2004-01-25 - 11:38 p.m.

25th January, near midnight.

One reason I dunt write often. I don't want my diaryland page to turn into one of those blogs where ever-pubescent girls yarn about their day. E.g.:

1) 'Oh, I just had a meal at this restaurant! You can't belive how great the fetuccine was, and it costs only $20!'

2) 'Why didn't Bob call me today? My world is crumbling apart...'

3) 'Can you believe what a bad day I had? I have to spend 2 hours listening to a boring lecture, and the wind spoilt my good hair day. Life sucks.'

4) 'Here's a snapshot of my new Henna tattoo, cute isn't it? Keke, I got it at the faculty bazaar, and the guy behind me is sooo cute!'

5) 'That dumb bitch at Zouk, why didn't she let me into Velvet? I wish my boyfriend was there to flash his gold card in her stuck-up face'

6) 'Gosh, I saw the most hideous thing today. There was this girl sitting opposite me wearing a pasar-malam Calvin and Hobbes T-shirt. Someone call fashion police.'

7) 'I'm having a crisis... my periods are here, and I have a presentation tmr... why is life so unfair!!!!!'

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I've just read a friend's blog and printed some notes for next week. Wait, her blog carries no relevance to the examples I made up above. I don't know her well, but I could empathise with some things (say 20%) she wrote. Sometimes, mundane; often, candid and revealed her psyches. Is it the course we are in or the life in Sillypore or even the future job facing her (and me), that morph happy souls, travelling towards the holy grail of finding your adult position in life, into depressed denizens? The path to the Golden Fleece was filled with insurmountable danger.

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The past 25 days was emotionally-wrenching. It started at Zouk with this person. We tried speaking to each other in Japanese (she's Singaporean), downed shots after shots of illusion - all sorts of liquor - and chatted. We were soon drunk, and things moved very fast. We didn't care about the beats of the strobes nor the crowd around us. What happened was almost unbeliveable. During the moments which happened, she said, 'I hope this would never end.' But it ended in one and a half hours, and my lips went dry from what happened. No elaboration here, I respect her... but we were sloshed... floored-sloshed.

The thing was, we kept in contact. Days later, we went for movies, to Milennia Walk to see the stars, where I bullshitted about my knowledge in astronomy. We talked about our experiences, she cried, she laughed. A woman's tears is indeed my Archille's heels. I had unknowingly pierced her emotional shell through the phone calls, my prose and well...erm... Anyway, the more I know about her, the more I felt for her. I snipped the case around her heart, but yet I pushed her away. She was right, I am a difficult person to comprehend. I am not comfortable with being too physical. Was it the gym workouts that killed my sex drive, haha, bittersweet...

I pushed her hands away when she slipped her hands around me, yet in me, I wanted to hug her and be there to listen to her. We just have too much in common emotionally. I am sorry for making her this way. The bestial words she said while choking back tears, 'You must think I am a whore. Well, I am the cheapest whore,' was repulsive to my ears. I didn't want to hear that... and I do not know what I did, to make her say that.

We still met up, and the more she knew me, the more I pierced into her emotional core (unknowingly). I never seen anyone crying in Madam Wongs, was it my fault? She made me feel like an idiot. I hardened myself, I could have left her alone outside Madam Wongs... but her gentle pull on my wrist was too Herculean for me to prise away from.

Some thing she said about me, which I felt was spot on: I could never bring myself to commit to anyone. I don't really trust women and relationships. Was it because of my parent's divorce?

I wish I have the guts to tell her that I do feel for her, I have emotions, I am not as detached as I appear to be. Most of the time I need alcohol before I loosen up to speak to her. The only time when I called her when I was not drunk was the last time I called her, and that was probably the time when I really opened up. I ended everything with a gutless sms:'It's better to be just friends.'

I was stunned when the reply came,'I can always be your convenient friend.'

It was a night of so many what-if(s).

I guess I am emotionally juvenile, and I coat myself in too thick a shell to protect a vulnerable heart. To the extent that I appear detached and too aloof.

Really, I do not care much for her... but it was a scary and emotional 25 days.

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