Ok, listen, this is my sappy spiel about love but if you don't want to hear what's been said a million times over, then don't read on.
Love hides in strange places. Sometimes when you've got it, you don't want it and when you haven't got it anymore, you want it more than anything. It's not cut and dry like the movies portray it to be - you love someone or you don't love someone. For me, at least, love happens in percentages. You love the person a lot of the time but there are times when I actually felt pure loathing toward this person. It was when the scales started tipping to the wrong side, I decided to question my purpose in the relationship. You can start to think that the person you share your life with doesn't really deserve to have the amount of affection you've been giving him and hence, begin to give less and less.
It can never be like that first month or in my case six months of a relationship. It's euphoric. Colors are more vivid. Your shoes fit better. Everything seems right.
If you spend years with the same person that person truly becomes part of you. This person shares the same memories with you and as time passes, eventually the number of memories including this person outnumbers the memories without this person. But then, what will happen when this person is ousted from your life by extreme forces? Who are you? Where is that part of you where that person once happily resided?
Panic takes over. Where am I? What do I do? Where is he, damnit? I want that piece back. What extremes can I go to find that missing part of me and how dare you take it away, whoever, whatever you are? Anger. Hatred. Clouded irrational thinking. Anguish. Heartache.
"What was the reason why I broke up with him again? I can't seem to remember. All I can remember are the good ones with him. I think I want him back but it's just too late. But is it? Maybe not. I'm going to try to get him back. But why do I want to do this? How will I do this? Wasn't I so unhappy when we were together? It doesn't matter because it's got to be better than the misery I'm feeling now. Anything to just make the pain go away." This is what I thought every minute of the day.
You need some kind of force to bring you back down to earth from this constant delirious brooding. For me, it was my friends. They reminded me why I broke up with him in the first place and it was like an extraordinary epiphany. I was instantly happy. The weight was lifted off of me and suddenly I was on cloud nine. This guy was not the right for me; they spelled it out in every way possible. I could do better. Yes, of course, I could. There are so many guys in this world and I know that I'm special. I'm different from most girls.
I now know that man who is going to truly love me and make me happy (not that I'm not perfectly content being by myself) is out there. I can't wait to meet him.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
To Malcolm
Where do I start?
Hearing that you went out with someone else was as if some heinous beast had reached into my chest and tore out a piece of my heart. It's strange, that expression, "a broken heart" because the pain really felt like it stemmed from somewhere within my chest cavity. It's a real physical pain; it's not up there where you think and make logical decisions.
I know I was the one who did the breaking up. I put you through a lot of pain and anguish. I know. It's mostly my pride and selfishness that is causing my own misery. You have a right to see other women.
I ponder the reasons why you did it the way you did it. Some think you just wanted to make me jealous or piss me off and if that's true, you succeeded. You won. I cried. A lot. I spent many a night wide-eyed starring at the window. Let me out of this nightmare. Or that this was some last attempt at getting me back. Others think, you just needed a quick fuck. That actually doesn't bother me as much as disappoint me for I thought you were a different kind of man, the kind that doesn't think with that small piece of flesh hanging between his legs. Actually, what I think is that you simply needed to move on and there's nothing wrong with that. The reasons don't matter.
The days and nights have been hard. I shed a lot of tears that first night. The second I shed fewer. The third even fewer and now though I still do feel a strange pit in my chest, I think I'm okay. It gets easier as the days go by and to be honest my friends have really come through for me. They are there to comfort me, to tell me to be strong, to criticize you (which makes me feel a lot better), to eat, to laugh about our silly lives. They are great. It would be so much harder had I not had good friends to lean on.
I constantly replay all those amazing times we had together. There were so many. Everywhere I look I see something that reminds me of some experience we had. I search for some sign that you are trying to make contact with me. When the telephone rings, I hope it's you. When I turn over in my bed at night I see an imaginary outline of you body next to mine. Then it disappears. During the day, I wonder what you are up to. I wonder if you wonder what I'm up to. I do miss you much.
We were the best of friends throughout our relationship as well as after it ended. Our conversations even became more intimate afterwards too. I think perhaps the main reason why I am so upset is because I lost my best friend that night and that my best treated me with such contempt.
I was reading this book in Eslite the other day called Blink. The author talked about how some people make it in life, not only do they have wealth but they also have true happiness while others suffer bad fortune throughout their lives. He attributed it to the ability to make good decisions. Basically, there are those who have a sense about how to make the right decision most of the time leading to fulfilling successful lives. Anyway, I think I'm one of those people. Things always seem to work out for me. I know that I made the right decision to break up with you because you are certainly not the right mate for me. There are simply too many incompatible traits the main one being our differences in values. Therefore, I stand firm with the decision that we cannot be friends anymore. We both have to move on.
However, I do have some of your possessions like your tent and a good book of yours. I think you may want them back. You have the travel guide that I have to give to my coworker. I would somehow like to set up a time where we can exchange items. You can send me an e-mail or leave me a message.
Hearing that you went out with someone else was as if some heinous beast had reached into my chest and tore out a piece of my heart. It's strange, that expression, "a broken heart" because the pain really felt like it stemmed from somewhere within my chest cavity. It's a real physical pain; it's not up there where you think and make logical decisions.
I know I was the one who did the breaking up. I put you through a lot of pain and anguish. I know. It's mostly my pride and selfishness that is causing my own misery. You have a right to see other women.
I ponder the reasons why you did it the way you did it. Some think you just wanted to make me jealous or piss me off and if that's true, you succeeded. You won. I cried. A lot. I spent many a night wide-eyed starring at the window. Let me out of this nightmare. Or that this was some last attempt at getting me back. Others think, you just needed a quick fuck. That actually doesn't bother me as much as disappoint me for I thought you were a different kind of man, the kind that doesn't think with that small piece of flesh hanging between his legs. Actually, what I think is that you simply needed to move on and there's nothing wrong with that. The reasons don't matter.
The days and nights have been hard. I shed a lot of tears that first night. The second I shed fewer. The third even fewer and now though I still do feel a strange pit in my chest, I think I'm okay. It gets easier as the days go by and to be honest my friends have really come through for me. They are there to comfort me, to tell me to be strong, to criticize you (which makes me feel a lot better), to eat, to laugh about our silly lives. They are great. It would be so much harder had I not had good friends to lean on.
I constantly replay all those amazing times we had together. There were so many. Everywhere I look I see something that reminds me of some experience we had. I search for some sign that you are trying to make contact with me. When the telephone rings, I hope it's you. When I turn over in my bed at night I see an imaginary outline of you body next to mine. Then it disappears. During the day, I wonder what you are up to. I wonder if you wonder what I'm up to. I do miss you much.
We were the best of friends throughout our relationship as well as after it ended. Our conversations even became more intimate afterwards too. I think perhaps the main reason why I am so upset is because I lost my best friend that night and that my best treated me with such contempt.
I was reading this book in Eslite the other day called Blink. The author talked about how some people make it in life, not only do they have wealth but they also have true happiness while others suffer bad fortune throughout their lives. He attributed it to the ability to make good decisions. Basically, there are those who have a sense about how to make the right decision most of the time leading to fulfilling successful lives. Anyway, I think I'm one of those people. Things always seem to work out for me. I know that I made the right decision to break up with you because you are certainly not the right mate for me. There are simply too many incompatible traits the main one being our differences in values. Therefore, I stand firm with the decision that we cannot be friends anymore. We both have to move on.
However, I do have some of your possessions like your tent and a good book of yours. I think you may want them back. You have the travel guide that I have to give to my coworker. I would somehow like to set up a time where we can exchange items. You can send me an e-mail or leave me a message.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Eye of the Storm
Typhoon Haitang hit Taiwan yesterday with fury. The government has shut down all businesses on the island today, a somewhat expected day off. It's not as bad as the last one though. Last year we got one, the wind was so strong it whistled and the windows shook and rattled so much in the middle of the night that I feared they would cave in so I retreated to the bathroom where I sat for nearly an hour.
I just came back from a walk outside. There's something so dangerous yet eerily alluring about the ultra high speed winds of a typhoon. Armed with a full body 7-11 poncho, I walked around the block. I passed fallen branches, leaf covered cars on the side of the road, the occasional taxi, a few pedestrians struggling with their bent umbrellas. I only got scared when I saw roofing bricks strew across the sidewalk. I thought to myself, "Hey, it would probably hurt if I got clonked in the head by one of those." So I made my way back home but stopped in the small sheltered area by my bank and stayed there for a good twenty minutes watching Mother Nature release her anger.
The rain comes down sideways in long layers. The air is fresh, so fresh and moist. Breath it up. The trees lean over. Which ones are strong enough to survive. I look over to the small atrium where the fish and the turtles in the pond swim happily in circles completely oblivious to the chaos that is happening outside their little world. Before entering my building I take a few snapshots of the sun with my water proof camera. There's an open patch up there. It seems the clouds are twisting around it. I feel strangely like I'm being watched.
I just came back from a walk outside. There's something so dangerous yet eerily alluring about the ultra high speed winds of a typhoon. Armed with a full body 7-11 poncho, I walked around the block. I passed fallen branches, leaf covered cars on the side of the road, the occasional taxi, a few pedestrians struggling with their bent umbrellas. I only got scared when I saw roofing bricks strew across the sidewalk. I thought to myself, "Hey, it would probably hurt if I got clonked in the head by one of those." So I made my way back home but stopped in the small sheltered area by my bank and stayed there for a good twenty minutes watching Mother Nature release her anger.
The rain comes down sideways in long layers. The air is fresh, so fresh and moist. Breath it up. The trees lean over. Which ones are strong enough to survive. I look over to the small atrium where the fish and the turtles in the pond swim happily in circles completely oblivious to the chaos that is happening outside their little world. Before entering my building I take a few snapshots of the sun with my water proof camera. There's an open patch up there. It seems the clouds are twisting around it. I feel strangely like I'm being watched.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
And how are the bathrooms in Vietnam?
I think it's funny how after my trip to Vietnam so many Taiwanese people asked me if the toilets in Vietnam were as bad as the ones in Mainland China as if Chinese bathrooms were the gauge to determine the level horrific sanitary conditions in the world. I've never been to the mainland so I really can't compare but I did come across some pretty interesting washrooms along the way.
En route to Hoi An from Mui Ne on a narrow mountain pass in the middle of the night, beeping, veering past trucks in our overcrowded tourist bus with children hanging out of their seats and people sleeping in the aisles, we pause at a rest stop along the way. Everybody's gotta go to the John but the foreboding question hovers in the back of women's minds, "Are the bathrooms clean?"
"YES! Yes they are!" The place was most likely built specifically for tourists since the restaurant looks fairly tidy for a diner in the middle of no where.
It was only until the next morning when we stopped again at a another pit stop did we encounter restrooms that repelled us. I open the door and it's an empty tiled room with a tiny spigot where I think water comes out and a small hole in the corner for a drain. That's it. No toilet, not even a squatter. I close the door. Hmm. I go to the next stall. It's the same thing. What do I do? I look at this other white tourist woman near me and she looks back at me with the same perplexed look. Hey, I gotta go so I enter the stall. I pee on my feet. Gross!! I guess that's what the faucet is for, to wash the pee off your feet. Oh, now everything makes sense.
On another occasion while in the countryside of Ninh Binh we get off a bus and of course I have to go to the bathroom. At the little shop where we rented our bicycles, I kindly ask the owner, a little elderly Vietnamese woman if I could use her toilet. She brings me to the back of the store, where her family lives, to a wooden shack with a corrugated steel roof the size of a small closet. I open the door. I see a bucket of overflowing coal in the corner. The floor is made of some wooded planks haphazardly spread across the ground. The strangest thing was that there was a wooden stake coming out of the ground up to my waist right smack in the middle of the little room. There was barely enough room to squat. What the hell am I suppose to do here? I pee on my feet again but this time there wasn't a convenient faucet to wash it off. I open the door and walk past a plastic container of water and quickly scoop some up and throw it on my feet. I was ready to roll.
En route to Hoi An from Mui Ne on a narrow mountain pass in the middle of the night, beeping, veering past trucks in our overcrowded tourist bus with children hanging out of their seats and people sleeping in the aisles, we pause at a rest stop along the way. Everybody's gotta go to the John but the foreboding question hovers in the back of women's minds, "Are the bathrooms clean?"
"YES! Yes they are!" The place was most likely built specifically for tourists since the restaurant looks fairly tidy for a diner in the middle of no where.
It was only until the next morning when we stopped again at a another pit stop did we encounter restrooms that repelled us. I open the door and it's an empty tiled room with a tiny spigot where I think water comes out and a small hole in the corner for a drain. That's it. No toilet, not even a squatter. I close the door. Hmm. I go to the next stall. It's the same thing. What do I do? I look at this other white tourist woman near me and she looks back at me with the same perplexed look. Hey, I gotta go so I enter the stall. I pee on my feet. Gross!! I guess that's what the faucet is for, to wash the pee off your feet. Oh, now everything makes sense.
On another occasion while in the countryside of Ninh Binh we get off a bus and of course I have to go to the bathroom. At the little shop where we rented our bicycles, I kindly ask the owner, a little elderly Vietnamese woman if I could use her toilet. She brings me to the back of the store, where her family lives, to a wooden shack with a corrugated steel roof the size of a small closet. I open the door. I see a bucket of overflowing coal in the corner. The floor is made of some wooded planks haphazardly spread across the ground. The strangest thing was that there was a wooden stake coming out of the ground up to my waist right smack in the middle of the little room. There was barely enough room to squat. What the hell am I suppose to do here? I pee on my feet again but this time there wasn't a convenient faucet to wash it off. I open the door and walk past a plastic container of water and quickly scoop some up and throw it on my feet. I was ready to roll.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Scribbles in my Moleskin
The following are just some observations I wrote down in my Moleskin notebook (every traveler should have a Moleskin) while in Vietnam.
- Beware of what restaurants serve; they'll put extra food out on the table. Patrons will think it comes with the meal but when the bill comes they charge you a lot extra.
- Everyone in Hoi An leaves their doors open at night
- Don't bring books. Buy a copied one here. Lots of Lonely Planets for a couple of dollars but be careful because some pages may be missing.
- Many, many old ladies but not many old men
- Tourists always get charged for at least double the price of goods
- So many flies in Cambodian markets but not many in Vietnam
- Vietnam cyclos: 1 passenger in front, driver in back. Cambodian tuk tuks: 2 passengers in back driver in front
- Very few street lights in Ho Chi Minh City. Lots of traffic circles but people don't follow the rules and make right and left turns at them.
- Beeping without abandon
- No McDonalds or big fast food chains. No Starbucks but there is a large coffee chain called Trung Nguyen which Starbucks tried to buy
- Almost everyone has a lean or slender body type
- The currency is very inefficient. They don't use coins. They use both USD and Vietnamese Dong. There's almost always trouble getting change for 50,000 dong which is about 3 USD.
- There are lots of humanitarian non profit organizations/schools for underprivileged youth
- Lots of seedy businesses: never know who to trust. No copyright laws so if one company does well, others will copy the name. Example: 50 Sinh Cafes, which one was the original?
- Very few dairy products because refrigeration is not common. Ice is delivered to restaurants on motorcycles
- restaurants often buy food from other vendor to sell at their restaurants instead of cooking it themselves.
- Locals drop human waste into Halong Bay.
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