Souls & Purses

Just your untypical youth, in so many words. Content unrestricted.

What would i keep if i lost you?

I’ve been reading a bit lately and in the last three pages of the book “Shanghai Baby” i came across this passage. In it the antagonist, Coco, is packing up her things and getting ready to move out from the apartment that she up until recently shared with her boyfriend, Tian Tian. Tian Tian in his last days was an impotent morphine addict and while it’s not explicitly mentioned how his death comes about, it’s pretty much assumed that he dies from an intended overdose.

Just before i left, i sorted a few things out. I touched up the manuscript and cleaned up the apartment. I planned to move back in with my parents, so i needed to give Connie the key. Tian Tian’s things were still there. I chose one of his self-portraits, a collection of Dylan Thomas poems he’d liked and a white shirt he used to wear.

The shirt still had his smell. Burying my face in it made me realize what it is to lose happiness.

Being someone who tends to attach meaning to just about anything in the search for significance, i often put myself into a character’s shoes. This time it made me think. If my boyfriend Demitri went away like that, which shirt of his would i keep with me?

Over the years, my boyfriend’s style and his appearance has seen a lot of changes, initially kick-started by him but enthusiastically curated by me until today. I dote on his aesthetic now (i mean i won’t say it’s perfect but it’s certainly an ocean’s length away from where he began). I love that he now knows the difference between shin-high white socks and ankle-length black ones and that he’s now aware that not all polo shirts are equal. I also appreciate the effort that he took to study the stark contrast between a $3 neighborhood barber cut and a professional trim by a proper hairstylist.

But then i thought deeply to myself after coming across Coco’s grief and realized that if i ever lost the love of my life, the shirt i would take with me wouldn’t be that long black one that i think he looks so effortlessly stylish in or the red and black check button-up that makes him look so sharp, or even that double-breasted cardigan that makes me swoon and go weak at the knees.

In fact, it would be his ugliest, most heinous polo shirt, the one with the wide horizontal stripes going through it, each at a more garish colour than the last, ranging from Panadol pink to tree-hugging green, the one that i always thought made him look like a food-colouring infested Raya cake.

But i would keep it with me and i’d take it to bed with me for months after and i’d hold it close to my face for the last traces of his favourite perfume while my tears poured into its threadbare seams and stitches. Because at the very core of it, the man wearing that was the one i fell in love with. I loved him so much then, even with his poop-brown boardshorts that he would wear out nonchalantly when we stumbled out for dinner after a long nap spent in each other’s embrace, or when he thought nothing of his bedhead as we sipped contentedly on bubble tea together. After all this time, he’s still the one i turn to in times of distress, the one whose breathing disappears to alarmingly shallow depths when he’s asleep, the same man whose hands i impulsively seek even in my deepest, heaviest inertia.

Even at his prime, i’ll never ever forget that that was who he was at the beginning. I can’t say if being with me has changed him for the better but i do know that the man i met five years ago is the man i would always choose to remember him by. In fact, i’d choose that kek-lapis-shirt wearing man with the unsightly sideburns over the other prince charmings anyday.

20 bullet thoughts

1. I’m done with exams

2. I’m done with my degree

3. All that’s left to do is graduate

4. I’m currently waiting on news to see if I’ve been accepted into a Masters programme (in the same uni)

5. I’m currently also waiting for a sign to see if i should apply for my dream job (that in all fairness, is screaming out my name. It’s not often you see your dream job at your dream website being advertised in your face twice)

6. Problem: Am i ready to pack up and move to a new country so soon?

7. Do i prioritize my higher education over getting my foot in the career ladder? Is this a once in a lifetime chance? Do dream jobs in dream cities at dream websites come a-knocking twice?

8. Q:What am i going to do with all my free time ahead of me?

9. A: Read, write, absorb.

10. Write. Write… And write.

11. But to write, first i need to read. And that doesn’t count dragging out The Lost Symbol over the course of the past two months.

12. I’m going to focus on my writing from now onwards.

13. As i was typing #12, a thought literally just threw a figurative glass of ice cold water in my face and up my nose because that’s obviously not going to happen if i pursue an irrelevant Masters degree in Business Management. Which, by the way, will take up another year and a half of my life.

14. What am i going to do?

15. Am i taking the safe route and diverting myself away from a chance which will unlikely present itself twice?

16. Am i ready to move to a city where i know practically no one and just leave everything behind?

17. Also, if i were American, i’d literally have moved out of my parents place and into a foreign city/country five years ago. So why am i still hesitating at the ripe, old age of 23?

18. Why am i so confident that i’ll get this job?

19. Because inside, in the deep red core of my heart, i know that job is for me.

20. I’m going to sleep it over and wait for a sign. Because i have a headache and i need to wake up in an hour.

That’s all.

More consistent posts up in the near future, i promise.




The Truth and how i feel about it

It’s a bit like when you drop someone off at the grocery store to get overnight supplies for you and you remind them to get you a toothbrush.

“What kind?” they ask.

“Any kind”

“What colour?”

“Any colour, now for christ’s sake, can you get a move on already?”

But then they come back with a fluorescent orange one or a green one and you can’t help but feel a twinge of muffled disappointment because only then do you realize that you could have really appreciated the motivational qualities of a snazzy red one or an energetic blue, especially when it’s 2 in the morning and the prospect of brushing your teeth isn’t exactly calling out your name.

It’s not something that actively crosses your mind so you don’t really let it bother you but when it does hit you between the legs, you can’t help but think “i wasn’t expecting much but at the same time i certainly wasn’t expecting a kick in the nuts”.

So that basically sums up the fog i’ve been going around in for the past few days. It’s a sad mixture of denial and determination and a lot of “i should have seen it coming” and “that explains everything” and quite a bit of “i guess i knew all along”. And i suppose there’s also the “i’m glad nothing happened because then i can go on living my life in a happy relationship and learn to be a grateful muthfcka that i know i can be if i just tried harder”. But more on the “why don’t you love me still, asshole” part though.

Not having the upperhand sucks, big fucking time.

B i t t e r

You know what’s the saddest thing?

Meeting someone you once had the strongest feelings for and prepping yourself up for zero expectations for this person who at one point of your life took up every spare moment of your thoughts and for a long time occupied every single fiber of your being, someone who you were ready to die just to keep them in your life even if it meant watching them falling in love over and fucking over again with everyone in the fucking world but you… meeting up with them years later “as friends” and reminding yourself that you no longer harbor anything for them and realizing that… even after all this time despite how “minute”, almost non-existent you think your feelings are for them, it’s still not as little nor ever will be as little as how they regard you.

Because the truth of the matter is, after all these years, you still don’t love me. And you never will.

I will never mean more to you than you do to me. Not even close.






Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 455 other followers

%d bloggers like this: