"So long and thanks for all the fish"

I'm leaving this blog. Have left for a long time, but never found the right new home for my thoughts.

Now I'm living at http://foodfaxmachine.tumblr.com/. We'll see if we fit each other. Hope to see you there. Bye now.

Looking at a word too long makes it all weird right

It's 7.27am over here. Woke up with a trembly feeling inside. I'd intuitively felt it for a while but now I reckon I know - that Tolga has started seeing someone else.

Ten million reasons why it shouldn't and doesn't matter - but it still hurts like crazy. I guess I'm finally in full-blown mourning. That he will never again call me at 6am, drunk and demanding to know why I am not there beside him. That he will never again email me his schedule for a full week, wanting me to join him for every single thing. That he will never again kiss me impulsively and tell me he loves me. Shrieking over the Colbert Report, knowing each other's thoughts and moods with just one look - it goes on. And now it's all over.

The funny thing is, I watched this TED talk by Brene Brown on vulnerability a week ago, and Jo messaged me yesterday telling me I should check this same talk out. It's about how we numb vulnerability because it scares us. But as with emotions, it's two-sided: Vulnerability can undo us, but it is also what makes us savour life. The key is to have the courage to emotionally throw yourself headlong into things over and over again, despite not knowing how it will end, whether you get the returns on your investment.

I think most of us know this. Restraint and boundary-drawing may keep you from scraping your knees, but it also prevents you from making other connections that could change your life.

So I'm giving in to grief over the death of our relationship. I know I will survive, but I don't need to look strong. Acknowledging this is probably the first (and only) step. I'm trusting that everything else will naturally follow.

Thank goodness I'm physically far away.

Finding my feet (when I'm not eating them)

So it appears I have found myself a lover. A bloody good one, in fact. And as these things usually seem to go, I never meant for it to happen. He's not even based here, so I'm amazed we are actually keeping this up.

Eh, no it's not a relationship. I've freaked out on him a couple of times when I thought we were trespassing into Having Feelings. The mere hint of it scares me shitless. My mind refuses to go there, I insist we cut all ties immediately - frankly, this manifestation of scarring from the past heartbreak is ridiculous. He has officially labelled me a retard, though I assume he says it with utmost affection. But for now, I think I would punch any guy who pulls a romantic stunt on me.

I really wonder who I'll end up spending the rest of my life with. Will I find this person? Because the heart line on my palm is getting increasingly criss-crossy and feathery, surely a bad portent...

Walking the Silk Road

Immensely relieved. I feel settled in, like the opening paragraph of a new chapter in my life, after endless revisions, finally reads smooth. I am officially cured of lovesickness and the draggy self-introspection that came with it. I guess distance really helps. Distance, and Italian men.

So remember the Grabby Daddy experience the week before? That was rather traumatising, so a bunch of us decide to head to this bar in the city, which my trainer at the gym claims is totally my scene, when I ask him where working adults go (He's twenty). "Lots of rich old men there," he declares, which makes me question how acquaintances perceive me. I go there anyway, for the old, I mean, adult crowd.

Right at the start of our night, I am automatically drawn to this pair of brothers, who exude warmth rather than sleaziness. Turns out they are Aussie Italians. We chat, then move off to mingle with others. We eventually head back to the brothers only to realise they have been joined by their cousins. So, more Italian men, and uniformly charming. Objective of going out and smiling at men: Achieved.

Also I was happily inebriated, so as usual I was chatty, but now have zero recollection of what I said. Something absolutely wild happens, but I'm not putting that here - anyway, I've already told a few of you. Let's just say it involves ticking a box that I never expected to tick in my life.

A good weekend out makes me happy as a cat. Nothing energises me more than stories and adventures, and I have a feeling Adventures Are Afoot.

Meat in Melbourne

So I've been out two nights this week. On Wednesday I was at Biero, a nice beer bar that brings in beer from all over the world. I'll remember to ask them for Czech beer next time, Jo. And guess what, there was a table of three guys who did the eye-contact-and-smiling-thing, but I friggin' froze. Every time they looked over, I just could not make my eyeballs move in their direction. The most friendly gesture I managed to muster was to squeeze out a pinch of a smile. Once. Since when was I this awkward?

See? Not awkward at all usually. Especially when there is beer. Btw Tresa is awesome because she bought me the best steak I have ever eaten in my life. Yummeh!

Anyway, Friday night was better but also worse. Denise and I went party-looking along Fitzroy Street and met these two men. Unfortunately one of them was a Grabby Daddy whose hands kept swooping in on my ass. Urgh! I have never ever had the need to protect my ass as much as I did last night. Gawd. Can you imagine, it was like some cartoon sequence where I kept whisking my butt away from his paws. Pity though, because his friend was the complete opposite of him, being rather decent to talk to and non-grabby.

That's my first week of getting back in the game. More field reports to come.

Like a rollercoaster drop but without the adrenaline rush

Money cannot prevent rain, but it can make you happy to face rain. If only there was something I could buy myself that would make me happy to face a heartbreak.

I don't really know where to start, but most of you already know the gist of it. I've written angry entries in my private journal that I wanted to post up, but I know I will regret the harsh words one day.

Just one pissed-off detail then: He gave me a ring two minutes before the break up speech. Obviously not a proposal ring, but anyway a kickass fashion bling ring. It was a birthday present, but more significantly, it was a consolation prize. In what way does a gift make it better?! It may assuage your guilt, but honestly, you are the only person in this who thinks it is a nice touch. Do you not know me, after all this time? You can't really think that would somehow comfort me.

After I came back to Melbourne, he asked for my forgiveness and friendship. I was tempted. Oh so tempted, to take the easy way out now and continue to be in touch, even be something more than friends. It would be such sweet relief to call him every few days and send funny texts. But I know how this story ends. It ends with me in incoherent agony, blind and lost in the infinite emotional maze of my own creation when he starts dating someone else.

It ends with me in self-destruction because I was a fool to hope that he would want me as a lover again. If I stay in his life he will see how good I am! Nonsense. Till I can face him without any secret agenda, however subconscious it is, I.Have.To.Stay.Away. And that's the friggin' toughest part, isn't it? I am distracting myself almost to distraction just to keep the tear flow to a minimum. In fact, I might become a Permanently Distracted Person (but at least I won't be a Weak Vulnerable TofuGirl).

And for now, I have a lot of going out and smiling at other men to do.

Play Bangkok

After two nights out, it hits me that Bangkok is the only city I've experienced that brings to mind Terry Pratchett's Ankh-Morpork. First night was boisterous, with us pissing off a snooty local Eurasian who obviously wished he didn't have an Asian half, and picking up two sweet Thai girlfriends who were out for a bit of fun. For some reason perhaps even unfathomable to themselves, the girls decided we would be part of their party.

The second night was colourful, seedily so. Went for the infamous ping pong girlie show at Patpong, which was more of a thrilling rather than an erotic experience. One of the segments featured a girl shooting paper darts at a bunch of balloons. Unfortunately, the balloons were hung from the ceiling in front of us, so we were too busy dodging paper darts and fearing they would stab us in the eye to even consider the erotics of it.

Predictably, we were grossly overcharged for drinks we supposedly bought the girls while we were physically defending our eyeballs, trying not to get blinded. Dangerous fun that was.

What else.. Couple of Ankh-Morporkian snapshots: An old woman with a melted face begging by the roadside, a blind lady getting shepherded by security staff who help her navigate the train route, passing her from colleague to colleague without fuss, but with utmost care.

How do you not fall in love with a place like this.

More later. And yes my relationship is over. More on that later too.