Sunday, June 03, 2007

P.S. See You Later

I suck at goodbyes. I really do, which is why often I prefer to put on my running shoes and do a 400m dash, or in this particular case, a 3-month marathon. I know it's not the mature thing to do nor is it the kind thing to do, but it's compulsive, this need to put the world in a box and stare at it from a distance. If only to understand it better.

Besides you'd laugh if I told you that I took 2 months to compose the words to this post, to get them to look, sound and feel exactly right. But I did. Of course, the last month I spent just sitting around eating haw flake biscuits from the tin. But in the productivity stakes, 2 out of 3 ain't bad!

So to those of you who are still loitering on this site (I'm not sure how many there are left), but especially to those who started loitering right from the beginning, here is a little explanation for my absence, my metamorphosis from this creature called Sash and my eventual departure from this blog.

It starts with being in love. There, I said it.

And well, I'm not sure how or exactly when or why or even if I should or shouldn't be, but I just am.

Love is a state of being, and I defy people who reduce it to a feeling, a mere wisp of emotion. There is a strong, real difference between just feeling love and being actively involved in the process, even though it took me a long time to recognize it.

I suppose I've had a bad experience with love. (Hasn't everyone?) I've mistaken it for many things – for infatuation, for companionship, for obsession with an ideal. And I've mocked it, belittled it for being mundane, and for being weak.

Strongly independent women don't do love. It's beneath them, it destroys their character – I had made up all these strange rules for myself. One set to govern my pussy, and another entirely different set to govern my heart. It made sense for a long time to keep them strictly apart.

I secretly despised those who could only have sex with people who meant something to them. They were fragile little porcelain flowers who bore the burden of being unenlightened, the ones who cloistered themselves and held out their quivering, virginal quims for a statistical improbability.

I, on the other hand, was invincible. But hard in places I couldn't see. I struggled a long time with what seems in retrospect now to be my destiny.

I was torn in several different directions. I loved a man, but I loved my freedom more. I loved a man, but I did not love the situation we were in. I loved a man but in a self-protected, self-obsessed way, the only way I knew how, I loved him only if he loved me more.

It was difficult for me to reconcile these conflicts and the more I tried to resolve them, the more I made a hash of things. At times broody and sensitive, at other times spiteful and hurtful, I was self-sabotaging my chances for happiness because I was too scared of being disappointed.

For some reason, I thought that an emotional bogeyman dogged my steps, and that his chief aim was to gobble up my joy and turn it to despair.

It was only at the beginning of this year that I learned to stop worrying, and to just follow my heart.

And despite evidence to the contrary, I have one. You can imagine this comes as a surprise to me as much as it does to you.

I'm not a romantic, and I've known firsthand enough dysfunctional, destructive relationships to ever be one. So I'm not about to say that being in love has made my life better – I enjoyed a fantastic singleserves lifestyle with no regrets – but it has changed me.

It has helped me live deeper and richer. I experience life with an under-current of passion, generosity and groundedness that I never had before.

And in this way, I think I needed to fall in love. Or have a meteorite strike my building. Either way, I needed that epiphany; that it is possible for someone to be in love with me, kinks and all. And that I have the spiritual capacity to reciprocate in kind, when I honestly thought I had forgotten how.

Thus, I am endlessly comforted and inspired by this new phase in my life. Sometimes I think of it like a little red thread running through my arteries, holding otherwise random pieces of me together.

At other times, it's a mirror, and it illuminates my actions and quirks from the perspective and context of another person. In a funny way, I see more of me now than I ever did before.

Sometimes, I even surprise myself.

I remain remarkably stoic about my prospects though. I don't put much stock in the happy ending. Love ebbs and flows. In fact, it seems the more desperately one tries to hold onto it, the faster it pours away. And deep down, I know that this little mad ecstasy of my heart, as with all things, too shall pass.

But for now, I'm enjoying it.

I've never laughed so much in my life, for instance. I've never been as silly and goofy – having a made-up baby-vernacular with words like ‘Schmoops’, ‘Babby’ and ‘Wuv’ in it is not something to crow about, but well, us Singaporeans have made it a national habit to mangle the English language.

I've never been so open with someone – even telling my darkest, guiltiest secrets – and had it be alright. I've never been such an instigator of fun and sexual spontaneity. No public corridor is safe, no piece of furniture spared and no beautiful stranger unmolested.

Which all sounds very sweet and slightly nauseating, but what has all this got to do with blogging, you wonder?

Well here's the nub – I've changed. And in ways that aren't quite Sash anymore. I wouldn't say she's gone completely. She can still be counted on for things like, modeling lingerie in front of 200 lesbians, dancing with abandon on a podium at old haunts, persuading beautiful girls to be bisexual, having mad sex with multiple partners (except now it tends to be in the presence of a certain someone).

That's still me. But there are other parts to me now that need recognition. And to tell the truth, every time I have tried to post the latest developments of my life on this blog, I've felt constrained by the all-pervading themed persona I created. Even the tone and style doesn't fit anymore.

I'm still writing though. I will always write, it's who I am, it's just that for now I am trying to move my thoughts into another medium. So it's not a farewell, I sincerely hope it's a see you later.

Thank you for all your encouragement, well-wishes and loyal readership. It has given me confidence and has helped me find my courage when it comes to writing.

At its best, I hope this blog provided you with a dash of inspiration, some information, and plenty of wank-fodder while encouraging you to embrace your sexual side. Remember, your kink is what makes you special. Explore it, nurture it and don't be afraid to share it with somebody one day. I did, and still do. If anything, it makes for very interesting dinner conversations.

I will be leaving the archives up here for your reading pleasure. But before I hang up my stiletto on a shingle for good, I will be trying to finish and polish up a few orphaned Sash posts that I still have left on my computer. I will put these up at arbitrary intervals, as the spirit moves me, so expect the story mill to trickle down and dry up as opposed to grinding to a complete halt here in Sashville.

Questions or personal anecdotes, if any, are welcome in the comment box. Usual rules apply. If you leave your email address, I might respond personally.

All said and done, I had a wonderful, madcap time y'all. And again, thanks for being such a supportive audience. Now go forth and fuck your brains out. That's all for now, folks. :)