Reflections of a Woman's Heart

Dad had his operation today...

 

I wanted to phone home yesterday (Sunday) but put it off because I was crying so much, feeling too wretched and miserable to put on a mask of normalcy. I couldn't risk my parents questioning why I was upset, and I don't want them to worry about me.

 

It was too late (past midnight Singapore time) when I realised I still hadn't called my family at 6pm, London time. Eventually though, I managed to speak to Dad before he went to the hospital this morning... it was ironic - he's the one undergoing the operation, and yet.. in that very brief conversation, my dad kept telling me to take care of myself - several times.

 

It doesn't quite makes no sense - I'll be home in 2 weeks, so there wasn't a need to worry about me. And yet, dad kept saying.. "take good care of yourself". As if somehow, my overwrought emotions had transferred itself into the static phone conversation. Even though I didn't confess a word about my well-being, or the emotionally draining time I've had the past few days.

 

The only love that is constant and unconditional is that of a parent to a child. This is something I only learnt after I left home for distant shores - and no matter how far I am, I know I will always have a home (sanctuary) with them.

 

I'm glad I'll be going home soon. During brief moments of insanity and despair this evening, I actually contemplated uprooting myself and going home for good.

 

Maybe I will.

 

Over the past few days, I've probably shed tears and found myself watery-eyed more than I can last remember. I think, it is the dawning realisation that things are never ever going to be the same from now on. Not only is it going to be different, it is heading in a direction I never imagined.. Needless to say, I'm left feeling bereft and incredulous at how fast the rug has been pulled from beneath my feet.

 

It is probably easier to turn my back on the whole episode, close the chapter.. not look back. Trying to salvage whatever friendship there is left will possibly just leave us both traumatised. For me, anyway.

 

I've called countless times, emailed and smsed only to be ignored. Empty walls that don't even echo back.

 

My last email was regarding positions in the Bank of China - a favour he'd asked when I was at the house party. I only just remembered I've had these details on a post-it sticker in my handbag since Saturday, so I emailed them to him. Only to receive an email reply from him saying "not opening your emails - just don't waste your time".

 

How lethal one simple sentence can be. It hurt more than a physical punch and I doubled over, gasping for the pain of it. I could not breathe.

 

And all this, just before my 7 o'clock conference call.

 

After another bout of wretched tears, sobbing and deep breathes (this process is starting to tire and bore me, seriously), I managed to collect myself and make the call. 5 mins into the call, I hung up.

 

I am too much of an emotional wreck at the moment to even be listening on any conference call. Everything sounds Greek to me, I find myself tearing up, and struggling to regain my composure.

 

I never expected to be treated this way by my best friend. But why should I be surprised..? This is the guy who could turn his back on friends for some of the slightest transgressions (which obviously meant a big deal to him). I may not understand it, but I should have been prepared for this day.

 

And why should I even feel guilty about it all - this guilt for hurting him? I did not do anything wrong, but the truth is, I am terribly sorry for causing his pain. And hurting someone one cares about is a double-edged sword - I should know that already. These past few days have proven that, even if I never did mean to hurt him.

 

I hate how I've become - this snivelling, weak fool... who keeps wishing that this nightmare will come to past once I wake up. I refuse to pass my days crying for a selfish coward whose solution to all this is shut the doors, close the windows and keep people out.

 

Mags says this is for the best - that we both have to cross this hurdle in order to move on. That there was no proper break in the past. Perhaps, he is right.

 

But I never expected to go through a break up a 2nd time. Not when that person is already an ex 1 1/2 years ago.

 

Fine. If this is the way he wants to play it.. I will not bother him again. Even if these tears keep coming, they will dry up eventually. Some day, we might both look back and laugh silently at the children we are today.

 

What a stroke of bad luck we cannot hurry time. I remember when I was a little girl.. I wanted to grow up. I wanted to be able to make my own decisions, be an adult.

 

And now when I'm an adult, I wish one could just turn back time, not because of regrets... but because in our childhood years, life was simpler. Where we did not know as much pain, sorrow, or betrayal. I don't mind never loving deeply if I don't ever get hurt again. I won't ever give him the ammunition to make me cry like that again. This will be the last phase.

At times, it is a curse to have a conscience.

I've been physically exhausted all day, my eyes are puffy from numerous teary bouts and lack of sleep. On the bright side, numbness is finally settling in, and brain activity has started slowing down.

Caring about someone, feeling hurt when they are in pain... Feeling bonded to another person can be burdensome. Is it any wonder that I preferred living in oblivion for years? Surely, if one could turn off one's emotions like a tap, it would be a most useful skill. No more teary drips.

I think the worst thing is knowing I am helpless to stop this from happening at the moment. It has spiralled into something beyond my control, and turned into a situation completely unexpected. Now, I have to be prepared for the possibility of being excommunicated, cut off from his life.

After 8 years, this feels a bit surreal.

It's been too sudden, and the consequences ... far greater than what I was prepared to bear. It is tempting to crawl back under the shadow of oblivion, my comfort zone.

Is this the final price I have to pay for freedom? Why wasn't I warned?

On the way to Mark's house party, Kenny told me he was absolutely gutted by the news yesterday.

He knows we broke up a year and a half back and but said, "are things so bad you had to go and kiss another guy!?" My first reaction was stunned anger - did he really expect me to stay in our status quo for the rest of my life? For the next 10 years? 20 years?!

It wasn't fair, but I knew he was hurting. And yet, I was absolutely stunned he expected me to stay on indefinitely ... bound by some invisible thread, yet not completely in a relationship. Incomplete.

What is incredulous is... for me, this isn't even about David, but he doesn't seem to understand. Some irrational part of him assumes I'm going to run off into the sunset with The Spaniard. For me, it was a singular event which spirals a new direction in life for me. A step forward.. not towards anyone, but perhaps, towards my own personal goal of freedom.

And yet, I begin to feel increasingly trapped - trapped by his unholy expectations to keep me bound by his side, even if he doesn't love me, even if we have merely been conforming loosely to his idea of a relationship, without any goals of a concrete future.

He admitted that I had never pressurized him nor imposed my dreams of marriage and kids on him. I never intended to - simply because from Day One, I never had any expectations of him. I didn't dare... because even before we got together, he had told me his ideal life was one built on his career. He didn't speak of building a family or kids.

I've always tip toed around the subject of our relationship with him.. he doesn't talk about his feelings much, and I don't feel completely comfortable opening a can of worms dissecting our relationship, or lack there of. What is comfortable, real.. is the companionship. The warmth of our friendship through the years. And that has sustained me more than anything else all these while.

But it is no longer enough. At age 25, I could possibly sit around.. make a few more mistakes in life, and drift through a series of relationships which I have time to learn from. At 35, I want a chance to create my own happiness.

This isn't even about me getting desperate and wanting marriage with the first guy that comes along. It is merely the realization that I've been stuck in a rut for so long.. I've begun to lose hope of ever fulfilling my own dreams of having a family with children. I may never meet Mr Right in this life time.. but at least, I don't want to stay with Mr Wrong. I don't want to spend my life with him - we're too different. I've not been happy for the last 5 years but I stopped nurturing my emotional needs, because it was easier feeling nothing.

Had he asked me to marry him within the first 3 years of our relationship, I might have happily said yes (even though we had our own problems to sort through).. because I was in love. Even if there would have been hardship, I was willing to weather it together, as long as the two of us were committed to working at it. After Year Four... it was perhaps fortuitous that he did not ask. Because that would have forced me to confront whether I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. The answer would have been no, and we would probably have had to part ways.

Ironically, we have to part ways now.

He accused me of giving up.. and that despite all the difficulties, he never gave up. What is there to give up, I want to ask? This is far from any ideal relationship I had in mind. And yet, he has this expectation that I will continue to stay on.. year after year? Because I am the constant companion. Because I am that comfort zone.

I know he's taking this hard, and I'm really hurting for him as well. I'm drowning in guilt but I don't know how to make this better for him. If I coddle him now, we will never completely be able to move forward. And I just feel so trapped... Ironically, single for 1 1/2 years, and yet.. I have to go on living up to his expectations of an almost relationship.

A part of me is appalled and angry with his selfishness. Yet another part is brutally worried, because I know he's hurting.

When I last spoke to him, he told me he was driving. He doesn't just go driving.. so I am really worried with his current state of mind, he'll get into an accident.

My greatest fear is this will drag on to become another emotional debacle, and a part of me just wants to shut the door and turn away. But how can I, when I'm worried sick about his well-being, and I cannot even begin to formulate coherent thoughts about how I feel about this whole matter? I'm mindlessly typing away to keep my mind occupied.

I only know I feel trapped and the walls are closing in. I'm about to be buried alive with fear and worry, pain and anguish.

Amidst the sudden toss up of my nice, staid (albeit a little predictable) life.. I thought I should mention Mags sent me flowers yesterday.

 

A total surprise. He only knew part of my address (actually, it was the next door neighbour's.. since it's a semi-detached house) and ordered the flowers on Wed for a Fri delivery.

 

That was really sweet of him, and obviously, a complete surprise to me.

 

It just occurred to me I've completely forgotten about this because of all that's happened since. I've only just been reminded because I can smell the sweet scent of lilies and roses.

 

Am I a tart to be receiving flowers from one guy, and getting kissed by another.. all on the same day??? Geez, it never rains but it pours.

 

Is it any wonder I never want to get embroiled in relationships, and that up till now.. I've not really been interested in men?? They freak the hell outta me.

Love is a two-way street. So is inflicting pain.

I told Kenny last night about what happened with David. He was stunned.

I only wanted to be honest, to keep him abreast of what's happening in my life. I knew it would hurt, but it has to happen at some point. We will both move on, eventually. Or at least, I intend to. I know he's still in his comfort zone, just going through the routine of our almost relationship, even though he knows we've broken up. But I've always suspected it's never completely seeped through. And as long as I'm not seeing anyone else, he is able to continue the fantasy.

I know he's never liked change.. it takes such a big push to get him to make changes to his routine life, especially when it comes to relationships. I remember it took a long while before I was even sure we were "officially" together. He never asked, he never talked about it.

He's always comfortable with the way things are.. it's easy to take what we have for granted, I suppose. A neat little package of pleasant companionship, except for me.. over the years, it's become less pleasant. I realise I've become more cynical, sometimes.. to the point of being bitter about certain things, but they are thoughts I'd never voice. And I need to let go of this deeply submerged anger, if not.. it will drown me. I don't want to grow old, bitter and spiteful.

What happened last night shook him to the core. He told me later his heart was pounding so hard and fast, he could feel it drumming in his ears. He was almost in tears.

Later, he emailed me to say he couldn't sleep. I didn't reply back.

I can't coddle him - not anymore. Not if I want to move on.. And so, I say nothing.

This morning, he called... trying in his own way to explain that 8 years did not mean NOTHING to him. He tried, ineffectively to explain why he never made the effort to introduce me to his parents. He explained that seeing his friends married with kids did not inspire him overly much about the marriage state. That's why he's never taken the plunge. The whole garbled explanation didn't impact me. I fully understand where he's coming from.. his desperation to grasp at straws now. But it's too late.

I've always known him to be an observer in life. He's always happy standing by the sideline, rather than jumping in to participate. I've become somewhat like that over the years, and I want to change that - I want to start living again.

He was crying, and he hardly ever cries. I suppose, it's finally starting to sink in.

I started to sob as well.. because I didn't want to hurt him, but this is something that will obviously cause pain to both sides when we move on with our lives.

I try to think of the tears as a frozen part of myself thawing. Hurt is inevitable. But we will get past this, with time.

Life is ironic... there are regrets when we lose someone. Especially if our hearts are engaged. But rather than looking back and wishing for what could have been, I aim to embrace my future with hope. Perhaps, not with wide open arms. But I'm making baby steps, first a toe in.. then maybe I can finally dip in my whole foot.

My weekend has only just started, and already.. I'm emotionally drained and heavy hearted.

Life never seems to work out the way we plan. Then again, since when has experiencing pain ever been part of any plan? At least, not in mine!

David just called.

He never calls - it's the first time he's actually called me to chat. I'm completely surprised. Our acquaintance has always been net-related. Emails, online chats... that sort of thing.

He called to explain that his internet connection was down, and he couldn't call me with his other mobile, which was out of credit.

Erm, why's he explaining?

I suppose, I'm grateful that he cares enough to make an explanation. It did briefly cross my mind to wonder if he'd just disappear from my life after kissing me last night. Sorta like regret his impulsiveness, or just decide I was too much work to be worth his while.

I suppose, I'm so used to seeing him online... I did wonder if he was avoiding me. I confess I've put myself on invisible mode on Gchat because I'm not sure what to say to him at the moment.

If he was avoiding me and having second thoughts.. I don't think it would shake up my world. Not too vastly. I confess the thought only flitted through my mind, but I was able to shrug it off.

Overnight, my walls are already intact. I don't regret last night, but I'm not sure I will allow it to happen again. I confess I'm being a coward, and hearing his voice on the phone gave me a bit of shivers (not the complimentary kind).

I suppose, I should be flattered he cares enough to want to reassure me he's not doing a runner to the nearest exit point. But I wonder what I really want.

After an emotionally charged morning (another story for another day.. this one involved bouts and bouts of tears), I'm not sure I want to handle anymore emotional upheaval for the weekend.

Why is it every time someone gets interested, I run. The opposite direction.

 

PS: I just realised I have a missed call on my mobile. He actually called me earlier at 11.30am.. this was his 2nd call. More effort. Why!????

The legacy of an 8 year relationship...

Many good memories. Some, bittersweet. And others, obviously more bitter than sweet.

It obviously didn't work out, or we would not have walked away. Or rather, I would not have walked away. I left it to drag for long enough.. and then, one day... without even planning to, I brought it up - The Breakup.

The one and final one because I wanted to be free. I wanted to finally be able to say "I'm Single", without a question mark in my head.. because we'd been together so long, and been in and out of an "almost" relationship.

8 years is a long time - longer for the girl, because of the passing of time, the theft of her youth.

I'm 35, single.. and wondering what's around the next corner. And never having consciously sought out relationships, or actively dated many guys.. I reckon I'd find myself a little socially awkward if I ever put myself on the market.

It's odd, because I probably give people the impression I'm more experienced with men than I truly am.

Deep down, the truth is.. I don't know men. I don't trust them. If I give them my heart, I don't trust that they will not trample on it, that it will not come back in slivers.

My last relationship was 8 years... and all through that, he never formally introduced me to his parents.

I understand all about his "circumstances", and that bit about his parents (especially his mom) being overly protective of her children (possessive to the point of obsession) - none of his 3 siblings have ever brought home a partner. Her oldest child is 40... the youngest 34.

She even told him a few years ago he was not to have a girlfriend till he was 42. She was not joking when she said it then. Something about that picture just didn't sit right. Most normal parents would wish for the happiness of their children. Most normal parents would want to become grandparents. But I had to understand his "circumstances". He loved his parents, he didn't want to get into an argument about his secret life.

And so, with my 'understanding', I never pushed for it, although deep down inside.. I always believed that if a guy truly loved me, he would fight for me. If a guy truly loved me, I wouldn't have to suddenly disappear or become invisible every time his parents were in town.

All my ex boyfriend's mothers have loved me to bits, so it is a bit of a shock to realise that this one probably wouldn't. The potential mother-in-law from hell.

For the first 3 years or so, I lived with the insecurity that maybe, he wasn't sure. By year 4, I ceased to care. We were having our own problems, and the last thing I needed... was his mother to stir the pot. If we ever decided to get married, that would be the point to tell her - because then, we'd probably have made up our minds, and would be able to weather the storms ahead together.

And now, we never need to. Ever.

Despite all our differences, it was the best relationship of my life. I felt more loved than I had ever been in my previous relationships. Despite the fact he never told me he loved me. Despite the fact he never felt proud enough of me to introduce me to his parents. Despite the fact a part of me was slowly dying inside as the years dragged on.

I always wanted to marry and have children. Some day. If not with him, then someone else.

I never withheld that fact from him, and from the age of 31 onwards, I told him in no uncertain terms, I was going to start looking for a potential life partner.

I didn't say it to force his hand (I knew we weren't ready). I was just sharing my innermost thoughts. Call it fair warning.

I never took that step forward. The two of us were too tightly ensconced in our comfort zone. And while it ceased to become a romantic relationship, we drifted to become a couple of hang out buddies. For the next 5 years, he was like a gay best friend. We hung out together every week, dined together, travelled together. Did all sorts of things couples did - except for the romance, and physical intimacy. Before I eventually called it quits out of the blue last year.

I'd grappled with the fear of regrets.. the fear of making a mistake walking away from perhaps, the nicest man I'd ever known. The most decent one in my world.

So, for years I hung on... fearing making that mistake that would cost me the greatest love of my life (to date).

But at the end of the day, we both want different things in life. I want a family, children... and even in my seemingly "days of a wanderer" lifestyle, I'd have been happy to abandon all that, if the right person asked me to settle down.

So in the meantime, I drifted. I travelled to lands far beyond to indulge my wildest senses, so that.. when the time came to settling down, I would have no regrets.

At 35 and single, life is an (almost) blank canvas for me. I can start anew. I have the freedom to finally enjoy the attention and company of people whom I like. It took me a year and a half to finally start entertaining the idea of going out again. After the breakup, I wasn't particularly ready or interested in meeting anyone.

Then 2 months ago, I decided I needed to change my lifestyle. I don't want to grow old alone. I don't want to be like this when I'm 45. And so, I'm embarking on a new adventure. I've injected life into my social diary, and my days are filled with fun and excitement.

But there's something wrong with this picture. I find this niggling doubt in my mind ... the fear that perhaps, I can only be a temporary object of desire. That once someone gets to know me deep down inside, they'll cease to love me. It's irrational, I know. Because people with less have been asked. Because I don't think I'm such a terrible person. Because surely, I'm not completely unlovable?

But after 8 years, sometimes.. I wonder if I will always fear not being enough. Not being special enough to have been asked. The fact that we were perhaps never ready notwithstanding... the fact is, 8 years is a lifetime to cultivate insecurities and fears. Of being unloved.

I am in shock. Well.. not exactly.."shocked", coz I wouldn't like to think I shock easily.

But my brain isn't functioning too well...

David kissed me.

I'm still in a little bit of a daze, becoz it took me completely by surprise. We were talking about movies, when he suddenly moved and I found his lips plastered to mine.

It wasn't unpleasant.

Actually, parts of it was rather pleasant - but what probably bothered me a little was that I couldn't shut off my brain. It was going.. "alright, so this is happening.. where's it gonna lead, and wherever it's leading, I'm not going to bed with this guy". My defences were all up.

It was almost a technical kiss for me.. I didn't stop it, and in fact... I rather participated (in a technical manner - to make it a pleasant kiss). The very act of describing it this way must make me sound so cold. But, I'm still trying to rationalize it all. This is the first guy that's kissed me (French-style) who isn't my boyfriend. And my last on-off relationship (Kenny) ended officially about 1 1/2 yrs ago. From then, I've more or less always considered myself single, but not had the urge to really go out and meet someone.

Now, I'm more open to the idea of going out to have fun, and meeting interesting people... but this ... kiss.. happened too suddenly. Although, I have to say I'm actually glad he did it. It would be really tedious for a guy to ask for permission, don't you think? I'd say.. go for it, and if the girl objects, have the decency to stop.

It wasn't unpleasant, so I let it continue. I would say: I particpated because I was reacting to it. But I didn't get emotional... although I did feel a little shy and awkward after that.

While typing this.. I'm actually crying. Big, fat, heavy tears which are causing blotches on my skirt.

I didn't get emotional kissing David. And a part of me even thought of Kenny.. that the last person to do this was Kenny, years and years ago... and I was even comparing (evil of me, I know), wondering if it was any different from any other kiss. Not better, not worse. I couldn't compare the differences - it was just... not particularly pleasant or unpleasant. Millions of thoughts were trickling though my brain all the while.

A large part of it had to do with taking a step forward... and maybe letting a bit of the past go. The situation with me and Kenny cannot go on forever. 8 years is a long time (9 years if we consider the fact we're still hanging out every week, altho not romantically).  One of us has to move on eventually - and when someone does, it will hurt. It doesn't matter when.

How ironic that I get emotional and feel the pain when thinking about eventually taking a step in a new direction. I'm not about to hurl myself into a relationship with David but this is about taking a small step towards a new future, where I will probably be kissing more people in future (although I hope not many more before I eventually meet the right one!).

It's flattering to know that David fancies me. I didn't know for sure, although I was sure he liked me. And besides, I'm not in the habit of going round kissing guys.. it actually means something to me. But for the first time, this kiss wasn't sacred - and I think, I might adopt a more chilled out attitude towards kisses. I realise I don't have to freak out when a guy kisses me (who's not my boyfriend, and whom I'm not thinking about getting into a relationship with). I know my thinking is probably old school... but it just isn't me to indulge in something intimate with someone without feeling somehow emotionally connected to that person.

And while I'm attracted to David (he's really witty and makes me laugh) ... my emotions are not evoked. I sometimes wonder if they ever will be (not just with him, but with anyone else). I've felt so frozen up for so long....

An example of me cracking up this evening was when David and I were joking about bad sex (something in the lines of bad luck), and I jokingly said.. if it's bad sex, it's the guy's fault. When he's done, he rolls over and falls asleep.

David said, "if you're lucky...". I was really puzzled.. and asked him what he meant. He said.. "if you're lucky, he will roll over. If not, he will just fall asleep when he's done". And I just cracked up. This is just how fast he is .. there wasn't even a pause when he said that. It was like a continuation of my previous sentence. He's quick witted. And English is not even his first language.

I have to confess, I find his Spanish accent very sexy! :)

I'm probably still in a bit of a daze about tonight's experience. It wasn't how I planned to end my Friday evening! We both went for salsa lessons, and then went to a pub where a karaoke event was held (really bad sound system, loud and noisy..) - we walked out after 10mins. And when to a quiet pub/bar in a hotel nearby.

After the pub closed at 11.30pm... we proceeded to the lobby to sit down to talk a bit longer... and I was reading the newspapers about the movie he was saying we should watch together - that's when it happened.

THE KISS.

It wasn't short. And it happened again and again. To the point I got a bit bored (!?). I'm sure it isn't even about him being a bad kisser, because he certainly knew what he was doing.

I'm a cold hearted bitch, aren't I?

I ended up taking the train (instead of The Underground) back - since he lives outside of London and has to take the train. On the train, he kept kissing me again and again. And he asked if I would go back to St Alban's with him - I can use the spare bedroom, and he'll sleep on the sofa (he's got a colleage crashing at his place at the moment). Of coz I said no.

And then he asked if he could come home with me. Of course I said no.

Flattering, but NO.

A detached part of me wonders if I'll lose interest now that I've engaged his interest.

I think deep down inside, I'm terrified of trusting a guy. I know men can hurt me, and therefore.. I don't ever want to give them the chance to.

Am I doomed to live my life alone forever?

Just when I think I'm immune to emotional pain (most days, at least)... since I feel numb and dead most of the days, it's always a surprise when a stab hits one right in the chest. It doesn't even have to be sharp. One prick, quick and intense: before you realise, you've started to bleed and it's spreading.

It took me a while to realise it hurt - and only because my throat suddenly clogged up with unshed tears, and my eyes went blurry for a bit.

Some say, the ability to feel pain is a sure sign of vitality. Simply put, you know you're alive when you go OUCH. Wow, we've found a pulse.

Wonderful news.

Not so when I'm disarmed and ambushed with an unexpected photo of the once beloved (ex-fiance) in a suit (thank you, Facebook). Probably his wedding tux. Knowing he's more of a t-shirt and jeans sorta guy, it's bittersweet seeing him all dressed up for that special moment in his life. And while it's not like I'm still in love with him, it still hurts. He once meant the world to me and will always be special, no matter who comes along in the future.

Much as I hate to admit, he's still the only one I ever came close to waltzing down the altar with. We almost shared enternity.

So... sure it's refreshing to find that I can crawl my way out of numbness once in a while, but I don't think I welcome the reminder sting of a broken heart, when oblivion can be so much sweeter.

They say, what doesn't kill one only makes you stronger. At least, this time I didn't cry. Not like that time in February when I found out he was engaged.

Today, I had the cheapest lunch ever in my 4 1/2 year stay in London (not counting the free ones). 

 

My meal consisted of 2 bread rolls - yummy, crusty, and warm from the oven. Costing me a total of... 40p.

 

I had a craving for piping hot bread yesterday... so I bought 2 small rolls from Tesco (one white, one wholemeal), thinking I could snack on them later in the day.

 

I never got down to it - got too distracted by a delicious blueberry muffin, which I gobbled down whilst walking home from the grocer's.

 

My luncheon, hardly a feast... was surprisingly satisfying. I had popped the rolls into the oven for 10 mins to get them heated up, so by the time they were ready, they were as good as freshly baked. Smothered with butter, it was heavenly.

 

I hardly ever eat bread (except in restaurants which serve them, complimentary of coz) - all that carb is... fattening. But somehow, I'm throwing caution to the winds, and pampering myself early this summer. 

I shan't be repeating my indulgence anytime soon, however... since it's not my favourite type of cuisine. But once in a long while, (and certainly a first for me) - I can live with spending only 40p for a main course!

A day or two before the big night out, you'll catch a cold or sore throat.

 

In my case, I suffered a slight hayfever last night - the usual sniffles and throat irritation. 

 

It didn't lighten up this morning, and I've taken my anti-allergy pill. It seems to have gotten worse, and I'm even down with a sore throat.

 

Damn. Damn. Damn.

 

I hope I'll be able to belt out at least a few decent numbers tommorrow, else no amount of dinner will be able to compensate the sheer torture of sitting through a 3 hour karaoke session, without once clutching the mike.

 

I'm praying hard I won't have to sit there all night smearing my face with oily Chinese food. 

It's ironic, but I listen to more Chinese songs while living in the UK than when I was back in Singapore. I never used to listen to Chinese songs, and the songs I knew, I literally picked them up while attending karaoke sessions with friends from back home.

And as we went more often, those popular songs became more familiar, and I learnt whole songs by hard, simply by hanging out with my friends. It was rare that I made an effort to learn a song by hard, much less buy a CD because I liked a particular number on it.

Oh, I'm not saying it never happened, just that, it was wasn't a very common occurrence. Unless it struck a chord, or had extremely touching lyrics. I didn't have the patience to sit down to listen to a full song, much less memorize it. But somehow, the regular karaoke sessions with my gang helped tremendously.

Then I came to London, and karaoke became a thing of the past. I even stopped listening to Chinese songs altogether.

Till I met Kwok about 1 1/2 ago. He soon introduced karaoke to me in London, and we've become karaoke buddies since. Every few months, we'd hang out with Sharon, another karaoke fanatic, to do a 3 hr song session where we'd belt out song after song (usually in Mandarin).

Unbelievably, my repertoire of Chinese songs has increased tremendously - I've started paying closer attention to songs that I like, especially those within my vocal range . When I hear a pleasant tune and think "hey, I can do that!", it gives me greater incentive to learn it for the future karaoke opportunities.

It's quite amazing that I would consciously make an effort to learn a song (at least know the tune, and some of the words). Once I get hold of the mp3 and its lyrics (thanks to internet downloads), I play the song to death 2-3 days before another karaoke session, just to familiarize myself with its melody, and I actually make an effort to sing along while multi-tasking (e.g. washing dishes, cooking, typing!).

Kwok, Sharon and I will meet up on Thursday for another ktv session, and I'll be bringing a Taiwanese girlfriend (also Sharon) along, so she can experience singing karaoke in London.

For this upcoming event, I'm trying to learn 4 new songs (梁靜茹 - Fly Away,  孙燕姿 - 遇见, 孙燕姿 - 我不难过,  楊丞琳 - 暧昧), so hopefully, I can master these pieces by the time I meet them.

It's ironic that I would know more Chinese songs now than before, simply because I make the effort to listen and learn them - it's relieving to know I won't be totally behind times when I'm back in Singapore and I'll be able to keep my dignity while crooning among fellow ktv addicts. Even if these songs I sing won't exactly top of the pop by then.

 

The only problem I have learning new songs in London is that most of the time... I can't even find them at karaoke outlets, coz the songs are either too new, or the selection of singers are limited.

In recent weeks, I've had a craving for pancakes. Not just ANY pancakes - I wanted to make my own.

I don't know where the 'inspiration' came from, but one fine day, I woke up thinking... "hey, I want to make some (pancakes, that is)!"

I looked up some pancake recipes on the net, just to verify the 'formula'.

It shouldn't be too hard - I remember mom making some for the family when I was little. And my mom never took the trouble to make complicated recipes. Thus, I was convinced it wouldn't be too much work. I had all the necessary ingredients at home, anyway. Flour, eggs, milk, sugar, salt.

Most of the net recipes mentioned 'self-raising flour', but I doubt my mother ever bought self-raising flour in her life (unless it was for baking a cake during her home economics class 45 years back), so I could safely skip that.

Though I had gathered all the necessary ingredients 2 weeks ago, it wasn't till today that my urgings got persistent enough to drag me out of bed to whip up breakfast. Or brunch. It was already 10.30am when I started.

I liberally poured flour into a large container, poured in the milk, and beat 2 eggs. Most of the recipes mentioned 2 cups of flour (and 2 cups of milk) - so I reckon as long as I mix in the same amount of flour and milk, I can't be too far wrong. I cannot be bothered with the nitty gritties when it comes to cooking (and heaven forbid I ever have to weigh any ingredients).

I didn't expect to end up with so much mixture! I think I was a little too heavy handed with the flour at the beginning, and had to use more milk to 'balance' it off. And no one told me I'd end up with a lumpy concoction!!!

Eeeks.

And then I recalled mom had asked me to knead the batter with my hands when I was little. It hadn't been a pleasant sensation, coz the milk was cold, and there were all those lumpy bits added to the milk.

I had hated it.

Too late. I wasn't having as much fun as I thought I would.

I guess, a mixer/blender would have saved me the trouble of getting my hands soiled - but  I didn't have one. I've never baked a cake in my life, and never saw the need for a mixer, altho I've been tempted to get one for baking purposes.

I think I spent at least half an hour trying to massage the stubborn lumps to a smooth blend, all this while using stiff, numb fingers (cold cold milk, arrrgh!).

I also didn't own a sieve. RULE NUMBER ONE - if one is going to make pancakes, one needs a sieve!

It called for a stroke of creativity (no, I didn't use a sock), and eventually... I succeeded in creating a potion which would have done smoothie makers proud. Don't ask how.

Now, I only had to fry the darn thing and it should be smooth going from here. Or so I thought.

Everyone knows that it is time to flip a pancake when bubbles appear on the surface of the uncooked end.

There were no bubbles in my first pancake!! How the hell would I know when to flip the darn thing if there were no bubbles?!

I had to keep checking the bottom bit to ensure it wasn't too burnt, and in the meanwhile, the uncooked mixture on top kept trickling down the sides into the hot pan.

Dammit. Too much mixture in the pan, my first pancake was too thick! There were no bubbles probably coz none could surface!

I flipped anyway, since the bottom bit was sufficiently brown. But the watery top flowed onto the pan before I was quick enough.

My first pancake was messy.

It broke.

It wasn't perfectly round, as pancakes should be.

It wasn't sweet enough.

And it was too thick.

*Sob*

I ladled in less mixture in consecutive tries, but it wasn't till my 5th try that I managed a perfectly round (and brown) little pancake.

By then, I had learnt the knack of adding only 3/4 ladleful of batter mix into the hot pan. I even managed to add a few rasins (for deco and taste) on subsequent pancakes.

On the whole, I can't say my first pancake making attempt was a total success. It wasn't a bad try, but it was a lot more work than I envisioned it would be.

It would have been much easier to spend £1 getting a bagful of pancakes at the groccer's. Cheaper, no hassle, and probably more delicious.

I don't think I'll be making pancakes anytime soon. But if I ever have kids, I reckon it'll still be something I'll try. By then, I'll definitely have bought an electric mixer, and own a sieve. It's such an idyllic scene - mothers making pancakes for her children on a Sunday morning.

Even if it is easier to just buy them off a supermarket.

But my best memories of pancakes weren't about how they tasted. I don't really care for pancakes. But then, it had been sweet and delicious, coz mom only made them once in a long while as a treat.

I'm moving.

After 3 years, I'm moving from my current studio apartment in St John's Wood to a beautiful one bedroom flat in Willesden Green.

It's right across the lane from where I used to live (Manstone Rd) when I first moved to London in 2001. Jo stayed there with me when she visited (she was the only one I offered accommodation to, although 4-5 or my friends visited me during that first year). The rest were my guy pals... so too bad for them! :P

I'm familiar with the neighbourhood, so I was quite comfortable shortlisting it as one of the possible places I'd move to, coz I'll be no newbie to the environment. Although, there's been many (positive) developments about the neighbourhood since I left.

I'll be getting my keys on 20th June, and already, I'm excited and can't wait! :)

I love my current apartment, and the location is excllent. St John's Wood is fabulous, safe and convenient for travelling to the places I frequent most (ie Oxford St & Chinatown). But unfortunately, the rent is going up, and for the price I'm paying now, I'm better off getting a bigger place somewhere else.

A full day of property viewings on Monday had me in a bit of a conundrum. Usually, I encounter quite a few shit places before I see even one potential place I'd like to live at. But after viewing 10 properties on Monday (drop dead tiring day!), I actually found 4 places that I could seriously love to live at... so it was a tough call.

But none of them were perfect. Each had pros/cons (e.g. further from transportation, location, landlord downstairs etc)... so, while I was tempted to say yes to each of them, I was still hesitating, coz I was holding out for something better. I was waiting to fall in love, not just tingle in appreciation.

Seriously, it was a miracle I even found those 4 nice apartments. But because I found 4 nice ones, it was hard to make a decision. It's almost unheard of (knowing my luck!) to find so many nice places in a day. Most times, I'm lucky if I even find one, after viewing several crappy/dodgy places in a day. I was so lucky that I managed to find my lovely studio flat at St John's Wood, that I 'almost' grabbed it immediately on the spot. My only reservation then had been the high rental, but I never regreted my decision. Not once.

Then, I had intended to stay for 6 months, but ended up living herefor 3 years. It's been the emotional and peace haven for most of my days in London, and I am a tad sad to leave.

Just when I thought I'd have to decide on one of the 4 short-listed apartments, I came across the ad for the 1-bed flat in Willesden Green on Monday night. It sounded too attractive to be true (includes council tax, water bills, electricity and comes with brand new finishings), so first thing on Tuesday morning, I called up and set up an appointment to view the place around lunch time.

I very nearly didn't get to see it, coz the agent nearly couldn't make it. But I was already on my way there, so he phoned the builders (the place is still being renovated) and asked them to let me in to view the property.

It is a Victorian house with 7 apartments (consisting of studios and 1 bed flats) - all newly refurbished. The top floor (my flat) was only half done, and the wooden flooring hadn't even been laid in the bedroom. But the space was promising, and I saw the 'finished project' in some of the other apartments downstairs. They looked reeeeally good!

My flat was the ONLY unit left available (and the largest in terms of floor space, altho the attic roofs slanted off part of my ceiling). It gave me a slight sense of claustrophobia, although the main thing that worried me was finding suitable furnishing that would fit the bedroom, cos half the bedroom 'ceiling' was slanted.

It being the last unit available added to the urgency of my decision to take up the offer on the spot. If I didn't take it, the next guy who viewed it probably would. Who could pass up such a good deal?!

According to the builder, ads to all the properties had been placed on Sat. 5 apartments were snapped up on the spot when potential tenants first viewed it on the same day. Flat 6 (mine) and 7 were on the top floor (attic level), and Flat 7 was taken on Monday. The landlord must be laughing all the way to the bank!

The agent sounded unsure about showing it to me at first, coz there appeared to be a 'waiting list' for the number of people who wanted to view the place. Besides, there wasn't any 'hurry' since the aparment was still being done up, and they could get viewings for it in the next 1-2 weeks once they finish with all the renovations.

I'm so glad I insisted in setting up an early appointment to view the flat!! Coz the moment I saw it, it was clear the place was the most superior of all the place apartments I had seen (and that is saying a lot!). Slapped with an attractive rental (slightly more than my current apartment, but more spacious, and with a fully equipped kitchen), I hardly had any reason to say no.

I guess I had been waiting for such an opportunity - to view a property I could fall in love with at first sight, and embrace the impulse to say YES immediately. :)

That afternoon, I went by the estate agent's office and placed a hefty 3 week's holding deposit with them.

The agent I was dealing with was a total git (arsehole, bastard, s.o.b to boot). If not for the fact I loved the apt, I wouldn't have dealt with him... he would have put me off before I even viewed the place. I didn't realise it was his colleague (someone way nicer and a human being) who had handled the phone calls all along.

In my dictionary, housing agents should be warm and friendly, and give off an impression of reliability. This bloke (Alex) had none of these qualities. He was arrogant, impatient and right down careless.

I examined the receipt for the holding deposit he handed me much later, and realised he had over calculated the sum by £200! Bloody hell.... and he had such a gigantic calculator on his desk which he pounded on too! It was waaaaaaay bigger than his face (quite apparantly, his brain), measuring 30cm by 25cm!

Well, I hope I won't have to deal with him too much. He's the only liability my apartment comes with. But since all the furnishings and equipment are going to be brand new, I don't think there's going to be a problem (fingers crossed).