Love Me Tender

These days, when I chat with my fellow 1979-ers, a few topics would pop up - health, money, ageing - but one of them recently stood out for me.

Self love.

And it's a deep issue.

Stanley agrees.

My sex bunny friend says since he discovered self love at pre-puberty, he had gone on to invest in that area, often partnering others to do deep, mutual exploration.

I don't really want to know Stanley's interpretation of self love.

But Jac's version is definitely something to think about.

Jac - short for Jacqueline Tan, my secondary school mate - was, for the lack of a better word, a haggard mother of two who had recently left her cheating husband.

"Cute or not?" is Stanley's question to everything related to a man. "Cock big or not?" would be his immediate follow up.

"Why is that important," I demanded to know in the group chat, regretting immediately about discussing this with the boys.

"It's context, Adam dear," Stanley replied smoothly.

"Why is it important to give the age of Tan Bee Bah and list her occupation if Tan Bee Bah were to be interviewed in a Straits Times story? Same reason. Context!" said Stanley, sounding like an unethical defence lawyer.

"Who's Tan Bee Bah?" Carl the dense one asked, late to the conversation as usual.

"Cute or not? Cock big or not," he persisted.

Sigh.

Let's leave my boys at home, just for today.

Back to Jac.

Last week, I met Jac for coffee and boy, has she changed.

For the longest time that my schoolmates and I remember, Jac had always been burdened with juggling her job, two kids - a six-old-girl and a four-year-old boy - and was always quarrelling with her husband.

Age - and her cheating husband - had not been kind to Jac.

Once, I bumped into Jac while I was with my partner J and I almost couldn't recognise her.

Her face was oily and pimply and had trapped strands of her wispy hair - most of which, drained of the lustre it once had - on her face. She looked pudgier than I remember her from secondary school. She didn't see me - she was busy balancing a small boy on one arm and bags of groceries on another, all the while shouting commands at her young daughter to "hold on tightly to mummy's skirt."

Jac was once a pleasantly plump girl - the head prefect whom we all loved. She was friendly, humble, and had big dreams in life.

When she married that scum bag, the dreams dwindled and she was only left with big.

That day over coffee, I almost couldn't recognise Jac.

"It's been a long time," she said with a sigh.

It wasn't a burdened sigh.

It was a sigh that said other things - chief of which, relief.

Jac had asked me out to coffee because we had once been very close friends.

But she drifted apart from me - and all other male specimens in our group - after she married the scum bag.

Now that she's divorced, she's determined to pick up the shards in her life.

And that determination was very clear.

In front of me is Jac version 2.0.

In the last eight months after her divorce, Jac told herself she will not loathe her life any more.

She realised how, for the longest time, she had been giving her all to everything else but herself: She spent time fussing over her kids, struggling to upkeep a failing marriage, putting on a brave front for her elderly parents, and throwing herself into her job which she coudln't afford to lose.

There was no Jac in Jac's life.

And she was a dull girl.

Her divorce jolted her up.

And she realised how she must now start loving herself.

And boy, she did.

Jac, who moved back to her parents' two-storey house to heal from this episode, took a sabbatical.

She started her journey by reflecting on her life, and listing all that she loved and hated about it.

She had read somewhere on the internet that such an exercise helps the person see the good and bad of herself.

On the bad list, Jac listed ways to turn things around.

On the good list, Jac wrote down why she was thankful for those items.

And then she went to the gym.

Exercising her heart out.

In fact, she also exercised her butt, her flabby arms, and her muffin tops out.

Out, out, out.

Out of her life!

In the course of eight months, Jac had dropped 8 kg. Her face was radiant - reddish from blood circulation. And her face, with the help of facial products, was once again youthful.

That night, at her hotel lobby, I had the most meaningful discussion with Jac.

She had flown all the way to Myanmar to meet me and spend some time by herself visiting pagodas.

She's on that part of her recovery journey where she wants to spend time alone while reconnecting with her old friends.

But that night wasn't just about Jac.

She didn't fly all the way here to show off to me how well she bounced back.

As much as Jac talked, she also listened.

Listened to how I had been so busy with my work overseas, how I often have trouble managing my staff, and how I always fear that I will screw up my work.

She also listened as I went on about how I'm now the one looking like a sack of sweet potatoes due to the lack of time to exercise.

"Don't be a Jac," Jac interrupted gently.

"You're great, Adam. You have it all - your partner is supportive, and you have a great life here."

"I didn't. But I survived," she said.

Then, she looked me in the eye and said to me earnestly, "you need to love yourself more."

That night, I thought about Jac - what she had gone through, what she must have felt, and how she had been so headstrong and taken charge of her life.

And the notion of self love stuck with me.

The next day, before Jac flew off, I messaged her, thanking her for reminding me something so basic. Something so often forgotten.

Love and good wishes were exchanged, and just like that, Jac came and left my world.

One thing though, is for sure.

The head prefect Jac is back, and she's once again guiding her junior prefects one by one, by being a role model to us.



---------------------------
Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people