Singapore: Day Nine

Day Nine:

Too many days.

A drearily long subway trip to the zoo, which is closing, and the night safari, which is dicey as rain looms on the horizon. We decide to postpone the trip until Tuesday, the night before we leave.

Akira talks about moving to Singapore, how his family would protest the move, and he watches me carefully as he talks about this, as he does whenever he talks about his wife and children, the part of his life that I am not privy to.

I think: I’m finished with this. I don’t care to know it, and that lack of desire to know spells some end to a lack of desire for him in general. I have realized how unreal any of this is, and how silly somehow. In the quest to assemble some relevant life, I’ve failed in this area. I haven’t the faintest idea what kind of person takes the idea of love so seriously that marriage and children would seem to be a reasonable course of action. I’m not prepared to give up on myself just yet--not prepared to give up my life to another person or people, a husband, children, in-laws. But it’s difficult to disgorge this idea.

Eleven days in a hotel room in Singapore with a married man hasn’t changed my mind about anything I’ve done or haven’t done in my life. It’s true that I’ve floundered around, aimless. I have done nothing relevant or lasting.

Akira writes me a note.

Hi darling,

I’m bit worried about you, because you were tired today. You should get some sleep.

I’ve enjoid today, even we did not go to the zoo. I could spend the time with you in a train, bus, on the street. What is the most happiest thing is that I could feel you all day, touching your body, face, hair and your hands. All moments I could feel you.

Thank you for giving a nice day darling! I love you.

Your,
mono

He is most comfortable when he is worried about me. And he has been worried recently, as I have been. I feel tired. He has diarrhea. We are like an old married couple. I don’t feel like being anyone’s squeeze. I don’t care to dress up, put on makeup, wear heels or dresses. I’m not trying to compete with the hyper-feminine Japanese child-women that I once lived amongst in some other lifetime.