I fell in love with this song

I was reading Fight with Me by Kristen Proby over the weekend. The female lead in this song loves this song. So I looked it up on YouTube and I liked it at hearing the first sentence, the first tune. It tugged at my heartstrings so I booted up my laptop to record this down.

It is a beautiful song that breaks my heart. That broke my heart at first tune. And I am listening over to it, over and over again, despite memories it drags up. The lyrics remind me of you. It’s a song I think you’d like too.

How old is your soul?

The funniest thing is I had to give up.

We had to give up.

Gladly failed this test

Today was a bigger test. I felt my patience being tested. I felt jealousy and anger. There you were, talking to her like a lovestruck fool in front of me while I was queuing up for the beer you’d say you’d get. I felt each hurt acutely. Bought the beer but you were still at it. So I left with my open can in hand, presence unwanted and forgotten, carrying my aching heart. I took a taxi with a stranger who was heading the same direction. I asked him about his job, half-filtering what he said but trying to keep up an intelligent conversation.

I am even now, ‘Sin Lim’ on your phone.

It is 12.38am. Took you more than an hour to realise my disappearance.

Good job.

Today is a test I’d gladly fail. Good night.

The Test of the Strength of My Heart

This chapter of my life is about self-discovery, finding out things I’ve never known about myself before, getting to know myself better. This chapter concerns the test of the strength of my heart.

I didn’t go in search of this – it just presented itself to me. Because I was the most suitable around to take on this role but was not the most suitable person for something else. Anyway, that ship has sailed and sunk so I am accepting it that way else I’ll go insane.

Yesterday, when I felt the magnitude of your infatuation with the girl it felt like I was a dartboard being rained on by darts in succession. Across this three weeks coming to one month, I was hurt again, I cried hopelessly at feeling worthless again, I experienced losing you again, but the most enriching of all was the transition to being just a friend to you. Lover, to Friend.

So today I saw you. It was trepidation; it was nervousness. It was looking at your face again at that bus stop and trying to play it cool when in fact, I was aware of my nervousness and heart beat. It was noticing immediately you have lost a lot of weight, your thinner-near-gaunt face was unfamiliar yet the facial hair attracting me in its usual scruffy sexiness. It was sitting in small awkward silences, attempting small talk while watching familiar bus numbers go by but not being able to exactly remembering where it stops when I used to. Even sitting next to you in close proximity on the bus seemed strange.

It was hearing your voice in person again, walking down a familiar route slightly behind you while you were on the phone, deliberately trailing that familiar but already faint perfume scent that’s mingled with a hint of tobacco. It was walking pass that bus stop where I last hugged you good-bye. It was sitting at the coffee shop we once agreed to sit at to relax, only we did so today finally as friends.  You left behind your phone again and once again I rolled my eyes in annoyed affection at your carelessness. (It’s a wonder you haven’t lost it yet I swear.) It was also a nostalgic visit to the hair dresser’s where curious people have asked us separately on separate occasions where we were. And then it was us again at McD’s where I watched you blabber nonsense but I knew you were overwhelmed inside. I saw that tooth peek out from your grin but it was not a sincere expression from the heart.

“Don’t worry for me, Eliza,” you later said at the traffic light. No, I can’t stop doing that just yet.

Arriving in front of your place, saying good-bye. Feeling your arm around my shoulders at your thanks, shoving a stopper to feeling teary at a lost familiarity, touching that hand on my shoulder to assure and comfort you it will be okay. Did you feel the wave of nostalgia like I did? “Walk me to the end,” I said on a slight desperate impulse, “there, before the traffic light,” I pointed. “It’s a long lonely road, you know it.”

I tried to make you brave in our last few minutes together. You attempted smiles and jokes. We parted. I was shaken.

On the bus ride home, I thought to myself on the bus, that no matter how flawed you are and the mistakes you’ve made, I still love you, blemishes and all. I feel strangely happy that I do (is because I can still show you so in my actions?) but I cannot and will not force you to a corner, nor can or will I abandon you – not when my heart can still take it. There is a time for everything, and our time is up. For now, I will have to be happy being your friend and experience familiarity in a different way, feelings in my heart. On the bus, I realised seeing you again makes me feel what I feel every day – that  I have missed you. But more than usual yesterday, I felt strongly that I’ve missed the very presence of your being.

Hence I conclude : My journey of self-discovery the later part of this year is to love someone from afar. It is to accept what has passed, and make the best of what remains. It is to watch someone I love ‘love’ another, enduring pricks of pain while plastering a smile on my face. My heart will be broken but tempered over hardship and love, stretched, moulded and re-sculpted till I know its limits and size.

I love the tales you spun for me

I am reading a book called My Beautiful Enemy now. On the bus tonight, I read the part where the hero was entertaining the heroine with the story or Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. The heroine loved it. She loved it that the man cared enough to spin his tale; she loved it that she could relate to the story because of the wit and cleverness of the slave, Morgiana.

I alighted from the bus, missing you and the nonsensical tales you spun for me. I remember the last was about magic and penguins, probably.  I quite think now those two components were put together at my request since they are what I love. You told me that story as we walked in the mall near your house. As I walked home, I relieved that memory and felt amazed again at the ease you can weave together a silly tale. I love your imagination and love it the tales you told were for me. I wondered in my footsteps home, when I’d ever meet someone who would tell me stories again, and grew scared because the only males who attract/interest me seem to originate from animes or the books – they are fictional.

Tonight after my bath, I sat on my bed to continue my read. It got too hot and stifling. Influenced by the dead character’s love for Darjeeling in the book, I felt warm and thirsty and propelled to get a cup of tea too. I made myself some green tea, and sat down on the wooden chair to write this. On the television was a news report about angry Hong Kong students. I stared at the umbrellas crashing together on television but in my head was your voice. You loved telling me ghost stories before we slept. I paid as much attention as I could initially, but after that I simply enjoyed the sound of your voice as I fell into sleep. My thoughts floated to another story you told me – but it was also one we created together.

I was a forest wood nymph and you were a giant who was threatening the existence of my forest. In order to save it, I had to consent to save you by giving you a rare remedy found in the unicorn which lives by the lake in the forest. I was reluctant to give you the cure as that implied I had to shed my unicorn’s blood. The story grew more ridiculous and I was clearly losing because you always had more imagination. We ended up in hearty guffaws in the mall. I was near tears. I remember being happy and carefree. It was a short respite from the weight we had in our hearts.

I’ll return to my book now and share the heartaches and joy of the heroes. If I can’t feel joy for myself, then let me feel joy in words and others who exist in another world.

It is definitely cooler in the living room. I will spend some time here tonight.

Somehow, it’s Bath

Four months ago, on my trip to London, I took a day-tour out to Stonehenge and Bath (including a stop at The Secret Place which shall-not-be-named) with The English Bus. Along the way, my small group that was just made up of three nationalities (Americans, Australians and Singaporeans) passed through villages and caught a few glimpses of the decreasing thatched houses from our small but trusty bus, accompanied by our wonderful guide, Chris and his excellent commentary. He knew just when to pause to let us catch up with our morning sleep, or when to let us gaze out undisturbed at the rolling greenery that passed us by. His commentary that was peppered with little jokes was extremely informative and educational. You’ll learn a lot if you get to follow his tour, be it about the attractions or even about the roads of England! I cannot recommend this tour company enough. You may not trust me, but please trust tripadvisor over here!

The City of Bath is a beautiful place linked to the Romans, cider, hot springs and Jane Austen, who was there for some years in her life. I heard the Jane Austen gift shop is rather touristy. I didn’t visit there but still fell prey to the charms of a Mr Darcy bookmark sold in a souvenir shop.

Mr Darcy Bookmark

The original hot spring bath has been closed a long time since 1978 after a girl who swam there contracted meningitis and died. Now, imagine the irony if Bath is without its bath! Therefore in its place came Thermae Bath Spa, which opened in 2006. (It beats me why it took 28 years!)

The original Roman Bath may be closed, but the water from the hot springs is still potable! Head into The Pump Room, where the hot spring water is still served from the taps of a fountain in the restaurant – without charge! The warm spring water has gathered rather mixed reviews, so don’t be embarrassed if you find that you can’t finish the whole glass ;).

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My time in Bath was regretfully short. I chose to take the recommendation of Chris and headed to the Pasty Presto to grab a quick but yummy bite!

Pasty Presto photo IMG_20140527_141325_zps4fcb6559.jpg(There was a cute guy in the shop.)

If you have limited time like I did, please grab a quick bite at Patsy Presto or anywhere! But be sure to take-out because you don’t want to miss soaking up the atmosphere outside. There are buskers to watch, milling people to look at, and pleasant music to enjoy!

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(Probably) Bacon & Leek Pasty and Me, plus Gordon Ramsay-look-alike and doggie lying down at the back.

My last few moments in Bath was particularly delightful. I entered a souvenir shop just to the left from the place in the picture above, and splurged on a embroidered rabbit cushion, the Mr Darcy bookmark and a small bear that was wearing a blue Bath shirt. I don’t know why I wanted a Bath bear – I just did! I passed by a make-your-own-bear shop in the bus when I first entered Bath but that obviously was somewhere I don’t know how to get to so my mind was pretty much obsessed with getting a manufactured bear since I couldn’t have a self-made one.

What was particularly wonderful was, all the while when I was being indecisive inside the shop, what floated into the shop was the beautiful, melodious voice of a guy and the strumming of his guitar. It brought time to a slow, and a new reality to the ticking seconds. Eventually I went out of the shop and stood for a few moments enjoying his soothing tones.

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(The video showed up only at the first time. Subsequently it keeps showing as just a link. I don’t know why?!)

I bought his CD but strangely, he didn’t include his name. What art thy name, ye with thy beautiful voice?

My tasks tonight was to watch Line Walker Episode 19 and attempt 7 minutes of abs exercise but it is 11.06pm now. Actually, when I was in the shower just now, I recalled this Uncle who sings outside the train station at my town and all I wanted to talk about was how he reminds me of Singing Guy in Bath. The first time I heard him, I donated some money and could not help but stand one side to appreciate his voice. There’s something about his guitar and that slow, low voice that reminded me of Singing Guy In Bath.

Anyway, gotta go catch Line Walker now! Very exciting TVB drama everyone needs to watch!!

Flashbacks (well, the sad ones)

Flashbacks are funny things. They lie in a dormant disguise of memories and emotions buried, an inert but silent ache that stays constant, as sure as the heart which beats with each passing second. So long as they remain unearthed, they are deceptive liars that mask themselves with Time. For a moment, you whisper self-assuredly, I’m okay, I’m alright.

All it takes is a certain line, a familiar scene, a random tune you hear as you walk down the street, a picture that slides pass your scrolling thumb – that cause what you’ve kept inside to unravel. Like a sneak attack, memories start to flash by, a conflict of sadness, pain, and happiness you felt at those memories entwine and resurface – you smile wistfully and gaze into the distance.

And then you panic. Your mind swerves sharply into chaos. Because this was unplanned. You thought you were fine. You start to hurt. You don’t know what to do with the pain and wish yourself curled up on your bed at home.

 

Flashbacks. Sneaky little things they are.

 

I’ll be okay, I’ll be alright.