Make Me Feel LIke..

As I am typing my rare blog entry, he enters the room and distracts me with some cute non-sense. I forget all about typing and get wrapped up in the more important things... the last few hours before he goes off on a 7-week trip with the Singapore Navy.

I fucking can't believe it, to be honest, that I am dating an army guy. There is no glamour or glitz, as it was with the Banker. There is no drama, as it was with Mr J. But somehow it works, despite the age difference and cultural difference and despite that he's frequently broke (to be fair, as frequently as I am and not that I ever cared about money when it came to relationships anyway). It still works.

It is the distance that I am not good with. And the lack of communication that goes with it.

Sure, I go about my day as per usual. Maybe I am even more productive as a result that I can stay focused on my work more. But, as a true Gemini, when I get bored (on weekends mainly), I have a tendency to do bad things. Things that are not really great for a relationship.

I've always enjoyed clubbing and partying and, having lived in Singapore for a substantial amount of time, I have a privilege of getting invited to some exclusive openings and events. (hey, it's a small city/country. Sooner or later, you pretty much get to know everyone, whether you want to or not.)

But people tend to assume you are single, when you attends these happenings. And sure, you know? Go ahead and assume away: if there is no ring on my finger and if I am wearing a short, hip-hugging dress, why not think that I might be unattached?

The part of telling someone that you are NOT single though... that's the tricky part. And though I always do it, there is always a moment of awkwardness afterwards and one of two things happen immediately:

1) We continue a polite conversation for a while. The guy pretends that it's all good, but I can see that he is having a difficult time in reconciling with a fact that he can no longer hit on me; or

2) There is an instant disinterest that glazes over a guy's eyes, as soon as I say, "But by the way, I have a boyfriend..." There is not even an attempt to carry on the conversation and the guy pretty much just walks away.

Both of the scenarios are kind of weird and uncomfortable. I suppose if I was really not cool with it. I'd stop going out all together. The thing is... giving up going out and doing some occasional partying is not in my cards just yet. Maybe I should give it up already but I keep thinking... just one or two more years and I'll be good. And the next thing I know, I'll probably be fourty.

Yeah... Just one or two more years and I'll be good. I promise.

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The Pleasures of Not Being Single...

 
It feels long overdue, and it definitely is... but sometimes words can't come out right, or come out at all. And instead of forcing myself to write, I chose to not write at all for a while. Perhaps it's time to come back for a bit.

By this point, I must have said "I love you" to the 21 Year Old about a few hundreds of thousands times. With him being in the navy, it's been hard having a very limited amount of time together each weekend. He only comes out on Saturdays and goes back in again on Sundays. This means we only have about twenty-four hours to spend with each other each week, and most of the times he is too exhausted to do anything active, liking riding bikes, or zip lining, or clubbing.

The thing is.. I am perfectly fine just napping the day away with him, or having a quiet dinner, or just talking. Or not talking at all.

It's the level of comfort that I've become familiar with but that has also calmed me down a bit. Normally, I'd be out and about, wining and dining, gossiping and socializing. And it's all fine and well, but it does burn me out quite a bit.

With him, I find peace, love and happiness. And that's exactly what I've been searching for for so long.

Besides... clubbing is for Friday nights, anyway ;)

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Straying Away

It was an honest mistake and, even though, I did not mean any harm by it, I can't honestly say that there was nothing remotely sinister behind my decision to talk to my friend's handsome Aussie friend that night at a club.

I suppose I was feeling a bit lonely and I was feeling particularly friendly because the Aussie bought us girls a bottle of Belvedere to share. And then there were several rounds of shots that I simply could not refuse.

The Aussie and I talked extensively that night, but I was fluttering around from person to person being overly social and not paying any attention to anyone in particular. But perhaps... No, not perhaps... With all certainty, he felt like there was a bit of a connection. And I guess that can happen...  that fabricated type of a connection that can only happen in a nightclub. After a few rounds of drinks and a few accidental looks at each other, he felt persuaded to ask for my number.

He knew I had a boyfriend from the very moment we met and though I felt compelled to insist that he did not need my number, he somehow obtained it anyway. (To be fair, I was probably the one giving it to him, though I must have been pretty drunk, as I do not recall any such interaction.)

I should not have been surprised when he texted me the next day. What should have surprised me was that I texted him back and we carried on an on-and-off conversation for the next two weeks... Chatting about this and that, and me allowing him to simply say "hey" to me in a seemingly-innocent manner all up until the point when my boyfriend came back from the army and just happened to glance at my phone and see the Aussie's name light up on my iPhone screen.

I knew that the Aussie knew that I had a boyfriend. Yet, somehow, even though I could never admit it to my boyfriend ("We're just friends!" I insisted to him over and over again), I felt that I was enjoying the attention of a guy who was clearly trying to forge a connection with me, regardless of the fact that I was attached.

I refused to understand my boyfriend's concerns. I refused to see why he thought that my daily long-distance conversations with a 2-week friend could be misconstrued as inappropriate. I had to sleep on it and wake up with a clear head the next day in order to understand exactly what was going on.

The truth is... it's hard to let go of old habits. Like a dedicated bachelor, I refused to let go of the right to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I refused to account for someone else's feelings. I refused to be unselfish.

The thing is.... ultimately, it is MY problem that I was enjoying prolonged attention from a clearly-interesed guy. It is MY problem that I still party way harder than my 21-year old boyfriend. It is MY problem that I can't see why he is feeling insecure when I come home at 5am when he is training to serve and protect his country and doesn't even get to get a glimpse at an occasional pretty girl when he wants to.

It is, therefore, my duty to change my ways a bit before it's too late and he loses his trust in me. Perhaps, it is time to grow up a bit and whole-heartedly commit to one man and one man only.

After all, why not make a sacrifice for the guy who I feel I can spend the rest of my life with?

I suppose, at the very least, I should give it a try.

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Met the Parents

It's never as bad as you imagine it to be.

Sure, I drank about three glasses of wine prior to the meet-and-greet but, in all fairness, this helped me calm my nerves down and somehow helped me not make a fool out of myself.

After the dinner, we walked back to my house (only a short distance away from the restaurant). His eyes shined with happiness as he held my hand and I didn't have to ask whether or not his parents took a liking to me. I knew that regardless of how they felt about our age difference, I succeeded in impressing them.

I could tell by his face that I'd received a stamp of approval from his mom and his step-father and that's all I needed to know. He stopped me on a crossover bridge on the way to my house, and kissed me just the way I wanted to be kissed. I felt like this was one of those life-imitates-movie kind of moments that would take the onlooking audience's breath away, because they'd know that they were witnessing two people in love.

Only a couple of days later, he had to pack up and leave for the army but, luckily, going to the army here is not like going to the army in many other countries. I will see him again in three short weeks (though right now, it feels like an eternity), and then again, every weekend thereafter.

I can't say whether or not our differences in our backgrounds, age, upbringing will ever tear us apart. And I can't tell how serious it is going to get in the long term, though he tells me he wants this to last forever.

All I know is that I am happy. In this foreign country, thousands of miles away from my parents and my childhood friends, I feel like I found my other home.

Since home is where the heart is.

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Meet the Parents

In approximately two hours, I will be dining with a very special company, indeed.

It's my much younger, 21-year old boyfriend's birthday today and I am meeting his parents, and his two sisters for a intimate family dinner at a restaurant that they insisted I pick because, and I will quote his mother on this one, "She seems like a picky eater."

It will be my first time meeting his parents and it's been a while since I'd met anyone's parents. Actually, I believe it's been about 5 years to be exact.

If this occasion doesn't call for three glasses of wine prior to the event, then I don't know what does. A funeral, perhaps.

I am currently on glass of Chardonnay number one and the butterflies are taking over my stomach. I detest formal occasions like this but I also know that it is a necessary and logical step in any normal relationship. A necessary and normal, but still...

"Don't be nervous. They're really chill," the boyfriend says to me.

But "chill" can mean anything in Chinese culture. Besides, parents will always be parents in any culture. They will probe and quiz and question my intentions. Jesus Christ, I am freaking out just writing about this.

If I survive the meet-and-greet and the subsequent 21 questions that surely will follow shortly after, I will be pleasantly surprised. Usually, on occasions like this, I am the opposite of poised and graced woman I've been raised to be. Quite frankly, I am a mumbling mess. I completely fail at impressing parents.

Now. Glass o' vino number two... I am looking at you, kid.

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The L-Word, Deconstructed

I've always been cautious about saying the three-letter phrase. So many people use it so carelessly and nonchalantly, after all; I wanted to be the one to set an example for all. I only said "I love you" to a total of two men in my life, despite having dated, seriously and casually, a whole lot more than two in my life.

It was just that.... when the 21 Year Old told me he loved me in person, shortly after he texted me all about it... it was as if the flood gates of affection had opened up. The Red Sea had parted, the doves ascended to the sky, and the L-word, that I so much feared to throw around casually, entered my vocabulary like it was my new favourite thing to say.

Yes, I said "I love you back" when he told me he loved me in person. And after that blood-coughing incident a few weeks ago, I felt even more of a need to say it, right then and there. Just in case I didn't have that much time to wait.

And I felt happy, and safe and fantastic when he wrapped his arms around me in gratitude. And since then, I've said "I love you" to the 21 Year Old probably more than I had ever said it to anyone prior to meeting him.

It feels amazing to say it. And liberating. And blissful. And all of those things that I wanted to feel but did not want to give into fully.

"I love you" is my new favourite phrase. With all the abandon that I think I deserve for once, this freedom makes me feel amazing.

Sometimes it's that someone who you would least expect to make you happy, that actually does make you feel like you're on top of the world.

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Who Knew

Mr J never said it, though he sure as hell implied it over those 3+ years of our quasi-relationship. I tried to fish it out of him, tried to see if he felt what I was desperately trying to get out of my system but could not say during all that time.

The Banker never said it. It was sort of clinical, in a way. There was some intense affection on the surface but, beyond it, I saw hardly anything deep and lasting. It became very obvious after a while that I was feeling exactly the same way. I was attracted to him, mentally and sexually. Nevertheless, there was something missing... something important that prevented us from going any further and made him break up with me.

And with the 21 Year Old, it's so simple. Sometimes I think, it's almost TOO simple. Isn't there a catch to all of this? But then again.. shouldn't it ALWAYS be this simple when it's right?

11 weeks in, and he said it.

Via a text message but, you know, I'll take it via any form of communication it might come.

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An Extended Romance

Surprisingly, the 21-year old and I are still going strong.

Needless to say, though, there are some issues that inevitably came up with the age difference.

1) The job situation: he just graduated from college (shoot me now) and he's got all the time in the world to worry about his career and stuff all the while he has a security blanket of his well-off parents to cover the expected and exuberant expenses that typically arise from a lifestyle of a young twenty-something. You know, booze, cabs, meals, dates (with me, nonetheless).

2) The outside perspective: when I broke my with my college ex ages ago, we managed to remain friends for a year or two afterwards. Consequently, he became comfortable telling me about his dates and his love conquests and there was this one time that he was out at a bar and he was hitting on this crying girl (why?!) and ended up getting her number. I asked about her age and he told me that she was 27. I remember thinking, why the fuck would a 27-year old even be interested in a 21-year old. Why the fuck would a 21-year old be attracted to a 27-year old. I found it a bit unsettling that the girl was so.... well, old.

Am I viewed as such in this guy's eyes or in the eyes of his friends, because, of course, they're not gonna say it to my face, just as my friends are not going to question me as to why I, all of the sudden, got this young dude tagging along with me everywhere I go. But I'm sure they wonder, and I'm sure they talk amongst themselves, and I'm sure they ask. And I have an issue with being labeled. And I feel like I am being labeled.

3) Our choices of places of leisure and entertainment: he teases me because I go places where "older" people go. You know, places with substance, places that serve fancy drinks in glasses made of real glass. I tease him because he chooses venues where all the "kids" go, where the booze is consumed in order to get fucked up (okay, I kind of like that and I kind of partake) and girls and guys are looking to hook up with the first pretty face that pays attention to them.

And I understand, I don't blame him or his friends or all the younger people for that matter; I've been there. But I'm just in a different, what I prefer to call, a more sophisticated place now. I like fancy tapas and vermouth and absinthe drinks that come from exotic regions of the world. I like discussing the architectural integrity of historical buildings of Singapore and the recent tsunami warnings in Indonesia and the stock market. I like making clever 90's pop culture references and I like when people actually get them. I can't ask the same from the 21-year old's friends. Why should I?

Then again, these are the differences that I foresaw before getting into any kind of emotional attachment and these are the differences that, as they arose, I am still willing to work through and tolerate. I'm having fun, what can I say, and no matter what it looks like to the outside world, I am going to continue doing what makes me happy.

It is the long-term possibilities and consequences that I still can't help but be worried about.

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Titanium

I think I've been getting drunk far too often to cope with my feelings, lately. I know, not the best solution to one's problem, but that gin and tonic look awfully appealing when you feel your laughter is about to turn to tears, when you are at a bar you used to go to with your ex, surrounded by things you used to associate with romance and butterflies.

It's that tantalizing first sip, that enticing second gulp that stings your throat with bitterness and promise. It's the way you start to feel after a while, like nothing and no one can hurt you, that liquid badge of courage that numbs your senses and emotions.

I say I don't care and that it doesn't bother me a bit that the break-up occurred but, the truth is, I am just not brave enough to admit to anyone that I am hurting. Maybe not even emotionally, as things were quietly falling apart for some time now, but definitely mentally. How he could just say that it's over and leave without even looking back.

Isn't this the way things always go? One person leaves because they can't wait to move on, while the other pretends to be all right, while they scramble to piece their love life together.

Truth is, I am throwing myself into this rebound stage where I feel like I am about to hurt a really good guy. And another part of me, the cynical one, tells my brain that I should go ahead and do it anyway, because there are no good guys out there.

I don't want to drink to suppress my feelings and I don't want to hurt the rebound guy, but I think I just might end up doing both, anyway.

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Small Steps

The couple next to me at our table at Piedra Negra just recently got engaged. I found out about the engagement a couple of days earlier, through a news feed on Facebook but this was the first time I was seeing them in person. They were both good friends of The Banker, but in the last month or so I became more or less acquainted with the girl, so I could not wait to congratulate them when I showed up at the bar.

Her ring sparkled seductively as she shimmied her hand in my face, showing off the rock. I admired the cut, the feminine band that held the stone so gently, yet firmly within its grasp. And then I felt it.

At first I did not know what it was and I was slightly surprised and taken aback by the slight pang and the impact of the unexpected feeling that came over me.

You see, I've never been the one to swoon over engagements or engagement parties or bridal showers. I always vowed to be that girl that got drunk (but not embarrassingly so) at bachelorette parties, and took shots with all the single dudes at the wedding receptions, and danced my ass off in my smoking hot bridesmaid dress on the dance floor, and made out with the best man (but only if he was hot).

But this time it was different. I felt a bit jealous. I felt a bit behind the curve. I felt like... I actually wanted to look forward to an engagement party... of my own.

It was weird and confusing and maybe even conformist to the "societal standards". But, fuck it. Regardless as to whether I am brainwashed or not, I still want a fairly tale ending of my own.

The Banker ordered us another round of margaritas, blissfully unaware of the emotional mini-rollercoaster that was going on in my head. Meanwhile, I chatted away happily, but with various darker thoughts brewing in my mind. Like, why does he always introduce me to his friends simply as "L", not his "girlfriend L". Am I his girlfriend or am I just another piece that he is seeing?

I began feeling slightly tipsy from the alcohol in no time. Maybe it was the lack of sleep due to work-related meetings and meeting preparations the night before but, at some point, I just decided to let my worries go, as they were getting in the way of my fun. There was really no point in ruining my night due to my own emotional turmoil. I was being a freaking girl, after all, and I was not enjoying it one bit.

We were all expecting The Banker's friend Mr Hong Kong to make his triumphant return to Singapore and to the bar we were at. He was, apparently, coming back from months-long travels elsewhere. And as he finally arrived around 11pm, The Banker gestured for him to take an empty seat next to us and to join the conversation.

"Oh, by the way," The Banker said, after his initial greetings with Mr Hong Kong, "This is my girlfriend, L."

My head did a double spin and my heart pounced with excitement. Did I just really hear something that I've been wanting to hear for months now?

"Hello," I said, cool as a cucumber, extending my hand to shake his, "It is very nice to meet you."

"Pleasure to meet you too," Mr Hong Kong replied, "The Banker told me so much about you. It's great to finally meet the girl he's been talking about so much."

I know, I know. The whole situation may seem like such a non-event to some. Almost a banal example of a side non-conversation. But to me... well, to me, it was a memorable exchange to say the least.

The first time he publicly introduced me as his girl. A confirmation of our relationship, however nonchalant it was for him, it was a big deal to me, though I will never admit this to anyone in person.

I looked at the newly-engaged couple, happily intertwined in their new togetherness and I did not feel that pang of jealousy any more. Far from the point of getting engaged, nevertheless, I felt just right in my moment right then and there.

I raised my hand and waved down the nearest bartender to come and take my next order.

"A shot of coffee tequila for this guy, please," I requested, as I pointed to The Banker.

It was going to be a long, fun night and in a silent and roundabout way, I just had to thank my dude for making things just a little more official.

Good job, babe.

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Love, When Life Happens

Eavesdropping is a no-no in my book, but when it helps to smooth out a situation, I think there can be a grey line that can be negotiated between the right the the wrong.

The other morning I was coming back from the land of the sweet, sweet dreams and opening my heavy eyelids to see the bright rays of a Sunday morning sun for the first time, when I heard The Banker, just in the room next door, talking via Skype to his brother.

Now, The Banker is a miracle of nature. He can drink like no other on a Saturday night (or retain an appearance of drinking heavily while maintaining his utmost composure), but he is up and running at 6am every Sunday morning.

I, on the other hand, like to savor the only God-given day of the week when I can actually sleep in so, whenever I am at his place or otherwise, I like to snooze it UP until at least 10am the next morning, hungover or not.

This particular morning I was stone cold sober and so my interest was instantly peaked when I overheard The Banker's conversation with his brother switch from the brother's girl troubles to the ever-cumbersome topic of The Banker's stay in Singapore.

"You know, I miss the US so much and the trip back home made me even more homesick.." I heard his voice trail off and pause, as it was, presumably, his brother's turn to talk.

"Yeah, to be honest, man, I don't know what I'm gonna do yet, but I plan on sticking around Singapore for a year or two more," he finally finished off his thought after his brother offered some advice (as I can only assume).

A year or two more?

Now that I can certainly take way better than just 5 months. That I can live with and spend the next year or two trying to charm the pants off this guy.

The truth is, when push comes to shove, I am not ready to leave this city. Feeling like a foreigner in a foreign land and being the minority (white woman in an Asian country) for the first time ever has actually not been all that bad and I am starting to truly feel at home here.

I would love to continue my journey with The Banker, but the truth is, no matter how heartbroken I would be if he left right now (and believe me, I would be sort of devastated), I would still pick Singapore for a whole slew of reasons (which I might talk about in more depth later, but these reasons are mostly career-related and mostly kind of super awesome)

Number one, though, being that I think I finally found my home, and I do mean home, here in Asia. At least for a little while.

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St(r)aying Away

Maybe I am just not good at relationships.

No, I'm not the best, but I tried. I definitely tried with this guy, that's for sure.

The impending feeling of doom is settling down upon me and I can see, with a considerable amount of fear, that this relationship might, just might, be winding down and seeing the last of its days.

But how can I full-heartedly invest in a guy who, point blank, says straight to my face that he is feeling so homesick that he is considering moving back to the States in as soon as four months? That he is thinking about continuing his career back home, somewhere in California, eighteen hours away from me.

I want to say, please stay, don't go. I like you so much. We've got such a thing going here.

But instead, I am numb and silent with the realization that he, despite introducing me to his brother and friends, and giving me the code to his apartment, is choosing something else over me.

How can I carry on with him as if nothing is happening when, in my head, there is a silent but deadly countdown of days left to spend with him. How can I not try my damnest to become as detached as he is?

I had this shit happen to me once when I told a guy I was moving away for grad school. I did not expect that he was going to abandon me, as suddenly as he did, then.

This time I can leave elegantly, quietly, and with dignity in tact. This time I can ignore that timid tug of heart that keeps telling me to stay and just see what happens. To text him one more time to see if he wants to go for a mid-afternoon bike ride or if he wants to hang out at his apartment or go to the pool.

This time I can even ask why the hell he is doing this to me... if I muster up enough courage.

This time. Before the four month death sentence rolls around.

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I'm Not Yours

And a thousand of lanterns, their flames slowly glowing against the thin rustling paper, ascended up to the night skies of Patong beach, their peaceful, soft glow interrupted by a chaotic thunder of fireworks all around us. The crowds cheered like crazy, camera phones in their extended hands, trying to capture the last moments of 2011, only to post them later on Facebook or replay them to the friends that were not there.

He was an Australian, staying at our hostel for a couple of nights, traveling from Melbourne, and then to Singapore, Hanoi. Patong beach was his last stop of the holiday vacation. It was the last stop for all of us staying at the hostel. We started off the night as a large, international group but as we took random roads and routes, trying to get through the masses to the beach to welcome 2012, it was just me and the Australian left.

"Tell me the truth, do you like me?" he asked twenty minutes before midnight as he handed me a bouquet of roses that he bought from some random Swedish girl on the street.

I was surprised and flattered by the question. When I first saw him at the hostel bar, the life of the party, I envied his confidence and wondered what it would be like to talk to this guy, to be part of that crowd. And now here I was, with him, unexpectedly, wrapped around my little finger for the night.

"To tell you the truth," I said, "I do but I am dating someone."

We stood in our awkwardness and both felt compelled to say something to each other even though we were surrounded by throngs of screaming, celebrating people and would not hear each other anyway.

"What do you mean by dating?" he finally said. We both knew what I meant.

"You know what I mean..." I looked down at the roses. Their tiny delicate buds looked so fragile that all I wanted to do was to shield them from the people around us. I felt almost out of place standing there, with a simple bouquet of romantic appreciation in my hand, while everyone else around me was holding and imbibing from alcohol containers of various sizes.

"Does he ever give you flowers?" he asked, minutes before midnight.

No, he never gives me flowers. I don't ask him to but I wish he would. Just give me flowers once. No fancy dinners, just flowers. Truth is, I wanted to say, I am starving for affection and don't know how to ask for it. Feel like I have no right to ask for it, somehow. There is nothing like wanting to fall in love and being too afraid to, because of the fear of getting hurt at the end.

"No, he never gives me flowers," I said.

He shook his head. Not accusingly, not indifferently, but mostly just selfishly proud of himself for doing something in the first few hours of meeting me that my dude has not done in the months that I've known him.

"Kiss me," he said.

"You know I can't," I paused, "Not now."

"Then kiss me at midnight. Just one kiss."

There were moments left until the clock struck twelve. I had remnants of silly strings in my hair, my shoes were filled with sand, I clenched the strap of my purse in my hand, paused in some nervous thought. He was some Australian I would never see again, albeit a very handsome Australian, he was just a stranger on a beach somewhere in Thailand.

So I kissed him. Just once, when it struck midnight. And then once again a few minutes later.

A few stolen kisses. Something to escape the real world outside of the beach. Something to stop myself from thinking about The Banker all the goddamn time, while hoping for more, more than I am being offered.

And all around me it was 2012 all of the sudden. I wanted to never leave that place and to leave it immediately, all at the same time.

Happy new year.

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Broken Teeth and Wounded Hearts

A tragedy transpired recently upon which I was left disfigured and disappointed.

Okay, maybe not exactly disfigured, but pretty self-conscious and a bit terrified at the same time. You see,Ii have had this filling in my front tooth for about a year. My last dentist was kind of shitty when it came to certain things, like performing routine examinations on one's teeth and I, unfortunately, was one of his involuntary victims.

A year ago, he blissful filed away at my front tooth that only had a minimal amount of cavity evidence and slapped a filling to cover up the gap. A year later, (this week to be exact) as I was happily munching away at a slice of cheese, I felt something chip off in my mouth. Suddenly, the previously soft and mushy slice of cheese in my mouth started tasting rather crunchy. I pulled out a little piece of white solid from my mouth and felt a newly-formed gap between my front teeth with my tongue. Much to my horror, my fears were justified as I felt a small chunk of tooth missing from the front of my beautiful veneers.

Son of a bitch!

I was supposed to see The Banker that night but almost canceled on the count of him seeing me looking like a beauty queen at a meth addict pageant, but he insisted on me coming over. He said that I would look beautiful even if I had George Washington's wooden teeth.

Whatever, man. That cheesy line worked and shortly after work that day I was on a subway to his place, trying not to smile to strangers with my toothless void.

The Banker gave me a hug as soon as I entered his apartment and, slowly but surely, I started to feel all the tension just melt away. I had all the intentions, mind you, to speak my mind and inquire him about his prowls on the dating site that night. But, just like my tension, I felt my anger and the sense of urgency just melt away as he wrapped his arms around me.

He hugged me, he reassured me, he made my worries go away, even if temporary, for a couple of minutes or so. We settled on his couch and he laid down, with his head resting on my lap as we eventually started drifting away to sleep after our respective days of work and health-related troubles.

It was not until shortly past midnight that I started to feel myself waking up. It was one of those lucid dream-like states, where I was aware that I was awake but I was still drowsily engrossed in a dream I must have been having just a second prior to waking up. I felt my sense of reality tighten around the fact that it must have been late and that I should be getting home. I wanted to say, "I am falling asleep.." to The Banker to let him know that I should be leaving to go home shortly.

Instead, I said..

"I am falling in love..."

Oh.

OH FUCK!

It sort of came out very awkwardly, like "I am falling in lov..shhlalalblahblahargh... I'm falling asleep! I mean I'm falling asleep!" I was trying to eat my own words and try to quickly think of what I really wanted to say.

The lights were dim in the room, otherwise, if he had been fully awake, The Banker would have seen my face turn beet red. I tried to play it off as a no-big-deal type of situation. But, really, I just wanted to turn back time and take back that Freudian slip of a tongue. Shortly after, still mortified, I gathered my things and left his place to go home.

"See ya this weekend!" I said and slammed the door behind me in a rush to get out of there and be left alone with my thoughts. I am foolish to even hope that he had not heard what I said.

I think he just wanted to ignore it and pretend like he did not hear me.

To be truthful, I just have this feeling (and whenever I get this feeling, I am usually right) that he is just not going to get involved with me past the point we are already at. And instead of keeping my distance, I say crap like that to him.

Careless. I am never this careless. I don't like this one bit.

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Of Men and Creepsters

Out to Ladies' Night on a Wednesday night for the first time in about 4 years, in a different city, let alone country this time, was a lot less painful on my body than I had imaged it to be, despite my reservations and pessimistic predictions about the ordeal that I would have to endure the next morning at work. In fact, despite having free shots poured down my throat and gulping them down like I was some 21-year old hardly, I hardly felt any damage at all. At 27, I, apparently, can keep it together like the best of them can. At 27, I'm not sure it is something to brag about all that much.

But hey, I've been told I look only 24 on more than one occasion, so for the sake of the argument, I'll go with the notion and let myself indulge in free tequila shots despite vowing, over and over again, how I will never have tequila again.

The Banker is away for two weeks. He is visiting his family for Thanksgiving and I, despite all my suspicions and worries about his prowling around on the internet for God knows what, am beginning to notice that my missing him like hell takes precedent over any suspicions I might have had over the given situation. I gotta give him this - he picked a perfect time to be away, because this girl has been getting a taste of life without his sexy ass in her life and, believe me, it ain't all that pretty.

A prime example - last night at Ladies Night at Ku De Ta. A premier clubbing and drinking spot in Singapore and one of the top 10 in the world. In the WORLD, people. That has to count for the quality of the patrons that enter and leave this place, right?

Not at all. The whole place was swarming with creepy crawlers who kept their hungry eyes on alcohol-consuming, unsuspecting ladies in order to make their sleazy moves the minute a girl began looking tipsy.

I, for one, had at least two guys try to approach me AFTER I had several shots of Grey Gooze.

Oh. Hey. Didn't notice you there, buddy. Oh, you're from Norway? Sorry, nothing against Norway, but go back where you came from because you are just standing there, blocking the dance floor, sipping your watered down whiskey sour and, generally, being completely and utterly awful.

My friends were not having any better "luck" than me. Through the haze of the artificial fog pumped through the room at regular intervals, I saw the ladies get assaulted from different angles by men of all races, ages and nationalities. Creepiness, you know, knows no boundaries. If our nations of the world could unite under one common derivative only, it would be the ample availability of creepy male specimen across all borders and nations. Welcome to the true definition of globalization.

I ended up having fun with the girls despite everything. Occasional free drinks certainly helped the situation. But, through it all, I couldn't help thinking about The Banker. And what a truly fucking great catch he is. And what I want to do to him when he comes back to this country.

I texted him with a sexy and slightly filthy text message that I will keep to myself for the time being. He texted back with something that simultaneously made my heart skip a beat and made me wish that he could fly back to Singapore immediately so I could rip his boxers off.

And then it dawned on me... Maybe it's all going to be just fine. I've got a fabulous man who just happens to turn me on as much intellectually as he turns me on physically. What the fuck else could I possibly ask for?

Why worry so much, after all.

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Eat. Pray. Panic.

It's weird. I've been having these rather severe panic attack-like symptoms for the last several hours. My heart is racing, palms are sweaty, wrists are half-numb with tension, breaths are short and quick in an attempt to calm my body down.

Part of it is that I've been stressed with money problems lately. It's something that's been consistently consuming my thoughts. It's nothing Earth-shattering, I guess. I just have not been saving up as much as I wanted to. Living amongst the richest of the rich on an island that has the greatest concentration of millionaires in the world has not exactly made me feel particularly wealthy either.

It's funny how money concerns can become a part of your daily existence. Even when, by all standards, you can call yourself comfortably middle-class, it is keeping up with the ever rising life style expectations and comparing yourselves to the Joneses next door that can make you feel like you've been sinking deeper and deeper into debt.

I didn't think I wanted to be rich when I was younger. But you know what? Being rich just makes things so much easier. So hell yes, I want a million or two to go buy that nice dress that I saw in the Miu Miu store window or to get that nice hot stone massage I keep hearing about or to get my bills paid on time in the US and not worry about the exchange rate going up and down like a roller coaster every couple of days. (Thanks for that crisis, Europe!)

I want to be able to get my family a nice Christmas gift without scouting discount web sites for bargain deals on second-grade stuff that will sort of look like the real deal that I wanted to give them in the first place. I want to be able to fly to Hong Kong or Hanoi for the weekend without checking my bank account to make sure that I have enough money for my ever-sky-rocketing rent for the month. Or, hell, I want to go to the dentist to get that pricy root canal taken care of without worrying that one more unexpected expense will drive me to the poor house.

More so, however, I think that I am currently pissed over the fact that I bought my boyfriend a $300 dollar painting as a birthday present. And while that may not seem like much money to some people, this is actually the most that I had ever spent on any gifts for any boyfriends/friends/pals/family members. This is a testament that I actually want to impress this dude by buying something thoughtful that is, at the same time, on the pricier side, by my standards.

And no, I am not pissed that I spent that money. I wanted to spend it. And I found the perfect painting that I hope he will love as much as I think he will. It's just the fact that I know that he's been to that stupid dating web site again and it's bothering the crap out of me. Makes me feel a bit foolish knowing that he went to the site again, while I am sitting here and buying presents for him.

When I asked him about the site a couple of weeks ago (actually, the conversation about it was sort of brought up by him because he mentioned how someone sent him a weird message recently), he said that he goes on there once in a while when people send him random stuff that he can laugh at. He made it sound so innocent and straight-forward that I immediately felt relieved. I could see that he was being honest and that there was nothing going on behind the closed doors.

However, the question still remains. Why is he on the site? Why does he go on it, about once a week? Is it really because the "hilarious" messages from socially-awkward singles amuse him that much?

Or is it because deep down he is hoping for something different than what he has right now.

I don't wanna waste my hard-earned money on a guy who is not fully there and who will dash at the first sign of a better thing. I can be a damn good girlfriend when I put some effort into it. And now that I am putting effort into this, I want to see the same amount of reciprocation.

And I don't wanna have any more panic attacks over money/love matters. I think I deserve better than that.

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Love Stoned

Falling in love is a fucking beautiful feeling. I can go through makeout sessions and awkward first dates a million and one times without so much as batting an eyelash. But I relish and savor every time Cupid throws his arrows my way which, I think, is not that frequently. However, I can firmly say that I've been in love more than once.

You see, there is not just one soul mate for us in our lives. People, men, women, come and go. They enter and exit our lives and we turn the pages of our chapters, hoping that some day, we'll have that memorable bestseller that is flying off the shelves everywhere from New York to Kuala Lumpur.

And once in a blue moon, there will be that special someone that will knock our boots off. We'll turn around, stomped, flabbergasted, taken aback. We might deny it at first, too afraid to admit it, fearful of getting hurt or rejected. But we will know... oh, we will know..

when we fall in love.

My first love was at sixteen. A very emotional, passionate love affair with a lad from London. I barely touched, hardly kissed the guy because, basically, our connection consisted of, primarily, late night longing, careless confessions that were taken back as easily as they were said, sleepless fantasies. My sixteen year old self sure loved the drama of that heartfelt sting....

I don't think I denied it even for one second. I knew that I was in love. I still believe, despite the whole being-immature-and-not-beng-sure-what-love-was-at-the-time, that Alex was my first true love.

My second love was Dan. That took a while to realize and to admit to myself. Dan had a girlfriend whom I had never met, but that did not prevent me from having an on and off thing with him for over two years. We dated other people, yes. He dated his girlfriend, his wife now, on and off. I dated guys here and there, running back to Dan when things got lonely or boring.

He was a bastard, in retrospect. He cheated shamelessly on his girlfriend and I was much too young to care. Though, out of subconscious guilt and knowing that he had a girl all along, I never gave him my real name. To this day, if he remembers me at all, I am a girl with a name that's not my own.

My third love was Mr J. It was the most adult kind of love I had experienced but also the most passionate kind. The kind that I thought I was too old for. I felt things, I smiled when he called, I giggled like a little school girl. I cried when he hurt me. I fucking hated his guts when he was being a dick. But I loved, loved, LOVED him unconditionally.

We met up in Cincinnati, Louisville, Chicago, Philly, St Louis. Our romance was whirlwind. He denied how attracted he was to me in the beginning; he made it seem like it was no big deal that he was driving to see me every weekend for 2.5 hours back and forth from Dayton to Louisville. But I could see he was scared shitless that I was the girl that made him sweat and wait. He said he only had one serious relationship before me and that she cheated on him the entire time. I saw this guys emotions unravel before me. I wanted him like I never wanted anyone before.

It was own version of a cross-country love affair. But we were never destined to be close, not even in the same state. It all ended, slowly but surely, when I left to go to Singapore, half hoping that he would stop me by asking me to be his one and only.

He finally did. He asked me, begged me to be his girlfriend. But only when I arrived in Singapore. Much too late. I wanted him to ask me that question for over two years, but when he finally did, I said "no".

Because I met my number four.

Ah shit, I think I'm in love again.

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Unofficial Official

You know that perfect moment that you keep telling yourself you deserve?

That you deserved all along? And that you fought all doubts and let down all those walls you built up because, finally, you thought, finally you found that person who could be everything they say they are.

The perfect moment where you let your guard down for a guy. And you say to yourself, in sheer surprise:

"Well, that wasn't so bad, was it? My heart is still in tact. I am still here. He didn't reveal his true ugly colors or confessed that he had a girlfriend or that he was impotent or that he had children or that he was emotionally unavailable. He is actually what he says he is. He is as close to perfection as they come. Hang on to him, you silly self, hang on to him, damn it!"

The perfect moment where he asks if he could list you as an emergency contact number when he gets somewhat seriously injured and has to go to a hospital over night. The moment that he gives you a door code to his apartment so you could let yourself in any time you wanted to.

The seemingly perfect moment where you silence your doubts and just let things take their natural course and let yourself... almost let yourself get swept away?

Yeah. THAT moment.

It feels damn good, doesn't it?

Until you find out, through happenstance, that your Mr Perfect has an active profile on a dating site. And, yes, Mr Perfect told you before that he was on the said site and that he was looking for a serious relationship, whether he met that right girl online or not online. And you were perfectly okay with it, and just assumed that he took the profile down when he asked you to be exclusive.

Until you found out that he logged in again just four days ago. And then again yesterday, just before he took you out on that date.

Until you try to convince yourself that, MAYBE, you are overreacting and it's just nothing and he is just curious. And then you realize that, MAYBE, just maybe, he is just fishing for someone else that is not you.

That you are not a girlfriend after all. You are just a girl he is dating for the moment.

Just a girl that is unofficial as the last one.

And you realize that maybe his last girlfriend did not leave him because he was working too hard all the time. Maybe she left him because she realized that she was not his girlfriend at all. She was just a girl he was dating at that moment.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

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A Special Something-Something

It's a lazy Sunday morning and The Banker and I are lounging on his comfy living room couch, watching TV. Not bothered to get fully dressed, we are eating cereal in nothing but our underwear and flipping channels between Sunday morning cartoons on Nickelodeon and "I Shouldn't Be Alive" on Discovery. Our feet are stretched out on his coffee table (my mom never let me put my feet up on the coffee table at my parents' house, so I always take special pleasure when I get the opportunity to defy this childhood rule). He's checking the market on the Blackberry that's attached to his hip at all times and planning his next trade moves. I am not checking my phone at all, because in my line of work there is nothing important enough to deserve a Sunday morning reply.

This is as close to domestic bliss as it gets for me. For the first time after my post Mr J-dating, I am beginning to fully realize how damn lucky I am to have this guy. I couldn't possibly ask for anything more of him because he is as perfect as they come.

I've always been a firm believer that there is something there when I meet a guy who makes me want to be a better person. Well, The Banker makes me want to be the best person I can possibly be.

For real.

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One Drink to Calm Your Jitters

I am at a KTV - a Japanese-style karaoke adventure where you are basically given a rented booth for a couple of hours so that you and your friends can sing/scream your hearts out to dozens of your all-time favorite songs. That is exactly what I am doing right now.

The projector above my head is spewing rays of blue, green and red light. The small room with lounge-type chairs has been transformed into a mini-disco and The Banker and I are singing (badly), drinking our jugs of beer and rocking out to our favorite Guns'n'Roses tune.

I am wearing a form-fitting black dress with tussles and navy blue peep-toe shoes but I am one step away from classy as I take a full swig of my beer before turning my attention back to the microphone. The Banker doesn't seem to mind that my beer almost comes out of my nose right before I chime in to sing along to the chorus in "Sweet Child of Mine".

My mission tonight is simple: I need to get buzzed enough to ask The Banker where we stand with our relationship. Ever since I discovered that I was starting to develop deeper feelings for him, I'd been aching to find out how he feels about me. Am I girlfriend material or just a date to spend weekends with? I just had to get enough beer in me first to work up the courage to ask the question.

Back at his place, I chicken out a little bit. I am feeling the butterflies in my stomach despite my remarkable ability to consume two big jugs of beer in under two hours. Despite the alcohol assumption, I am, somehow, stone-cold sober.

I tell The Banker that I need to use his bathroom but I go and shut the door behind myself just to look in the mirror and give myself a mental pep talk. Tonight HAS to be the night. I don't need to get drunk to ask, I just need to ask and be done with it. Besides, if I WAS drunk right now, I'd probably puke from nervousness.

Back in his living room, I take a full breath, and before I have a chance to chicken out again, I slowly drag words out of myself:

"Soooo.... I've got a question for ya..."

No going back now. Just breathe and keep talking, damn it!

He says, "Yeah? What's up?" and looks up at me from the couch.

"I gotta ask you this... Because I was just wondering... Where do we stand in terms of this whole dating thing? Are we serious? Are we just chilling?"

I try to sound casual but, on the inside, I am finally thankful for those two jugs of beer I drank earlier. They are mellowing me out enough to stop me from being a complete emotional wreck or from studdering too much. Dare I say it, I actually DO sound like, oh, it's no big deal.

"I was waiting for you to bring this up," he says without hesitating, "You know when you just moved here and we started seeing each other, I told you I was looking for a serious relationship. I wanted to give you time to get acclimated with Singapore - a new city, let alone, a new continent. I figured you need some time to make your own friends and establish life here before we developed anything serious."

I hang onto his every word, "Uh huh..." I simply say when he pauses.

"So do you want to make this official?" he smiles.

"Uh huh." I say. I'm speechless but throw my arms around him and hold onto him tightly, as if afraid that he will change his mind and run away. He hugs me back and I look up into his eyes. I feel myself beaming with happiness and, for a moment, I make myself slightly sick with all this lovey dovey-ness and want to tell myself to "get a room."

And just like that, I am no longer single. And while my single life rocked my socks off while it lasted, I am happy to report that being called someone's, no, not someone's.... being called The Banker's girlfriend feels, excuse my language, fucking peachy!

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