An American in Singapore

My trial 2 week trip to Asia is coming up in roughly two weeks.

During those two weeks, there are several things that I hope to find the answer to:

-Will I enjoy my stay in Singapore enough to decide to call it my permanent home?

-Will I be able to stand the tropical weather without my allergies acting up? (Oh boy, do I sound old here)

-Will the locals be friendly?

-Will I find my new work environment challenging, creative and fulfilling enough to take this position?

-Will I be offered a good salary? (So far, there's a quite wide range of salary options out on the table for discussions...)

And, arguably, most importantly of all:

-Will I be able to deal with the decision that I am leaving the only current potential for love in my life to relocate half-way around the world?

I hope to find the clear-headedness and wisdom to make all the right decisions under this pressure. And I really REALLY hope I can make Singapore my home.

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Hope Sinks (...and My Life Gets Better in the Process)

In my battle between my heart and my brain, my brain won big time. That is not to say that I've shed some tears (okay, many tears) along the way. But in the game of love and career, I pushed the always tumultuous, very on-and-off but often fulfilling-in-a-somewhat-unhealthy-way relationship with Mr J to the back to give way to my career dreams and boundless aspirations.

Even ten days ago, I wouldn't have predicted that I would be in the situation I am today. Ten days ago I was panicking, nervously counting down the days until the end of my contract job.

"Holy shit," I thought as the first of April came along, "I have less than a month at this job... and then what? Where am I going? What the hell am I gonna do with myself??"

I toyed with the idea of going to a business school and changing my careers all together. Design jobs are hard to come by in the US nowadays, and even the best of us look nervous at the lack of projects on the horizon. So business school sounded like a good idea for a while, even if it did mean going down in loan debt even more.

I took all the necessary tests and got accepted to a few very exceptional schools. The problem was... my heart wasn't in it. Honestly? I dreaded sitting at an office in a business suit for the rest of my days, crunching numbers and schmoozing with financial analysts. Ew. Not for me.

But about three weeks ago, plagued with doubts, I started applying for architectural jobs, just for the heck of it. I thought, what's the worst that can happen?

Which brings me to today. Today, just a few hours ago to be exact - I got a job offer that turned my world upside down and has, as of this moment, all the potential to turn my expectations for the future into a completely different but even more fulfilling lifestyle. And I gotta say, I am pretty thrilled about it.

What I am trying to say is....

I'LL BE MOVING TO SINGAPORE IN LESS THAN TWO MONTHS.

Now does this mean a complete and total end to anything I might have had remaining with Mr J? Probably. If not today, then in a few weeks. If not in a few weeks then in a few months. I haven't told him yet, but we've been distant lately anyway. If anything, this is a sign from whatever higher powers may there be that Singapore is the right move for me.

I wanna live in that dream across the world, where construction never stops and design jobs are abundant. Where it's summer all year around and the beaches are nearby at all times. I want to live this life so that some day I can tell my children how to live their lives - to not be afraid to take risks, and not be scared of new experiences.

If anything, I'm sure I can meet another Mr J somewhere half way around the world. Right?

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Hope Floats

There are things that some people might take for granted that I miss doing with a significant other.

Like holding a guy's hand on a chilly spring afternoon while walking down the street to get groceries for dinner.

Like casually throwing in "babe" or "love", or various terms of endearment, in such banal phrases as," Oh, that's just Mean Girls on TV, love." or "Babe, while you're in the kitchen can you get me a glass of orange juice?" Not that I would ever overuse these words... I just miss the feeling of knowing that I could say them to someone.

Like ordering different things at a restaurant and then trying each other's dishes and debating who had a better meal.

Like bypassing a loud, rowdy neighborhood bar filled with boozed up kids right out of college and going to a wine bar instead, where the music is subdued enough to have a meaningful conversation and the candles are bright enough to see that mischievous sparkle in each others' eyes.

Like waking up in the middle of the night for no apparent reason and feeling his arm around me. And moving my body closer to his for a tighter embrace before drifting back to sleep again.

Like placing an order at a bar that's crowded enough that there's not enough space for the two of us. And while placing an order, turning around casually to double check what drinks he wanted, just to catch him checking you out.

Maybe that's why there is a tiny bit of hope in me that is refusing to burn out inside of me.

Maybe that's why I don't turn the ringer of my cell phone off at night - telling others that I only leave my phone on because it serves as an alarm to wake me up, but really, secretly hoping that he will call late after a night out.

Maybe that's why when he does call, I don't answer, but I smile because he still thinks about me too. And it's that feeling of comfort that makes me believe that I am still not over what we once had.

Whatcha doing to me, Hope? Or am I just mistaking you for your cousin - Blind Silliness....

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It's Not You... It's Me. REALLY.

That's what I feel like saying when, time after time, I find myself completely unattracted to men whom most women would consider to be quite great catches.

Like, this is the case with the most recent guy I have gone out on two dates with thus far. (I shouldn't say thus far, because it's very unlikely that there ever will be a THIRD date). Our first date we went to a wine bar downtown, ordered a small tray of cheese and a couple of glasses of wine, and just settled in the cozy lounge area to try to get to know each other. There was nothing particularly wrong with the guy, though I critically and, admittedly shallowly, noticed some signs of aging, like some wrinkles around his forehead and mouth. But, at that point, the tiny little wrinkles were just my excuses for trying to find something wrong with the guy where there was nothing wrong to look for.

After all, he was successful, tall, polite, attentive. He made me laugh at all the right times and even when the conversation got awkward or stale, he, God bless him, tried his best to change the topic of conversation to something that would start the chatter again.

Yet when I returned home that night and wiped my make-up off my face, I had no intention of seeing him again for another date. The butterflies in my stomach that I craved so much? They were simply not there and I couldn't think of a single reason why. Why.... WHY wasn't I attracted to this dude? On paper, he was, literally, everything I was looking for. Face to face, I couldn't give a damn whether I saw him again or not.

It was unfair of me to dismiss him like that, so this Friday, when he asked me out again, I decided to give it another go and meet up with him for another date.

This time we went to dinner at a lovely little restaurant - tucked away between residential town homes of a wealthy section of a city neighborhood - this was exactly the kind of restaurant I would hope a guy would pick for a date. He ordered me a cosmo and a gin martini for himself, and I've made a note to myself that he, indeed, was much more handsome than Mr J. I was determined to keep that fact in mind and remain open minded to see if I could get some sparks going on my end.

No such luck. After a delicious entree of scallops and exotic pumpkin puree and three strong drinks, even the alcohol couldn't disguise the fact that I was just. Not. Attracted. To this guy.

What a pity.

As he moved his chair closer to mine so we could have a more "intimate" distance between one another as we talked to each other, I could tell that he was totally digging me. He was loving that I told him that I grew up playing Transformers and that I took a lot of art classes. I, on the other hand, while being impressed that his business was taking off at the speed of light, wished to have another martini in my hand so I could numb that awkward, empty feeling in my stomach when you know that the date isn't going anywhere.

He moved his hand toward my back and gently rubbed my shoulder blade up and down as we talked. Normally (if it was Mr J, hypothetically) that kind of touch would have sent an electric chill up and down my spine, awakening my senses and asking for more, but the brushes of his fingers made the skin my back feel itchy and irritated. I wanted to move away and pull the chair away from him so he could keep his hands to himself. But, instead, I just sat there, trying to ignore the inexplicable aversion I had to this perfectly acceptable man.

At the end of the date I, somehow, avoided a good night kiss. God knows, the man lingered long enough saying goodbye at my car to warrant a smooch. But, nevertheless, thanks to my clever maneuvering skills, I managed to get away with just a hug.

I guess he will make some girl very happy (and very financially secured) one day. But I don't think I can do a third date with the man, when I seemed to have developed an allergic reaction to his touch in just one night.

I just KNOW that it's not his fault. It's mine. I just can't figure out how to fix this and get myself excited about someone... anyone again.

But don't cry for me just yet. At least I got a free dinner out of it.

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Slight Turn for the Wrong

Well, I should probably dust myself off and jump off the tired "Taken" shelf back onto the meat market's floor. In other words, I am giving this whole dating thing a try.... Oh Lord have mercy...

It's not like being in a long-distance quasi-relationship with Mr J ever cramped my style. But with him, I just sort of forgot about the male species. I let the hot men pass me by, content in the fact that I had what I wanted. I had Mr J to lust after. But I may not have realized (or did not want to believe) that it might have been troublesome from the start that I was pretty content in pining for the man hundreds of miles away and building a glass castle in the sky that finally came crumbling down.

And now that's I've dusted off the glass shards off my floor and the bruises have more-or-less healed, I feel like I am opening my eyes again and looking around. Could it be early spring in the air rubbing some of its post-Valentine's Day magic on me? Not yet... it is still much too cold out. It is something within me that is awakening. I have no freaking clue what it is but it feels very exciting and vaguely familiar.

Like that time when I actually considered myself single and acted upon my urges to go hit on hot guys. Don't get me wrong, I am looking for romance and unicorns, but if a hot dude comes around, I will be just as glad to do a little one-on-one tongue wrestling.

The last time I kissed a guy besides J... was a year and a half-ago... I think it's time.

Yeah?

Yeah.

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All My Life I've Been Good..

So Mr J are "on a break." And I'm thinking, what the hell?

I mean, I'm the first one to admit when I'm wrong. Okay, okay, maybe not the first one, but, within all the reasonable bounds, I can admit with some reluctance when I need to modify my behavior or apologize to a person when I, intentionally or unintentionally, offend them.

But with Mr. J, I am totally the one who is pretty much always right.

And throughout this entire relationship, I've been fairly good and well-behaved. Despite us living hundreds of miles apart, I have not once drunkenly made out with anyone at a bar. I have compromised my values more than once just to not start any fights with J. I have been willing to stick it out with him through thick and thin, even when my friends rolled their eyes and said "You're STILL with him? You can find a MUCH better guy for yourself."

And now he wants to be "on a break" because we fight too much (and who's fault exactly is that?!) and because he is "not sure if we can make it".

Man, I just don't think that I am the one in this relationship who deserves to be put on hold and told that my presence in his life has been stressing him out lately.

I've been good. I've been really good, damn it. But right now, quite frankly, I feel like cheating on him with a gorgeous lawyer that I could meet at a bar on any given night.

And normally, I am not the one for having and condoning these types of thoughts: "Cheating is never okay.. blah blah blah..." But the truth of the matter is, I have been so good lately, that it's pretty exciting to think bad thoughts. I do not feel appreciated. I will be spending yet another Valentine's Day without a freaking gift or a hint of acknowledgment. I feel like I could use a sexy distraction.

Mr J better watch out because his self-imposed "break" on our relationship just might become a permanent one.

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Trabajando

80 hour weeks leave me no time to sleep, let alone update my blog.
Leave me no time for love life, if I were to have one.

But this weekend I get to buy myself a fabulous new pair of Marc Jacobs shades.
And really, that fact alone makes up for all the late nights at the office...

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