the fashion and comfort level of your sports gear
  • Preferably have encouraging friends who are patient to your starting slow and not begrudge you for having dinner after
  • Fast music that makes you want to dance, run, hop, basically, to move along.
  • I was more resistant to going to the gym initially because I think I had a pair of aging running shoes that did not quite fit me in the fashionable way. It did not reflect the way of how I want to look (like those healthy models in Shape magazine) to the world. I have a beautiful Stella McCartney water bottle in the palest pink contrasted against grey to make it more striking, I have a pair of Puma sweatpants and a Nike shoe bag to match but the shoes, oh the shoes! They were my grief. I kept meaning to buy a new pair but then I procrastinated … and waited .. and grew lazier. That was till when I discovered Royal Sporting House had a “Swop Your Old Shoes” event (and sorry, it was over on the 8th of March). You can bring in your old shoes and get 25% off the next pair, not to mention that the old shoes will go towards a charitable cause. You get to be fashionable and kind at the same time!

    swop!

    I brought the old shoes that pinched my feet there without a word and painstakingly hunted for a pair of pink and grey shoes that would reflect me, my philosophy of life and all things that matter. After a tedious hunt and many disappointments later, I am a now proud owner of a pair. To its credit, I now go to the gym so as to admire my shoes while cycling. I am in favour of big tee-shirts and comfortable sweatpants because wearing anything else makes me self-conscious of my less-than-perfect body. The satisfaction level that you have with what you wear to the gym plays a part in you actually going there.

    Point 2 is totally self-explanatory. Avoid toxic friends at all cost. By toxic, I mean evil, calorie-obsessed friends because they make you acutely aware that whatever effort you’ve put in, you are not going to be able to match up. Even if you do match up, you will be unhappy.

    I found myself moving faster than my willpower usually tells me to by virtue of fast and catchy tunes. I am totally with the amazing Lady GaGa in this aspect. I will move (and very fast too) when you play “Just Dance”, “Paparazzi” or “Poker Face”.

    It goes without saying that the best proof of all this talk now is to see how long I can keep up with the regime but I have a gut feeling – I found the gym bunny in me.

    The Ten Dollars Tales

    Sunday, June 12th, 2005

    This woman, can be such a struggling sentimentalist at heart.

    Even one as cynical as this one, proclaiming herself “over and done with” matters of the heart for a good long while to come while concentrating on other more pressing issues on hand to satisfy her capitalist demands.

    And as if to fully illustrate that there can be a reconciliation between capitalist needs and sentimentality, she kept 2 separate pieces of ten-dollar notes to commemorate the two men who left her reminiscing long after they were gone.

    The first one left her a little more – a carrot pouch and a laminated neocard of them both so dazzling in their laughter. His face shone with mischief in that checkered suit he insisted on wearing just because the woman asked him to wear a little nicer on their first date out and the woman’s with a somewhat worriesome smile, getting cold feet that the un-photogenic her will not turn out as nicely as she wished for it to be and it would not be a perfect picture. So as she sent him to the airport, face streakened with tears and clutching the note he demanded her to take as a final present to ever send her home safely for the last time, she chose instead to defy his order to enlist private comfort, took the public transportation and kept the note.

    The second one – the woman hastily decided to keep that note because he gave her that note to supplement the cabfare home and a nagging feeling of impulse as she sped across the expressway told her that he would not stay and she was so desperate for something tangible to hold onto. Coupled with her practical nature, the ten dollar note, she did not use and is now a ‘lucky charm’ of sorts, upholding her belief in all things good and pure and serves a reminder if she should ever get too cynical. And the woman was right, he did not stay, the man she still saw occasionally but the rift too wide apart and she sent him leaving from her heart.

    Two ten-dollar notes. Two tales of a woman’s heart turned round and round, ended similarly by speeding away from the final destination of the men she once hold dear.

    Will You Smile :)

    Sunday, May 8th, 2005

    Fondness for a person cannot be fully explained sometimes. The reason i like a person may be attributed to several factors and could even be contradictory to my original belief. But at that moment in time, time stands still and i would have done anything just to see you smile.

  • You do not see me.
  • For I am human, I need your reciprocation as some mark of receipt to feel wanted. A sign of insecurity you may say, but having been overlooked for prettier and slimmer counterparts and jeered for bodily magnitude when i was much younger made me apprehensive, wary and cynical. I looked at you looking at her and i wonder if she is perfect for you. You try to understand your emotions, you seek to be free but yet yearning to be tied. You are confused. You look around for your muse, someone who truly relates to you. I stand by your side. Yet i know i know, you do not see me.

  • I did not even dare to look into your eyes.
  • For fear you will dissect me for the weak-willed person i am with your probing and intense gaze. See the insecurities in my eyes when i am trying my damn hardest to conceal it, discover the bits and pieces about me that are unpleasant. In short, i want to be good enough for you. I wanted to be the one you kissed so i may hold this memory close to my heart and allow my heart to ache in loveliness once in a while. But i could not bring myself to look straight at you.

  • I want you.
  • For your melancholic expression, the way you smile, the way you think, the way you write, the way you wear the blue, the way you hugged me, the way your smell infused my senses, the way you walk, the way you … are you.

    ……

    In life we have to accept that not all goodwill will be remembered. Not all the concern you have for another party will necessarily be appreciated. Not all good feelings you feel for another person will be understood, or reciprocated.

    And i used to think it matters a lot.

    Not until i see you smile.

    Then i know i am meant to let you go.

    To let you soar.

    A Lesson On Love; Mister C

    Monday, May 2nd, 2005

    Others have sung that Love, is a many splendored thing.

    The radio croons its neverending, evergreen, silky spidery menagerie of late night love songs always with “Forever love, forever love ….” And it could have a very devastating effect on lonely people who have not found their other halves in the night, especially nights with piercing silence.

    Apparently four years of knowledge about each other were not enough for us to want to stay together.

    Perhaps we have known all that is left to know and there is no mystery in being together anymore. Or perhaps we were in fact, too overwrought by the things we do not intend the other party to know about each other.

    Being friends, rather than lovers, would be a much kinder dedication to the term “Memories” and a preservation of sanctity of the word “Relationship”.

    The day we laid our hearts bare, it felt like our souls were reprieved. When the hearts were constrained, there has always been an ominous silence lurking in the air we tried to conceal and ignore, followed by a desperate attempt to talk incoherently just to ease the unnatural silence. But now, our hearts just poured out tentatively, gradually and then in all full splendor and finality.

    It was a sudden moment, there and then. We asked each other a simple question. The replies we gave were so unpretentious and unanimous. A decision instantaneously and instinctively concluded the outcome of us. Even using ‘us’ sounds a little sacrilegious because we left ‘us’ behind a long long time ago when he first went in search of his dreams and ideals and i, in pursuit of a common, monotonous pattern of lifestyle. Our souls had communicated and departed amicably then, just that we did not realise it. A reformed alliance afterwards was a weak attempt to feel wanted and regain any form of stringent wanting we might have left for each other.

    I breathed a little easily when the episode announced its impending end.

    I teared a little at how time spared us no consideration.

    I wondered if he would invite me to his future wedding and if i would still feel my heart throb when he kisses his bride.

    I closed my eyes and remembered the fresh sunflowers he sent me which all withered and decayed in due time.

    I kept a sprig of dried forget-me-not as memory.

    I am convinced that this is the wisest choice we could have made.

    This one time, i learn a little more about love. Love cannot be attained by two people forcing themselves to be together for poignancy and old time’s sake.