Will we ever get to the other side?

We bandied confessions, tears, forgiveness, reassurances and hopes
in between sleepy good mornings and sleepier good nights.
We showed our feet
and our food
and uttered familiar names of people and places.
As usual I become your dictionary/thesaurus and I’m only happy to.
Your laugh, that hair, your hands, and mine.
It’s like you never left.
We cleared out the grey; everything is clear now except
For one.


Do we swim or do we sink?

Picture Guy has resurfaced, calling me “my dear”, and bearing apologies/problems/questions. Considering I last heard from him nine months ago, I’m surprised and thrilled, but mostly? I’m furious. I want to tell him to go fuck himself. I’ve got no time for him. I don’t care about him. I no longer want him in my life. But those would all be lies. I could never bring myself to say those words to him anyway. Besides, wouldn’t embracing him be easier? Wouldn’t falling back into our old routine be easier? I wouldn’t have to miss him anymore. But three days since his first hello and I’m still trying to decide if no longer missing him would be worth the heartache when the conversation eventually stops.

Taking the piss

Yep. Finally breaking my stony silence. Not that I haven’t had many, many reasons to write in the last one and a half months. But what happened early this morning is just too hilarious to let fade and not document forever on this here public blog o’ mine.

So I’m always deathly thirsty just before bed for some reason, and 12 midnight yesterday was no exception. I gulped down a glass of water and went to bed shortly after. Sometime later I found myself with the urge to pee. I came across a chair, sat on it…and proceeded to pee in full view of…everyone passing by. I actually did not care. I just…let go. And boy did it feel good.

If you couldn’t tell by now, that was a dream. Seconds into letting it allllll go, I woke up. And immediately felt wet down there. My eyes widened. I gasped.

I had, indeed, urinated for real.

And no, it wasn’t mere droplets. It was a proper pee-fest. Which I was somehow able to stop midway while I nervously patted around the area to check if I had wet the bed. Miraculously, I hadn’t! It had not soaked through my bed sheet yet or even my shorts for that matter. I gingerly got out of bed, headed to the bathroom, finished the deed, washed up, got changed, and went back to bed, mortified and laughing at myself.

I’ve had ‘need to pee’ dreams and woken up needing to pee countless times, but I’ve never ever actually done it in bed. Wow.

So yeah. My first update of 2014 is about how I almost wet the bed.

Someone like you and all you know and how you speak

I was thinking last night about my best friend. She’s not my best friend anymore, not really, but neither is she my former best friend per se. She’s a best friend I don’t talk to anymore. Can that be a thing? Can someone you don’t talk to anymore still be considered a best friend, or a friend at all?

I talk to her all the time though. I have imaginary conversations with her all the time. How sad and pathetic does that sound? It’s the truth. When I have something to talk about, or complain, it’s her I think about. It’s her I pretend I’m talking to. It’s her who is laughing with me or empathising with me. Out of all the best friends I’ve had in this life, she is my favourite. She is five years younger than me but she really, really gets me and we always have fun.

We hadn’t talked for five months before she texted me saying she was sorry and that she missed me very much and could we go back to normal again? But I was still mad. So even though I said, “Apology accepted,” I also said, “But I don’t think we can go back to normal.” I waited an hour before sending her that. I probably should have waited longer. Maybe I would have sent her something else.

We’ve texted each other twice since then, but it was me who initiated the conversation, even though it was her who was keen to rebuild the friendship in the first place. She was genial and seemed interested in the goings-on in my life beyond what I initially texted her about, so I waited for her to initiate contact with me on other days. But she didn’t, hasn’t, won’t. Maybe what I said was too off-putting, even for her. Maybe she thinks I’m a bitch and it’s pointless to be friends with a bitch. Like I said, I probably should have waited longer to send her that message. Because I would have sent her something else.

While I was thinking about her last night I wanted so much to text her and tell her I miss her and this time be the one to ask if we could go back to normal. But I stopped myself. What is “normal” anymore? We haven’t seen each other for far too long. It would be much too awkward. I’m far too proud. Pick one. Or all. Whatever it is, it’s not gonna happen. And it sucks.

I knew you were trouble when you walked in

Okay. I’m just going to dive right in. We rent out one half of our office to my director AM’s friend. We see them only once or twice a month though as he is based in Hong Kong and his three employees work outside a lot. His three employees are fine, but him…right from the beginning he’s been very touchy-feely with me. Likes to touch my hands and shoulders when he talks to me. He’s also verbally flirtatious, not just physically. I’ve always been uncomfortable with it. The first time he touched my hand I remember thinking, ‘This guy has worked in Southeast Asia for so long, Malaysia even. He should know not to touch women as he pleases.’ But I figured, whatever – old guy (at least 50), AM’s friend, nice guy otherwise, doesn’t go beyond my hands and shoulders and I haven’t caught him staring at my rack yet. I’m a confrontational person most of the time and I’m not afraid to stand my ground most of the time and I don’t take shit lying down most of the time but I thought, hey, I’ma just let this roll off my back. I convinced myself that the touching is innocuous and didn’t let it bother me. On his last visit last month, however, after yet another super friendly conversation wherein he touched my hand, DS, who witnessed it, whispered to me, “He’s really flirty with you, isn’t he?” I was quite shocked that he took it as him being flirty and not just being friendly. I thought that DS, being a fellow Westerner and coming from a culture where hugs and kisses are freely bestowed upon opposite-sex strangers you just met – even though he and the rest knew not to do it with me – would see the old guy’s touchy-feeliness as just being a bloody ignorant Westerner and not as being flirtatious. See how we women second-guess ourselves even when our instincts tell us it’s harassment?!

Anyway. Today, he came in, and this thing happened after he’d come to my desk several times, asking me this or that (legitimate questions). I was seated on my chair with both legs tucked beneath me and shoes off. (I love sitting like this.) So my naked feet were sticking out from one side of my chair, in his direction. After the conversation ended he suddenly said, “You know, I have a temptation right now.” I thought it sounded a bit weird, but I asked anyway: “What?” I really shouldn’t fucking have. Guess what he said, or rather, did next? He bent down and tickled my feet! My hands immediately flew to my feet to push his hands away and I simultaneously pulled my feet away as I nervously laughed a “NO!”. But my hands of course touched his, and he lingered, and he’d already managed to do what he wanted to do anyway, and I felt sooo dirty afterwards. I should have slapped him. I should have at least not let out a nervous laugh and instead scolded him in unequivocal terms, “DO. NOT. TOUCH. ME.” But I didn’t. It caught me by surprise, it all happened so fast, plus I had already gone into that situation with the mindset of him not being a pervert but just a really friendly guy. It was one thing for him to be a pervert but I didn’t stop him.

He left the office soon after, and I later related the incident to DS, who wasn’t in the office when it happened. He kept saying, “I knew it! I knew he was flirting with you! Dirty bastard!” What else can he say besides that? The perv returned to the office in the evening, and I was about to leave but remembered I hadn’t done my dishes in the sink yet. I had to pass by him to go to the bathroom and saw that he was packing up to leave as well. He started telling me that he was returning to Hong Kong tomorrow and when he would be back in Singapore (next month, thank God) and I feigned interest. I was so engrossed washing my dishes that I didn’t notice him walking into the bathroom. (Even if I had though, even if both of my hands weren’t occupied, what could I have done – stopped him coming in? No.) He was going to deposit his used cup on the counter next to the sink. As he did this he said to me, “Well, I hope you feel better soon (I’ve been feeling a bit off these last couple of days and I told him so). Because you usually have a big smile on your face…” – as he said this he squeezed my shoulders like he was trying to comfort me – “and these days you haven’t smiled as much.” I hunched my shoulders and tried to move away but in that crammed space I had nowhere to go. Fucking hell. He just managed to touch me again.

Yes, sure, shoulders, not boobs. But still a touch that is unwelcome and not to mention completely unnecessary. He has to know I’m a Malay-Muslim (though my hair is uncovered). In my culture you don’t touch a woman anywhere unless you’re blood-related. Some women aren’t even okay shaking hands with the opposite sex and most men respect this! He has no excuse though cuz like I said he’s worked in Malaysia before. He should know this! But even if he had never worked among Muslims, among Asians, he should just err on the side of caution. In your culture you hug and kiss everyone? (Spain, omg. I died in Spain. Everyone wanted to kiss me in Spain.) Fine. But you’re in my territory now, goddammit. Do what the rest of the men are doing, i.e. NOT TOUCHING THE WOMEN.

I don’t want to be that girl that feels harassed by anything and everything. But the feet tickling. Come on.

I’ve had enough of this. Next time I see him and he touches me anywhere, I mean anywhere, even my hands and shoulders, I’m going to tell him in the most polite manner possible (why am I still worried about being polite? Oh, right. I don’t want to make it awkward. Why do I care? Oh, right. Boss’s friend. FML), “Please don’t touch me. I don’t like to be touched*.” Watch me. I’ll do it. He’s not allowed to cop a feel any longer.

*False. I like to be touched. Just not by him.