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About Me: A Rare Kind of Love
I don’t know if there exists anyone much worse than my ex. Now I’m 2 decades apart from him, I still cannot forget his sternness, his stoniness, his guiltlessness. In Chinese, we have this saying, “Steal your money, Steal your heart” which is to speak of a guy who is mean to woman-kind, like a cunning wolf, steal both money and heart. But my ex is the meanest of all, for he’d steal your money until the bowl dries out, but he’d spare you with your heart, he’d be the last person in this world who’d claim your heart — he’d tell you as politely as he could to keep this for yourself.
This costs me the entirety of 2 decades to completely recover. I know that for anyone out there who has a broken heart cannot be just as worse as the one I went through. It’s hanging there for too long; money keeps draining out from my pocket, he couldn’t even afford just 2 cents of sympathy in return; I wasn’t getting anything I deserve, not even the touch of his hands, 13 years into the relationship, another 20 years just to get it healed. This is how worst it is.
For a very long time I swing between walking death and getting better, 2 places I visit often.
The first place we should go tonight is called Ngo Gen Kiu (literally means “goose-neck bridge”; surprisingly, this is very direct translation, “Ngo” is “goose”, “Gen” is “neck”, etc.)
