Touched & Touche!

She had been looking forward to the night. It was just unfortunate that he sat two seats away from her instead of beside her. It could be worse, she supposed. She wasn’t expecting him to turn up at all, given the day’s events. At least, she could sneak a peek now and then, very furtively and admiringly so, sideways at this Very Suave And Manly Person.

During the break, he aligned himself within her line of vision and chatted with the moderator, such that had she had her sight focused naturally on what is in front of her, her eyes would lay straight on him.

She simply averted her gaze.

After a while, he pulled up a chair and sat in front of her, mirroring her demure pose, except he was staring at her.

She became acutely conscious of the enormous effort it took to pretend that it was entirely normal he had chosen to face her. And how ridiculously unnatural it was for her to feign ignorance.

Nevertheless, she continued to assume a façade of fascination at the other side conversation being conducted when it was impossible to miss him and that his own unwavering gaze was bordering on rude. She knows, even without looking up. She was stubborn, or if you prefer, spunky, in this way that can be rather endearing.

“How are you holding up, Ange?” he asked, softly and not unpleasantly.

She was simultaneously relieved of her awkwardness somewhat and given a proper reason to stare back in innocence defiance. But the simplest question is always loaded and she could only croak back another question in response. Are you asking about now or about work. In general , he shrugged. Okay, I guess. Trying to be happy. That would be right, he asserted. It is your natural, logical disposition. That you are a happy person. He has gone mad, she thought, and this is a bizarre conversation that I have no idea how to continue. Undeterred, she gave a lousy shot: What’s your natural disposition then? Introspective and reflective. She tried to be cool and witty: guys are more attractive when they are melancholic and depressed. She failed, she believed. He didn’t look like he got the joke. Then the awkwardness returned and she couldn’t remember what they had been talking about.

She forgot everything except the part when he suddenly stood up, took a few steps forward, leaned closer and placed his hands on her arms before returning to his original seat. There must have been a legitimate context, except there was none in this case; memory could not fathom and rationalise away the gap, and the grasp.

She vaguely recalled looking away and pretending what he did was natural again, and perhaps, it was, this time. An inner voice wondered if she had come across as too disinterested and sighed loudly.

She had hoped to make amends during the trip home together, as they stay in close proximity. Hopefully she won’t be tongue-tied in his presence. Nothing went according to plan though as another colleague had offered to drive them home. He rejected for no good reason, while she accepted. And they went their separate ways, most unwillingly on her part. He said bye, shook the male colleague’s hand, and touched her arm again in what she imagined to be a farewell gesture.

Being Bored

I loathe the MRT. It is always packed to the brim on weekdays, and no matter what time I go home after work, it’s next to impossible to scoring a seat. Fine, but not only that, there’s the sheer indignity of relinquishing my personal space to some retard who has to air his armpits (and I would usually move away instead of subjecting any part of me to face that) or who thinks it’s perfectly all right to be 5 cm apart from another human being and assumes The Other is happy with it too. MRT etiquette, my darlings. And then there’s this huge influx of foreign talent ranging from hardcore labourers to white-collar professionals who seems to have no problems getting their ass rested. Amazing. Check out peak hours and see who the perpetual seat-warmers are, and how many among them are locals. It’s glaringly obvious and I wonder where the foreign talent start boarding. Which is still fine, except the whole world seems to reside in the extreme east. I don’t get to sit from start to end, damn it.

Have not met him at the train station since last week but I finally figure out that his one-syllable reference to me is “ange”, which sounds like a strange hybrid of range, rage and angst. I had popped over his cube earlier this week to run through some agenda and found him on the phone. So I waved and waited outside, and heard him saying “ange” is here to end the conversation, which makes me smile. ‘Cos it’s so foreign sounding and not even a legal shortening (which would be angel or angie) and obviously the other party prob went huh, wtf so he had to provide my full name and department as augmentation.Yes, I kinda overheard the whole thing. Haha. Ok, that’s the cheap thrill of the week.

Cheap Thrill & A Cheaper One

I didn't see him yesterday or the day before. Just when I was walking along the corridor and opening the door to the ladies, and thinking (yes, I am a darn good multi-tasker), shucks, have used up my crush karma, someone made a sound behind me (some ah beng sound or clearing throat sound) and voila it’s him. I said hi, he said hi, and I quickly dived behind the door. I am shy, and coy like that.

Something strange happened last evening though. And it’s a sobering reminder of never say never. Imagine my surprise when I was given a liaison officer contact for work and saw a name of a person that I was once very familiar with. But time is a great neutraliser, or rather, equaliser of emotions. And I guess it’s telling when I emailed my colleague who passed the contact: Goodness, XX was like my best friend during Lit Hons year. I can safely say I won’t have completed my thesis without him! – that it’s bridge over troubled waters and only the good stuff has been left behind.

This man, by sheer virtue/vice of his audacity, stays the only man in recent years who has asked the right questions and received the wrong replies. I give him credit for the former and take credit for the latter. Ahhh, entries like this and this indicate I must once have been very angry and very hurt. Thankfully, years later, I am freed from such pettiness and can be generously sentimental about how life makes our paths cross again.

So I called from the office to break the years of non-communication first and we chatted for a while. With him, it was just too easy to settle into a familiar rhythm since we excel at nuances, guises and mind-reading (at least before we fell out), We both held up well and I believe there was genuine pleasure on both sides derived from the short exchange. He probably lost out only in the final moment. I told him to send my regards to his wife (We used to all belong to the same Lit circle) and asked how they were doing. We are doing well, he said and capped it. I am not sure if it was my feelings he was considering for such a vague reply, considering she is heavily pregnant and he is gonna be a first-time dad very soon. But that ended the conversation rather unnaturally.

I am pleased as pie to be single, available and flirtatious, with no kids.

Back to my current cheap thrill, he looks very good in a crisp white shirt and jeans today. He looks casually expensive and I will take it.