Not so Simple

Once I landed back in Singapore I turned on my magical light up Hello Kitty phone that I had shut-off before I left. “您有一则新的消息," it exclaimed, which basically translates to, "New message." It was a text from Jonathan seeing what I was up to, sent when I was in Bali. How about that? I had no idea he was trying to get a hold of me. I guess I wasn’t as desperate as I thought. It was best it worked out that way anyway. I wouldn’t be able to handle getting my heart broken again—especially in an exotic place like Bali.

Yes, I said again. “Simply Single in Singapore” was not so simple in the beginning. Three weeks after I got here, I met a man that changed me, Angelo. Our paths crossed in the MRT station at the Outram interchange. We happened to get on the same train, same time, on four different occasions. He didn’t dress like the other suits, but wore plaid shirts and khaki pants…or his fedora hat. The first time I talked to him felt as if we had talked before. Deep into his crystal blue eyes I could see loneliness and fear, along with my future. “Dear Lord, I’m going to be with this man,” I thought.

Angelo had been in Singapore for a year and missed home terribly. Being in the same state of mind we found ourselves in a “Lost in Translation” situation, although I wasn’t married to a photographer. Suddenly I had a new best friend. We understood each others odd humor and shared a similar interest in Rockabilly. Wanting to know everything about one another, we were either by each other’s side after work or talking hours on the phone...that’s right, Hello Kitty knew everything. I became inspired by our friendship and started my obsession with the ukulele….only to find out that he played as well. We prepared songs to sing to each other on our ukes. Oddly enough, we had both prepared the same song, “Sea of Love.” Our time had come when it needed to end and Angelo would leave to go back home…to my hometown in California. No surprise there, right?

From Angelo’s 20th story flat the shimmer of the skyline sparkled through the window and provided a romantic backdrop for our last evening. I sat uneasy in his Ikea love seat while he packed his bags and tried to find the right words to say. He began, “I have always felt strangely close to you. Maybe we had an awareness of a closeness that was pre-destined or something. I’m not sure how it works. I just liked you from the start.” He looked deep into my eyes, then looked away, “You deserve more than this." My lungs felt tight, my throat started to swell. He continued, "I can't promise you anything...you said that you’re used to being disappointed and I don't want to do that...but I can't promise you anything, you deserve more."

"You haven't promised me anything, it's ok," I said while turning the other way shedding a tear. "I just don't want to loose a friend."

“I don’t want to either. But I do want happiness for you, because I care about you and because I recognize who you are inside and I want you to have everything.”

“But I wont have you!” My voice cracked and my vision became blurred from the tears welling up in my eyes.

Guilt came over him and his eyes softened, “I bet you wished you never met me."

At this point, we both started to cry and held each other tightly.

5AM I walked him down to the taxi in silence and slipped a card into his luggage. “Read this when you get on the plane,” I said. He gazed out the back window of the taxi watching me turn into a tiny spec of his past as he was driven off to reality. There I was, alone, again.

“I love you,” words I have said to two men in my life. There was Marvin the retired Colombian soccer player turned student and Lance, the…retired British soccer player turned car salesman. Now those words were written in a card to Angelo, whom had no affiliation with soccer, aka football for you non American readers.

Who knew eight months would go by and I’d still feel tormented thinking about Angelo. We had occasional phone conversations, but I was always left empty. And the more we had in common, the more the universe put us in sync with thoughts of each other and emotions, the harder it was. Given the 27-mile radius of Singapore I found myself following his footprints. Everywhere I went had a memory. It didn’t help that I inherited the things he left behind. Put my head on a pillow—Angelo, wash my face with a washcloth—Angelo, eat beans in a can—Angelo (yes I took his beans).

Meeting Angelo was a blessing and a curse. He put me back in touch with my creativity. I started to draw and play music again. Hours were spent in the bomb shelter playing my ukulele and singing (yes there are bomb shelters in the condos in Singapore, also known as the maids courtiers—which provide great acoustics). Angelo also inspired me to write. Finally, I was alive again.

People come in and out of our lives to teach us a lesson. From Angelo I was reminded of my dreams. However, at the end of the day he is not here to take care of me when I’m sick, he is not here to have and to hold; he remains an unattained fantasy. Our paths crossed at the wrong time and I can only hope they will cross at the right time. Until then, I will just blog about the duds along the way.

Kiss'n Tell

They say you shouldn't kiss and tell. But someone has to break the rules, right? So far it's been 5.5 months of living in Singapore. Back when I was living in LA and striving to be an actress my love life was pretty consistent. Chances of getting asked out at a coffee shop, grocery store, or at parties were high. Did I always say yes? No. But sometimes knowing that you are wanted keeps you going...always looking for the next best thing. So what could be better than getting a job across the world and the chance of finding true love? Fantasies of dating a man with his own personal driver, who could drive me to work everyday, and fly to local hot spots like Bali and the Maldives flooded my mind. He is out there!

Upon landing in Singapore I found my redheaded self in a sea of Asians and Indians. Where have all the familiar faces gone? I started to panic. I felt alone. "Excuse me," "pardon me," were omitted from the vocabulary of strangers and I was pushed and shoved into the arms of solitude. Friendly smiles and winks that brought a spring to my step in LA were replaced with blank stares. Stares so invasive I wanted to hide. At least the Mexicans back in LA know how to express what they feel with a simple whistle. A blank stare here can mean anything from "I want to attack you with my sausage," to "What is wrong with your face?"

Allow me to summarize my dating options for you. 90% of my coworkers were in relationships when I met them; 89% of them are still in relationships. The expats that come to live out in Singapore usually enjoy having Asian girlfriends or are married to wives that live overseas. Or, best of all, there are the men that frequent Orchard Towers, a prostitution hub known for "Four floors of whores." What's most unfortunate, is that I'm not attracted to Asian men, or perhaps I just haven't met the one whom I am attracted to.

All of this leads me to the fear of being alone. So I turn to internet dating. One of the most lazy approaches to getting into someone's pants. Meeting up with countless expat men, I look for connection, for chemistry, for someone to share life with! Then I realize, what am I doing? Why am I letting my fear drive my desire for love? What is it about being alone that I'm afraid of?

After indulging in countlees chocolate bunnies and eggs, I find my replacement for men. As I bite into a raspberry truffle, I think back to the taxi drive I had this morning on the way to work.

"Oh you have such stunning eyes and so smiley and cheerful," the Chinese driver says to me in the rear-view mirror.

"Well it's better than frowning," I say with my American sarcasm.

"Oh and you have red hair...(yes there are more than one Captain Obvious out here) You must be crazy, ya?"

"Yup I am crazy, " I say as I smile and sing along to, "Walking on Sunshine," on the radio. He turns the volume up full blast and enjoys watching me dance like a 5 year old in the backseat.

"You have husband? "

"Goodness no."

"Boyfriend?"

I tell him my rant on dating in Singapore.

"I can be your boyfriend. I pick you up in my taxi and take you to work. And pick up when you done and I take you to club. See I have muscles, I am strong man." He flexes for me. Impressive actually, for a forearm. I laugh off his comments and stare out the window eying an expat in a red car next to us. Typical white man in Asia, receding hairline, dark circles under the eyes, and pale patchy skin from computer gamma rays. I become silent and "Walking on Sunshine," fades.

Then the driver starts to moan, "Ohhhhh so much pain...I work from 6AM to 11PM I need massage...right here." He leans to the side and points to his left shoulder blade. "Massage it."

"What?"

"Punch it."

"Excuse me?"

"Punch! Pow, my back please."

"I'm sorry, I have to save my energy for work."

"Punch it!"

"Ok!" I give two light punches and refrain from talking to my new boyfriend.

Well kiddies, no matter what race you are, attitude is what makes you attractive. So although I feel alone, I smile, just in case someone might smile back. And who knows, you might even get to punch them...