December 21, 2004
Another lonely Christmas
In transit by Janice Wong
WE sat by the swimming pool under the stars, holding hands and chatting about everything except what we felt for each other. What was unsaid was more significant than what was said.
After an hour, my composure cracked. I asked: "What do you want?"
"Nothing at all, I cannot tell you what to do. You are a very eligible girl - young, pretty and smart - but I am afraid of getting hurt again," he replied, brushing a wisp of stray hair from my face.
He was speaking in riddles that only men are capable of deciphering. The ghosts of relationships past were creeping up on us. My mind raced: Does he want me to exorcise them, ignore them or accept them? Somehow I didn't ask; he didn't tell.
I had my own fears, too, that night, but I momentarily suspended them.
Reasoning that you do not want to have a relationship because you are afraid of getting hurt is like reasoning you do not want to learn how to swim because you are afraid of drowning.
Such a problem can never be resolved. I deserve someone more emotionally available. So my parting shot to him was: "Let's remain friends".
I went home, popped a Valium pill and fell asleep.
I woke up stranded in a familiar limbo, somewhere between practicality and sentimentality, cynicism and idealism.
I felt weary. Most of all, I felt helpless.
Why am I born so needy and dependent, ever pining for a man to share my life, and, as one reader pointed out, ever reaching out despite finding myself utterly alone in the end each time?
And if I am so eligible, why am I still single?
For the rest of the day, I busied myself with Christmas shopping.
As I traipsed around Orchard Road with carols ringing in the air, good friends by my side and a bigger budget than I needed, I tried to convince myself that I was enjoying the freedom of singlehood until a pair of his-and-hers Guess watches in a gift box caught my eye.
My heart ached that I had no one special to give the man's watch to.
For all the dancing lights of Christmas, the season is a dull, dim one for some singles.
Being lonely does not get easier with age and practice. In fact, I think it gets harder, but we become better at corralling it.
When our carefully constructed emotional stability is threatened, we immediately become defensive and make a pre-emptive strike.
I guess this was another reason that I shrugged my shoulders in indifference, forced a smile and told him we should stay friends.
Yet, hope lingers. The truth is, I want someone to grow old with, someone exclusive to share my everyday ups and downs, and, yes, to have children with.
My heart will sing each time I think of such a man. Days will be happier, colours will be brighter and champagne more sparkling because I have him in my life.
I have been on countless dates. I am tired, unbearably, excruciatingly heart-wrenchingly tired. Where is he? Does he even exist?
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