Rum Regret

Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable.

-Sydney J. Harris-

I try never to regret the things I did … I always say, regret what you didn’t do. Unfortunately, the one time I didn’t follow my own advice, has not really been tempered by time. I’m talking about the One That Got Away. He was such a Perfect, Perfect Specimen of Man. (Aptly, I shall refer to him as Mr. Perfect. It’s true, because he is!) Not just on the outside, but truly on the inside where it mattered the most.

We were never anything more than friends (much to my regret!) However, I do have too many instances to think about - where friendship managed to spill over, just for a second… into an all- too brief glimpse of What Could Have Been.

I honestly don’t know what I felt for him. I love him of course; and I love him still, as a dear friend. That much has not changed. While I fancied him when I didn’t have him, I can’t realistically see me ever actually being with him. So what it was, I’ll never be able to explain. Not to you, not to me … not to our friends, and never to him.

This one incident comes to mind every time I think about "us". Why the hell did he come rushing back to England the minute I told him about my break-up with my Rotten-Ex? (Am going to start referring to him as R-Ex now.) After a few days of denial, disbelief and suffering in silence, Mr. Perfect was actually the first person I poured my heart out to. I didn’t even realise he was halfway across the world on holiday. All I got was a one-line response to my soul baring e-mail.

"I’m taking the next flight out."

He took me out to dinner that very night. In my state of grief, the romantic setting didn’t hit to me, the oblivious fool that I was. In retrospect, I guess it was like he had it carefully planned - first drinks by the Thames, in view of a quaint Cathedral nearby, the river, and the setting sun – the all elusive "quiet spot" in London. Later dinner followed, at a cozy restaurant that included candles on the table.

Rex never gave me candles.

I guess anyone who saw us would have thought we were out on a date. He wore a suit (a far cry from Rex in his favoured Euro 96 rotten t-shirt and trekkies), I was in my favourite black Chinese outfit. (It was my never-fail 100% successful LBD. With a mandarin collar, sexy neckline and nothing but see-through black lace to cover my back, it was always a sure fire hit.) Hand on heart, the only reason I wore it that night was because it was the first time I ventured out from under the duvet of tears and tissues, so I wanted to make a proper splash.

Guess that outfit’s scorecard till today remains, 100%.

My heart was feeling lighter than it had for months. I didn’t realise how unhappy I had actually been until I felt my first genuine smile when I first saw Mr. Perfect that evening. He was so tall and dashing in his calf-length black London coat and suit, coming out to meet me from his posh offices. The Modern Day Prince Charming. We could have been any other happy young trendy London couple but for the fact my heart was in pieces.

I blubbered and sniffled and cried all through dinner … and he scoffed at my woes - "You think out of all the 3 billion blokes out there, there’s only ONE for you?" Ever pragmatic, is my Mr. Perfect. I looked at him in shock and was forced to think about my response. I believe that was the first time I began to accept that perhaps Rex wasn’t the One.

We spoke at length. Before Rex, Mr. Perfect was my closest confidant in the big bad London town, when I had yet to make it mine. My best friend from Uni was busy travelling at the weekends to be with her fiancé (now husband) and the best she could do for me was the odd lunch or so. I didn’t hold it against her – but it did help bring Mr. Perfect and I closer.

It’s weird because we didn’t know each other so well at Uni. The only reason we even knew each other was because I dated his friend. In a long and twisted type circumstance, we became friends. (I always fancied him though. All the girls did - he was undeniably yummy. A younger, cuter version of JFK Jr., with those huge chocolate eyes, unruly chestnut curls and matinee-idol Bouvier good looks. Believe me girls, I AM kicking myself still).

However since Rex knew I fancied Mr. Perfect, when Rex & I were together, I barely saw Mr. Perfect. That night, we had a good two years of catching up to do. To my surprise, I was laughing again, enjoying myself – a first in ages. I was enjoying him. I felt attractive and desired, and this wonderful man seemed to have eyes only for me.

For a while there, I almost forgot this was my dear friend, and felt the stirrings I thought were long dead. Despite my own feelings - which I had barely registered, I couldn’t guess what was coming.

Mr. Perfect walked me to the station at the end of the evening. Actually happy, I looked up at him (he was just about 6’. Maybe 5’10" at the very least, but a comfortable height for me to hold on to) for a friendly goodbye hug … I couldn’t put my finger on it, things were suddenly different.

He drew me into his arms (in a decidedly unplatonic gesture!) and said softly, "You look really lovely tonight, Vix." Alarm bells were ringing in my head, but I truly couldn’t believe it. Not Mr. Perfect, not then. Of all the million ways I’d envisioned us getting together, I didn’t think it’d be then. Even as his face neared mine – a long suppressed fantasy almost coming true, I was in total and utter denial.

I absolutely bolted. Away from him without a second glance. I ran past the barriers, raced down the escalator, jumped into the train without catching a breath. My brain was a blank, my heart was racing in a panic. Yes, I was supposedly a young adult woman, but I behaved like a 16 year old who’d never been kissed, let alone shagged senseless!

Stupid me, I headed straight for Rex’s. He’d been my best friend, my first port of call, my shoulder of comfort and hand to hold for so long that he was the only one I could think to run to. You couldn't have found a blinder fool than the woman I was then.

Reality crashed into me like a train. (Incoming from Singapore).

Who do you think answered Rex’s (and what used to be my) door? At 3am in the morning, wearing nothing but his well loved England Rugby shirt that I used to sleep in. In fact, when he finalised our break-up, he asked if I wanted it as a "parting gift". Damn him, he knew how much I loved that shirt. But in my place, stood this malicious creature, cackling in my stead, wearing my shirt, answering my bloody door.

It couldn’t be more obvious than if she had peed all over him. (Let’s not go there….)

But the deed was done. Mr. Perfect and I never spoke of that moment, and till today I wonder if it was just part of my over active imagination. Would he have kissed me if I’d held on to some semblance of calm that night? Or was it all in my head?

I read "He’s Just Not Into You". I know the score. And yet something in me still wonders. Women really make their own lives a misery, eh? Maybe men really are that simple and if they like you, they'll tell you. Maybe maybe maybe... But the truth of the matter is that only the two individuals standing barely inches away from each other, that one time, so many years ago now, would know. As for what would have happened ...

We'll never know.

There is no happy ending - this excerpt is after all, titled "Rum Regret". Mr. Perfect met the woman he would eventually marry a mere 2 weeks later. I was furious for a time. In the entire time I’d known him, he’d never even had a girlfriend, let alone date anyone! Then barely 2 weeks after making a move on me (I thought!) – he hooks up with someone? I tried to declare her persona non grata, and avoided meeting her whenever I could.

But my outlook changed when I met the happy couple recently. They actually came here on their honeymoon (don’t ask me why he chose to come to Malaysia, I’d rather not think about it!) … and as hard as that was, seeing him so happy made everything crystal clear for me. If she puts that smile on his face, I have no beef with her.

Meeting The One That Got Away and The One He Got Away With, at what would probably be their happiest time together, was probably the hardest thing I’d had to do yet. Hosting them in my own house was harder still.

However, it has made me realise that I probably would not be able to bring out that kind of euphoria in him. Perhaps the better woman had won the better man after all.

No, not better, but Right. The two right halves had found each other to make One whole. I can only hope she lives up to everything he hopes she will be, because he deserves nothing less. She definitely is His One … and by default, that meant, I was Not.

"There are two tragedies in life: one is not to get your heart's desire. The other is to get it."

-George Bernard Shaw-

This Vixen's search continues.

Alcoholly!

"Time, don't let it slip away,

Raise your drinking glass

Here's to yesterday"

-Aerosmith -

On the first day of Christmas, my True Love gave to me …

Already, the first line of the ancient well-loved carol discriminates half the population – the single half! The ditty leads us to believe that everyone has a True Love. Well, what about those that are still looking? Bah Hambug! I think Scrooge had the right idea after all…

I’m thinking of boycotting Christmas this year.

You see, I don’t like Christmas as an adult! Firstly - there are the pairings. It’s never been more clear to me as now when I have just finished writing out my Christmas cards …. (having to post them to the UK takes time, not that I’m terribly organised. Then again, it could be the Virgoan in me).

To my distress, it hit me that what used to be merely "Nicki", "Katie", "Chris" and "Andrew" now reads "Nicki & Greg", "Katie & Daz", "Chris & Chi", "Andrew & Monica" … you get the idea. Those that used to be part of my London urban family have now doubled – either happily married, blissfully engaged or ecstatically shacked up in sin … One does wonder if there’s still any room left for me.

As you well know - I’m still solely yours. With nothing but a bottle of wine for company.

I’ll repeat it – Christmas as an adult really sucks! And not just the added responsibility of buying gifts … and getting much less in return. Isn’t this also the season for giving? I’m not seen anything in my stocking for years now! (And all those who used the excuse of "we can’t find anything 6’ tall in this country" – I was only joking!)

There used to be so much to look forward to at the Yuletide season. Carolling practices used to start in SEPTEMBER, leading to weekly gathering with so much to plan and do.

Then there was December itself. Gone are the days when I used to rush home from school, to excitedly don on my little red carolling skirt to sing to the masses. I was more excited about what happened after, of course.... Where I was allowed to have late dinners with the older guys (in the spirit of Christmas and all) and come back in the wee hours of the morning. From the age of 13, I had a different crush for every Christmas … and "Christmas Bride" had a new meaning for me with every season.

But more than that, the other carols ring true for me these days -

"Once again, as in olden days,

Happy golden days of yore….

Faithful friends who are dear to us,

Will be near to us, once more.

If the fates allow."

Those same carolling friends are also now married and scattered all over the globe with their own little groups. It used to be that we were only overseas on our studies, and would come back for the Christmas holidays and Christmas would be our Christmas, together. But now … we’d be lucky if we caught sight of a handful of familiar faces.

Christmas isn’t Christmas without the belting out "Rocking Around the Christmas Tree" with the 3 guys (you know who you are!) doing their dodgy versions making the front-line chorus girls burst out laughing instead of keeping in tune. Or the late night mamak sessions and day long shopping for gifts for our manifold friends. Christmas isn't Christmas without you all. Are memories all that we're left with?

Where are you, Christmas?

Now my 16 year old cousin is doing those same rounds, talking about the same type of boys and activities. And I can only listen and smile wistfully for my own "days of yore." The groans I used to get when I asked for my favourite carol "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" … the groans I used to give when we were to sing "Oh Holy Night" when the sopranos had to hit those high notes. (I used to mime when we got to the latter houses!)

And slowly, the focus from the huge group of friends have changed to a more centred core – the few friends still around after all these years, and family, quietly in the background but ever present.

Ric - who can still tell you the embarrassing things I did when I was 15. (I’m denying the Planetarium incident until our graves!). If I do ever get hitched, this guy is not going near a mike! Remember when I painted your toes a shocking pink when you were asleep? Why can’t we be as stupid and silly anymore? Life was so much more fun then. (Just so you know, he got his revenge. He locked me in the bathroom and hosed me down with freezing water for that little misdemeanour.)

Melchiz, my best friend growing up since he had the misfortune to sit next to me in Form 1. We are different people now, but he will always have a place in my heart.

Lyn, so far away now. I think the last Christmas we spent together was in 2001, in your house. I wonder when the fates will allow us time together again.

After SPM, it used to be the 8 of us. Once people left for foreign lands, became busy professionals with their own, new lives … leaving just us 4 from the "happy golden days".Actually, 3 if you count the fact Lyn is no longer here in KL. And the (dis)count goes on.

Deck the halls with bottles of bevvies ….