Him Over Me

I've heard newly single people say that once they get out of a relationship and back into a single life, it is always hard to start dating again. Rules of the game inevitably change as people get older, dating skills get rusty without practice.

I understand what those people mean now. Having gone out on my first single-girls night out after a couple of years of always going out with my boyfriend or always telling guys that hit on me that I have a boyfriend, I finally have to get back in it and deal with all the shit that comes with being single again.

And it's weird, and awkward, and stressful.

First thing first, I don't know what the hell I want any more. I might have my shit together when it comes to my career, but my love life is in utter shambles.

I don't want to settle for the first douchebag that comes up to me and offer to buy me a drink, yet I don't know how to gently say no. So I stick around and endure mindless conversations about what they do, and where they're from, and why they're in Singapore. And no matter how good looking or promising they might be, I simply don't give a shit.

What I really want? (and I will never admit this to anyone, aside from, say, a few very select people in my life) I want my ex-boyfriend back.

I miss his smile. I miss him walking out of my room in the morning and hugging me as I do my work in the living room. I miss standing really close to him on a train as we go to try a new lunch place together. I miss our vacations in Bali and I miss waking up next to him and kissing him and being so grateful that he is in my life.

I love him more than anything and even though I haven't spoken to him in over a week now, I can't get him out of my head.

How is it fair that he is the one that gets to break up with me and leave me in pieces, as I struggle to be strong and clear-headed every day and fall asleep with tears in my eyes every night.

Why can't I fall out of love as easily as he did? I am so tired of pretending to be strong, when all I really want is for him to come back to me and say that he changed his mind and that he misses me and wants to be with me.

The truth is, if Brat Pitt himself asked me out on a date right now, I would still pick my ex over him. How fucked up is that?

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2.5

It's been 2.5 years since I've been single. 2.5 years of being in love and knowing that the person you were with was the one.

Until he no longer was.

The break up hasn't even sunk in yet... it's been mere hours since he uttered those words. Said that he saw our lives as being very different. We were heading in two different directions, so he said.

We were never exactly alike. He was younger and I was far more advanced in my career than he was. He was more laid back and I was adventurous and driven.

I told everyone that we were in love. And he made me believe that, with love, we could conquer any obstacles.

But I guess love tends to fade with time. Or people become complacent in a relationship and stop putting effort into it so they are just coasting through it for a while until that one day when they wake up and realize that they don't wanna be bothered with making any effort any more.

I guess that he got to that point today.

And I am left here, picking up the pieces. Slightly blindsided and shocked at the turn of these events.

I am single again. What now?

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This Time Next Year

Ugh, it's almost time to fly home again and I still don't feel my absolute best.

Ever since I arrived back home, my strange and possibly heart-related condition only worsened. I can't tell if it got pretty bad due to the fact that I got a cold here (no wonder, it's like -17 outside every day) or that I am allergic to my parents' very lovable cat and need to use my inhaler frequently, hence the added palpable pressure in my chest area. But I just don't know any more.

The main thing that I thought would cure my condition is that I decided to stop drinking, like, almost completely... and here's the full story of why.

About two months ago, before any of my issues had started, I had one pretty big weekend partying. And when I say big, I mean epic.

It started with that Friday night, when my boyfriend and I attended a wine tasting at a very fancy members-only restaurant (I won a contest of some sort). The wine was fantastic and each bottle's retail price was over $1,000. And let me tell you, I took full advantage of the fact that the wine was free flow and kept motioning to the waiter to refill my wine glass the entire night until it was time to leave.

Later on, the boyfriend and I came back to my house, ready to call it a night (and we should have had), but when we walked into the house, we encountered my housemates about ready to go out to a club for a night of dancing. Being in the already tipsy state that I was in, I just couldn't refuse and decided to join them. Needless to say, a lot more drinking and mixing of different types of alcohol ensued.

Okay, fine, one big night could do no damage, right? But that was my night out numero uno.

The next day, feeling like absolute crap, I knew I had to do it once again that night as my very good friend was in town for the weekend and I had already promised to go out with him and his group of friends.

They were celebrating someone's birthday and they kept the champagne flowing non-stop. Working in oil and gas, I am postulating, basically gives you unlimited amount of money to spend on alcohol, so the guys must have bought at least 8 bottles of champagne at various clubs and lounges we went to. That on top of the already free flowing shots of jager, beer buckets and other random alcoholic drinks. Of course, that meant that I could drink for free all night and you don't want to know me when I drink for free, cause I just don't stop.

I, somehow, got a cab and got myself home that night. Woke up the next day feeling like shit again and, as the day went by, I began to realize that that was no ordinary hangover. I had never felt that particular way before and, eventually, towards about 7 o'clock that night I was curled up in a pain-induced ball in a bathtub, which is precisely where my boyfriend and my housemates found me and called an ambulance.

Well, you'd think everything would go back to normal after that, right? No such luck.

Two weeks later, I was feeling pretty proud of myself for taking it easy on the alcohol and not drinking for 14 days, so I had allowed myself to have about 5 beers at my housemate's going away party.

And guess what? The next day I woke up feeling like shit, hands shaking, head spinning. I had some Diazepam (Valium) left from the hospital visit two weeks prior, so I took that. Worked like magic.

I had began to realize that alcohol, even though maybe not the main cause of my condition, definitely exacerbated my painful hangovers. Just picture you normal hangover... no, picture one of those dreaded two-day, I-feel-like-absolute-shit hangovers and multiply that by 10. That is how I felt and it really felt like death was breathing in my ear.

So there was really no choice for me any more. I had to cut out my good ol' buddy Alcohol out of my life completely. I am not going to lie and tell you that I felt amazing once I did that. I almost instantly missed the silly nights, and the exhilarating highs and the rash decisions and hijinks that led to some epic stories of ending up at someone's pool party at 3 AM or partying with some randoms at a club that I didn't even remember the name of. I mean, when I drank, it was fun. It was never dramatic and I never made terrible decisions. I just liked being silly and carefree and young.

But I also realized that cutting out alcohol from my life was not the end of the world. Going out and remaining sober may not be a recipe for a crazy, random night out, but you know what, it's okay. I'd realized that I can still have fun and alcohol is not really that much of a social lubricant, when you are determined to have fun anyway.

The problem is that the health issues have not subsided. Almost every day I feel some sort of tightness in my chest and sometimes I need to sit down or retreat to my room to take a deep breath because I feel like I am going to pass out from the extreme light headedness.

Even though I had quit drinking, the consequences seem to have already had taken a toll on my body.

I felt better this week and decided to have three glasses of champagne for NYE. Next day, I felt death breathing in my ear the moment I woke up. I took Diazepam again and it helped for about 8 hours before I started feeling crappy again. I am down to one Diazepam now and need to go back for a refill when I return to Singapore. I have also set up an appointment with a cardiologist to get to the underlying issues that I will have to battle in this brand new year.

I feel better today but for how long? I don't know. I am scared that the condition will become an every day occurrence for me and that I will no longer be able to do things that I love doing, like socializing, going to the gym and being active. And who wants a bed-ridden friend/employee/girlfriend?

But I am not giving up on me yet. This means that I can't have any more alcohol, like ever (?!) and, as sad as this makes me feel, I know that I can't be stupid about this any more and see how many drinks I can have before my body screams at me, "No more, damn it!!"

I am not giving up. I need to get back to where I was just over two months ago. I need to be my happy and healthy self again and I need to learn my lesson. I have to make it my biggest goal and resolution in 2014. To be kind to myself and to treat my body with utmost care.

This time next year, I want to look back at this post and be proud that I was able to overcome everything that I am battling right now. I want to be able to tell my success story, even if to no one else but myself.

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...If Only in My Dreams

Merry Christmas.

It's been a year of ups and downs, a year of changes and a year filled with risk taking, ambitious opportunities. It is rare for me to find time to write, except for this isolated occasion where I am sitting and waiting for my delayed flight from Singapore to Philadelphia by way of San Francisco.

Sometime closer to the end of this year, mostly due to my constant overtime at work and a new after-work-hours venture in a start-up, my health took a serious tumble. Exhaustion and hyperventilation, they said, even though it felt so much more like a heart attack.

The boyfriend came to my rescue as I laid half-naked and helpless in my bathroom's bathtub, filled with cold water (it was the only thing I could do to distract myself from the intense pain I was feeling in my chest and all along the left side of my body). He called the ambulance that took me away to a nearby hospital. They gave me pills and eventually I came down. The uncontrollable shaking subsided and my heart beat returned to normal.

Surely, I thought, I had just experienced a heart attack. But they diagnosed me with hyperventilation and exhaustion instead. They said that I must have been under a lot of stress lately and that I needed to take it easy. Need to learn how to cope with sudden panic attacks. Easier said than done.

I am feeling better now, embarking on a much needed 2-week vacation to see my family and friends. A lot of emotions are stirring up as I am sitting here in San Francisco. A lot of things that I forgot that I loved so much about being in the US.

Will I ever return home? The question is more complicated and the answer is less certain. I have many homes now, and whichever place it is that I choose to leave, a part of me will be left there too.

I don't know what my future holds for me and I don't think I can plan for anything beyond the scope of 365 days. All I know for certain, for now, is that I am coming home to my family. A day late for Christmas, but to a Christmas at home nonetheless.

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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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Post-Hangover Musings on Life and Love

As the heat rises from the copper roofs of the shophouses around my balcony where I am sitting, nestled in an Ikea chair with my laptop on my knees, I sit and wonder about what happened to my motivation to blog. It's sort of non-existent at this moment, trumped by the demands and expectations of the real world, by the more pressing urgency to do anything else but update my blog.

A rare glimpse of motivation has caught me at just the right time today. A glimmering nostalgia for the times when I used to entertain myself by recounting stories from the night before, amusing myself with the comical or revelatory statements from myself or the people with whom I had interacted.

My life has been the most hectic it has ever been. In a good way, of course, professionally, personally and socially. In many ways, really, I don't feel 28. Is that bad or good? Maybe both.

I feel like I'm bursting with energy of a 21 year old on most of the days that I am not hungover, which is quite frequently actually. I feel like I'm hungry and ready to take over the world, I feel like things are going to only get better if I keep keeping on.

I've realized recently (maybe not so recently) that I've been quite a selfish person. I've realized that because I needed to deal with compromises in my relationship and those compromises have frequently bruised my ego. But selfish does what selfish wants and, on some level, it's dealing with this vice of mine and seeing how it works out with my dude.

I think it will. It's been good, really good so far. And just between you and me... I'm talking marriage material here. Maybe. Just maybe.

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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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What More

It's a bit hazy and groggy here; the sun is setting past the roof ridges of shop houses and I empty out an ice cold Heineken into a chilled glass. Ah, Thursdays. A necessary prerequisite to Fridays.

I've been living my life on a whim here, telling myself that this is my vacation without it being a vacation. Despite it being exactly one year since I've moved to Singapore, I am still treating it as an exotic, tropical country with beaches and sand and men who make it their business to invade my private beach naps a bit too often for my liking.

Yet, it's been a year and my friends back home are busy getting engaged and getting married and what not. I feel grateful that I am not feeling the pressure to settle down but I am also feeling slightly worried. Like, am I ever going to feel the urge to settle down or am I always going to be one of those people on the move, treating every new country as my personal holiday.

Not that there is anything wrong with that. It's just that, I don't know, maybe I am not getting any younger and maybe I should care about things like getting married?

I am enjoying this all too much though. My job, my life, my weekend subway rides to the beach. It's all so convenient, so resort-y, so detached from the real world. I am living in La-La Land and I'm fucking loving it. Even my boyfriend, for Christ's sake, is just too good to be true.

The question is: can I live like this forever?

Right now, I am not doubtful that I can. But what if one day I wake up and my vacation is over. What then?

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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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Will You, Tomorrow?

Last night I woke up in a feverish state. The air conditioning was on full blast so it wasn't the hot air of the tropics nor the stuffiness of my room that was making me sweat in my sleep.

I dragged myself to the bathroom, looked in the mirror. I looked like shit and I winced at the sight of my own skin, with the imprints of the folds of my pillow still on my right cheek. Why was I awake anyway at this ungodly hour?

I coughed and spit into the sink, casually, to clear my throat. I washed my mouth with a minty-fresh mouth rinse and looked down to spit the liquid out.

But before I could do that, I stopped. There were blood clots in my sink.

I coughed again to see if the blood was really coming from inside of me, and there it was again at the bottom of my sink. Small little chunks of blood.

Suddenly, I was wide awake. How did this happen? Have I done anything to hurt my stomach lately? I've been on a short self-imposed health kick, so I haven't had a drop of alcohol or soda in just about a week. I've been eating a lot more greens and even forcing myself to chow down a small breakfast every morning, despite my absolute abhorrence of breakfasts.

A quick Google search only heightened my alarmed state. Strangers were suggesting that the blood clots could be anything from an ulcer to cancer. Fucking cancer? No way. Not me.

I dressed in the middle of the night and texted a cab to rush me to the hospital. On my way there, I had to deal with racing thoughts. Have I lived my life to its fullest? Have I loved enough? Do the ones I love know that I love them? Do the ones I care about going to care if I am suddenly gravely ill?

I thought of how much misfortune an unexpected sickness can bring. What if my employer does not value me any more because I will always have to call out sick? What if my dude decides that I am too much of a burden to deal with? What if my parents get grief-stricken and will want me to come home?

I didn't want to find out the answers to these questions just yet. I wasn't prepared to deal with the heavy shit, right then and there, at 4 o'clock on a Saturday morning.

The doctor's observation was vague and not completely reassuring.

"This might be caused by stress... but we will not know for sure now. We can do a conservative treatment, give you some medication and see if your condition improves in a week. Or we can do something more aggressive and do an endoscopy to check for ulcers."

I chose the more conservative option. No need to go batshit crazy with worries just yet. Maybe I shouldn't stress too much (yeah, like that's likely to happen) and see if my condition improves, just like the doctor said. Maybe I don't have cancer after all.

So today, I will rest in my bed, take my medication as prescribed and try to recuperate to the best of my ability. And today, before tomorrow brings whatever it is destined to bring, I will tell at least one person I love them.

It's the least and the most I can do. Today.

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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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For Good

Last night he called me - the man I, once upon a time, considered to be The One, without even a hint of hesitation in my mind.

He texted me first, and I saw his name light up on my iPhone's screen as I pulled the phone out of my purse in the middle of the dance floor. I saw his name glow in the dark and I glanced at the 21 Year Old cautiously. Did he notice? Does he know that I was once in love with the man on my iPhone screen?

I ignored the text. I did not feel any trepidation that I might be resented or scolded for simply putting my phone back in the bag without replying. Actually... I felt nothing, no remorse, no butterflies, no anxiety.

The feeling was gone.

He tried contacting me again by calling me this afternoon on Skype (1am St. Louis time for him, 2pm for me), I picked up just to say hi. He wanted to "catch up" aka he wanted sex - a once routine transaction between him and me as we tried to keep the sparks of a withering relationship alive despite the distance. I starred at him blankly and firmly said no, and said no, and said no again.

"I like your hair," he said.

So what? You want me to take my bra off now in exchange for the compliment. You don't know me at all, do you?

The feeling was gone.

He always has a funny way of coming back in my life, this Mr J character - the once-upon-a-time love of my life - just as I start moving on with someone new. I never tell him about my new men. I don't owe him anything any more.

But this time I had to say that I wasn't gonna entertain the thought of flirtation. I was done and I had to move on for my own sanity's benefit. He didn't seem to understand, of course, but I didn't care this time.

The feeling was completely gone.

Am I sad that I let this love go by? Yes, a bit. But I had to do what I had to do. I could not stand waiting for him and watch myself age with every passing year, hoping that we would be together and that he would morph into a man I wanted him to be. At some point, frankly, my career became more important than him. That's when I decided to move to Singapore. That's when he still didn't get the point that I was trying my best to move on if he didn't change his ways.

So I moved on for good and, to be honest, this next chapter of my life is looking better than ever. Even without him being one of the main protagonists.

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Cake, and Eat It Too.

Sometimes people tell me I can't or shouldn't have something, but I just nod my head in agreement, "Yes, I think you are absolutely right, this is a stupid idea...", and then I continue doing it anyway. Because even though I know it's wrong, it, somehow and inexplicably, feels very right.

"No, you're right what am I thinking? I am as surprised with my actions as you are..." I say.

I say it but don't really mean it. The "what am I thinking" part. I know what I am thinking and I don't care if others might disagree. I want to do what makes me happy.

Sometimes I might see, or imagine that I am seeing, judging or confused glances from old Chinese women walking past us down the street. And sometimes, when a random guy attempts to hit on me at a bar and my younger guy comes back from the bathroom and wraps his hands around me with a smile, the random guy looks at me in, perhaps, disbelief and at him with, perhaps what I'd like it to be, envy.

Like, maybe... "How did you land this girl?"

And sometimes, I simply choose to have tunnel vision and shut my side eye to the world and walk down a Singapore street holding hands with the 21 Year Old in a complete state of bliss.

It feels good to let go of inhibitions, or preconceived notions and expectations. Even when it goes against my own expectations. Even when my mother says, "I will completely disapprove if you decide to seriously start dating someone younger", I just choose to ignore, ignore, ignore.

The way he treats me, the way he talks to me, looks at me... outweighs any doubts I might have about the longevity of this relationship. The fact that I am holding off on sex for the time being (trying to take it as slow as possible) and he is still sticking around after 8 weeks of seeing each other without so much as a single complaint is what is making me that much more impressed. Maybe this guy is for real and not just after bumping uglies and bailing.


Or maybe it's this eternal Singaporean summer and beach and sand and water and graceful palm trees that got my head spinning, thinking I am on an ever-ending vacation and can get away with anything, but I couldn't be any happier dating this guy.

I am not looking to meet guys at clubs any more, I've got someone who's offering me more than my previous ex - a 30-year old very established multimillionaire banker ever could.

He's offering me blissful happiness. At least for the moment.

Why, thank you, I'll take it.

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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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Nothing But a Number

The revelation I am about to write below might or might not make you respect me a little less (leaving you with, possibly, not much to go off on from now on). At the very least, I bet I can make you raise your eyebrows at the situation. At the very least, I say.

I never subscribed to the philosophy that "age is just a number." Because it's a phrase most often uttered by middle-aged men (or older) in reference to the little bimbos they have acquired with the help of their office-provided Lambos and their brand new Ferragamos. I always resented older men walking down the street with cute little petite girls, holding hands and grinning from ear to ear. What can they possibly have in common, I thought? Why would they possibly want to spend time with one another for reasons other than sex and convenience?

I've always felt it was empowering but eyebrow-raising when older women dated younger men. A double standard, yes, but a double standard that most people adhere to to this day. Take Demi and Ashton. Yes, the bitch is unstable, but it seems almost certain that the playboy has been stepping out on Ms. Moore for quite some time. And even if he wasn't, look at how the whole saga ended.

And now I can't help by raise my own damn eyebrows at my own damn self. Because I am entertaining, nay, full-fledgedly living the "dream" of dating a boy seven years my junior.

Yes, ladies and gents, take a seat if you have been standing. This shit is about to get real.

The dude is barely 21 and I am fully in lust with him.

The night of a big Full Moon party at one of Singapore's premier beaches I was, what they might call it, flagged. Inebriated, wasted, gone. I do, however, distinctly remember seeing a gorgeous new Singaporean guy in the circle of my friends and I remember wondering why I hadn't seen him earlier.

He had wild hair, shorter in the back, with dark bangs with red highlights that swept across his forehead. He was a mix of Chinese and Indian and God knows what, and I was immediately attracted to his deep brown eyes.

If I hadn't been drunk, I would have never talked to him. And when I did start talking to him, and continued talking to him, and talked and talked until I was sober and then talked some more, I did not know his age. He looked in his early twenties but, to be fair, most Asian guys look younger than they are. Mid-twenties I suspected.

"You know, L, He's 21..." one of my guy friends finally cautioned me with a meaningful look at some point of the night. I looked back at him, pale with realization.

"Twenty. One?" I repeated in disbelief.

That did not prevent me, however, from continuing talking to the object of my affection and revealing my age. He was a bit taken aback that he was talking to someone older, nonetheless. I remember him say that it's refreshing to talk to someone older because he mostly talks to younger girls and he does not have much to talk to them about.

Great. So he dates 18 year olds. Don't I feel ancient.

I thought that was that. We parted our ways at the end of the night (well into the early morning) and as much as I wanted to kiss him or for him to kiss me, neither of the things happened. My fantasy dissipated with the rising sun and I was willing and ready to forget all about Mr. 21 as I drifted off to sleep in my bed at 7 in the morning.

But the next day... oh boy, the next day.

I woke up to find out that Mr. 21 sent me a friend request on Facebook, and so it began. From then on, we talked all day on Sunday, all day on Monday, he took me out on Tuesday and Wednesday. And now he's on the way to the States for the first time in his life and I am meeting him there in a week in the City of Brotherly Love to show him around town.

Coincidence or fate that we are going to be in the same American city at the same time?

Probably a coincidence. What am I doing with a 21 year old anyway?

There is something incredibly great about him. None of the baggage of the older guys I've been dating lately. None of the stress. Instant connection despite the age. No rushing into things. No immediate expectations.

Do I see this relationship as being a viable long-term thing? No. Do I see his or my parents approving? No. Do I see my friends not judging? No.

But I am infatuated and I guess my heart can bear getting hurt again. And maybe I need this. I need a sweet, lovely guy with a beautiful smile and even more beautiful eyes to sweep me off my feet and tell me that I am gorgeous, and breathtaking, and that he couldn't believe that I started talking to him in the first place.

Maybe age is just a number... after all.

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Of Rich Men and Their Dillusions

I received a text from a gentleman I got the mis-pleasure to briefly get acquainted with at a club last week. I must have mistaken his arrogance for interest, because it is the only excuse as to why I gave him my number in the first place and to a shitshow of a text I received from him, literally, minutes ago.

Let's keep in mind that the "gentleman" is, allegedly, 31 years old, so proper spelling, you would think, should be a must. However....

"I can make you laugh alot. I am not serious and quite talkative. And after few drinks i can talk even more. I am naughty and would love to see you soon.

I have seen that you are taller than me still i wanted to go for you coz i feel like it and i have no objections with that but may be you will feel strange dating a man shorter than you. I love wine and i can take you to wine connection at Robertson quay or else at screening room. You will enjoy with me as i have a taste for white girls from US. Don't ask me why... but i have to be honest here that i don't date locals here so its been a while i have been on a date.

And yeah i am spontaneous and quite open minded. A spend thrift and does not care for money and finances.

Life is small and we must live it to fullest. Do you get drunk often?? I do get drunk if i am with a beautiful girl like you or a like minded company to go out with.

My work place is at Tg Pagar, lets meet one day after i return from shanghai (business trip)"

I, of course, just HAD to response to this exhibit of pure, unadulterated Shakespearean poetry:

"Hi there, with all due respect you seem like an intelligent and very driven individual, but I am getting a feeling from your text that we are not looking for quite the same thing.

I understand that some women are attracted to financial stability and the prospect of "getting stuff for free", but I can very well hold my own. Rather, I am looking for something that is more genuine and it is very hard to find in a city like Singapore. I do, however, know with certainty that I will not find ANYTHING genuine with you. Have a nice day. "

Yeah, yeah... I kept it surprisingly level-headed. I had to. One of us had to be the grown up in the situation and it sure as hell wasn't this cretin of a human being.

Can't help but laugh at shit like this though, right?

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Enough.

I usually pride myself on being a strong, rational, level-headed individual. But, lately, it has not been so. At all.

Somewhere down the line, I lost myself... Between getting over Mr J, dating The Banker, and making out with the rebound guy, I lost sight of the most important thing. And that thing is caring about MY well-being.

Sure, I work hard and I've got goals and I'm doing everything in my power to reach them. But in my personal life, I have completely neglected the person I've always wanted to become.

Instead, I am shallow, vapid, clingy, neurotic, angry, cynical, moody, and irrational. I look to men to be my distraction, my entertainment. And then I fall for them and I know it's because.... I'm freaking bored and afraid of ending up alone. I am just a mess and I don't know how this happened but, somehow, I arrived at a breaking point.

I can't do this to myself any longer. I can't do this to my heart or what's left of it. The only thing I can remain proud of is that I still have the will power left to not have random one night stands and to make my love interests wait for a long time before there's even a possibility of having sex with me. But still, this doesn't prevent them from playing with my heart like it's some useless toy.

This morning, due to various circumstances, I woke up feeling severely damaged and bruised. I just couldn't get out of bed and go to work, I still can't.

I called in sick and now I am lying here, trying to piece myself together. I think, everything came to a boiling point and now it's becoming painfully obvious that I am my worst enemy. If I self-destruct, I have no one to blame but myself.

So I'm getting a hold of the situation.

I cannot let men hurt me any more. I can't let my vibrant, joyful, terrific self get lost in the vapid faces of people who repeatedly lie and cheat and hurt me. I can't believe I let myself get to this point because I really do feel emotionally spent and disappointed in humanity.

But I have no one to blame but myself.

So I ended it with the rebound guy this morning (he didn't seem too heart broken about it. I bet he is just fine..). I am taking time for myself. I am not going to drink for a while, I am not going to date for a while.

I need to put myself first and be selfish for once. I need to be healthy, need to find my own stability and let genuine, good people into my life. I am tired of being disappointed, of being angry. I want to be surrounded by people who don't have a hidden agenda, or want to use me the first chance they get.

I need to be by myself for a while. For my own sake.

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