What a chaotic time it’s been here in Jupsville. This weekend I slowly relinquished control (in a way) by letting a nice Sri Lankan lady come and help me clean my apartment (and she will do so this Friday too when I am not home, talk about a giant leap for Jups!) Giving up control is hard; not because it doesn’t feel good to let someone share the load, but because it’s so difficult to bounce back when said someone flees the scene. I hate getting acclimatised to that level of comfort that dependence brings only to find it vanish one day. I guess I am not just talking about domestic help anymore. So yes it’s been a chaotic and unduly complicated time but for most part, in a good way.
My darling brother arrived 2 Sundays ago and left last Sunday. This was the first time that Booboo visited me on his own, and in his early twenties. Translation: There was alcohol. And candid conversations. My brother and I have been getting closer as we grow older and he trusts my judgment on most things. Thankfully we still remain divergent on almost all matters from careers (banker, chemical engineer) and relationships to gastronomical choices (he’s astutely vegetarian, I am astutely not) and filial issues (I never want to live in India, he doesn’t want to leave it). On the gastronomic front however, there was some convergence as I did convince him to try amazing shanghainese xiao long baos which he unabashedly loved so much that we had three whole (and I mean very whole) meals at Din Tai Fung and Crystal Jade.
The past weeks have been incredibly social and resultantly a huge drag on finances. Starting with St. Paddy’s over 3 weeks ago, I was drinking quite literally 6 days a week. My social life has been so rabid and my alcohol intake, so ridiculous, that I had to gutlessly text people smses like “It’s Monday! Can we just do dinner instead?” So this week I have vowed to both stay sober and eat in everyday. I have never had a problem with eating in given my ample culinary skills and now it’s even easier with Yotam Ottolenghi’s beautiful book (“Plenty”) giving me constant, euphoric inspiration.
I have found the perfect way to characterize my love life. Too much smoke, not enough fire. I have had loads of drama…like a plotless soap in which shit is always being stirred up but it takes ages (if at all) to get any kind of clear resolution. My feelings for the men in my life have more or else fizzled. After my epic culinary adventure (and you know it was epic because I never abuse that word) that involved handmade, hand-stuffed lemon and goats cheese ravioli and a this-is-what-heaven-is-all-about dark chocolate-nutella-frangelico cake (a cake so beautiful you’d want to marry it and have its chocolaty babies), I realized once again that I am as awesome as they come and he really needs to win me over. And if he hasn’t made a move yet (it’s been over 2 months) then “he just isn’t that into me” and probably never will be. Eagle and I are kinda like an old married couple – we fight, we make up, we joke, we fight again. He gets really antsy if he doesn’t hear from me or see me online for 24 hours. I am pretty sure that he likes me. I am also pretty sure that I don’t really want much more from him. I ended up writing off Orangetree because I asked him to call me and he didn’t. Said he was really busy. Oh well, moving on.
And then there was the briefest affaire de couer that ended before it even began. A rugby 7s encounter with a witty Indian banker who was dressed (and painted blue) as papa smurf. I got the impression he really liked me but oh well, he never called. I really wish that men would cut out the bullshit. I don’t need it; no one does. Don’t ask for my number; I won’t take offense that you didn’t but I will take offense if you take it and don’t call. Sidebar: The rugby 7s is the second best thing about Hong Kong (the first is the midlevels escalator, duh) and it is basically a shit-ton of drinking from 9am onwards while one is dressed in slutty fancy dress and watching other drunks in fancy dress as well as occasionally watching extremely buff men run into each other like neanderthals and play that awesome sport known as rugby.
Lately my girlfriends have forwarded onto me books and articles that crystallise the “he’s just not that into you” theory. You’ve heard about this right? That you, the woman, ought not ever to make the first move is apparently the holy grail of dating success. Mountains may move and oceans may part and the earth may turn square but you, my darling lady, shant ever pick up the phone. Apparently the men out there want confident, poweful women who will sit meekly in their powder rooms waiting for the phone to ring because anything more daring than that, like heaven-forbid, a text message like “how are you” will infuriate the Gods and bring on the black fucking plague. Such articles also advise us to never bring up exes (fair point) or order salads in a restaurant. Because you know, men want to see you eat real food. I love real food much more than the average girl but the last time I checked, men love the supermodel more than the average girl and last time I checked (not too long ago) those girls dont eat no fucking real food. Apples and icecubes are not real food. So really, this is whole lot of a hypocritical douchebaggy balderdash.
And no, I am not a bitter person but I am definitely bitter about reading articles that are basically telling me that I should overthink innocent text messages and/or friendly gestures and that I should forego an impulsive heart-over-head attitude (one that I was born with) for cold, ruthless mindgames. Frankly I don’t know if I want to manipulate a man into wanting me that way.
So for now, I am falling off the radar. I am deleting the phone numbers I am wont to text. Giving up, if you will, although that sounds altogether too grim and too bitter. And I don’t stay that way for long. All I know is that I have had one helluva joyride since September – new friends, old friends, parties, eating out, alcohol and boys. And all of that has been instrumental in ameliorating what would have been a pox of a breakup and transforming it into an annoying itch that I need to scratch every now and then. Just every now and then. (by the way what is it with me and the biblical references today?)
This weekend I am off to Shanghai with Jin. Yet another wedding but this time I am not invited so I am tagging along with her to see the city and experience some Chinese cuisine. Easter weekend is 4 days long here and I have no plans save for working on my CV and studying for the CFA level 1 exam that I geekily signed up for.
Playtime’s over. It’s time to buckle down, get serious and get my life in order. Expect nailbiting and heaps of bitching and moaning about how stupid, difficult and suicide-inducing accounting is.
But this life is so confusing
Feels like I’m always losing
Come in of knowing everything
But don’t say a word, till they teach you the way
Words are found too close to the edge
That we don’t dare sing
And this’ll turn into something else, something else
But when it does, I’ll be somewhere else, somewhere else