So he complimented me on how I was one of the rare few ‘single’ girls who is ‘stable’ and not ‘psychotic’ to mistake his gentlemanly-ness for him liking me.
Righttttt.
How’s that for ironic right in your face? When he was sitting there across the table telling me this, it every molecule in me to keep a smile up and put on a straight face. All while this pain originating from my chest was slowly spreading through my body, threatening to overwhelm me. Keep smiling, keep breathing, blink it away, think of a sarcastic comeback.
Even asked me for honest feedback on how he could be to change this situation - how he could be more plebeian, and act like how normal guys behave so he doesn’t get himself in the same shit, the “bane of his existence when he was in hall”. Wow. Like asking me would help. Fuck. It took me awhile, but I came up with “more forgetful” and something, I can’t remember.
Somehow we wound up debating about whether or not things are better left said or unsaid. I argued unsaid, and him said. Things are always better out in the open. No, there’s no turning back when you say something. It’s permanent. Indelible, I forgot to add. Examples? When I’m arguing with my mom, it’s better to just keep my mouth shut. And also not to say you like someone when you obviously know he doesn’t reciprocate. The tall guy I told him about the last time? He ventured that guess. Obviously not. The rest of the argument is lost in the heat of the barbequed meat; I cannot recall.
A conversation he had on whether or not he like younger or older girls in his company, (and something about not ‘shitting in your backyard, ie: date one from your workplace) and his coincidental diplomatic answer was older. His closer friends in the company are all younger. (Yay?) When asked in return, there was one who said she doesn’t mind dating a guy younger than herself, 10 years is fine too. Yay for him because he can aim that high, wtf for me.
They commented on how he has an “old soul”, how he felt like “an old man stuck in a younger man’s body”. How the people from his previous workplace had the same remarks, and that was when he was 21. All I could think of then was that night in Bali where I got high on G’s concoction, and describing my ideal man in the exact phrase. Fuck. Thank goodness he didn’t ask about my ideal type later? But he did talk about how it would be useless to introduce me to the friends around him if I couldn’t even handle his level of sarcasm, seeing that he was the most ‘PR’ amongst them. No, thank you, I don’t need your introductions, esp after ‘meeting’ that friend in BTC. Uh, weird? But then again, maybe I do.
And he said he got something for me, to make up for his tardiness, which required, preferably a dark open field. He didn’t say, but of course I guessed sparklers (and was right). What could possibly have required those?
Something about unless I was a guy. “Yea, I secretly have a dick.” It was almost an undertone, and two seconds later, “Did you really say that?!” Yes, I can make you laugh too. How crude of me, I thought.
Finished dinner at 8 and walked around the vicinity, exploring the little nooks and crannies the place had to offer. Took him to Littered with Books. Oh, I read Kafka by the Shore! He jolted that memory. About a guy who could talk to cats, and embarks on a journey with a boy to find something. Showed him my fav cake place. Doing everything I can to treat him like how I should - a friend.
He told me how Asian men ranked the lowest, in terms of desirability amongst his female friends, first being black guys. Nope, no sir, Asian men are top on mine! Good for my Asian friends around me, he said.
Went off to explore Ann Siang, stumbled upon the Hill Park, and PS Cafe. Walked round the back and found a place to sit and play with the sparklers. The wHistling sparklers, mind the ‘h’ after the ‘w’.
He forced me to make a wish with the two I had in hand, and I asked if they could be made in silence. No. So I thought for a second and said, “Happiness for the both of us”, and surprised myself at how sincere that was, even though at the back of my head, I had another wish, a selfish one that I eventually didn’t bring myself to wish.
We sat and talked. A penny for his thoughts? How to celebrate Mid-Autumn Festival, which is coming right up on Monday (gasp!). Somehow, it turned to the topic of Christmas and I took the chance to ask if he were Christian. Yes. And I thought I could not be more heartbroken after dinner. Wrong. Turned to how my sister is married to someone of a different religion. How I bear all complaints from her, and choose not to tell my mom or younger sis about it because of the undue stress. Said I had some complex. Definitely not a compliment. Hah.
Then I told him about what happened when I was 12 and her 10. And again when I was in Year 1, Sem 2. He sat, listening. I threw occasional glances, but he was backlit, and I could hardly decipher his expression on top of trying to keep it together. He responded with a ‘thank you’ because it must have taken a lot to share it. In return, he told me his story. His mother two years ago, and one, again. My mother a year ago.
About how when I was 12, E. Low found out, and only asked if it were affecting my studies. My inclination to think the worst of people immediately assumed she asked only to check if her career were in jeopardy. He laughed, amused by my deep-seated biased against her.
I probed into his mother’s illness. Not entirely willing to elaborate, but hey, I was the one who was in the mood to open up and pour my heart, not him.
I said it’s the first time I got a different answer from “Oh, ok.” Which is why he doesn’t like to share in the first place. Fallacy in retrospect, he also doesn’t trust his friends, or in his words, when we tell people things, we don’t expect them to make it right or something. The stupid complex he used on me.
By then, it was enough sharing and mosquito bites and we began to walk to the station. Needed to ‘dispose’ of the lighter, but who, where? Something about burning up someone’s shirt, and I pointed to a guy in red in front, walking with his arms around his presumably girlfriend. “Why? Because he has a girlfriend?” “Yes, it pisses me off.” Off he went and supposedly burnt the bottom of his Crumpler. What. In. The. World?! Maybe it’s some oppressed self surfacing.
Train-ed to Serangoon, and him Kovan. He bumped into an acquaintance, a girl who coincidentally is one of those who thinks he’s trying to hit on her, “get under her skirt” with his exuberant gentlemanly-ness. No, really, that crude. Once again, complimented me on how I’m one of the few single girl friends he has who does not suffer this unfortunately common disease of being mentally unstable and think that every guy who is nice is “trying to get under her skirt”. Why he manages to get along a lot better with girls who are attached.
Way to dump salt on wound. But by that time, I realised that I didn’t really care if he I thought that way or not, whether or not I was one of those “psychotic” girls. A crashing epiphany that I really like him, oh god how can he be so attractive?! I proved myself wrong again with the renewed, near excruciating pain in my chest.
Spent today trying to keep it together, balance the scale, because tipping it would mean waterworks. I ought to revise this thinking, tho. Whatsapp-ed pm just now, summarising the above, and bawled at the thought of how ‘it’s not meant to be’. Articulating a thought you have in your head is much like acknowledging it and confirming it to be true, solidifying it and letting it take physical form. It becomes real, almost tangible, and forces one to face it squarely. And at that, I broke down. Like a rite of passage, it is almost as if one has to let all guards down before rewarded with freedom and the courage to embrace reality.
I’m not any less sad with all the crying. It’s more saving myself from being dejected and mopy, giving myself the strength to carry on with a big smile and accepting what is to be. Or what is not.
It’s true, the cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears or the sea.
