Exploring True Love

    Love is arguably one of the most painful things in the world, for those who have endured countless or even one sharp painful unrequited love. Love is also the best thing that can ever happen to a male as he can proudly spread his seeds away and gets literal utmost pleasure, yet simply putting on the label of “love” as an excuse. And Yes. Seen from the latter sentence, I was apparently one of those who have not been allowed the durian fruit and still struggling to endure the temptation of the smell while painstakingly prying open the husk of thorns.

     This writing is not about me. It is not about my love story nor is it a brag of any kind. It is not even a journal, or diary despite me weeping a lot as a man.

(Disclaimer: a man should be allowed to cry/complain as much as a woman)

This blog is about life. It is about the mystery of human feelings everyone gets to experience at least a dozens in their lifespan, no matter how discreet they can make it hide. 

September 3rd 2018; 

I remembered that day we worked together until 5 p.m. from 9 a.m. It was an 8-hour shift. Now this sentence does not sound anything of importance. That is because it is not, by its own. Just half an hour ago, I had worked for 13 hours straight, for the same work. I had stayed back 5 hours just to be with this girl. This sounds normal? Alright then. There is no more to read, because everything else will revolve around this matter. About the confusion I had with the amorous push and boost to be working the job I dislike for a massively extended period with no monetary incentives, or praises of any kind. In return, I got a scolding from the supervisor who asked me to leave. Piecing more pieces to the context puzzle. I hate this job. I wanted to strangle myself every single day I finished work because I lacked safe choice to quit and pursue my Art. This applied to the days when her shifts and mine were not common. 

Another piece of puzzle you have been given clue of. I am a terrible user of words. I speak at minimum and when I spoke nothing sounds not cryptic, so any option of conveying my feelings to her will never turn out right. I just have to keep the then feelings of one-sided affections to myself, and cry, before the later feelings of regret when I imagine how my life could have turned out with her in my family tree. 

“你下班吧 "

'Just go home already'

    I bet my whole life (which is now empty anyway), she was utterly confused. 

If she had had experienced dealing with another awkward male pursuit like mine, then I would not have been surprised if she was not. However I am the biggest loser (do not take this title away from me) for being myself, for being myself not being myself; for not able to not be myself trying hard to be myself. If then she was not confused, she must have thought, based on the personality I portrayed, that I was there late to learn something new. Be it to prep the tableware on a more time-efficient speed, or be it to improve my awkward social skill (which she was clearly aware of). 

    Truth is, I went and shined glassware just to give me a chance to stand on the spot where her smiling to customers is visible, stood on the dish collecting area just to interact with her, and asked her questions just to see her eyes up close. 

 What is the point? 

 What is the point of me exerting so much work for something I lust for and with utmost diffidence?

 What is the point I compose this pose if no one but my infinite self will care? I know everyone in this world has his different someone to experience love, and I bet yours are special to you more than anyone’s, so why?

 What is the point? 

<*-- bus reaches dormitory. Continue at room--> 

I stopped by at nearby Seven Eleven instead. I had never experienced love or be loved by anyone. Not in my two decades of life. I have no one to share the feelings of love with. Not the ones involving the urge. I never know what this “love” everyone is talking about, about. That was before I experienced it first-hand, in the hotel I worked at, with her. She cares deeply about things, and cares at least slightly, for others. Her words always sound like truth. Whatever she asked me to do, I silently obliged. She made every man enthusiastic about work due to her charms. Everything sounds like a slavery-mindset-manipulation, nonetheless, how could my brain process these as love? Not only my logic, but my feelings are telling me the same.

She is the one. I do not even want to thing that it is my begging for acceptance from this world, all along. I do not know what it means, and I cannot think further. Okay. Now I am just disappointing you with my poor writing, which you might have expected to be profound and intelligible at the beginning of this real-life account. I felt so, too. I planned for this entry to be incursive and not personal. My feelings and bewilderment of it have taken over instead. My grammars are wrong, my sentences are as weird as me, and I am done. How am I going to see her face-to-face tomorrow? Okay guys. Is this even normal? 

Calm down, Steve, you are tired. 

You work 13 hours straight. Your supervisors are gay.

her and me

The first time I experienced treu love (not a typo; just to make it sound cute) and I fail miserably. Over and over again. (We've known eacth other for two years. Last year I failed and she got back with her ex boyfriends. This year I am an idiot and I failed again)

I may even give up the idea of true love. Nah. The belief that true love is ultra rare makes it so hopeful.

Seriously I won't show this writing to anyone if I could, but at the same time I want the world to know how much I love her. Awkwardly. Silently. Like a cryptic shit.

======================

Update Attempt 2

The only thing that made my life meaningful is being with her, interacting with her.

I like being reprimanded by her for my little, or big mistakes, despite the fact that I oppose the idea of slavery and highly despise being ordered around. 

Being alone with her watching her eat two crepes which I had saved for myself, or her favourite pasta was the best sight to me. People said I have lost my mine (People within me), and I'd tell them: "You don't know what love is, what life is (I told them, which is me)"

There are many instances that make her presence unforgettable and addicting too.

When I can smell her sweet esther on her bike she brought be to-fro work-home.

When she asked for help, calling my name with her funny voice.

When our elbows touched upon giving supportive pressure on the beverage dispenser to assemble it back after being washed dry.

When I randomly asked her to a study-together with a tiramisu treat as an incentive and she agreed, and whenever our eyes met, and they stayed for 2.5 to 3 seconds, and I could see all the universe in her pupil and cornea; not so much in the retina.

Her eyelashes. Her soft skins, seemingly-soft face (I never touched her face; this is simply a conjecture, in light of the topic regarding her face)

I wished she had no boyfriend. I wish she had not had any interest in rich, middle-aged men, or whoever males other than myself.

Most importantly, I wish I had been able to convey my feelings more properly, or at least talk to her more decently, or even be friends. I just had to fail at the most important part.

If there is one lesson I learn. Do not be a man like a man who is like me, who drove off her interest with a thick spray of awkwardness which divided attention and confound her. Other more desserving men... I want to not give up to them because so far that my logic can tell, if it is not her, I do not know whether or not there will be another girl so perfect and so complete for me throughout the few decades left of me on this earth. 

In addition to all the problems, I cannot convey what my thoughts were, not because I do not want to, but because my Chinese is bad; so is my Vietnamese: the only languages she spoke. Even if she knew English, today's readers who had attempted my diary will know: how I've inconsistently mentioned this writing as blog, journal, excursion, etc, and denying it all all over.

I clearly have no place for this world that is so fast-paced and so developed, do I?

I do not care. She was the world to me for no reason.