Well it’s past midnight here now. I’d wanted to get this post in before midnight but life (and binge-watching Girls) got in the way.
12 years ago yesterday, I arrived in New York City for the very first time. I came here alone. It was a long journey from home in Singapore. I was full of hope and insanely scared at the same time.
I would love to say that today was a great 12th year anniversary. But nah it was a Murphy’s Law day instead. The first indicator that it was going to be a shitty day was when I was walking along 5th Avenue on my way to work, checking my phone while trying to balance an umbrella in the pouring snow, not looking where I was going and crashing right into some road barrier thingy in front of all these people. And the day culminated in my super cracked iPhone finally giving up for good.
When my phone died, I was livid. I was trying frantically to revive it for a bit just so I could back it up to iCloud – because God knows why but I haven’t backed it up to iCloud in like a year and my entire life is on that phone. I didn’t want to lose all of 2016 – it made me even sadder when I remembered that the only pictures that I had of my Italian Non Relationship were in there and the fond memories of our day in Fire Island.
But of course the phone refused to cooperate. After my initial frustration, I felt strangely liberated. Like I could quit obsessively checking my phone now. And take a break from social media stalking.
Yesterday one of my Instagram friends posted pictures of her daughters doing cartwheels in her impeccably neat, spacious and trendy living room. While my teeny tiny living room perpetually looks like Toysrus exploded in there. But I know she tells me in person that her life is not perfect.
Heck my life is far from perfect. In the 12 years since I’ve been in this country, I’ve broken an engagement, had some fun, got married, had a baby and got divorced. It’s fucking awesome. The only difference is – I keep it real. I don’t sell people the ideal image.
Life is short, friends. Let’s keep it real. Happy (belated) 12 years to me!
You are entering a very exciting phase in your life. You and I – we moved to New York City about six months ago. You started kindergarten and you’ve made many new friends – heck you have more of a social life than I do with all your play dates. And yesterday you went for your first audition – your first audition was for a Broadway musical in Times Square – isn’t that awesome?
Yesterday your dad came out to support you for your audition. So we did spend some time together as a family. And your dad took you out to dinner last night while I went to the gym. When I came to pick you up, you invited your dad up to our apartment but we both told you that’s not a good idea and your dad left. When you came back to our apartment, you told me you were sad and you were missing daddy already. At bed time, you cried because you said you missed your daddy.
I let you have a good cry. I do empathize with you my dear – I really do. But I am over feeling guilty about you having to live with divorced parents. Because it wasn’t me who tore our family apart. In the beginning, your dad and his parents would blame me for wanting the divorce. However if he did not cheat on me, would I have wanted a divorce? No – in fact I was working really hard on our marriage but a marriage takes two hands to clap – I can’t fix a marriage alone. And cheating is a deal breaker.
And the thing is – my honeybun – the man who I loved with all my heart never once apologized to me what he did to me. And he never begged me to forgive him. He moved on really quickly. So why should I be with someone who clearly never wanted to be with me?
And my darling when you grow up and if you ever do find yourself in this situation – be it in a romantic relationship or in a friendship or at work – if you ever find yourself in a situation where you are no longer valued and respected, you hold your head up high and you walk too. You don’t beg. However painful it may be. However scared you may feel. You pull yourself together and you walk away with your dignity intact. Because trust me – everything will be alright.
So today on International Women’s Day, my hope is that you will grow up to be a strong woman who is not afraid to pursue her dreams. Whether it’s to sing onstage in a Broadway musical, or to be the President or to be a mom, your possibilities are endless and you never give up until you’ve tried your hardest. And you are responsible for your own happiness. If you choose to be alone, that’s perfectly fine. If you choose to be in a relationship, I pray that it will be a relationship filled with mutual respect and love for each other. Do not ever let your fears take over you. Live a life with integrity.
I love you baby. Happy International Women’s Day!
I have so many things to say to you. But I’ll never have the courage to say them to you. For I fear rejection. I fear that you may not reply to my messages. I fear the one worded answers. I don’t want my feelings to get dismissed like they didn’t matter at all. So I’ll spill it here and tell it to the rest of the world. The rest of the world but you.
You see – I did develop feelings for you. Even though I promised myself that I wouldn’t. And I’m too strong to admit this weakness. But spending time with you for almost a year meant a lot to me. And I hope that it meant something to you too. I think it might have. But I think you’re just way more experienced at stopping yourself before you got carried away.
And me? Even though I haven’t seen you in almost four months (yes I’m counting), because I’m trying to detach, you still pop up in my head everyday. Even though the memories are now fuzzy and less vivid, I still remember the special moments. And they still bring a smile.
But I fear that I’m starting to forget. I fear I’m starting to forget how you look like in person. Or that you won’t remember how I look like. And that someday we may pass each other on the streets like strangers – even though we shared hot and precious moments together.
I’m starting to forget how your skin feels like. How your touches feel like on my skin. How your kisses taste like. How your nakedness looks like upclose.
The memories of our evenings together … the way you kissed me so passionately … the naughty stuff… the way you would hold me after… until I fell asleep… those thoughts still electrify me.
Those places… those moments… they’ll always have a special place in my heart. Fire Island at the end of summer… spending summer afternoons by the poolside… the Lower East Side…classical music…perfectly al dente pasta…
I don’t know when those memories will stop making me feel these pangs. I don’t know if this inner torment will ever stop.
Because the truth is – I miss you. I really do. But the sad part is – I can’t tell you.
Because I need to get over you.