Bemoaning my problems to King last night, I told him the Ex had phoned earlier that day. “She said she phoned wanting to talk about my son wanting to come or not”, I said, “but I think she really phoned to make sure I wasn’t taking a job in her city.”

He was puzzled and asked why she would have to make sure of that after I told her I won’t. “It’s complicated.” I said, “As a safety measure she firsts assumes I’m lying, but also subconsciously she knows what I will do anyway”, I offered as an explanation of how her mind works.

“You see, whether I lie or tell the truth, she will still think what she thinks, try to prove it, and even if she fails continue to think what she thinks”, I continued, “but thinking that I will go there, even though I tell her I won’t, is actually a good way for her to get used to the idea.”

Which is true. Secretly, I think, she knows I just want to be close to my son, she knows she can’t stop me to live in her city and she can’t really execute her threats of leaving either. She has too much there to just pack up and go. She’s not me, after all.

That didn’t stop her phoning me and going off about it again though. This afternoon, my phone rang. I saw it was her number, and knew why she phoned me.

“Why do I have this feeling that you’re going to come work here?” was her greeting and fulfillment of my prophecy to King. “I don’t know, why do you?” I asked innocently.

“Because of how you answered me last night.” She was referring to our conversation where I had not directly said ‘no’ when she asked me whether or not I was going to come work there.

I have to admit, my lying needs work. It’s never been very good. Ever since childhood, people who know me would be able to tell from my face when I was lying. It’s in my voice too. I actually mostly gave up lying, because often my truth is so hard to believe that it’s as effective as lying.

“So”, I said, avoiding a direct answer again, “what is the issue if I did come to work there?” This is one she hasn’t been able to answer directly. “Because I’m here!” I didn’t feel like what I knew what was coming. “This place is too small, why are you so selfish!?”

Explaining how it’s actually her being selfish would have been fun, because, damn, she gets worked up about this issue. I avoided it though, not feeling particularly sarcastic or sadistic.

“But your other boyfriends are there, why don’t they bother you?” Her longest boyfriend was of 7 years, so I don’t even come close to that. “Because”, she says sounding like the rain pouring down at height of the monsoon season, “we were married and you’re going to come here and mess up my life!!”. I persisted, not having obtained a real answer, “Yes, but how do you think I will do that?”

She continued articulating much the same words, which weren’t answers before either, at a volume unbecoming of a normal conversation. I didn’t reply, removing the phone from my ear to listen to her go on from a distance. After a minute or so, I guess, having vented, she hung up.

My intentions are noble, I hope that eventually she will realise that I just want to be close to my son.

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So, the Ex sent a message saying she asked your son if he wanted to visit you in China, and he said no, several times.

Message content:
“When r u comin 2 kk? Do u hav 2 take him to china for 2 1/2 months? I asked jarrod innocently if he wants to stay in china with u, but he said a few times no”
Sent: 22:57:16 28-05-2006

“He is 3 n understands things very well. B4 u book his ticket, mayb u should ask jarrod how he feels about it.”
Sent: 22:56:42 28-05-2006

This shows me that

• She is very reluctant to let him spend time with me away from her. Because she doesn’t trust me perhaps, or maybe for some other reason;
• She also changes her mind several times, even though she accuses me of doing the same. She might say ‘but it was Jarrod who said it, not me’;
• In order to see my son for any significant time, I will have to live in the same city with him;
• If he really means what he is saying, it means that he is quite attached to his environment, and in light of that me living there really is the only option for me seeing him and him seeing me regularly;

The Ex will say that living in KL is also an option, but she knows as I do that it will be expensive, and the she will only let him go for weekends and such.

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Last Wednesday, I broke up with K.

Or, I tried to anyway. I took the opportunity following one of our little spats, which I now realise are not spats at all, but merely a form of communication.

“I want to end it”, was my cold, clinical statement. “Fine”, she said, at that moment probably thinking I was just playing. “Ok”, I agreed, “then as of now we are not girlfriend and boyfriend anymore.”

I felt relieved for having said it, and getting it out of the way. “Are you sure? This is your last chance”, she had replied some time later, wielding what she thought was power. “Yes”, I said, not playing a game, but actually being serious. “But,” I said not wanting things to turn ugly at work, “I still want to be your friend.”

Corny, sure, but I really meant it. I mean, after all, we work in the same office and unpleasantness would cause a vibe. Besides, she’s a great woman and the reason I wanted to break up was because I’m leaving Shiyan, and I wanted to get it over with now, rather than later.

“No”, she replied, “I don’t want to be your friend”. I was a little disappointed; but only a little. “Then so be it”, I replied pretending to be the cold, unfeeling bastard.

Eventually we went backwards and forwards and I had to tell her why I wanted to break up… because I was leaving the fair city of Shiyan, never to return. She was upset. Not sure if she was upset because I wanted to break up with her, or upset because I was leaving not to come back; it boils down to the same thing, really.

After some further dialogue, she wanted me to not break up with her, but instead spend what little time we had left together, together. Fully knowing the emotional dangers of going about it in this way, I agreed nevertheless. I do love her.

Since then, it appears I have taken a lot of pressure of myself, and also our relationship. I’m not demanding anymore, I don’t expect anything from her. Yet, she has been loving and giving and have been going out more with me. On Saturday evening, she even came over to my apartment. Not sure if she was lying before, or whether she is defying her parents, but I’m seeing a lot more of her now.

In the meantime, I haven’t told my current employers about my intentions yet. I have my passport, so I know they’re not spending any money on visas and stuff. I’m in two minds about telling them.

On the one hand, I want to do the honourable thing. Especially in light of my future employer starting the offer she sent me with “I know you’re an honourable man…”. On the other hand, these people have done little more than try to connive and cheat me since the start, and I’m afraid if I do tell them of my intentions, I will loose either time or money, or both.

Sucker for the truth that I am (sometimes), I will probably go the honorable way and tell them. Maybe tomorrow. But I need to leave a few days early, and get quite a lot of money out of them in salaries and flight fees, etc. Not sure how co-operative they will be, because handing over money is not one of their favourite past-times.

The third thing on my to-do list is sort of managing itself. First, the Ex took a week and a half to ‘help’ me obtain flight prices for bringing my son back with me. So, as she would expect me to, I sent the occasional sarcastic message to underline the length of time she was taking. Eventually, she did send it though.

I was wondering how I would stall having to buy the ticket (as after her tantrum, I said that buying the ticket for him would be proof that I wasn’t coming to KK to stay), when she presented me with the answer. “Don’t buy the ticket yet”, she said in a message, “because I innocently asked your son if he wanted to go visit you in China, and he said no, several times.”

A second message arrived soon after, saying “He’s 3 years old, he understands things very well.” I wanted to get annoyed at this, but I realised that it had given me the answers to several issues, plus armed me with ammunition to justify accepting this job in the city she’s trying to ban me from. Not that I need to justify anything to her…

So, in mock anger, I haven’t replied to that message, and for now, life goes on as normal.

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“Three things”, he says sitting on the other side of the small table, looking incredibly far away considering it’s size.

I squint, but still can’t see his face. The light hanging from the ceiling has one of those wide covers, which is just high enough for the light to shine right in my eyes, but just low enough to cast a shadow on him from the neck up.

His voice is low and course, grating, painful and ugly. When he speaks it feels like when you are grating a carrot right down to the nub and manage to grate a part of your finger nail too. “Three things”, he repeats. I subconsciously touch the nail of my middle finger with my thumb, just to check that the nail is still there and in one piece.

He pushes over, with his index finger, a piece of paper with three things scribbled on it. Looks like the hand writing of badly trained monkey. His hand is red. Dull red. Like he’s been writing on a chalk board using cheap, red chalk for years without washing his hands. His hand is large and swollen, his finger short, crooked and fat. It’s dry and blistered. As ugly as his voice.

“This is the price”, he continues grating my nails on his blunt grater. I look at the paper. I knew the price would be high, but I didn’t expect this. “Come now”, he says, reading my emotions, faking an emotion of his own of which he really has no experience, “it’s not that tough, is it?”.

He knows it is.

Nearly a year an a half ago, in a moment of weakness, I had frivolously sold my soul. I thought it would buy me peace, I thought it would buy me happiness. But like everything else he might buy from you, peace and happiness was not part of the payment. Of course, this he doesn’t tell you.

“You didn’t pay attention to the fine-print?”, he asks seeing my thoughts in the moisture of my teary eyes. He mocks me with his tone of voice. “My my my. I should up the price just for teaching you such a valuable lesson too.” Valuable indeed. Painful. Gut wrenching. Nauseating. But valuable.

He laughs. Unlike when he speaks, his laughter sounds like dragging grated nails down a chalk board. The laughter continues to ring through the dark room, even though he has stopped laughing.

“Take it!”, he screams, slamming his heavy fist down on the piece of paper. Chalk dust flies off his hand and lingers in the stark rays of the bare light. An unbearable stench lingers with it. He slowly drags back his fist, as if it’s the weight of an elephant, leaving a red chalk imprint of his fist in the centre of the paper and a smudge trailing in the direction of which he is pulling it.

I slowly reach for the paper, my hand trembling as I pick it up and angle it so as to deflect some of the bright light. With my other hand I dust off some of the red chalk. It’s foul stench filling my nostrils. Rotten flesh, vomit and shit. I can’t bear it. I’m afraid it will stick to me and I will be unable to get rid of it again.

My eyes water, I have to swallow to push back the contents of my stomach which is threatening to explode in my throat and mouth. I try to focus on the three things.

“One“, it forms in my head as I manage to decipher the nearly illegible writing, “rip out her heart.” I was fearing that he’d put that on the list. I guess I was hoping it wouldn’t be the first one.

“Two“, I continue, shuddering at what I will read next. “Disappoint all of them“. Bastard! I wanted to take the easy way out and not tell anyone that I’m leaving. He’s obviously in my head and is trying to make this as unpleasant and painful as possible. My stomach churns as my eyes move on to last line.

“Three“, I tremble. My eyes can’t focus on it, my mind can’t grasp it. I struggle to remember which letters have to follow which in order to make words. I blink, squeezing my eyes long and hard, trying to dry out the tears lingering below my eye lids. I open it, everything is fuzzy. I blink quickly. It doesn’t help much.

I stare at the paper, trying to grasp the letters like a drunk driver trying to read the summons that gives permission for the cops to confiscate his car and lock him up in jail. Like a 3d stereo-gram image, the words come into focus. They stand out on the page, long spikes with sharp points piercing my eyes.

“Face the Banshee!” My mouth tastes sour, the urge to vomit is too strong to fight anymore. My soul wasn’t this valuable was it? How could this be? How could he expect me to do this? Anything, but this!

With my head lowered between my arms at the level of the table, vomit dripping from my lips, I clutch the piece of paper in both hands. My handcuffs, my restraints, the thing that stands between me and freedom. The key, so easy. Just follow the instructions. So easy. So easy.

I breathe heavily. It’s difficult to decide which emotion to pay attention too first. The utter vile, disgusting, repulsiveness of his smell; my tight knotted stomach which feels like it’s tearing my heart, lungs and liver towards it with the gravity of a black hole; or the taste of vomit in my mouth and the nausea still lingering in my throat.

I don’t move my head, but I look up at him. I still can’t see his face, but I can see the yellow-brown of his rotten teeth, glimmering in the reflected light. I guess they’re posed in what could have been a toothy grin. His pleasure; my pain. His smile; my tear. His heaven; my hell.

Beyond these instructions lie paradise. A well paid, challenging job in a idyllic location, where trees abound and fruit are plentifully. The fruit: a life spent close to my son, seeing him grow up and being there for him.

But he’s smirking. He knows what he’s offering, and he knows what I’ll have to go through to get it. He also knows that I will go through it to get it. He’s evil. He’s manipulative. He’s selfish. He’s hurtful.

He’s me.

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Last night I cried. Like an 8 year old, who after 2 months without front teeth, finally fully re-grew the permanent ones, only to fall and knock them out.

It was a deep, gut-wrenching weep, like I haven’t wept in a very, very long time. In fact, I can’t even remember when or why I last wept in such a way.

The catalyst was watching United 93. A docu-drama about what happened to United Airlines flight 93. One of 4 planes hi-jacked on September 11, the only one not to crash into a building; instead crashing into an open field. It’s a very emotional recount of what happened on that flight.

My tears flooded uncontrollably when they showed the first scene where one of the passengers, having realised they are on a suicide flight and will die, contacted his wife to share this news with her.

As emotional as it was, normally, I guess, I wouldn’t have cried like that, but it had been an emotional day.

Earlier on, I had mentioned the fact to the Ex, that if I got a job in her hometown, I would take it, in order to be close to my son. She exploded. There was screaming, shouting, swearing and lots and lots of tears. And that was just her side of the phone.

Then later on, I had a heart to heart with K, about my feelings for her, and about how I felt about how I interpreted her actions. We both shared a tear, and then when I told her how I was thinking of going to Malaysia, we shared even more tears.

Then after all those tears going backwards and forwards I went home and watched that movie. It was just too much for my soft heart to handle.

So, things with K are ok. I might have portrayed her actions in a light which doesn’t truly reflect it’s meaning. A lot gets lost in translation. I love that woman. My Blog is also slightly biast, and of course, unfairly magnifies my slightest emotion. My Blog, to an extend, is fiction writing. My emotions are interpreted and coloured with words.

But, that other woman… well, she had made me decide against going to KK, not least for the fact that she threatened to run away with my son. “Anywhere but here”, she said. “Why do you want to come ruin my life?” As if that was on my agenda.

Of course, she is the Queen of KK and nobody may trespass into her kingdom without a royal letter with the official wax seal to validate it.

I have lots of poison to spit about that one and what I think of her, but I am not one to spend too much time on the black art of flaming. Unlike her, whom I’m sure have spread all my shortcomings far and wide in her precious, self-proclaimed kingdom.

She is in firm denial that she had anything to do what so ever with our split-up. With her it is as simple as me being unsatisfied with my job, family, career and the place I was living in, and I conveniently decided to just walk out. She refuses to believe, or even think, that she had anything to do with it. It was all me and my selfish emotions. Just me. That’s it. Dead-beat bastard.

If ever I write a book, it will be about my marriage to her and her denial. But, if it doesn’t drive her to suicide, she most certainly will never, ever let me see my son again.

But I digress. I have heart palpitations, headaches, and what not - and I know it’s stress related. I need to relax a bit about the whole thing and just let fate take it’s course.

What will be will be and blah blah blah.

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