Distance

Hmm. Long time. Things are so-so over here. Some developments, but mostly just plateauing. Was chatting with Adde, who has become a staple in my long-distance love life, joining the ranks of, well, Khui.

Not that distance matters, as I’ve mulled over with Adde. I keep telling people I find comfort in distance, but I think it’s misplaced. The people I feel closest to just all happen to be far away. So distance is irrelevant, really. It’s just a coincidence.

And proximity doesn’t necessarily get you any closer to those who might intrigue you, however superficially. Take my anonymous crush. Curiosity had bitten Adde at my brief mention and his questions signalled that my enigmatic one-liners simply would not do: “Smart, nice, cute? Tight butt? Jet black eyes? In league with the forces of darkness?” I sure as hell hope so, I’d responded.

But the anonymous crush has become an urban legend of sorts.

One night, he’d stood in front of my table at my bar (let’s call it Shortbus) for the entire duration of a performance. Packed room, see. We made eye contact of the noteworthy sort (I think) just once. But I was surrounded by 6′ tall guys (Din on one side, my brother on the other) and he by relatives (he was there to support his cousin who was on stage). So no further contact was initiated.

At least, not directly.

We know cutie’s gay uncle is a regular here, so Din and another guy friend called him over to inquire about prospects. Without my bloody permission. Gay uncle was, of course, curious as to who was asking. (Remember, no assumptions here. Plus, the other guy asking is also gay.) As my intervention-happy friends turned gleefully to me, I snapped: “Din.” Din is straight, of course.

To my vitriolic delight, gay uncle exploited this newfound knowledge as an indicator of Din’s orientation and availability… for himself. (For the next few weeks, Din attempted to woo me into becoming his bar girlfriend, if only to keep him at bay. Not that gay uncle would be so petty, I’m sure, but the thought has probably not crossed Din’s mind.)

Anyway, that was pretty much it for my anonymous crush. With such a shallow point of connection, even I know it was a purely aesthetic thing — he had powerful arms and was dressed like a dirty backpacker, too cool to care and all that. I vaguely remember sexy eyes and cheekbones too, but to be honest, I’ve sort of forgotten what he looks like.

What’s tantalizing about this urban legend of mine is that he’s technically within reach (via gay uncle) but also technically out of reach because, you know, that would be stalking. So, yes, it’s the intrigue that keeps me going, the idea of this man that I’ll, in all likelihood, never see again. Because I think the people who are here, next to me — I should be ashamed to say this, I suppose — there’s no mystery to them anymore. No secrets to unlock.

I’m also using the urban legend to keep Din at bay. We’ve turned our platonic dinner and movie “dates” into a weekly event and I’d hoped to develop a new model (purely for my own reference) out of our relationship — the guy I go out with without going out with. But his laughing attempts of late to get me to be his conditional girlfriend (and his repeated insistence that urban legend must be gay) are rather transparent. He’s a decent guy, tall, good-looking, architect by profession, idealistic tendencies under restraint. Marriage material for someone, someday. But no spark. No intrigue.

As Adde might say, the forces of darkness passed him over.