Soundtrack. The Break Up Edition.

For every moment of our lives, there is a song to go with it. And after a break up, I find that my ears automatically fine-tune themselves sensitive to finding a song, a line, a beat - that encapsulates a hundred feelings all at the same time – my feelings - into something that resembles sense, order.

In the past, I found I could rely on What's Changed by Craig David. In the sound track of my life, this was the song I could most relate to the most – when post break up uncertainty was thick.

Hey, baby
Oh tell me, babe
Why do you wanna play these games with me?
Thought you always wanted to be with me

Well at first girl, I wanted to
But things have changed between me and you
That's why I don't know what I'm gonna do
Lately, you say I been acting kinda strangely
Like I don't love you no more

You say "call me"
But I just can't explain
It's all so crazy
Between me and you, baby

And even though at first you meant the world to me
The time has come to spread my wings and be set free
So I can figure out a place where I belong
To find my way home now love is gone

Why don't you call me no more?
It was every night you were calling me before
Given half a chance, you'd be knocking at my door
So, tell me what's changed

Baby, tell me what's changed

Why don't you give me some time
Tell me, cuz I can't get you out of my mind
But up until now, we been doing just fine
So, tell me what's changed

Baby tell me what's changed

Baby
Since we met, I've treat you like a lady
But now I don't know what to do
I think maybe
It's just that my well for you has run empty
What am I gonna do, baby?

And even though at first, you made me so happy
My love for you has changed, so put the blame on me
Under pressure, it's too hard for me to stay
And I get so guilty when you page me everyday, with hope

Why won't you answer my page?
It was you who said things were never gonna change
And it seems like lately you're acting kinda strange
So, tell me what's changed

Baby, tell me what's changed

Why can't you even pass by?
Spend some of your time, even just to say hi
You're not the type of guy who would make a girl cry
So, tell me what's changed

Baby, tell me what's changed

Girl, I know
It seems like I don't care
After all the things we used to share
Now I know it feels like I've done you wrong
But the pain will heal the sooner that I'm gone

Why don't you call me no more?
It was every night you were calling me before
Given half a chance, you'd be knocking at my door
So, tell me what's changed

Baby, tell me what's changed

Why don't you give me some time?
Tell me, cuz I can't get you out of my mind
But up until now, we been doing just fine
So, tell me what's changed

Baby, tell me what's changed (saying now tell me what's changed, baby)

Why won't you answer my page?
It was you who said things were never gonna change
And it seems like lately you're acting kinda strange
So, tell me what's changed

Baby, tell me what's changed

Why can't you even pass by?
Spend some of your time, even just to say hi
You're not the type of guy who would make a girl cry
So, tell me what's changed

Baby, tell me what's changed

Girl, I never meant to make you cry
But its so hard to find the words to say
So I never wanted girl, to hurt you
Girl please believe me

During one of those sleepless nights, it happened. I wasn't moved. My emotions were still being stirred all right, just not in the same direction as before.

After two and a half years, what changed? And that's when I realised: nothing changed. That's the thing.

We were as perfect as two imperfect people could possibly be together. For a couple who had nothing in common, we got along extremely well. He made me laugh most when he wasn't trying. He told me that I'm not as good at hiding my feelings as I claim I am. I think he just got better at understanding me. And as corny as it sounds, we kind of grew up together. He felt like home. For two and a half years he catered to the side of me that was looking for love, happiness, trust, security and stability.

But now, the other side of me has decided it's her turn. The side that wants to find herself again. The side that wants to experience new things. The side that wants to meet new people. I want to do it all without seeking his approval, especially his friends' approval. I want to do it wtihout hurting him. This is the side of me who hates being owned.

This is the side of me that, at eighteen, refuses to change. She thinks it's too soon. And if not wanting to settle down now makes me a bad person, then so be it.

Introducing, my new break up anthem: I'm Not Missing You by Stacie Orrico.

I'm not missing you
Been through just about everything that I could go through
When it comes to relationships
Don't know what I was missing or why I ain't listen
When I told myself that was it
Now here I go, hurt again
Cause of my curiosity
Now that it's over
What else could it be he just had to cheat

I made a promise never to settle
Why didn't I keep it?
'Cause I hated the heartbreak
Crying and cheating, the fooling around

But I'm not missing you
I'm not going through the motions
Waiting and hoping you call me
I'm not missing you
You might have had me open
But I must be going because
I got life to do
I know I'm usually hanging on
I used to hate to see you gone
But this time it's different
I don't even feel the distance
I'm not missing
I'm not missing you

It's a shame in a way cause
I feel that I may not ever find the right one for me
Did I leave him, is he right in front of my face oh
Will my true love ever be?
Why would I go on a search again
When I know what the end will be
What good is love when it keeps on hurting me?

I made a promise never to settle
Why didn't I keep it?
'Cause I hated the heartbreak
Crying and cheating, the fooling around

No I can't be with you
Cause I'm scared felt like I was falling when you left me
I can't keep going through life
Unaware of what I missed
And the person I could be
Love's good when it's right
And when it's left in your memory
All the times I let you down
I guess love will be nice for someone else's life

Kiss Your Sex Life Goodbye

If there's one thing that separates we humans from most of the animal kingdom – it's our innate ability to reason. It's hoisted us to the top of the food chain; but could this consciousness be a curse more than it is a blessing? This got me thinking: do such emotions blur or define the lines of courtship and sexual reproduction?

Kissing is an almost universal activity, with 90% of human cultures getting in on the act – led by sex at 100%... obviously.

Plus, when you have more boy friends than girl friends, you learn a thing or two about porn. Very rarely will the actors kiss romantically, touch gently or look deeply into each other's eyes. Most often the sex is fast paced, the language is crude, and the moaning is loud – blowing our candlelit fantasies out at the same time. Meanwhile, girls are transfixing their own image of sex around romantic scenes from The Titanic, The Notebook, Pearl Harbour and what have you. Is it any wonder why complications arise from kissing and having sex?

That's when I got to asking you guys on MSN, MySpace and Facebook: "What means more? A kiss or sex? And why?"


SEX
• Having sex probably means that you're sharing something more intimate and meaningful, unlike a kiss: it's more like a do and go tell everyone. Sex is something you keep between yourself and the significant other… normally.
• Sex, because people don't usually give up sex as easily as they do kisses.
• Sex, because you give all of yourself to the person you love.



THE KISS

• Kiss, because it means that you trust them (when you're not intoxicated).
• If it's someone you want to pursue a relationship with, definitely the kiss. It signifies the blossoming of an intimate relationship. I get more butterflies from the anticipation of a first kiss rather than sex. Sex eventuates from the kiss because you've already established desire from the make out.
• A kiss means more. So much more. Kisses are always intimate, but sex doesn't have to be. I reckon people go fuzzier over kisses than sex, even if the sex is good. I know I do.
• Many sex workers refuse to kiss their clients because it is the most intimate form of sexual contact. Plus sex without kissing means nothing, whereas kissing without sex is still a connection.



IT DEPENDS
• People will regard them differently based on their own values and morals. Perhaps, sex is more meaningful only because it requires more of you - it needs you to be secure with yourself. For those who abstain I think the fact that they're waiting for the 'right one' proves how meaningful it is for them. And having said that, maybe it's more meaningful for people who do it for the first time? What about those that have done it for the tenth? What makes it different each time influences it's meaning.
• It all comes down to the type of relationship you have with the person you kiss or sleep with. At the end of the day - it's only meaningful if you want it to be or not!
• Sex might be more meaningful to people who are deeply in love. But some people just do it like it doesn't mean anything. Some people don't even make kissing meaningful. You always hear people 'hooking up'.

I also did my research, like a little kid looking up the word 'sex' in the dictionary. Some theories suggest that kisses mean more to women than men. This is because women use kissing as a way of assessing potential partners; having to do with notions of family, and protection for herself and her offspring. The way he kisses her is a suggestion of what the sex will be like. Men on the other hand, are more likely to have sex with someone they consider a bad kisser, and/or aren't even attracted to.

This made me realise that kissing and/or having sex doesn't necessarily result in an even exchange. So unless you don't mind being short changed or over charged, just make sure you do it with someone using the same currency!

Queer Eyes Wide Shut

When asked why married couples love each other, never have I heard the reply 'Because they're the opposite sex'. Most often, it's the way the other person makes them happy. So maybe traditional marriage vows should be updated from 'for better or worse' to 'for better and even better'.

Happiness is valued more in our day than it was in our parents' day, and most especially in our granparents' day. It's not uncommon for people to divorce each other because of unhappiness - whether it's as criminal as cheating or as unintentional as drifting apart. Divorce has shed much of its social stigma and become a socially accepted norm.

Not that our grandparents didn't have self worth, it's just that within the span of a century our value systems have changed dramatically. Instead, they valued selflessness. Couples stayed together 'for the sake of the children'. But living in a post-divorce society, we have the studies to suggest that growing up in an unhappy home didn't work out to be such a grand idea either.

So where am I going with all this? I think we should give gay marriage a 'fair go'. Homosexual couples in a loving relationship are not living in some psychotic fantasy land where their love is not the same, if not more powerful than that of their heterosexual counterparts.

Sure, there's de-facto relationships and there's civil marriages. But it's like saying you're not allowed to have ice cream, and being told to settle with an ice block and stop complaining because it's kind of the same thing. Fast forward to the future and imagine yourself happilly married of twenty years. You were denied access to combined health insurance, tax benefits and retirement planning. But you loved each other so much you stayed together anyway. Your partner suddenly becomes ill and is sent to hospital, with only a few days to live. But you can't visit them. They die. And you can't make claims on the house, car, social security paymens, bereavement leave, superannuation etc. Why all the rejection? Because gay marriages are not legally recognised.

During the 1990s... the leader of the liberal party John Howard, used the notion of the preservation of the nuclear family as a key issue. His opponent, Paul Keating, the then leader of the ALP responded with: 'John Howard keeps incanting the word "family" as his own personal mantra; he claims he is "pro-family" as if the rest of us were anti-family. Where does he think the rest of us come from-Mars? - Holmes, D., Hughes, K. & Julian, R. 2003, 'The family: nuclear or unclear?' in Australian Sociology: A Changing Society, Sydney: Pearson. p. 287.

Anything outside of the nuclear family was, and still is seen as a threat to the backbone of Australia's patriarchally based society. There are hundreds of orphans without a home, and homosexual couples with spare rooms, stable incomes and loving hearts are refused adoption. They say that having same sex parents are detrimental to the child - but so are hunger, no education and not having a bed to sleep in. I think we're just being picky.

In Ancient Rome homosexuality was a norm. Emperor Nero, a male, married a male slave. Somewhere between then and now heterosexuality became rationalised, and I'd like to hope that in the future homosexuals will be granted their rights to the benefits of legally recognised marriages. To be treated as humans, and not aliens from Mars.

Glow in the dark

Why is it easier to see in the dark than it is in the light? And no, that wasn't a typo.

It's a peculiar kind of funny how we cherish life most after someone close to us has passed away, how we most feel the urge to help strangers only after disaster strikes - and how easy it is to merge back into the fast lane. Why are the best of goods propelled by the worst of bads?

Clicking back at my posts over the past three years, pointing out the failures of my past relationships was almost as reflexive as the act of blinking itself. After three years, I got pretty good at it. I was seeing in the dark for so long that it became natural.

They say that the secret to a lasting relationship is not falling in love forever once, but of falling in love many times, and always with the same person.

The first time I thought I might be in love with my boyfriend, he was hugging me tight on a crowded platform, playing with my hair.

The first time I knew I loved my boyfriend we were playing Time Crisis. It was his turn, but I refused to give him the gun. After some contestation he managed to wring it out of my hands. Like a life or death struggle he stood up defiantly and started shooting at me, point blank, with in unloaded toy gun. In any other context, I swear this scene would have looked like something out of Mission Impossible.

The first time I told him I loved him we were lying down. For practice, I mouthed the words against his lips. Usually we did this as a guessing game. But this time round, something else was on his mind. 'Why don't you love me?' he asked. We had already been together for over a year. 'I've already told you I love you, you just didn't hear me'.

To break the barriers you have spent so long and tried so hard to keep up - exposing the parts of you that would make Hitler look like a saint, and the parts of you that would have you martyred, if people only knew - and to be loved amidst such contradictions is almost as other worldly as a mother's unconditional love for her child. Yet, for someone who was once a complete stranger, to even come close, is an amazing feeling to be had.

But the most important thing I've learnt is that love, for the sake of loving, does exist, if you only let it.

Morse Code Romance

If ten years ago someone told you you'd be meeting new friends and lovers on the internet, would you have believed them? Ten years ago, the word blogger would have sparked images of overweight thirty something year old sociopaths who still lived with their mother.

Ten years ago, I was eight, and only just started to familiarise myself with the magical world of Paint. I was thirteen when I learnt how to connect onto the internet with my high tech 56K modem. The static sound was like music to my ears, and getting disconnected was practically the end of the world.

When I die and my life flashes before my eyes, I will experience about another two deaths just seeing the hours of my life wasted alteRnaYting Betw3En uPPaH aNd Low3RR caYse AnD intent!OnaLLy mi$peLLinG th!nGs cOz iT waSZe c00Lie$.

I officially started losing my grip when people started using the word 'zor'. I still don't understand what that means!

Does the word Ringo ring any bells? If so, shameful isn't it? It was my first taste of social networking. In order to upload photos, I laboriously had to take them using a film camera, get them developed, and scan half of them onto the computer (the other half had bad lighting - probably because my finger was covering the flash). By then, my latest photos were at least two months old.

People (including myself) migrated en masse from Ringo to Hi5 to Friendster to Bebo to Myspace to Facebook. What influenced this move considering they all do the same thing? Maybe it was the super accurate quizzes on offer. Then maybe it's also because we were able to experiment with personalised fonts, backgrounds and special effects. And maybe it's because we could add moving images such as .gif files and Youtube clips. And the one that prevails is usually the one that entails all of the above.

The tabloid news will tell us that our generation is known for pill popping, binge drinking, drunken fights, promiscuity and… online relationships. But as if our parents didn't do the same thing! Whose parents were hippies and did mushrooms? Whose mum got pregnant when she was sixteen, or before she was married? Whose dad STILL gets drunk with his friends every weekend? I know parents who fit into at least one of these categories and they are all wonderful people.

During the 1800's, people were meeting and having romantic relationships through morse code. The book Wired Love is based on a female and male operator falling in love online (the telegraph line, that is).

The first telegraph wedding took place in 1876 between San Diego and Camp Grant, AZ (137). Online telegraphic romances between operators were common and coded message between lovers were as well. This predates internet dating by more than a century. - http://mlennert.wordpress.com

Take this blog. Without the hyperlinks on my Myspace page, you may have never come across this site. Without MSN, a friend of yours probably wouldn't have been bothered recommending it to you. And perhaps, without this blog, you wouldn't have any other reason to approach me in real life.

So are meeting people on the internet and getting to know them through IM really all that new? Or have we just found new ways of doing old things?

Online interaction is shedding its old stigmas. One only needs to look at the number of commercials promoting dating websites for adults. They've gotta be funded by something. Funded by the success rate.

Instead of being seen as a substitute for reality, is the virtual world the new real world?

My 14th First Day of School

This blog has been a long time coming. Not that I actually have the time to write this. I'm probably sabotaging a potential pass, credit, distinction or high distinction (I wish!). For my sake, let's hope I'm only sabotaging a credit: that way I'll at least pass.

Let me explain. I started my five year university course on 25 March, and I've been bogged down with work ever since. I'm still adjusting, and trying to find a routine that works.

Remember that dream where you're running towards a door at the end of the hallway, but the more you run towards it, the farther away it gets? Well for me it's a reality. I feel like no matter how much work I do, there's so much more ahead of me.

But don't get me wrong. I absolutely love the content! Which is a great consolation; because I think I'd pass out if I ever have to label a scientific diagram of the polypeptide chain again.

I must admit that during my high school years, the hope of productive group work was dimmed after numerous bad experiences. I was the girl who eventually gave in to doing a generous amount of contribution because I was the only who cared about grades – while everyone else took turns listing what genuinely better things they had to do.

Which is why it came as a pleasant surprise during my first week of uni. My first assignment was the infamous group presentation. It was an eye opener to finally be with people who were just as determined, just as hard working, just as motivated – if not more. It felt like a breath of fresh air after living your whole life in an underground mine shaft.

It's incredibly nice to finally be in a classroom without your prize wingers – insistently nagging things such as: 'Why the f*ck do we need this for Miss? As if I need equations to be an architect. Aren't there, like, calculators for that sh*t?' Because now there's no excuses. Most of us chose to be here.

And friends? Well, so far I've still managed to keep in contact with old classmates by meeting up before or after class, as well as weekend parties. I realised that my greatest weakness is remembering names. So let's just say I've met many interesting, new faces.

I feel like the boring, plain white bread surrounded by Apple Cinnamon Swirl, Banana Slice, Sultana and Raisin… so yeah you get the point. Everyone else is so cultured. There are foreign exchange students from Germany and France, people who've been travelling the past couple of years and prior to this, I had never known anyone who came from boarding school.

So far the only down side is how much money I spend on train tickets every week!

The Nice Girl

Sometimes I dream of a revolution, a bloody coup d'etat by the second rank - troupes of actors slaughtered by their understudies, magicians sawn in half by indefatigably smiling glamour girls, cricket teams wiped out by marauding bands of twelfth men – I dream of champions chopped down by rabbit-punching sparring partners while eternal bridesmaids turn and rape the bridegrooms over the sausage rolls and parliamentary private secretaries plant bombs in the Minister's Humber – comedians die on provincial stages, robbed of their feeds by mutely triumphant stooges – and – march – an army of assistants and deputies, the seconds-in-command, the runners-up, the right-hand men - storming the palace gates wherein the second son has already mounted the throne having committed regicide with a croquet-mallet – stand-ins of the world, stand up! - Tom Stoppard, The Real Inspector Hound

I remember sport days in the sixth grade. They were my second worst day of the week, closely followed by those Wednesdays where we had to complete thirty random times tables in three minutes. It was the scariest one hundred and eighty seconds of every week.

Where was I? Oh yes, sport days. I was to the sporting field like a sportsperson is to the dance floor. My co ordination was so bad you could say I had two left feet, two left arms and two left eyes. By the time I got the hang of anything it was time to move on to another sport.

After a few weeks, baseball season was over, with soccer next on the agenda. I was the last person picked for a team, and my classmate's attempts of comforting me with the remark "Yeah! We've got The Brain on our team!" provided little compensation. It turned out that I was pretty good, and the following week I was picked first. Not because I was The Brain, but because I could actually kick.

I remember every year of junior high school. I thought I could continue my legacy as class prefect. I didn't realise how much of a popularity contest it was.

Instead, I was the girl the class captain copied her homework off. In a stream of second thoughts, I was the girl who people realised they should have voted for instead, a few months after the election.

Such confessions revealed to me in confidence were enough to keep me warm at night.

I remember when friendships were tested in senior high school. Large groups broke off into little, sometimes secret alliances. Throughout a time I'd like to call The Great Divide, I managed to keep the trust of each faction. Each side would openly bitch about the other to me because I was The Brains turned The Nice Girl.

I realised that regardless of how many fights a group has, no matter how many hours you spent listening to their grievances – by the time the dust has settled and friendships are reunited stronger than ever, this very neutrality keeps you tied to a string back at square one. You're still the girl who floats in between groups, whilst never really belonging to either one.

In remembrances I'd rather not indulge, I've been second to one boyfriend's social and work life. I've been second to another boyfriend's ex girlfriend. I've been second priority to my father ever since he started another family. I'm second to my best friend whenever he falls in love. I was second on my 18th birthday, when friends traded me for a party that served alcohol – friends I spent the best part of two years talking to, laughing with.

Some of you reading this might not relate at all, I hope I've increased awareness of someone you know, or will meet. Some of you reading this might relate all too well, I hope you know you're not the only one. Maybe our glory shines in a parallel universe; for this world is not kind to The Nice Girl and Guys. But we get by. That's what we're good at.

There are some things a girl should never try once

Tazos, tamagochis, digimons, pokemon cards, crazy bones. We lapped them up like a baby to its mother's teet (sorry for the image!): without thought and driven by a primordial need for sustenance.

By the time I was in high school, my needs got a little more complicated. I was one of only a few girls who came from my primary school, and for the first time I wasn't the only Filipino girl in the grade. I went from playing net ball and hand ball with friends of Australian and European descent, to bonding with people of the same cultural background.

Some people brag about their multicultural group of friends – but this was a new and exciting experience for me.

What people don't understand is that this part of my life was not about fitting in with the majority – but a journey towards finding myself. Questions like, 'Why is my skin darker than theirs?', 'How come they don't eat rice everyday, like me?' and 'Why am I the only one with jet black hair?' were embarrassingly moved from the 'honest concerns' pile to the 'silly questions' pile.

What the new girl in the group didn't expect, especially from attending a catholic school, was the exclusion felt by not being part of a particular youth group. It was like a super exclusive club where its members regularly gathered to talk about their awesome weekend camp, how funny it was when this happened, how sad it was when that happened and how cute their camp crush was – but sorry we're not allowed to tell you because it's either a secret or it's 'too complicated' or 'you wouldn't understand anyway'.

I think what hurt the most was when you were in a group of ten people, then a camp leader would walk past, then greet and give everyone a kiss on the cheek except you, act like you weren't there at all – which is sad.

Then one day a friend of mine was in dire need of a 'participant' (someone to initiate into the youth group). After much persuasion I succumbed.

What disgusts me today is the trouble I put my family through just so I could join (I only lasted one camp and two meetings). Among other things, I cried and fought with my mother for money we simply did not have to pay for the fees, and I forced her to take a night off work just so she could drop me off at a venue in a suburb she felt uncomfortable driving to.

Only now can I swallow my pride and shamefully admit that no matter what the youth group claimed to promote: God, prayer and peace – was a complete and utter contradiction to what I was causing my family. I realised that I was no longer trying to find myself, I was stupidly trying to fit in – and pushing my family away in the process. Consequently, I spent the weekend camp feeling guilty, guilty, guilty.

Tazos, tamagochis, digimons, pokemon cards and crazy bones were innocent craze-phases. For others it may have been something as simple as taking up hip hop lessons, basketball or forcing themselves to break dance just because everyone else was. And then there are phases that last longer than they should – illegal drug intake, excessive drinking and smoking. There are some things a girl should never try once; and I should have known better than to involve God. Such youth groups have no doubt positively impacted the lives of its members – it just wasn't for me. So if by next week everyone's signing up for "How To Make Free Money" workshops, I'll have learnt my lesson and gladly give this one a pass.

Surprises are like promises

To my readership (if one still exists!):

Yes this blog is still alive, which is more than I can say for its owner (more on that later). So why the long absence? For starters, my two part time jobs have seen me occupied for up to six days week.

My days off were spent going over 18's clubbing for the first and second time, attending cotillion dance rehearsals for two of my friends' debuts, literally burning the letters and photographs of my bestfriend's ex girlfriend in my backyard, and climbing the Sydney Harbour Bridge with my boyfriend on our two year anniversary.

And now, adding to my latest collection of excuses: I have the chicken pox. Sure, this would have been more convenient when I was five, but heck at least I'm not fifty.

With unprecedented fevers, headaches and backaches – I'm going to make this one short.

Most of us have been both the victim and the offender of broken promises. What was originally designed to enact as a verbally contractual agreement in theory, merely provides a false sense of security in practice. Because after all, promises are not guaranteed exempt from being
- drunkenly drawled off
- broken when the only thing that used to hold it together is no longer there i.e. a friendship and/or romance
- shared between two lovers whose first priority is not to keep any secrets from each other
- shared for the benefit of a two-faced friend
- broken under circumstances beyond the control of the promise holder

Reverse the situation and imagine if no one promised to keep anything for you, to turn up here and take you there, to buy you anything, to do something for you – but did it solely on their own accord. How much better would it feel?

This got me to thinking that maybe surprises are like promises spoken out loud. Because promises create expectations, which if aren't satisfied, create disappointment.

One man’s fantasy is another man’s nightmare.

As much as we shouldn't, we all know the gist. Boy meets Girl. Girl breaks up with boy. Girl finds Man. Boy hates Man.

Key word: BOY noun

1. a male CHILD, especially one LESS than 18 years of age
2. a young man who lacks MATURITY and JUDGEMENT

BOYS are too immature to accept the fact that she's moved on. BOYS are too stubborn to accept that she's happier with someone else. BOYS are selfish enough to interfere with her new relationship. BOYS are barbaric enough to think that forging violence against her new Man will win Girl back.

According to American Scientist Online – The Lions Mane, male lions will 'jealously guard her and prevent her from mating with his companions'. They even go so far as to kill the offspring of another male – accounting for 25% of all cub deaths. Before you start getting any ideas, let me remind you that we're human. So save your violence for your reincarnation.

If you'd rather her be unhappy and with you, than happy with someone else – was it ever really love in the first place? Even if you succeeded in scaring off her new Man, how could you admit to yourself that she's only with you because you made her? Wouldn't your relationship be more reassuring knowing that she returned to you on her own accord? You wouldn't want someone reigning in on your parade; so in the spirit of Australian mateship, give the other guy a fair go.

And I know it's easier said than done. I've discovered that when you love someone, it's hard to imagine that anyone, even her boyfriend, can love her more than you already do. Remember that it's hard on her part too. No sane person relishes being fought over. She has to live with the guilt that she couldn't please everyone.

And it's in such spirits that I hereby propose a fifth Geneva Convention (noun. a series of international agreements... establishing rules for the humane treatment of prisoners of war and of the sick, the wounded, and the dead in battle). That no physical violence be forged between parties on the grounds of fighting over a girl. It might take two to tango, but it takes three to rumble. Prior to such altercations, both males must have been given a reason to fight, and the incentive of reaping a reward ie. the Girl, who must have led both on.

Sometimes, I think the world would be a better place if there were no such thing as love. But then I think to myself that used the right way, the happiness it brings makes life just that little bit more worth living – and when lost, worth searching for again.

As children we're taught that one girl falls in love with one boy once in their lifetime. Drawing from both personal and indirect experiences, I've learnt that life's not like that, at least not anymore.

Love is a tangled network more messed up than our country's current rail system. People don't just fall in love once anymore, they fall in and out of it, sometimes with the same person, sometimes with more. Like peak hour trains, sometimes they love too late, eventually arriving only to find the other person at someone else's platform. And as much as you want her, you keep from derailing for the sake of your passengers – the friends and family you hurt and drag with you.