The Belgium Trip

Belgium had always been the comfortable warm place to run away to for me. My family lives there, thus explaining my familiarity to these grounds.
I didn’t have the chance to spend some time in Brussels, though, as I was rushed to a train to Antwerp as soon as I touchdown in Zaventem, Belgium’s Airport. Paul was already waiting there for me. I did only as much as order a cup of coffee and waffle in Brussels’ train station before heading straight to Antwerp on the speed train. Still clad with the same sets of luggage and clothes I inherited myself from London, we flashed our way through the peasant grounds and farmlands of Belgium. Paul was a darling, and a huge relief to witness. I can’t help and smile every time we set our eyes to each other. I wasn’t sure whether it was the sheer elation of having him on this train ride with me, or just the ridicule of his blue eyed boyish face that I should point out as the cause.
Antwerp Six was my next subject of study. The international Art Festival held in this city was of course not my first choice of things to report on, considering the fat that I could have gone to Paris and cover some debutant fashion shows instead. But it was fair enough; I got the chance to see Antwerp and Belgium again, and that really suits me fine. Besides, this way I can hold on to Paul a little closer without the fear of being caught by people we know.
It seems funny, but it did kind of feel like we were in our own world, thus we can hold each other and walk with each other freely as if we didn’t have whatever we left behind in London, New York, or wherever for a little while. It felt as if Brussels was all we know, and now had become our city. It was just great, I felt like I could stay in this already warm city forever, with the person I had besides me, of course. It really did seem like the thought of Lee never really succeeded to burst through my head. I didn’t think that it was wrong, but I was living a life that was not my own in those three days (instead of my work, of course).

Newcastle Menace

Touch down in Newcastle,

1st conflict with Lee, in a few while now. Suddenly, the question marks are coming from his direction. The focus was set on why I hadn’t wanted to move to Newcastle, and basically how absurd my reasons for this decision were.
Between the emotional upheaval and soul bleeding comments we threw at each other, the accusation of the existence of a certain ‘somebody else’ surfaced. Although the true me was already sentenced guilty for life in a mental prison, I stuck myself with the denial which suited me fine. To Lee, as a sweet and fragile Capricorn, the denial was a straight up self-revelation of guilt. I don’t know how that actually worked, but in the end he thought that he was guilty for my not being able to spend more time with him.
That time I really sympathize for him. He cares for me, and even at rare times when he didn’t exclaim it blatantly, I can see it through his eyes. I know my hobby of an affair is hurting him without us noticing, but it has naturally taken over my mind. I did think about the fact that it’ll be over once Paul returns to New York, though as now it is still happening, then it is still eating Lee slowly.
Throughout the times that I have been involved in a fight with a guy I’m involved with, I never felt quite the way I felt when I was facing Lee with a grimace. That time, I really felt like I’m brittle and breakable, and the worse thing was; there’s absolutely nothing I could do to change it. I felt as if the muscles under my neck can strain so hard that I’ll suffocate to death myself. If this were not the way to put it, then dying would certainly fit the picture. When Lee exited the living room to calm himself down, it felt as if the air inside of me suddenly ceases to exist, leaving me groping desperately for breath. At that point, all the success and the blitz and glory of my life faded behind the hopeless strive of finding the cure of my seconds of frailness; Lee. No matter how exciting or mysteriously fun my affair have been, I realize that the world would be a strange airless space without Lee’s existence.

The Sinful Sunday

Sunday supposedly is God’s Day anywhere else in the world, but Sunday in London represents something more. Shops are open wide and lively crammed with equally excited shoppers. Along with all the ups and downs of the week, this Sunday of mine was filled with enlivening events.
Despite being forced to wake up with a humming head at 8 in the morning to witness again another Nicky Hayden failed attempt to gain podium position, my Sunday didn’t end the messy disorganized way that it started. As I was starring at the little light box that was my television in hope that Hayden will somehow make it this time, the person that is the source of my problem rang the door. We watched the race until the last comment folded, though as an American he knows almost nothing of the way things work.
Then, we head of to Hyde Park for a walk. Showed him the Albert Memorial, in effort to be a good host. I mean, what’s visiting London if you haven’t seen the Memorial? (He had seen it though when he spent his early teens here, so I was just putting up excuses to walk those favourite steps of mine in Hyde Park). Hyde Park was a green Gem on earth, and a calming place to be in. Despite whatever people might say about it, I sill think that it’s one of my favourite places in London. The person on my side fits perfectly to the whole atmosphere as if they were created simultaneously to complement each other. People were actually looking at us, and I could sense an exhilarating exclusive feeling through their envious glare. As strange and cheesy as it may sounds, but at that point what I felt was almost fitted to the explanation clarifying about the early stages of infatuation. We talked and had very nice series of conversation before finally shifting the direction to Knightsbridge in the need of having something to munch.
Despite appearances, walking along Knightsbridge had never been so fashionably flustering before. Although the fear of having people recognize us was there, the distraught haunt was diminishing along with the furthering of our synchronized steps. My whole social life (and probably my already established relationship with Lee) was burdened in the hands of my dark sunglasses, the unusually-me ponytail, and the constant chin burying in the high collars of my jacket. Secrecy has turned itself to a slim and stylish monster with Marc Jacobs jacket, fabulous Jimmy Choo pumps and too much power held upon me of all the envy I had placed on its existence. Paul was the side product as well as the object, and I was crushed in the allure of this Vodka-Pina Colada-Strawbery-Tequila Sunrise-Caubernet Sauvignon feel to this. I know I should pull myself out before I the shinny bubbly liquid returns me stoned, but once my foot is in, the rest of the downfall surrenders like it’s meant to be.
We had lunch in Piccadilly, in a place I thought was subtle and hidden enough behind the hefty streets (and the potential of being caught by people we know). Hidden, was something I seem to cannot do to myself that day. A friend greeted me, a Singer known for his straight A’s and stylishly ambitious rage. He doesn’t play close encounter with Lee, but any slip to the game can place the bullet my way. Paul was introduced as a friend; despite him looking like he’s getting sick of being introduced that way, and the suspicious look I get from every corner of the six senses. I know that even at that point the case was closed and buried away from civilization, but there was a certain releasing sensation in risking it all in the kind words and thoughts of a person I know. Luckily the person didn’t stay that long to make any conversation matter.
Dinner was at Le Metro, continued with a night out at Bondai. My senses were coming close to crawling my way to the club, but Paul was there to lift me up. By the time I knew it we were dancing, and it the clock was stating somewhere near to one when we entered my apartment.

The Day Hayden Steps At Number Four

It’s worth the waking up to the blaring annoy of my mobile alarm this morning; Nicky Hayden reached the 4th spot. He did as far as second during the race, but with Loris Capirossi, Vale Rossi and Checa on the way, the youngster was forced to suspend his win. But he was racing greatly, and to think that we had supported him since he was still on his 125 cc motorbike; it just pays every effort, every wrinkle of the forehead, every tear and sweat,…and yes, we’ll still be supporting him, because we believe he might just be the next World Champion MotoGP. So get ready, people, this guy is coming your way.

One Lazy Night in London Town

My head is still humming with a certain Postal Service song. Has absolutely a lot to do with one of my over stated friend putting it (yes. It, the exact song!) again and again in his car last night on our way back home.
Saw David Gray with my friends, who need no more stating, at Shepherd’s Bush. I initially wanted to see Belle and Sebastian, but some unappreciative little Cockney forgot to differ the months September and October, and completely dismiss my previous order for tickets to the gig. Thus, when the news broke and the gig was sold out I didn’t actually react the way a person with no ticket would react. The particular Cockney offered an apology though, in a form of four (instead of the actual two for Belle and Sebastian) tickets for David Gray. Damn, he just don’t get it, does he? Having Belle and Sebastian playing at the same 24 Hour range did no help either in pressuring my rage under secure-level.
Anyways, the David Gray gig was splendid as usual, though one of my friends claimed that the Paris gig back in 2002 beats even the better of this one. Caring was the least of my intention for the night; this was a consolidated gig, and one worth the taking. This time the sound was working nicely, and the venue was always a personal favourite, besides, we can head straight to Mayfair and get into some serious clubbing afterwards. It still was nice that no matter how long ago it was, but the tune to “Please Forgive Me” managed to send a smile to that memory on the back of my mind consisted of that Summer we had together in the French Riviera. The newer tracks were almost unrecognizable to these rock n’ roll ears, though. Though overall the gig was non-regrettable.
When the gig ended, some random blonde guy who latter claimed that he’s Norwegian and he knows Blackburn’s Morten Gamst Pedersen personally abruptly bumped a friend on the shoulder, and as he (drunkenly) apologized, he shoved two tickets to X-press2 for 1st October at The Cross for free (yes, for free). Admirably so, though, he was pretty buff. We ended up discussing about football, and how suck it feels to miss gigs. Especially focusing to X-press 2’s; he said he had important things to do that day, and we seemed like cool people (yeah, what an alibi). We surely didn’t mind, though this is going to serve us trouble in deciding which two between the four should go. Seeing the competition, my chance is looking bright.
In the end, this Norwegian and few of his also buff friends asked to join us clubbing for the night. Despite me feeling wary-but-trying-to-look-cool, the two guys in our pack agreed lively to the idea, and we set out to meet at Capisce. As we parted the Norwegian, we sped up our way so that the Norwegian couldn’t see us. We then took the sneaky way around Shepherd’s Bush to avoid being noticed. We ended up going to Elysium instead.
In Elysium some seemingly sober Scot came up to me, saying that he knew my boyfriend and asked how he was. I was actually starting to take him seriously, thus hoping secretly that he wouldn’t meet Lee again in his life to report that I was in fact going out without him. But just as it turned out that he was all rubbish, a friend who was with me cut right between us; pushing him back, and nearly hitting the twit while he was at it. The guy pushed back, and I was “that” close of getting some harshly misplaced elbow pushed against my face as my friend and the Scot continued their potential brawling. Luckily another friend came and pulled us forcibly to the safe ground outside. Noting no future scenario would be safe for the four of us, we moved on to Funky Buddha, where we stayed calm and friendly, and where this Swede who’s also a die-hard Postal Service fan fell worthy to be given a fake phone number to. We stuck ourselves with our vanity there until the morning comes.

The Exhiliration of an Affair

"....most women don't want to turn a man down bluntly. Instead, we work out subtle ways of encouraging or discouraging each other that save face and avoid confrontations"

(The Sounds of Silence, Edward T. Hall and Mildred T.Hall)

London, September 24, 2005

There just has to be something with cheating that made you do it in the first place. I suppose it's the element of mystery and the constant pressure of being caught that makes everything so enticingly tempting to be involved in. In another way, perhaps it's the simple "what if.."which arrives every now and then between our worksheets and boring weekends. Sometimes it's the urge of getting that "Gone with the wind" feeling of having something you know you shouldn't have, and would never have in most cases. Or, at other times, it's just the thought that maybe committing to just one specific person will force you into missing something that you shouldn't have missed.

Whatever it is, we all know that affairs are present, and people are still doing it, so there must be something good in it somewhere. Mine with Paul, anyway, started innocently enough, and have now moved on to a living irony. At first it was just for fun, and almost being caught by Daniel made it even more fabulous and kinky at the same time. But as we moved on, and Paul got to know Lee, suddenly we shifted from having fun together to seriously questioning the significance of my initial relationship in all of this. And now, the persistency and eagerness wrapped in the easy but witty comments of that blue eyed American are pushing me against the walls. Suddenly, Lee and I are not perfectly alligned anymore; we are questionable. And I am obsessed with the affair. It's not in the sense that I always want to escape to the affair again and again, but it's more to the fact that it's occupying my mind with a lot of questions about where I should place myself. Interestingly enough, most of the mind-occupying came whenever Paul is not with me.

Because Lee is still in Newcastle and Paul is still in London, we went to Strawberry Moons to have dinner with Daniel and JT. The food was nice, and the place was too, as usual. But Daniel (despite his everlasting calm and sweetness) kept looking awkwardly at me and Paul. Anyway, JT looked so impressed with Paul, that they exchanged mobile numbers and set out to go to Number 3 this weekend. After dinner, Paul checked out my place,...looking like he was amazed with my appartment, I had to tour him around. It's funny how my simple little hut can appear to be such a precious castle for him. He didn't leave untill the next morning.

Whenever I'm with Paul, it seems as if enough is never quite enough. The end still has a special feature in store. There is still something more I'd like to say, something I'd like to do, something more about everything I'd like him to know, and so many more places I'd like to show him. There is just so much more to go through together, and I need to spend more time. He certainly thought the same, as he actually asked me to move with him to the States and leave Lee. There was when enough was a law I have to impose upon myself.

When Paul left I felt like crying, eventhough i didnt in the end. It wasn't because I was sad that he's going away, but I realized I was crying for the irony i have put myself into. A part of me was running after Paul, screaming about how it was to follow him wherever, and do whatever to be with him. A part of me (and a large one indeed) was strictly rationalizing my possition; my intolerable job, my carreer building, my friends, my personally owned appartment, Lee, London, and basically all the tiny things that i could never give away, not even for a person like Paul. Finally, I felt sorry for myself for putting me in this situation, and for phsycologically pushing Paul as away as possible as I'm trying desperately to do now.

The Grand Affair

London, September 23, 2005

As appointed before, the restaurant The Wolseley was our targeted place for the Lunch break with the American; Paul. He was already there when I came on time at half past eleven. Instead of being the dark gloomy styled American he is so known for, Paul came wearing a blue shirt. Any reason for style change? We didn’t even get to that conversation. The Restaurant and the food were nice, and Paul was this amazingly witty and great person to hang out with, despite being an asshole-I-would-like-to-punch-in-the-face kind of guy when he argued about why I decided to stick with Lee. Jealous? Most obviously. But it’s just so typically Paul to suddenly drive me laughing shortly afte putting me through slight rage.

It’s funny that my perceptions towards Americans are constantly countered with the acquaintance of series of charming decent sophisticated Americans. I guess God has something to proof to me, and He’s not quitting until I agree.

Paul’s case is different than most American guys, though. That has something to do with him being in a band, I suppose. Now, being an American already brings you some sort of justification to talk vainly and practically degrading yourself back to the age of fourteen. Being a rock musician does even worse; you can act like a total baby if you want to and nobody dares to put any charge under your name. Paul is a living version of the complicated entanglement of the two elements. When the complicated entanglement carries a University degree, failing common perceptions, he suddenly becomes a really interesting person. It almost seems as if his unrealistic childishness is actually a part of his charm, thus far from the annoying image I have on most American guys.

When we were halfway through lunch a certain Frank M dropped by our table, certainly one face I want to lay my knuckles on really hard. Despite common ethics, Frank’s growing interest on Paul drove him into joining us in the most%

And the first post should be emotional.......

London, 22 september 2005
music: C'mere-Interpol

Lee is off to Newcastle, and the burden of actually staying alone here in this Godforsaken town is pinning me to the ground. But another lunch appointment is set for tomorrow, and yes, Lee has absolutely no clue about it.
Am still very much impressed with a lot of Americans i have been introduced to these couple of weeks,...and yeah, the things that happened in these couple of weeks are even more controversial and provocative than anything i would be involved in during the entire twelve months consisting in 2004. Any sign of improvement is a sign of improvement,...
Went to Leeds yesterday, and despite not being able to find that specific Browns Bar milkshake (again), Leeds still carries that dashing impression on me for having the perfect Caramel Macchiato ever in all the places i have been so far. A certain Jon H came along, and althought i can read clearly off of that innocent face of his how much he needs a low down on what Paul and i are up to, i left him dry and still predictably clueless...sorry, Jon, i was just there to get some coffee!