The Struggle

The iconic Marina Bay Sands and a better footballer than the one mentioned in this story.
The iconic Marina Bay Sands and a better footballer than the one mentioned in this story.

‘Cause I’m waiting here much too long and don’t assume that I need your love…

Singapore I felt like I was in the middle of one of my blogs, and well, apparently I was. But this time it was supposed to be different. I mean, that’s what happens when you change your life, right? Once you decide to completely drop everything you once cared about in the hope of forging a new path, then you’re supposed to swap all your old problems for those that are shiny and new.

At first, the decision to move to Singapore was nothing new for me. Going abroad was just my way of taking care of myself, as it has always been for the past 5 years. My plan was to move here on a trial basis and see how I felt about it. No big deal. If I hated it, I’d just come home… like always. Maybe it was the fact that I had just turned 30, but as I was out for a going away (again) drink one evening at my beloved Shops at Don Mills, something hit me dead between the eyes that I’d never thought of before… “AND THEN WHAT?”  Sure, it was great that I was spontaneous enough to move around the world at the drop of a hat, but I had never actually thought of what I would do afterwards if I did, in fact, hate my international situation and want to come home.

I realized then that my trip to Singapore had to be different. If I hated my life or my job, the solution was not to come home and face the same struggles I had faced after Korea, Japan and San Francisco. It was time to go and stay gone, and figure out a way to, well, figure it all out. That was why hockey and my hockey-loving persona, Psycho Lady, had to go. Until now, my time abroad was merely time not spent at the rink, which seemed like a bad attitude to have and a waste of the experiences I was (or should have been) having in foreign lands. I never went a whole year without coming home for a visit and seeing a handful of games. And when I couldn’t come home, I’d do things like go to Sweden and see a bunch of its hockey arenas in lieu of thoroughly seeing the actual country.  Hockey has taken me to a lot of places, and because of it I’m a great wanderer but, unfortunately, a horrible traveller.

However, it’s hard to shake the person you once were for someone new, and so this blog begins where Psycho Lady Hockey left off – with yet another tale of love gone wrong on the road.

Like I said, I felt like I was in the middle of one of my blogs, but I had higher hopes for the topics and stories that would be shared on Travel Kraken. I was hoping for a significant drop in smut, but what can you do? Sometimes you can’t totally change who you are, and I view the following story as a cautionary tale for falling into old patterns and not keeping my eye on the prize.

I never really figured out what it was about Psycho Lady, but it seemed like no matter where she went professional athletes would fall all over her. Apparently, Singapore was no different.  But my Psycho Lady side wasn’t supposed to be at play here in The Lion City, and so I guess I got what I deserved for being naughty and slipping into old habits.

I had been out with him a couple of times, which feels a lot longer because it was during my first month abroad. When you move to a new place, a week can feel like a couple months. It’s a crazy phenomenon, really. And I’ve experienced it in every, single country I’ve lived in.  Anyway, he had invited me over (many times), but this time I decided to actually go. But, to be fair, it took a lot of convincing. You see, I haven’t been the same since San Francisco. When I told you I flatlined, well, I think I actually did. Since then I’ve been boring. I haven’t been fun, or funny, or interesting, or adventurous. And I basically feel like I need a defibrillator to jumpstart my personality. Funny what can happen when you completely lose your faith in humanity, eh? So that night I was more than content to stay home, do my laundry and finish watching (ironically) Pacific Heights – a film about horrible people in San Francisco.  But, nevertheless, I did decide to get in that cab and go over to his place… and it was probably the worst decision of my life.

I don’t have a nickname for this one (my knack for nicknames probably also died in San Fran), but my friends here call him Footballer Dude. Anyway, 10 minutes after I arrived at his place the Footballer decided to actually answer the door. When he did, however, he blew past me carrying his garbage and smiling shyly at me – something I found cute on our dates, but (surprise, surprise) was no longer endearing.

He had been working out, and immediately excused himself for a shower. It was a good thing because there was definitely something super-gross about him when he kissed me hello. The bad thing was I literally didn’t see him for 45 minutes. I remember sitting there, alone, and thinking about bailing on the whole thing. Who did this guy think he was? Was this whole thing my idea?!?! No. It was laundry and movie night, and I was fine with the spin cycle being the most exciting part of my evening. Why was I still there? Why hadn’t I called a cab and bolted? A girl with any sort of self-respect would have left by now!

That’s when I started thinking about that whole “self-respect” thing, and realized that it actually has very little to do with the “self.” I mean, it seems to be more about what we think other people will think of our choices, and well, I’ve never given two fucks about that. For me, bailing meant ending the story, and staying meant seeing how the rest of this already bizarre tale would unfold. And you know that I’ve always been a sucker for a crazy story, and so I decided to stay a little longer.

So when Princess (hey, that’s a good nickname for him) finally emerged from his 45 minute luxury shower, I made the mistake of telling him his phone rang while he was preening himself. Well, it was his agent who called, and yes, he decided to return the call.

As the call dragged on and on, even I was starting to lose respect for myself. It was getting ridiculous! In 2 hours the guy had barely said 2 sentences to me. Pre-San Francisco, I might have come up with some sort of creative way to get him off the phone, but like I said, I’m dead inside now.  Then again, a decent, red-blooded guy just wouldn’t have been on the phone to begin with. It was a combination of sheer laziness and the fact that he had one of the nicest bodies I had ever seen (and was only wearing a towel) that made me not call a cab and leave.

By the time the call length reached an hour, I decided to go to sleep. This caused a panic of some kind in the Footballer Princess, but not enough to actually get him off the phone. Instead he stopped rubbing his own perfect abs and started massaging my back with his free hand, which only succeeded in causing me to actually fall asleep. He was on the phone for close to 2 hours when his call finally ended and he finally put the “moves” on me. 5 seconds later (yes), Princess needed another shower.

This time confusion and dissatisfaction kept me from slipping away into the night before he came back. And I’m kind of glad I didn’t leave because then I wouldn’t be able to tell you what he did when he came back…

Yeah, he played Clash of Clans

“The one who played Clash of Clans while I was naked and shivering in the dark.” I said to myself as I started mentally drafting his chapter for the potential “dating” book I would like to write someday.  That was when he pulled me into his chest, so he could do me the honour of allowing me to watch him play.

Clash of Clans cuddling – I guess that’s a thing.

Anyway, I had two choices: I could leave and never think of that night again, or I could stay and at least get what I came for. I decided to take what I wanted, and when I was done with him, Princess took yet another shower. That’s right – 3 showers!

When he returned from his third shower, the app of choice was Candy Crush Saga.  Apparently, he, “Must play to sleep,” and then continued by explaining all the intricacies involved in playing the popular candy-popping game in the most enthralling 20 minutes of conversation I had ever had. He was on level 912. I didn’t even know there was a level 912. The whole thing reminded me of this guy I was with a year before. He really knew how to make a girl feel special, and had told me that he went out with me so he wouldn’t spend the night playing Candy Crush at home. Oh, how far I have fallen! At least I used to be a distraction from Candy Crush. Now Candy Crush was a distraction from me!

Once he successfully reached level 913, I decided to check my own phone and look for a way out. That was when I saw the notification that Mike Richards’ contract with the LA Kings had been terminated and the drama made me a little too excited, especially given my resolution to leave the NHL behind. But still, I immediately started messaging one of my hockey friends back home to discuss the drama.

“He’s done,” he said. “He’s been done for awhile.”

It was so weird to me. I mean, I remember when he was just a rookie in Kitchener. We were the same age. Now, it’s crazy to think that I may have seen his whole career from start to finish.  It kind of makes me feel old. But I guess I am in the same boat. I moved here to Singapore to completely start fresh, and it seems the career of the old me, the Psycho me, may have had the same, short lifespan as this former Philadelphia Flyer.

Once the limited info on the contract termination had been discussed, my friend naturally asked me how I was doing. I told him I was in bed next to a naked professional football (soccer) player and that he was too busy playing Candy Crush to play with me. He told me to make up an emergency and get the hell outta there. But it was 4:30 in the morning now and I was alone in a strange and foreign city state. What emergency could I possibly have? I decided to make a run for it anyway,  and nonchalantly began to get dressed.

“What are you doing? Where are you going?” he said with his European accent, which was progressively sounding more and more like my grandfather’s, and quickly becoming creepy.

“Uhh McDonald’s.” I said the first thing that popped into my head, and then nervously giggled, “I’m hungry now.”  And just so we’re clear, I didn’t actually go to McDonald’s to eat my feelings after I left.

In the back of the taxi I texted all the details of the night to my friend back home. When I was done all he could say was, “Wow. Your life. Epic.” I guess my struggle here in Singapore is to try and make my life a new and better kind epic. Whatever that means… Let’s see how it goes, shall we?

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