Of undefineable dissolution

“If you think I’m going to discuss the dissolution of our marriage at a place where the toilets are labelled Dudes and Chicks, you’re out of your mind!” – Bree van der Kamp

* * * * *

I’ve always admired the fictional Mrs van der Kamp for those little gems.

If only that particular statement wasn’t so apropos.

We were having an extremely late dinner at one of these holes-in-the-wall places at the heart of the city. We talked about things that have happened to our friends. We talked about things that we did. We talked about work. His. Mine.

We’ve had this little row a month or so back where little nitpickings, petty jealousies and cutting, hurtful words were thrown around like hand-grenades. It even got a little physical—no, not like that! We settled it by each apologising—him for his jealous outburst and me for hammering in on his insecurities. For some reason, I have this disturbing gift of finding someone’s weak points and exploiting them in a fight—so in case it gets into a tussle, I know to aim a kick at his left knee… but I digress. We agreed to table the conversation to a more opportune timing.

Those who’ve known me enough knew by now that good timing and I were never easy acquaintances. The love of my life died on Valentine’s Day, and I got dumped on my birthday for crying out loud!

Well, the talk started out guardedly with each of us doing this bizarre waltz around verbal eggshells. So, me being me just bluntly asked him what is his problem? I could almost swear that you could knock me down with a feather when he started out listing the reasons. For reasons I'm unable to fathom the qualities he found as my strengths and main attractions now became glaring points of contention:

1. My tenacity is now pig-headed stubbornness
2. A snappy, subversive humour is now an unruly tongue
3. My compartmentalizing my own emotions now makes me a heartless sociopath

And it goes on and on and on. I admit I was’t exactly defusing the tableau by winding him up to see just how far he could go with it. Apparently our Mr Kwan has accumulated quite an impressive frequent-flyer mile since he went there, built a house and started knitting—metaphorically speaking, that is—and it devolved into youdon’tthinkI’mgoodenoughbecauseyouhavethehotsforsomeoneelse and you’reimmatureandactlikeacompletetool and its several variations.

I couldn’t take it anymore so I left and let him stew in his own juice.

Yes, I know it sounds wrong …

The upshot is now we’re on a time-out. I could never understand that particular concept when it comes to relationships; what does that mean? What does it entail? Are you back to single-but-dating status?

With things the way they are now, I’m hard-pressed to say I’m optimistic of the outcome. We’re two independent people who are both stubborn and not exactly gracious about admitting our mistakes. It’s like the Titanic meets iceberg. Only time will tell who sinks—and pulls everyone down with him.