to R, with love

i was a casualty in the recent premature termination of exchange - the forceful eviction from a foreign land back to the home land.

why does it feel like the opposite?

right now i feel hopeless - i know this is a crazy, temporary, all-consuming feeling - i feel hopeless that i will ever love Singapore like i did before, now that ive had a taste of something so different.

ive had a taste of picturesque blue skies, alongside glistening canals, amongst the flurry of disgruntled bikers; ive had to fight against the cold harsh winds, unpredictable Parisian streets, gushes of rain blurring my vision.

ive been to a land where i dont feel different, out of the norm, ugly, even.

and R, of course no post would be complete without a guest appearance by a man who plays a part in my narrative.

A and I spoke a lot about how our fathers failed us, we constantly saw touching scenes of father and child, welling up at the loss of our own such innocence.

i dont want to think that this has anything to do wth R. i really hope not.

but if im forcing a narrative or a story arc out of this, this is the only way it makes sense for me?

why else would the universe send me into the comforting arms of a man twice my age?

i felt so safe with him, close to no second-guessing, for the first time, a man's words were not lines to be read in between, they were simply words.

"there were so many things i wanted to do with you" - was simply that.

its easy to romanticise the time we had together, it was too early for things to go shit as they routinely did. but part of me cant help but wonder, could it have just gotten better with time?

i think im done. im done looking for the hidden life lessons behind every male encounter. R makes me want to believe that sometimes good things can come to me, for no reason in particular.

i think i know how to be myself now, more importantly, i think ive learnt how to be enough for myself.

rushing home to cook a dish id been fantasising about earlier in the day, and settling down with my laptop to rewatch old shows that have a special place in my heart - ultimately, this was my favourite thing to do, miles away from home.


this was my first piece of writing about R:

ive taken a lover - sounds dramatic right.

JK.

so i started hanging out/having sex with this 43 year old guy. our first hang was very pleasant, we felt comfortable with each other very fast (the boredom and utter lack of connection with my previous date still looming over). but i feel a bit weird after having sex so im trying to make sense of it here. do my impulses reflect my true intentions? barely 20 minutes in we were seated, watching a random flock of flamingoes, and i initiate the physical with a "are you gonna kiss me?" - do i regret starting too soon? i feel more vulnerable with clothes on, where all we will have are our words and thoughts, not caresses and touches. have i grown so comfortable with communicating with men in this manner that i have lost my voice? or, does that just reflect my true intentions - maybe my mind doesn't want to engage with him? it doesn't see it is as worthwhile investment? why then, do i agonise over my inability to communicate. he said something strange about gender equality/feminism and i didn't know how to respond.

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im glad to have proven myself wrong. im glad he turned out to be a source of happy, of comfort. i will never forget him. i have the wrappers from our juice bottles. i dont want to forget what it was like being in his arms, his overwhelming scent, his forceful touch. but time will catch up with me, no matter how much i fight it. and soon this post will read as melodrama to me. but thats okay.