After so many lulls into false quiescence, I don’t know if this is the calm of my relationship, or yet another calm before the storm. I am terrified at how much I should invest in this. I am terrified that what I see is a fantasy, or ideal that my mind fabricates, because I do have the tendency to do so — what if in reality it is completely something else?

Am I losing touch with reality.

I am down with a cold/fatigue/ fever. I really ought to stop crying. No one will believe me when I say I am really unhappy because I cry all the time anyway.

After we whispered our goodbyes last night, I fell asleep and had a dream about an Aesop fable.

For a brief moment, you think about chronology. Did you, or the other girl come first.

But very quickly, you brush aside the unpleasant thought that you might be ‘the other woman’ in the relationship. What matters more, you tell yourself — is that he adores you more, and that what he has with the first woman — lets call her Jenny — what he has with Jenny, is a thread wearing under strain.

Does who comes first matter? Or should the person who is persistent in wooing earn the rights to claim?

For the first time in the long while, I put on my pajamas, sat in the couch with my comfort pillow, and did nothing more than eat carbs and watch tv. What  bothered me was the neverending depiction of cheating. Of men who get themselves into situations they don’t know how to get out of, of the other woman who worms her way into a relationship and psyches herself by focusing on her desirability, of Jennys who try patching up their relationship with their cheating partners, and of Jennys who choose to leave the mess and their story is never told, implying abysmal failure.

Whatever happened to the dignity that once was? That people just don’t want to get involved with a person who is even the slightest bit committed to someone else of the opposite sex?

Not only do the moving pictures depress me, one afternoon, I walked into a parking lot management’s office — and the cover of a magazine in the waiting lounge screamed at me. SHE WAS TWO TIMED: Exclusive interviews with women who have been cheated on, said one out of some thirty magazines on the rack.

I am like a refugee who will never find a safe house.

I am the non-competitor. I cannot compete. Competitiveness breaks down my being, layer by layer. Eventually it will get to the head, and I would be the most pathetic being left in the race. Hence not a single mark of competitive sports in my curriculum vitae.

And there she was. Every time I try to stick to the rules of politeness, every time I try to be nice, she would taunt me with her achievements and I end up flouting all rules because what have I ever done to you to deserve having to put up with your gloating. For one, I did not invite you into my life; I asked you to take a dignified and graceful exit, but you refused, and wormed your way back in.

She didn’t know what she was up against, and last night, I think she saw it.

Today’s positive energy means it’s your turn to be not just charming, but also extraordinarily persuasive. Of course, that’s always been one of your specialties, so it’s not exactly a huge shock. For now, you’re even better at it, though, so keeping calm and sticking to the rules of politeness — even it feels like the rules of engagement — isn’t so hard. Be fair! It’s what you like best, and it’s what others expect.

This is who I am. Given the most conflicting of traits. Persuasion and diplomacy. Persuasion is necessary in diplomacy, but there’s a fine line where diplomacy ends. Although I am not really sure of the denoted meaning of diplomacy, but it generally connotes goodness, wisdom, and a none zero-sum game. Do you see the goddamned conflict? When there’s persuasion to work everything to your benefit, can you still be a neutral and selfless diplomat?

I’m not charming, but I know how charmed my life is. A third of which can be attributed to luck, and another two thirds, because I can sugarcoat everything I say. There used to be plenty of relief because I tend to say the right things, and not send hairs bristling. It isn’t lying, but the subtlety of what to say and what not to, when to say, where to say and how to say it. But then lately, I catch myself thinking what information to leave out, what can I do to distract them — which I have been doing a lot more lately — and I am filled with hatred for myself.

Everyday, I stand in front of the mirror, semi naked for my morning face care routine — and I see this vermin.

Am I metamorphosing? Or have I always been like that?

eat
drink
sleep
think
see.

Why do I still hold on when the trust is gone? When we’re merely connected by a thin gold thread that bends every time either one of us emits heat.

Is it all the memories?

That one perfect picture kissing at sunset; the vivid images from that evening I broke his heart, how he curled up in bed and slept at the edge of the bed and how he flinched every time I reached for him; that picture of both of us in the sea and in our best swimming outfit, looking like we were fifteen because of the huge grins plastered on our faces; the many mornings I was awake but didn’t want to get out of bed because my bus ride back to KL is in a few hours.

I have two or three more reasons off the top of my head but I am too sleepy to write, so good night. So I don’t cry at work, I will be turning off my phone.

I’ve been meaning to write this post for the longest time. The fact is, him and I are back together. Not really, but sort of. We’re happily lingering somewhere between wanting to rip each other’s hearts out, and literally going at each other’s throats. What underlies every ounce of hostility that we display to each other, is a passion so deep-rooted and inane, that I have given up trying to make sense of. We take turns being so jealous, we drive one another crazy.

We haven’t seen each other since the “incident”, and it seems, I am no longer the same person who spontaneously jumps on an intercity bus and travel all night to the other end of the peninsular. I guess when you trip over the same stone twice, you really think about rebuilding your defences.

This in-between, or interim, comforts me.

We’re back together, but we’re no longer using our affectionate abang and sayang. It is painful to go back to what we once had, when I can’t even be sure if what we once had meant anything at all. Once upon a time ago, I was so sure where I stand; but now, I am content being here at the interim.

So much that it’s defining me.

I like my place at work right now. It is the last month of my probation — the prospects of a raise thrills me, some new colleagues annoy me, the job challenges keep me on my toes. This is hard to explain. I like being in training, I like being somewhat new so that there’s still room to make mistakes. I don’t want to be part of the old crew, to be in a position where I’m obliged to join in sessions where they pick on newer staff’s mistakes or flaws, and yet I am relieved that I am a little wiser than those whose are going through their first month.

I like knowing that I don’t need the job, that I can leave on twenty-four hour’s notice and not feel guilt; and at this in-between of being single and being in a relationship, I am comforted by the idea that I don’t need a boyfriend, that I can cut him off if I choose to be entirely independent — but in both cases, I am staying because I think I actually do like it. All that frill about knowing I can leave when I want, is just my way of consoling myself — that I don’t have to succumb to external pressure.

At this point, I only hope things stay this way, that everything is somewhat uncertain until I make up my mind.

There’s this certain image of a pretentious, art-loving yogi that I want to be, but if I am that, it would mean stalling my relationship. There’s this yearning to go to Europe, immerse in unfamiliar culture while doing my postgrad studies, but if I am there, it would mean stalling my career in mentoring children.

Do you run through roadblocks pursuing a dream? Or do you take all the diversions thrown at you, and see if you end up at the dream destination?

They can really get on my nerves, but every other day, I am thinking of their progress. I confess, I am in too deep, I adore these kid.

Today, they go to a new mentor.

I am still torn between cheating on him, and being the faithful, patient, loving douche of a girlfriend I have always been.

He makes outrageous demands of me. Never be alone with a guy, never be in the passenger seat if a guy friend is driving, never accept a guy’s car ride, never stay out after 11pm. You get the picture. I am not sure I am ready to commit to his every whim that rises out of jealousy.

Not when I still see glimpses of that bushy fox tail.

Maybe I am reading too much into his behaviour, or maybe this is what they call the self-fulfilling prophecy, or everything is just a figment of my imagination — the latter being an excuse I gave myself some three months ago, but everything turned out to be uncannily as I ‘imagined’. I want to trust him now that he claims to be reformed, but there’s no way I can immediately forget all that has happened. Can people change?

One minute I want to hurt him like he hurt me, the next, I just want to go after something for self gratification, but most of the time, I know my guilt will get the better of me. I always end up telling him every little unnecessary detail. What if I am not the nice, thoughtful girl that friends and I make me out to be? What if I am intrinsically manipulative?

There was a year that I loved people. Everyone was a character in each day. Everyone had a role, a superficial appearance and a story behind the face. No one was average. And then, like how I lost my desire to be coherent and organized when it comes to expressing thoughts as words; I lost my passion for the individual. I never want to write about people again. I refuse refuse refuse to give in to the rose-tinted glasses of creative writing, and give each stranger the benefit of the doubt. Why should I be the only few who believes that people are intrinsically good? I am tired of being optimistic about people, myself included.

Maybe we are both too young to commit. Maybe we both need to go out there and wreak havoc on ourselves before we can learn or decide on what’s important to us.

Maybe maybe maybe maybe. Indecision drives me mad. But thank god I found the magic of honey for sleep, jojoba oil for hair, and vaseline for eyelashes — my life is 23% near perfection.

Your specialty is taking care of others, though more often than not, that comes at your own expense, without any hope of being reimbursed. Startling news from a family member or an old, dear friend, should finally convince you that it’s time to start taking care of one person, and one person only: Yourself. It may be a brand-new concept, but you need to get used to it quickly.

And then right before I fell asleep, I replied his texts. Assured him I wouldn’t kill myself or OD on prescriptive drugs from my little wonder stash. It was all very civilised, not as short as I’d hoped it to be — but I did it.

Karma will take care of everything else. I hope!

A year ago, I was reading Nabokov’s Mary, when I found the answers to why the ex boyfriend found it so convenient to trample all over me. I enabled it. If there is such a word, I am an enabler.

Up till yesterday, I was still trying to believe he loved me more. But then I believe, one day, I will find the answers in literature. That such man who holds on to both, exists. My exit should have been really quick because I’m really not into polygamy.

But then I am tied down by the noble noble task of helping him secure a future. And like I told you, I am an enabler. I would kill myself if someone’s failure can be attributed to me. So I am still here.