Yours Yours is not the heady, intoxicating first blushIt does not send me walking on cloudsIt does not set my heart a flutterIt does not make me think idle thoughts of being with you.Yours is the call to arms of all my sensesIt breaks me from my dreamsIt stops the music from playingIt sharpens the visionIt unclutters the mindYours frees me from mineSo that mine can be yoursAs it should be, forever, wherever and whenever(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg It must be good That I wake up every morning longing for you, and waiting for you to wake up and speak first to me before you say anything to anyone else.(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg Before the moment passes Your breathing soothes and your breath smells sweet and I am quite suddenly overwhelmed by wanting to tell you how much I love you. Love love love. And some more.(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg No substitutes If it's not right to yearn like thatthen I crave to be wrongIf it's not good to pine like thatthen I crave to be badIf it's not healthy to long like thatthen I crave to be sickI want to ache every moment you're not here(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg There are no things best left unsaid There are so many things I think I feel,but when I think about them,I mean, really think about them,I realise they're not the complete emotionsthat wash over me so quickly,and so often,that they go by in a jiffy.You can try to re-enact the moments,or rephrase the thoughts,but there is no chance of reclaiming them.Nostalgia is bunk,because there are no things best left unsaid.And so, I say that I love you with every ounce of everything that I am with every beat of my heart with every breath I take with every song lyric that comes to my head with every funny television commercial I watch with every scent of rain I feel with every sneeze every cough every hiccup every everything.Happy Birthday Baby.(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg Next thing I know You stand before meYou are beside and around meAnd for the first time in my lifeSomeone is asking for the sameAnd I must deliver.(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg What would I say? If some fella asked me, "why are you in love with her?", I'd say the following things, but I don't know if you'd be happy if I said it or not:"She's the most beautiful person I have ever met in my entire life"."She makes me the happiest person in the whole wide world".I'd say other things too, depending on who asked, and depending on what time of the day it was, and depending on where I was. But I'd say things if some fella asked me, even if I were in a hurry, even if I didn't know who that person was, even if it was me who was asking the question myself.But I wouldn't know exactly what I'd say, really. You never know these things so surely, you know? Depending on the time of day, where I am, and how well I knew that fella who was asking.But you know what, love?It is gonna be a very, very good thing if fellas keep asking me, "why are you in love with her?"(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg The tao of nothing Nothing I say, and nothing I do can show you how much I love you.Because I do not control this love that I have for you,I do not own it, neither do you.But still I do my utmost to make sure that I remain in its possessionThis I promise, even though promises mean nothing(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg Juliet with the wicked smile I decided not to go anywhere that summer and stayed mostly in the Eastern Suburbs. I'd like to say sun-drenched Eastern Suburbs, but it rains a hundred days in a year in Sydney.Still, I drove to Bondi the few days a week I wasn't working at the Legal Centre. I sat mostly at one of the cafes on Campbell Parade. One of those that charged a cutthroat $3 for a cappucino. (The going rate for a cuppa in those parts was $1.80). One cappucino for the arvo, and a good book. Usually one of Paul Theroux's. Oh, and a notepad, because I wanted to be like Theroux, sitting in a cafe, making word-caricatures of people in the cafe.I would've pasted what I wrote about Juliet if I had kept my notes. I probably wrote about how she walked, and how she had a slight hint of haughtiness, and how she, by the third time she saw me at the cafe, had given up on giving me the menu, and just smiled (or was it smirked) as she turned to the kitchen hand and asked him to make a cappucino, double, stat, for ze leetle guy with ze book.That third visit started my Bondi days, most of which were spent at that cafe, save for the time I took Juicy Lucie (Nguyen) to the beach (when a giant wave knocked us both off our feet, and which also took her bikini top off).One quiet and typically rainy Bondi day, as I pored intently through 'Picture Palace', a sachet of sugar hit me in the face. Startled, I looked up over my book and at Juliet looking at me.'You like Paul Theroux huh?''You read him too?''No, and what are you writing?''Notes''I know! About what?''People in the cafe'.'Me?''Sometimes''Let me see'.'No'.'Fine... little guy'.And the blonde ponytail bounced away to the kitchen while I went back to the Picture Palace.It must have been an hour or so later, when it was still quiet at the cafe, when I looked up again and Juliet was sitting across from me.'What's your name?''Ben'.'Benjamin?''Yes, and yours?''Juliet''You're French?''Ow can you tell?', she snarked, dropping the 'H' mockingly.'I'm from Randwick, can you tell?''No. I finish at 6. Wanna go and have dinner?''Where?''You drive?''Yes'.'You decide'.The blonde ponytail bounced away again, and for the rest of the afternoon, Picture Palace wasn't as interesting as it had been before.***There was a pair of sneakers strung up on one of Campbell Parade's dim lampposts, and there were still shirtless skateboarders on the recreation area tearing up and down the arena built for that purpose. We must have run out of places to drive to, and I found myself in my car, Juliet next to me, fish and chips on our laps, parked next to the Surf Life Saving Club, eyeballing the seagulls perched on the car's bonnet who were eyeballing our fish and chips.'How old are you, Benjamin?''Twenty nine'.'I'm twenty three, old man'.'Shuddup'.Then she lunged over and planted a kiss on my lips that so startled me I spilled chips all over the car's dashboard, startling the seagulls, who went berserk and started squawking and pecking the windscreen.'When I first saw you, I thought you were a Japanese surfer. But Japanese surfers don't read books and write notes in cafes. So I thought you were a Japanese writer.''I'm not Japanese'.'Then you are Chinese'.'No, I'm Jewish, I have a Hebrew name', which was one of my favourite dodo throwaway lines.She leaned forward and kissed my nose, and said, 'that's not a Jewish nose'.We would've kept on kissing in the car, in the car park next to the SLSC, with the seagulls waiting for a crack in the windows, till the skateboarders tired and went home, till the hoons and petrolheads turned up to make donuts on Campbell Parade. But for some reason, the strap on Juliet's pretty blue dress slipped off her shoulder and she asked, 'Do you live near here'?Hell, yes I did. Coogee's just a small stone's throw from here.***'Did you get bitten?''Yes! It's very itchy. What are those insects?'I didn't know how to tell her we had both been bitten by fleas from the garden behind the courtyard of my flat. Nothing a dose of cortisone-based cream wouldn't relieve in a week or so.So I gave her the cream and didn't mention the fleas for fear of spoiling what I thought would be a nice romantic notion of making love under the moon, the sky and beneath the Southern Cross. (Not to mention also, in the moonlit shadow of the Hills Hoist).We sat on the sofa and cuddled, scratching the small welts on our legs.'You write very well', she said while I aimlessly switched channels on the tv.'You read my things?' I said, even though I had hoped she would read the stuff I left lying around.'You printed them and you left them lying around'.'You read my things?!''I like the barbershop story, and the story about your family and the poems about love - the cafe story was not so nice'.'The cafe story is not complete'.'Your stories sound sad even when you make them sound funny'.'They're not supposed to be funny'.'Your stories make me want to kiss you'.Then she kissed me and looked at me intently. Then she smiled.Or was it smirked?***Juliet didn't have a mobile phone, and it was near impossible to get a hold of her if she wasn't with me or if she wasn't already at the cafe. The rest of that lazy summer, I'd wake at eleven, drive to Bondi and look for her at the cafe. If she were there, I'd have a cuppa, then I'd walk around Bondi, sit on the promenade at the Swiss Hotel, make some more notes, sometimes take a few idle photos of the crazed seagulls pecking at remnants of other people's fish and chips.I liked this life. Sure I was already thinking of what other challenges I should've begun giving myself, like following up on the UN and World Bank internships, like seriously considering a job at the Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission, like taking up my supervisor's offer of a research job at the Communications Law Centre.But a fair summer's day takes down all that resolve. And there were many fair summer's days.On one of those days, I ambled down to the cafe again and looked for Juliet. I wasn't too fussed that she wasn't there. But Joe the chef saw me as he walked out of the kitchen at the end of his shift, and said, 'Wow, you're still here. You sad that Juliet's left?'***23.8.98Dearest Benjamin,I am having a great time in NZ. I hope you are not upset I didn't say goodbye. I think it's more surprising (?) like that? Keep writing, and maybe again write the cafe story. Keep in touch. I want to read your book when it is finished.XXXOOOXXX,Your little blonde girl with a ponytail.(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg That beautiful Sir, I don't think it was the alcohol. You see, sir, I didn't think I would bat an eyelid when I was to see her tonight. Yes, I know she's beautiful. But, no, I didn't think I'd feel any more than I already should.Sir, you should have seen her tonight! She was a sight to behold! The way she moved, the way she spoke! The way she looked as if she was troubled. Troubled enough for me to want to ask her if she was alright, if she was tired, and almost if I could help.But sir, you know how it is with women as beautiful and fragile as she. She'd have men by the dozen asking her the same things, worshipping her the same way, looking at her the way I do. Sir, you know I don't want to be like any of the others.Oh, sir, you should've seen what she wore tonight, and how it made her more beautiful than I've seen. If you were to have seen her, sir, nothing else would matter in this world.I know, sir. I know you'll tell me what I'm doing is wrong. You'll tell me, sir, that my actions will make everything go awry.But why, sir, do you let me catch even the slightest glimpse of her, when you know I will desire her when I am not supposed to? What are you trying to tell me, sir?Sir, you should have seen her tonight. She was beauty personified. She didn't walk, she glided.And sir, she spoke to me, sir. Did you have that planned as well, sir? And sir, while she spoke, I have to tell you, sir, that I touched her. Was I supposed to have done that, sir?But sir, now that you've let me see her in this light, now that you've let her speak to me, now that you've let me touch her, I beg you humbly please, to let me see her again, and again. Till my heart's content, sir, whenever that will be.(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg The ghost of you clings How many years has it been since? How many more to go? I think I thought fondly of you the other night, I'm not sure now. But I remember for a few moments, I missed you dearly. Then I did what I thought was the best thing to do for now. I placed my heart under my pillow. So that it muffled the sound, sight and smell of the comfort you once furnished.Frangipani canopy, Yio Chu Kang, Singapore(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg Obbligato bella I first met her five weeks ago, made a nondescript impression, and left it at that. We met again several days later, I added to that nondescript impression, and left it at that. It was the same with several more meetings.Then she talked about me filling up the empty spaces in her life. I realised she was revealing the same in mine. I don't remember knowing such longing. Suddenly her kisses are the sweetest wine, her absence the darkest void.(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg Till the heart caves in How much is not enough? How much is through? How long will I be getting over you? How much grief and sin?You tell yourself this is nothing out of the ordinary because there is a song lyric for every lingering glance, every fleeting touch, every stolen kiss, every heartbeat skipped, every promise made, every tear dropped.She's beautiful, she's like no-one you've ever met, she's like watching sunsets, there's something in the way she moves that attracts you like no other lover.But you have been this way before, and you know what will happen next because the song lyrics tell you so.And the song lyrics also tell you there's nothing you can do but be this way till your heart caves in.(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg Girl with the plastic lei iTunes is playing: Silencio - Ibrahim Ferrer - Buena Vista Social Club Presents Ibrahim FerrerTonight the Girl with the Plastic Lei came and had dinner with me, and I listened to her talk.I don't know what's wrong with me, she said. I don't know what's wrong, is it just me or is he not the one or is it just me?I don't know, Girl with the Plastic Lei, it could be a bit of both, says me, the master of equivocation.See, I don't know if it's because I'm sabotaging myself by getting into relationships which will never work out.My eyes followed her chopsticks as they clutched half a dozen strands of noodles high up above her bowl of la mian. So high, if she had dropped them, they'd have made an almighty splash back in the bowl.No, I don't think you're sabotaging yourself.I don't think I am either. But why is it like that? Will he just become another random statistic?Maybe, I said. And I flinched as she burst one xiaolongbao accidentally with her chopsticks.But I think I should be happy with what I have now, which is my job, my bike and my cat.And your plastic flower necklace. It's nice.Goes well with the bracelet, huh?You are too cool, Girl with the Plastic Lei.(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg Rarity The moon turned blue and stayed that way for two years from 1883 when Krakatoa erupted. It was blue again in 1927 when the Indian monsoons were late in arriving, and again in 1951 in North America, when bushfires in western Canada smoked out the skies.Some things happen so infrequently and unpredictably that when they do, you cannot make heads or tails of it. All you know is that you're inexplicably consumed by the occurrence, for however long it lasts. If the moon were to turn blue tonight, I'd stare at it till my eyes dried out.And so I received an MMS of a grainy picture of the moon, obscured partially by some clouds. The accompanying text read: Halo round the moon. Fxxking fone cam only 4x zoom!A few days after, there was the SMS that read: Greetings from Rayong, Thailand!I had initiated this mutual habit a few years earlier of messaging from wherever I was, as long as it was abroad. But seeing as I hadn't been overseas for a good number of years, I assumed that this arranged exchange, like most self-forged traditions, had un-forged itself and petered out.But back when I was traveling, I'd send an SMS from the arrival hall of whatever airport I had just landed at, as soon as my phone hooked up to that city's local network.Greetings from Beijing... Greetings from Shanghai... Greetings from sunny Denpasar!And more often than not, a reply would be forthcoming:WTF r u doing thr, bastard?!And there'd be a short SMS conversation, usually ending with her texting: well, hv fun! or chk out e scene 4 me!And that was just it. We didn't meet in person for a few years. The last time we did, though, she'd been sitting on the couch in her office, feet upon the table, as was her habit, and bitching about her boyfriend in that casual way girls often did. I thought nothing of it, till she fell silent and quiet tears streamed down her face.I sat quietly and tried not to look at her but there was something compelling about that sudden display of grief. Before I could lose myself trying to figure it out, she had dragged the back of her hand over her eyes, looked up, and asked Wanna grab dinner?We grabbed dinner at Halia at the Botanic Gardens, and while she still looked like she'd been crying, there was no more of that quiet anguish. Instead, she offered a characteristically offbeat opening:Sometimes, I don't know where it's leading to, or what it's all about. Why can't I just leave this all and go to India and join an ashram and practice yoga and meditate and be happy with that?It takes an effort to respond to that, but before I could even decide whether to do that or to make a joke, she added,You know what I feel like having? Needlers Cookies and Cream Flavoured Truffle Milk Chocolate. Tastes as bad as it sounds. Flavoured! Not the real thing!Candlelit dinner, fine wine, lush gardens and Ginger Snaps. - That's all she ever thinks about, riding with the wind...Hey thanks, I don't feel as on the verge as when you first came to the office.She'd come back round again, and I looked long into her eyes which had just been crying. We quietly finished the rest of our dinner. And for some reason, that was the last time I saw her for the next few years.Her friends call her Skip, and for every incongruent thought she made you ponder, she had half a dozen more she'd launch at you in the space of five minutes, and mostly when you were slightly off-balanced from processing her previous quip. Skip's got spunk. Skip's a babe. Skip's uber cool.- Anyone who knew her would either be saying these things or agreeing with them.Now, I wouldn't know fashion sense from a stack of bricks, but it seemed as if Skip had this knack of putting anything and everything together and looking really good. A friend of mine who met her briefly agreed, saying she could wear a welder's mask and make it the next must-have accessory. And it was true. Anything that would've looked outlandish on anyone else looked like native dress to her.I'd have complimented her a lot more if only I could've gotten a word in edgewise. Skip looked good, but she could talk. And she had that unaffected way of speaking that was terribly rare in a country where you either spoke the local patois or put on what you thought was an American/British/Australian manner of speech. With any other person, I'd say if you spoke the way Skip spoke, you most probably have that mission school pedigree. Your parents would have gone to ACS/MGS/SCGS, sent you to the same schools and you'd marry someone from the same circle, send your children to the same schools, and your children would end up speaking like you. You'd have your lehs, lahs and lors, but you'd also have proper grammar, and be able to quote from a dozen or so Western influences.But Skip, though she did sport that pedigree, had that added spark of confidence in her manner and tone. You'd be able to listen even if she were whispering. And you'd want to.That is why it was surprising that in the very few times we've met up, Skip would occasionally trip on her words, especially when speaking directly to me. It was as if she was ever slightly self-conscious around me. Fuck! It's all your fault lah! You and your hammed up Singlish! I only talk like that when I'm with you!Also, she would accuse me of taking the mickey out of whatever she said. And whatever compliment I managed to eke out in her direction was thrown back with suspicion.Are you taking the piss? You're too smart for your own good, fucker!Most times, I'd sit and watch her as she told me stories about her friends, whose names she'd throw at me as if I knew who they were. The Pauls, Michaels and Eleanors and Jameses and their fabulous love stories - right out of a book, she'd say. The Jasons, Gunthers and Daryls, and how she'd been seeing them for a short time, and how those didn't work out - the bastards, she'd hiss.So, I figured that when she sent an SMS several weeks after the Rayong, Thailand one, it'd be more of the same, though that wasn't a bad thing in my books. It's not very often one gets to sit and watch and listen to someone as easy on the eye as Skip was.Free for coffee?It was good enjoying her easy going manner, and I mustn't have spoken very much, because after a while, she said, how long has it been? Three years? You've changed. You're a lot more composed and deliberate when you speak.As if I were going to risk speaking with such reckless abandon so she'd up and leave for another three years.It turned out to be the longest coffee we had ever met up for, though not for catching up on the last three years, because there had always been the intermittent SMS and MSN wassups and howsitgoings. Instead, Skip had a business plan. But for the first time, I didn't flinch or shift uncomfortably in my seat at the mention of it. It was Skip's business plan, and it had to be interesting.You know how you have watches under brand names which dont normally make watches? Like A|X and Guess? Well, I've sourced several reputable watchmakers in China, and they'll make anything to order.And we spent the next two hours discussing how we would be able to brand our own watches, who the target market was, how to package them, how to prevent knock-offs make it limited edition, manufacture the base product in China, ship it to Singapore, then stamp each one with a unique number and certificate and put them in a nice box. The China factory can make surplus stocks for all I care.She pulled out a couple of watch magazines and pointed out several designs and went on to describe the types of movements used in them, and why they were good or bad.Did you know that it was a watchmaker who solved the greatest scientific problem of his time? Something that Galileo and Newton never solved?Yeah, well, someone with the boring name of John Harrison. I'm learning so much from these books and mags! Anyway, I'm meeting some guys from the industry tonight to get more information about the market and the players. Come with me?And that was how we went from being intermittent friends to collaborators on a business plan.We met up when work permitted, and that was only during the weekends. We spent most weekend afternoons poring over details and contacts and leads getting involved. Weekdays for me began to change. I was soon sorely tempted to send the occasional SMS with some contrived business angle, just so she'd respond, just so I'd know I was still involved.One Saturday afternoon, we met at the Beach Hut on East Coast Park, and probably because of the long work week, didnt feel like discussing our business plan. Instead I nursed my beer as I stared past her across the cycling track and at the sea.Something the matter?Not really.Not good to keep it all in, you know?Before I knew it, I had unloaded everything in my head and heart and guts, and every little stupid thing that had troubled me before, and was still troubling me then, got articulated, spent and projected across the table, where I had somehow hoped it would be well received.You know how awkward you feel when you suddenly realize that for reasons unbeknownst to yourself, you've gone and told a stranger all the bad things you're feeling. And I told her that.Hey, who says I'm a stranger?But this is about Skip, and after struggling with a few platitudes - you're not old, I dated someone older than you -she decided it was her turn to tell me her stuff.You know I've been trying to get a start in this fuckin' business, and one of the contacts I met up with, you know, well, he's been asking me out. Sweet lah, but a bit on the young side.This is still about Skip, but I found myself stating in that staccato way one does when one tries to cover up something else: So what if he's younger? Nothing wrong with that. First time for everything. You might have fun. You never know. Enjoy the company. You never know.John Harrison's invention hadn't mattered before, and it didn't matter anymore again. Skip's business plan, as I imagined, would fade and die the ignominious death it deserved. It had always deserved it, except when I was involved.Suddenly, everything about Skip became simultaneously significant and insipid. She was gone as far as I was concerned because we were no longer collaborators on ourbusiness plan. But the sound of her voice grew significant, the glint in her eye brightened, and the nearness of her suddenly mattered.I flinched as if her fingers were branding irons when she grabbed my arm in excitement at a sudden brainwave. And we ended our afternoon with an agreement to keep working on the plan.It was pretty clouded over this weekend, and as expected, neither Skip nor myself arranged to meet up, and I didn't bother to send an SMS or look to see if she was online on the IM. But this evening, I got an MMS with another grainy picture of clouds and a fuzzy white disc, accompanied by text that read: Halo around moon again, but too cloudy and my phone cam sux.As with all unforeseen and rare things, the significance of the occurrence is usually only evident after the fact. And I am now trying to convince myself that being an observer and a witness is something greater than being involved.(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg Your salt habit "Your smile, the one that lights up the darkest room. Your laugh, the one that wrinkles your nose. Your little hop, the one you do when you're walking too quickly. Your voice, the one that melts the hardest hearts. Your salt habit, where you add salt to every damn dish".from a letter to a girl in 1998(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg The wrong mother I have a friend who keeps trying to find the reason why we want to fall in love. That's all fine and dandy, but trouble is, he likes to tell me why he thinks we want to fall in love. And then he asks me why I think we want to fall in love.I tell him I don't know much about that, but I that I know he's making one big mistake after another, and that everything he does with a view to falling in love is akin to a lost lamb trying to ingratiate itself with the wrong mother.Meeting you, and getting to know you by way of long, long telephone conversations has not added an extra dimension to me or my life. Life's pretty ordinary still. Work is work, sleep is sleep, and telephone conversations are nothing out of the ordinary. Though your sense of logic, pride, propriety and fun baffles me and your combination of self-assuredness and clumsiness charms me, and I could say it's got me, hook, line and sinker and all that, I couldn't say more.And that sucks.And although I've been pining for, thinking about, confused about and missing you for so many weeks now, I couldn't say more.And that sucks.And it's all because I don't want to say more. And it's all because you're the wrong mother.And that sucks.{Also posted on Singapore can Romance itself}(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg The Colonel's Bucket So what if it was at the KFC?You didn't say no when I asked you to marry me, and I was dead serious. So what if I didn't have a ring for to put on your finger? You didn't say no, and I was dead serious. I was dead serious even if it was a spur of the moment thing. I was madly in love with you and you didn't say no.I would've forgotten about my asking you to marry me at the KFC, but ten years to the day I did, you took me out to the very same KFC, bought me a meal, and said Happy Anniversary.I mightn't have asked again, but you know what? You still haven't said no.{Also posted on Singapore can Romance Itself}(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg The two-timing slut-bitch iTunes is playing: Never Make a Move Too Soon - B.B. King - Live at San Quentin I was sitting in the police station, sobbing as I explained to the police officer why I was hiding near the drain near your house. I thought you were kidding when you said you preferred more mature guys, you bitch. I thought you were kidding when you kept talking about the spunky lawyers in the firm you interned at. How they spoke well, how they dressed well, how they were well travelled. And how one of them had that fancy Maserati we had seen on the road before. Good thing I found out when I waited for you to come home from the 'girls' night out' you went out on. I would've leapt in a flying rage at the two of you as you kissed goodnight, but I my mind started plotting slow revenge instead. So slow, an hour must've passed before your neighbours called the police, who came round in five minutes and hauled me away. Good thing the cops were kind enough to hear me out, and they laughed at me only a little before they drove me home in a cop car. I wasn't charged, and I promised them I wouldn't ever go near your house ever again because you were a no-good two-timing slut-bitch. And no-good two-timing slut-bitches get their comeuppance in due time. You got real fat and ugly and married your cousin, last I heard. {Also posted on Singapore can Romance itself} (c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg One Ferrero Rocher with a small purple ribbon On Valentine's Day you brought a Ferrero Rocher tied with a small purple ribbon and placed it on my desk in class. You gave several to your girlfriends too. How was I to know it was supposed to mean something to me? I said I had a sore throat and therefore had to avoid chocolates. I will remember your crestfallen look forever. We still went out that afternoon, taking the new MRT to town, going up and down escalators in shopping centres, looking at things till it was way past time to go home. And when we finally started to make our way home, you left your hand close enough to mine for me to hold. I got home, put my things away, and because I had a sore throat, I took the Ferrero Rocher with the small purple ribbon and put it on my desk, and kicked myself for not opening it in class and eating it on the spot. I could've held your hand! I could've kissed you! Damn that sore throat! I could've fallen in love with you that day. {Also posted on Singapore can Romance itself}(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg Screwy mate iTunes is playing: Faded Love - Lyle Lovett & Shawn Colvin - Ride With BobSo I ask my friend Steve what's up with the girl he's been seeing but not quite seeing, and he says, 'Don't talk about her, dude. Don't even bring her name up, she's bad luck'. At that instant the taxi we're in nearly merges with an oncoming SBS No. 165, and we are nearly kewwed. The bus driver is so irate he slows down, so our taxi can catch up, so he can scold our taxi driver good.One of my testicles is somewhere in my throat while the other is lodged under the front passenger seat (the one under the driver's seat belongs to the driver). But without missing a beat, Steve deadpans, 'Toldja. She's bad luck'. Then he mumbles, 'Sad. I didn't even see my life flash before my eyes'.You know if a friend gets as morose as that, there's nothing much you can do but accompany him on a drinking binge or something. That girl he's been seeing but not quite must've affected him really, really badly. I kaypoed further, 'No, really, what happened? You were telling me you think she could be your girlfriend, but now you're all sulky. I thought you liked her?'That unlocked the floodgates, and chapters 1 - 23 of The Book of Steve were completed before we got to Wine Bar. He said he didn't think very much of her when they first met, except that she was 'kinda cute', and that she wasn't his equal intellectually and definitely not emotionally. But things, they develop, and next thing you know, they're spending every waking moment and some sleeping ones together.'So, do you like her or not?', I asked.'Dunno. I don't think I should', he sighed.'What the fuck?', I what the fucked.'What do you think she wants out of this?', he asked.I what the fucked again, and asked him how that mattered if he didn't know if he liked her or not. But when a friend gets as morose as this, he seldom is actually in the conversation, and Steve was no different: 'Do you think she's treating me just as a friend? Do you think she's trying to gain something from me? What does she want? What does she want?'At this point, our taxi arrived at outside Zouk. I collected my testicles, paid the cabbie, and shoved Steve out the other door while he was still composing rap lines out of 'what does she want?'.I have really screwy mates. Must be the company they keep.(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg More goodbyes ahead iTunes is playing: Let it go - Jimmy Barnes - Flesh and Wood I wish you and your husband all the happiness in the world. I am genuinely happy for you both. In the meantime, I am also very, very glad that you and I remain the good friends that we are, though right now the relationship between you and I is now defined by the number of times we have to say goodbye. You put the 'good' in 'goodbye'. Or as the Chinese optimistically put it, 再见。 Go well. Then she emails today and says she's coming to town in a fortnight. (c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg Laughter iTunes is playing: La Vie Dansante - Aaron Neville - Warm Your Heart We met in junior college. And we took a stroll along the bleachers one day when we were both excused from PE (I had rugby training and she had, you know). We spotted a toad on the ground and I expected her to scream in horror. Instead, she took three steps and landed a kick smack on the toad, sending it flying onto the running track. I think I fell in love then. She laughed when she was nervous. The more nervous she got, the harder she laughed. She laughed a lot when she dumped me for the canoeing captain. She laughed a lot again when we bumped into each other a few years after we left college. And then some more when she called one day when I was in Sydney, asking if she could come stay for a week. She called again a year after, asking me to visit her in London where she was doing her MBA. And I went to London, spent a lot of time with her, and decided to tell her on New Year's Eve over the phone how much I wanted to be with her for the rest of my life. She laughed the loudest I had ever heard her laugh. She laughed till she stopped. Then she asked what I was gonna do now that I had the answer. I said 'stay in and cook dinner'. She said 'me too'. Then we hung up. Then I took my coat and scarf and headed out to Bayswater for duck rice. And as I approached Hung Toa's Chinese Restaurant on Queensway, I saw her standing outside the restaurant. Before I could turn around, she saw me, and we both looked at each other sheepishly at twenty paces, through the wet London sleet for dramatic effect. I finally approached her and expected her to laugh. She didn't, and asked if I had dinner, and if I'd join her. I said yes, and duck rice never tasted so bitter. Six years later, she calls again, from Boston, and tells me she got my number from a mutual friend, hahahahahaha. She wants to see me hahahahhahaha. Because she's getting married hahahahhaha. And I tell her I can't see you hahahahhaha, because I am going on a business trip hahahahhaha. Have a good life hahahhaha. Good bye. I mean it.(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg Epiphany iTunes is playing: Wonderful - Annie Lennox - BareOne summer's night we took a drive down to Bondi, parked in the carpark next to the SLSC, held hands and talked. By this I mean we didn't have much to say. Bondi was deserted at this hour. A few hoons made donuts spinning their cars on Campbell Parade, roaring off as soon as a cop car came along. A pair of sneakers hung from a dim lamp post.The Pacific Ocean was almost pitch black, warmed by the glow of the Eastern Suburbs. It was quiet except for the waves slapping the beach, and quieter crashes further north on the rocks at both edges of the bay.Each time the waves slapped, there was a fuzzy luminescence that disappeared as quickly as it formed. We marvelled at this silently, held hands and talked.Then she said, Do you love me?I did.Tell me why you love me?I don't know. I just know I do.She put her head on my shoulder, and squeezed my hand tighter. And we watched the water's fuzzy grin appear and disappear again and again.(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg Kai Tak Airport iTunes is playing: Never Broken - Cassandra Wilson - Traveling MilesKai Tak Airport in Hong Kong is smack in the middle of the city. Pity planes don't fly there anymore. The landing approach is harrowing, and you get to see people cooking in their kitchens of their crowded flats, a few minutes before the plane makes a very sharp bank to line itself with the runway that has no choice but jut out into Victoria Harbour. Every safe landing seems a miracle, and you're rewarded at the end of the runway with the sight of a giant neon billboard of Knife Brand cooking oil.She asked me one particularly horrid day while I was in Hong Kong, whether we could still be friends if we weren't anymore a couple.I was stumped. Not because it was totally unexpected, but because I had thought she was just as much in denial as I was. Like any relationship seemingly going good, we had plans. Long term ones. We were good for each other. We fed off each other emotionally and intellectually. And I think, that was just it. We weren't ready to stop growing. Being perfect for each other at that point in life was not on. And according to her, according to what I think she meant, I think we had to be apart to be who we were.For those blurry, ill-defined reasons, she suggested we break up and I assented. I then went out and bought her a book on architecture, and wrote a little something in it to the effect of, 'maybe some day we'll build real castles'. She cried buckets, I cried buckets.Next day at Kai Tak, we quietly shared lunch, and waited until it was past final call for my flight home. We embraced for the longest last time, before grouchy ground staff escorted me onto the bus that took me, alone, to SQ7 parked on the tarmac.Shortly after, the plane shuddered into take off over Victoria Harbour, past the kitchens of the crowded flats and over the South China Sea.(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg The Odds Are Good But The Goods Are Odd Sunday afternoon I had coffee with Karen, when her mother called and asked to meet her at a shopping centre nearby. Karen asked me to accompany her for a few minutes. I thought nothing of pretending to be her boyfriend for a while so her parents can think that yes she’s not loafing around taking drugs. I was introduced to her mother and her aunts and one of her aunts kept looking at me for the longest time. That aunt asks me whether I am Hainanese and whether I live in Holland Village. I say yes, how you know? She asks if I know a Muriel. I say yes, she’s my ex from 15 years ago or so. Karen's jaw drops with a clang. Muriel is her cousin. That aunt of Karen's is also Muriel's aunt and she remembers me very well. Apparently, I have met Karen before in that previous life. In that life, I was a scrawny teenager who had a relationship with her cousin that was both tumultuous and hilarious. In that life, Karen was a bratty 8 year old girl who ran riot around her grandparents’ house which I stayed over at on occasion. I have not seen Muriel since we broke up and I swore never to contact her again. Looks like another grand plan got thwarted, and the ghosts of Christmases past have been haunting me all this while. I should have known. Anyway, that aunt said to me, “If you think Muriel was bad, this one is worse”, to which I said, “Don’t worry, I know, and I’m not dating her anyway”, to which she said, “Don’t worry, I don’t interfere with her affairs”. That few minutes turned out to be an hour plus, as that aunt started telling all and sundry about how I was like when I was 18 and 19; about how Muriel used to torture me; about how she had to drive me home because I stayed too late; about how I snuck over and stayed over thinking she didn’t know, but she did and kept our secret; about how I used to paint t-shirts and how one of those t-shirts she saved and gave one of her grand-nephews to wear last year; about how I unceremoniously ended the relationship when I found out Muriel was seeing someone else. All this while, Karen was picking up her jaw from the floor and trying to see if the Cartier watch was nice enough to buy. All this while, I’m thinking, if this was some elaborate and diabolical plan to tell me this relationship was one meant for the ages, it certainly was elaborate and diabolical. My head is still spinning. Double Macchiato & Iced Latte Teh Peng Extra Sweet She likes some other guy. But instead of being apprehensive about her incessant mention of that matter, I still acquiesce when she SMSs a curt "wake up" in the afternoon for our daily jaunt to the 6th Avenue Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, where the café guy is as familiar with our routine as we are. A double macchiato and an iced latte to have here please thank you very much. Ditto at the Newton Hawker Centre, where a tousled blonde nod gets us two teh peng extra sweet. It has become an enjoyable habit, and as I said to her, much like watching sunsets. There's a certain comfort in the routine. We talk about her problems, which, I suppose when you find someone likeable, you think mirror yours when you were young (or presently, if you're not as 'old and wizened' as I). So for every hiccup she's had with her life, I have two from the last century. She vacillates between being sullen and silent to being the worst case of verbal diarrhoea known to mankind. I become the sounding board for every little neurosis that she thinks she possesses when she gushes, and I grasp desperately for a quick witticism when she's quiet. Most days it seems I can neither comfort her nor make her laugh, and you know how useless I feel when that happens. But it was great when the other day, she muttered a very brief "thanks for the company". That's as far as she'll get. She's got a real problem doling out apologies or thanks. But heck, I'll take it anyway. I know she cares enough. She sings with manic gusto to the radio in the car, and switches stations obsessively, hunting for that favourite three minute song with which to belt out at the top of her tonsils. Stress relief, she says. I should try it, she says. We fight over how loud or how soft the music is, while I am driving Miss Daisy all over the island, mostly through leafy, misty avenues. We've clocked up a few hundred hours and a couple of thousand kilometres in the last month in my car at night. I now know every nook and cranny on the island, but still don't know most of the lyrics to most of the songs to which she sings in the most charmingly tone deaf yowls, except when Billy Joel or U2 or Frankie Valli come on. At least I now know who Samantha Mumba or Standfast are. I can look for songs on Napster or Audiogalaxy other than John Hiatt, Nick Lowe, Ry Cooder or the Buena Vista Social Club, all of whom she doesn't know from Adam, and doesn't care the faintest to know. So yes, she's a decade younger, and yes I feel my age. I don't know why but I have a penchant for women who are already spoken for. Someone said to me that this is a neurosis of sorts, that I am conscious of it. I admit the notion that I knowingly pursue someone else's quarry bears some truth. Maybe I am cowardly enough to think this twisted way: that if there's rejection, its ultimately because of the situation, and not me. There 'tis. Guilty on this count and others. When its my turn to be down in the mouth, she's kind enough to offer a palliative cliché or twenty, the likes of "just don't think about it, don't dwell on it, go to sleep and it will go away eventually", which, while ineffectual in themselves, are somehow comforting in the sincerity of their delivery. Or some shit like that. I told her she had a soothing effect on me, knowing full well that was what I wanted to feel. Well at least we communicate on some level, and might I add, I was impressed when she lent me Milan Kundera's Identite a month ago. (It's a short read, but I haven't finished it yet because there's something claustrophobic about Kundera's writing. Sure its beautiful prose, but I get cabin fever and "image burn-in", much like if you stare at a television screen or computer monitor for too long and when you turn off the lights there's a lingering green purple glow on the wall. One of the images that stick is that of his describing how an eyelid brushes over the eye like a windscreen wiper with a randomness and suddenness that startles and repulses at the same time. I have had that image in my head for weeks). What else is it that keeps me enthralled by her company? Am I that bored? Am I that shallow that I like her only for her looks? Did I already tell you about her eyes? How the black of her eyes take up most of her eyes, making them inexplicably intoxicating to look at? Did I already tell you how she gets a thought nod from me just because she walks unlike most girls her age who irritate me with their round shouldered stumble, and instead walks assuredly, albeit with a slight shuffle of her flip flops, her footwear of choice? Perhaps there's something to be said about her lackadaisical manner of speech. She mumbles through her teeth, as if straining tea leaves of her thoughts as they're spoken. Somehow still, despite being laconic there's no lack of conviction in what she says, even when she's agonising over the many complicated situations she gets herself into. Attractive, no? After smacking myself on the head with my cricket bat, I decide, nah, that's not it either. I will mull over it later. I've just received an SMS and it reads, "Coffee?" A double macchiato and an iced latte to have here please, thank you very much. (c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg I gave her my heart and she LOL'd at me There are some parts of the United States that do not have SMS on mobile phone services. Lucky them, I say, because last week, my fingers slipped and a mis-sent SMS meant I had to endure the embarrassment of having coffee with my mother at this swanky coffee place in Holland Village where it isn't cool to have coffee with your mother.A friend, Christian Lee, an American Chinese actor currently plying his trade in Singapore, has recently acquired RSI from SMSing incessantly, flirting outrageously, so he says, with some girl probably clutching her phone with a thumb over the keypad while riding on the MRT or something, vigilant and ready to stab at it with her thumbnail. He proudly showed me a message that read something to the effect of C U 2nite. Will brng my schl unfrm. He says he can't get enough of it, SMS, that is, and thinks that its been a boon to his social life more than anything else. I don't seem to get the same benefits from SMS, and I don't think its because I am not an imported expatriate Pan-Asian semi-celebrity. It's the phone, I tell you. Or maybe I should change providers from Singtel to MOne, because the people in their ads look like they really have more fun.Maybe I am the only person on the island who bemoans some sort of loss at the advent of SMS, ICQ, IRC and other miscellaneous techno-gadgetry to do with communication. You can no longer sit on the bus and let your mind wander and wonder how your significant other is doing. You can no longer interchange visions of her smiling or frowning or gliding through fields of green, as and when you have that yearning to know about her. Because just as soon as you do, your thumb goes to work on the keypad of your trusty GSM phone, and everything you want to know about her or her state of mind comes back to that little screen in the form of a :)I don't know about you, but I would suffer disturbing images of my significant other as a round smiley face bouncing through fields of green.That is, if I had a significant other. Eager to try because all else hasn't quite worked, I took Christian's recommendation and tried SMS flirting. But of course, you first had to get someone's mobile phone number before you could do that. Somehow, I did, and clumsily started out with How now brown cow or something equally lame. The recipient took all of ten seconds to reply with LOL, ok. Encouraged, I launched into short, snipped quips about the weather, work and politics, all of which garnered the response, "LOL", sometimes followed with something like "OK" or "I like that".Emboldened now, I thumbed "thnk ur really hot, cnt stp thnkg abt u", stumbling over what I thought were standard abbreviated spelling for this abbreviated prattle exchange.There was a pause that felt like an eternity before I got a reply for that one. You know, just long enough for you to have the shrinking horror of wondering whether you've mis-sent a message to your mother again, because as far as I know (and that isn't too much of a distance) you can't tell if you've sent an SMS to the wrong person until you end up having coffee with your mother at Holland Village.I don't have to tell you that she did finally reply, and the message was "LOL".~April 2001.(c) 1999 - 2007 Mr Miyagi. Read more of Mr Miyagi at http://miyagi.sg