Diary of a Delayed Broken Heart

DAY 1
I’m supposed to attend the CLEO Bachelor Party at Zouk to support my guyfriends tonight, but something is holding me back, and I can’t put my finger on it. I plan to have an early night but a friend asks to meet up for a drink. When she picks me up from my office, the first thing that comes out of her mouth is:

“D, I have bad news for you. I found out that R really did cheat on you…”

The rumor was true after all. Turns out it happened on a Student Council trip to Penang, sometime during the last rough months of our relationship. It was with a chick whom I had completely and utterly trusted him with. I laugh out loud as I recall what I last said to him before he left:

“Make sure you go have fun – heck, don’t even think about me!”

I didn’t expect him to take it so literally.

My friend tells me “Don’t worry about it, it’s long over. He’s a bloody jerk!”
She’s right, I shouldn’t let it get to me – after all, it’s been almost a year since the breakup. I am hit with nonchalance, but then comes disbelief... then disappointment… before belly-flopping into that lovely pool of devastation.

He CHEATED on me. That good-fer-nothing sonnavagun.

The entire night, I am haunted with his words of joy, of love, of promise, and wondering how much of it he actually meant during those nine months of our rollercoaster ride. Infidelity, that one word he actively preached so much against, ended up getting the better of him.

As my friend chats away with her other friends over a game of Cho Tai Tee (Chinese card game), I’m left gazing into the distance, visualizing myself driving over to his house, puncturing his beloved basketball, pelting his windows with manure, and scratching his car with creepy-looking repetitions of the phrase “YOU DAMN RIGHT I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER”.


DAY 2
Don’t you just love those 30 innocent seconds that you experience first thing in the morning after sleeping through a day that screwed you over? It’s the all-too-familiar process of opening your eyes, trying to remember why you feel so odd today, then suddenly groaning a “Sssssshhhh-IT”. Ah, ignorance is a short-lived bliss.

I spend the day with my family, trying my best to mask my mental meanderings. He himself told me once that good people do bad things for a reason, but I can’t grasp the concept right now. It’s further crazily ironic how he was the more possessive one in the relationship. He always sulked whenever I made a mere mention of my guyfriends, even becoming suspicious of one of my best buds who is gay. But I never held him back when it came to chilling with his mates. I thought it was only fair to let him have his own space and treasure platonic relationships, like how I did. One of his close galfriends had a pretty tainted reputation in college, but I never thought any more of it. Disregarding the pun, I don’t know why I never saw it coming.

I guess I didn’t notice his frustration over my steadfast belief in abstinence before marriage. He said he would be willing to wait for me because he loved me…

Douchebag.

But tonight isn’t the night to mull over the past: I’m still going ahead with an appointment with a friend, who happens to be rather breathtaking.

He takes me to a play, which is a riveting watch (blame my partial bias towards the appearance of thespian friends), and after throwing around countless options in the car after the show, we decide on staking out one of the swankiest bars in town - reflected in the ridiculous cover charge. But it is definitely worth the mindblowing view of the city skyline and equally beautiful chillout music. (Hey, ANY place in KL that plays Jamiroquai always gets in my good books.)

It is here that my concerned friend notices that I am acting “uptight and self-conscious”. So much for leaving my vexing at home. I make my confession, start crying, then run off to the bar counter to grab some serviettes. It’s times like these that I regret I don’t drink.

He listens intently, offers his two cents’ worth, then suggests that I dance away my troubles to RnB at The Loft in Zouk. In my current state of mind, he could have taken me to a Milli Vanilli party and I would have just been just as gung-ho. So to The Loft we go, and it’s virtually empty, but we decide to stay for the grooves. With some hip-hoppers eventually taking to the dancefloor, he takes my hand and grinds with me sexily enough to make me forget not only my worries, but also the fact that he is unavailable.

Nothing eases bad times more than good company. Especially when it’s in the form of a fellow who escorts a woman with an arm protectively draped around her shoulder, surprises her with a mocktail, gives her a kickass hand massage in the middle of a bar without a second’s thought, and literally carries her out of a mud patch she unwittingly sinks her stilettoes into. He’s living, breathing proof that having a girlfriend doesn’t necessarily keep a guy from being any less of a gentleman. Thank you David for making me feel brand new.


DAY 3
I wake up with the routine Shhhhhh-iteness, only that it’s buffered with feel-good memories from the night before. But the effects diminish as the day wears on, and by late afternoon I’m already writing expletives all over paper to vent my frustrations. It’s not working, and my eyes are welling up again. I’m in severe need of more emergency relief counseling. But no more of the male-bashing stuff. I need someone with a great sense of judgment and introspective. A friend of both parties who is not one to gossip is a greatly sought-after bonus.

Only one person comes to mind: Shern.

I call him up and I pour out my feelings. A steady flow of saline is messing up my profanity sheet. Shern’s mood immediately deepens, a sign of good advice to come. He empathizes by sharing his own experiences about maintaining trust in a relationship, and how love can’t prevent people from being vulnerable. He soothes and inspires me with his fortitude and serenity. He then parts with a Baha’i Hidden Word which has helped him get through many bad times:

“O son of man! Should prosperity befall thee, rejoice not, and should abasement come upon thee, grieve not, for both shall pass away and be no more.”

I thank Shern profusely and after hanging up and reading the quote, I toss my soiled swearing paper. This makes so much more sense. I have an unperturbed dinner and a restful slumber.


DAY 4
I’ll probably never hear anything about it from him, and maybe I’d rather not. The pain has almost washed over. Today, I can smile when I think of the time I cried happy tears on his first attempt at cooking pasta for Valentines.
When he defended me so valiantly when I was verbally attacked by a salesgirl.
When we would frolic with his late pet dog for in his front yard for hours until the sun went down.
When his eyes screamed “I love you” and most certainly meant it.

Those were good days. I still have no regrets, but I’m definitely still a strong believer in karma.

Watch your back, dude...
Best of luck, bitch.