*SIGH*

so you move out of that. you shut them out from all forms of communication. you put a bandaid on your rejected heart and say “it’s not my fault, i’m a fantastic individual, with my own merits, it just wasn’t meant to be” – you dust yourself off and move on. You replay several scenarios inside your head. most of which involve tipping over a glass of wine on his new pantsuit, or bitchslapping that model he’s nabbed. Not that you had that much beef going on, it was just fun to toy with the idea of torturing someone guilty of rejecting you.

Ok  – I wasn’t even thinking of him. At all. He was tucked away in that  corner of the universe, potentially alongside missing socks and ballpoint pen caps. He was in the dark hole.

We were walking. I was with him. This fantastic guy that I’m seeing. Then he stands there, in front of Salvadore Dali’s work dissecting the human form. I grew pale – fast. My heart skipped beats. My hands became sweaty. Before you knew it , i loooked like i was this pasty girl, about to faint.
*sigh*

Owell. I guess the morale of that episode is just to let karma do it’s magic, in its own sweet time.

I think there’s a big difference between the man you would like to show off on a Friday night. Versus the man you  would like to spend Sunday mornings with, cook breakfast, and play Frisbee pancakes with you.

I think my vote goes to the one who’s willing to be silly… with me.

and what of the aftermath of falling in love in a coffee shop?

one would almost always hear john mayer’s lines:
i could have met you in a sandbox
i could have passed you on the sidewalk
could i have missed my chance
and watched you walk away?

a couple of days ago, this local paper featured a blog inspired by missed connections. that one moment where a perfect stranger crosses your path, sometimes says hi, or sometimes looks your way and for a few seconds you just know there’s something about the other person worth finding out… and in true ‘my best friend’s wedding’ fashion, that moment of connection just passes by, leaving as quickly as it came and only ever really fast enough for you to realize it might be too late.

no it’s not the moment when you watch someone you just met at a party play the guitar and after a few songs, gamely tell her “i wish i’d met you sooner… even just a few days sooner. otherwise, i wouldn’t be together with my girlfriend now. we’ve only been together two days.”

it’s more of that moment during earth hour where you head for the bar to stock up on beer before the lights go out and just as you place your elbows on the bar and say “two bottles of San Mig Light, please”, the lights go out. and you realize that there’s this stranger you accidentally cut off who was ordering and in the darkness you apologize for cutting him off and he engages you in small talk about how the bartender must be having a hard time and he asks how much a beer is and proceeds to treat his friends to beer while continuing the small talk with you. and you both wait nervously for your respective beers wondering how this will pan out. and you sort of just marvel at how predictable some guys can be that you start a countdown in your head that in a few minutes, you just KNOW he’s going to introduce himself. the smiles are hidden, the bartender hands the beer and someone at the bar lights a candle in between you both and he reaches out and says, “hi i’m peter”. and all that’s left is for you to take his hand, and introduce yourself and say “well… i have to go back to my friends. enjoy your beer” and he politely says “you too. see you around.”

and you both walk away with your cold beer in your hands wishing you had the other person’s number somewhere on a sheet of torn receipt, or a piece of tissue.. or even that age old spot on the palm of your hand.

but you don’t. so instead, you head for this blog and possibly post something to help find him and get rid of that one “what if?”

something short of a connection classified ad or a connection lost and found. it just might be worth a shot:
http://missedconnectionsmanila.tumblr.com/

I think what bothers me is the classic feeling of cheapness that comes as a result of it. The idea that they can just take a kiss, leave, then probably fancy me again when they feel like. Don’t they know that wars were waged because of kisses? That deep down inside, my conservative school girl self was crying in rampant hysteria of figuring out how modern dating pans out. Because it doesn’t come with a manual.

Not to mention. Expensive. At the rate of meeting 3 men, I should have had at least had them ask me out on dates, one way or another. At least, expect a marginal return for those blasting music and overpriced booze.

So yeah. I’m meeting up one of them ( either the French man or the British bloke that I used to date) this evening. I was thinking of a nice dinner followed by tea.  Then, the guy from last night’s episode is hopping on to a London flight tomorrow and will be back in 2 weeks. How complicated! I sometimes wish I could just ask them to tick off an excel sheet of their available free time, then I can distribute my time evenly. Then everyone’s happy. Then all I have to do is weigh in the emotional validation of each. Preferably without alcohol’s rose tinted glasses.

A REVIEW OF THAT NIGHT:

There’s something so exciting, and ravishingly Sex and the City about this lifestyle. But is it really what I want?

I woke up today in a strange bed, with kisses from a stranger. Nothing happened past that, but the pale walls freaked me out initially. I freaked out!!!!!!! Like AAAAAAHH! – Because all of a sudden, there was this hairy man next to me, who smelled so different, who looked so un-asian, in a very Gerard Butler kind of scruffy way.  There was no foundation of trust just yet, because he pleaded to me that evening —  all heartingly with doleful eyes, that yes, I should stay, just hang out for a while, and no, we’re not going to do anything, you really should, maybe just a couple of hours, that it would be lovely to see me in the morning, that it would be nice to cuddle..AAAAAAAHHHH! Again.

I was enveloped by compliments the entire evening. It was….. SURREAL. It was almost too good to be true. Okay, after freaking out with the pale walls, I settled down, reoriented myself with RGB colours of the world. He stood up and got some water, and I was relieved to see himself fully clothed, and I was fully clothed, and whew, wasn’t that a nice feeling to feel your knickers still in their right place. He returned with a glass of water to mellow out last nights hennesys, then he starts saying how lovely I was, but I SLEPT on him (which I tend to do with guys, the sad part is, i’m not too sure if i snore, and fack that’s such a deal breaker to wake up sounding like shrek) **whew** Calm down.

So. He goes all kissy again, and showers me with compliments again and asks me what I knew about tennis, since he’s *apparently* a tennis instructor, thus explaining his very beautiful biceps (weakness: beautiful teeth and biceps on men with beautiful accents) and thus I replied: I only know…. Uh… Anna Kournikova? Then he broke out in laughter, saying that the last time she played tennis was 10 years ago. Okay, at that moment I felt like a real dits. But he was fine with it. I said, she’s very hot. and pretty. Thus I remember her. Fair enough, he says.

We hang out for a while, and he’s all like, cuddly, which is surprising for a man, then my inner Robin Sherbatsky wanted to flee as soon as possible, to which he said, let’s hang out for a while. He showed me his facebook page, and we saw an episode of a sitcom, while he was holding my hand in bed. We were stained with pseudo togetherness.

At that time, he also informed me of other “mandatories” – I have a sister, yes, my house in London is near Wimbledon, do Filipinos know of that? Yes.  I like your accent, he tells me – ?! Which was the first time someone ever said that because I speak with a really flat english mash up of accents. THEN, Boom. I took a cab. Then boom again, he sms’es and tells me :
You left your belt in my bed.

(Yes, my dominatrix belt. )  I’m kidding.

Oh really? Hmmm. You can use that as an excuse to ask me out again.

I sure will. XX

Hmmmm…. I don’t know about you, in fact, I’m not very well versed with sms etiquette of the foreign kind, but when a man sms’es you with something that involves xx – it usually means hugs and kisses, and I hope he wasn’t hoping to see me naked next time.

I’ll leave out the other gross details for now, but its safe to say that this was a very amusing weekend. mutual attraction and fun. aaaaand. he sms’es and nothing happened. what a beautiful mission.

I sure hope he sms’es again. In the meantime, let’s hang out with the other ones who are still left in the country. Maybe as friends, but maybe I should potentially avoid going to the pseudo togetherness zone just yet. It just feels like once you’ve done stuff, there are no un-do buttons to kisses, it’s either it turns out fantastic afterward, or just plain awkward when you both are sober.  >_<

I have gotten myself into all sorts of adventures and misadventures. All throughout the course of a week. With upsides and downsides. The type of fiascos that leave me wondering how the hell I got here in the first place.

So last week, there was a very important day off from work. Whilst most people would spend their off-day in peace, watching TV dinners, I was left to “hurry up” my work out routine, due to constant prodding of friends. Ahh. Friends, what would we do without themmm…

So, my friend, whom we’ll call A – has been prodding me for weeks to meet up with her, and “unwind” at the club, because quite frankly everyone’s been dipping their head into work that there hasn’t even been time to connect, share stories, or even share bear hugs.

A is a fun loving woman with a fondness for alcohol, she is very mixed (Burmese/Korean) and she is one of the most insanely interesting people I’ve ever known in my whole life. She has such an open world view of tolerance, and has an innate ability to knock down barriers of drama into one liner sentences. (“You don’t need your ex, you can tell him to #$%^ himself.”) It’s the kind of rash, brazen truth that you need especially when you spend days hanging out with a huge amount of conservative filipinos – a voice of dissent sometimes opens your eyes to perspectives.

A hung out with her Nigerian guy friend. And we were all three, chatting, talking about life and little things, when all of a sudden – A drink arrives in front of Mr. Nigeria’s tableside.

“A drink. For you. Courtesy of the man behind.” – The waiter informed us.

We all look back, and I sh%t you not, he really looks like a carbon copy of Bill Cosby. The fatherly smile, the statuesque frame, the suit, etc. He waves, smiles, and comes over.

“I brought this man a drink because I don’t see a fair bit of Africans here in this country – and I thought I ought to buy a drink for my brothah.” He said.

He also said that he was an IT worker of sorts, that he is from Los Angeles, and that he’s new here but has been by far, unable to connect to strangers and make friends. OHH.

“Ok.You’re from LA…” I began, as an introductory sentence. Then he exclaimed in joy, as if the manner by which I used the acronyms has never been figured out before. My exact thoughts were: Dear lord, here comes another one of those Western folk who has absolutely NO idea about how familiarized Asians are with American culture. Do we look like we still live in tree houses? Oh – you’re surprised we KNOW english? Well, maybe this will take your breath away – we have INDOOR PLUMBING too!

So.. we proceeded to merrily drink, till I realised that Bill was hitting on me – in the most blatant manner ever. Telling me how I was the first one he noticed from way behind there, how he can tell that I’m a very sensitive, gentle woman, but I’m strong and a bit defiant too ( I had a gym bag in tow). All sorts of crap generalisations to get women smiling – in short – false pretenses that could never pass up as ‘charm’.

A and Mr. Nigeria decided it was time to go to the club, so we eventually ended up in a club nearby. Of course, this goes without saying – since Bill Cosby already joined the table crew, we had to bring him along as well.

So.. The dancing was so-so. Lots of people were bopping their heads, and frustratingly trying to mimic the moves of Mr. Nigeria. (Here’s a hint: When you meet Africans, they really ARE that cool, and they really ARE very very suave in the dance floor. However, any attempt to mimic them will most probably result in failure because they are one of a kind.)

Bill Cosby kept on wanting to dance with me – while I skillfully evaded, of course. I was evasive, almost to a point of being rude. I tried dancing with this Chinese fella, but he sort of didn’t know what to do with a woman (he was really awkward and it felt like he didn’t really want to move things further) – so that dance routine was short lived too.

Then – out of no where, there was a Hugh Grant replica on the dancefloor, aimlessly trying to dance amongst the crowd. We sort of somehow managed to find our way to each other and dance – we danced like this was the last minute we had on earth. By golly gee, bless Maroon 5 and that Moves like Jagger song.

So, of course – I was mystified. He was such a beautiful creature, despite of the intoxication, despite the half open eyes and the alcohol wrung breath. Out of no where, he grabs me, and pulls me in to a deep kiss, the type of kisses that is reserved for close doors, a kiss so potentially scandalous that I would’ve gotten expelled from school had I been in campus, a kiss that might have disowned me from my heritage as this supposedly “conservative” chick.

Then – after a lot of kissy kissy time, I wanted to take him outside for a chat. We passed by one of his mates, his “wing-man” for the night – who eventually told him that he was “bailing out” – presumably thinking that his partner will be hitting home run that evening.

When we were outside, in the midst of drunken banter – he answered my questions with his crisp British accent – I began by saying (post kiss) “Ummmm…….. So whats your name?”

He told me his name, what he was doing – capped with the sentence “Will you take me home with you tonight please?? Please – I promise you lots, and lots of wonderful kisses and beautiful memories in the morning.”

Of course when HE said it, it sounded more like: Will yo’ tahk mey hohm witya’ tonought pleaahse, I prohmis youh lohts and lohts of wohndahful kihsses …”

It was absolute blasphemy! In one hand, I kept on thinkin – Ok, If you wanted to, you would, but the mere fact that you’re debating this inside your head, means that it might not be such a great idea.

Sooooo. I politely declined. I told him that I wasn’t that kind of woman. Despite his constant prodding of “Why noooouuught (why not) ” queries – I left him alone. I got his phone number, but trashed it several days later.

Meanwhile, after my friend A saw me – she told me that Bill Cosby left in despair. Heartbroken. But that I shouldn’t really feel guilty because in truth, in the real world, there is no easy way to let down people. There is no easy way to reject, to trample upon feelings and let go.

Here are my golden realisations from that evening:

1. And yet, I knew what was going to happen next : I was going to briefly obsess about Hugh Grant for a few days, beat myself up over the idea that he did not remember me enough to warrant a second “date” – and perhaps even let him off the hook for wanting a 1 night only in my pants. My old self would probably be checking my iPhone every 3 minutes or so, even more reluctantly during shower periods- because – we, women – convince ourselves of all sorts of excuses that we fabricate for men ( What if he really wanted to call but he REALLY accidentally pressed “delete contact”)  F%#* That. This is the “I am NOT wasting another minute doing that” Era. And it begins… TODAY.I shall call this:
   Moping Management : Mope for a controlled number of time. Then after that, we know what the Brits used to say – simply Keep Calm, and Carry On.
2. Bill Cosby is probably drowning himself in alcohol because of that rejection – and probably adds on to the hopeless despair that he feels. He will be sad for a short while but eventually bump back into it. I advise going online to date.
3. I also realised that this is the same kind of cycle that I always go through with men – I meet men, I obsess, things start falling off.

The last part rings true so much that I have decided that the road to recovery is steep – and it’s not easy. The road to recovery is balance, and setting yourself fine boundaries for what you are and what you aren’t – and have a certain % of OKAYness before picturing a date as a potential partner.

This OKAYness means a certain amount of positivity fund – or a stability check. It means not getting wigged out if he doesn’t call. It means not losing your sense of self, your own awesomeness just because you’ve met someone new hovering into your world. It means being OK with all of the choices that define our sense of self, and not apologising or “custom fitting” yourself to suit preferences of others..
I know I still have a long way ahead of me – but there is indeed a plan. We definitely began that evening – Boundaries were checked, moping was managed.

The next few steps would probably involve giving up all the other shit in my life that weighs me down – in order to live the best possible one that can be.  Don’t get me wrong – I’m still in search of that man-beast – The one that ends up as a nice prince charming lad in the end of the storybook.

and at the same time i couldn’t believe it. that maybe one of the many reasons i could never settle down with just one person is that i couldn’t stand the thought of having someone know what i’m up to or where i am ALL the time. not that i have a knack for getting into trouble. i don’t. it’s just that i can’t stand it when people get too nosy. especially ones that i have no affiliations with whatsoever… like work colleagues.

call me crazy or vain for that matter but at that moment i felt childish and REALLY pissed off and paranoid. because guys in general don’t ask you about your whereabouts (even if it was with someone else) if they don’t give a fuck about you. and well…. when guy friends or work colleagues (particularly ones that i don’t romantically like) get too nosy, the alarms (i have zillions of them!!) in my head go off. and i kind of shut down. and when they ask if i’m ok because they noticed that i’ve been moody lately, well… it just ticks me off more. because the bottomline is, IF I WANTED THEM TO KNOW, I’D TELL THEM…. if it was any of their business. i mean why do i owe them a report of what i’ve been up to?! i’m no dependent. i’m not a child (though i get angry much like a kid). and well… i’m not with any of them and neither do i have DREAMS of getting together with any of these people.

that’s the thing. maybe the whole thought of getting into a relationship is not scary, true. but the mere thought of being dependent on one other person in the world, that kind of drives me nuts. i do get mad at myself for getting too attached to someone too. like how some people can’t watch a movie without that person or they can’t have lunch at this place because they don’t want to go with anyone else BUT. WHAT IS UP WITH THAT?!

At the same time, i seriously don’t like it when someone gets too attached to me… which includes work colleagues asking about my whereabouts. UGH. get a life so you don’t have to keep bugging me about my time.

oh and by the way, this reaction is only applicable to guy friends that i see only strictly as guy friends… or male work colleagues. girl friends, it doesn’t bother me at all.

hmmm…i smell trouble.

it’s like homework. the getting-to-know-you kind.

sometimes i write short letters to you in my head like this one:

dear you,
you make me smile so much my cheeks hurt sometimes.
love,
me

and this:

dear you,
don’t let me catch you going through your ipod again for stuff you tell me to listen to. it’s undeniably cute.
love,
me

….maybe i’ll get to tell you about them someday. =)

All of us fuss around and forget to be grateful sometimes. After a while, break ups tend to lose the theatrical drama of our yesteryears, and we just mosy along.

that doesn’t make it any less difficult. but if we shift our focus to ideas surrounding hope and gratitude, then maybe it won’t be so bad.