Tag Archives: laughter

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Pros and Cons of a Long Distance Relationship

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With the advent of technology, Long Distance Relationships (LDR) are so much more common than people think. Even so, I’ve found myself many a time inadvertently defending LDRs and their legitimacy.

“No, don’t awwwww me. It’s really not a horrible situation to be in!”

“The relationship is still real!” 

“What do you mean how do we have sex? We can still be intimate!” (*while wondering* “WTF? Why am I even having to explain my sex life?!”)

“They can work and couples have time and time again proven that!”

“No, it doesn’t make it any harder to be faithful!”

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While LDRs are not an ideal situation to be in, it’s no more or less stressful than maintaining a conventional relationship. It does come with its own set of problems and in the same breath, opportunities to get creative and conquer those very challenges. From someone who has done this before and is currently in one now, I truly believe LDRs are workable. It’s most certainly not for everyone (yes, I’m looking at you, you codependent types!) and I wouldn’t recommend going out of your way to look for a partner who lives halfway across the world because that would make you a crazy person. But other than that, definitely doable or if I am being cautiously optimistic*, definitely doable thus far. You learn as you go along and hope for the best.

 

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Pros:

  • Getting to reinstate the art of writing letters and talking on the phone, particularly the latter because I derive great joy from the hand cramp and ear soreness that comes right after the end of a 90-minute phone conversation with my boyfriend… a feeling that is very different from when you’re on the phone on hold for the same length of time with your telco service provider when they’ve fucked up your bill.
  • If you’re both insanely independent people, it is fairly easy to live in separate parts of the world and do adult things like having cocktails with your friends or dining alone without feeling like you’re going to crumble to pieces in the absence of your partner… on most days anyway.
  • An LDR is the biggest lesson I could receive in effective communication – When you can’t physically be next to someone, you consciously fill the space between with words and feelings to bring you closer together. While it’s really nice to lounge around cuddled up watching your favourite shows on Netflix in silence, there is something truly comforting and intimate about having meaningful conversations with each other about the things that matter and perhaps even the things that don’t really matter.
  • The Countdown High – planning, anticipating and marking out the days until you see each other again next can almost always make even the darkest of days a little brighter.
  • According to science, absence makes the heart grow fonder and distance can cultivate fondness and a genuine lasting connection. Can’t argue with science, folks!
  • The connection is more than just physical – I am naturally a physical/ touchy-feely person but working on the emotional aspects of a relationship makes me feel so much more secure. Sure, love me for my body but love me more for me!

Cons:

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  • Pillows don’t cuddle back, neither do vibrators.
  • Bawling when you have to part ways, especially when the bawling happens in public spaces like the airport or on-board the plane.
  • Severe lack of date nights = Table for One, please? Oh never mind, I’ll just have it to-go!
  • Feeding people baked goods is one of the elaborate ways I show my love and affection but being miles away from your partner means you only get to send him styled Instagram shots of your chocolate tart with captions like “FUDGE you, distance!” or “I only have eyes pies for you, boo!“.
  • Missing out on the good and the bad – When either of you’ve had a terrible day or even an exceptional good one, and you can’t physically be there for hugs and high-fives respectively.
  • When the technology you’re so dependent on (and grateful for) royally fucks you over while you’re on a voice/video call with your partner just as you’re sharing a juicy piece of news with them. “Wait, I can’t hear you! What was that last bit? Hello? You’re breaking up!”
  • When you get invited to after dark social gatherings and are asked to bring your partner or a plus one but you end up going alone while your boyfriend is 6000 miles away asleep because daylight savings.
  • Expensive plane adventures. You want to fly over on holiday weekends but Zuji and Expedia are showing you exorbitant ticket prices. You could be frugal and purchase a budget plane ticket but you’re a spoiled brat who can’t sit in what feels like a sardine can for longer than 2 hours. Life is hard and cruel! #dramaqueen

mindy

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*After my last long distance relationship failed, I didn’t think I could do the whole distance thing again. There was so much contempt, distrust and miscommunication over the 3-4 years – enough to take the wind out of my sails. But life works in funny little ways. Using food analogies (my favourite!) as an example, it’s like eating foie gras for the first time but it’s served to you in a pâté form which turns out, your taste buds are utterly repulsed by. Traumatised (and grossed out) by your first bad experience, you decide never to even look at goose liver again until one day, just out of the blue, it is offered to you on a beautiful plate, pan seared to perfection with a side of caramelized pears and drizzled with a balsamic reduction. And then suddenly, just like that, you’ve discovered a gastronomic wonder and your heart (and belly) fills with joy when you think about foie gras. I wrongfully blamed a lot of my past relationship’s failures on the distance when perhaps it was much more than just not being in the same space. And it’s liberating to be proven otherwise now with someone who makes you feel good. That said, as I am writing this, I can’t help but feel cautiously optimistic. It feels a tad uncomfortable talking about a relationship that is newish and currently going so well. There is an underlying sense of anxiety that it could all go so wrong but fear hasn’t stopped me before and it certainly wouldn’t stop me now.

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A Spankin’ Good Time

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[Contribution]

Vacations are great for the soul. Vacations as a single woman are even better. The world suddenly (albeit finitely) becomes your oyster and your options are immediately limitless; you are a little less, nay a lot less inhibited. Vacation me is jarringly different from the real me. The control that I’m mad for, is left behind; No room for it in my suitcase and besides, the need to exercise control on vacation is inessential because vacation me is easy breezy and pretty much open to the idea of everything, well, almost everything. This sort of temporary philosophy in life, seen by most people as crazy, is thrilling and like the after-effects of copious amounts of tequila, also potentially perilous. Irrelevant thoughts when you’re Little Miss Easy Breezy on vacay.

About a month prior to a recent short trip to the Pacific Northwest (PNW), I decided to put all thoughts of serial killers aside and went onto two online dating platforms to 1. Shamelessly source for recommendations on what to do and eat in the city and 2. To potentially meet new folks to hang out with and experience the city I’ve been to umpteenth times through a different set of eyes.

Tinder and OkCupid demographics in the PNW seem to include plenty of men in fully disclosed open/ polyamorous relationships, and men who are serious about craft beer, their beards (if I had a dollar for every lumbersexual type I saw, I’d be rich), whiskey, cats, comments about their dogs and kids looking cuter than yours, the Seahawks, the Mariners, fishing, kayaking and cliff jumping. I’ve also learnt that phrasing is everything on a profile. Apparently, it’s completely legit to mention that one is ethically non-monogamous. I don’t know what that even means; do you sit through a certification course to determine if you’re an ethical non-monogamist or an unethical one? And when you stipulate that you are heteroflexible, does that simply mean you’re pansexual? Because it isn’t already painfully confusing enough for me to comprehend men that you now have to spin new fancy words to wrap my head around? That’s fine, so long as you aren’t going to cling wrap my naked body to a table and gorge my eyes out, I can try to understand. I’m not saying I agree with these careless modern labels, but I can try to understand.

Ethical non monogamists and polyamorous enthusiasts aside, the emerald city boasts an intellectually stimulating array of men. You know, the kind who take the time to craft sentences in an eloquent and charming manner, with a hint of cheekiness. And that’s precisely what drew me to Baby Jesus. Baby Jesus was affectionately dubbed as such because of his lusciously long tresses that resembled the son of God and a beard (*squeal) that is so impressively groomed that I wouldn’t be surprised if some Jewish person decided to betray him out of jealousy. Sacrilegious! I digress. Baby Jesus in a nutshell looked like a hippie but a well put together hippie – with an enviable career in video game design (nerd alert. Also, my kryptonite) for one of the powerhouses and an adventurous spirit. I knew instantly we would get along so when he offered to come pick me up from my hotel to take out on a surprise outing, I felt no fear nor discomfort at the idea. Generally, I have very good intuition when it comes to people. This would be the first time I’m meeting an almost complete stranger on a date in a foreign country. If my luck had been that terrible and if he had in fact turned out to be a creeper or God forbid, a mass murderer, I most definitely deserved the punishment that ensued for making such shockingly piss poor decisions in life.

After an evening of delicious tacos (the best in the emerald city, I’m told) Baby Jesus took me to my next stop – a well known cupcakery in the city. Any man who tries to win my heart with cupcakes gets bonus points no matter how much nicer his hair looks, compared to mine. I love meeting people who see the world differently from the way I do. Baby Jesus is a practicing Christian and was once engaged; He told me he loves going out on dates and that he loathes casual sex; Intimacy to him comes in other forms that don’t need to involve mindless sexual intercourse. I will soon learn what this actually means.

After an engaging conversation involving rambunctious laughter over a salted caramel and raspberry meringue cupcake; Both flavours were his choices as he looked at them sitting in the cake rack with lusty eyes, I couldn’t bear to let him simply choose one so I forwent my initial red velvet option to offer to pick his two favourites for us to share. Upon my thoughtful suggestion, he leaned over to the cashier and told him that I was the best date ever. Not-embarrassing-at-all.

The third part of our date involved a walk in the park. Baby Jesus had suggested in one of his text messages earlier that day for me to wear comfortable footwear and the walk in the park was the reason for this. The Summery day was coming to a nice cool evening and as we sat on the bench and talked about the things and people we have loved, I knew at that very moment that I was having a wonderful time. Upon a kneejerk comment I made about Americans being really daft, he leaned over and kissed, I suspect to shut me up. No complaints there.

As it got a little chilly, I invited Baby Jesus back to my suite to hang out over a cuppa tea. During the drive, it became evident what a naturally affectionate person he was. He spoke of his travels to India and why he loves what he does and throughout the entire 12 minute drive, he didn’t let go of my hand as he caressed it softly like we had known each other for years. At that point, I understood what he meant by intimacy in other forms.

Baby Jesus was an excellent kisser and my kind of nerd. I mean sure, I had to gently keep moving his hair from his face and tucking it behind his ears but what a refreshingly new thing to do. I remember cracking a joke about how it’s a good thing I have a haircut that resembles a boy’s to balance it all out. At that very moment, he slapped my bottom and I thought

– Oh my –

Being a video game designer means coming up with stories to make people’s fantasies online come true. Evidently, Baby Jesus adopted this stance in the bedroom as well. Granted this is a dating blog and not my very own version of Fifty Shades of Grey, I shall spare you all the details on what ensued. But let’s just say it was an exhilarating night of some cheeky fun that involved twitching open palms, a good set of sharp teeth and a leather belt. Laying in bed entangled all night in someone with whom you didn’t have sexual intercourse with is an experience worth writing a poem about.; it’s a different kind of intimacy, one I had never experienced before. As baby Jesus planted kisses on the back of my neck as he lulled me to sleep, I thought about three things before finally dozing off– Firstly, that intimacy is subjective and secondly, I had learned a very useful lesson on what it truly means to lose control and just let go. My final thought before Baby Jesus got the opportunity to hear my snores that resembles that of a baby grizzly bear’s grunts was a gentle reminder to myself to apply baby lotion to my stinging buttocks the following morning.

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On First Date Etiquette: Kisses, Handshakes or Hugs?

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Let’s face it. First dates are potentially dicey. You’ve brazenly swiped each other and exchanged badinage online, but now the time has come for you to meet for the first time. You might choose to meet at a coffee place, a cocktail bar or even a restaurant, if you bask in high pressure situations.(Seriously. You’ll need at least 90 minutes for dinner and if you’re having a horrid time, there is no escaping!). Now, once that’s decided and as you patiently wait at your meeting spot trying to furiously recall if you’ve put on deodorant, you see your date walking towards you — How do you plan to break the first physical barrier? You have about 10 seconds to decide if 1) you’re going to shake their hand, 2) give them a hug, 3) lean in for a kiss or 4) in true millennial fashion, whip out an unorthodox hello such as a fist bump/ shoulder squeeze or simply stand there like a Botero sculpture.

I’m a fairly confident person but even I do not immediately go in for the sweeping Hollywood embrace. People are cautious and if there is anything I’ve learned over the years as a public relations practitioner, it is to always observe people’s body language, tread lightly and try to take their cue. That said, first impressions are crucial to me so I seize any given opportunity to break the touch barrier because it inevitably sets the tone for the rest of the evening.

The sense of touch is by far the most fascinating and necessary of the sensory system, and my favourite of the five senses because there’s something in us that is well beyond the reach of words or sounds — something that eludes and defies our pursuit to explain it. The sense of touch develops well before all other senses in embryos, and is the primary manner in which infants learn about their environment and bond with other people. Throughout life, we use our sense of touch to learn, protect ourselves, relate to others, and to experience pleasure. Sometimes, when I’m seated on a crowded bus and my shoulders or sides of my thighs brush up against the person seated next to me, (and after I’ve gotten over the initial wave of repulsion from involuntarily touching a complete stranger) there is a certain feeling of comfort that ensues.

So what exactly do I do when I meet a date for the first time? It really depends on what my body tells me to do along with my date’s body language. These days I either go in for a quick peck on the cheek, followed by a hug that neither lingers too long nor ends too quickly, or I do the European thing where I shake their hands and kiss both cheeks. I can’t remember the last time I simply shook my date’s hand on the first meeting. Dates that begin with a cold, prudish handshake in my opinion are doomed from the very beginning. The only exception for this is if you haven’t spent much time chatting with each other before meeting. But if you’re like me who enjoys taking the time to suss out your online matches before agreeing to go out, then there is absolutely no need for a business meeting greeting. And I’ll be honest here — call me a creeper but I am guilty of inching closer just to get a whiff of my date. I do it with discretion of course, no one needs to know I’m on a pheromone prowl — so far, so good. Once the touch barrier is broken for the first time, it depends entirely on the chemistry between my date and I for me to want to touch them again. It is not often that I feel inclined to do so, but if I do find myself wanting to touch their face or their hand or perhaps a gentle stroke of their arm, it’s a good indication that I am comfortable and fond of them, platonically so or otherwise.

That said, in a date setting, no one enjoys a gauche greeting but we’ve all been there. You can have all the confidence in the world, in the vessel that is your body but I’ve stopped counting the number of times I feel some kind of insane storm in my belly as I try to kiss someone’s cheek, mis-aim and plant my lips on their ear instead. There have also been proud moments in my life where my date would place his hand out so I could shake it but instead I go in for a hug resulting in an awkward hand-on-my-boob situation. It ain’t a pretty sight but it happens and there is no back pedalling out of that. And that’s okay. Because at the end of the day, we’re all a curious mixture of strength and fragility, diffidence and bravery. You just wear your best smile, open your heart and go with it while constantly reminding yourself to aim for the cheek and not the fucking ear next time.

How do you prefer to greet your first date?

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“I like the way you say Raspberries”

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The internet dating pool is a playground. You meet all sorts of people. Typically, they’re engineers, bankers, accountants, pilots but every now and then, you speak to someone whose professional choice gets your full and undivided attention. “I’m sorry, but did you just say you’re a mathematician?” Sploosh. “A Human Rights specialist for the United Nations?” *fans self* or most recently, “You’re a chef? You mean a real one?”

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Now if you know me well enough, you’d know that I have a massive weakness for food, nay, a deep and dark love affair with food. I’ve gone out with people who have actually mentioned things like “wow, you really like to eat, don’t you?” or “You talk a lot about food!” Why yes, I do, thank you very much. So imagine my absolute delight when I found out that I was talking to a chef. When you put two people who love food together at a table, some kind of magic happens. Immediately, you are given free rein to go into explicit detail about the creme bulee you once had at a tiny little French restaurant that still haunts you to date. Suddenly, you no longer sound bat shit crazy when you passionately talk about your lobbying for the ban of Vanilla essence and Matcha-based desserts. And just like that, everything’s on the table for discussion.

There are things people don’t tell you about dating a chef. They’re intense, wildly intense. It’s almost a little intimidating. They’re also constantly working – The kitchen is their mother, wife and mistress. They make this crystal clear, from the very beginning so if you date a chef, you find creative ways to fit into the crevices of their busy lives..

When I first started chatting with Mr Chef, I didn’t know what he did for a living. We had a heated discussion on what is the definitive American dessert – Pecan Pie or Carrot Cake. To which I said, I’m not a fan of neither but I can make a delicious pie and cake. He said he could too. But because I’m an arrogant asshole, I said “I’m sure you could but mine probably tastes better.” Of course, once I found out that he was a chef, I pretty much swallowed my words whole and felt a little embarrassed. “If I had known you were a chef, I wouldn’t have made that douchey comment about being a better baker,” I texted, sheepishly. To which he replied with much class, “I’m sure you’re still the better baker.” Sploosh.

I met Mr Chef for dinner a week later. We had been exchanging messages all week on discussion topics ranging from food (big fuckin’ surprise!) to films and Mr Chef’s life in the Big Apple before coming here. It’s very rare that I would agree to a dinner on a first date – feels like too much of a commitment, having to sit through an entire meal with a stranger. What if you’ve realised you’re having a terrible time by the time you’re done with your appetiser. You can’t just feign an emergency and run away. It’s 2015 – People know all the tricks there are in the books! So my strategy is just to go for a drink and see where the evening takes us. However, it seemed only right that two foodies (one professional, one amateur) should bond over a meal. Indian, it was – my choice, of course. I was 5 minutes late, something that always leaves me unnerved on a date. I like being early. Alas, traffic fucked me over. He politely waited outside the restaurant. I gave him a peck on the cheek and led him to what could quite possibly be the best Indian meal of his life. Unlikely. But I enjoy dishing out the hyperboles.

Statistically, it takes 1200 seconds, that’s 20 minutes, to decide if there is chemistry between two people. I might have over-generalised this statement but it is true to me. It takes me all in all 20 minutes to decide if there is a spark. I mean sure, we could all argue that chemistry can be built over time. The question here is, could this time be spent doing something else worthier?

Mr Chef was quick to inform me from the very beginning of the evening: “I just want to say that this is my resting face. It looks like I’m always annoyed or bored but I assure you that it has nothing to do with how I actually feel.” What an unfortunate resting face. I chortled, and we proceeded to commence selecting our food – He sank at ease into his seat and told me he trusted me to make the right selections off the menu. As we perused the menu, I wondered at what point was I going to feel this said chemistry, if at all. I looked up and sneaked a look at his face. Was there a facial feature that gave me the butterflies? Nope. What about his hands? Hmm. How does one find chemistry when it doesn’t want to be found?

We talked about dessert – easily one of my favourite conversation topics – and the varieties that we enjoyed baking and stuffing our faces with. The topic of tarts and pies came up. “I am rather selective when it comes to tarts. Lemon and raspberries are acceptable. I don’t understand the appeal of pumpkin.”

Mr Chef smiled and said, “I like the way you say Raspberries.”

Sixteen minutes in. Damn it. Where are you hiding, Chemistry? Show yourself!

It didn’t make an appearance that evening. We did however, have an enjoyable meal and comfortably discussed many things from useless trivia to David Sedaris to our shared love for Wes Anderson films.This comes easy for extroverts. I think I was hoping for chemistry. Chefs are supposed to be intense, passionate and ooze fiery sex appeal. False advertising, I say. This is what happens when you’ve watched too many episodes of Parts Unknown, lusting after Anthony Bourdain. I have no one to blame but myself.

I paid for dinner, like I usually do when I ask someone out. No big deal. Controversial decision, I hear from the people I speak to regarding bills on the first date. To go Dutch? Should the Guy pay? Should the Girl? This is perhaps best left for another entry. Mr Chef didn’t seem too pleased with the idea of me paying but he didn’t persist. I don’t like the drama. He walked me to the train station and we parted ways with a quick peck on the cheek.

“Shall we see each other again?”

“Sure, why not?” I said.

“Maybe we can watch a movie or something next time round. I have a crazy schedule. I never plan things so you’ll have to let me know.”

At this point I thought, “never plan anything? Well, that’s just lazy.”

I smiled very politely and said “I guess I’ll let you know then.”

Because 20 minutes was all I needed to figure out that there wasn’t going to be a second date. Maybe I’ll need to manage my expectations and find myself a pastry chef next. In the meantime, I suppose binging on re-runs of Parts Unknown and No Reservations, while fantasising about my life with Mr Bourdain will have to suffice. Sploosh.

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The boy with the gift of laughter.

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(Contribution)

I met a boy last weekend – A boy whose laughter sounded like the chimes of church bells. The first time he laughed, I felt a somersault deep in my belly. It was an entrancing laugh, the sort of laughter that could light up an entire room. Whoever said that a smile could light up a room didn’t get the best possible deal. A bellowing laugh that could illuminate any room – now that, that is something special.

“You’re funny,” he said.

“I like hearing you laugh. Looks like I might have to try and be funny all night,” I replied and meant every word of it.

Church bell chimes and somersaults all night. Sometimes that’s all you need to feel, on days where you feel like you couldn’t feel anything at all.

His gift of laughter was paired with incredibly beautiful eyes. Somersaults. I couldn’t quite say if they were gray or green. Somewhere in between and I loved that they were undefinable. It always makes me flutter when I can’t quite find the right words to define something. That mystery of it makes me feel like there are so many things and instances where there aren’t words in the lexicon to describe, perfectly. It makes me feel like there is so much I don’t know.

The eighth time I made him laugh, I recall vividly; He said he was shy and yet, he was quite the rebel – leaving his home in Brazil to travel the world and get paid for it. I called him a Unicorn and said shy rebels don’t exist. I gently poked his forehead with my index finger and jokingly and accusingly asked where he was hiding his horn. He laughed, touched my hand and kissed me. The church bells in my head chimed.

The boy whose laughter sounded like the chimes of church bells was sweet, affectionate and gentle. It would be unlikely that we would see other again. And yet, our paths had crossed for some reason. Later that evening, in bed, he rested his head on my chest and we talked about why we do the things we do. We talked about the people we love. We spoke of the places we love, the music we listen to and our fears.

“Am I too heavy for you?” he asked.

“No, I think you’re just fine.”

We made love later that evening. It was intimate in every sense of the word. I had never been with anyone who kissed every inch of my body or someone who wanted to look at me throughout the night, every line, scar, mole and fold on my unforgiving body. Somersaults.

“You have beautiful eyes”, I said.

“You have a beautiful smile” he replied as he kissed the tip of my nose.

Short of breath and exhausted, I sought to remember the moment. I attempted to memorize it all. The pursuit of pleasure often involves feeling good in the short-term. We take what we can get and continue to stay on the hedonic treadmill with the hopes that one day, we will reach a permanent state of eudaimonia. But this was different. It wasn’t just a one night stand. It was a feeling that was going to stick. And that the lesson to be learned from this was that I could be loved the way I deserved, even if only for one night. And it reminded me that physical affection is something I couldn’t do without, even if I tried. As we lay exhausted and wrapped around each other in bed, we enjoyed the silence. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was perfect. I strived to remember the moment.

We hugged and kissed for minutes after, remembering the features we like on each other’s faces.

“Never stop laughing, okay?” I demanded gently as I kissed him one last time, after clothing myself slowly, relishing every remaining moment of his company.

“Only if you never stop smiling,” the boy whispered.

Somersaults.

“Deal.”

The church bells chimed again, a little softer, almost as if it were far in the distance but I could still hear it. I can still hear it.

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