rechallenged the addiction

Tomorrow is a big day for me. I will pay a visit to the gym… and probably will never step foot in another gym anytime soon. Rather similar to getting the final fuck from an ex (except i don’t know when was the last!). And like break up, I always owe not to rush into another relationship again (and that notion only last for a month or so until I finally becomes needy, sexually and emotionally deprieved). So… be it gym or finding the right guy, quitting is only a phase.

And being a self-conscious gay, I tak-sempat-hati-ly changed my default picture on my online profile. It is esteem-boosting for the few months when the chest-baring pic of me was put up. The amount of attention is speechless. But I shall not be ‘lust’ anyone to believe that I am a gym buff (in which I never was!). It does help in the future if you meet me and expect “tone & lean” but found “a flat tyre”… I don’t have to say “oh, it’s just a mirage you saw”.

I ask for my own death

I smuggled the lots over the boarder

I keep

And I selfishly yearn

As night approaches

I partake the fruit

Cough with each bite

Choke on each swallow

The yearning for the flesh is greater than the air

I regret not

If to die in the hand of the buah salak

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I ask for my own space

And I was never filled

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I ask for my own guide

And I got a lost soul

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I ask for my own agenda

And I was given yours

It is more of an urge to blog after my redition on quitting rather than a duty of habit.

There are many things in life in which I am fascinated with. Like the drops of rain on a light pavement. It may be quizzically amusing, with the little patch of droplets shaping something recognisable. Like the handicap of a golf game. Like the 3-second interval vibrating before the phone rings. Or as ordinary as a blog.

I sleep and eat on writing. Not in a matter of I cash in on any of my scribbles. But more of the fact that life is measured not by living, but by exprience. Each piece I write (or type) is uniquely me regardless of how many words, sentences, or paragraphs.

Safely to say I have found my edge in writing again. The passion of making sense, in which I’ve been accused of writing stuff that is incoherent or utterly indepth for my friends’ intellectual. I realised I am reading too much into myself rather than letting my emotion and character run wild.

If there was ever a blog to fascinated about, it would be this. I think I’ve fallen in love with the person’s writing. Honest. Yes honestly speaking!

This may very well be the last blog post I will make for the month of March… and probably April.

This is not the only thing that I may put a stop sign to.

I quited my job. But I’ve found a new challenging job.

I quited my gym membership. But I might join another gym.

I quited my community work. But soon I might find myself back in it.

I quited the Adam. But with time (and some guts) I might be in love again.

Pay no attention to the little detail. I am drained.

First encounter is utmost crucial. Either online or offline. Your fate may already be decided. If you screw up one IM, you might end up with net block. If you say the wrong thing on the phone, the tone on the other end is dead silence. If you appear to be uncertain, you might walk away with close to nothing.

I haven’t been on that many dates (with exception of the many metaphors I’d used). Yet each one leads to something unexpected. I got a list of people I enjoy meeting but is clearly a dead end — friends whom remain as friends, and nothing more. It is not all that bad, except some of them are actually very edible.

There is also the list of people I enjoy meeting but don’t get a second chance; what more to second base. Hence nothing to pursue. Vice versa, the list of people I rather not meet again — strangers whom are best kept that way.

But what makes an unexpected first encounter, with someone on the street, with someone you met over party, with someone of no particular. Someone whose eyes lay on yours for seconds more than than they should, someone who flirts and teases relentlessly, someone who makes the move and asks you out. You are caught off guard. What you do?

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The man. The dinner. The Talk. The end.

Regardless of how perfect everything seems, it is not. He is still not as eligible as I would like him to be. I think he was hoping for more, or that I would cave in and tolerate his idea of an open relationship. I digress.

If someone can’t stay in a monogamous relationship, why does he enter one in the first place? Is it for companionship?

Ever since the dinner on Friday, he stopped calling me. Probably realising that I meant what I said.

It feels usual not to get his call anymore. It has becaome something I’ve looked forward to. His sedative voice at the other end.

No man. No love. No regret. Nothing else to go for.

I doubt love was ever the case. I would chase again.

A simple heart under a simple mind searching a simple type for a simple share.

Such a simple phrase.

Pig year. Eat more. And that’s what I did.