Zhou Pei Lin

And I find it kinda funny

I find it kinda sad

The dreams in which I'm dying

Are the best I've ever had

Yin Yang

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Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Only fell asleep on the 8th of August at three in the morning, and then was woken up at six by Ryan's "alarm clock" (read: Scheduled Tasks, with Winamp playing a loud, freaky sounding mp3 from the game Homeworld). But I didn't want to go anywhere. I just wanted to remain in his arms and not have to go home.

But as he said, it'd only be delaying the inevitable.

We were silent, on the seemingly terribly long journey towards the airport, and then we sat down for breakfast, where I took some goofy photos of him. We took a couple of photos with each other and of each other, hugged and kissed, and I didn't want to let go. I was just delaying the inevitable. So I walked to the customs. They bloody confiscated my eyebrow trimming scissors, dammit.

On the flight from Norfolk to Chicago, I dozed off a little, like how I'd somehow lose focus in a game that the two of us would have been playing. He'd poke me or kick my chair, and the guy seated behind me on the flight slammed his meal tray on my seat a little too hard, waking me with a start and I instinctively turned to my left, almost expecting Ryan to be staring at me incredulously or with that goofy grin of his. But no. All I saw was the side of the plane, and I started crying.

It was worse from Chicago to Hong Kong, a fourteen hour flight. Trying to get my mind off things, I turned the in-flight radio on, and the first song I heard was this Chinese song going, "Are you used to not having my shoulder as your pillow?" and I started crying my eyes out. The two men I was sitting next to just looked at me sympathetically and ocassionally passed me tissues, but didn't press the matter.

Seriously though, being away from home for so long for the first time in my life taught me a little about independence, considering I had to cook my own food (kinda, sorta), cook HIS food, do mine and his laundry and clean up after myself. And him too, of course. It taught me how to care for him.

But well. Shortly after I got used to the humidity in Virginia (my lips are cracking now, even in Singapore), I got used to being around him, living with him. And sadly, shortly after that, my departure was due. I had to leave; I had a job and family to return home to, as much as I wanted to remain with him.

I remember how it hit me a few days before I had to leave. I'd turn all morose and start going silent for no apparent reason, and the crying I did was phenomenal ("You make it sound like I'm dying tomorrow"). I had to try not to cry around Ryan. He didn't like it, and I didn't like it either. I only cried like a baby denied his candy when he found me sobbing in the living room or wherever, and wrapped his arms around me. Then I just.. let go.

On the flight from Chicago to Hong Kong, I kept looking at my watch and thinking, "What would he be doing now, I wonder?" and at five minutes to 11pm, I knew EXACTLY where he was. Sitting on his chair in front of the PC I upgraded, playing EQ2. And I would've been there on my little roller chair at my makeshift desk with my laptop, chatting in MSN or forums, playing WoW or just watching him play EQ2. Occasionally getting him food or drinks. Sometimes even a backrub.

...damn it.

Every time I close my eyes, I see him wiggling his nose at me like he always does. I see him pecking my forehead with his visor. I see him, him, him, him, him. And it's driving me insane. I wanted to just kick and scream and yell at the aircraft people to let me go back, let me run back into his arms and stay there. And don't leave. Never leave.

Was I dreaming? Am I still the hopeless romantic?

But tell me that the past months I was with him wasn't real. He is real. Every bit of him felt real. So real that right now, as I'm typing this, I feel empty. I don't feel home back here in Singapore, at my own PC. I keep on reaching out for him, then realising that he's not there.

I miss being in his little room in the little house along Hummingbird Lane. I miss sitting at my makeshift desk. I miss him lightening up the room (sometimes literally) whenever he tried to sneak up on me while I was playing games on his PC. I miss sleeping on the blanket I've seen him use for the past two years. I miss the pile of clothes along the side of the wall that I had washed and folded and put aside. I miss the even bigger pile of dirty laundry right next to his clean clothes. I miss the trash can in the corner. I miss the mess of cables behind his computer. I miss his messy closet, his messy trunk of his car, the messy passenger seat, everything.

I miss it all.

Most of all, I miss him.

His hugs, his kisses, his nose-wigglings, his tickle attacks, his relentless poking, his pimple on his back, his light brown hair, his beautiful eyes, his reaction when I told him to take me to a bookstore to buy me the new Harry Potter book, his scent, his nudging with his foot, his kicking my chair, his voice, his gaze, everything.

I miss him so goddamn much.
I want to go back..

. // prawninator | 01:46 + ~

To whoever you are, wherever you are, I love you. I probably don't know you yet, but when I do, I'll know, and so will you. And you'll love me for who I am, as will I.

You might be living in my neighbourhood, or some other town or country far away. I don't know. And neither do you, at this point.

Wherever you are, I know I'll find you... if you don't find me first.

It's just a matter of time.

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