The secret

It takes supernatural courage to admit to the world that I only had one serious relationship with a guy on real-time 15 years ago. We lasted a year. The next relationship I had took place a decade later over the internet. I woke up one day to a glum English climate enlightened and decided to end the three year torture for one reason: I just had enough.

By the way, I’m 35 years old (at the time I wrote this piece of emo crap.)

I have two failed relationships. (Thank God we’re not talking of failed marriages yet.) I do not blame these two men for my misery for I know deep inside that they, after all, remain to be nice guys. But our circumstances varied from one another and we simply couldn’t fix it because we just didn’t know how.

I should know that, at this stage in my life, these relational issues should be the least of my concerns. That’s what tough bitches say all the time. Apparently, it doesn’t happen that way. I can be as dumb as any 14-year-old you can find in the planet. That’s what love sometimes does. It cripples your ability to find reason. You just ride high with the tide.

I started 2008 officially as a single person with a resolution to remain unmarried for the rest of my life. I disliked the idea of doing household chores, taking care of kids, slaving for a husband who is prone to take things for granted, and juggling a career on the other hand. This picture of good wife and mother scared me because I felt inadequate, inept and undomesticated in a hundred different aspects. I treasured my independence like an authentic Michael Jordan trading card.

But sometimes loneliness stabs at the back when you least expect it. Watching Enchanted a dozen of times and listening to its soundtrack “So Close” bring out the romantic person in me. And my imagination scanned every male friend I know who might just fit the bill.

I just lied.