When do ...

Differences that once thrilled, like a shot of adrenalin to the heart become a chasm to wide to bridge, that splits a union into clear, independent entities.

Without realizing it, I've begun to nag him. Short of asking him outrightly to quit his smoking habit, have done everything from "I can't stand the smell of smoke". When he drinks, it seems like he loses control. When he wants to spend money on me, in the back of my head I want to stop him from fishing out notes or charging it to his credit card. Behind each reflexive no, is an extricable connection with my intention of safeguarding the future.

I don't want him to die early - because I don't want to be alone.

I don't want him to do something he would regret - like unwittingly cheat on me when he's drunk and break my heart, because I know I will despise him and leave him if he does. For him, there is only one shot. Prematurely, one shot over a life time with me.

I don't want him to dig himself into a pit of debt - because I know I'll resent him if he does, since I grew up under largely leveraged circumstances. My investment/financial decisions are grounded on the avoidance of landing me in the burden of debt, my parents had to bear in the early parts of my life. Relieved only recently.

I hate that I nag. I hate that I nag because I'm afraid of situations that spiral beyond my control.

Fundamentally, pushing aside the currents of tension that have manifested in small ripples early in our relationship so far, these characteristics conflict fundamentally with my own. Masked, however, with the desire to see him before I sleep, the way I'm touched when he makes my breakfast, when he washes my back, or combs my hair.

A New Sense of Over

Still in Chennai, and another year to go here before a next major decision will have to be made. A career path has indeed gathered form, not yet a year in count but soon in a whisker. If one had the visual gift of tracing the line up of events retrospectively, in a somewhat edifying posture, I’d like to allude it to a divine constellation.


In a very new sense of over, He can be now be officially bestowed the epithet, sealed and locked away named as “The One that Got Away”, the same one who inspired this moniker – nubilewordsmith, the same one who kept me in thrall, whom I thought was my soulmate, whom I loved and still love, who tore my heart into shreds over several years until the day I walked away about 2 years ago after sending that email, knowing that staying would be my own emotional destruction. Two roads diverged.

You’re getting married - as I found out by way of your new fiancée whose existence I’d really have been rather content to be ignorant of, until she chose to contact me a fortnight ago. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. I chose not to respond, already having to deal with an unwelcome and thoroughly overwhelming sense of clawing grief mingled with jealousy, that made me wish that I was in her shoes. I think despite it all, I still hoped, tears under the bridge .

You did say, you can love more than one person at once. And I truly believe you – an unfortunate truth as it is. I’m sorry I cannot wish you well, that is beyond the stretch of my benevolent capacity. I grieve.

There is someone else in the picture now. Its early days, but its promise brings me undeniable comfort, balm to the sadness that somehow seeped in.

Return.

How awkward this fumbling start.

The words come out choppy staccato-like, harshly I would say a bumbling idiot. In mercy, I would blame my now handicapped brain - riddled with the bullets holes of business theory. I figure – their semi-welcomed assault dulled my sensitivities. Grey nuances have become strangers, and the words to capture them, extraterrestrial. Verbal Tactile, yes, she has gone far away, too far. I wonder if I have lost it. That lyrical quality all gone – but then again, maybe I was never the writer with beautiful, melodious notes which mime as words and weave syntax into masterpieces. That’s how I fancy/fancied myself after coming across a blog, with a such a soul searing quality that struck through the calluses of commercial practicality which has become ingrained like the cost-benefit analysis process that is automatically launched with each tick in my head.

But you know, I think I was never that kind of writer.

Wit, humor and a little tartness of the aftertaste of angst – that was me. Irreverent, maybe.

I am determined to find her again – it’s me, a composite of my soul. Words are far more an essence of me than any Valuation Model would ever be. I cannot continue lying to myself and I won’t.

Come back to me, wordsmith-self. Losing you was definitely not worth the rate of return.

I might not make a good banker/trader/accountant/cashier

I see smooth, shiny green apples packed in fives at the supermarket. I'm like "Ooooh", Granny Smith's and just 50,000 Vietnam Dong that makes 50 Singapore Cents. Cheap, cheap - so I buy them then I realize, Oh Crap - I paid a dollar for an apple. ( 1 SGD = 10,000 Dong approximately).

Yesterday I got food delivered, 42,000 dong right? So I give a 100,000 Dong note and a 2,000 Dong note and asks if she has a 50,000 one which she gives. I take my food and close the door, but not before her surprised look and "Thank you!" more enthusiastically than usual. I'm like, someone sure is happy today. 2 seconds later, I'm like FUCK.

I'm also real scroogey when I take the cab to work back and forth - minium average 28,500 Dong to work and slightly more back. When it goes to 33,000 and beyond - I get bloody uncomfortable and irrationally paranoid because I think the cab driver is taking me for a ride. Which has happened more than once. There was this guy in the same guest house - Australian I think, who got charged 40 USD for a ride which should have been well under 5 USD.

You guys think a couple cents is not a big deal? It damn right does, if you order every day. Plus, I lost about 1,100 SGD on the stock market which explains why I'm really tetchy about money lately. I got my intern allowance banked into my account one day and the next day is gone minus about 300 SGD more. Then the sales exec (who I consider a friend, but not a close friend) sitting next to me is asking how my stock is doing, he telling me his Vietnam Stock Holdings has declared a dividend and he is making profits. "Going up, going up?" I'm like er no, I want it to go down, I short sold. He doesn't understand, because he asks the same question again. Which kinda serves me right - i guess. Back home you guys would call me ghey Khiang, I know I know. Happened about 2-3 Weeks ago.

Hoes and Such

At about 70% of the clubs here, one can feel an atmosphere with a certain degree of Orchard Towers concentrate. So even at the regular clubs, you get plenty of working women. Happens less like this in Singapore, even if Attica now so I've heard has a couple of Thai working girls showing faces there.

I'm actually cool with prostituition. Well at least in the purest sense of a business transaction - money in exchange for sex. I'm not okay with the tarnished version - which I see a lot more, where now the transaction just doesn't involve sex per se, but in it the allowance to treat the lady with disrespect. Which is still not that bad, if the effects are contained within the transaction. There's however also something known as a spillover effect, where the many many men take it to mean that all the other non-working women around can be treated in the similar manner. Now, I have a major issue that.

Last night, we get this Cambodian working lady - who was quite beautiful in the dark. Then the lights flashed and I saw a pizza- like face under the lights and cake foundation. Her "boyfriend" was this overweight, greasy, drunk guy in his 50s. If you want a mental image, you could think Bam's Uncle in Viva La Bam. Or Borat, Borat's manager in the movie. You see this beautiful enchantress was trying to get a girl for a threesome. And she starting hitting on a friend I was with. ( In my opinion, she's was really cute - her apppearance was slightly andro-femme way, but she's straight - maybe my type, less lipstick lesbian) Which was flattering to her, till Ms Cambodia got a little to persistent this resulting in my friend making a disappearance to the toilet for a while). Ms Cambodia would be the femme fatale type, she would probably pick a less conspicuous girl so as not to steal the thunder in the bedroom. Again we were dancing in a group, and the annoying twat kept edging herself in the middle of our friends.

Okay, most my Viet girl friends are all shorter than me ( standing at 5'5; 5'7 in heels) which makes me the body guard when ugly foreign old men start fancying themself fanciable them to. Of course if the guy is hot, I step back discreetly as anyone in the secret service would know :) So yes, there I was warning off ( Tapping one of them on the shoulder glaring at him and motioning for him to move his fat ass) 2 separate instances one night fat old men last night - Korean, White dudes who were getting a bit to close to my friend. She's a couple years older than me, but I think she looks younger because of her size.

Sometimes I think, maybe it would be more fun to be at a place that was less "meat market". Plus the Music sucked ass. Oh yeah, meat market alright - I even saw 2 guys haggling furiously over price. He was getting worked up, screaming "fuck, this fucking that - I'm not going to pay that amount". His other friend was happy and already settled the price with the other girl. So I saw both of them ending the night with another pair of ladies.

Its an interesting place though. I lost key keys last night. And had to wake up early for work this morning. But I have a 2 hour spa treatment coming up. I'm happy.