Some of you read my last post and thought that I was in love. First of all, let me assure you that I’m not in love, nor am I at the start of a lifelong relationship πŸ™‚ It’s not like that at all, and you’ll see why as you read on.

Secondly, since I promised I would try to write about the man that I can’t write about, so here goes.

I’ve thought about it and rather than attempting to describe the experience, I’d actually like to share some lessons I got from it.

I say this because this boy was much younger than me, and I’ve never dated younger men before. In fact, up until now I always preferred older men and never thought I would ever consider someone younger. Not even if he was just two minutes younger.

But this experience has been truly eye-opening. He turned out to be a much-needed shot of energy boost for me. His youthfulness was refreshingly infectious. He made me feel young and alive – like I was a school girl again πŸ™‚

We had a lot of fun and he made me laugh. What did it matter that he was a few years younger? If you were eating some delicious fries, would you stop to ask ‘How old were these potatoes?’ Of course not.

So my challenge to you is, the next time you come across a sweet & nice man, don’t worry about how old he is. Just go with the flow and forget the age thing πŸ˜‰

When I first met this boy, we hit it off straight away. We talked nonstop for over two hours, as if we’d known each other forever. At the end of the night, I excused myself to the bathroom, and as I came out, the whole gang was ready to leave. Someone had gotten the bill, and someone had taken the liberty of calling me a cab. It was all a blur and the next thing I know, I was standing at the taxi stand. The boy was also there to see me off.

I was hoping he would ask for my number, but he didn’t say anything up until this point. I was sure there was chemistry between us – it made no sense that he didn’t try to get my number.

Anyway, a cab finally pulled up, and as I opened the door, one foot stepping in, I suddenly realized I might not get to see him again. I had to do something. It was now or never. So I paused, turned back to him and mustered the courage to deliver this line “Are we never gonna see each other again?”, and with that, he smiled and proceeded to ask for my number.Β And in the middle of a busy street – while cars honked and the taxi driver yelled at me to get in – I gave him my number. The best chance I’ve ever taken, which he later thanked me for and admitted that he was shy and unsure whether the guy I came with was more than a friend (another complicated story that I won’t get into right now).

So ladies, I urge you to step out of your comfort zone and take a chance! Of course it will take some guts and there’s always a possibility of getting turned down, but it’s okay. Something great could come out of it, and even if it turns out to be nothing, at least you know you’ve tried.

From the first time we met, I knew whatever we might have would be short-lived. And no, for once it’s not because I was skeptical (even though I am). But it’s because he was leaving the country in two weeks.

It didn’t bother me at the time – he was just some cute boy I wanted to hang out with. I wasn’t going to dwell over the fact that he was leaving soon. But as we spent more and more time together, a part of me kept wishing he didn’t have to go away.

Of course he would have to leave – there was no changing that.

He asked me if I would come visit, and I responded with the most honest answer I could give.Β Je sais pas. I don’t know. I’m sure my response disappointed him, but it was more dignified than empty promises. Because even though our connection is undeniable, there was also no denying the fact that it wasn’t going to work out. We weren’t going to Skype each other everyday or plan to visit each other every few months. We both knew that.

And so I realized that sometimes life gives you the most delicious fries, without any guarantee that you’ll ever have them again. And you just have to be okay with it. I’ve learned that it takes strength to fight the urge to hold on longer.

He gave me a comforting smile, as if to say he understood. I was sad to say goodbye to my le mignon, but also proud of myself for knowing how to let go.

And there you have it, I have written two blog posts about the man I can’t write about – gotta love the irony πŸ™‚