It's funny how easy it is to make the same mistakes over and over again. Not only are we hopeless at learning from others' mistakes, we're incompetent at learning from our own.

I think I've been in love or 'love' enough times to know that it's so hard to pinpoint whether this is real love or not. I thought I was in love with Shu Ting and to be honest I think that was the only time I was ever really crazy about one of my ex's. But I didn't love her for who she was truly, I loved the person she had been to me, early in our relationship, when she was sweet and shy, warm and affectionate. Not the cold, indifferent person she turned into when she decided she didn't like me all that much. I thought I was in love with Venessa, but it was just, well sort of a rebound mixed with the fact that I didn't like who she actually was, I just liked who she was made out to be.

I don't believe in soulmates, or that 'one' person in the world for me.

Is love enough to keep a relationship alive? No, I don't think so. Someone asked me a question today, whether anyone outside the relationship would ever understand the depth of the couple's love. I don't know about depth, but I don't think anyone would understand what I FEEL without actually being in my position. It's difficult to put yourself in the other person's shoes especially for feelings so intense. But is that a bad thing? No, I don't think so.

Shu Ting was probably the biggest risk in love I've ever taken because it is the only time I really threw my heart out on the line and just hoped for the best. It was the only time I looked at defeat straight in the face and said, "Screw you, I'm taking this chance." But well, it turned out...

I will continue this later. Probably.

Male PMS. Sighhh.

Seriously, if your whole team decides to random and keep your heroes, no matter how shitty your heroes may be, then don't bitch at us when any of us picks or repicks our heroes. Don't act like you're somehow 'better' than us because you random'ed or because we're 'too tactical' and we don't give chance in games. Don't tell me that being competitive takes the fun out of playing. I'll tell you what is my definition of fun.

1) Getting a hero I like.
2) Not getting a hero I totally can't use and feel hopeless at.
3) Not feeding..
4) Playing well..
5) Winning..

If you ask me, you're just sore about losing, and THAT takes the fun out of playing for you. Don't come up with all this other bullshit. It's -ap. You can pick any hero you want. Just because you didn't take that advantage doesn't make you the Mother Theresa of gaming. Shit happens, especially when randoming. That's why I repick and not leave it to chance. Oh and you can't win every game. Accept that, and get over it.

I know this is a morbid subject for Valentine's Day week, but I've been thinking about what happens when the love of my life dies.

Yes, I'm touching all sorts of wood and repeating: "Choi!!" as I write this.

What do you do when your soulmate is unexpectedly taken away from you in his prime?

How do you say goodbye to the girl of your dreams and start anew without him?

In the new treacly romantic comedy P.S I love you, based on the best-selling chick-lit novel by Cecilia Aher, Hialry_Swank plays Holly, a happily married New Yorker who suddenly loses her iris hubby Gerry (Gerrad Butler) to a brain tumour. She is utterly berefit until she receives a series of letters from her departed hubby that are delivered at key moments during her first year of windowhood.

It turns out it's all part of his pre-arranged grand plan to help her adjust to a new life. Somehow, while battling terminal cancer, he was selfless enough to think ahead and guides her through the grieving process and onto a journey of rediscovery.

Hmm, what if a dead girl reaches out from beyond her grave with a laundry list of instructions telling me what to do in order is to appreciate a second shot at life?

I think its properly the most romanticwonderfuluntimate act of love, the best gift that one could ever receive. The best way to show your husband you love him when you're on the brink of death isnt with a new car or a candlelight dinner, but by giving her back his life.. So if my future-wife ever sent me posthumous missives, I'd like to see stuff like this.

Love, Splurge on a cool new outfit then go out and party with your best friends
Now, a green light from your wife to go party is almost like receiving a sign from God.

Knowing me, I'd turned into a miserable moping little hermit. I'd be curled up in bed, either in a state of vegetation or wallowing in my big fat self-pitying tears. I would be eating instant noodles every day out of our in our increasingly unkempt house, wearing the same pyjamas for a week and ignoring my handphone. I'd want to be alone with my memories of her and watch Ghost over and over again.

Retail therapy, good company, loud music, free-flowing alcohol and a babe could certainly get her out of my system and kick my butt back into civilisation.

Love, Go on a prepaid holiday to Rome, New York, Maldives and all our other vacation spots.
It's the perfect excuse to take an even longer break from work and see these places with fresh eyes.Sometimes, in order to move forward, you have to take your own sweet time to reminisce about the past.

Love I have a secret stash of cash, stocks, bonds and property - and it's all yours.
Now thats what I call Wife Of The Year material.Someone who meticulously takes care of your financial needs way in advance and provides for you on rainy days.

Love, throw away all my clothes so you will have more closet space.
A womans clothes can take up the whole closet, but this is a tough one. Remember the least scene of Brokeback Mountain? You cant help but want to hold on to any remaining pieces of someone just to feel that tiny bit closer. But I cant be smeling her sweaters and wearing her tubes and g-strings because then where would I put my cool new outfits from Letter No.1 ?

And Finally, I give you permission to love again.
How wonderful is it to get back into the dating game? Well, I guess I just have to pray that my wife goes first and Im the one left to "Suffer". =P

P.S: You know I love you!

It's so painful, to break up with a person. To try to be 'just friends' and pretend you're only laughing as a friend when she cracks a joke. To try and pretend that you're okay, and to say you're okay and resist the urge to burst into tears when she asks if you are. To wish that her concern is something more, when she's just trying not to hurt you as much as possible. To watch her hands and you wonder, why is it that when you took her hand in yours, you never cherished the feeling of her palm, of her fingers that lace through yours and wrap over your hand, a protective seal that's now been torn off. To act nonchalant when she enters the room and comes over to talk to your group of friends, when you're really just anxious for her to catch your eye. To not notice when her hand touches yours when she passes, ever so slightly.

When every last damn fibre of your being wants to be hers so much that you'd kill yourself if it just won her freaking pity, but instead, you bury the picture of her and you under your pillow, fingers touching it so it won't disappear in the night like she did.

Instead, you pick up whatever dignity you have left, knowing that a word from her will send it falling down again. For months, years, you have lived your life as half of a perfect, whole couple, and now, you are forced to go on as just the half, making do with the shreds of her left behind, pieces of her which you now call, memories.

And you will cling to those memories fiercely as you do the shirt you let her wear, the smell of her that lingers on the shirts you were wearing the last time she hugged you, the little Neoprint stickers that you carefully pasted in your nicest notebook, where now the handwritten captions are smudged with tears. You will cling to the memories secretly, till someone else comes along, and you can throw the old letters, the shirt, the jewellery, the flattened rose, the ribbon that wrapped your birthday package.

But deep in your heart, a tiny pang of sorrow sweeps through with a hushed whisper, like the sound you think you hear when a candle flame dies. All that remains of that tiny hope for a love once lost, is gone. But the scars. oh the scars, they'll stay forever.