Diary Lies

Dear Diary

A called me. Right after I finished watching his game on TV.

My phone rang exactly at the moment when the game ended. I knew it was him because only he would call me at this hour. It has become a ritual for us to talk every night just before midnight.

“Hey it’s me,” he said, “remember me?” He had a smiling voice.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I just finished the game.” He said.

…and he called me.

Dear Diary

I had a very exquisite dinner with F in Tokyo two nights ago. In a very exclusive Italian restaurant, with the restaurant manager as our only waiter.

F and I met a few years ago on the Gold Coast in a typical Cinderella manner. I was a part-time souvenir shop assistant trying to make my ends meet and he was a millionaire on holiday. He walked into my shop one day. I served him. We chatted. And he came back for a chat the day after, and the day after, and the day after. And that was it.

So there we were, sitting in that gorgeously lit restaurant, it was in fact the first time we went on a date.

He said “you don’t understand how much I feel for you.” He was right. I don’t.

The relationship we have, if you can call it a relationship at all, is a very strange one. I am not his lover, not his mistress, not his girlfriend, not even a friend. I am just a person who happens to be in his life by chance. And by a very thin chance that we somehow have managed to stay in touch during all these years.

So when he told me at the dinner that he had pushed me away because he was in love with me too much I could not comprehend what he was talking about. “I still have feeling for you.” He said.

I don’t know what it means. What experience am I going to embark from here?

Dear Diary

D was my older lover in his 40s. It’s odd to use the past tense to describe a recent lover. Because, it just ended a few days ago.

I was glad that it was him who ended it. Delighted even. I hate being “the one who left”. Yes. Even affairs have some moral restraints. Because we are already this bad we have to save grace from being holy.

A holy lover by definition, is a person who gives all the trusts, the tenderness, the compassion, the understanding, the affection, and most importantly, the naivety of believing “one day it will happen for us”.

He went away with guilt that he chose to leave me for another woman. He thought he had broken my heart. He was tainted and I became holy in this story of us. But in fact, not quite.

D was not a nice-looking man. Not unpleasant but there was nothing striking about him. So what was the reason for me to be with him? It was because, very simply because, he had a similar chin and thin lips that resemble the smirk like my ex-lover, E.

The best way to erase a face is to wipe it with another face. Therefore D existed in my life, for the reason he would never ever know, that he was, just a person who resumed a position in my unfinished dream.

Dear Diary

C is my husband. You know it already. And you also know that he does not like to make love to me. And when he does, it feels like paying rent or fulfilling an assignment.

I know he loves me. He does. And I love him too.

What is the definition of love? It's a highly complex question but there is a simple answer. Love has different forms and each form suits different people. I have been through many forms of love, the painful ones, the lusty ones, the unrequited ones. And at this stage I want a lukewarm-water-like love.

Comfortable. Not intimidating.

Compassionate. Not passionate.

Someone asked me “How do you know if he is not fucking around like you do?”

I don’t know. And I don’t want to know. Ignorance is bliss. It will hurt me so much knowing that he enjoys fucking other people then making love to me. I rather not to think about it.

And that’s why I will never let him know that I enjoy having sex with other people more than with him.

Dear Diary

I want to talk about A more. The truth is, I have been thinking about him.

This is a very strange situation for me. This man was in my life for nine hours only and six of them I was asleep. It makes no sense at all for me to think about him like that way I do now. Almost like a teenage crush.

This, is bad.

Dear Diary

Singapore was our city, B and I. But he won't be returning to this city, so won't I.

I called him my toy boy. Being a few years older than him it was something very glamorous about it. And he was a pretty boy.

The rules were explained very clearly right in the beginning. We were both attached so the only reason for us to be together was for the good sex. Fuck buddies.

The arrangement was great for us for a while until one day. That day, we went out. Instead of staying in bed in the hotel suite as we normally did, we went out for an afternoon walk. Somehow it became a date.

Fuck buddies don’t date. They just simply cannot and should not. It’s a rule that should be engraved on any condom cover. But we violated the rule. We held hands we fed each other ice cream we chose outfit for each other… We talked.

So that was it. We had to end it, before falling for each other.

Why was I so afraid of love?

Dear Diary

Yes I knew A was a playboy. But I went along with it. I was expecting him being a player but at least with some class. Of course I didn't expect that he would disappear just like that.

He has been chasing me for a while. Three months to be exact. He said "I had a crush on you" and I had butterflies in my stomach when he said that. Silly me. But I liked that. I liked the feeling being wanted. And that was it; I let him into my private life.

Nice body I must say. And a great kisser. He definitely knew how to seduce women. I let him seduce me and that was very sensual. But somehow what I wanted was some tenderness. I was looking for a person who could hug me during the night. A shoulder I could rest on. I wasn't looking for a steaming sex session so in the end I didn't let him have me.

I wonder if it was because I didn't let him so he disappeared. But he did offer me what I wanted: He hugged me the whole night and I felt asleep in his arms.

I woke up in the morning and saw him off. He leaned and kissed me. Somehow I had a feeling I won't be seeing him again and I was right.

Strangely, being left along like that feels like a break-up. And a broken heart.

Dear Diary

Today I read an article from Glamour on the plane. The title of the article was "The guilty confessions of women who LIE".

It was reassuring to know that other women lie from time to time, or actually, most of the time. It made me feel normal.

There are a lot of reasons why people lie. I had a look of some of the reasons listed in the article:

• To make life easier or more interesting
• To appear more in control or more likeable
• To cover themselves
• To spare someone’s feelings

For me it could be all of above, or none of above. Simply because, I have no idea about myself, let alone the reasons I choose to lie.

Can a person “choose” to lie? Sometimes I think it’s more spontaneous. Lies just come out naturally. As if, they were the truth. And sometimes when we tell enough lies it become the reality. Because we actually are "living in lies".

Very existentialist belief.

I look at myself. Why do I lie? Is there any thing wrong with my life that I have to lie to make it better?

I am an executive who travels around internationally. I have a gorgeous husband who adores me dearly. I have a beautiful contemporary inner city apartment in one of the most desirable cities. I am still young and still turn heads.

And, I am not happy.