How I met my ex…

I’ve always believed that talking has helped me deal with my problems. It’s actually if I don’t talk about my issues that they are left to fester and grow.

We don’t want that of course. So let me tell you the story on how I met my third ex-boyfriend.

My ex-boyfriend and I used to talk regularly. We started off normally, him calling me for some help that he needed with a client. I answered cheerfully, just like in any other phone call.

He found me to be very interesting. Witty with some comebacks and very different from the dull voices he was used to when talking to people in the other line.

I felt nothing of the experience — many of the people I talk to on the phone are interesting, and this was my full-time job: chatting with people on the phone, bringing them out and hoping that they bring my firm business.

We talked about a conference I was organizing.

He was going to be there, he said. I laughed and said we should meet.

And he said, “Yes, I will take you out for dinner for all the help you’ve given me and my clients.”

I laughed again. It’s not as if this was uncommon. Guys would say they would take you out and they never really do. I don’t feel slighted. It’s just the name of the dating game, and I was used to it. It was never anything personal.

Sure, if you can remember!” I chided before I took another call.

I didn’t think he’d ever do it.

At the conference, while eight other women are busy working in a hotel room, each with their own PCs and busy with our own stuff, in he strides confidently in that afternoon.

Which one of you are Bonita?” he said across the room.

I raised my hand without really looking up. “I am,” I said.

Good,” he replied as I glanced to what he looked like. “Are you free for dinner with me tonight?”

“Yeah yeah, sure,” I said without thinking it.

Okay, I’ll see you then,” he confirmed before walking out.

I continued my work for a few minutes before it hit me — eh? Wait, what did I just get myself into? What did I just do? And most importantly, what the hell does he look like?

In my busyness, I didn’t really see what he looked like. He just asked and walked out.

I didn’t know how to contact or email him. I honestly didn’t have his mobile phone.


Later that evening however, he sent me an email which I thankfully received. I almost missed him at the Conrad Hotel lobby because I freaking didn’t even know what he looked like, but thankfully met him.

Later on, I asked him, “How did you even know I was even decent looking?”

“I know Bonita,” he answered. “You had to be.”

It was just this confidence that I’ve always found to be attractive about him. He was like a bull, charging into what he wanted without really thinking about it with only one goal in mind. It was kinda nice to get the attention at that time. You don’t often really meet guys who knew what they wanted.

We of course didn’t work out.

The reason why we broke up was really silly, but we were never really meant to be. It wouldn’t had worked out in the long run. In the end, I chose to be with someone whom I knew would take good care of me in the long-run and I could go out without any shame or judgment.

However, I still do think of those moments with some fondness. Those were nice moments while they lasted.

And it’s with this thought that I end my blogpost.

I don’t ever regret anything in life.

Even in my failures, they’ve really been fun. When I got myself into these types of messes, I relished it. At least, I tried.

When my ex changed his flight for me after our date, even though he didn’t know whether I would say yes or no to the second date.

When he flew into Taipei to see me.

When we saw each other again in Singapore, and I made the choice to choose Trader over him.

Ah, those were the good times.

At times, I tell Trader, “Why can you not be more aggressive?”

I remember my ex.

And yet… I still am lucky.

Regardless, I’ve upgraded. I’m with a man who really really loves me for me, and seems to be happy to be with me. How can I ever make the wrong decision?

There, I’ve shared a personal story.

Nighty night!

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