Time.. Passes

BFF came back on Sunday and well, like I've said before - some things aren't real until they are told to my dear ole Mandy. And last week is one of those episodes.

But I am sure of this... one fine morning, I will wake up without certain persons and certain questions on my mind.

As with all things in life that I have come to learn - patience... time too will pass.

A Fresh Chapter

ob⋅li⋅ga⋅tion ~ noun

1. Something by which a person is bound or obliged to do certain things, and which arises out of a sense of duty or results from custom, law, etc.
2. Something that is done or is to be done for such reasons
3. A binding promise, contract, sense of duty, etc.
4. The act of binding or obliging oneself by a promise, contract, etc.
5. A debt of gratitude

One of the things that has changed about life as I know it (even though technically, there should not be any changes!!) is the reconnection of old ties. Ties that got severed when bridges burnt down. Ties that extend from my own self to Lydia and Luke. And for the better part, the tale of reconnection is not mine. It is theirs.

We begin life with few obligations. We pledge allegiance to the flag. We swear to return our library books.

For all their lives, when one mentions 'grandparents', these two only know of my mum and dad. They are the ones they see, day in, day out. They are the ones who nurse them when they are ill, dance with joy when they get great exam scores and beam with pride at each and every school function.

They have always known they have another set of grandparents somewhere out there, but it has never been a subject of discussion due to some persona non grata thingy. This other set are virtual strangers to my kids.

But as we get older we take vows, make promises, get burden by commitments, to do no harm, to tell the truth and nothing but, to love, to cherish till death do us part.

Tonight they will meet them, in person, technically for the first time. And both sides are nervous as hell, with me stuck in between. 

Luke and Lydia both have questions - plenty. Where have they been? What are their names? Do they know who we are? And my folks and I have been trying our level best to prepare them for the meeting ~ yes, these sort of meetings cannot be left to chance so some preparation needs to be done and out of the way first.

I have given them a rough physical description. Have told them the language barrier challenge. And the very high likelihood of how they might want to "hold your hand, touch your face, give you a bear hug" because they are a reminder of what is now gone.

So we just keep running up the tab 'til we owe everything to everybody and suddenly ... what the.

I also know that the unsaid behind this first step is that I am effectively casting my children into a different set of cultural shoes. From now on, Luke is the eldest grandchild. If we were royalties, he would now be the first in line. And with that, in our culture would come certain responsibilities that would need fulfilling when the time comes.

I also know the old folks would not ask this of me but I could not possibly be so callous as to always leave the offering to come from their end. I would have to occasionally consider doing a road-trip with the kids so they "go home" instead.

And I am wondering if this would keep up.

So we do what any sane person would do. We run like hell from our promises, hoping they'll be forgotten. But sooner or later, they always catch up. 

Regardless of what happens from here on out, it would have to be something I factor into my life, our lives. But as with everything else that I have done in the last 4 days, I'm not dreading it. In fact, I am pleased that the children would get to know a different side of their life.

After all... sooner or later, this would all have had to take place anyways.

And sometimes you find the obligation you dread the most isn't worth running from at all.

How's That Charlie Brown?

The dictionary defines grief as keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret.

For 2 days, friends, colleagues and cousins have asked me if I am okay. For a spell, I wondered “Why?” What is the rationale or reason for asking? Is there any reason why I should not be? Is it not all water under the whatever now? After all, it has been years and it’s not as if I do not still know how to love or be happy. So why? Why should I not be alright? Why do I need to grieve? WHAT IS THERE to grieve about?

There are five stages of grief. They look different on all of us, but there are always five.

Ben told me to keep the head’s up – that all this sudden rush of mention would find a way to duck me when I least expect it. I silently laughed at his text. And coolly told him that I was only going to go say my peace, for the last time and then be done with it.

Grief may be a thing we all have in common, but it looks different on everyone.

But because he is my Jiminy Cricket, and because he has been in his way, preparing me to accept death as part and parcel of life and living, he also saw all the demons I have been keeping at bay, toying with them in lil bits and then saying I’m done.

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

In many ways, my mourning started years ago. And if this finality is anything to go by, it sees me moving into the last of it. A calm acceptance of how things had turned out, that I had given it my all, have been giving it my all. Perhaps I could have done a little bit more but there’s nothing I can do about it now. And all said and done, we’ve done well for ourselves in the end, in our own way.

But what I did wrong was imprint onto my children that they too should feel and think the same way I do. I did the whole gung-ho thing on their behalf when Ben said it was sad, to think that Lydia and Luke now shared the category of having lost a parent, by telling Ben they never had him anyways.

It isn’t just death we have to grieve. It’s life. It’s loss. It’s change.

I should have seen it coming when Luke, age 6, solemnly told me that my analogy of his father-and-son relationship is akin to Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker (complete with the ‘Luke I am your father’ saying) WAS NOT FUNNY AT ALL. I guess in a way I did, as did my brother who was in the vicinity. But I brushed it off as Luke having one of his moments and not understanding or appreciating Star Wars.

Lydia had her complete meltdown at night prayers, with her legendary heart-wrenching sobs with a smeared howl of “I can never say goodbye to him anymore.” And of asking if she could see him one last time.

My brave lil soldiers kept it all in, in my presence until their little hearts could hold it no more.

The very worst part is that the minute you think you're past it, it starts all over again. And always, every time, it takes your breath away.

Sitting down in my folks’ front porch this evening, they wanted to know everything. What does he look like now? Who is there at his memorial? What is he wearing? Did I take a photo of him in the coffin? Why did his heart stop beating? Why did he go away? And... Did he love them?

Grief comes in its own time for everyone, in its own way. So the best we can do, the best anyone can do, is try for honesty. 

I did not want these two youngsters to think they were not loved, or they were at fault. And so I forced myself to remember all the good times, all the good things. But they were slow in coming, because I didn’t want them to. Cos to remember the good times would only bring me to my feet and wept for a life past.

The really crappy thing, the very worst part of grief is that you can't control it. The best we can do is try to let ourselves feel it when it comes. And let it go when we can.

But I know that whatever I said this evening will come back again and again ~ kids being kids, what they do not understand or comprehend, they do not retain. And so I had to do it. I had to dig out everything from the box double, triple sealed and go through everything that was once life as I knew it.

And when we wonder why it has to suck so much sometimes, has to hurt so bad. The thing we gotta try to remember is that it can turn on a dime. That's how you stay alive.

So yes, I am grieving tonight.

Grieving for a life lost not quite so old.

Grieving how he will never see any of his children step up to receive their scroll, don a white dress and veil, giving him their hand to walk down the aisle, stand at the altar beaming as his would-be daughter-in-law come up to them.

Grieving how Lydia and Luke would never have the chance to say “You are my father and I am your son, daughter.”

Grieving for how I would never be able to say again “You can see them if you wanted to.”

When it hurts so much you can't breathe, that's how you survive.

I can smile now. Not a false bravado smile. I can live with the far-fetch thought that if Lydia wanted to put one of the framed pictures out by her bedside, I would not avoid going into her room.

By remembering that one day, somehow, impossibly, you won't feel this way.

I have been here before. And I came out of it.

It won't hurt this much.

The three of us will be alright.

Done & Dusted

I think I will go down in the "memorial flashbacks" as the loony-one who had a one-sided conversation by the brown box in the hall. 

Take all of your wasted honour

Every little past frustration

Take all of your so-called problems,

Better put 'em in quotations

And it was a surreal experience - for once, I had the last word in ~ which is rare if you put it in context. 

Walking like a one man army

Fighting with the shadows in your head

Living out the same old moment

Knowing you'd be better off instead,

If you could only . . .

And I could say everything that has ever come to mind but left hidden. Tho the best part of it all would be how I was able to rag into him (Obesity??? WTF happened to you?!) like I do with my buddies.

Even if your hands are shaking

And your faith is broken

Even as the eyes are closing

Do it with a heart wide open

But it don't really matter what "tag" has likely been given to me ~ I've said all I needed to say... including "I forgive you" which I think was what I really needed to do in the very end. 

Have no fear for giving in

Have no fear for giving over

You'd better know that in the end

It's better to say too much

Then never say what you need to say again

And now that faces and names have been put in their right proper place, burnt bridges mended in a manner of sorts, it's time to move on.

Author's Note:

I would like to express my utter appreciation to all buddies who carried me through it.. Would not have been able to do it without your logic, rationale and strength!

In Memory Of...

For about 5 minutes as my phone kept beeping in church, my mind fast forwarded to what it could mean, when an old friend says "My condolence." All scenarios played itself out in double-time. It wasn't till a second old contact called that I knew in my heart of hearts, that it was what I dared not imagine.

My children's biological father passed away in the wee hours of this morning. He was only 41 years, 1 month and 22 days old.

I am surprised at myself. That it shook me enough to sink me to the ground and burst into tears. And it still does, hours later. Better get any tear-shedding done and out of the way. It won't do for another little girl to ask her mummy who I am and why I was looking at her daddy and crying. 

If we had been better people, better human beings, we would have found ways to remain friends and co-exist in the lives of two other people we created. But we were not, and we will now never be. And I suppose that is ultimately it.

Perhaps, part of me, always thought that one day, in the justified world of right and wrong, my phone would ring or my email box would have a message, saying "I'm sorry" and that he would like to make it up to Lydia and Luke. Perhaps, he might have thought it and perhaps he also thought that he would live forever and so had all the time in the world to do it.

My religion tells me that when our souls leave our bodies, we go and stand before God, accounting for all the things we have done in our lives. I would like to think that God is now coming to that bit where He goes "So that episode, when you decided that you would no longer care or acknowledge that you have two children... How's about that one?" I cannot for the life of me, formulate his reply for him.

Our friends (yes, we still keep mutual friends) thought I ought to go - do the right thing and pay my last respects. I thought so as well, after all, everything is done and dusted already.   With the exception of Ben, my friends thought otherwise. I am torn. But as Paul rightfully said - it's not should or should not, but want or don't want. And it is a whole lot of soul-searching to arrive at which side of the line I stand on.

Just last night, my darling boy, rushed from one thing to another, sat in his chair, dog-tired, telling me how you don't really realise what you have lost until it's gone. How his mum used to ring him asking what time he'd be home and to say that dinner was on the table, and how he missed it after she left (yes, he can't bring himself to say the d-word). 

And being the darling that he is, my Jiminy Cricket, he says I should be there. This last time. Regardless of what had happened before, if I didn't do this, I would always be haunted by it and never close that chapter fully. And that because it is as it has turned out now, I need that closure myself in order to help Lydia and Luke close theirs when their turn comes as they grow older.

When I woke up this morning, I did not think today would unfold as such. If I am to learn anything today, it would only to re-emphasize just how short life is. We can love today, we can keep love for tomorrow. We can hold grudges, we can offer forgiveness. We can hold apologies, we can show magnanimity. 

There is no right or wrong answer. It boils down to what we choose and being able to live with that choice.

So yes, I will go and stand before a box in a hall today. I will dress myself in black and mourn for a moment as I would be required to mourn if things were different back then. And I do not need a reason to justify why I will do all these things, when I do not have to. 

For a spell, he was my sun and moon, day and night. We built dreams and we fought through their disappearance. What we had, we shared. For a spell, we had a world of our own and I have Lydia and Luke to show for it. 

In Memoriam

Chang Say Peng, Ray
26th August 1968 ~ 17th October 2009
Leaves behind a legacy of broken dreams and 3 children
At best, he tried...

I Am...

When Black Eye Peas came in few weeks ago, I let that one go, with VVIP access tickets in hand. It was after all Arthur's Day and heck, I didn't think anyone else I knew would have wanted to be there (in the midst of the Irish having their fun and black brew). Turned out that I was wrong. Someone did want to go.

So in about a week's time, one of the biggest music star of our decade is heading to our shores. Can't really say I'm a big fan of Beyonce, but a concert, is a concert, is a concert. The city is abuzz with talk of almost nothing but it. But looking at the ticket prices and not knowing any contacts in Maxis, the only way we were not going to miss this was to win a pair of tickets through this Alter-Ego radio contest, which accounts for why you hear her latest hit Sweet Dreams when you ring me.

I have always been quite the great one at winning these sort of frivolous stuff. But seriously, after days of listening to the winning names, I didn't think "Barbsie Loaded" stood a chance, up against these hyper-creative twenty-somethings die-hard daisies!

So imagine my surprise, to get a call late last night, asking "What does Loaded mean?" Yes - I got em tix and it gave me such a thrill that I did not hesitate to pick up the phone and dial. Only to come smashing down to earth and the harsh realities of life in 2009.

I have always said I wished I had a greater ability to hold anger and rage ~ make it last longer. Perhaps it's age - mellows one down to nothing but putty. But in reflection, I think it's the lack of fuel - when allowed to stew, rage can really brew.

I have never really been one to come out and say what's bugging me. But I must say, over the last year or so, I have learnt and learnt the lesson well. It doesn't have to come out in words that's harsh and hard. And it doesn't carry with it any risk of a back-fire or a stormy argument. Plus, you don't lose any sleep over it.

It may not be a situation that I like. It may not even be a situation that I appreciate. But it is a situation that I can understand, and more importantly, believe. 

So while said person may have way too many oddities for the rest of us to comprehend, it must be said that he is good for one thing and I'm sure those who know me would agree ~ He knows how to diffuse a loaded situation and put it to rest permanently, which would be a first in a lifetime of explosive plenty. And he does it in a way that doesn't make me feel just that wee bit tall or wake up the next day wondering if I've once again had the wool pulled over my eyes.

There you are

Always strong when I need you

You let me give

And now I live, fearless and protected

After all is said and done

The concert may be a miss... but I don't need to be in the presence of Sasha Fierce to know who I AM ultimately.

LB - I hope the seats are good ones and person-who-cannot-be-called-the-Gword enjoys it!

Do What You Must

The LegalBeagle asked me the other night over dinner "Do you mean to say that you're going to stick with this business for the next 10, 15 years?" and it blew me off-course a wee bit. The only other person who has thought that far about me and the Irish would be Monday, and even then, his line of thoughts were more on "Do you think either of the children would want to learn the ropes and take over from you in future?"

I've never really given it much thought - how long I'd go on doing this. I know that in all things, there would be a life span to this - the day I stop paying any attention to the customer's satisfaction is the day I should never go back through those doors. Can I see that happening? I honestly do not think so, no matter how bitter the pill gets sometimes.

And while there would be months and years where I know I would feel as if I've been handed a real dud, I still do not think that I would throw my hands up in the air and say - Here's your business, take it back.

There are different types of people in this world. Those who stay and fight. Those who stay and hide. Those who just plain run when the heat is on. And those who stay, wait, see and then decide on the best course of action.

This year and last, in all honesty, is really my first experience of "economic bad times." And there is much that have been learnt and to be learnt from it. I do know this though for a fact: At all times - good or bad, we do what we must and live with that decision.

Professionally - it means that if I have to push my counterparts till they throw their hands in the air and scream "Barbara go to bed.. NOW!", it's what I must do to get the sale locked in and closed, or get the job done.

Personally - it means that if I have to bury my head into my pillow and scream "WTF?!", take a deep breath and then say "That's fine", it's what I must do to remain being the supportive person that I have committed to be.

Do what you must - it's the only way, at the best and worst of times.

Cultivated Virtue

I walked into The Gardens (this hyper expensive mall in town) for the first time yesterday. It has been opened for coming to two years I think. And last week, I spent some time with Mandy in Pavillion (another ritzy place).

These are places I would never have dared even go near in the past cos it was just way too painful to know you couldn't even afford a cup of coffee in any of the outlets there, what more walk out with a filled designer shopping bag.

I have not come into any money. Nor have I snagged some rich expat as is the recommended course of remedy by Mandy. I have just become reconciled that being in the presence of luxury and the wealthy is be such a bad experience.

I need not dwell on the fact that once upon a time I could walk into any of those stores, zip it and walk out happily trotting a load of designer wear. I've had that experience so it's not something I've never tried. And so, utterly no reason or rhyme to feel any form of envy. Besides, it's not like I didn't have to end up paying for those purchases, and boy was it a painful affair!

And so, yes as with anyone else, it sure would be nice to have oodles of moolah to spend on anything that catches my fancy. But if I can't, it ain't gonna kill me either.

There would be more satisfaction to be derived from knowing I have worked hard at gaining something, than to have it fall into my lap. Which is why my classic Nikes is going to pay a visit to the cobbler, despite an offer of an early Christmas present. And also why I can wait till next year to grab that Sony Ericsson phone that I've set my sights on.

And you folks should be darn proud of this - not cos I'm living beyond my means, but because it means I have cultivated the virtue of patience :o)

Back in the Saddle

It's been a while since I went for my workout classes, with a key factor being the cost and the lack of 'expense' that could load-share that cost. But I sat down (well, stood up really) and decided that yes, there is indeed a way where a extra hundred bucks could be wrung out of an already paper-thin expense account and went for it.

I've never really been one who cared very much about how I looked. Not while I was in my teens, and definitely not when I was in my twenties. But there's something about knowing you're inching just that wee bit closer to the big '40' that gives you the shivers.

I finally allowed myself to be convinced that I do indeed need a new pair of jeans. I had 2 pairs hanging behind the door - both bought before I left for the UK. which means they are well over 12 years. And it was a pleasant surprise as I kept asking for a change in size - on a descending order. And to have it settle at 27 - it's a feat that has not seen the light of day since I was 17!

So yes, while I cannot really laugh without cringing in pain or risk a sneeze, I'm gonna stick with it once again.

It's back in the saddle I go.. a huffing-and-a-puffing.

The Value of Speedy

I have been scouting around for a really decent document bag that is not really your run-of-the-mill briefcase. Unfortunately, the stores on our shores seem to think that professional folks still walk around in striped shirts in boring colours and all that.

Of course, making a purchase such as this (considering my last bag purchase on was only RM 50!), I've been asking for opinions, brand awareness and just general "Are they any good?" and have narrowed it down to 2 labels. One has just won hands-down simply because of the speed they took to get back to me on my query. The other - sent me an auto-link that was a whole different rabbit hole altogether. 

In this day and age, where your customers could be getting in touch with you from anywhere in the world (and forgetting something called timezones), it is imperative to be on top of your game, keep your eye on the ball. 

Earlier this week, I wanted to sit under my desk and froth from the mouth cos my ad agency gave me a near impossible deadline to meet. The frothing came from the fact that majority of the information was having to come from my counterparts, who are thousands of miles away and 7 hours behind. Resting on my laurels and letting a simple quick check of the email before turning to bed, could mean I lose a complete work-day altogether and not meet the timelines. 

But as the day wound down last night, I was so pleased that everything came in as it should and this is something I am so pleased with. Finally, it looks like even the laid-back are finally seeing the light at the end of this tunnel - everyone is beginning to appreciate the value of speed!

Hopefully that would in the next 8 months, translate into some solid euros and cents!

He Says, She Thinks

The radio station had an idiotic but interesting call in session yesterday morning. They were asking for the definition of "taking a break" between couples. One call that stuck in my head was this dude who said that "a break is asked for, though in essence it is a break-up, simply because the asking party would like some form of insurance. Insurance that if they do not find someone else, there is the same old person to go back to."

That stuck in my head because he was the only person honest enough to come outright and admit what is normally hidden between the lines. Almost everyone else was saying that it was a gentle way of telling the other person "this is the end of the line baby!" but in a manner that is meant not to hurt.

I am of course not writing this to whack men on the head with my slipper. I think it applies to both sexes. I am writing this purely because this situation of I-say-you-think has reached a level that is causing too many people too much grief. Trust me on this: Not only have I done the damage my own liver and lungs bit, I have broken flower pots and Lord knows what else over the years.

It is all very easy to say I don't want to rock this boat of bliss when you know more than 50% chance of the fact that this boat is going to dock in some public harbour and not a private lot, what more lead to a wonderful house by the sea. And honestly, if you allowed yourself to not speak up at the appropriate time, you really have lost all rights to moan about it afterward.

So the moral of today's posting is this: if in doubt - ASK. If unsure - ASK. If you don't like the answer, walk away.

That way, no one can say you were played for the fool.

And Its Name Shall Be...

My close friends who know me, know that frequently in the past months, I have been frustrated at the level of inactivity at work. While it is appreciated, the extra time and balance of life, at the core of it all, something was still amiss.

Today was the first time in many moons that I am at my desk, close to midnight, checking on the responses that I am needing and making sure things are moving. That's the problem when your colleagues and counterparts are 7 hours behind. But it's really not a bother. As always, if I worked off a laptop, it would be plugged in and logged back on the minute I come home. Once upon a time, it was the way of life cos it was my way of coping with an empty house and a near-empty existence. But now it's different. 

Now it's cos it's my goal to get something done and not just done. It must be done right, done on time and done well. I may not be measured by KPIs or G&Os officially, but I am sure I am being weighed and measured one way or another. My colleague Sam responded the other day when I exclaimed that I am 1 year away with this ~ A lot of things can happen in one year. And perhaps she is right.

No matter what the flow is or the culture that exist is, the fact remains ~ even if I am not by the powers that be, I am measured by my own self. And I have to deal with that at the end of each work day - if I would be happy and satisfied with my own worth that day at work. 

Zig Ziglar once said: People who make commitments to reach their goals are the ones who are going to reach them. While there may be things that are beyond my control that could come up in the next 359 days (like the forex fluctuation), I am gonna make sure that the things that are within my control are to go as plan.

At the end of it all, its name shall be Satisfaction. And I'll find it my own way if it's not handed out on a silver-platter as it was before.

The Circle

The Bear got a whole load of crap from Mandy and me yesterday. But it was not bad crap. Just plain girlie crap.

But here's the thing - Mandy and I had no qualms bout the dishing out ~ bearing in mind, Mandy and Bear have never met yet emails were flying around like crazy! And we have no qualms cos the Bear has more or less been accepted into the circle ~ a fraternity of friends so close, nothing less than utter honesty is acceptable.

We set this benchmark cos we know that the receiving party is absolutely sure, without doubt, that we have no malice intended whatsoever.

So yeah Bear - you can blog about a googled definition but you know better what we mean when we use MW instead of Bear.

3 Musketeers

I sat and waiting in anticipation in the midst of a frenzied crowd.. just one name and when it was called, I had to do all I can do stop the tears from flowing. Luke Rayson was named in part by a man who was so proud he wanted everyone to know whose son Luke was. And when that name was called, an unfamiliar emotion ran through my being like a flash of electricity ~ where was this man that Luke was named after?

Then I looked across and up at the stage, as a young boy, walking tall and erect, face full of solemity and promise stepped forward to shake his Head Teacher's hand. And it didn't really matter where this said man was, cos in that child, it was me.

He had a mortar board a size too big, but yet, he never moved from his position to push it out from his brow. He did not fidget nor did he fuss. And that again told me, he is my boy.

There was nothing I wanted more than anything to have them do at this young stage, the moving of the mortar tassle - there is something very profound in the act of having the tassle being moved from one side to the other, as a symbolic act of a change. While it is a small, tiny change - going from pre-school to proper school, something tells me, with Luke, it would be so much more than that.

So yes, I am feeling a wee bit melancholic and old today.. my youngest has finished pre-school.. my eldest is actually making diary entries in the way we did when we were 12 or 13 .. another decade, before my 45th birthday, I'd be standing at some Departure Terminal, sending her off on her way to college or university...

  

Time flies. We're months away from 2010 and the future still uncertain but awaits us. And while for now it's the 3 Musketeers, I must start readying myself that soon it would be just two and then just me. But I look forward to it without a pang of sadness - cos if what they say about being parent is true - I have 2 fine persons to carry on my legacy, that I am very sure!

Love & Other Disasters

I apparently look like a panda today. Probably didn't help that I wore a white shirt to work as well - adds to the paleness of it all. And this was all because I decided at a late hour that I should get off my bum and burn some calories. The rush of adrenalin, plus a too-light a dinner kept me awake till 6 am this morning.

A few good things came out of that sleepless nights in the Heights though and they are:

1) No scary monsters. Yups you heard me. I did not lay there with my mind falling over itself. I even calmly drew on the realisation that it was already Thursday and to brace myself for yet another disappointed weekend. THOUGH when that bracing came up - it was more of a "ah - I would not be surprised!"

2) Love & Other Disasters. There's something about satellite telly - they show all these really corny movies in the dead of the night. They definitely have their audience segmentation squared off right. A light-hearted romantic comedy, full of gay people, not only was it a nice dose of walking down the streets of London (with a prolong  scene at Bank Tube Station), it also had a lot of truths.

One of those 'truths' would be that we all have this image in our heads - of perfection, of fantasy, of the un-real. It is more often than not, what we use to over-shadow what we're running away from. In the case of the movie, the lead character, Jacks (girl) decides that she would only be with gay men cos she feels safe from them, and that the chap she has actually fallen for is gay (hot-blooded Argentian gay? An utter waste!!). Just so she cannot really be hurt by them.

When she finds out that assumed-gay-dude is actually straight, she flips as only Brittany Murphy can. Yet she comes to realise that nothing has changed - he is still the same person that he was before. If ever, the only thing that has changed is her own perception, her own 'coming to terms with'.

We all hate confrontations. I know I do. I would cleanly sweep things under the carpet, just so I can avoid a look-me-in-the-eye-and-talk situation. So in truth, the last week of silence (again!) has been a quiet respite for me. Yes, I did wonder just that little bit. But it did followed quickly with a *phew* that's one more day of not-having-to-face-up-to-the-music. And there was that lil hope that email-in-question might have not been read as yet. Though with the choice of words received today, it appears that I would have no such luck...

Well, what's done is done and there can be no avoiding it over dinner on Sunday. As I told Mandy earlier this week when she asked if I got a reply - if I know receiver as I think I do, any answers (good or bad) would never come in the form of an email. He is not that sort of person to take my words, throw it back in my face and leave things as it is. 

Part of me was kinda hoping that the silence was actually an answer, which would then mean it would have been the bad answer. And perhaps deep, deep, deep down, I was hoping for this to be it. Just so that it would be another piece of 'evidence' to say that I didn't know him as I thought I did ~ justification, rationalisation, call it whatever it may be.

So yeah, since there is no avoiding it, I had better sit myself down and really think once and for all, what the hell it is I'm gonna say. Cos these sort of conversations - just not done if it has to be done twice.

Love and all other disasters indeed!