The Lingering Past of a Love Masochist

I didn’t forget about you. It was just easier to stop talking about you…

We all make mistakes or do things we’re not proud of but what if, as much as you try, you are unable to bury it in the past and let sleeping dogs lie? After all that’s been said and done, you would think that there was nothing left to resurrect. It is the hardest thing to move on just because the other party has, and not because you’re ready. I think my biggest fear is that I will never be able to move on, at least, not for a long time.

Everyone has that one person who blew into their life like a storm (and blew out leaving an equally catastrophic aftermath) and stirred up feelings in them that they never knew existed; someone who inspires you to do things you never thought you’d do or say. Being involved (or in my case, falling in love) with this person, is like opening Pandora’s Box: once opened, you can never go back. The status quo is irrevocably changed and very likely, not for the better.

I loved with a passion and we fought with a passion. I went through the many stages of trying to define my relationship with this person and till this day, there is no neat little compartment to categorize it. All the scattered emotions are still flung about willy-nilly, flooding the surrounding areas with grey and I believe, try as I may, there will never be a black-and-white delineation to define what it was that we had and what it is that we have now.

Perhaps all this drama is to some extent, self-inflicted. The fault lies on my part for being unable to let go of what I (may never have had and) so obviously have lost. Why is it so hard to let go of this romanticized ideal that I seem to so stubbornly hold onto of what I imagine our relationship should (or would) be like. Perhaps, it is the basic laws of Human Nature: You want what you cannot have. This person has demonstrated to me on many occasions that I cannot rely on this person or expect this person to ever set me as a priority and yet, given the opportunity, I crawl back to this person, swallowing my (towering) pride on every occasion, hoping to win this person back.

The pathetic part of this entire situation is that I am not doing this because I have no other options. I seem to be doing it out of a masochistic need to put myself through the wringer of love every single time. I have given my all in trying to tear myself out of this piteous scenario and to some extent, I have been successful in opening myself to new opportunities but if I had to be honest, I’d have to say that these distractions are merely temporarily. At the end of the day, I know that this person is my “one and only”… But I will never have him (or the chances are as slim as an African-American deciding to join the KKK).

On the surface, it appears as if I have moved on to greener pastures; I smile, I laugh, there is no awkwardness when I am asked about the situation between the both of us but the truth is, silence does not mean erasure, it’s mere suppression as my ego (viciously) makes me swallow my true feelings because it is better to suffocate the soul than admit the shameful state of things. I will kill myself before I will admit that the state of things between us is not fine.

The logical solution is to walk away and make a clean break. I wish it were that easy. All relationship self-help books will tell you to do this but sometimes, I wonder if these authors really know how hollow these platitudes sound; it is easy to sit on your lofty laurels and smile smugly as you dispense advice that is never self-followed or is irrelevant to your situation. I am a moth to this person’s flame and I think human nature (and the stubborn fool that I am) is such that the proverbial child will have a burning desire (pardon the pun) to play with fire when told explicitly not to.

Like any other female whose emotions are tied to the hormonal roller-coaster of my DNA and biological cycle, my self-esteem goes through the yo-yo stages of alternating between loving the person I am and self-loathing. I can guarantee you that every female (and males as well) go through days where they put themselves through a sadistic self-torture of feeling like they are ugly, pathetic, fat and that no one will ever love them or they do a self-evaluation and wonder why no one wants them even though they feel that they are not a bad person.

Women excel at this. I can safely say that a large proportion of women have been in the circumstances where they have passed a seemingly unattractive woman (as compared to themselves) on the street with an attractive man and wonder how come that woman has found someone and they haven’t. Of course, she will feel bad for being so “superficial” and the old “maybe she’s a wonderful person and he cares about more than looks” theory will surface. (This incidentally seems to be the default disclaimer that all women seem to automatically make in their minds; whether it is something we do to not appear mean or that women have herd mentality when it comes to platitudes.) The subsequent “logical” hypothesis she will then, theorize is that she is even worse than that woman and that is why no one wants her and panic and self-pity moves into her heart like the animals to Noah’s Ark during the big flood.

Don’t you love the logical fine-workings of a woman’s mind? “Women are from Venus, Men are from Mars”? Honey, I have news for you, we’re from a whole different solar system…

In any case, this flawed logic is often the result for why many a woman is so tied to someone who is obviously all wrong for them. In fact, just this afternoon, a work colleague and I were discussing the personal life of the store’s manager: that she’s attractive, driven and a lovely woman but yet, she’s dating a loser. In all of this, the cowardly hypocrite in me conveniently forgot that I was in a somewhat similar situation but I was slightly worse off in actually running after a “loser” who doesn’t want me. But let’s not make this (too much) about me…*smirk*

In any girly gossip exchange, one of the most oft-used phrases you will hear is “She can do so much better than him”. Of course she can! But such a pithy statement is easy to espouse when not walking in that woman's Manolo Blahniks (or insert your favored brand of heels). A woman in love (or desperation) is like a horse with blinkers on; she is blind to a man’s flaws: she sees only what she wants to see. In such circumstances, one could say that love is blind or the woman’s self-esteem is in such tatters that she thinks that the “paragon of virtue” that she has chosen to throw herself at, is anything but.

Which leads me to surmise one thing about myself: I am a LOVE MASOCHIST.

For some reason, I choose to put myself through hell when it comes to relationships. Yes, Love & Relationships are hard but I have a sneaky suspicion that 75% of the drama is all in my heart and head. (Not surprising honestly, given my drama queen predilections…) Why I feel the need to fight so hard for it to make it seem worthwhile is beyond me… Is it because I have a compelling compunction to do things the hard way so that I will appreciate it or are there other deeper reasons at play such as low self-esteem and commitment-phobia?

Either way, the self-sabotage seems to hark at latent S&M tendencies that really, are not that appealing in “a nice girl” like me.

Flirting: The Fine Nuances between Harmless or Intentional

“Sigh no more, Ladies, sigh no more…
Men were deceivers ever;
One foot in sea and one on shore,
To one thing constant, never!
So sigh not so, and let them go
And be you blithe and bonny,
Casting all your cares and woes
And singing: Hey Nonny, Nonny!”

“Much Ado About Nothing”
(William Shakespeare)

I believe it is the prerogative of any woman to indulge in a little flirtation, more so, if you have the confidence and/or attractiveness to pull it off. And it is irregardless of marital status. I am not encouraging a married woman to start a torrid affair, but sometimes, when you are in a relationship, flirting is all you can do and it can be fun and be a bit of an ego-booster. Before any one gets on their high moral horse, I have to clarify that I am talking about harmless flirtation; a little witty repartee between two parties; as long as the involved parties are fully aware that it is just a game and merely words, with no ulterior motives. There is nothing wrong with window-shopping. You just have to be sure that you do not get tempted to purchase.

Yes, there is a very fine line between a little fun and having less-than-honorable intentions. It is a game that is as light-hearted as you want to be, but just as quickly can turn deadly. The status quo does not remain static, it changes easily without notice. So how do you decide when you are venturing into shark-infested waters?

When does a friendly smile turn seductive? Or a hug hello last that bit too longer? Or a peck on the cheek that seem to be a little too close to the mouth? Suddenly, Proxemics becomes an issue and you do not feel quite so comfortable sitting with that person’s thigh pressed against yours…

Male-female relationships are rife with such potential problems. Some of us start friendships with the opposite sex with the best of intentions and the flirtation process begins gradually. Other relationships start off with fast and furious flirting that blurs the lines with each encounter. I have been a party to both situations.

In the latter situation, the flirting got me into deeper waters than I intended to be in. I admit that our flirtation started from the first time we met and grew in intensity and danger at every meeting. I would admit that I spent an inordinate amount of time baiting him and slipping as many double entendres as I could into our conversations. Needless to say, the so-called harmless flirtation I was indulging in had less than innocent results. The aftermath was an emotionally-damaging year of a dysfunctional relationship.

In my defense, the guy in question is incapable of having a purely platonic relationship with any female that is not a family member. I think till this day, even though he is supposedly involved with another girl, if I were to give him a proper hug (like a Koala), I will definitely get a reaction “down south”. As much as I would like to flatter myself and say that I’m a “superfly shorty”, I think it’s more of a physical reaction than anything else.

But his comments did get me thinking as I recall another friend with less sleazy/player tendencies who had similar sentiments: that a guy cannot be friends with any girl without at some point, wondering what it would be like to hook up with her. This intrigued me as I think most women tend to categorize their male friends into categories of those that they could possibly consider dating and those that will forever live in the category of the “surrogate brother”. Case in point, there is always the token “gay best friend” who we love to death and call him the most affectionate of names and reveals to him, the most intimate details of ourselves because he’s gay and “it doesn’t matter”. In this case, he comes under the category of being a “sister/girlfriend”. Of course, there is still hope for the “surrogate brother” who may be fortunate enough to make the transition from that category to the “date-able” category. Whatever it is, there tends to be a distinction for women.

Of course, I do know there are limits and rules in how you should engage in the art of flirting and who makes an eligible candidate. Friends with girlfriends are off-limits (especially ones whose girlfriends you are not on that familiar/close terms with); boyfriends of friends are similarly off-limits. Any senior male relatives of friends are also not appropriate (even if you think that your girlfriend’s similarly-aged uncle is oh-so-sexy, eligible and SINGLE, do not go there!) I also tend to respect the rule that someone else’s prey is off-limits, i.e. do not flirt with a guy if you have a friend or know someone who is genuinely interested in him. Of course, if the predator (other girl) is being a bitch to you, then I say, “All’s fair in love and war” and I will unsheathe the claws and “may the best bitch win”. (Disclaimer: I normally dislike playing this game because it's spiteful, pointless and hurtful.)

Recently, I had an intensive course at University that meant I had to sacrifice Friday and Saturdays over three weeks for 7 hours of class. Needless to say, everyone in class was pretty much forced to hang out since there was nobody else around. It was a diverse class with many interesting people and I had every intention of widening my social circle. One of my classmates included this guy who had many friends in common with me. We have seen each other before but never properly been introduced or hung out. This opportunity arose with the class. I believe that his cultural background is largely attributable for his overly-friendly, flirty and “touch-feely” nature. In any case, I established a friendly, harmless flirty rapport with him. I did not see our relationship being anything beyond the platonic.

A girl in our class had her sights set on him and it got to the point where she had came up to me and asked me point-blank if I liked him. I was of course shocked and told her that I honestly thought that there was something going on with him and her. She must not have believed me because she started being cold towards me. I felt bad as I knew how bad it could feel to like someone and not know if he feels the same. Out of respect for her, I started to distance myself from the guy: keeping a physical distance and down-playing the flirtation. All I got for my trouble was the guy thinking that I was angry with him.

We cleared that up at a friend’s party and there was a nice warm make-up session with lots of hugging, etc. And to be mean, I think we did take some misleading “intimate” photos to put up on Facebook for her to see. We were not out to be mean but we were a little tired of her behavior that resulted in the two of us having a misunderstanding.

I admit that at times, I wondered how much of his behavior was harmless flirting and how much of it was him trying to make a move on me. To some extent, he is the sort of guy who likes the thrill of the chase and would willingly play “Kiss Chase” with a girl as long as she plays hard to get. Whatever his intentions are, I have no interest in finding out. I have had enough relationship dramas, thank you very much.

In any case, you would think that my years of being friends with a disproportionate amount of the opposite sex would have taught me to be a little more cautious in how I interact with them; I would say that the secret tease in me is very reluctant to give up any opportunity to be a “c**k-tease”. To be honest, it’s a head-trip and an ego-boost. I can assure you that knowing how to push the right buttons of the opposite sex is not a skill every girl has; especially the ability to do it with subtlety and finesse. Most self-respecting women I know will deny enjoying “the art of tantalization” but trust me; a lot of women secretly enjoy it.

Power is better than any drug; it’s an inimitable head trip…

After all, you got it, you flaunt it; you have it, you exploit it.

This is the facts of life.

Divine Domestication III: Cleanliness is next to Godliness… Bring out the “Monica” in you…

According to my dad, my middle name is "Maria" because I seem to have an overt fondness for cleaning....(I apologize to all the Marias out there who are victims of this stereotyping of their names..)

I recently took a quiz on facebook about which “FRIENDS” character I should be. I fully expected the results to say “MONICA” given that I have the following characteristics:

-Hyper-Competitiveness
-Clean Freak Factor (borderline OCD)
-Loud, Bossy, Domineering
-Loves to Cook
-Opinionated

Unfortunately, the results said I was “RACHEL” a.k.a “very selfish”.

I was quite upset by it, to be honest. On hindsight, I suppose remnants of the spoilt princess I used to be still reside in me.

Since I was publicly yelled at by two of my brother’s friends in front of the University Library during my first semester in freshman year, I have been consciously trying to leave my “RACHEL” characteristics behind and try to be a better person. Morphing into a “MONICA” may not be the best thing but there are characteristics of “MONICA” that have evolved because like the TV character, I still feel very much the (much) fat(ter) girl I was in childhood and my resulting self-esteem issues make me still look (desperately) for affirmation and for others to love and accept me.

On some level, the need to transform myself stems from an innate need to over-compensate for my past bad behavior. On other levels, it is within my fundamental character to be a perfectionist. I am my worst enemy; there is no bigger critic of myself than myself. Often, I beat myself up for things that others do not really put much stock in. My bid to be the best that I can be has hindered my self-esteem but that is just who I am. It’s a long and hard journey in building my confidence and there are days that I still struggle but with the love and the support of (the right) friends, I am learning to accept who I am and learn to love myself.

I used to think that to be the ultimate domestic goddess was enough to make one a perfect wife. In addition to cooking and sewing, I used to keep a sparkling house and even extended my OCD freak-factor into cleaning my friends’ places for them, even if they had not asked me to. I am sure they were happy but I’ve also learnt that men do not appreciate what they have been handed so easily on a platter. If I thought doing the “girlfriend/wife” thing of cleaning a guy’s house was showing him that I would make him a good partner, I was deluded. The only thing that ever came out of it was to show him just how good a doormat I was. Do not get me wrong, I actually enjoy cleaning. I clean when I am stressed, when I am angry, when I am depressed, when I have been out having a big night drinking, when I am bored, when I am happy….I just love to clean.

I am sorry for using such a bad analogy, but I read a novel by Julia Llewellyn called THE LOVE TRAINER that talked about how men were like puppies; you have to train them to teach them how to behave. I would not go to the extreme of comparing the entire male species to dogs (even though some of the guys I know do deserve the title of being a real dog). I will say that you teach others how to treat you. I would honestly say that me cleaning up after the guys may be borne of the best intentions but they do not necessarily translate to the desired results.

If you are looking for a partner, do not give him the idea that you are a “maid” or his mother. If you are cooking, cleaning and sewing for him despite the lack of commitment or relationship between the both of you, then, you are sending the wrong signals. A man is not going to work harder for someone who is making it so obvious that he has you at his beck and call, without him having to put in any extra effort or changing the status quo.

This is the sad and harsh truth that I have learnt. This is why nice girls finish last. Nice girls treat the boys they love with so much care that even if it was an unrequited love, they do not draw boundaries. It is not healthy and it is not helping your situation. To be honest, I still have a large proportion of “doormat” in me but I am learning to set boundaries and not always be “too nice” from the start. I am learning that the other party has to reciprocate or show that they are worthy of the effort.


My seven-year journey to Divine Domestication…I started out with some good intentions: I believed that to be a good wife, one had to be a domestic goddess. How wrong I was…It is not enough to be able to cook, clean and sew. On paper, it sounds like a perfect wife, if we still lived in historic times where a wife was basically a chattel.

Through the ups and downs that make up human relationships, I have learnt that timing, situation, context is important. Relationships are hard. Being perfect on paper is not enough; even love itself is not enough to make a relationship work. It all depends on the right timing, circumstances and mutual feelings. When I look at some of my friends and the dramas they have with their relationships, I wonder if it is really worth it at all: I wonder if I am better off being single.

But that is the beauty of it…You do not cherish what you do not have to fight for. If love is worth fighting for; then all the struggling you go through and the heart-ache and the pain is worth it all in the end.


Ultimately, divine domestication may serve to help make married and family life easier for me in the future, but it is not the “be all, end all” of a perfect marriage or relationship. The right man will come along for me some day and he will love me for me: stripped of all my external fripperies and “competitive advantages”; just simply me.

Divine Domestication II: Mending is not sewing; we’re talking Martha Stewart-worthy, Baby!

Cross my heart and hope to die...Stick a needle in your eye!

A stitch in one saves nine...

The Modern Woman is very busy; you can hardly find her in the kitchen unless it’s to make something in the microwave, let alone find her sitting home and knitting a nice scarf for herself or her loved one. The more likely outcome of a desire for a scarf is to go out and buy one. No time? There’s always e-Bay and paying someone else with more time (and patience) to do it for you. Of course, I do not deny that knitting was all the rage for awhile and even men were doing the “knit-one-purl-one”.

Yet, it definitely can be said that most of us won’t consider creating our own scarves ordinarily. The closest the majority of us would have gotten to indulging in such domestic delights is probably through Home Economics where sewing projects were a part of the course; I have yet to see anyone fail the subject as there is always Nanny, Granny, Mummy, “Maria/Yanti” (or in my case, Daddy) to help you with it, if you were just purely hopeless (or lazy).

My mother, obviously, lived in a different era, one where Stepford wives were lauded. She had a different idea of what a woman should accomplish and one of them was sewing. To be honest, I am more likely to throw something away then mend it since I have fashion ADD anyway (80% of my wardrobe is less than 3 months old). If I really had to get something fixed, I am more likely to cajole (browbeat) someone into doing it for me or bringing it to an alterations service or a dry-cleaners’ that offers such services. I do not think I am alone in this; many women would do the same thing! Learning to sew for me was the most grudging of experiences till much later, when I started to appreciate the advantages of such an uncommon skill in today’s generation.

I come from a financially-comfortable background, we’re not using fifty-dollar bills to light up fat cigars but we’ve certainly never worried about when our next meal is going to be. Many of my friends and peers are in similar positions; we are, indeed, a blessed lot that we have been indulged our whims and fancies. Material fulfillment is a delightful luxury but it is hell when it comes to birthdays and gift-buying. What do you give someone who has everything he/she wants? Or if there is something that person would want, it’s probably out of your budget. Finding a meaningful gift, thus, becomes a real drama.

Out of boredom, I picked up knitting from a friend’s mother. I did not think it would be particularly useful to me but she seemed so keen to teach me that I did not have the heart to refuse her offer of tutelage. Last year, I was searching frantically for a gift for a very dear male friend of mine. I have mentioned him before: he is the one man I literally cried myself sick over when he went back home for good. He had very exacting and particular taste and in my dire straits, I decided to knit him a scarf.

It was not a Martha Stewart-worthy creation but the simple (and slightly grubby by the end) result was enough to make him love it. I suppose money cannot buy you some things in life (as opposed to what MasterCard would lead us to believe): time, effort and the love put into a gift that is not “store-bought” will always mean so much more than an expensive gift from the best stores. A hand-crafted gift tells the recipient how much you mean to them; that they are worthy of that extra bit of “bother” and effort. (But please, the more cynical ones amongst us, do not confuse sincerity with tight arse-ness.)

Times have changed and many of us do not put much store into domestic accomplishments. In fact, many people scorn it, saying that being time-poor makes them unable to pursue such “hobbies”. Once an expectation of most womenfolk, it is now a rather rare talent that will make a person stand out in a crowd of increasingly domestically-challenged female population. Besides you never know when you’d need a needle to stick into a voodoo doll or stab someone in the eye with… Only joking but it

Divine Domestication I: The only (true) wife is a Stepford Wife…

Step One: Mastering the Art of Culinary Delights

“I love you, ****!!!!”

If someone had told me a long time ago that making pink cupcakes would make a boy declare his love for me, I certainly would have started baking/cooking a lot sooner. Well, at least, my initial intentions to “domesticate” myself had been based on the wrong idea that being able to cook, clean and sew will make up for my personal (physical) flaws; giving me that extra leverage on the marriage mart.

5 years ago, I took my first step of independence in choosing to move across the ocean and equator to pursue my studies in Australia. I was eager to move out of home and go crazy with my new-found freedom. Of course, with independence, comes responsibility as well. Half a semester of eating out left my taste buds stinging from MSG overkill and a stomach that was beginning to riot from the over-indulgence in oil. So, it was with great sadness that I bid a fond farewell to the dodgy (yet cheap and good) eating places in Chinatown and the lovely Italian restaurants near my student lodgings.

My mother once told me that you cannot get married unless you learn how to cook, clean and sew; her logic being that a good wife is one who can excel in providing domestic comfort (and bliss) for her family. I suppose her intentions were a little old-fashioned but all families have their own rules and regulations. With my mother’s words ringing in my ears, I bravely stepped into the kitchen to begin my adventure as a nascent cook. Let us say that my brother was most patient in eating the limited menu I was able to produce in the initial stages.

I had dabbled in a little baking when I was in junior college, making little brownies and carrot cakes for my classmates but I had never truly been a baker given that we did not have a proper oven back home or in the student lodgings that I was living in during my undergraduate years. In my last semester of undergrad, I moved to my own apartment and the greatest joy I felt was in having a proper kitchen, one with a functional oven and space to maneuver around. It was then, that I threw myself wholeheartedly into baking.

I subscribed wholeheartedly to the adage that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. I cooked whoever was the “flavor-du-jour” lavish dinners, bringing him meals at uni and even resorting to cooking a ten-course meal for him in one night and bringing it all over to his place during the exams period. When I could not get him to come to dinner, I branched out into baking. Baking him sweet confectionaries and trying to entice him to come meet me with them. It sounds ludicrous but I was obsessed.

It was not all for naught though. I may have had the best intentions without the desired results, but in the process, I expanded my culinary repertoire. For the wrong person, I aspired to greater heights. I am no longer as obsessive about baking for him but the habit has stuck. I still bake 3-4 days a week; putting a lot of love and effort into my “made from scratch” creations but I am sharing them with friends and the other people in my class or work. It’s earned me the nickname of “Betty Crocker” and to be honest, I think I am happier “sharing my love” with everyone rather than one person who did not appreciate it the way he should have.

What's your POP (Pimping Out Price)?

Recently, my bestie did an “advert” looking for a girlfriend for a friend of hers. We were talking on MSN and I told her that what qualifies a man as a “good catch” is not his material or physical attributes, but rather his heart. Her response was that wealth is what girls are looking for and if she were to be honest, it does matter to her as well. My response was that wealth is a relative term. Of course, pragmatism and reality tells us that we cannot live on love alone, but how wealthy does a guy have to be for you to be attracted: enough that you do not worry when your next meal is going to be or enough for you to be kept dripping in diamonds?

What is your POP?

What extent of material comfort do you expect when looking for a significant other? In other words, what price will you whore yourself out for? I know it sounds rude but sometimes, when I hear people talking crap about prostitutes and the like, I feel that there is a certain level of hypocrisy involved.

Prostitutes have sex with clients for money. At the end of the day, it is a business arrangement. Yes, it does make the whole act of sex seem sordid and taints the rosy image many of us have of sex and the associated romance and relationship that should come with it. But let us be honest here, we’re only human and to be honest, many of us (stereotypically, men) have base needs that need to be met and there's also some of us, who frankly, are just skanks, pure and simple. Are you saying that women, who hold out for the bigger, better deal (material-wise), are better than those who work in the oldest profession in the world?

I don’t think so. The woman who held out for the latest Mulberry bag is not very much different from a high-class call girl; they both cost a pretty penny even though one is paid with material goods and the other with cold hard cash. Doesn’t that fit a definition of whoring yourself out? I wouldn’t say that every woman who has financial stability/comfort as her selection criteria is a potential “prostitute in disguise” but I will say that for those of us who have a wide streak of “gold-digging” in them, should really learn the expression “people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones”. If you’ve ever had the chance to read Coerte Felske’s Millennium Girl, you’d know that there are a breed of women who do take their search for the ultimate Sugar Daddy very seriously: to the professional level. To some extent, I think that the prostitute has the better deal; she gets paid before she gets down to business. A woman who is being “kept” is in it for the long-term, the ultimate price being “marriage” but she is still at risk of having her “business deal” go down in flames as she does not get paid till much, much after.

But I’m not here to discuss the fine distinction between prostitution and being a “sugar baby”. I want to talk about what your personal criteria is when it comes to financial status. I believe I have mentioned before that I would like to find someone who is on par with my family’s social status; one who is able to support me in the lifestyle (or some semblance of it) that I have grown up and become accustomed to.

But I would also like to say that, at the end of the day, you will never truly know your POP till you are put in the situation where you actually have to decide what the exact price is. It is easy to give a ballpark figure when you haven’t met the person yet. There are some of us who adhere strictly to guidelines and will not consider anyone who does not meet their selection criteria. But alas, life is not always black-and-white. At some point in our lives, we will all meet that not-quite-suitable boy (or girl) who does not meet the pre-selection criteria and yet, there is just something about that person that makes you want to step out of your comfort/vetting zone and explore unchartered waters. Whether or not he is worth the risk, well, only time and experience will tell. And that is why one should always treat marriage as if there is a “no returns” policy and think well and hard before you choose to waltz down that aisle in the pretty white gown.

Of course, I am not suggesting that you marry someone that is the polar opposite of your selection criteria just to prove your point that wealth is of little consequence when it comes to matters of the heart. All I am saying is that it is often difficult to search for the right person when you have set yourself a list of selection criteria. How do you know what you really want? You will not really know till you meet the person. Even then, the basic foundations of common shared values may not necessarily make that person your perfect match either.

We’ve all heard that the “perfect match” is one where you complement each other; your weaknesses should be his strengths and vice-versa. Bullshit. We’re never ever going to find the perfect complement to ourselves. Everything in life does not fit nicely into place like a seamless jigsaw puzzle. There will always be uneven edges, gaps, grey areas and the like that will make any relationship a “Monet”: perfect from afar but a mess if you examine it up close. In situations such as these, it is when compromise comes to play and we have to decide what redeeming factors do the other party have that will make us set our POP to the “intended market price”.

Did I just make relationships and the search for a mate (in my dictionary known as "the Marriage Mart") sound cynical and clinical – like a typical business transaction? Well, it is a business transaction of some sorts; you do get what you pay for: A man wants beauty, a woman wants wealth... The woman auctions herself off to the highest bidder who pays dearly to then get to dangle that lovely trophy of his arm. Maybe not all of us are that shallow but there are also many of us who are. In today’s modern world, everyone is increasingly time-poor. As one reader mentioned, Speed-dating is a phenomenon that is growing (at an alarming rate). When you have five minutes to summarize what your good points are, one thing tends to stand out as a fail-safe – your financial portfolio.

Take Me On The Ferris Wheel

We’ve all had grand illusions of romantic gestures… Unfortunately, most modern men are a little leery of taking such actions unless necessity dictates it. Ryan Gosling plays the part of a romantic fool perfectly when he climbs a Ferris Wheel to convince Rachael Adams to go on a date with him on threat of his demise otherwise; In movie world: so touching; in the cynical reality: what a psycho/stalker/freak.

I have always had a twisted fixation with Ferris Wheels: I am scared stiff of heights but will never give up an opportunity to go on one. Particularly, I find it all that much enjoyable to be riding on one with a significant other. Alas, while I’ve deliberately made myself green in the gills from many rides on one, not many of them have been with the person I had in mind (and heart).

Perhaps I have an arcane (and somewhat old-school American) idea of romance but in today’s materialistic world, the color of the green has certainly outclassed simple romance. Have the ladies grown more materialistic, or have the men raised the ante in a bid to leverage their positions as a good catch? Either way, many have dismissed old-fashioned romance or activities such as an excursion to the funfair or a simple picnic as too time-consuming, ridiculous or just a waste of time and effort. Perhaps the increasing urbanization of the general population has caused this natural evolution, but clearly what we see on the silver screen is very unlikely to translate to the real world with the same “coup de grace”.

But I digress.

Personally, I have romantic associations with the Ferris Wheel (if one conveniently ignores the accompanying motion sickness and resulting nausea). A long time ago, when I hadn’t yet lost my romantic idealism to cynicism, the first boy I ever went out with took me to a traveling fair. It was my own little re-enactment of a quaint American custom; my “little piece of Hollywood”. I had a lot of fun: letting him win me stuffed toys; getting sick from an over-indulgence of corndogs and cotton candy; going on over-priced rides; pretending to be scared on the Viking boat (any excuse to cling onto him) …

Mostly, the memory that lingers the longest and holds the strongest image in my mind is winding down the evening with a ‘quiet ride’ on the Ferris Wheel. I was a little apprehensive initially due to my phobia of heights. It was only his reassurance that helped me to allay my fears (to be perfectly frank, I think the idea of snuggling up to him had a strong appeal to my youthful hormones. In any case, I soon forgot my fears and enjoyed the fantastic view we had of the city (and of course, other delightful distractions). What struck me the most was that single romantic gesture he made; I had been excited by the view and was trying to get him to find the same enthusiasm that I had of it when he looked me dead in the eye and said, “I already have the best view and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen…outside and inside.” It was said with such simplicity and without much aplomb but it left a lasting impression; even the most bloke-ish of guys were capable of romance. But it was the simplicity of the sincerity and truth he put into that one sentence that touched me so deeply.

That became my benchmark: not the actual scenario but the context and situation. It’s been 7 years since but a part of my enchantment with Ferris Wheels has always been linked with that incident. I’m still searching for that special someone to take me on the Ferris Wheel to re-capture that moment.

Recently, a traveling Ferris Wheel was set up by the river in the city. My initial reaction was one of great excitement as I tried to get someone I was (then) in a complicated relationship with to ride on it with me. It did not pan out and I was disappointed. On hindsight, it was a blessing as hormones and the resulting physical implications would have tainted my idealistic memory of romance. I, then, became “involved” with someone that had potential for development into something more and I’d thought to share that experience with him. Unfortunately, the opportunity never arose.

Now, every time I drive past and see the Ferris Wheel, I am filled a sense of bittersweet poignancy as I wished that more could have been realized from that potential relationship. Yet, as I watch the bright lights of the Wheel turn round and round against the skyline, a twinge of hope fills me. Life goes in a cycle and one day, I’d find myself in that special place again (metaphorically): riding the Ferris Wheel with the right person to share that moment again…and creating our own unique memory.

Sometimes you have to go through a little (personal) Hell to get to a (shared) Heaven…