There are two types of people: those who can get their plans wrecked and adapt to new, not-so-grandeur plans and others who can’t. Today, I’m on the latter group.
Needless to say, nothing goes according to plan tonight.
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Relationship
Page 4
I don’t know, it’s just gone.’
‘What do you mean you don’t know? Wha- What happened?’
He sighed. He had said the same thing twice and he didn’t know how to soften the blow any better. He avoided her eyes. ‘My feelings are gone.’
Lizzy forced herself to look him in the eyes, hopelessly trying to find something – hesitation, guilt, a spark of feeling, anything. She could only find hatred. ‘Why?’ she finally asked.
‘I just don’t love you anymore,’ he said it as a matter of fact. There was no remorse, not even a single hint of longing. Nothing. He gave her that flat sentence, finally ecstatic that he had said the thing he had wanted to say for the past month. Then he walked away.
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It all started on that rainy day.
I was running home from work and as I always had bad luck, that day was the only day I forgot my umbrella. Only really, I didn’t forget to bring one. I lent it yesterday to a colleague because she was too scared that the unseen rain would ruin her hair, so I gave her my umbrella and walked away.
It didn’t rain yesterday.
So I was running home, using my soaked-to-life brown leather bag to cover my head. Taking the usual route, I would go pass this bridge of love where lovers, tourists, soon to be exes, and new couples bought fancy locks and keys to declare their love for each other.
Obviously, I didn’t buy that. If there was a research, I bet 87 per cent of these people have broken up.
And that, was when I met him.
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I sent my Mom to the airport yesterday (she was going to Singapore to cuddle my baby nephew for me) and one sentence popped into my mind: “She is beautiful.”
She has that glow – a glow that all mothers have, and she is just graceful. No, not because of her clothes, nor physical appearance. She just is.
Yet, my Mom was going with a heavy heart because this time, I couldn’t accompany her to Singapore, nor would I accompany her for the months and years to come. Inside, I felt sad myself. My parents would lose their youngest daughter, yet again.
I’m moving.
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My Mom always says that what I want from life today will be different to what I’ll want in one, two years’ time. As one grows older, so does her view in life. While I don’t appreciate being told that I’m-still-a-kid-and-I-don’t-know-what-decision-I’m-making kind of thing, deep down I know it’s true.
While having a catch-up session with my Melbourne friends the other day, we talked a bit about relationship. Mind you, I haven’t had a relationship talk for quite a while. Like, two or three years ago I was talking a lot about relationship, and even to this day I still receive some emails from strangers asking me for advice. While I’m not sure if I’m adequate enough to give an advice to someone, I find myself realising this simple truth: My advices, and my take on relationship, over time, change.
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Pam couldn’t stop biting her nails.
She had left this habit long ago in high school when the boys made fun of her. But today, especially today, she needed those nails back. It provided her with the familiarity that life was still what once it was. She needed to know that.
She sat there on the chair, legs crossed, eyes straight ahead. She couldn’t make what the young woman on the podium was saying. She couldn’t concentrate. Pam was biting her right nails, and her left hand squeezed a sheet of paper. She counted to ten. And again. And again. But she couldn’t help not thinking, couldn’t help not feeling.
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Ever since I discovered the haunting Hunger Games song by Taylor Swift last week, I have been infatuated with the trilogy all over again. It’s funny, because I didn’t fall in love with the series at the first sight.
In fact, reading my old reviews, I only give the books 3.5 rating. I remember being annoyed at Katniss for breaking down so many times throughout the second and third book, and how she couldn’t really decide between Peeta and Gale.
I guess, just like Finnick’s love for Annie, it creeps on me.
One particular part of the book that never leaves me is this: “You know, you could live a thousand lifetimes and not deserve him.”
This.
Which gets me thinking: do we deserve love?
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My first viral post aired last week with an expectation of having ten likes on Facebook. In five days, it has garnered over 40k views, over 9k Facebook likes, and over 3k picture tweets. It has caused my blog’s database server to undergo a rollercoaster ride – going up and down frequently over the first two days due to an overload of traffic.
Looking back, I never knew what I wrote would strike a chord to so many people. I wrote this post as a thank you letter to my boyfriend who always walks me home every time we go out. It doesn’t matter if it’s late, or if he’s tired, he always refuses not to send me home. He always wants to make sure that I’m safe and sound, and he does this even though he lives quite far – traveling one hour plus back to his place using public transport.
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Date someone who walks you home. Someone who doesn’t mind taking the long route, the detour, the extra hour from the comfort of home. Someone who feels better if he knows that you’re safe and sound, before he kisses you goodnight and starts his other journey alone.
Date someone who walks you home. Who doesn’t do it when it’s convenient for him to do so, but who does it even though he needs to travel one hour and fifteen minutes back to his own place without the comfort of a car. Someone who does it, because he cares.
Date someone who walks you home. Someone who knows you are old enough to take care of yourself and to go back by your own, only to say no everytime you suggest he doesn’t need to send you home tonight. Date someone who sends you home not because he tries to be a gentleman, or has to become one, but because he wants to.
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I remember how you made me feel when I went to sleep last night.
It was happiness, but not like being-excited-happiness, which can go away as easily as it can come. No, it was more of being-peaceful-happiness, which made you smile as it caressed you until you drifted from reality.
It was like being comfortable in each other’s silence. It was like feeling the gentle wind kissing your cheek. It was like riding a car with the radio on while holding each other’s hands. It was like a small kiss planted on the back of your hand.
It was happiness.
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