I’m just so angry right now. Angry or tense. I can’t tell the difference. My shoulders are incredibly tight, my stomach feels a bit off and I feel like I want to throw up. After two weeks of trying to figure things out with the boy – not that we’ve done anything, but just trying to figure out why a guy tells me he’ll try to be less flaky, and then, wouldn’t you know it, he flakes off again – when, today, a couple of hours before my self-imposed deadline at which stage I’ll wipe his number off my phone if I haven’t heard from him, he texts. Yes, he ‘definitely’ wants to meet up with me. One thing I should know though, he’s started seeing his ex again.

Whoa.

A part of me thinks, wryly, ah, good. So that particular mutant power wasn’t confined just to the realms of Singapore.

A much more substantial part of me thinks, oh, I knew it. I knew something was off. And all this time, I thought I was just being a little insecure and paranoid, when, in reality, I friggin’ knew he was a player.

And I’m angry and upset. So upset I go off for a walk because I can’t stay in the office where I’ve spent so much of my time doing crappy work a second longer. And, as I walk, I sing, because that’s the only way I can make myself feel better, by just pouring my frustration into Where The Streets Have No Name.

A little later, while squatting down to look at some things in a shop, I find myself trembling.

Freakin’ hell. All this, over a boy. All of this unhappiness, over boys with the same name.

One day, I'll look back at this and laugh. But not today.