Y2kk Update: Shit. I'm in so much shit it's not even funny...

... or just guilt, I think... just plain, knee deep, fucking guilt... and hopefully, I pray to God right now, just guilt and guilt alone...

... not that I goddam deserve anything at this point...

I can't believe I did this... I mean, I had a feeling I was going to do something wrong today. But I used to have that feeling all the time, you know? I didn't think it would actually come true this time...

Like I noted on my download site the other day, my mother tends to make me run errands with her... every single frickin' day with the car... And the thing is, I hate driving. I'm terrified of driving... My worst fear has always been to hit a pedestrian. I could never live with myself if I could... And hitting someone's car on the road would be just as bad, the way my mind would take it. And every single time I went out on the road, before I revved up that goddam engine, these were the two things I always feared most in my mind... Every single fucking time I went out on the road, this was what I always thought of. This is why I hate driving... I'm so damn afraid of making mistakes...

... and today, I guess I pretty much learned why...

As soon as I start driving though, I forget all about hitting pedestrians by accident, or ramming cars by intersections... Because I'm not actually that bad at the actual driving part. It's pretty easy, with the roads and malls I visit...

But there's always one lingering fear that never subsides, no matter how long I drive, or how many times I take the car out for a spin... I will never, ever seem to get over my fear of parking. Why? Because I just can't fucking seem to park... On my driving certificate test, I had to back up into a spot surrounded by two cars. And in all my endless attempts to avoid those cars, I didn't realize that I was sadly about to hit the car all the way behind me. So the driving instructor obviously slammed on his side of the brakes, and basically slapped me on the head to show me what the hell was going on... And you know what I did next? In my panic, I actually tried to REVERSE more, right into that car I was already about to hit. If the driver instructor hadn't kept on the brakes, I would've had my first accident... and I never forgot it...

... that was my 'what if' scenario... that is what I always keep in the back of my mind whenever I park...

... but obviously, that wasn't godd enough... not for me... not for today anyhew...

...

I mean, how the fuck could I actually hit a car? Except for that feeling of impending doom I always have, I really wouldn't have ever thought that today was the day that I would make my first costly mistake...

... no, I didn't hit a pedestrian... and thank God I didn't hit a moving car or anything...

... but parking... it's always about the goddam parking... and I just feel so damn bad about it, that it's killing me inside...

It seemed like a perfect parking job at first, the kind of which I've been doing for weeks now. I would line up in the center of the road, pull a 90 degree turn and end up right into the middle of the parking spot... But I don't know what went wrong today. Was I not in the middle of the road or some crap like that? Was it because the car parked to the right of me was too damn close to its yellow line... or the fucking yellow streak down my back?... I can make all the excuses I want. And it's true, that the Honda Civic next to me was only about an inch away from being parked illegally...

... but the fact of the matter is, I didn't notice. Not even once did I goddam notice... I just kept parking my merry ass way, oblivious to every fucking thing around me... it was sad actually - I was watching the side of my car, actually telling myself that I wasn't going to hit anything... never once noticing for one damn moment, that the edge of my car was getting too damn close to the goddam Civic in front of me...

... I was staring... I was checking... so how the fuck could I have never once noticed?...

... I got too close to the Civic... even when reaffirming to myself that everything was safe, I got too fucking close to the Civic...

... and I hit... it didn't feel like much, but I hit...

... and you know what really disappoints me? That I panicked... I didn't slam on the brakes or anything. I just sort of froze there... and let the car keep turning... my little hit became three more little hits... and then I had parked into my space, still petrified and paralyzed in paranoia...

I checked my spot. I was dead in the center of the parking spot, like I always expected to be. And it's true, that the Honda Civic was too close to the edge of its parking space for comfort...

... but then I saw the end results of my goddam arrogance and goddam road colour blindness...

On a $30,000 Honda Civic, a car that was sporting a spoiler and a fresh coat of paint... I had left a white, two inch long scratch on it... and all I could do was hide...

I can try to justify it as much as I want to myself... The car was silver, and the scratch was white. If the Sun wasn't shining so damn brightly, I wouldn't have even noticed the scratch myself... And the scratch was so damn thin, that it was even less noticeable than if some jackass had keyed the guy's car. A jackass like me, at least... I bet the driver didn't even notice that the scratch was there until long after he left...

... he was gone by the time I checked for his car again... I don't know how he reacted, if he ever reacted at all...

... but he will... that's all that really matters... he'll be pissed as hell, with no-one real enough to blame... and it's all my fucking fault...

Because it doesn't matter how invisible the scratch was or not. The fact is, the Honda Civic had an absolutely perfect paint job right until I ruined it... There was not a single scratch on the damn car before I showed up. And now there was this two inch long ass of a thing, just completely ruining the life of who I'm sure was a car fanatic in the end...

I could tell this person loved his car... Why else would the paint job be so freshly coated and washed? Why else would the spoiler and the whole design of the car be so sleek? It was a fucking Honda Civic for Christ's sakes - I don't know any guy who drives a Civic that wouldn't kill with his bare hands the person who scratched his car...

I didn't know what to do... in panic, I froze... I just sat in my car and closed my eyes, wishing that my stupid ass mistake had never really happened in the first place... but wishes just never come true...

... I didn't know what to do... and that's when my mom made the decision for me...

...

I should've left a note, goddammit.

I don't know what eats me up more inside. The fact that I was careless enough to hit somebody's fucking brand new Honda Civic... or that in sheer terror, I followed my mom's advice, checked that nobody saw the accident, and then drove away to park in some faraway spot...

... that's right... I'm a fucking coward...

... I'm a fucking criminal as well...

... hit and fucking run...

... what the fuck was I thinking?...

I wasn't thinking at all... that was the problem... I didn't know what to do, so my mom made the decision for me...

If I had left a note, my insurance would've gone through the roof. I'm already paying an arm and leg just for the ability to drive a car I simply don't want to drive... And if I was right about the person who owns the car I hit, he would've punched a hole right through my gut and made me his goddam bitch, no matter how invisible the scratch may have been... He would've owned my ass, and charged me like a thousand fucking dollars for all I know. And I knew I couldn't do that to my mom... I would pay whatever the costs may be, but I just couldn't do that to our insurance rates...

... so I ran... I parked all the way across the parking lot from the guy... I didn't know what else to do...

... at the time, I didn't think it was my call...

... but I was wrong... it was my fucking call to make...

... I've done some questionable things over this past year. Like getting a doctor's note for failed exams when I was never actually sick... Now, I can justify my actions all I want. Because it's not like half of my engineering class hasn't faked a doctor's note or fifty of them in my goddam hardass university... and it's not like nobody ever makes a mistake and runs away from it... Hell, in fear and in solemn hope for solice, I just called my brother. Turns out, he hit a bike a long time ago when he was first driving. He probably ran from the scene, otherwise somebody else in our family would've heard about it... He reassured me that everyone makes a driving mistake. And almost everyone in panic flees the scene of the crime, the first time at least, as long as they can get away with it...

... but so what, right? So what if everyone does it... so what if the scratch was barely noticeable without that glint of a bint of a ray of sunshine shining on my ass...

... the fact is... I hit a car... and I ran...

... and even if I don't pay for it with a fine... even if I don't pay for it with insurance costs... even if I don't pay for it, with a fucking fist through my face...

... I'm still paying for it out of fear... what if someone saw me, and wrote down my license plate number?...

... I'm still paying for it out of stupidity... how the fuck could I have ever been fucking careless enough to hit a car?...

... and I'm definitely, ever most definitely paying for it out of guilt... if a goddam "what if" scenario could haunt me for two bloody hell years, I think actually hitting a motherfucking expensive car will bleed my eyes dry until the fucking day I die...

I can never let any of my mistakes go... and hitting a car was bad enough... but running away from it?...

... my God... What have I done?... What have I become?...

...

... next time it happens... well, I'll make sure it never happens again. I'll almost never, ever park between two cars again... and if I'm ever forced to? I'll make sure to stop halfway through the turn, back-up, and straighten my ass out before I ever scratch another fucking car again... I'll never let it happen again. Not if my goddam conscience can do anything about it...

But what if it ever happens again?... I guess a person really can't know, whether they're a man of their word or not... not until you're actually pitted into the situation...

But right now... I swear that I'll leave a note... I swear that I'll live up to my promises, and actually take fucking responsibility for what I have done... for what I have failed to do... I just can't live with myself if I ever ran again...

... insurance rates are a bitch... and a bitch, squeezing the life out of my cock until all that's left is one dried up prune, is quite a bitch in itself...

... but this guilt I feel? The wrath I fear?...

... fuck... I'm even afraid of someone reading this update of mine and fucking reporting it to the cops...

... now that's fucking paranoid...

... shit... I'm in so much shit right now, it's not even funny...

... not to me, at least...

... I certainly ain't laughing... I certainly ain't proud...

...

... my God, no matter of money is worth all this...

... I mean, if I ever did again, what I did today?...

... doesn't matter if everyone does it...

... doesn't matter if there's six or more dents on my own car that still remain unexplained...

... all that matters... is how I feel...

... all that really matters... is how I fear...

... and if I ever did again, what I fucking did today?...

... I honestly don't know how I could live with myself...

... not again... please, not ever...

Y2kk Update: Ah... the summer fling...

... well, it would be a summer fling, if any sort of fling were involved...

... sorry to say, it's just another crush... just another breeze... but it's a crush that always comes back to haunt and woo me each and every damn summer of the decade...

I mean, it's not like anyone ever reads this MSN website of mine. Hell, even I don't read this goddam website of mine... But if anyone ever did, they'd know that there's this girl in Vancouver that I've been attracted to since I could even first remember her name... She's the daughter of my mother's best friend. And since we Chinese always call anyone older than us either "auntie" or "uncle", for the longest time when I was young, I actually thought this auntie of mine was a real aunt... and naturally, I'd just assume that the girl I had a crush on, even at the tender age of 10, was my blood related cousin... of course...

... I didn't really mind incest back then... so thank God this girl ended up not being my cousin in the end... otherwise I might have to beat myself to death with sticks, but I digress...

... still... I've known her for a very long time, and yet I still don't know her... you know?... She comes to visit us once or twice a year. And everytime she does, all we do is share pleasantries as I google her skin and wish I was there... and then she leaves, and I forget about her until the next damn summer...

Well, it was that time of year again. She came over to Toronto for her requisite dinner with us. And truth be told, she wasn't quite the same as she was before... Last year, I had to sleep with her. Meaning, we stayed in their house, so I got to dream of fondling her in those girlie pyjamas I seem to always have sick fetishes about... And the glasses? Oh, why the hell do I have a thing for glasses? Even Chinese cliche ones... as long as they're on girls at least...

Well, this "cousin" of mine just didn't look the same to me this year... She didn't wear those glasses I loved. She had goddam contacts instead... And of course, she wasn't wearing those cute ass panties and pyjamas I drooled all over last summer. Instead, she was wearing a tight T-shirt that would've turned me on, if any other girl on the face of the planet were wearing it... But damn, I've seen her at her absolute, most adorable, most irresistible, cutest ass best before. And unfortunately, this just wasn't it... And there was also something wrong with her smile, you know? She just didn't seem to care about me. That was probably the biggest problem... the whole ignoring me bit...

... yeah, that's one damn thing I've never been able to stand about this one and only Chinese fling of a crush of mine... her goddam infatuation with Chinese FOBs from Hong Kong... It seems she only pays attentions to guys with overly greasy bodies, blonde highlights, and tight, white T-shirts that reveal far too much of the shrimpy Chinese chest for me to ever hold my goddam brunch in...

Alas, she likes FOBs. She likes real Chinese, not white-watered down versions like me... And alas, I simply can't stand real Chinese. Hell, I especially can't stand Chinese who stand real Chinese... I guess I've got some real issues to work out there...

... but sigh... even without the glasses... even without the pyjamas... and even without that inocolent, innocent smile of hers... even without the kind of geeky, nail-nibbling overbite I fell in love with last year... well...

... her skin? It was still so nice and pure... so succulent... so silky, milky, salivating and sweet... just shimmering on her arms, begging to be caressed...

... her nose?... so shiny and smooth, like the most supple of succulent buttons...

... and oh, her scent... I don't know why I seem to have a fetish for this, but I just can never get past the fragrant-like, baby-like (yes, baby-like) aroma she would grace across the dinner table... She smelled better than the food. More moist and wet and appetizing at least, even without her usual morsel of a smile...

... and her hair?... oh, her face...

... she has the kind of angelic face that just lets you know... somehow just lets you feel... that if only you could feel her... if only you could taste her... she'd enjoy it... she'd crave it... she'd beg for it... she wouldn't be able to control it... she wouldn't be able to contain it... to hold it back, to hold it in... the grins, the groans, the wails, the flails, the gasps, the screams, the orgasms 'till her writhing body can burn no more... and every time her loins implode as she weeps for more, I would be the one to feel the calm.... I could already taste the warmth, her sweet fragrance in my mouth, just from the sight of her perfectly angelic face...

... sigh... dare to dream, I always say... and even without the fetishes, even without the flashes, I sure as hell was last night...

Yeah, I still have a crush on this girl. The girl I knew, before I even knew what a crush was. Yet I've never really known her, you know?... And every damn year, the same damn thing happens. She comes over, looks all appealing and tantalizing to my desperate sexless of a life, and then ignores me for all the damn FOBs in the world we meet in restaurants, streets, and even goddam gas stations... pimping and pumping herself off, yet never even once ever thinking about dating a guy... Flirting with every single male, yet never once considering one for a mate... It's not just her devout Christianity that holds her back. It's actually her moral character as well... her family character at least...

... yeah, I seem to always have a hankering for girls I can never have...

... I also seem to have a thing, for girls I think I know but absolutely know nothing about...

... after ten years of knowing her or some crap like that? All I do know about her, is that with her panties on, her virgin loins sure seem like they scream out to be fucked 'till she groans... And her skin? So plush and smooth, it almost makes me go mad to never hold her... her cheeks, her curves, her fingers, her moans... Her entire body as a whole, just aches and breaks and cries to be held... or so her come hither lips foretold...

... and oh, almost forgot... she doesn't care for me...

... and then she leaves... and the cycle repeats. Rinse, watch, wash, and repeat... each and every fucking year, like the tease she is...

She comes, I grope, she leaves, I gripe... That about sums it up, now doesn't it?

... eh, I think I'll always have a thing for her. Like a sidedish to go along with my full course meal of an obsession... Every year she comes and goes. Never cums and O's, but oh, I digress... She's a good girl. And that's probably why I shall always take a liking to her whenever she comes... in the solemn hope that she stays, one fine day... dare to dream, I always say...

... perchance to dream... yes, I still dream...

... because she's a girl, that my parents would actually want me to be with...

... I'm just not sure if I would want to be with her or not... she's too old and too damn pure of heart for me...

... but damn, is she cute...

... too Chinese for me, and not demoralizing enough to obsess about... but damn, is she ever damn cute...

Y2kk Update: Okay... honestly...

What the hell is the matter with me? Honestly, who throws a shoe? Honestly...

...

... the thing is, I just spent the entire last few days, pining and whining and goddam watching chick flick, romantic comedies for God knows what reasons... From When Harry Met Sally to You've Got Mail, I've sat through them all, embarrassingly so might I add... and the saddest part of it all, is that I really don't know why...

... but I do know how it all started...

...

I rented Fifty First Dates on Tuesday (starring Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore in their comeback roles, so to speak). And throughout the course of the movie? At times, I even thought the film was as terribly painful to watch as Mr. Deeds... So many of the jokes fell flat, so many of the characters felt forced, and even some of the romance was too damn sappy for my ears to take without bleeding (especially considering how subtle all the romantic twinges were in The Wedding Singer... which I also bought today out of nostalgia, mind you...)...

... but the thing is, just like with some of my favourite movies of all time?... when the ending to the film was finally finished, and I was all ready to give the film a negative review to my friends and such?... I just don't know how it happens. I just don't know why it happens. But sometimes, just sometimes... and just this time... this one damn time... for this one damn film?...

... I just felt so sad at the end...

... I just felt so empty...

... and I was so damn compelled to figure out why...

...

... so I watched the movie again. And then I watched the movie yet again. It was the first ever time I can recall watching a rental movie three damn times in a single day, and the thing is... the more I watched the film, the more I fell in love with it... I mean, just like with Groundhog Day, there were just so many intricate reasons (in even the basic premise of the film), that truly defined Fifty First Dates as a real guy kind of romantic comedy, the type of which I adore as lore... First of all, you have the archetype of the ultimate 'player'. And just like with so many guy fantasies out there, the guy doesn't really have to change himself to please the girl in the film. In fact, his ability to make women fall in love with him in a single day is what makes him perfect for the woman that he loves. He's perfect for her, she's perfect for him, and there's no need to ever ruin that chemistry... Second, the movie plays off of our giddy hopes that the woman will never change in a relationship, that the chemistry there at the start will never vanish. Drew Barrymore's character was so damn enticing and so damn provocative (at least subconsciously) because of her tragic condition. She would never really change in her relationship with Adam Sandler, and she'll never really want him to change either... Third, the movie definitely plays on my dreams like a fiddle, that I would indeed be the high fidelity of family fidelity. I simply cherished how dedicated Sandler was to Barrymore in the film. He'd do anything for her, and I can only dream of someday doing the same. To change, without ever changing who you are, for the one and only one you love... And hell, the movie even preys on humanity's goddam weakness for the goddam ridiculous notion of reincarnation. Each and every day, Drew Barrymore was essentially born anew again, with a completely clean slate (like a new life) except for her feelings. And goddammit, somehow it touched me so damn much, to the goddam bone of the heart as a matter of fact (...?...), that the bond shared between her and Adam Sandler transcended even human experience. She deeply loved him, deep in the subconscious. And as a science geek, that was perhaps the most beautiful thing ever written... since A Beautiful Mind, at least... And at first, I hated the ending to the film, believing that it was just too damn sad and too damn meaningless that she would never regain her memory, no matter how long her love lasts (plus, her children will probably grow up to be really messed up...). But you see? That's exactly why I ended up loving this film as much as I did in the end (the love part, not the messed up children part...)... because truth be told, deep down inside, I honestly do believe that love can only come hand in hand with pain and punishment. I can only believe you can feel the magic in a touch, if that touch was forged by the willows and morrows of sorrow... and while I'm at it, I sure am a goddam glutton for goddam tragic endings...

... heh... no wonder I still hold onto my obsession...

...

The thing is... if you read my MSN update from last week, you'd realize that I was finally going through that extra horny-bunny kind of period that I always go through come Spring. Or at least, I was reliving puberty last week, it seemed... and I was this week too, right up until I watched Fifty First Dates for the third damn time. And then like a Mack truck, something just hit me... something just snapped in me... something just twinged, and hell, became unhinged...

Fucknabbit.

I became a girl...

Fuck...

I started watching Romantic Comedies left and right! I started daydreaming of finding romance in the streets, of being the perfect man, of being able to say all those extra cheesy lines that Adam Sandler gets to say in the movies, without ever being slapped in the face for saying it... and dammit, I felt completely goddam embarrassed for what I whorishly wrote last week. I really did... half because I knew I'd never find a woman if I all I wanted was a nympho. And half because... well...

... every man wants a nympho... but I want a nympho, that I can truly hold and love...

... no, wait... I don't even really want a nympho... I just want someone to hold right now, that's all...

Last week's update was shallow, even for me... So often I try to convince myself to be realistic with the world, to try to fit in with the modern times... but I'm just not that kind of man. I'm not even the kind of man who counts as a man (if that sounds good to say...)... but rather...

I'm the kind of man, who dreams of becoming a better man for a woman...

... and hell, to prove it to myself, I even actually dreamed it the morning after I watched Fifty First Dates...

... a free morning rental for myself, so to speak...

...

... the burning waking Sun woke me up that morning. I don't know how the sunlight penetrates every goddam window blind that I put up on my windows, but it always manages to do so... and no matter where I put my bed in the room, the Sun always still manages to goddam land directly on my face, to blind me away and choke me back to sleep every single goddam morning, a thousand times fold...

... and well, the Sun did both on Wednesday morning, blinding me and choking me, just to see me snap... it was seven in the goddam morning when I checked my alarm clock, so I just gave the middle finger to Helios up there, and did my best to go back to sleep... but alas, the fucking burning Sun just had to have the last laugh... obviously, I couldn't fall completely back to sleep with the Sun still blinding my eyes with goddam orange tang. And yet I couldn't wake up - not after going to sleep at 3 in the morning the night before, from watching Fifty First Dates for the third friggin' time of course...

... and my mind wandered... I pandered for a wandering, like a goddam lazy panda bear...

... so was I awake, or was I asleep? Probably a bit of both. The best of both worlds. I could feel myself as if I were conscious in my dream that morning, but I wasn't in control of the dream, you know?... and it wasn't an abstract dream - it was more like a daydream with a mind of its own. And in a sense... it was the closest sense I could ever goddam feel to euphoria... it was the kind of dream that you just don't want to let go...

... let go...

... let her go?...

... heh... my dream was a perfect melange of conscious Romanticism desire, and subconscious softcore porn... and I still miss it... my dream - the idea of the dream... the idea of a better life, I mean...

...

... it started out in a coffee shop, where I was sitting at a table reading a newspaper, and I saw my high school obsession just sitting alone at a table of her own, staring out at the windows as if she were waiting for someone else to show... so obviously, considering I consciously was still infatuated with her, I walked right up to her table and just said hello... and she said hello back... we paused for a moment... I didn't know what to do at first...

I final.ly sat down at the table, and we started talking. I started reminiscing about the good ol' days, about what happened in high school and crap like that. But it seemed like she didn't even have a clue what I was talking about... she just sort of gave me a confused look, as if she was thinking to herself that she knew that she should've been familiar with the memories I was refreshing, but she just couldn't remember any of them... Eventually, we somehow got on the topic of the story of 'us' in high school... and to my embarrassment (and to my bitter harassment), that was what she seemed to remember on that coffee time kind of morning... she stared deeply into my eyes then and there, and clearly admitted that she knew I was in love with her in high school. That it was clear-as-mud obvious. That she even saw me standing there, waiting to dance with her on our prom night, only to keep waiting for that one first dance even to this day... As I just sat there dumbfounded, without knowing what to say back, she just kept staring in my eyes and almost scolded me, that she wished that I could've just asked her to dance that moght... a what if scenario, if you will... and as I still just sat there stupefied in a petrified sort of senseless state, she softly just whispered to me goodbye, got up from the table, and began to leave... in panic, and in bitter regret over what happened at our high school prom, I softly whispered back to her, "I still love you. I do love you"... She sort of stopped walking for a second, tilted her head in sorrowful acknowledgment, and walked right out of the door... I bowed my head in silence... I didn't see her for the rest of the day...

The dream then sort of just progressed onto the following morning, when I somehow ran into her father in the neighbourhood. He pulled me over by the collar and forced my ass to sit down and listen to him on a cold hard ass rock... He told me something that even in my dream state, I knew was pretty much right out of the movies... but I didn't really care, because it was about his daughter...

... he told me that his daughter was in car accident a month before. Before the accident, she had a constant fear of dying in a car crash... but even since her fear finally came true, she couldn't even remember being afraid of it in the first place... she couldn't even remember the accident...

... it seemed, my obsession suffered severe brain damage, and had a form of foggy amnesia that she could never fully recover from. She could barely remember anything from her past sans name and family, and she nearly forgets everything that happens to her in a day when she goes to sleep for the night (ala Fifty First Dates)...

... but her dad also revealed to me something that I somehow felt was coming, if only because I knew that I had heard it all before... it turned out that her daughter could still remember every single detail of her encounter with me in the coffeeshop the morning before. He told me that she even remembers every single conversation we've ever had in high school. And he told me, that often she says she misses me, even though we never really knew each other back then... Her father didn't understand why her daughter could only vividly remember memories with me in it, but quite frankly, he didn't really care. All he did care about, was that I and I alone could help her regain her life... He asked me to move into their house by the lake and woods with his daughter (sort of like a cottage... there was a boat in the back...). He wanted me to be by her side for every single minute of the day... He wanted me to be her guide. He want me to be her friend.

Her love.

... he said he knew I loved her...

... and that's why I agreed...

... I moved into their small, little cottage that very afternoon...

...

... I forget what my obsession and mine's first conversation in her home and room was all about, but I'm pretty sure it once again had to do with that fateful night of what-ifs of mine... of if only I had just asked her to dance...

I tried talking to her about other stuff to change the subject, hoping that my voice would help rekindle some of her lost memories. I tried talking about politics, I tried talking about movies, I tried talking about even her old circle of friends and the guys she dated in university, but she couldn't remember anything from her past life. She just couldn't remember anything else than what she did with me... and when I mentioned that I was so afraid that she was a nympho with the guys at her university, she revealed to me that she knows I've never had a girlfriend, and she just can't remember what it feels like to have a first kiss...

... at first I froze up, not knowing what to do or say... and I was just about to panic, when she just gently touched my hand to hers...

... it felt so soft... so delicate... so fragile... so magical... that I simply forgot why I was scared...

... and then she kissed me... ever so softly, on the lips, she kissed me...

... and I remember thinking to myself, even if this was just a dream, I never want the feeling to end...

... so I kissed her back, ever so gently... and I could actually feel her smile on my lips as I did...

... we continued kissing as we fell onto her bed... I started caressing her breasts... she started moaning, desire begging in her eyes...

... we then stopped for a second... just stared deeply into each others eyes, as if we could feel what the other desperately wanted...

We wanted each other.

... and then we made love... all night long, we made love... she didn't want to fall asleep, in fear that she would forgot all over again her first kiss... but eventually we did fall asleep, in each others' arms and embrace in the pale moonlight...

...

... as I woke up in the next morning of my dream, I opened my eyes, saw how brightly my obsession glowed with the morning sunshine, and simply smiled a shy, tender grin... as I kissed her gently on the forehead, I asked her how much she remembered... she said everything - the kiss, the love, the warmth... her breasts against my bare chest felt like pure ectasy wrapped in tender silk, and I just couldn't help myself... I just couldn't help but stare in her eyes once more, and as if her eyes could nod, I made love to her again, in the bask of the red morning glow...

The dream then shifted to a scene in a cold, blue doctor's office. The male doctor (who looked much like her father) was checking out some X-rays or MRI scans of her brain, and came back to us with a prognosis I definitely did not care for... He told us that her condition wasn't improving, that she would possibly never gain back her old memories or the ability to form new ones. He also told us why she seems to remember every single second she spends with me... While every single other part of her brain was damaged in the car crash, the one tiny part of her brain that stored her memories of me in high school somehow remained intact. And with the rest of her brain no longer needing the support, all the blood and hormones of her body were constantly rushing to this one isolated part of her brain dedicated to me...

He told us that she didn't really love me. He told us that I don't actually make her happy. She only feels the way she does now, because of a chemical imbalance in her brain... No matter how stupid I act, she would always love and laugh at my jokes. No matter how callous I may be, she would always be loyal and truthful as a wife. No matter how much I absolutely suck in bed, she would always reach orgasm, and heave and dream of more in the morning...

... and then he showed me scans of my own brain...

Thanks to the accident, she had become as obsessed with me, as I was already obsessed with her...

... my part of her brain was swelling as much as her libido...

... my love for her was natural... but I could see in her eyes - she was simply terrified that her love for me was just not real...

...

... later that night, after she kissed me in tender tears, we talked... she was so unsure of herself, fearing that our relationship could be as fake as The Matrix (glad to know her memory of that god-awful movie never faded away...)... I told her that I was afraid of that as well - she never seemed to like me, let alone love me, in high school. But no matter what, I still loved her. That would never change. And I told her that even if I couldn't have her, I would still stay by her side for the rest of her life, just so that she would never forget a single memory ever again... I cared for her too much to ever let her forget...

... that's when she started crying again, in joy this time... and kissed me gently at first... then passionately... and then we made love... all night long, in each other's warm embrace...

... in the morning, she shimmered in the halo of the Sun, as she wispfully whispered in my ear that she counted 27 orgasms that night...

... obviously, I was turned on...

... I made love to her again...

...

... the dream then flash-forwarded back to the cold, hard doctor's office...

The father-looking doctor once again was checking up on the latest scans of my obsession's brain. He shook his head, almost in disapproval of us (or just me)... He told us that our relationship simply wasn't real. My obsession tried to argue, claiming that I've always loved her, and that she's always loved me. But the doctor simply shook his head and pointed back to the scans... I don't know how he deduced this, but somehow from just gazing at blobby black and white pictures, he realized that the part of her brain that was still intact didn't just hold the memories of me. It also held her old feelings for me. And while all the chemicals and hormones rushing through her synapses were producing love and lust for me now, that was not always the case...

... turns out, the scans showed that she used to hate me more than any other man... the accident had damaged her brain into producing the exact opposite effect...

... she had always been obsessed with me... turned out though, it wasn't the kind of obsession that I had with her...

... she never liked me...

... ouch...

...

... she wouldn't even kiss me that evening... she wouldn't even touch me... She asked me whether she should start taking drugs prescribed by the doctor, to help fix the chemical imbalance in her brain and revert back to whatever kind of personality she had before. She claimed she couldn't remember what she was like before remeeting me in that coffeeshop, but it was killing her inside, knowing that she may be a completely different person now than she was always meant to be...

I asked her then and there, have I made her happy?... she shed a single tear as her eyes sort of nodded for her... I asked her, why does it matter whether our love is real or not, when all I care about is whether she's happy?... that's when she finally touched my hand again, and if by magic, we made love that night... I don't think I ever let go of her hand...

... in the morning, she smiled as the Sun graced her face... she said she had 38 orgasms last night... of course, I beamed...

... but she wouldn't make love to me that morning, no matter how much she wanted it...

... she sat up...

... she told me she had decided to take the drugs, to bring back her old personality. She wanted a life that was real. She wanted to know who she was. She wanted to know she was real. She wanted to know we were real...

... I sighed in subtle desolation... all I could do was sigh... all I could do, was close my eyes as my heart broke in two...

... I then gulped and took a deep breath... I took her hand, one last time, and promised her that even if she starts hating me again, I will never ever leave her side. I would never let her forget a single memory ever again, even if it meant sacrificing everything for a woman who wanted nothing to do with me... I loved her, and that would never change, even if she never loved me... She smiled at my promise, but she also looked sad... I was terrified that she was going to tell me that I deserved my own life, that I have to let her live hers... I was scared that it was over...

... I so wanted her to be happy... but she was choosing reality over happiness, to make herself happy...

... she opened her mouth... she gulped... she sighed... she was about to say something...

... I began to panic... I let go of her hand...

... and...

... well...

...

... that's when my goddam alarm clock went off...

... fucking 9 am in the morning... motherfucking alarm clock...

... what the fuck? Motherfucker...

...

... we all have dreams from time to time, that fulfill our desires so much to the point, that we literally hear our hearts snap in two as the memory of the dream begins to fade away in the morning... I've never known such a loss of bliss, of the dreadful feeling in my gut when I realize that it was all just a dream... not since I never asked my obsession out to dance that god-awful, fateful night, that is... yes, I know - I always have dreams that make me horny. I always have dreams that make me wet. But there have only been a select few, ever rare and ever after dreams that I've had, where I wake up smiling as if it were real... as if I wish fantasy were real... as if I'd give anything, to make my dream real...

... I mean honestly, this dream had it all... let's take a quick analysis, shall we?

It had the classic girl-never-changes scenario. I could love her forever, because she had been changed just for me forever. It's completely selfish and quite disturbing to want a girl to be brain damaged, just so she could be perfect for me, and I could be perfect for her. But the idea of fate, of destiny - it's so alluring. It's the foundation of all dreams... I was the only one in the entire world that could satisfy her emotionally, spiritually, and physically. I could completely trust her, because she completed confided in me... My dream dealt with the idea of true love, that there was only one person in the entire world for me, and the only one person I've ever felt I've ever loved turned out to be the one and only girl for me... the girl of my dreams... My dream even dealt with Oedipal fears. I didn't make any moves until the father figure gave me his approval, and it was only because of the doctor's interference that my dreams of leading a perfectly happy life with my obsession were shattered... I fell in love with this dream, because like all of my favourite dreams, it was the girl who made the first move on me. It was the girl who first showed me how to love, so that I could learn how to love her in return. And from that moment on, I would love her like no other, if only so she would hold my hand just one more time... And the ending?... Such a tragic, bitter pill of an ending. And hell, I'll never really know how it'll ever after end... Will she stop taking the drugs, just to fall in love with me again? Would she still love me, even after taking the drugs? Or will reality rule over fantasy, and just like in real life, I would pine over her for eternity, for desolute destiny, while she completely goes on with her life, never even noticing me, as if I was never there...

... do I even exist? Why must this be real?...

... oh, the irony... the perfect dream, becomes the perfect, painful reality... the high fidelity of languish...

... such a smile, brings the purist forms of agonies... such sunlight, begets such sweet sorrow...

...

... it's been two whole days since I've had this dream, and all I've ever thought about since then, has been this one damn dream of mine... the idea of a perfect dream, and the dream of a perfect woman... and that's why I've been watching all these goddam romantic comedies of mine. Because I've been trying to reproduce the feeling I got while watching Fifty First Dates, even to the point of having a dream that borders on copyright infringement... I've been so direly, desperately trying to regain the feeling I had when I had this dream... but to no avail... all to no avail...

Dare to dream, I always say... and I paid for it...

I really think I need an advil...

...

It's gone. It's lost. It feels like it was never there.

Yet I hold onto it with dear life. I think about it morning to night...

... so yeah... heh... I can definitely say I'm obsessed with her...

... truly the definition of the word...

... because you know what?...

... all the 'perfect' dreams that I have?...

... they're always about her...

... I think... I'm sure...

... never really about anyone else...

... they're always about her...

... and they all started that one damn day, that I actually did hold her hand...

... just for a second... I held her hand for a science experiment, just for one second... one damn second...

... pathetic, I know...

... but we just kind of froze there in time... felt like the moment would never end... and yet it did... somehow, it did...

... but I don't think I ever actually let go...

...

... let go?

... let her go?...

... I just don't know why, but...

... I wish I could, but...

... I just can't...

... best viewed in Netscape 3 (w/o javascipt on) at 800 x 600 resolution and 256 colours, because that's what I run at ...