Mooning

I've been adrift. I've been floating. I've been gliding as I walk in the rain.

I found myself spending some minutes with my forehead crumpled up, staring hard and long at an almost indecipherable mustard stain of my newly washed muji sweatshirt from a bradswurth hotdog I had with C aka ex-house guest at Portobello Market the morning before I started settling down to write this. That was two weekends ago.

The trees in the park are still bear but the grass is greener then ever and bursting with random spurts of blooms. The trees lining the path towards Portobello Market are sweet with the sight of pink blossoms. The smell of an early spring is in the air. Things are in motion. But I have been mooning.

It is easy to sink into melodrama. When I have a problem dealing with multiple problems, I tend to zone out, tuck my emotions neatly in a box and store them in cold storage till I am ready to deal with them. I spend some time away from people so as not to affect them while I deal with the more urgent problems at hand one at a time. Sometimes, I watch some senseless America’s Next Top Model, Grey’s Anatomy music videos on you tube, browse weather reports, read, stare at food stains and day dream to get away from it all.

Not that nothing was in motion, I finally made it down to visited PP/A/J in Seven Oaks, attended a freakish NUS Alumni Chinese New Year Lunch, visited Greenwich, said hello to deers in the deer park there, visited the Barbican for its 25th anniversary tour, attended the Riverside Studio Japanese film fest, cut my hair before it fell out, got to know my colleagues better and changed tables at work. One moment I was facing the bridge on the east and the next day I was watching the sun set over the western bridge. I still prefer the east bridge view. I even met Lord F on two late nights at work going to the print room to collect prints. Both times his black Mercedes rolled pass barely a metre in front of me and we made momentary eye contact. A lot has happened, but mainly I have been working and mooning while trying to make peace.

Sunday morning while munching on my cereal and milk, I came across an article of Sean Bean aka Boromir in The Lord of the Rings in The Guardian’s weekend magazine. He made a milk stain on my Pjs and triggered off a whole series of cloud time. I have a thing for rugged-overload-with-hyroxy-steroid-ketone-pain-of-destiny-and-tired-times-been-there-done-there-and-know-what-I want-now-types. His smirk reminded me of Tadanobu Asano too.

I’ve been feeling so worn out lately that I’ve been dreaming of settling down with my Sean Bean aka Tadanobu Asano type. We’d spend most of our time in our farm house in a quiet rural town. He would be a creative, intensely focused person and for once in my life, I could take a step back and put down the baggage. He would not have opulent taste, but would know to mix a pair of diesel jeans with an off beat Tsumori Chrisato or Comme Des Garcons shirt. I often imagine the him as a furniture maker creating objects with that pair of beautiful hands that he possessed. He wouldn’t be overly talkative but each time he spoke, he would stir my soul. I like men at work, men deep in concentration trying to get something done and no one or nothing can stop them.

Our house would look something like a barn. Large and simple, supported by wooden columns/ rafters and metal studs and I-beams to support the mezzanine level above. Large barn doors would open out towards the field beyond. The kitchen would extend to an outdoor terrace, overlooking our home grown Italian aubergines.

Every day, I would prepare his meals while he worked in the studio beside our house. I would find time after the chores and the baking of fresh bread and cakes to write more and build houses again, not because I had too, but because I wanted to. At night, we would gaze through the skylight in the bedroom on the mezzanine and watch the moon go by. His shoulder would be warm and I would be safe again.

I have it all figured out. In my head that is, right down to the colour of the original 1945 plywood Eames chair in the living space.

Right.....

On Player_'On This Life'_By Cold War Kids