A Short Trip Through The Backwaters Of My Mind

"There's a door."
"Where does it go?"
"It stays where it is, I think."

Halloween is usually a time for partying with the ghouls of the underworld for me. I chose this year's Night Of Americans-Getting-Fat-On-Junk-Food instead to sit myself down, and think...

Usually, I wouldn't bother myself in deep contemplation, except with, "When am I getting my next chocolate?", "When am I playing soccer again?" or, "How do you read 'breasts' in Braille?".

Today, I thought of Love, and the shabby Geylang 2-room flat it occupies in my head.

See, I always saw myself as one incapable of love. No, I am not one of those guys who think I am too cool for romance. Neither am I one of those guys who have deep emotional scars due to past tragic experiences, rendering me incapable of emotional bonding. My grandpa never touched me while calling me Pamela when I was young.

I am not one of those people who arrogantly proclaim, "I do not need other people." People who didn't need people needed people around to know that they were the kind of people who didn't need people.

I'm not an island, and I definitely believe in love. It's just that we're not cut out for one another. Like the kid who can't diplomatically talk to fat people and Santa Claus.

I am very attracted to women, and I immensely enjoy their company. But there's always this snag which prevents me from complete devotion. I don't know what it is.

Maybe it's my past ignorance of love. Before this, I kept pushing Love away, dismissing it as a serious chemical imbalance and hormonal malfunction. I thought it will never happen to me, and I was thankful, for awhile. I looked at couples in love and I got this feeling in my stomach like I was about to throw up.

And then, I fell in love.

So, Love does the equivalent of tripping me, laughing at me and then going, "Nyeh-ni, Nyeh-ni poo poo." Retribution joined in the condescending laughter.

My pride hurt, so like a petulant little child who could not get the latest GI Joe figurine, I folded my arms and stalked off.

But for how long?

It's been 3 years since Love and I last communicated. I was contemplating a relationship counsellor to patch things up with Love, but maybe it's too late? I don't know, but I have this other friend: Mr. Just Fuck It And Have A Jolly Good Time...