Show stock-take 2006

I realised I watched a shitload of stage productions last year, mostly with You-Know-Who, the others with the Y&W or R&H people.

This is what I remember watching, in approximate chronological order, with my personal * rating (0 to 5):

1. Army Daze (Toy Factory) **1/2
2. West Side Story (The Broadway Asia Company, USA) ****
3. The Magic Fundoshi (W!ld Rice) ****
4. Objects of Desire (The Theatre Practice) ***1/2
5. The Glass Menagerie (I Theatre) ***
6. Theatre Training & Research Programme Final Theatre-Making Project Showing ** (but ***** for Sankar's spectacular piece)
7. Five Foot Broadway - VVVV ***, City of the Gods * (Musical Theatre Society)
8. The Dresser (SRT) *****
9. First Family (The Finger Players) **
10. 41 Hours & The Car (Action Theatre) ****
11. Cabaret (Toy Factory) **
12. Homesick (W!ld Rice) ****
13. The Campaign to Confer the Public Service Star on JBJ (W!ld Rice) ***1/2
14. National Language Class/Utama: Every Name in History is I (W!ld Rice coll. w. Spell #7) ***
15. Second Link (W!ld Rice coll. w. Five Arts Centre & The Actors Studio) ****
16. The Beckett Project (Theatre Training & Research Programme) *
17. Diaspora (Theatreworks) *
18. Thunderstorm/Lei Yu (The Theatre Practice) *****
19. I'm Just a Piano Teacher (The Finger Players) ***
20. Play Play (The Theatre Practice) ****
21. Red Giselle (Eifman Ballet Theatre of St Petersberg, Russia) ****
22. Carmen (Compania de Danza Espanola Aida Gomez, Spain) *****
23. Parabelo & Lecuona (Grupo Corpo, Brazil) ***1/2
24. Little Shop of Horrors (Dream Academy & Dim Sum Dollies) **1/2
25. Once Familiar: An Intimate Evening with Bang Wenfu & Friends (Esplanade Presents) ***
26. Ibsen Women (Royal Norwegian Embassy coll. w. LaSalle-SIA) ***
27. Mama Looking for Her Cat (The Theatre Practice) ***1/2
28. Jack & the Beansprout (W!ld Rice) *** (plus 1 more * for quirk value)

There were a couple more outdoor/free concerts. I remember one on The Arts House lawn (where I first laid eyes on the wonderful Ah Hock & Peng Yu) and another big event at The Esplanade waterfront. Can't remember if there was anything else.

Daph...PHYLLIS!

In episode 20, season 5 of Frasier, Niles wants to ask Daphne out on a date but when it comes to the point where he is about to tell her the name of the woman he wants so much, his answer is, "Daph...PHYLLIS!!" Later in the episode, after much hilarious misunderstandings and mishaps, he realises he's had so much trouble asking Daphne out is because he's still grappling with his failed marriage and isn't ready.

That occurred to me tonight as I was thinking about last weekend when I was so tempted to ask a very cute guy out but didn't. (If I had, that'd have been a first - Daffy hitting on a guy.)

And thinking of it tonight, I suddenly had a mental scream.

WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING??? Asking a guy out only because he was good looking and nice to talk to? And even before the daisies have pushed out of the remnants of my previous relationship? And I thought it was fun?? Where have my bleeding brains gone?

What is this? The Rebound Express? The Post-Traumatic Hormonal Surge?

The fact is I'm scared shitless at the thought of dating anyone at this point. Going out with friends and acquaintances is more than ok, wonderful even. But I swear, if a guy even gives me a lovin' look, I'll run screeching in the other direction. Why did I even want to open up an avenue? Friends tell me I should've just gone for it, that even casual dating might be the thing to do. But I'm an all-or-nothing person - casual doesn't do it for me (yes, Candice, slap me on the back of my head now).

Then I started to picture this big dramatic, soap-opera-worthy scene where I lose control and start ranting about how damaged each failed relationship and hurtful bastard has made me, that I have enough emotional baggage to take Phileas Fogg on TWO journeys, that I wouldn't stop for any man now even if it were Jude Law begging me for a fuck. That I never want to love again.

Never again. Those are sobering words, enough to halt even a rant in full swing in my head.

I know I want to again, eventually. But yet, it's too scary. The next guy who tells me he loves me might well see me shrivel up and pull away. He may never get to see my trust. He may go away when he realises I will not open up. And I would be regretfully relieved of another potential heartbreak.

In spite of what I try to tell myself, I do want to feel safe and be protected. I want someone to promise never to hurt me and mean it. I want someone who will keep his word, or at least try to. I want someone honest. But I know he doesn't exist.

I used to think otherwise. That it was fine and dandy to hope for the best. But perhaps my dad was right. Hope for the least so that any outcome will exceed your hopes, but build on opportunities - and don't forget to seal the contracts while you're at it. Practical words.

I'm a cynical optimist, a very uncomfortable state of being. At least when it comes to my work and my passions, I'm able to feel more secure even if things don't go well, because it will all depend on myself and my own ability and initiative. Relationships just depend too much on the other person. Doing your best is never enough, since a relationship is greater than the sum of its parts. (Hmm...the song I wrote for Kelvin was called "Sum of Us".)

Being scared is no fun. Makes me over-analyse even the most trivial, hormonal things.

SC sent me this the other day.
(click for larger view)

Amen to that.

It's done. I've just deleted the last (and first) of SMSes from him on my handphone. There's no trace of him now on my main means of communication (besides MSN - blocked him ages ago).

I'd saved those few messages as they seemed rather landmark ones to me:

- The first he sent me just a couple of hours after we got together, just a few hours before he flew off to Sydney to begin that first tumultuous year of long-distance (2003)

- When he called me "deliciously evil" in response to my revealing a piece of info to him which I shall not reveal here (2003)

- Telling me I could be F14 (we were going to watch a play on Valentine's Day and by some coincidence, one of our two seats was F14) (2004)

- No particular reason, just to tell me how much he loved me (2004)

- Reminding me that it was one year ago that we first made love and I first told him I loved him (2004)

- The day he passed his driving (2007)

- Telling me he was waiting for me by the pool at my place (2007, on the night I realised he wanted to break up)

- Informing me he was on his way to meet me to watch The Pickle King (17 Feb 2007, the night we officially broke up)

I've even deleted that last photo of us from the in-phone album, the one that looked so good as wallpaper on my phone (the whole red-and-black thing worked really well on my Chocolate...and we both looked good in it, even though we were both sloshed at the time the photo was taken).

My left forefinger has finally stopped feeling empty without a ring. Even the slight notch is gone. So quickly gone.

Maybe NOW I can start living and thinking like a single chick. Maybe...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I realised that getting over him was the easy part. Getting over a guy once you realise how bastardly he was is easy.

Getting over the scars he left behind is a great deal harder.

Just a couple of nights ago, I suddenly sent a desperate SMS to a friend in the midst of what felt like panic. I spent the rest of the night (OK, morning) sputtering about my brand new baggage, as if I didn't already have enough without all this happening. While I felt much comforted by the end of the night (thanks, W!), those thoughts still remain - not just as thoughts, but as integral parts of my consciousness.

I realised I wasn't crying over him anymore. I was crying about my loss, the unwanted new layers in my defences, and - most of all -the fear. I was crying for broken dreams, the complete shift in what I thought my life would be.

How one person can fuck you over and run away like fucking Georgy Porgy.

He wasn't the most bastardly, nor the most psycho, nor even the most inconsiderate. But his will be the biggest scar.

A Brief Affair with Boredom

OK, I admit, the title is kinda mean, but I really was bored through last night's staging of A Brief Affair with Infinity.

[Photo courtesy of Little Red Shop]

The inaugural show by Little Red Shop was a one-woman show devised and performed by resident artist Jocelyn Chua. The fluorescent lights on either side of the thrust stage was profoundly annoying, but the stark set, featuring only one chair with a scarf draped over it, looked promisingly minimalistic.

My optimism evaporated, however, the moment the actor entered the stage. Her measured, hesitant steps and exploratory facial expression reminded me at once of the obligatory abstract poise that teenage theatre students seem to favour.

The script was beautifully written, if somewhat OTT with the romanticism. Jocelyn's movement was lovely and controlled and very well thought out. However, what made the audience start to droop 10 minutes into the performance was its lack of sincerity. Again, I felt like I was watching a TSD final year showing from back in college. For an hour-long monologue, I felt she didn't have the range to carry it through, and that she didn't really feel for her characters. The characters came out shallower than a dinner plate and she failed to draw the audience into the young protagnist's abyssal emotional journey.

I have no doubt Jocelyn is a wonderful writer, but I'm sad to say I have no idea how well she could do as a performer. The writing was deeply indulgent and seemed to be lacking a journey, but I think a better exploration of the reality of the characters may have enabled the performer to pull it off. I didn't feel like I was watching real persons, just a caricature of a simpering schoolgirl and little cut-out shapes of some lesser characters.

Still, I'll be looking out for more stuff by this talented writer.

The 'L' or the 'I'

Thanks to Art, I've taken to watching Ugly Betty, which is heartwarming, brainless entertainment most of the time. Not what I'm accustomed to watching but nice all the same.

Just caught episode 10 - I guess most people would call it the Love episode. I'd call it the Hormones Run Wild episode.

The various characters find themselves inbroiled in their own notions of who they are in love with, seemingly defined by "hearts racing, palms sweaty" and having one's breath taken away. It's all a very sweet episode, makes you ache, makes you want to fall in love. In other words, it depressed the hell outta me when I was done watching it.

Just a few years ago, I'd have called that falling in love too. Now, I call it falling in infatuation.

In the past year or so, I've come to realise that being in love with someone isn't just about that hormonal, euphoric rush anymore. It had become a constant knowing, that warmth that filled me and made me whole knowing I had my life's complement.

In a long-term relationship, that rush can be revived with a little prodding. It can be experienced with any other person if you choose. It can be felt in vivid fantasies. What is it worth then, if it can be so easily found in any old place you choose to conjure it? It's little more than teenage puppy love.

It's a drug, and that's exactly how your brain chemistry is programmed to perceive it in the first place. It's part of your brain's reward system as we have evolved to seek and enjoy potential partners that may one day help us carry on populating the earth. And drugs are not to be trusted. Many people get hooked on to that feeling of falling for someone new, hence the birth of serial daters and, if they don't grow out of it, serial cheaters.

So now, I'm almost dreading the heady rush of falling for someone new, because I'm afraid it might feel fake and fleeting, like the initial rush of meth hitting you or the first taste of a divine piece of chocolate on your tongue. I won't know whether it is love or infatuation, since most romantic and/or erotic encounters start with that same high. It could lead to a life-changing love affair or a soul-crushing, short-lived nosedive.

Something constant, something firm, something you don't need a high to enjoy, something that completes you, something that is so much a part of you that you no longer try to explain it - that is worth so much more, worth your life and your soul.

I crave the rush, and I dread it. I've never felt like this about Love/Infatuation before, and it scares me.

Why, at the end of a nice day, do these thoughts suddenly intrude, unwelcome and unwanted?

Was about to end my day, in the middle of a hot shower, when the thought of him stabbed in. Not just any thought, since my 'usual' thoughts of him these days don't cause the same pain.

It was the memory of our parting.

When I knew he was going to leave, and couldn't believe he was leaving. Clinging on to him, weeping my heart out on his shoulder, not quite sure if he really cared much by then, but still clinging on, not bearing to let go.

I remember swooning from grief when I stepped away. I don't remember ever having felt so grief-stricken that I felt physically weak.

It felt like ages before I finally pulled away, stepped aside and he made to leave.

"One for the road," I'd said, reaching for one last kiss. Wish it'd occurred to me to slap him across the mouth at that moment.

But what I got was half of a last kiss - it's only half a kiss if you only give it and don't receive it.

Finally, a nice day

Yet another picture taken from the river. This time, was walking home from Clarke Quay feeling very juiced up from a night of tequila and yakking all the way home with good company. The river was still, so even the hideous Alkaff Bridge looked almost nice in the still water.

Today was a nice day. Started out with an audition for a corporate event...before which I hardly slept again. Ran errands then went down for a spot of shopping and caught "300" with Luke. Shot off for a quick meeting with a client. Met up again for dinner and to watch "History Boys", Lina joining us this time.

And I got to bear witness to a momentous occasion - Luke's first ear piercing! Got there just on time to provide, eh, emotional support.

"History Boys" was amazing. A sort of anti-Hollywood Dead Poets Society, but funnier, more twisted, less feel-good, minus the typical Hollywood catch phrases. And, believe it or not, more heartfelt and has some amazing moments, mostly small ones that really get at you. If you haven't seen it, go NOW. Beware the fast-paced dialogue, though.

'Fraidy cat

Couldn't sleep again these two nights. Caught only restless snatches of short naps during the day before dashing out of the house in the evenings. But, strangely, I don't feel terribly tired, just a bit. And that worries me a bit. Hope I can sleep tonight.

Fear handicaps a person. It digs nails into every piece of happiness they find. It bears holes into the scraps of hope that edge their way into their lives.

I'm afraid again. Afraid of never being able to love freely again. Afraid of finding someone. Afraid of someone finding me. Afraid of never believing again. Afraid of being a fool again.

Afraid even of little touches. Afraid of big ones. Afraid of that new (well, new again), subtly different way guys treat me and speak to me as a single woman. Afraid of setting aside this mindset I've kept for 4 years. Afraid of wanting to behave like a single woman again. Afraid of not wanting to behave that way. Afraid of this impulse to flirt with everything in pants. Afraid of being wanted.

Wanting to be held but fearing it.

Afraid that I'll always stay afraid.

*******************************************************************************

I cry only when I'm alone. At least, as far as I can help it.

And I'm alone now. Wanting and fearing. And fearing somemore.

Feeling stupid for crying right now.

Forgotten

Wow, today's actually been a good day. Maybe it's the endorphins talking from my gym session, but I went most of the day feeling fairly good.

I ate grapes for supper, having eaten only one meal during the entire day.

They reminded me of something. He once told me grapes were his favourite fruit, and he liked to put them (green ones) in the freezer and eat them frozen. This was in our first year when he was in Sydney.

Less than a year later, he'd forgotten that grapes were his favourite fruit at all. When I brought it up when he was eating grapes at my house, he gave me a puzzled look.

"Satellite" was his favourite song too at the beginning. Then, again, he forgot he ever told me it was his favourite song. This was after months and months of me listening to it almost every day, feeling that little bit closer to him each time I did, especially in those agonising months we were thousands of miles apart.

I think the time came some while ago when he forgot that I was once his favourite person and soulmate.

I'm sitting here at half past eight in the morning, woozy from not having slept all night and still hard in the midst of work, with end nowhere near in sight.

And wondering if the past month has been a bad dream. Part of me wants to doze off only to wake up and find that my life is as it was before 8 February, the night I chose to open my big mouth. It all doesn't seem real in the ugly morning light. Maybe in the midst of washing my face later I'll remember I have a date with him tonight. Or I'll receive tickets for a play we booked. Or I'll see an MSN message just saying hi dear.

Perhaps everything is as it was. Just normal.

Because if not, everything that's happening to me now is completely not normal.

Maybe I just hallucinated the whole thing. Maybe if I sleep a little, I'll sober up a bit and wake up to my normal life? Maybe it's one of those dreams where you know you have to 'go back to a deep sleep' and open your eyes back in your own world?

Maybe I'm hoping the physical exhaustion will override the emotional exhaustion enough so my mind will stop working. But if my mind stops working, how do I do work?

I need some sleep, but I refuse to sleep.

Then I alternate that with bouts of complete, exhausted unconsciousness. Then I don't sleep again. Then I nap. Then I stay up again.

I'm going mad.

Spoilt

Wow...tonight was the first time I ever heard someone refer to Kelvin as "spoilt".

Amazingly, that came from my dad, one of the most level-headed and objective people I know. He's one of the only ones (apart from one other mutual friend) who has managed to give meaningful opinion without taking sides in this whole saga.

My dad likened Kelvin's mindset to that of my 3.5-year-old nephew - Sean is a delightful, adorable kid, but that's what he is: a kid, and a damned stubborn one, in spite of my sister's best efforts, and she's most certainly a strict mom.

Both are Leo, and both are goats, if one is inclined to believe in character similarities among people born at similar periods of time. Stubborn, self-centred and possess insecurity-based super-egos (that the older boy tries to conceal). But Sean is 3.5 years old. Kelvin is already coming on 28.

I think Kelvin's folks did as good as job as they knew and definitely don't seem inclined to spoil a child. I don't think he's spoilt in that way either. I think he's spoilt in an entirely different way that a parent can't help.

Which is why, on the inside, he's still very much a child (not unlike some other people I know). A sulking, self-absorbed teenager who wants things exactly his way and not have to think about anyone else if he doesn't feel like it.

Some years ago, I was a little sad when I realised I was no longer a little girl in my heart, that all my innocence and ignorance were gone forever. But I now see that it's not a bad thing. At least when things go to hell, I'm able to know why. And knowing has always been the most important thing to me. Knowing that people are eventually transparent also helps - all you have to do is wait and watch.

Seeing through the boy I once loved enough to spend the rest of my life with, imperfections and all, is one of the most painful things I've had to go through. Thank goodness this happened to me now instead of when I was younger. At least I have the ability to understand and figure things out now.

Closure denied

We met up today to exchange the things we'd lent each other or left at each others' place.

All I asked was one thing - to meet in my house so I could say my piece for closure. A private place to talk. And he refused. He'd rather sweat it out by the pool.

The reason? He felt "uncomfortable". Doesn't matter than my mum, who was dying to ask him many things, had promised to keep to her room and not bother us at all.

One little shred of what he owes me (and he owes me PLENTY) and he was too chicken.

He asked what it did it matter where it was.

Here's why it matters.

1. He's uncomfortable with being in the same house as my mother. I'm fucking uncomfortable with EVERYthing that he's done to me. I needed somewhere private to talk properly, somewhere I could feel secure. I wanted just ONE thing my way but it's too much trouble for his selfish comfort.

2. My sister said part of this exercise was about taking a morsel of control over the entire string of events that has left me entirely helpless and had no control over anything that's happened. But in the end I had to give in to him again. Give in to a selfish, cowardly fucker.

3. It was a vain hope that he really did mean it when he said he was sorry for causing me pain when we first broke up. I now know it to be another falsehood. So much for holding out the last shred of hope for any decency or sincerity in him.

He was too cowardly to even defend himself or explain. He had nothing to say to me, but I'd expected that anyway. What I didn't expect was that he had no intention to even pretend to have any good nature left. That he'd rather be a coward than to do just one stupid little thing that makes him uncomfortable.

I held my cool as long as I could and said what I had to say as civilly as I could. At the end, we sat in silence till I said, "That's all I have to say." He muttered something incoherent and took his bag and started to leave. I lost it for a second and said, "Fuck off" as he passed by.

I really needed this. It's such a small thing, just one tiny little concession I needed from him. And he denied me it in favour of his fucking comfort. I know I'm fixating, but this one little thing said so much.

He'd deny me even this little bit of closure. Just a morsel of what he owes me.

He probably thinks he's giving me some kind of big concession by even being here. I hope his new Girlfriend sees what kind of a cowardly, selfish, insincere and lying person he is.

And I'm angry. So fucking angry. I haven't been this fuming mad at someone since goodness knows when. I have to keep reminding myself not to let this loser bring out the vindictive side of me. I've always been a good person and my pride will never allow me to stoop.

One day I'll look back on this and laugh at him. I hope that day comes sooner than later.

Meanwhile, he can go ahead and lie to or avoid everyone else. He can't run away from himself forever and suffer for his own faults.

Assholes gloat

I KNEW it. I told G the other day that I knew there would be one ex who would be happy this happened to me, and sure enough, he is. See his blog here: http://weatherman.blogs.friendster.com/whaddup_from_the_weatherm (scroll down to the entries titled "Gloating" and "Karma")

Firstly, there's this erroneous notion that I did the same thing to him. Let's dispel that notion - unlike Kelvin, I told A no lies. I made it very plain throughout the relationship what I thought and felt. It's not my fault he didn't have any faith in me. But you know what? It's always the faithless who display the least faith in their partners, and I learnt this good and early. (Maybe I should stop being so damn honest and trusting in relationships. It has never done me any good.)

Secondly, I knew getting together with a new guy 3 weeks after I broke up with A would be fodder for him to gloat in this instance. Let me say, I made it perfectly clear at our breakup that I did NOT cheat on him, and I laid out the reasons for our breakup very clearly:

1. We were completely unable to communicate even if someone were to pay us to communicate.
2. I did not love him anymore.
3. The last straw came when I found out A had been picking up girls over IRC and ICQ and asking them out. When confronted, he said, "But I didn't go out with them." To which I retorted, "Because none of them said yes!"

Moreover, the new guy I got together with just after A was someone I hadn't seen in a couple of years, and the day we got together was the first time we'd met in a long while. At least I was already OUT of the relationship before pursuing a new one, versus A's casting several lines at once to see how many girls bite. Besides, he'd told some of the girls about his EX (his then-still-girlfriend - me), so he was probably going to break up with me anyway; he's just pissed I did it first.

Thirdly, he is still sore that I broke up with him in the midst of his exams. Shall I refresh his memory and remind him that, as I told him at the time, I had intended to wait till after his exams before we broke up, but noooooo...he chose to feel insulted that I had intended to wait. AND he was picking up girls DURING his exam period. Who's the busy bee now?

Oh, but I realised one thing in common A had with Kelvin - lying and cheating (or at least the intention to cheat). I wasn't in love with A, but at least I was honest and faithful throughout... oh, but Mr Faithless-Has-No-Faith never believed me anyway.

This is a really bad time to piss me off. Listen, A: if you can't get the facts right, don't soil my name with false facts over and over again. I've quit being diplomatic and nice to all bastards who decide to screw over all my good intentions.

Perhaps if I quit being the sensible, diplomatic one in a relationship, I'll stop attracting vermin?

Final Distance

This is the most beautiful music video I've ever seen, also the one with the most depth. There's a history behind this song (Google it if you're curious). Utada Hikaru's soulful vocals breaks your heart in this intense ballad.

Don't worry - the words of this song have little to do with what I want. Rather, the mood of the song came to me, and I found one of its themes, that of distances, very apt for all that has happened of late...ok, for the past 1.5 years, even though I didn't know it yet.

So turn off the light, turn up the volume, open your mind and let her take you distances.

*Update on previous post

Was looking through our last MSN chat history from 22 Feb and saw this line he said to me: "I don't know if it's impossible for us to be together".

It was in response to me telling him that if there wasn't a chance of him coming back, he shouldn't have said so.

When he dealt me that line, the first thing I told him was to tell him that I know what it means when a guy says "I don't know" (sound familiar?).

Now, when I look at it in the latest light of things, it's something to add to paragraph 6 of my previous post just below this one (look for the words in red). He was most likely just trying to keep me in the wings.

And another gem he kept repeating over the days we broke up and in that last MSN chat: "I don't know what I'm doing". Easy peasy way to dodge everything eh, Kelvin?

Cowardly liar. Wasting my tears and pain. Can't wait to get completely over this loser.

I believe some of my friends were wrong - hate isn't the main thing that drains one's energy. Anger is.

Cheaters: Pop in the tape and press "play"

OK, I feel even more of a fool now.

Told a couple of gal pals about what the bastard Kelvin had said to me before, especially regarding the "I don't wanna be in a relationship right now" and other related things. The look of recognition on my friends' faces was unmistakable.

"Girl, that's what they all say when they've got a 'back-up'. He might as well have popped in a tape and hit the play button."

And yes, it all adds up. All those extra late hours in the office (which he always swore was purely work). Not wanting me anymore, not even wanting to watch me change anymore, which he used to love doing. Not wanting to hold hands with me anymore.

And getting together with her one fucking week after the breakup. What makes him think I'll believe him after all the lies he's told over such a long period of time? Staying untruthful for 1.5 out of 4 years of our relationship takes a lot of effort, you know.

This puzzled me a bit. What was that about not wanting to take his clothes and things back on the day we broke up and wanting to continue seeing me? And telling me it's possible he might come back one day? And telling me he still loved me? AND asking me if I'd take him back if he came back? (I wonder if his new little hussy knows that he said these to me.)

But that puzzled me only briefly. That's another common trait of cheaters. They want an contingency in case their new experiment doesn't work. Heck, it happened to a good friend of mine not long ago, and Kelvin knew about that. He obviously doesn't learn from other people's lessons.

Lesson to all: if you want to lie, at least lie convincingly, pretty please? No half-assed idiocy like this.

I'd given him so much benefit of the doubt while we were together. And he turned out to be a cheater.

Oh, and changing his Friendster status from "in a relationship" to "it's complicated" - I was the one who asked him if he wanted to change that, and he did. BUT not to "single". And it still remains that way.

Well, he's already done the passive-aggressive thing and brought her to a wedding dinner instead of telling his friends outright. Let's see when he'll stop sneaking around and trying to appear the good guy.

I've figured even more things out, but only on hindsight. I shouldn't feel the fool, since he did a bang-up job of fooling everyone. My sis said I have good instincts and if neither she nor I had picked up on things, he was doing a really good job at concealing things. Still, can't help feeling stupid.

He's turned out to be a bastard like all the rest after all.

I'm going to force myself to not cry anymore. I'm not going to let that arsehole drag me down anymore. I'll go on hating him for a long, long time and will probably never forgive him, but I won't let that stop me from living well without him. I hope his guilt plagues him forever, now that I'm ANOTHER ex-girlfriend that he's done grievious wrong to - only this time, I'm the girlfriend who's found/figured out what's going on.

Make no mistake. This is not the first time he's done this in his life, the fickle fucker.

I don't care what he said to me. Little he says can be trusted as truth anymore.

As far as I'm concerned, he cheated on me - he may or may not have been directly involved with her already, but they obviously had already made clear to each other that they liked each other. And that's the very least of it. I'm at least 50% certain he was already cheating.

I'm going to get myself tested soon, just in case.

A liar and a bastard. And not without precedent. Stupid me to ever give him a chance.

No matter. He'll soon cease to matter to me. Overnight, he has already turned ugly and revolting to me. I will go on after my tears have dried up. They will go on deserving each other.

F U C K E R

Tonight, I was told that Kelvin Lim Hian Meng was seen with a new girl at a wedding dinner. He brought her to a friggin wedding dinner.

For a couple of hours after I heard, I couldn't stop trembling. It's not that I didn't expect to hear something like this sooner or later. It's just that nothing prepares you for when you hear it.

I later learned that he started dating her before the relationship was even cold in the ground. ONE WEEK after our breakup. [This is too close for comfort. Another fucker I was once in love with also did the same thing to his then long-time girlfriend - one week.]

Which leads me to think that they already liked each other, and maybe even told each other so before we broke up. I knew he already liked her, but this only confirms that she liked him too, and he probably knew it.

Which makes him a fucking liar. Remember what I said about him saying he doesn't feel that he should be in a relationship right now? LIE.

Remember that I said he told me it was only a slight crush? LIE.

Remember, he promised he'd tell me when he found someone new? LIE.

The past 1.5 out of 4 years together? LIE.

Remember what I requested of all my friends: to carve out his balls with a rusty steak knife if he's seen with a new girl anytime soon? NO LIE - please proceed.

He had everyone fooled. Everyone. Even my sister. Everyone thought what a nice young man he was. Convinced everyone that he is such a wonderful, likeable guy, convinced me that he was worth believing in. Who knew he was so full of issues and so ridiculously selfish?

For fuck's sake, I was in the relationship too!! I always cared about how he felt, enough to always ensure we were on the same footing. Didn't he give a shit? It was my life too!! Didn't he feel guilty about all the lies he was telling? FUCKING LIAR.

I'd always tried to be fair, always made it an equitable relationship as much as I could.

But you know what? I was the only one trying.

Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him. Mr Short Attention Span.

I'm done with being diplomatic and nice. He's a fucker through and through. I've wasted 4 precious years of my life with him, wasted my whole heart and soul on him.

Suddenly his face looks distorted and ugly to me. The thought of how he smelt revolts me. The sound of his voice over the phone earlier was jarring and unpleasant to my ears.

And he wanted to remain friends?? What an idiotic joker. Sorry, asshole. You're not emerging out of this in any way a good guy.

I wonder if New Girlfriend knows what a fucked up shit he is. I hope she finds someone who won't give her that kind of grief. Then again, if she was eyeing him while he was still with me, she can HAVE him - they deserve each other.

It's not that I don't know what it's like to like someone who's attached (and secretly hope he'll break up with her for me). But even way back then, I knew that if a guy did that, there was something fucked up somewhere inside him. (Come to think of it, that attached guy I liked bore some striking personality resemblence to Kelvin. And I thought I'd learned a lesson.)

Fucked if I'll ever trust anyone ever again.

Was it all a dream?

The events of the past four years now seem surreal and distant, like one of my prolonged fantasies. But the pain is too keen and too near for it to have been anything but real.

After the first few times, each time I welcomed someone new into my heart, somewhere in the back of my head was a little voice telling me it was another waiting game till this one broke my heart. And each time, I told that little voice to be silent and go away.

And each time, that little voice got to say, "I told you so" at the end.

It's all a waiting game. Waiting for the next one to come and make me open up my heart again. Waiting for him to convince me to believe again. Waiting for him to work his way past my defences again. Waiting for that next one to come and fill my senses, warm my cold world and draw me into his again. Waiting for the scent of the next one to drive me to olfactory delight, the sounds of him echo through my waking moments, the sight of him awaken my being with wild colour again; the taste of him intoxicate me each time and the memory of his skin linger on mine, again.

Waiting for the next one to come and rip my heart to shreds again.

I wrote this, my favourite piece of written word, on a small card some time ago, laminated it and gave it to him:

"Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams."
~W H Auden~

His response was to put it on a wallpaper filled with pictures of us and add at the bottom:

"Daphne & Kelvin
09.02.03 - always"(There's a story behind the making of this wallpaper. If I haven't told you the story of a certain blonde, ask me.)

I guess we both didn't know what we were promising each other then. But I'd kept mine to the end.

What am I doing? I'm sitting here bawling and aching and finding out just what a mess two layers of non-waterproof mascara can make.

What the hell's wrong with me? Nothing - it's human nature, but it sure feels sucky. I keep alternating between knowing he's no good for me and not wanting him and missing him and willing to do anything to have him back.

I know in my mind that I won't want him back in the unlikely chance that he ever comes back. Moreover, I know things would never be the same again, especially since I'd never trust him again. But at the same time, I don't truly know how I'd react if that did ever happen. Would I look at that earnest, sorrowing face, hear that voice that I love so well and just rush into his arms? Or would I look at him and see the years of betrayal and have my anger and hate confuse me and tear me between giving in and screaming at him to go fuck over someone else? Would I gloat? Would I break down? Would I shrug and walk off? Would I ask him to cry me a river?

I just miss him so much and feel like complete idiot while I'm at it. Why weep over someone who was getting plain tired of being with me? Someone who would throw away 4 years of a (mostly) beautiful relationship? Doesn't he even remember how wonderful it was for the first 2.5 years? Things were always difficult but there was enough love to struggle through it all, yet just when our struggles finally came to an end and I could breathe a sigh of relief, it was already the end for him. Is he really so adolescent that he expects love never to change and mature?

I find myself looking at the photos, chats, videos, mails that we accumulated over the years. Don't they mean anything to him?

I guess not.

I took that photo above on 24 July 2003 with my webcam. Kelvin and I would very frequently take little snaps of ourselves and email them to each other while we were separated by a continent. I labelled this one "where are you". I figured that, more than 3.5 years later, it's relevant again.

At the end of the day

I came home today and there was no one to tell everything to.

No one to bear witness to my life.

Sure, I have friends, very good ones at that. But they're not your life witness, the one who will know everything about you and make sure you know everything about them too. With friends, there comes a point where your life details become TMI.

I miss smelling him. His voice. His arms, his lips, the weird fabric-feel of the skin on his arm. The way he smiles when he's acting cute. The way he guffaws when I laugh at one of his bad jokes.

I miss talking with him.

I think the difference between this breakup and previous ones is that this time, I wasn't prepared to be single again ever in my life (unless he died before I did). Previously, when I'd gotten over the breakups, being single again was pretty cool and sometimes a relief. But this time round, being in the relationship was a relief in the first place, and for the first time in my life, I didn't have to hold anything back.

Perhaps that's only a dream. Perhaps no one should be able to fully be themselves with anyone - and those who do are only living a dream. Maybe it's my lot to always have to keep my life to myself, to be repressive and bottle up always. That's a shitty thought.

I'm not sure if I love him anymore, which probably means I don't, not after all this hurt and betrayal. But by golly, I miss him.

The last

We celebrated our fourth and last anniversary on 9 February 2007. It was an awkward and tense (on my part at least) evening, with a simple dinner at a place he liked followed by a short riverside walk that I suggested.

These are the last flowers he sent. I wish he'd given me a present so I could keep it. Flowers die.

This was the last present I got for him for our anniversary. It's a compendium of 17 Kurosawa movies for just $29.90! But it didn't have Ran or Dreams. Read the blurb - it's hilarious (click on the picture for a bigger view).

Took yet another photo of Jiak Kim Bridge. It was actually a lovely, serene night when we went walking. It was cool and quiet and the river was still. Even the nearby Zouk couldn't really be heard from where we were.

I kept the flowers till 2 days ago. They had been smelling rather evil for a while but I couldn't bear to toss them. They'd bloomed very beautifully a day or two after I received them, but died very quickly. They somehow look more colourful in this photo than they did in real life (so to speak), for some reason. What a fitting metaphor for our now-dead relationship.

And that's that. Everything's dead now. He seems happy and relieved. I wish he would suffer more. It's tough knowing he doesn't miss me at all.

I think I've figured out most of what I need to know - about him and where we both were in the relationship that is now turning cold in the ground. While the acceptance and the feeling of having closed most of the doors have settled and stabilised me, the pain still remains in spite of my best efforts.

I find myself thinking of the nauseas young man on a plane whose neck ached from writing a long letter - the first to his new love - over a crappy airplane table, all of four years and 20 days ago. I think about the good years we shared. I think about how four years didn't feel anything like four years because every day with him was beautiful. I think about how much we had, and how much we could have had at this moment and moments to come.

But the trouble with figuring things out is, you realise all the misconceptions and pretenses that clouded the things you saw.

I realise I didn't have very much anymore the past year or so, and that's a very disappointing thought.

Maybe that's why I don't miss him as much as I thought I would. Because he wasn't here very much anymore anyway. One less sleepy phonecall each night. One or two less dinners a week. One or two less evenings of him falling asleep on the sofa after having arrived at my place just an hour before. One less evening in a month or two when I initiated making love after wondering why he hadn't asked anymore for such a long time.

So little he shared with me towards the end. Of his heart, there was nothing. I had his obligation, and that was it.

The last conversation we had, I ranted at him how I regretted giving so much. He dryly told me that, just so I know, I wasn't the only one who was giving. Sounding like a presumptuous, defensive prick, he'd misunderstood me. I had meant "giving" in the most important way a person gives in a relationship. In the way he had stopped giving for some time.

I had given him the rarest and most valuable thing to me - trust. That's gone now, smashed to bits by him and the shards swept away so that I wouldn't see.

I hate the way everything makes sense in hindsight. I hate the way I put my gut instinct aside for individuals I think are worth giving the benefit of the doubt. Everything figures now, everything signposted for me now that I've chosen to turn my head and look behind.

I hate the way he's made me a fool.

He didn't have any harmful intentions, in case you're about to berate me for being judgemental. Well, duh. Intentions don't mean squat if you go ahead and hurt someone anyway, knowing that what you're doing is harmful. Living in denial and refusing to deal with things is a slow, painful way for you to torture someone to death in a relationship.

So maybe he was telling the truth - that he realises he doesn't feel he should be in a relationship right now. So, everyone, do me a favour - if you see him with a new girl anytime soon, promptly carve out his balls with a rusty steak knife, if only to save an innocent new girl from future heartbreak. [Update (9 March): Wasn't this prophetic? Just a few days before I found out about his new squeeze. But I saw this coming anyway. Few people were surprised to find out, actually.]

I'm not sure how much I miss him, and I won't know till I happen to see him in person, I suspect. But what I do miss, very acutely, is what we had before it all went to the dogs (using HIS turning point all that time ago, not this recent discussion-leading-to-breakup). When work and home were going rough, he was always the part of my life that made me happy.

Ironic, isn't it? 2006 was the year that I finally took a stock-take of my life and realised I was truly happy. 2006 - when he'd already started losing his feelings for me, if they weren't lost already.

So fucking disappointing. If what I've figured/found out is true, it didn't take much for him to start losing his taste for me, and he'd let worthless external things affect something as treasured as our relationship. And there was nothing I could have done about it, which feels downright shitty.

**Here is where I wrote a lot of thoughts and revelations, but decided to delete them so that the dirty laundry wouldn't be too unsightly for some. I need to say them...but perhaps not here.**

A guy in love will say many things that are meant to last forever. Sure, when it ends, he'll tell you, "Well, I meant it at the time I said it." And I'll say to him, "Then you shouldn't say things and make promises that you have no idea how to keep. Your words define who you are, spoken and unspoken." That's why I myself never promise forever - what I do promise is my whole heart and commitment. Commitment, however, occupies a very immature part of his concept of relationships. He was absolutely right - he doesn't know what love is. But I do.

What to do? I loved an immature runt.