I am lame

Fear Factor restaurants

My best friend would say, "I haven't impregnant a woman and spread my seeds yet".

I see dead children

Yea, who cares?! Giddy up grandpa!

The reason why my parents never took me to Disneyland

The cause of accidental pregnancy?

I shall donate my sperm too!

CNN and BBC too? What about Ntv and 8tv?

Biblical men

In most Christian dating books, we are advise to date men who are all out for God. Men who will lay down his life before the Cross and will be able to lead me, hand in hand, to be in a closer relationship with God. Love is a choice. Falling in love in with a Godly man may not be that difficult but to find the RIGHT Godly men is tough. Let's peruse through the men in the Bible.

Adam
I would easily fall in love with Adam. He had a close relationship with God and he was naked in the Garden of Eden. What's not to like about men like him? He and Eve were loving couples - what else do you think they do daily in the Garden of Eden besides gardening ? *wink wink* room for wild imagination. He is an idealistic man until we read how he was lured into temptation to eat the forbidden fruit. He does have a problem making his own decision, being submissive and Eve presumably would have said, "If you don't eat this, you can sleep alone tonight!". I would worry with a man like him. If the forbidden fruit can be so tempting..what more other God forbidden things would not tempt him? Another naked fruit perhaps and this time I will say, "If you eat the forbidden fruit, you can sleep outside tonight?" Talk about pre-meditated marital issues.

Abraham

Though the references reported wife-swapping, the facts seem to show he never slept with another man's wife, but did offer to share his own wife with another man. So Abraham would happily and gleefully offer me up to shag some other bearded men? Satisfaction not guaranteed.

Joseph

A big thinker, but a braggart, believes in dream-interpreting, and has a prison record. I doubt my mother would agree to an ex-con and I wouldn't be very happy with him interpreting my dreams of my moonlight swims with Ian Thorpe. or he would bug me every morning to tell him my dreams so he can interpret them...I may like to have a man who thinks (BIG!!) and doesn't let him brains become fungi infested but...Joseph leaves alot of doubt for THINKING.

Noah

Former pastorate of 120 years with not even one convert. Noah would be a cool guy to marry after watching Evan Almighty. All the animals in the kingdom in one big ship would mean I have to give up my job as a lawyer and turn to milking goats and rearing chickens. He is also prone to unrealistic building projects. I wouldn't like him spending another 100 years building a dolphin shaped pool. And what happens when he outlives me? This man was 120 years old when he completed the Ark.

David
The most promising leader of all until we discovered the affair he had with his neighbor's wife. If we live in Wisteria Lane, I would be one very worried married woman. King or no king, he peeps at bathing naked woman.

Elijah
Prone to depression. Collapses under pressure. What sort of pressure anyway?

Solomon
Great preacher. Sensual lover and I would be showered with his lyrical sweet poems all over but no parsonage would never hold all those wives. I cannot stand the idea of sharing my husband, it will break my heart to a million pieces. And all of King Solomon horses and all of King Solomon men could not put one woman heart's back together again.

Jeremiah

Emotionally unstable, alarmist, negative, always lamenting things, reported to have taken a long trip to bury his underwear on the bank of a foreign river. I would take that as Jeremiah has bad hygiene or little imagination. how romantic it can get if Jeremiah and I were walking down the Seine River until he finds a spot and start digging to bury his underwear...

Jonah
Refused God's call into ministry until he was forced to obey by getting swallowed up by a great fish. He told us the fish later spit him out on the shore near here. So I would take that literally that if he refuses to answer my phone calls, I would need to swallow him? Wow, Cannibal. Or do I throw him into an open sea and let a 'big fish' swallow him and expect to collect his remains some 2 days later.

Paul

Powerful CEO type leader and fascinating preacher. However, short on tact, unforgiving with younger ministers, harsh and has been known to preach all night. I would fall asleep on all our dates and he will never forgive me for drooling over him..so I foresee, we won't last too long. Sobs.

Timothy

Too young! I was already playing hopscotch with the boys when he was still in diapers.

So now this begets the question, When God spoke about a man of God to date and marry, who was he actually talking about? - JT: any ideas?

Call centre dilemma 101

Actual call centre conversations !!!!!


There's always one. This has got to be one of the funniest things in a long time. I think this guy should have been promoted, not fired. This is a true story from the Word Perfect Helpline, which was transcribed from a recording monitoring the customer care department. Needless to say the Help Desk employee was fired; however, he/she is currently suing the Word Perfect organization for "Termination without Cause".
Actual dialogue of a former WordPerfect Customer Support employee. (Now I know why they record these conversations!):

Operator: "Ridge Hall, computer assistance; may I help you?"
Caller: "Yes, well, I'm having trouble with WordPerfect."
Operator: "What sort of trouble??"
Caller: "Well, I was just typing along, and all of a sudden the words went away."
Operator: "Went away?"
Caller: "They disappeared."
Operator: "Hmm So what does your screen look like now?"
Caller: "Nothing."
Operator: "Nothing??"
Caller: "It's blank; it won't accept anything when I type."
Operator: "Are you still in WordPerfect, or did you get out??"
Caller: "How do I tell?"
Operator: "Can you see the C: prompt on the screen??"
Caller: "What's a sea-prompt?"
Operator: "Never mind, can you move your cursor around the screen?"
Caller: "There isn't any cursor: I told you, it won't accept anything I type."
Operator: "Does your monitor have a power indicator??"
Caller: "What's a monitor?"
Operator: "It's the thing with the screen on it that looks like a TV. Does it have a little light that tells you when it's on??"
Caller: "I don't know."
Operator: "Well, then look on the back of the monitor and find where the power cord goes into it. Can you see that??"
Caller: "Yes, I think so."
Operator: "Great. Follow the cord to the plug, and tell me if it's plugged into the wall.
Caller: "Yes, it is."
Operator: "When you were behind the monitor, did you notice that there were two cables plugged into the back of it, not just one??"
Caller: "No."
Operator: "Well, there are. I need you to look back there again and find the other cable."
Caller: "Okay, here it is."
Operator: "Follow it for me, and tell me if it's plugged securely into the back of your computer."
Caller: "I can't reach."
Operator: "Uh huh. Well, can you see if it is??"
Caller: "No."
Operator: "Even if you maybe put your knee on something and lean way over??"
Caller: "Oh, it's not because I don't have the right angle - it's because it's dark."
Operator: "Dark??"
Caller: "Yes - the office light is off, and the only light I have is coming in from the window.
Operator: "Well, turn on the office light then."
Caller: "I can't."
Operator: "No? Why not??"
Caller: "Because there's a power failure."
Operator: "A power.......... A power failure? Aha, Okay, we've got it licked now.Do you still have the boxes and manuals and packing stuff your computer came in??"
Caller: "Well, yes, I keep them in the closet."
Operator: "Good. Go get them, and unplug your system and pack it up just like it was when you got it. Then take it back to the store you bought it from."
Caller: "Really? Is it that bad?"
Operator: "Yes, I'm afraid it is."
Caller: "Well, all right then, I suppose. What do I tell them??"
Operator: "Tell them you're too f%*%*%g stupid to own a computer!!!!!"

If I were the Boss - by Ean & JJ

Not my type afterall

There is always a type. A category we place people in. A group we hang out with. We discriminate and screen those who walk into our lives based on our expectations, standards and their bank accounts education. When I was younger, I had no qualms or expectations for my group of friends. My rules were simple. Get friendly. Get to know each other. Hang as often as possible. Trust everyone. I was nonchalant, naive and simple. Innocent per say. However, I was one of those unlucky few that was thrown of the plane of simplicity into a safari and I was in for a startling discovery upon landing. Its a jungle out there as they say. I felt so much like Timon left to fend for herself and Simba ain't no friendly singing lion. Disney produces movies that tends to implant ideals of a magical fairytale in my head.

First of all, I am smarter now. I've spent most of my youth watching the bold and the beautiful figuring out what I don't want in a relationship, so now I have amassed a laundry list of presumably reasonable criteria (the laundry list - coming the town near you soon!) that may or may not be remotely realistic. And while I've got a clearer idea of what I don't want, what exactly it is I do want remains a mystery. I've got standards to keep. Pride to uphold. A name to live up to now with a title added behind. I have my type.

Mostly, because I continually question whether the qualities that I find desirable in mate even exist in the combination that I hope. Every relationship that I've experienced has stolen a bit of my enthusiasm for the next. My confidence has eroded with each loss. Mine ability to trust has been slowly eroded by broken promises and callous duplicity. I have a little less to give, a little less energy, and a little less optimism.

Truth be told, I am afraid of investing what I have left on the wrong person. I wonder if I can love again, the way I used to-- wholehearted, and reckless. Truth be told, I want to love again, before I forget how.Then there's the whole awkwardness that comes along with trying to get to know someone in a semi-respectable manner.

They call it dating - its a whole process that involves navigating the logistical quandaries of when and where to meet. Trying to work things into your busy schedule. Finding that elusive element of chemistry, which if found, is fickle and temperamental at best. Once you manage to actually find time for each other, you then engage in an bizarre ritual of phone tag, text messages, and movie dates. Always, you're asking yourself-- is it too soon? Should I kiss him/her? A second date after this one? When is the right time to call? What should I wear? Am I coming on too strong? Too passive? Will he respect me in the morning? All for the sake of navigating the thicket of emotional brambles we have built to protect ourselves from heartbreak.

And what about timing? They say timing is everything. Eligible mates are dropping off the radar left and right-- either married, in a relationship, or too busy for one. You optimistically hold out hope, that you can find someone who meets your epic requirements. But on the off-chance you meet someone that does, are they recently out of a relationship? Too soon. Or recently into one? Too late. Or, as often is the case in this crazy world, they're on their way to somewhere in life, and don't have time to pause and notice that you're perfect together.

The older you get, the more desperate smarter you get. You've learned from your mistakes and you change your behavior accordingly. We have evolved through time. No longer walking on four but on two feet. We build emotional defenses and walls, and all the aggravation and formalized structure of the dating game is supposed to help us break through the fortifications we've worked so hard to put up. Maybe in the end it's not as systematic as we've gotten used to.

Maybe the reason it was easier in our younger years was because of the fact that we were innocent, and didn't know any better. We didn't automatically throw out the baby with the bathwater at the first hint of something that doesn't fit into our master plan of life and love. Maybe to find love, you need to let yourself be a little reckless and stupid. Maybe to find love, you need to let go of your 'type' and look out instead for God's 'type'.

In pursuit of happiness

Happiness is only true when its shared.

The banker asked me last night over dinner and juices whether I am all ready for a new defined relationship if the time was propitious. Over the sugar rush, I would think what he meant was, am I finally geared for some stability in life and all suited up to take the leap of faith - he also crudely pointed out that my eggs were near to expiry and my biological clock must be ticking insanely by now.

My needs and expectations has evolved through time. When I stand from a higher ground and see my life from a different angle, through less myopic lens, I realised, how small circle I have based my life around that I have never seen and even try to explore beyond the lines. with more clarity, I can only hope that I have gathered more courage to do things at a heartbeat, hesitate less, compromise a little more than I used to and be less reserved to go after what I want. I can see myself handling failures better, continue fervently to achieve my goals, and not falter at the first beat of difficulty or when I slip from my rhythmic pattern. Having the confidence is different from knowing that I am intelligent, well-educated and all-rounded. It grinds deeper. It is in knowing that storms are not to weather us down but for us to soar above the clouds. It is knowing that the right choices to make, the moral high ground to take, and how to calculate the next step in life.

My persiflage and repartee must have been soporific to the Banker because in no due time have I embarked on sharing my 20 minutes of intelligent conversation albeit high-projectile saliva spitting, he started to talk about his visit to the dermatologist. He has long considered the condition of his skin to be less than satisfactory - too huge a pore, too red a nose and too putsalated around the T-zone. Granted he could have suggested to the char koay teow seller to use the oil on his face in replacement of cooking oil.

He has lost confidence in facial and creams. They are too slow a remedy and resulting to an accumulation of debt. Thus he finally resorted to see a dermatologist who, much to the banker's horror and insult, couldn't identify what the banker's huge fuss was about his skin. To the dermatologist, it seemed alright. skin that best belongs to any homosapien. Apparently so claimed by the Banker, the patient who went in before him had blotchy skin and colour discolouration. sounded alien to me. I guess martians have also found the need to have alabaster skin and green is no longer in fashion as skin colour. For the next hour and over 2 cups of juices, we squabble and laugh about his skin, the condition of it and the myriad ways he had tried to achieve skin like a baby's bottom.

In 3 hours, we flooded our bladder and ran our salivary gland dry. sharing the ups and downs of life. Letting go of our inhibitions in our state of sugar rush. Who said we need alcohol to make us inebriate for silly anecdotes. No one told you that sugar does the same trick too? two boisterous college mates who have grown up together and mature through time, catching up on the loss times, the forgotten joy and fulfilling the longing of genuine companionship. The cherry on top of all these is having the sea splashing it waves behind us and the gentle wind blowing our worries away. In my years of pursuit of happiness, I never thought of sharing it. Reminiscing on that night, I now know - it feels good to share your happiness.

12 random excuse to escape boredom at work

1. My inability to speak proper Chinese and yellow skin often prompt people I just meet to ask me, " are you Chinese or Malay?" followed by "are you local?"3 quarters Vietnamese, 1 quarter Thai - that makes me a hybrid homosapien and not exactly local. I am just an immigrant from north mainland who is seeking refuge on the island.

2. I was brutally abuse by evil swimming coaches and piano teachers who scared my life to success. I dominated the swimming scene when I was four after my coach threw me in the pool on my first lesson and nearly drown me. I could play the Beethovan when I was six after my piano teacher hit my fingers with a metal ruler for failing to curl my fingers every time I played. At 21, after graduating from law school, I vowed to hunt these people down and sue them penniless. Just kidding!

3. My grandmother believes pills are the magical solution to all ailments. If I come down with something, it's because I'm not taking enough pills. I have no idea how people survived before nutritional supplements if her theories are true.

4. My favourite ice cream topping is marshmallow. No other ice cream parlor serves that here except Swenson's.

5. I dislike pretentious people. People who say nice things and what you want to hear but never the truth. In my opinion, only those who are spineless are unable to speak the truth with grace and love.

6. I tend to concentrate better when allowed to manifest an obsession over a single project at the expense of all other aspects in my life. This seems to run contrary to my current strategy of taking on way too many things at once and attempting to pay equal attention to them all.

7. Until last Spring, I honestly believe I was going to force myself to move Down Under and devote my life to my college sweetheart because I never had to guts to walk out of his life.

8. I keep a blog that I update when I have nothing better to do at work. It allows me to feel the thrill of doing something 'illegal'. If you can't find my blog, you can stop reading on.

9. I always wanted to go to Norway to see the Northern Lights. I still do.

10. Most people would say I am pretty uptight. I try not to belittle anyone I just met or know but ultimately, I still think highly of myself.

11. I don't like to share. I don't share my food and I don't like to know my best friend is someone else's best friend too. I like to have things of my own and yet people view this as selfish. Right?

12. I believe God has a funny way of poking fun at my love life. He puts people in my life and make them love me only to take them away when I am starting to love them.

The negotiator and her match

You know the type: Negotiators are imaginative, intuitive, empathetic, and emotionally expressive, and have good verbal and social skills. Most strikingly, these people see the big picture with all the options.Famous examples: Bill Clinton, Gandhi, Carla Bruni-Sarkozy, Sex and the City's Carrie Bradshaw.

Under the influence: Estrogen (the so-called female sex hormone, though, again, it's found in both genders) plays an important role in the Negotiator's character.

Longs for: A soul mate.

Bonds well with: Directors (no wonder Hillary and Bill are still together).

If you are a Negotiator: Watch out for your inclination to be so diplomatic that you appear spineless. And avoid drowning your date in a verbal deluge. If you have met someone you like, don't overthink the situation, endlessly going over the pros and cons. Ultimately it's important for you not to settle for anything but a deeply meaningful, authentic relationship.

If you're dating one: Keep in mind that Negotiators aren't always direct, so read between the lines. Avoid being competitive with them. And don't hesitate to talk about yourself: These people love hearing about what you're thinking and feeling. Above all, they will fall for you if you stimulate their imagination.

Just a little bit of faith

Time will tell and time will heal. Time and time again, I make the same mistake of believing that saying, time will tell and time will heal. Time does neither. Things just has its way of revealing itself. the dark doesn't stay hidden forever. Wounds doesn't heal in time. Pain doesn't lessen. We merely adjusted to the elements of pain , accustomed ourselves to the prickling sensations and slowly, grew numb towards it. Our defence mechanism tricks us to believe the things that is easiest to cope with, the lies that soothe our conscience and our ignorance that hides the truth.

This goes to show that I really never found the courage to stop loving him. I was too afraid that one day I will wake up and forget how he once look like, how his smile lights up and how his voice sounds like. Truth be told, I never had to forget. He came back. I feel so dumb wit, so paralysed whenever I hear that voice again, inevitably, I fall into a comatose state and allow him a way back into my heart. I told myself it's alright to love two person at once. What's most important is that I am committed to the one who loves me back now. The one. There is something about being in a relationship that freaks me out. I don't trust enough. I am scared when I am too much in love and find myself losing my head and my heels over a person.

It takes courage to be honest. It takes a noble person to tell the truth with love. The former which I lack and the latter which he doesn't have. Its a recipe for a looming affair. Add a bit of passion and bang! there will be bedsheets rustling in no time. I sometimes wish I can stop singing the tunes of my heart. This ennui is encompassing all aspects of my life. I can't work efficiently. I can't think logically and I can't function NORMALLY. To feel was to want, and to want was to hope, and to hope was to be disappointed or to disappoint.

"don't you remember what he did?" The astronomist ask.

I sobbed gently. my breaking point. Once again, I have no morality when it comes to love. No pride to uphold. while others gave up and disappeared in time, I learn to bury my sorrows in the depths of my heart, behind all the lushness of life. A dark area in the forest where no one will visit and no one will have to discover my secret buried. I look back and see a trial of unfulfilled dreams, pieces of a broken heart, disappointment and misjudgments.

Initially, I was going well in his streak of silence, voraciously determined to flung all memories of us all into the deep blue sea. And so I did. But I could never fully commit myself into believing there it was over, for good. cracks in my resolve began to appear at any sight or reminders of "us". There was something missing. Something that always held me back and stop me dead in my tracks.

Lack of faith

I lack the faith to believe that this all one day will come to a pass. That one day I will wake up to find someone who truly loves me for who am I by my bedside. Without faith, this mourning has no end. with faith, I can press on to heal, and although adversity may strike, my objective is clear, never to look back. It is faith that sees me through the darkest valley's of this journey. Faith lifts my up and let me soar above the clouds. Irrefutable faith. Irresistable wanton of propelling forwards.

I am the only thing standing in between of time and pain. I am standing in middle between battle and faith. when faith should be the one in the middle.

I just needed to find the courage to erase his texts, block his calls and hit the delete button on him. I finally did.

The things unspoken

Dear Diary

I miss the equanimity of a starry starry night that paints the sky palettes blue and grey. I covet for a summer's day with eyes that know the darkness of my soul. To be with you to catch the breeze and winter chills. Now I understand what you have been trying to tell me in that 2 years. A wave of sadness crash on me. An understanding that came too late. The daffodils that dance freely in the green fields now seem to be such a distance memory. There is so much I want to say, so much that is left to share. As days go by and issues go unaddressed, gaping holes developed and slowly I feel I am no longer here nor there anymore. No longer wanting to be part of your life but yet I am intrusive as to 'what if'. A longing that once dominated my desires. A longing that has come to pass.

Your jeremiad ring sonorously in my ears clearly "I am tired of chasing your shadows. I am drained. Knackered from this endless wait for a propitious season. The winding excuse of 'I am not ready'. Your asperity of tantrums. tarty moods. I am afterall expandable in your vocabulary." Funny how that its all coming back to me. Now I'm listening. ruminating and digesting your word for its prima facie meaning. How could I miss it? You kept your sanity, your weathered face lined with pain. For I could not love you but yet your love was true. the lies crushed and broken on the snowy slate of our love story. Like crushed rose petals sprinkled over clean sheets. and now I think I know what you tried to say to me.

There will always be someone in our life whom we once love and always will love. Whose memories with us stay close to our hearts. Whose faces we can still draw out in our dreams. whose warmth of lips you can still feel. Whose eyes still burn in our souls. The one you will never be ready to forget, never ready to smooth all the pain, never willing to throw out the momentos. D, you were right. I never gave you a chance. I never open up for you. After 3 years, I know so little about you albeit our long chats and miles of journey together. A relationship that lack versimilitude. My insouciance towards your feelings and most of all your caring nature I can never compare to. I fell in love too late with you. When I was finally ready...you already left. Now I am chasing your shadows and wishing that I have one more chance to make things right.

Love, J

Wednesday Ramblings

My ebullient nature fell like leaves during autumn time. My obsession with the pass reflects in my incessant return to the same few themes, scenarios and questions; mine meticulous examination and re-examination of banal minutiae for hidden meanings that simply aren't there; like cancer, it has its way like how an idee fixe usurp other important organs of function. this obsession is a mental exhaustion that threatens to black out my life -- is that it is confining, not rebellious, and not fascinating but maddeningly dull.

The french screams merde when they can't orgasm after 20 minutes of thrusting. I feel like an exemplar of someone drowning in a sewage of merde. After 1 year of thrusting, the vaginal stays in a dry spell. No succor seems to be available to rescue me from the dry spell or any e.coli infection from all the thrusting in a sewage system.

No cadging for the past 366 days seems to work. There seems to be no light to my black hole of abulia, feeling feckish by each slow thrust, numbed. Oh man, this is eating my up.

Dear dairy, will i lose my raillery one day with this draught of sagacity? what do you think can mollify me? A taste of some Michelangelo paintings in Italy or perhaps a rendezvous of the sex museum in Paris? A walk down the Thames in London or to catch a picturesque aplenglow in Switzerland again? Maybe feed some kangaroos in Australia or walk till corn sprouts on my feet in Hong Kong?

Its time the public who call themselves my friends start showing some generosity to my Disneyland fund. I should start writing emails to them, highlighting my plight and destitute life. I must do something to precipate my trip to Disneyland...sell my collection of adult toys, write some adult novels and direct some adult films. anything adult to fulfill my childhood dreams. Life is a box full of chocolates. Currently I am chewing on the dark ones. Bitter and I am beginning to long for the raisin filled saccharine ones

Lost in Trans-emotions

Last monday after work, I was extremely exhausted and all I wanted to do upon reaching home was slump on the couch and snore till the end of days. Instead I got home and fire up my lappie to find an email from the dentist. His email was like a chapter from the book chicken soup for the broken soul. So profoundly heart wrenching and well articulated that I felt compelled to share it. The following contents has been slightly proof read but the gist of it remains. Here goes...

For those of you who have ever had your hearts broken, you would know the kind of pain that I’ve been experiencing. It’s the kind of emotional strife that turns into physical suffering. It begins with an emptiness in the middle of your chest, and that hollowness is filled with a burning sensation that makes it difficult to breathe. Even though the inside of your chest is warm, the rest of your body is cold, which gives you the chills. You feeling throwing up, passing gas, and emitting any type of substance out of every orifice on your body. The burning in your chest isn’t strong enough to make you scream, but it’s just potent enough to make you cry. The burning simmers and there are only two things that will make it go away: Time or death. However, neither of these are desirable options because time takes too long and death has too many systemic side effects.

That anyone alive can even experience this kind of misery is a distinguishing characteristic between humans and other animals, even though this feeling is completely inhumane.

I’m lost, even though I’ve been down this road before. I’ve been through horrible breakups in the past, but this was a new type of breakup for me. It’s amazing how a new experience can reveal a lot about who you are. As soon as this went down last Monday, I immediately understood why dorks and losers insist on staying with their abusive significant others. When you’re in love, forgiveness is easy, no matter how despicable the crime was. Surprisingly, I wasn’t angry at all at the betrayal. What was most crushing to me was that the tone in her voice indicated that, in her heart and mind, she had already broken up with me before any act was committed. I was willing to forgive her, but she never asked for my forgiveness. She wanted nothing to do with me, and that’s what hurt the most.

The worst part of being dumped is the feeling of worthlessness that inevitably follows. Being dumped makes you dangerously self-aware. You start to highlight all of your flaws and question your self-worth. For those of you who know me and know what my self-esteem is like, you know that breakups and I are not a good combination. On Monday I felt remorse and regret. I started thinking that this was entirely my fault, and none of this would have happened if I was just a better person. I’ve been told that this was an insane way of thinking. It would be like a beaten wife convincing herself that she wouldn’t get smacked around if she just cooked the bacon correctly. How the hell should I know? I prefer pork links.

We are influenced by what we have and what we don’t have. Our identities are shaped by who we let in our lives and who we let go. Our inner selves are defined by who has touched our souls and who has horribly scarred them. As much as they are about losing someone, I’ve come to learn that breakups are about finding yourself again. This is why after work I didn’t go home. I wanted comfort, so I went to Starbucks. I don’t understand solace. I don’t know if I’m sad because I’m someone who got dumped or because I’m a lousy coffee shop philosopher. I don’t know if there’s even a difference between one and the other.

I’m lost, but I’m looking to find my way back.

When you miss it the most

Most living, breathing adults endure multiple romantic fractures in the course of a lifetime, but only one actual heart-splitting, Richter-scale breakup. In its aftermath, devastation tucks you in at night and wakes you up in the morning. Your day-to-day world is thrown out of whack, not to mention the past you thought was fixed and the double-occupancy future you assumed lay ahead. Sounds awful? Yes. Lonely? Excruciatingly. Invaluable? Perhaps.

In the wake of a lover's departure, the wreckage looks like this: There's no one else to make coffee, get the paper, or warm up the bed. Couple friends don't call as often, or if they do, the newly single are less inclined to accept invitations where they'll be the odd woman out. Weekends stretch out as vast, uncharted oceans of solitude. And even when the woman was the one to call it off, sadness bounces off the walls like whispers in an echo chamber.

Grief can be stunning—literally—and yet you still have to go on business trips, unload the dishwasher, and face people. Calling on one's support system is essential not only for survival through the rough times but for keeping the loss in perspective. When I went through my worse relationship earthquake, I created a new network of friends, and found safety in ongoing relationships, only then did I realize that my whole emotional life is not just about that one person.

The emotional threads that still connect you to the world, primarily through friends and family, turn out to possess amazing tensile strength. They also serve as a reminder that your capacity for loving relationships is much broader than one person. "You're in for some wonderful surprises," Trafford says. "You see how much people care for you."The line between introspection and beating yourself over the head is, most of us know, filament thin, especially where love is concerned.

In our culture, says Maxine Schnall, author of What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger: Turning Bad Breaks into Blessings, the tendency for self-blame falls along gender lines. "Women are relationship oriented. The guy will walk away and say, 'She was a bitch,' and the woman will say, 'What did I do wrong?' But blaming yourself is not going to help."Anyone with a shattered heart can win the prize—a happier life, a better relationship next time around—but only by making use of the mess right there in front of you.

You have to think about it. Feel it. Mourn it. Miss him, resent him, and wish you could tell him the funny thing you saw that only he would understand because it reminds you of that baby headband you both saw in a baby's shop while shopping in Melbourne. And if you do all that, really breathe the sorrow, and let the sadness frame each beat of your heart, you'll not only be able to let it go, you'll find yourself arriving at a new place, in which you know more clearly what you want and need and what you have to offer.

So here are the real rules: Don't run with scissors, don't leave the iron on, don't cross against the light, and don't be afraid of a broken heart.