what a week! I am confused …

I have no choice but make reference to H.

You know, {the other 1/2 of}.Haque that’s not in the “{ }”. The other H, which I had mentioned earlier on that I would not make much references to in my blog … but maybe much later on as I get comfortable with the fact that the other H will have a significant enough or rather all consuming effect on my daily life.

Well, the other H did. This week at least and will be referred to as simply “H” below for simplicity.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

it’s tough being an adult,” sighed one of my associates.

That’s somewhat stating the obvious I thought quietly, but responded professionally with:

“You know, when I was your age I thought the same. The burdens of responsibility. The need to hold on to a job. The fact that demands are not met. Finances are inadequate. And often I mused about how silly people at my current age now are – spending time worrying about a mortgage that takes up 60% of their net pay. The joys that quickly turns into tribulations at the sight of a positive pregnancy home test kit … and many, many more.” 


“but guess what? when you do finally get to my age, it ain’t matter. You are numbed. It’s part of life.”

I’ve no idea why I said any of that.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Today as I made my way to the showers, the associate’s voice echoed in my head. The words: “it’s tough being an adult,” hung heavy in the air.

Fact is, I disagree that it’s tough being an adult. Not at this stage of my life – as I had mentioned above. 

Frankly, at this very moment I think and feel that “it’s confusing being an adult”

Fact is, I am confused. It has been one heck of a confusing week to put it mildly.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –


I recall us reaffirming and reinforcing our mutual positive feelings and needs. That was Monday.

I recall me referencing Monday as we were enjoying Wil Thimister‘s photography prints. Nothing was amiss; we were collectively deciding which prints would be best for purchase. Potentially a first to add to the list of ‘first-s‘ in “our relationship”.

Between Will Thimister and the walk to my car, post the rather mediocre Ben’s iced tea that was neither minty or refreshing or lemon-y, I launched into a monologue which looking back sounded like a repeat of my classic: ‘i was an oxymoron to my ‘oxygen’‘.

And having delivered my spill to a rather emotional H (whose face contorted with pain, and lower half of his face quivering uncontrollably while I restrained myself from reaching up and cupping his lovely face in my hands and saying “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. And that’s not what I really want,“), I left him standing there … right in the middle of a mall to pick up the pieces of his shattered heart(?) only to stroll to the other end of the mall to fetch his car.

it is the right thing to do,” I tell myself quietly as I tried not to look back although I saw H’s reflection in the glass paneled doors that leads to the car park. The sight of him … punished me with an instant migraine, a painful tugging in my heart and a feeling of knots in the pit of my stomach.

it is the right thing to do.” I said repeatedly to myself… and out loud once I was in the privacy of my car, wiping the tears that had swelled up.


I told myself that all 3 of my mothers would be proud of me.

Hell. One in particular would be sighing in relieve. The other two would say they are proud before launching a “you silly girl … ” lecture of why H is not good for me.

And that was Wednesday night. I didn’t sleep a wink.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Thursday, 3:30 am and I woke up in a jolt from a 30 minutes sleep. I know this because I had counted the times the cuckoo clock had chimed throughout my sleepless night.

By 4:50 am I’d given up the idea of sleep. I was up and about. Reluctant to drive in early for work; avoiding the unnecessary need to slave beyond my 60-80 hours work week, I decided to spend the morning in seclusion. At the back of my mind, nagging, was the thought that the first face I had wanted to see today was H’s.

No!” I screamed internally. The last person I want or should see is H!

I’m not embarrased. I was afraid I would lose my resolve. {Dammit. It’s the right thing to do.} Cowardice is my occasional middle name.

But, by mid-morning my BB blips its red light. The ‘green talk bubble’ tells me I have a message. My heart skipped. I hope it’s H.

Nooooo! I can’t face H.

It wasn’t H.

I finished the whatsapp chat with not-H, and instinctively messaged H. Yes, I am out of control!

We exchanged some light banter … then, a heavy loaded question landed. Just as Little Foot in The Land Before Time had thrown the question out loud on his future and about his mother’s whereabouts to the star leaf, I was asked: is there a “Penny star” in my charts  

Yeassshhhh! H is still committed. My heart somersaults with joy.

But NOOOOooooo! I need him to go. He has to go. It’s the right thing. I don’t deserve H. I can’t keep H.

Wait. He’s going. He’s making preps and working on plans I had laid out on Wednesday evening. I didn’t dare broach the subject. We didn’t talk about anything significant that day.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

I didn’t see H until our fancy Friday dinner.

It was the longest appetizers wait I’ve ever had in my life as H lays out his rough game plan of going. yes – he’s leaving. For good.

I sit still. Nodding. I cupped my chin in my hands … and slowly spread it out to support my face. To half cover my expression that may betray my feelings from him.

B..bb..but, I can’t eff-ing believe I am this calm. It’s baffling. My inner voice chided me – am I such a cold heart-ed bitch? I was momentarily convinced I could beat Antonio Esfandiari in poker. Internally I was crushed so ever slowly, word by word, as he delivered his game plan. Of leaving. For good.

Appetizers arrived as he was 2/3rd-s through.

I’ve never felt happier seeing chicken tenders – which is downright ridiculous. I’ve only recently reintroduced chicken into my diet – so realistically I can’t be happy seeing chicken even if they danced like they did in the Australian version of Chicken Tonight adverts in the late 1990s! By the end of appetizers, it’s confirmed I hate chicken tenders. No fault of theirs. Just that future association of chicken tenders would be clouded by H’s game plan. Of leaving. For good.

The main course was wasted on me. With my mouth tasting like lead, even if the salmon steak was moist and tender, it would not have made a difference. Point was, it was overdone, like all salmon steaks in this part of the world and I wolfed down 1/2 to arrest potential stomach maladies, of which I am prone of.

Over a shared dessert – a first for H; sharing dessert that is – we exchanged a few words. Some in my opinion were at polar opposite of the appetizers conversation. But, mostly my mind was focused on the deafening silence.

It occurred to me that I didn’t really have anything to talk to H about. It occurred to me that I don’t really know this beautiful person in front of me other than he loves salmon, tender or otherwise. But more importantly, it occurred to me that there could be no alternatives for H and me.

Just then, our “silence” was broken by the boys … oh how I love the boys. The jokes and light banter was refreshing. The respectful hugs they gave me held me together. At that moment, I needed solace. I needed to feel some love. Some worth.

What fine men they have blossomed into! I can’t help but bask in pride, knowing I had a hand in it. Overall, it was a nice change of emotions for the night that seems to drag on endlessly.

And when the boys left to attend to their fermented brews, we were reduced to just looking at one another, chins in our palms, elbows propped on the table … like kids … like how you’d be scrubbing floors with bare hands in finishing school if the matrons caught a sight of your elbows on the table top during dinner.

But mostly it was H staring at me with that dopey adorable look he gives me from time to time. Looks that just melts my heart. Looks which I can’t help but want to reach out and touch his face. But I don’t.

And I don’t either tonight. I turn my gaze away to a distant spot. I am naturally uncomfortable with eye contact. But tonight I am confused. Tonight, I am crushed. Tonight, I don’t want to look at H. Yet, it might be the last of H that I’ll be looking at. And H looking back at me. In tenderness.

But H has a game plan. Of leaving. For good.

We’re living on borrowed time. I’m living on borrowed time – I’m not sure I can do this.

Well, it’s my fault. I had asked H what his game plan was. H was literally repeating what I had said to him on Wednesday. Come to think about it, it’s my game plan. Of HIM leaving. For good.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

As I mull over this today, while assisting H with his evacuation plan and contacting 3 people to explain the situation, I am reminded of the mechanical robotic non-feeling I had not too long back as I relayed message that my darling baby boy (mr. B) had gone on to a better place to be with his creator(s).

And it hit me suddenly. Just as I walked towards my shower for the 2nd time today.

Did I just experience a break up twice in a week? First me on Wednesday. Then H on Friday.

I shake the thought off with a chuckle. This is so typical! I recall similar emotional roller coasters with H’s kind. On a Saturday too. I can’t believe this. I mean with H, we aren’t even in a relationship. (or are we?)

So, is it even conceivably possible to break up? it’s confusing being an adult!



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