I’m me and you’re you.

Just so you know, I have moved on with life. Nothing changes even if I sit on the floor all day kicking my legs and scrunching my face into an ugly bunch.

I try not to dwell on reliving that ache in my heart partly because it’s a horrid feeling and a bigger part because I want to run away from facing that problem. I don’t usually sweep my issues under the carpet but I really do this time.

We have spoken since he threw that bucket of tepid water over my face. Well technically we didn’t speak, we texted. We have texted it out and agreed that this wouldn’t change our friendship. I think we both agree (at least in our own hearts) that this topic is forbidden and never shall it be brought up again. Perhaps I should start by kicking this habit of using togetherness terms. He’s him and I’m me.

When I said I’ve moved on, it doesn’t mean that I’ve been raising my brows meaningfully and smiling coquettishly at every man I meet. What I mean is that I’ve acknowledged that he is set in his own ways and nothing I do will change his mind. It’s very sad, yes but I cannot expect to have my way every time. If that was possible, I would be married to Johnny Depp and George Clooney would be my secret boyfriend. But no, I’m matured enough to understand that the world doesn’t work that way.

I’ve been busy with work, with is good and bad all at the same time. Good because I don’t get pockets of spaces to dwell on That Sad Thing (to be known as TST from this day forth) and because I’m #1 this quarter yay. This means I’m almost 9k richer this month (before CPF contributions) which translates to having more money for my Paris trip in October. Other than that, it sucks too. I’ve been swearing so much more at work recently. Totally undid my self-restraint the past few months.

And I think I’m not a pleasant person to be around in recent times. Yes I still talk and laugh and smile but it’s all fake. It doesn’t come from within like how it used to. And when I needed to talk, I realised I don’t know who I can really talk to. Most importantly I’m afraid of turning into an energy vampire because I used to bitch about such people. Hello karma.

The hardest thing for me is that I still cannot touch alcohol. You know how people say drowning your sorrows won’t help? Well they are wrong. Personally I feel that getting pissed drunk, then talking while crying your heart out works wonders. While I may feel embarrassed the next day, at least I’ve unloaded all that burden I’ve been carrying around. I hate this forced alcohol exile.

So until I get over this sadness (with or without alcohol), I’m afraid I’m going to be Miss Melancholy and I won’t blame anyone for rolling their eyes or judging me. I have bigger things to worry about. Like how I’m going to be with him often when I’m in Paris but cannot allow my heart to feel persistent because how are you going to move on?

xoxoxoxo.

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