the I-didn’t-know week

I remember you say: “Let me think about it”.

You did not.

For you, it was clear. You were ending it.

But I remembered you said: “Let me think about it”.

So I spent a week calling you, waiting for you to call, drinking in pubs alone or with my laptop, waiting for you to call.

When you finally called. You told me that you did, in actual fact, end it. A week ago.

I cried. But somehow felt a weight lifted off me.

Birthday, redux

26 is an insignificant age, not too young and not too old. The only significance for me would be celebrating my first birthday since 16 without a boyfriend; a strange revelation but one without regret nor pride – simply a thought and a statement.

Many birthdays and its obligatory accompaniments of gifts and nice dinners were had, appreciated and enjoyed but left little impressions. So allow me to devote the last 30 minutes of my 25th year recounting that one birthday that will remain as most unique.

Soon, my birthday rolled around and we had spent a late morning sweating it out in a three-way with Mother Nature on a long but fun hike.
BOYS: take a hint, if she agrees to sweat buckets with you for hours on end (and it isn’t for the tango for two) or willingly does anything out of character, she must think you’re the bee’s knees.
The day came to a close with the least chi-chi but most enjoyable of all birthday dinners with him and some of my closest friends. We got busy with our hands and dug into crabs washed down with wine he had brought. Soon after the dinner, I shamefully regurgitated it all by the roadside because I’m a cheap drunk and he held my hair up. What a keeper.

The new year rolled by and we had said our first I Love You’s but there weren’t many chances left to sleepily mutter those words or say them on a whim because I had fucked things up soon after and that was that.

PLOT TWIST: A few months of complete silence, a random message to him about his dog ,which I admit to falling in love with first, led to him being a source of support during a stressful period of time and we still (and only) get sweaty together. We do it so well that i can’t help but think this was what we were meant to do right from the start.

Good girls finish last

I hardly noticed you from the beginning. But You were always the cool one, with your plaid shirt, dark tattoos and boyish charms. When I was running away from my previous relationship, you took my hand and told me that it wasn’t my fault, that I was too good for him and you watched me leave the mess of my life behind.
I didn’t think there was anything romantic on the horizon; I stood by your ex and helped her up while she struggled drunk, back into her home, all the time asking for you and calling your name. I waited quietly while you coaxed her back to sleep, then brought me back to your place.

It was never something romantic to begin with, then we became the only ones we needed in our world, cut off from everyone else. We hung out everyday, we never ran out of things to say and I supported you, thinking that you just needed some time to decide what you wanted to do in your life.

Days became months, and months spanned into years. You never held my hand in public, you’ve never acknowledged me as your girlfriend. But our friends knew, however little they knew.

I got tired of keeping you afloat and thought I wanted to move on with my life. So for the first time, I made up my mind to leave and not breathe the way I have become used to.
But you came round and begged me to stay. Had your best friend come to me, to tell me that you were serious and I was the first girl you really loved and not like the others whom you had been with.
I fell right back in and forgave you, believing everything you’ve said and everything you have not.
Before I could get a hold of this relapsed happiness, you disappeared without a word. I lost you again.
Then the calls and endless hours of tears and heartache, of second guessing the truth and what you tried to make me believe. I took it all in, and just prayed that you would be back with me, in heart and in person, I just wanted you safe by my side.
Everything resumed back to its proper order, the “way it should be” and I continued to live in our world, where I thought was all that I would ever need, till the end.
But I knew you weren’t good for me, so I left again. This time, you didn’t stop me, and despite promising to be a better person and still be my soulmate and best friend, you faltered and fell back to chasing the pipe dreams and neon lights.
The hardest thing was never to leave you, but the pain of realizing that you’ve never loved me, that all you ever wanted was for me to sustain your living, and the stories you’ve weaved in front of your friends. I was naive enough to support your every whim was unbearable.

I don’t regret the time I had spent with you, and I’ve learnt so much from you.

But I will always remember the depth of your betrayal, because everything with you was a lie.

The one that got away

I met her on a Friday the 13th, four years ago. She had her flaming red hair and her guitar. She stole my heart without even realising it, and I gathered my courage to talk to her four days later.

She always made me tell her the story of how we met, and it would always bring a smile to her face.

We are nine years apart in age, and most of the time we were separated by a distance of 10847.05 kilometers. I guess that was the dealbreaker.

The four years we were together were the best years of my life. I thank my lucky stars all the time for letting her come into my life. She was my soulmate and best friend, and she was the other half in a two-piece jigsaw box. We never fought, we gave each other space, and it was too good to be true. Turns out in the end it was too good to be true.

I was never popular with girls, either because of my shy character or my looks. She brought colour into my life. In return I gave her the best I could offer, and I dare say I have no regrets in the sense that I don’t feel I could have done any better to alter the outcome. Distance takes its toll, and nothing will ever change that.

I hope she finds what she seeks, and I hope I will be equally affectionate to the next girl I meet.

I once told her, when I was holding her hand, that I was making a reservation for her ring finger. I loved seeing the smile that followed. I guess that honour will go to someone else.

Friends keep telling me that she’s young, that’s why things happened the way they did. I always nod at their evaluation, but only because I don’t think explaining to them that she’s not like that will convince them to think otherwise. There are things that are special to only you and your partner that no one will ever understand, which is also why it’s always hard to go through a break up.

I loved her, and I still do, but I know when to let someone go, no matter how much you want to hold on to her.

I’ll conclude this with a line from a song I once wrote her.

“All the heartbreaks in the past were meant for us to meet at last.”

Not here anymore

She would always leave when she needed her space, after a fight, or for a breath of fresh air; and come back when she felt like it.
I would be left bewildered, hurt, needy, and wondering why she would do this to me over and over again, and if she derived some kind of sick pleasure from leaving me lost and alone.
It happened again but no, I won’t be waiting no more.

when’s the right time?

I realized one day that my relationship wasn’t working but didn’t have the courage to tell her the truth. She loved me, yet I was uncertain.

It took me close to 6 months to finally break the news to her. She cried because she was caught off guard, I cried because i broke her heart.

No Signals

We were fighting, disagreeing too much.

I felt like I couldn’t tell you anything real.

Dates felt like duty.

I knew I wanted to be free.

When people ask me now:

“Why did you guys break up?”

I answer, unsubstantially:

“Communication problems”.


She was lesbian.
I was straight.
She made a move,
and I took the bait.

We started dating,
it was pretty good.
She was my first,
I was her first…

One fine day,
she sent a message and didn’t even call.
She heard a sad song on radio
and said she loved me no more.

Thanks to that fucking mandopop song,my first fell astray.
Even now i wonder why i bought her breakfast that day.

So there you go
my love lasted two weeks.
The next would last four times longer,
and feel just as weak.

Then i realized
the glaring truth.
That i only dated lesbians
and i was a male butch.