1:16am
Tune: “You Sang To Me” by Marc Anthony
A few months after Virginia gave up on me, I heard this song play on the stereo. The lyrics didn’t click until around late August 2000.
All the while you were in front of me I never realized
I just can’t believe I didn’t see it in your eyes
I didn’t see it, I can’t believe it
Oh but I feel it
When you sing to me
How I long to hear you sing beneath the clear blue skies
And I promise you this time I’ll see it in your eyes
I didn’t see it, I can’t believe it
Oh but I feel it
It has already been six years. When I was with June, I was undeniably happy, though Virginia remained in my thoughts for much of that time. She lingered there for so long because I felt that I had pushed someone I truly cherished away, simply because I believed I wasn’t worthy of her love. I gave myself many excuses – negative and neutral – but when everything came crashing down in June 2000, I fell apart. It was a month of unbearable pain. That summer, I would lock myself in the washroom late at night, while the security guards left me alone with my silent tears and the weight of my grief.
Looking back, I realize I was desperate for love, yet I also know it wasn’t the right time. To this day, I still believe I didn’t deserve the affection she gave me. Six years is a long time, especially for someone so young.
In early 2001, shortly after June and I grew closer, Albert sent me a letter and a poem. That poem has been hanging on my Eastern wall ever since, a constant reminder of those times.
Do you understand why this song holds such significance for me? It’s because of a night in April 2000, when I visited her at her workplace in Fairbee. It was crowded with customers, but she played a song by Bette Midler, “The Rose,” and stood before me, singing it. I was an idiot. I ignored her in that moment, and I know I hurt her. I was immature, foolish. And every day since then, for years, I think back on it – the song, my stupidity – and it remains one of my greatest regrets.
In the years since, I’ve been drawn to the ambitious path. I worked hard, played hard, and tried to manipulate situations to achieve my goals. But with time, I developed a sense of morality, ethics, and principles. Even now, after the chaos with Cindy, her family, and Erica’s words, I look at the men I admire – Jon, Ben, Graeme, Albert, and then at myself, and I see that Virginia has become a central figure in my life.
I failed her. Or rather, I failed myself by not understanding my own dreams and desires. Today, I reflect on that past and use it to guide my steps forward.
I have never truly believed in “true love,” recognizing the fragile nature of relationships. But Virginia, she is the goddess I once saw her as – the immortal figure described in Albert’s poem. She lives on in me, lingering in my thoughts.
After much searching, I found her work number and we spoke briefly. My hope was to rebuild a friendship, but I suspect she would prefer to forget about me entirely. I was selfish, thinking that by reconnecting, I could rediscover myself and move forward, free of the temptation to play games.
Spiritually, I worshipped her. In my mind, she was perfect, through my eyes and in my heart. How could I possibly tarnish such a perfect image? She was everything I wanted. I dreamed of holding her close, running my fingers through her hair, kissing her. Out of all the women in my life, I never thought of her in a physical sense. All I wanted was to walk beside her, hand in hand, and share that simple, quiet connection.
Back then, I couldn’t open myself up to her, or to anyone. I kept everything locked inside, avoiding pictures with anyone, even my family. I dealt with my emotions alone.
After my trip to Hong Kong in October 2002, my thoughts of Virginia faded. As I sat on the plane, looking down at the lights of Mongkok, Tsim Sha Tsui, Kowloon, and Victoria, I quietly said goodbye to her. I left her behind that night.
Then my freelancing took off. I joined Razor, worked tirelessly, and later moved on to another company, hoping it would be temporary. I focused on securing my future, particularly with Razor. I needed this. I needed this break.
For years, I believed my purpose in life was to ensure my parents’ well-being. I often lay in bed, thinking about what I would do when they were no longer here. I thought of my brother, and how I would have to be there for him, as his only direct family.
[ponders]
Yeah, I can be silly and lighthearted with my friends. I like to keep things uncomplicated – don’t want too much conflict, just enough to keep it real. Sometimes, I wish I could be a kid again, laugh without reservation, play without care. I long for those simple moments – riding bikes with friends, walking through a park, hanging out, playing tag at a playground. I want to fold paper airplanes with my cousins, melt crayons and draw pictures, take chalk to the pavement and create something that won’t last. I want to go sledding with Ed and Albert at QE Park, or just spontaneously make sushi one day for the fun of it. I dream of walking into the Razor office, greeted by my team with a casual, “Hey Boss, finished this, what do you think?” I’d smile, nod, and give it back with a simple, “Good work.” Then I’d retreat to my office, check messages, maybe even get an e-card from a friend…
It’s a beautiful fantasy, isn’t it? But, of course, it’s all just idealism. Because deep down, I’m a realist. Mostly.
The truth is, aside from Albert, Jon, and occasionally Laura and Patrick, I’m exhausted from having to be the one to keep in touch with everyone else. If I don’t make an effort, everyone else just fades into nothing. And what does that say? To me, it says they’re trivial. It’s harsh, but it’s the reality I’ve come to accept. I’ve been trying to maintain these connections for years, but after all this time, I’m just tired.
People think I’m tough – indifferent, maybe even arrogant, depending on where you meet me. In a group, I’ll often step away and retreat into my own space because I need that time alone. But here’s the thing: I know my ‘family’ is always there.
I once told Albert that I like to walk behind people, just so I can keep an eye on them – so I know where they are. I like observing them, watching them talk and laugh. These little moments matter to me.
But now, I find myself walking ahead, away from everyone. I’ve become a wanderer. A lone traveller, with the occasional messenger or food delivery catching up with me.
So, what changed? Life happened. My experience with Cindy opened my eyes to many things about myself. I can’t go back to the way I was. I can’t repeat those mistakes, those patterns. Maybe it’s selfish to think this way, but it’s how I’ve come to see myself – a positive tragedy, shaped by my choices.
There are people out there who don’t need anyone in their lives intimately. Ray is one of them. Sure, sometimes I want someone close, but I don’t need them. All I need is myself to reach my goals.
It sounds contradictory, but it’s the truth. After everything with Virginia – the brief warmth we shared, the hurt I caused, and the years that followed—Virginia has become something like a pendant to me. A silent, invisible pendant hanging around my neck, close to my heart. Right now, it’s glowing brightly, though no one else can see it. It doesn’t matter whether I’m in love with her or if she’s with someone else. What matters is that she’s become a symbol of my values, my core.
Albert and Jon have always known me as someone mellow, a little silly, but easy to forgive. I can be selfish sometimes, but I catch myself and try to make things right. The bond I share with them is something I hold dear, something that grounds me. We might not always agree on everything, but that’s part of who we are – those small quirks make us real. Without them, we’d just be… generic.
[pauses for a moment]
I’ve been thinking about trying a rugged look after I hit my goal weight. I’ve always wanted to own an Indian motorbike, wear black leather boots, a long leather jacket, have spiky hair, and rock thick, dark orange sports shades.
And then I wonder how I’ll die. Will it be peacefully in bed, asleep? Or maybe I’ll be sitting in a lawn chair, reading a book, a glass of juice beside me, until I just slip away? The second option doesn’t sound bad. I just hope my last view is a beautiful one.
No, I’m not depressed or suicidal. I’m just being reflective. I’ve moved beyond depression – way beyond the point of feeling lost. Right now, I’m like a sailboat, gliding through the air, drifting in a vast blue sky. No land, just sky and a few clouds. Keeping it simple.
2:20am