Tuesday, January 16, 2007 || Gasing Hill
- (2nd blog post in less than two hours. Sorry lah i just suddenly felt like it)
I've always had a dream. A secret longing.
For some reason, I've always wanted to go up Gasing Hill really late at night with a guy I really like ... I don't know why Gasing Hill. I mean, all they have there are monkeys and couples making out ...
But I've always thought that it'd be really romantic to gaze at the whole of PJ together. To stare at the skies (and monkeys), our hands entwined with each other, and whispering mushy stuff to each other that nobody else will ever know about.
Last year, I REALLY wanted to go up there at night with the guy I really liked. I just knew that if there was anyone who could help me live out my perfect Gasing Hill dream, it was definitely him. But somehow, we were always so busy and things were always so complicated ... we never ended up going at all.
I always imagined that when we were up there, sitting on the benches, he'd whisper sweet nothings into my ear like he always did, wrap his arms around me like noone else would, and make me feel like he belongs to me and I to him. We'd giggle at all the chattering monkeys and peek at the couples (if any) making out and make dumb comments together.
But. The dream was not about to come true. It turned out that all the sweet nothings he whispered were REALLY nothings ... that when he wrapped his arms around me, it didn't mean much to him, not like it did to me. And the sad reality was he never belonged to me, and I probably wasn't the only girl who felt like he was my world.
All in one go, my Gasing Hill fantasy was crushed. Even though we never actually went up there and did those things. I swore that I'll never feel this way again, that I'll never let anyone creep into my life and make me want to believe in love. Not him, not anyone, not anymore.
Sunday night, I went up Gasing Hill with John and Veen. I sat on the bench and stared at the whole of PJ, watching a monkey climbing around while talking to my friends. Then it started to rain ... and I couldn't help but think, 'This would've been my perfect fantasy if he was here ...'.
But I also knew then that all the hurt was ... gone. Just like the rainwater dripping down the trees and into the earth. I don't feel the huge sense of betrayal and loss anymore. I don't feel like choking the breath out of him whenever I see him, not anymore. The 'he' I was referring to isn't him anymore.
I am definitely more cynical than the person I was before ... all the shit. But it's weird that I STILL want to go up Gasing Hill late at night with somebody that I really like, someday. And maybe we really will hold hands and talk about everything on the dirty bench. Or maybe we'll merely drink canned milo and stare at the scenary in silence.
My fantasy was destroyed once ... but it can be rebuilt, revamped and renewed. It'll be different, but it'll still be nothing short of a dream come true.
I hope.
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