Far From Home
For the past five days, I have been staying in a five star hotel in the heart of the city. While I wish the reason behind to be indulgent, and illicit, the truth is a mundane one: I am here because of work, and here I will be, till early next week.
I am 30 floors above ground level; my balcony overlooking the waters and the city. I can almost make-believe I am the carefree and care-less heartless I always imagine I can be, away from Singapore, pretending to be the thoughtless romantic and imbibing the delightful worldliness of alone-ness in a foreign land.
Finding the astonishing ability to leave here, leaving someone, and hopefully, leaving behind, some nothings, and if I'm that determined (and kind), a few denying and distressed words that would amount to an ending of some sort. Never a confession though.
(Alas, I am seldom alone, obviously. Unless I have guests, my baby sister is with me in the room. She's sleeping very soundly and emitting sweet snores as I tap out this.)
Tonight, he came over to the hotel to visit and have dinner with me. Referring to the ever-bustling busy Mr Veins. The relationship, if I can call us a relationship, is a bizarre one. It's childishly torrid and tumultous and yet, addictive. As mutual friends use to remind, it takes a lot of effort to react and behave the way we do towards each other, just faking annoyance and irritation (me, but some of it is real, okay) and coming up with items to frustrate and disturb (he).
Tonight, it centred around my Nokia phone. He snatched it away from me and refused to return when I attempted to take a photo of him. Which is still acceptable.
Thing is, he started checking the phone and declared that the Singtel sticker has worn off and is visually unsightly, and so he shall peel it off for me. Which he did, most carefully, after which he took tissue to gently wipe the front and back of my phone. The de-clothing and the molesting lasted for 10 minutes, serious.
Fine, so that is perhaps acceptable, but I find it weird contextually, can, to do that to someone else's phone.
Anyhow, so he still refused to return my phone after all that violation and kept it in his pocket.
So afraid was he (of being photographed) that he only passed the phone back when we were ready to go hotel and home separately, and literally sprinted away, despite having switched off my phone already.
I suppose this can't be healthy, how we appear to regress to the incredible infantile mode when together. But tell me something I don't know about us.
He: Do you believe I will smash your phone to smithereens?
Me: Now why would you do that? You'll have to buy dinner three times over at Morton's of Chicago if you dare. I can't bear to lose all my contacts again.
He: It's okay. You know mine by heart.
And now bed beckons. It's work again when day breaks.
I am 30 floors above ground level; my balcony overlooking the waters and the city. I can almost make-believe I am the carefree and care-less heartless I always imagine I can be, away from Singapore, pretending to be the thoughtless romantic and imbibing the delightful worldliness of alone-ness in a foreign land.
Finding the astonishing ability to leave here, leaving someone, and hopefully, leaving behind, some nothings, and if I'm that determined (and kind), a few denying and distressed words that would amount to an ending of some sort. Never a confession though.
(Alas, I am seldom alone, obviously. Unless I have guests, my baby sister is with me in the room. She's sleeping very soundly and emitting sweet snores as I tap out this.)
Tonight, he came over to the hotel to visit and have dinner with me. Referring to the ever-bustling busy Mr Veins. The relationship, if I can call us a relationship, is a bizarre one. It's childishly torrid and tumultous and yet, addictive. As mutual friends use to remind, it takes a lot of effort to react and behave the way we do towards each other, just faking annoyance and irritation (me, but some of it is real, okay) and coming up with items to frustrate and disturb (he).
Tonight, it centred around my Nokia phone. He snatched it away from me and refused to return when I attempted to take a photo of him. Which is still acceptable.
Thing is, he started checking the phone and declared that the Singtel sticker has worn off and is visually unsightly, and so he shall peel it off for me. Which he did, most carefully, after which he took tissue to gently wipe the front and back of my phone. The de-clothing and the molesting lasted for 10 minutes, serious.
Fine, so that is perhaps acceptable, but I find it weird contextually, can, to do that to someone else's phone.
Anyhow, so he still refused to return my phone after all that violation and kept it in his pocket.
So afraid was he (of being photographed) that he only passed the phone back when we were ready to go hotel and home separately, and literally sprinted away, despite having switched off my phone already.
I suppose this can't be healthy, how we appear to regress to the incredible infantile mode when together. But tell me something I don't know about us.
He: Do you believe I will smash your phone to smithereens?
Me: Now why would you do that? You'll have to buy dinner three times over at Morton's of Chicago if you dare. I can't bear to lose all my contacts again.
He: It's okay. You know mine by heart.
And now bed beckons. It's work again when day breaks.
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