one of the reasons why i'm so cynical about love is prolly the number of relationships that i've seen building up and crumbling faster than you can say 'we'll be together forever'. i've met gay couples starting off with so harmonious of relationships that even the most adept of feng shui masters would approve of. however, throw in some emotional turbulence and infidelity, the same gay couples break up within the span of less than a year.

apparently, being gay exposes you to a world of perilous relationships fraught with cheating and fickle-mindedness. most of these relationships of course end with plenty of drama and in the twinkle of an eye. and speaking of things twinkling, i've also known of gay men in their forties and fifties who have obviously materialistic twenty to thirty-year-old boyfriends. i mean i've got nothing against young-old love, but evidently, most of these men that i've known of have debts incurred by their twinks. i've always wondered why despite everyone warning them that they are falling into a money trap, they are still very much in love with these twinks. being quite the cynic of gay love, i'm thinking that's what the Spice Girls meant when they sang the lines 'Love is Blind, as Far as the Eye can See'.

it seems though that our heterosexual counterparts are faring much better in the war zone of love. my beautiful preceptee has just gotten married at age twenty-one to a policeman. my great friend from secondary school also just got married in Australia. my plus-sized latin mama friend from the same secondary school also got hitched last year to an American. come to think of it, i'm attending the wedding dinner of a nursing school acquaintance who is getting married to an air-force pilot.

wedding bells are ringing everywhere apparently at the age of twenty-three.


i had just started my shift on the Thursday night that had just passed when the ward phone gave a shrill rang that broke the immense silence of sleeping patients and nurses writing their reports. being a narcissistic lover of my own voice, i picked up the phone and launched into my usual introduction and greetings.

'Good evening, ward 69, Staff Nurse Jonathan speaking, how may i help you?'

normally the introductions would be so long and tedious that i would get cut off at 'ward 69'. the more impatient ones slice at 'Good evening'. this one though, allowed me to finish and even threw in a free five seconds of silence and what sounded like sniffling.

'Hello?' i asked, wondering whether someone had made a wrong call. Singaporeans are so fast-paced that they normally don'tleavepausesorspacesinbetweenconversations. the deep breathing and sniffling continued for about a few more seconds before a female voice came through the line. it was the recognizable quivering voice of a malay female colleague of mine. let's call her 'The Good Girl' out of old times' sake and my habit of labelling people whose names i can't mention on this blog.

'Jon, (The Good Girl's name) here. (pause, sniffles, pause) Do you have something you want to tell me?'

i was at the nurses station at that point of time picking up pieces of papers and alcohol swabs that the previous shift had strewn about. a normal routine i would do just before i start work proper. my colleagues can save lives, but they can't maintain a sense of tidiness. Florence Nightingale, a seemingly hygiene freak would shudder at the sight, it seems.

'Huh? What do you mean?' i blurted out.

'Pangkeng told me already. (sniffles) i just want to double confirm what i already know.'

apparently, Pangkeng and i know something about a colleague of ours and a certain scandal he had committed with a nursing student that was attached to our ward. this particular male colleague was in a supposedly steady relationship with The Good Girl. it wasn't the first time that she had asked a question like this. i remember one time when i was doing the night shift with her when she just asked out of nowhere, the same question of 'Jon, do you have anything you want to tell me?' i shrugged my shoulders, feigning ignorance and said, 'Ehrm... you're beautiful?' she laughed it off apparently.

the phone conversation with The Good Girl took a bit of a downhill turn from that point on.

'Well, since Pangkeng told you about it already. then there's nothing more than i have to add then,' i said. there was a certain tone of finality in my tone of voice, as if it were the end of a chapter in a novel about love, life, death and scandals in the hospital.

'He's a bad guy, that's all i have to say.'

was it something i said? was it something i should have said? or maybe was it something that i should not have said? because, all of a sudden, my words launched her into tears. and if there's one thing i'm more terrified of than roaches and anything more than eight-legged creatures, it's got to be people crying over the phone. i simply don't have the vocabulary to console the crying and the technology whereby where can express our feelings by touch over the phone is still a few centuries away. a real crying (hur hur!) shame if you ask me.

so i did what i did best when i have nothing to say, i simply said nothing at all. as i listened to The Good Girl cry, my other night shift colleague mouthed the words 'who is it?' there was no one around and besides i was pretty close to this colleague, a pious and religious Muslim girl who wore her tudung with grace and a great sense of moderation outside of work. i mouthed back The Good Girl's name and everything fell into place for her.

The Good Girl carried on with her intense crying for about a good two minutes or sound. i couldn't help but think it queer that someone should be calling me at work on an office phone and crying at a relatively unnatural hour of eleven pm. i also couldn't help but think that The Good Girl sounded a bit like a banshee.

and as sudden as the crying came about, she ended the conversation in a normal sort of voice.

'Okay thanks Jon bye,' and the phone went click, the dial tone a clear indicator that the bizarre conversation had just ended.

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