On The Errors in Carrie Bradshaw

This is what Hollywood sells you about the single life; four single ladies sitting in a bar, wearing their evening best, living it up in Margaritaville, undaunted by the grim of spinsterhood. They wear the best dress and they glide around town in the highest possible stilettos.

Instead of the Koran and the Bible, these girls [smug pause], they swear on their Chanel.

Every week they wake up next to that guy with Johnny-Depp's-chin-and-Orlando-Bloom's-everything-else, write a thank you note on a piece of hotel paper, tip toe out of the room and slowly close the door behind them. They do not want to wake up the sleeping Johnny-Depp's-chin-and-Orlando-Bloom's-everything-else, because they forgot to bring along their Bobbi Brown.

This is the reality; The same shit is still going on at work, you wonder why you don't just commit sati right there in your cube. You still get stuck in the same traffic jam, which also gives you enough time to dwell on the end of your relationship. Sometimes you wonder if you'll die not finding another boyfriend. But most times, you dwell on the end of your relationship. And then you come home, lie on the bed, and you're afraid of taking the shower because you know, the shower head invites you to cry with it.

You're afraid of the nights too, because a war is always raging in your head, and you do all this alone in your room because you do not want your mom (assuming you're still staying with your mom) to witness an atomic bomb mushroom cloud coming out from your head.

Sure, you seem to have more time for indulgence. Just a couple of weeks ago i bought shoes that i know Carrie Bradshaw will approve. I bought jeggings. JEGGINGS! Three years too late but hey, have you got yours? If not, you're either too fat for a pair of jeggings or you don't know what it is. I've gone for countless manicures, spas, facials and I made them my weekly routine. All of these totaled up to RM 700 per month, which i call the Beauty Fees.

I passed a personal law to make the beauty fee a necessity. 

However, these pleasures, they only serve as stop-gap measures to the actual pain. By the time you realized the errors in Carrie Bradshaw, not only you've earned bad reputation, you're also broken.

And broke.

Three months ago, the very core of my being shifted like an earthquake and seemed to have perpetuated for centuries. Finding closure is painful. It made me manic and I question my disposition every day. There are times i wanted to heal my pain by abusing substances.

But i didn't.

And in my stubbornness to legalize substance and alcohol, I found that closure is an unnecessary pain.

There is no need to say our goodbyes, because wherever he goes, we will always be in each other's heart.

My journey would have been longer and far more painful had i relented. 

Let me also point out that Carrie Bradshaw's relationship with the commitment phobic Mr.Big went on for six seasons.

 I cannot repeat this cycle for 6 seasons.

That's the kind of thought that leads someone to start drinking vodka at 9 o' clock in the morning.

Of Dear Future Boyfriend

Dear Future Boyfriend, 

I'm writing to you from the past and I am very curious of the future.

This place where I am right now, it is not pretty. I think Dante Alighieri called this place The Limbo; the first circle of hell in his prima work, Dante’s Inferno. The Limbo houses so-called neutralists or opportunists; people who devoted their lives neither to good nor to evil.  Dante must have meant The Limbo for jilted lovers too, who became uncommitted by circumstances.

I was sitting down by the side of the road when Desperation came and handed me a coin. Go on, take this, and make that phone call on that tin can phone. Call him and plead for him to come back, Desperation offered.

I took his shining coin and said a meek thank you. Desperation hovered by my side for a while, looking at me like a fly on the wall, thinking when will I unravel and make that one phone call. After all, I did take his coin. He hung around for a little while and when it was apparent that I was not going to call my ex-boyfriend, he said fuck you bitch! and disappeared.

Shielding my eyes from the sun, I  walked down the road, unknown even to me where should I be heading. And then I came to a crossroad; The High Road or The Spiral. Upon reflection, I knew The Spiral is inviting. I mean, just look at the sign board. It’s a flashy red neon light. It’s a speakeasy. 

But the last time when I was there in The Spiral, it took me years to untangle myself from its many forms of abuse. Took me even longer to crawl out from it.

So I took the High Road.

The High Road is treacherous. Self-Loathing accompanied me in the day when the sun is up, and then at night, Loneliness took over. He said to Self-Loathing, I'll take it from here. You come back after my shift is over. Loneliness was not a friend. Under the stars, he made me dismantle myself and I was immobile from the immense loneliness, crippled by the uncertainties. He amplified my need for my ex-boyfriend. 

I couldn't breathe, I hated myself, and I thought, maybe I should try harder, maybe I should have moved down to Kuala Lumpur to be with him when I could. But I did try. I attended an interview in Kuala Lumpur for a job that I didn't like so I could be with him. But my ex-boyfriend reckoned that it was not time for me to move to Kuala Lumpur yet because he will be busy and he did not want that to be an issue.

How thoughtful of him, isn't it?

But then along the way, I began to revitalize myself, so much so that Loneliness gave up on me and Solitude took my hands and said, It's OK. We have found a way to fly free. Every night, Solitude and I watched movies. He helped me ease back into old routines and together, we got thru the Ex-Boyfriend withdrawal syndrome. He held my hands when I was scared, eat with me when I dined out alone, and engaged in intellectual discourse when no one wanted to. He told Loneliness to back off whenever we bumped into Loneliness. He told the fortune tellers to stop telling me that all lost lovers will come back. Hope befriended me, but his ass got kicked by Solitude.

Last week, Solitude said he had someplace else to be. I agreed and then as I waved goodbye to him, I made him promise to call and visit me whenever he’s in town. I also made a mental note; He has kind eyes.

In Spain, when someone wishes you well, you reply Ojalá, which means "I hope". Etymologically, this word stemmed from an older Arabic phrase Insya’alah, meaning May Allah grant [that].

So, yes, I am on my way to find you and Ojalá, you will be there.  

And when I'm there I will cook the same thing repeatedly, until you get bored of it. Sometimes when we watch the telly, I will make sandwiches for you to snack on. Know that when you arise every morning, a cup of hot coffee awaits you. If you don't like coffee (I heard that these people exist), I won't force it on you. If you're sick, I will be by your side, making sure you eat your medicine, feeding you your meals.

Ojalá.

Of Early Graduation

My graduation starts today.

Since last week i have blocked, then unblocked, then blocked him from whatsapp. It's pretty insane how erratic i can be, just like the weather.

I have been there for him many times, and if he can't see all that and only dwell on my mistakes, then I best detached myself emotionally from him.

Of Gandhi and Sugar

During the thirties, a woman asked Gandhi to get her little boy to stop eating sugar because it was doing him harm.

Gandhi gave a cryptic reply: "Please come back next week."

The woman  returned a week later. This time, Bapu Gandhi simply told the boy, "Please don't eat sugar. It is not good for you." Then he joked with the boy for a while, gave him a hug, and sent him on his way.

The mother, unable to contain her curiosity, lingered behind to ask, "Bapu, why didn't you say this last week when we came? Why did you make us come back again?" 

Gandhi smiled. "Last week," he said to her. "I too was eating sugar."

Hundred and four days later, I still cry in the shower.

I am still hurt. I still ask 'Why?' 

What is it about love that makes us stupid? You slave it all on someone, hoping when the time gets better, you will reap the reward together.

I must have known that when the time gets better, it wasn't me that will reap the reward.

I must have known.

For the sake of respect and love, I will not divulge what i have done for him. I'd like to think that when i did it, it was purely because i love him.

But that doesn't stop me from feeling stupid. I still walk around, shoulders heavy from carrying my own cross, sending out what I can only imagine as a distress call for him to come back, and end this.

Letting go is difficult. I just have to keep my focus and continue what i set out to do.

Just like Bapu Gandhi, if I want to prove a point to heart-broken women, I first, have to follow the rules.

Of Single Awareness Day

I avoided the malls because i didn't want to throw stones at ugly couples walking hand in hand. But girls getting roses and cards of love declaration were flooding my facebook.

Mental note: next year when i celebrate valentine's day, don't post up pictures of roses that i get. Remember that i was at home eating chips, waiting for that one phone call. 

My colleague got a bouquet of roses delivered to the office. Great, even weirdos get flowers now!

And i DID hope that he'd send me a text.

He didn't and I was unhappy.

So I took action on what was making me unhappy. I blocked him off my whatsapp.

Identify the source, fix the issue, Let go of the rest. 

Don't fret, legions. I am still staying on the course. I'm just closing one window. 

I'm losing control that i once had, i know. My nails are chipping and i didn't bother to go for a manicure. I feel like i'm stuck in a place and I can't seem to move on because there's a wall.

Big, Berlin Wall type with black and white tasteless graffiti. 

Happy Single Awareness Day (S.A.D)! *hugs self*

***

And since it's SAD and i needed a pick-me-up, I treated myself to a manicure.

A few words about manicure. It's stupid to spend coloring that tiny part of your fingers, but i pity the boys who can never feel what it feels to have electric blue nails.

 I can also get little white daisies painted on my nails too, if i feel like it.

***


One weird thing that happened today is, the two main people in my beauty team share the same name.

Janice.

Janice the facial therapist is 40 years old. She's round and honest and her shop smells like the Balinese spa i went to in Bali. There's always a cup of chai tea waiting for me after each facial session. And at her little counter by the door, she'll teach me what products to use for my skin type.

One day she divulged that she married her husband after 13 years. I laughed and snorted.

And apologized, meekly.

On the other hand, Janice the manicurist takes perfect care of my nails. She's barely 20 but she has a 7-month old baby boy. 

"Are you from Penang?" I asked her.

"Yes"

"So where did you go to school?" I asked again. Obviously, i was making conversation. 

"I don't. I don't enjoy studying."

Her answer caught me off guard. I didn't have an answer to that. I mean, i heard college drop outs existed, but high school drop outs? How do you survive in this world without your education?

I looked at her heart-shaped face. You can tell that she's real pretty because she has little make up on.

"My son fell from the bed this morning. Hearing him cry was quite a lot to take." She shared.

I almost blurted out, "That's what you get for not going to school! Dropping your son on the floor so he can grow up stupid!"

But Janice the manicurist taught me to be soft and worry less. She taught me that sometimes when you go against the norm, you will end up where you're supposed to be in the first place.

I like Janice the manicurist, with her indifference in education.

Janice the facial therapist hurts me when she's popping my blackheads. Sometimes while in pain, i thought, why do i keep doing this? Why am i paying you good money for pain?

I think facial should be renamed fate-cial.

It pains you but you just keep coming back for more because it heals you.

****


Every spa should have a warning sign:  Bring Your Own Dildo. Post-Spa Horniness Do Exist.

Because i went on an emotional eating rampage after I came across a valentine message on my ex's FaceBook wall (i know, what was i thinking, right?), Friend from High School took me for a spa session. "Don't worry. We'll be in separate rooms. I know, you can't see my boobies." She joked, while signing us in.

"Shit. I was hoping we could compare cellulite."

A few words about spa. After the massage, the masseuse leaves you... horny. I was sitting in the steam room all by my lonesome, trying to build Bradley Cooper out from hot vapor!

I think you can get high on hot air. The same effect that smoking a joint gives you. I felt like the world left me, and i wished for a McSteamy. As much as I'd like to march over to the phone and order a McSteamy, I had a conversation with myself instead.

I thought of how many couples had made love within these walls.  How many men came here alone but were offered happy endings because well, there is such service. 

While my pores open up, i think my imagination did too.

And then I got angry; from the sexual frustration of not having a McSteamy, and from the extra pounds i have evidently put on. In other words, I had a brief rebound with food. Yes, I swayed from my vegetarian diet and sinned with TGIF burgers, sushi, and subway sandwiches. I had affairs with pizza, so addictive, i couldn't stop. I even told myself that it's OK, because I don't need to impress anyone with a svelte body anymore.

I almost gave up on myself.

So I sat for longer in the steam room, and although i could be mistaken for a pretty prune, i did emerged from the room... satiated.

Of Shaggy Appearance

Alone or not, depressed or not, I had to start doing something about my 'shaggy' appearance. 

Three months had gone by without a proper haircut. I must also mention that I had neglected in grooming the hair in certain areas of my body.

I imagine that people who were in coma for a long time would one day wake up, pick a string of armpit hair, study it and say, "I must have been in a coma for ten months!".

I took a look at my underarm and was alarmed at how much time has flown! Akin to the concept of the ancient Egyptian sundial, you can definitely tell the duration of time by the length, and mind you, the bushiness of hair growth. 

It is definitely unfeminine of me to talk about this, but i must let you know that looking and feeling like a million dollar can make you attain the peace of mind you're seeking for.

Of Tired of Waiting

There are people around the world who worries about real issues, like fighting lupus, cancer, and how do you deal with suddenly having to care for two young nephew and niece.

Made my problems seem so small. 

Shit.

I miss him a lot. Small things like prawns made me think of him.

Whenever we eat prawns, he'll break the head off his prawn, and put it on my plate.

Because i told him once i love sucking the juice off a prawn's head.

Because i cook a lot of late, i need to clean up the dishes as well. Cleaning the dishes and the sink made me think of him too. If he was around, he'll clean these dishes up himself. My cooking might be up to his standard, but not my cleaning.

It's been 95 days now. 95 days of my own personal Vietnam war. It's the rule of the jungle in my head.

When i miss him, i question my integrity. Should i just let my guard down and tell him how i feel? 

[Oh no, you don't, loser. When you miss him, just acknowledge that feeling and let it go.]

People say I will find a nice gentleman someday. I think these people see a tall nerd who works as an engineer or a lawyer. Even a doctor.

I should have died you know. When someone you spent half you life with said he doesn't love you anymore, you should die. And you would want to die. The pain when it all happened could send a fatal signal to your brain, shutting you down forever. 

But it's surprising to know that you don't die from a heartbreak. The heart has the capability to heal on its own if you allow it to.

I wish i could tell him to come home, but i know he's still searching for himself.

And I'm getting tired of waiting.