Sunday, November 28, 2004

Wedding Conversation

[ Since my private life has generated more hits lately. :) ]

No two wedding dinners are ever truly alike, despite the monotony of 10-course menus, yam-seng's, video presentations set to mushy songs, and even mushier declarations of love.

I've found that my mood totters between the extremes of immense happiness and a newfound faith in Love, to utter discomfort and lamentations over the Hopelessness Of Ever Finding Love.

Last night was a case example of the latter. Most unfortunately. ( But nobody's fault. Really. )

I can't explain why. It was a rather posh affair celebrating the union between a med school friend and another doctor a few years our junior. My friend's relationship history has been a tumultuous one ( sorry, I refuse to reveal details ), and the strange part is, although we hardly spoke to each other during our university days ( we moved in different social circles, and besides, he was attached in every sense of the word ), we became close during our housemanship stint in general surgery, often discussing the complexities of life during our many night calls together, even "illegally" sneaking out of the hospital for lunch at Eastpoint's Jack's Place during a particularly long, boring Sunday, frantically fielding pages while stuffing steak down our throats. :)

Watching him walk down the aisle with his wife yesterday, I was -- as usual -- filled with a great sense of joy. And when he whipped out a guitar to serenade his bride with a Chinese love song ( causing her to burst into tears ), I too was moved ( after recovering from the initial shock, that is, heh heh ).

So why the melancholy, you ask? I suppose it's because everyone at my table was either married or "with someone", and I realized I'd become the proverbial Odd One Out. As in The One Who Doesn't Belong In The Equation. Or whatever _expression you may prefer.

But more importantly, I began to wonder Why. Why was I still single after all these years? Was there something wrong with me? Was I sabotaging myself on some subconscious level? What?!?!

Thankfully, I caught up with a fellow classmate -- now a paediatric registrar, female and single like myself, and equally perplexed. A sample of our little conversation:

"So are you dating anyone?"
"Nope. You?"
"Nah... Y'know, I sometimes wish I had someone."
"Yeah. But you can't rush these things. Better to be patient than to end up with the wrong guy."
"But it would be nice... to have someone to share things with, y'know?"
"Sure, I feel the same way too. Sometimes . *laughs* Hey, don't think about it so much. Let's meet up on New Year's Eve. Have a blast."
"*smiles* Good idea."

Well-meaning friends and relatives have offered their takes on my singlehood over the years. Am I too picky? Am I restricting myself to doctors? Am I being a bit too stand-offish? Am I frightening prospective suitors off because of my writing / reading / blog-ranting, etc?

Yeesh, how the heck should I know? Ask the guys lah.

Potential suitors... one thing I can say is this: I seem to attract men who are, err, over-enthusiastic. One guy was convinced I was his dream girlfriend/wife after meeting me ONCE. Another made up his mind before we even actually went out, telling me over dinner that "I NEVER ask a girl out unless I'm SERIOUS about her." ( I spent the rest of the evening suspended between a state of paralyzing fear and an overwhelming urge to bolt for the horizon. ) Yet another used to tail me all over the hospital on the pretext that we were MOs in the same team ( Although I must admit he was generous to a fault. Not that I ever took advantage of it. )

Maybe I'm so "scary" that only borderline psychopaths are daring enough to approach me. O-kay, looks like I should just throw in the towel right now.

So this other guy -- another fellow I did general surgery with as a house officer -- drudged up memories from 4 years ago, when his long-drawn-out pursuit of another female doctor stagnated and we sort of developed a liking for each other.

Me: So is it true you're dating someone now? ( I overheard this when someone practically interrogated him earlier. )
Him: Um, yeah.
Me: What does she do?
Him: She's a lawyer. Friend of a friend.
Me: Is it serious? Is the next wedding going to be yours?
Him: NO LAH. I'm not even close! ( pause ) So do you still watch movies? ( He knows I'm a film buff. We both are. )
Me: Yep. Just watched "The Incredibles" recently.
Him: I want to watch "Saw" actually. You interested?
Me: ( reeling but hiding it ) Don't you see movies with your girlfriend?
Him: She doesn't like horror films.
( I can't remember what I said next -- must be all that reeling, heh heh -- but it was probably something to the effect of "No, thank you." Too complicated. )


None other than Sex And The City -- The Novel.

Picked this up from the Tanglin Club library ( ooh yeah, they actually stock books like this! ), and despite the facts that (1) Candace Bushnell is no Jane Austen ( like some crazy reviewer gushed ), (2) the female characters are bitchy sex maniacs, and (3) the male players are horribly caricatured ( one is nicknamed The Bone, another Mr. Big ), I did draw some positive energy from my reading experience, purely because hey, these are successful, single women in their 30s and 40s, yet also suffering from my ailment: Wondering If There Are Any Good Men Left In This World, And If Yes, Where The Hell Are They?

I don't want this blog to turn into some angst-ridden Lonely Hearts Journal -- which it ISN'T. Let's just keep it the way it's always been, shall we: Single Female Doctor With No Social Life Complaining About Idiotic Patients And Waxing Lyrical About Clay Aiken On The Odd Occasion.

( And by the way, Merry Christmas With Love has sold out all over Singapore. BMG is ordering a second batch as we speak. Woohoo. :D )

Quack advice welcomed, except if your name begins with "U" and ends with "h". :)

Current Bedtime Companion

The Curious Incident Of The Dog In The Night-Time by Mark Haddon.
Beautifully written. Three words for the ( inevitable ) movie adaptation: Haley Joel Osment.

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