Moments

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I wanted to start off in chronological order, but wound up realising that all I want to talk about is Him. And in order to show the respect for the other people that will be mentioned:

It was great meeting all of you there yesterday, a rather interesting mix of people. But in particular, I want to thank LuYeeRazlanElise for listening to me rant about Him, especially the former, who was a total big sister to me. THANK YOU. I wished we could’ve moved around the table and talked to different people, but I guess that’s the problem with big groups, and why I generally don’t like them. Have fun in Penang y’all!

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So let’s talk about Him.

See, now one would not usually associate such emotions with someone who pops in, stir things up a little, and leave; but He was no ordinary stranger.

Our relationship, for lack of a better term, is one which I will remember forever as a singular moment in my life, a moment made up of smaller, special moments.

[Excessively drawn out and detailed post after the jump.]

It was nowhere near anything like a relationship in the common understanding of the term, but it was definitely something more than just a friendship. I will admit there was an element of sexual intention present, but I’m pretty sure my decision to keep it non-sexual made it a much better relationship that had I given in.

See, this relationship started off with the way we sat with the group, talking about everything from labels to the most bimbotic things that gay guys can talk about. But each time I turned and looked at him, and I did this pretty consciously because I’m such a slut, I would see his eyes intently looking at mine, listening to every word I said. I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone give such time of day to my words the way he did.

And as the evening progressed, I found myself starring at him, sometimes hoping for a response – which I got at various intervals, with that same, comforting intensity. I don’t normally like to look at people’s eyes directly (I usually stare at their mouths, if you know me well enough), but with him, I felt so much comfort in his attention that allowing him access to my soul seemed natural.

There’s that bit about the jealousy, but it was not a malicious jealousy. Instead, it was a surprising feeling for me, one which was completely void of self-loathing, but was a simple untainted jealousy. But suffice to say, I had responded to it in a highly distant, teasing and perhaps obviously over-involved manner, something I’ve come to admit, more so now than before, was a defence mechanism. (Edit: I realised how obscure this paragraph is. Basically, there was someone else.)

Over dinner, (we sat across from each other) I found my attraction burgeoning to a state where I was ready to admit that I liked this guy, and every time our eyes crossed paths (so cheesy, I know) I could feel that whatever it was I was emitting, I was getting back.

By night time, I had fully accepted the fact that my jealousy was healthy, but was not getting in the way of me enjoying myself, and that was exactly why clubbing was invented.

Halfway between Madonna and Britney, I find him dancing behind me, hands slowly rising up upon my leg. Dancing grew into touching, which then turned into making out (obscure pop-culture reference!), which was very very enjoyable. And he managed to slip into the conversation, whatever little of it we had between tongue, about going over to my place. He’s either very smart like that, or has very good planning abilities. It weaves through my mind for a moment, and I immediately refuse. In part because of my personal vow of temporary chastity, and in part because the thought of sleeping with a guy behind closed doors while my mom sleeps with her room door open freaks me out.

As we exit the club at some ungodly hour, I apologise to him, and he laughs it off, mocking me about being so repressed.

I like him even more.

As we sat down to food and the glorious company of two friends (one of whom was very bravely hit upon, and who was even nice enough to go sit with the guy who engaged in the hitting on), we look at each other and giggle like little school girls (no, not a young lesbian reference). I look into his eyes, trying to stave away the shyness, and realise his eyes were this deep, calming turquoise. Earlier, in the club, I found out that he had a boyfriend back home, and perhaps that was one of the other reasons why I refused his offer to ravage me. But the point here is that I got curious about the way his open relationship worked and asked him about it.

The conversation carried on onto the cab, as I began opening up to him, and found my hand tightly clasped with his. Our hands were a nice anecdote for the ways we treated each other, mine smaller, more repressed, but confident and self-sure. His larger, more experienced, and always caring, but never infantalising. We talked about our lives for a while, and stole a kiss in the cab right before I alighted.

I went to sleep happy that night.

The next few days I experienced a longing so unfamiliar to me. I had him on my mind literally every waking moment, but it was never like in the past. I never felt inadequate or inferior. I never felt like I couldn’t have him because I wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t have him because that was how our relationship was supposed to be. It was to be a moment in time, untainted by a future, and preserved as it should be.

Tuesday evening, I offer to send him off at the airport, and find myself getting uncharacteristically happy the rest of the night.

Wednesday came, and I hop into a cab and went in his direction. He drops his backpack into the boot, and joins me in the back seat, where we sit a polite distance away from each other. As the cab driver obviously takes the longer route to cheat us of our money, I take off his hat to see his gorgeous blonde hair with brown roots. He explains how he’s going to layer his hair, dropping in a gay reference because that’s how we roll.

I run my fingers through his hair, and edge closer toward him. We say to each other semi-funny, partially-sarcastic things, and as we laugh an easy laugh, he places his hand on my angled leg. I look at his arm, and the way his arm rested on my thigh made me feel as if we were alone on a beach with a distant flame iluminating our faces. I comment on the blonde hair on his arm, and slightly rub it with a shy knuckle. My other leg moves up and caresses his hand just slightly. That is the one moment I will never forget.

We spent the whole morning talking more about lives and friends over Popeyes, and before we know it, our two hours is up and are standing in front of the departure gate.

“So this is it. Goodbye.” There was a slight unease about his voice, but it also had the tranquillity of the maturity he possessed which attracted me in the first place. I don’t even remember what he said because I was holding back my tears, wishing for my voice not to crack. “Have fun,” I said.

I walked to the viewing gallery, reflecting on the many tiny moments we had in this moment of a relationship. Sitting down at the viewing gallery, I took out my laptop and intended to do the research that I had told myself I need to do. And as I pulled up web page after web page, I found the thoughts of him taking front and centre so much that I could not focus on the words that were appearing in front of me at all.

A tear trickles down the side of my cheek. And I keep it in, because I’m strong. And because I’m so not going to cry in public.

I reach home at night after hanging out with A, shopping, getting my mind off of things, and checking in to make sure he (A) was still alive.

I lay in bed, a glass once filled with ice and kahlua stands on top of my computer. I’m sad. Very sad. But never once did I feel like I hated myself, or I had blamed myself because I wasn’t good enough. For once, I was showed that it was precisely because I was good enough, that I felt that way. I cry quietly to sleep, hoping that the next morning will be better than the last.

Morning comes, and the feelings feel mostly gone, and there’s a slight unease. Should I be moving on so quickly? I liked the way I hurt, I liked the way my emotions were so intertwined with my soul. But I suppose I should be, that’s the right thing to do. And so I take this moment, and I place it in my pocket, taking it out once in a while to reminisce that wonderful moment I had with a stranger. That wonderful moment where I felt safe and protected, where the world never stopped, but somehow, I felt like it did. And if nothing else, the value of the moment taught me so much about what I needed to do with my life, how I should be much more concrete now in my ideals and dreams, because dreams do come true, and sometimes, they happen right in front of your eyes without you even knowing.

Thanks, S, for that wonderful moment.

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