Saturday, February 09, 2008

Musings on a blue Chinese New Year

As family and friends are celebrating the arrival of Year of the Rat (you gotta love the Chinese for including a rodent among the signs in their calendar), I'm quietly tugged away in a far corner from home where festivity is underway.

The blues have long been anticipated since I found out a month ago that my housemates will be flying home for Chinese New Year, leaving me Melbournebound for 3 weeks.

Just when I was beginning to enjoy having the house all to myself, I was visited by old memories in the form of an early autumn night's dream in the middle of Week 1. To protect the privacy of innocent parties involved, let's just say I dreamed of a love interest from the past and was living out an alternate version of reality until sunrise.

The dream was so vivid it left me as loathsome in the morning as a pregnant hyena. To think of all the efforts I've put into rearranging related memories according to Jungian archetypes throughout the years, they finally retaliated and showed me a demo reel of the director's cut. Naturally, it gave rise to questions that begin with "what if..."

What if I made a different decision at some crucial point in history, would things have turned out differently now?... Oh brother... this is a time when I wish I were a hyena—at least hyenas don't ask hypothetical questions! But then again I guess hyenas don't experience reveries on an autumn night either.

That's not to say that I'm accustomed to living off relationship carcasses from the past. OK maybe I am. But if you know my personal history you'll wonder. I wish I have a penny every time I'm asked a variation of "Have you found someone yet?" Brothers and sisters everywhere, to satisfy your spirit of inquiry and end all curiosity toward my love life or even my sexual orientation, let me answer your question once and for all with the title of U2's song, "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For".

To end the concern of some and maybe disappoint others, no I'm not gay. But I'm not in love either. That might be hard to believe for a man my age (I'm going on 30 in the Year of the Rat according to the Chinese lunisolar calendar) and erm... virility (contrary to misconceptions propagated by my boy scout image, I do experience hormonal drives). It is common that polite society cannot fathom such a sub-species as healthy single heterosexual males, at least not as a constant life form in no need of further enhancements through pairing with their female counterparts.

Don't get me wrong if you think I'm not looking. Just ask my housemates how I have pushed the envelope of being desperate in the past... though I operate on a highly selective mode and rarely show my hands, to borrow betting terms.

Maybe that's my problem. Probability dictates that success rate increases with the increase of the number of throws (or so the casino would have you believe). I detest the idea of leaving up my love life to random phenomena, therefore I fold, untie my bow tie, and help myself with a glass of whisky at the bar.

I am the missing link in the human cultural evolution—a single man who thrives amidst survival of the couples.

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