On Writing (Again)
Putting it as a cover story on national paper is one thing. Calling her the local equivalent of Carrie Bradshaw, to the extent of claiming she is the pioneer model for single women is really taking the cake. Call me cynical but hey, the guy got married and once he divorced, he had flown back to Singapore with the intent of finding two former girlfriends. One couldn’t be contacted, while the other was easy, being a celebrity of some sorts. Yes, so he was open about his intent. So he kept asking you to be his girl and you kept rejecting. But still. BUT STILL. He got married, and it wasn’t you. You were second and possibly third choice by sheer elimination. So what if you knew him first in school and had gone on a date. It didn’t amount to anything and you didn’t end up a couple. Is it selling out; is it caving in; is it really this pure and innocent love beyond just mutual companionship and wanting comforting familiarity? Is he on a rebound?
It is not quite Definitely, Maybe premise (I totally love that movie), so I am naturally suspicious and doubtful. More for my sake and for single girls everywhere. Her story is the modern parable of how hope springs eternal and it’s simply too bubblegummy for me. For better or worse, it encourages women to hang on to/dream on about the romantic ideal: of first loves and its eventual return; the wait that will not be in vain; and that yes, he will be unhappy about his marriage if it’s not to you, it will fail and he will come back. True loves always do; they turn back for you, and they reunite with you. But what if they don’t and you end up throwing your life away? I’m practical that way. So much as I am occasionally and oddly overwhelmed by nostalgia for a past love, the key word is past, and I’m way past the stage I would actually extend a tentative tentacle of mock friendship to test the waters of reconciliation.
I’m not sure if it’s a natural process of growing in years, but suddenly I have a broader definition of physical attractiveness. Yes, he is still very tall and tanned but significantly older too and less hirsute on the top pate. The word that comes to mind is suave whenever I see him. And I’m seeing more of him lately by sheer coincidence (without mediation yet!). I think I started paying more attention to who he is when he asked to sit with me and my other colleague for lunch one day and we started chatting. And shortly after that, I realise I find people who pass wry remarks in a sardonic fashion, complete with lazy drawl and a remarkably careless air, irresistible and terribly sexy. Of course it didn’t help that we bumped into each other at the lift lobby and had another opportunity to chat. Or that something very trivial happened and he wrote me a thank you note, saying “you rock” (which era is he from anyway). Or the delicious way he fumbled over my name when he couldn’t quite decide to angeline or angie me (!). Or how I stormed into the room 10 minutes late and he waylaid to say hi and that I was in Group X (same as his) when I was in the group next to his. Oh, completely charming with a light accent.
There is no ring. But you never know these days, right.
Meanwhile, I guess the everyday is replete with potential.
I am guessing it is also dangerous territory when I start prattling/writing like this.
It is not quite Definitely, Maybe premise (I totally love that movie), so I am naturally suspicious and doubtful. More for my sake and for single girls everywhere. Her story is the modern parable of how hope springs eternal and it’s simply too bubblegummy for me. For better or worse, it encourages women to hang on to/dream on about the romantic ideal: of first loves and its eventual return; the wait that will not be in vain; and that yes, he will be unhappy about his marriage if it’s not to you, it will fail and he will come back. True loves always do; they turn back for you, and they reunite with you. But what if they don’t and you end up throwing your life away? I’m practical that way. So much as I am occasionally and oddly overwhelmed by nostalgia for a past love, the key word is past, and I’m way past the stage I would actually extend a tentative tentacle of mock friendship to test the waters of reconciliation.
I’m not sure if it’s a natural process of growing in years, but suddenly I have a broader definition of physical attractiveness. Yes, he is still very tall and tanned but significantly older too and less hirsute on the top pate. The word that comes to mind is suave whenever I see him. And I’m seeing more of him lately by sheer coincidence (without mediation yet!). I think I started paying more attention to who he is when he asked to sit with me and my other colleague for lunch one day and we started chatting. And shortly after that, I realise I find people who pass wry remarks in a sardonic fashion, complete with lazy drawl and a remarkably careless air, irresistible and terribly sexy. Of course it didn’t help that we bumped into each other at the lift lobby and had another opportunity to chat. Or that something very trivial happened and he wrote me a thank you note, saying “you rock” (which era is he from anyway). Or the delicious way he fumbled over my name when he couldn’t quite decide to angeline or angie me (!). Or how I stormed into the room 10 minutes late and he waylaid to say hi and that I was in Group X (same as his) when I was in the group next to his. Oh, completely charming with a light accent.
There is no ring. But you never know these days, right.
Meanwhile, I guess the everyday is replete with potential.
I am guessing it is also dangerous territory when I start prattling/writing like this.
2 Comments:
You roXxX!!! LOLsssss!
ok, definitely not of the generation that spawned such mutated word spells! He spelled in full. Capitalised the y in you and ended with a dignified full-stop.
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