The Prof is back!

I'm meeting an old friend, D, for dinner on Sunday. I call him "Prof" because he's the only real professor I can truly call my friend. I remember my initial impression of him when we first met. It was not good. I wasn't impressed with his credentials. In fact, I thought him overrated. Additionally, like all typical "ang-mohs", he was unsubtly attracted to J. "How cliche" I thought at that moment. I decided I wanted nothing to do with him.

Well, I am glad that D's persistance in trying to know J better allowed me to change my opinion of him. Turns out, we're a lot more similar than I first thought. We both spent our last two years of high school in London. (Me - at music school. Him - international school when his dad moved to London on diplomatic duties.) We're both academically inclined, getting good grades in the best schools. We both love art and good music of all genres, including classical music. And, most importantly, we both love an intelligent conversation.

For those two years he was in Spore, his presence was a blessing. He made me feel connected to my Boston days where me and a bunch of kids would trade smart-alec remarks with one another, trash Harvard kids, and debate science and statistics endlessly. I could do that with him whilst he was around. Alas, he has moved back to California doing real rocket scientist work.

I am really looking forward to Sunday's dinner. I can't wait to hear stories of his new found love as well as his recent adventure travels. I also can't wait to pick up more factoids such as bits of info like geo-stationary orbit. After all, these make great party quips!

Quiet madness

Life has been really quiet. There were moments, just moments, when I wished I was back in the madness of the corporate world. It was more to acquire that feeling of coming home from work, where I would have an incredible smile on my face for a good 30 seconds because I was out of the office. When my life is as unbumpy as it is now, I don't get to experience these kinds of cheap thrills.

I must be mad.

Crushes crush

Crushes crush. Meaning they're not real and typically hurt. Feelings not reciprocated. Well, I knew from the moment I realized I had those feelings, things wouldn't go anywhere. It would be too good to be true. I've never been with anyone I had real feelings for. Which, perhaps is the best thing possible. Better to be friends forever than for the inevitable crumble of emotional openness to occur when expectations come into play in a relationship.

Quiet night

It's deliciously quiet here tonight, it's almost sublime. Looking out of the window, I see zero traffic with just the trees breaking the yellow-colored street lighting falling on the road. Surprisingly, the buildings across from me are all kind of dark. That's unusual. I normally see more windows lit up at this time of the night. It's bizarre but nice....

I've just finished compiling and printing out the various notes I have written since 2002. As I went about re-reading those notes, the memories came flooding back. Some were pleasant, others beautiful. Some were simple brutal to relive. But I soldiered on and braved through it. I am almost amazed at how well written some of those notes were. It puts me to shame that I am unable to put pen to paper the way I used to be able to. I've lost the lyricism. I've even lost the plot. I don't have anything interesting to say anymore.

I've not documented this latest crush I'm suffering from anywhere, so for posterity sake, I will say a few things about it. A few years back, I had this ridiculous crush on PB. I loved corresponding with him, and I thought him to be so witty, smart and off-beat. I found him to be incredibly interesting and postured several cringe-worthy moments because of my feelings for him. Well, it appears I'm as equally emotionally invested in this new guy now. I can't get over the fact that his interests seem so similar to mine. We share the same taste in music (well, almost), films and books, and it's so easy to converse with him for long stretches of time. I'm well aware there are many things we differ on, but it only makes it more interesting. It adds more spice, you know? I'm trying to keep busy at this moment, otherwise I find my thoughts drifting to him. Sheesh! I'm 33! I should know better and contain myself. Yet, me being undeniably me, I'm not one of those girls that stop short of expressing herself. Life's too short to control good emotions.

Getting back to old roots

I had a little time on my side today and decided to continue a conversation I have been engaging in with a friend on email, when it suddenly dawned on me whilst writing that it was kind of weird to be penning such longish emails. I don't think I've done this for.... it's so long I can't remember when was the last time I actively sat down and spilt my guts out to a friend on paper, well, electronic paper in this case.

I do remember the days when I was in London, and the only way I could keep in touch with friends was to write letters. No world-wide-web then. Now when I think back about those times, I'd go "How quaint!". I would buy pretty pastel colored paper, some times with prints on them. Some were scented, and I remember how precious I thought beautiful writing paper and envelops were. Each letter I wrote was special. I would pre-plan what I'll write. After all, I had to squeeze whatever I was dying to update on that one sheet. A poor student like me could not afford to mail letters heavier than 18 grams, and there was no way in hell I was going to waste good paper by writing in huge fonts or to revise what I wanted to say midway. There were occasions when I chanced upon some beautiful stickers in the stationary stores and would buy them and stick them in the letters. That was how I went about personalizing my letters... I just rolled my eyes thinking about that.

Times have changed hasn't it? There was email, then messenging and now a host of networks to connect with one another. It certainly has made it easier to keep in touch with friends that I otherwise wouldn't. But, most of it is so impersonal, and in a way it has also distanced me from friends that I might have forged closer relationships with. Even now, with the gang that I hang out with, we exclusively make appointments with one another through SMS texting. None of that phone calls or chatting till the wee hours of the morning. So, I'm glad I've found a friend who appreciates the lost art of exchanging words of the heart in writing. True, it isn't the same as putting pen to paper and breathing in the scent of ink on pulp. And, of course, it can't beat the exhilaration of finding some thing from the postman. But hey, I'm not fussed. Besides, I'm happy to pretend that I'm being old school... Oh well, sort of...

Story-telling

This evening, I attended Sinema Old School's Incubator Shorts Screening. I went with low expectations. After all, this IS Singapore, where creativity only comes in smalls slivers and almost always unexpectedly. Plus, creativity to occur in the work of short film makers? Pfft. Unlikely, or so I thought.

It was an interesting session. I hesitate to use the words "blown-away". I was not. However, I was pleasantly surprised. There were the eye-rolling moments and the odd occasion where my face tightened into a cringe, but at the root of each film was the undeniable strength of a story that entertained. It didn't matter if it was about a woman suffering the loss of a loved one, the predicament of growing old, or some silly alternate universe about fighting for survival. Each story caught my attention because they were immensely easy to relate to. I guess that is what story-telling is all about - a situation with tension/drama and a way out of it that speaks to others.

I was rather unsure about turning up for the screening this evening. If I hadn't mentioned to my friend that I would turn up and show support, I think I would have been happy staying home watching Roland Garros. I'm pleased that I made the right choice. As much as tennis attracts, this screening was an experience I had never encountered before. And, I'm a big advocate of new things that add a lil spice to life. It was definitely surreal being the old fart amongst a bunch of trendy youngsters. But hey, one gal did say to me when she figured out my age from the various milestone dates I mentioned:

No way.... I swear you're my age!

That's ten years younger. I'm pleased as punch.

I'm a hopeless romantic...

... nothing melts my heart more than catching a glimpse of a couple looking at one another in the way only the way they can. It doesn't matter if it's a fleeting moment, but that it was there, it is beautiful in its own way...

Epic conversations

I've been very spoilt this week. Just as I thought that it would be yet another quiet week as friends and family take advantage of the wonderful Spring weather to travel, I got hauled on two dates.

Both dates were unexpected, and possibly a reason why they were so delicious. But more importantly, what struck me was the ease in which I conversed with my respective dates. Perhaps because I wasn't expecting these dates, and didn't have time to speculate what they meant and participate in the build-up of anticipation, I was able to enjoy them in an honest manner. We had epic conversations lasting between seven to nine hours. The time sped past and I was barely aware how long I had been in their company. No subject was taboo. We touched upon Mayan prophesies and solar storms, as well as more intimate exchange of opinions on topics such as emotional cheating.

As I casually mentioned these dates to my best friend today she held my hand and said

These dialogues are to be treasured! No one has the kind of time these days to indulge in such long conversations... Look, we can barely hold each other's attention past two hours, after which, we're just happily silent... Cherish this...

She is right, you know. I haven't had such a satisfying time talking. Not ever. Both men are able to put me at ease and allow me to be myself as I babble and chatter away, debating, discussing and ultimately sharing a bit of ourselves with one another.

It has been a very good week indeed. Only problem is, I now crave for more of it.

I can't get enough...

of Radiohead's B-side tracks....

Seriously. It's like a whole new avenue just appeared. Where have I been all this while?

Of snobs, British men....and kisses

Put a bunch of half-drunk thirty-something girls together, and the talk invariably veers towards the topic of men. Men we like, men we don't. Men who hurt us, and men we hurt. Men whom we love to get it on with, and men who are completely clueless at kissing. Hurm. Wait, that last statement applies to all men. Ok, all straight men. There is a distinct possibility that a gay guy might have the right knee-buckling-inducing pair of lips, but since I've never had the fortune of being at the receiving end of one of those kisses, I can safely say (after conducting a short survey among the girlfriends) that a proper kiss from a heterosexual man is an impossibility. I'm still looking for that perfect kiss though. I've had way too many slobbering, missed their aim, too hard, too soft, too much tongue, too little tongue and generally clueless kisses.

Which brings me to move on to the topic of British men. Six and a half years living in London should have netted me many British dates. But alas no. I count only three - a cellist, a violinist and a pianist. The pianist proposed marriage after a month of knowing me, and the last I heard he was shacking up with another man some where off Notting Hill, London. Oh well. English musicians aside, I do realize I have a thing for British actors. Starting from the ridiculous crush I had on David Bowie in Labyrinth at age ten, till now, when the mention of Ewan McGregor, Christian Bale and Clive Owen gets my heart pounding. There is some thing about the raw sexiness they exude, their intense brooding stares. My girlfriends think I'm insane to go for men with such an edge... I believe the word they used was "animalistic". Erm, it's just a desire... A girl can fantasize can't she?

Anyhow, in our drunken discussion on men and kisses, I was labelled a snob. How this computes is beyond me. Golly, I'm still knotting my brows in bewilderment. I do not have a single snobbish bone in me. Yes, I can be rather uncompromising about what I want, but that stems from simply knowing who I am and what I'm made of. Settling for anything that doesn't fit or sit right with me is kind of silly. But, that doesn't mean that I make my choices and decisions based on some sort of lofty ideal. Then again, after being dragged to the movies to watch Twilight and swooning over Edward Cullen, I was rather tempted to pick up the Twilight series to read, only to hesitate because that would mean that I was doing what everyone else was doing. I can't allow myself to be that common. Hmm, maybe I am a snob after all.

I have no regrets, I have nothing to hide

I have always worn my heart on my sleeve. Right from the tender age of five, when I played with a pair of similarly aged Japanese twins (who lived in my neighbourhood and I was incredibly enamoured with) and told them that I loved them, I was never shy about expressing my feelings.

As an adult, I rarely mince my words or stop myself from expressing my thoughts, opinions and most importantly, my feelings. Did I get into trouble? Of course. There were and are a great number of people who either dislike listening to the truth, or feel that it was and is inappropriate for me to voice out what I truly believe in and hold faith to. There were also moments when what I did didn't fall into the category of "successful". And, I admit, there was a time when I tried to censor what came out of my mouth and what I did for fear that it would be met with disapproval or criticism. But, that wasn't me. Trying to conform to what others wanted me to be was just an escape. I lost myself there for a while, and it made me miserable.

I met up with an old friend for lunch today. She made two very astute comments. One, that I was coming across as being rather assertive. And, the other, that I was returning to my artistic roots. She is right on both accounts. I am returning to my artistic roots. I have recently started cello lessons with a renown cello teacher because I am determined to go back to the musician in me. I guide at the museum and I am reading viciously in the hope that some ideas will stick. While I may have uncomplicated and clear-cut talents in finance, it is the art arena that truly attracts my soul. It satisfies and completes me. I now know better than to compromise. It doesn't matter if I do not go some where with my endeavors. What is important is that I try. This has been a loooong work in progress. A long period of figuring out what I am made of, of what indisputably and unquestionably makes me tick. And, that is the reason why I would not settle for anything less that what I want these days.

Have I made mistakes, taken paths that did not point to this epiphany? Yes! But I have no regrets and I have nothing to hide. All the twists and turns, the trials, the tests, the pain endured, the mistakes made.... It has made me who I am. Without all those episodes, my life would be colorless. I would not trade anything in the world for anything that I've lived through. Looking back, I am eternally grateful for all my life experiences. What I hope to do now is to live a life worthy of all that I've been privy to, and a life that I can share true love. A love that is all encompassing, without prejudice and unquestionably selfless.

Years don't necessarily mean anything

I confess. I have a thing for younger men. It wasn't always like that you know. As a teenager, I majorly crushed on older, matured men in impeccable suits. There was some thing about their leisurely gaits hinting of swagger that made me swoon. And, ooh, the self-assurance that bordered on arrogance? Double swoon. I was often secretly pleased whenever a business associate of my father's paid me attention at various cocktail parties I was forced to attend. It thrilled me then that men managing billion dollar businesses took the time to chat with awkward sixteen year old girls like myself.

It's all changed since my mid-twenties. I don't purposefully go about looking for younger men to hang out with, but some how I attract them and I'm similarly attracted to them? Perhaps it's my youthful demeanour. I'm still mistaken for being in my mid-twenties when I'm closer to mid-thirties. Or perhaps I'm just perennially young at heart, and young hearts seek young souls. What ever the reason, I find that I am inexplicably and inexorably unable to untangle myself from the web of spending time with young men.

I recently recounted to J all the men I've had great conversations with over the past five years. With the exception of one guy, every single one was minimally two years younger than me. I tried dating a few men whom I thought were older, only to discover mid-conversation that the milestone dates mentioned indicated they were younger! So what truly is drawing me to the youths of the day?

This evening, I was accompanied by a man eleven years my junior to a Rachael Yamagata concert. There was nothing awkward about it. We both love good music, and sultry voices. He is also some one I can talk to about almost any subject under the sun without embarrassment. Yet, I am aware that any association with him might be frowned upon by most people. But I don't care. The beauty about being in my mid-thirties is finally acknowledging who I truly am. I have never been more assertive, or uncompromising about what I want or enjoy ever. And, so if I relish hanging out with people who share similar interests and have an insatiable quest for life regardless of age, so be it. I don't give a fuck what others think.