C'est la Vie!

A month went by and I used the time for myself. Dating became stale and I was bored of trying to create chemistry. I registered for the photography class I’ve always wanted to take and tried to finish reading a book on Mae West. Maybe if she had less of a narcissistic point of view on everything it’d be an easy read. Working out, going to work, and meeting with friends became my daily life.

I started to have recurring dreams of being back home in Los Angeles and in a state of panic thinking, “Oh no! I never got to see the Singapore Bird Park!” Obviously, my subconscious was telling me to start checking off my South East Asia to-do-list before heading back to the actors grind in LaLa land. So, one evening after work, I decided to be adventurous. The Raffles Hotel, built in 1887, is the home of the Singapore Sling and was number five on my to-do-list.

I entered the Long Bar wearing a purple, pink, and yellow plaid dress–basically, I looked like an Easter egg with red hair. The room was full of fifty-year old men sporting silk Hawaiian shirts. They sat next to their plastic wives and sipped their pink slings though a straw. Young honeymooners sat in wonderment as the wicker fans swayed back and forth on the ceilings. As I approached the bar, peanut shells crunched underneath my 10- year-old wooden heels. I ordered the famous thirty-dollar drink and broke open countless peanuts. I threw the shells over my shoulder to exaggerate my “Yes I’m single, alone, and under thirty” look. My mind drifted into the 1920’s while I gazed at my reflection in the antique mirror over the bar. Thoughts of men in their tux surrounding me while I puffed out of a cigarette holder laughing and saying, “One at a time boys,” entertained me while I enjoyed the last two sips of my fruity sling.

My imagination needed to be put into play; so, I left my fantasy and moved to a different location. Just across the street was Chijmes, an outlet of restaurants and bars surrounding an old convent built in 1840 and chapel, built in 1904. I strolled around the courtyard and was intrigued by sounds of salsa music. The music to my ears lead me to a tapas bar. I gazed inside the glass doors at Spanish dancers performing to a packed house. Where to sit? My eyes wandered around the candlelit alfresco garden and suddenly I caught the eye of a 28-year-old man. He had tan skin, bedroom eyes, and was the splitting image of my Hollywood crush, Adrian Brody. I looked down at a menu to pretend I had a purpose. My heart raced as I told the waitress, “Table for one please.” I swayed my hips as I walked past him knowing his eyes were following the flow of my dress and sat at the cobalt-mosaic table.

Fifteen seconds later, “Euuuhmm excuze me, my name iz Jonathan, would you like to join our table?”

“Are you French?” I asked in hopes to bring my recent infatuation with French movies to life and my last French experience to rest.

“Oui.”

I joined him and his friend and found out that they were stuck in Singapore for the next few days because of the volcanic eruption in Iceland. God bless Mother Nature. Another friend, Alex, joined the table and they conversed in French. There I was, surround by men in a French film, minus the subtitles. They started to break into English and Alex began discussing the recent distress of his love life. “I only make luv, I do not like to fuk. I want to be in luv.” My smile grew.

The night continued with broken English, drinks, and me chiming in conversations with, “Je ne sais pas.” The early hours of the morning approached and Jonathan’s friends au revoired to bed. Jonathan and I sipped English Grey in-between stares and we lost ourselves in the moment.

The sun began to rise and my contacts were getting dry. I left my number and we parted ways. I walked down an empty Victoria Street and felt a sense of stillness. Droplets of dew glistened on the leaves of trees and the air was just crisp enough to see my breath. As I approached my bus stop, a blind man tapping the pavement with his cane headed towards me. We crossed each other’s path and he suddenly grabbed my arm.

“Excuse me, could you tell me where St. Andrews Cathedral is?”

“It’s to your right.”

“Could you take me to the front?” The blind man asked. I hesitated for a moment and then complied. He held on tightly to my forearm and I tried my best to guide him down the zigzagged path.

“Are you a Christian? Are you?” he inquired with urgency.

“Yes,” I said.

“Where do you work?” he asked.

“Well, I work on Sen—"

“Shhhh!” He clenched my arm tighter and continued, “You mustn’t talk so loud! When we get inside you have to be quiet.” Inside? I can’t go to church now, let alone with a man clenching on to me. Blind man or not, a man is a man. We got to the front of the church. Underneath the 1856 constructed arches, I handed the blind man off to two ushers. The blind man started to wail and reach for me like a little boy throwing a tantrum after separated from his mother. The ushers looked at me in shock for not joining him. I mouthed, “I don’t know him.” Understanding they then nodded and smiled to me as they tried to calm him down.

I turned my back to the angelic music and pristine white glow that flooded from the nave of the cathedral. The cries of the blind man echoed and my chest grew tight. My eyes began to swell. What was I doing? Was I turning my back on my faith? Going down the wrong path? Was this my chance to change? What does it mean? Why am I in Singapore? Je ne sais pas, Je ne sais pas...

Two days later, I was boarding Jetstar Airways for a quick getaway to Bali with my friends Carlie and Madai. I was just about to tell them my prophetic story as we sat down in our seats and there he was, Jonathan. Same plane, same row, opposite seats, same destination. We blushed at the site of one another and smiled. Our eyes full of secrets, we exchanged glances and laughter of disbelief. I leaned back, took a deep breath, and relaxed…I was right where I needed to be, the right path, the right time… C'est la Vie!