Jo and I hopped on the 260 express bus bound for Stanley. In the 40-minute journey, the first 15 of which was spent on just making our way out of the clogged arteries of Central, the double-decker bus careened wildly along the windy road that snaked around Shouson Hill, past Deep Water Bay and Repulse Bay.

Unfortunately, we had not counted on the shops in Stanley Market closing early, not especially when we were expecting it to be akin to late-night shopping strips the likes of those in Causeway Bay and Mongkok. All there remained were empty alleys lined with shuttered shopfronts, their lights dimmed for the day. The only thing left to do in this ghost town was to find a restaurant for a dinner.

* * * * * *

Stanley's Italian & French is a quaint establishment decked out with small kerosene lanterns hung everywhere and creeper plants on the ceiling, replete with red checker table cloths, looking like a cross between a vineyard and a garden hut. Dinner was a quick affair and we spent the remainder of our time there savoring pina coladas and Tetley's as a cool winter breeze blew in from the beach. Jo read more of the Sophia Kinsella novel she has been trying to finish for the longest time while I wrote this entry. For once in the entire week, we were not in a hurry to get anywhere or to do anything.

Or so I thought.

'The alcohol's not working,' Jo announced in disappointment. 'I'm not even near high. I think I'll order another.'

'Why? Are you trying to? We both know what you want when you are high.'

She giggled and, with a twinkle in her eyes, took another healthy sip.

I continued to wait even as the door has been shut and armed. Out the window I watched, into the distance, as a fighter plane maneuvered effortlessly in the sky.

The PA system crackled to life.

'This is your captain speaking. There will be a slight delay in pushback due to the Asian Aerospace exhibition going on, though I am fairly confident we'll arrive in Hong Kong ahead of schedule.'

The fighter plane did a roll and then leveled out and exited the exhibition airspace. Next to me, a seat away, the Indian man had dozed off. I took out my PDA and attempted to write, but the words do not come.

When I looked out the window again, I saw the new Airbus A380, painted in the Singapore Airlines livery, fly into view. The behemoth of an airliner began to do a series of rolls and climbs. Once, towards the end of its 10-minute performance, it climbed at a 20 degree incline for a few seconds before – like a car cresting the peak of a hill – it dropped its nose and descended. Then, like a car skidding a corner, it leveled out as it did a left bank. Given the sheer size of the A380, the performance I had just witnessed was nothing short of gracious, and impressive.

* * * * * *

'I had the talk today,' Jo revealed in the phone conversation we had sometime last week. 'I won't be staying in Hong Kong.'

'Which is what you want.'

'Yes.'

It was just as well. Not having taken a liking to the city, compounded by the fact that she was separated from her loved ones, has taken a toll somewhat on her, and returning home would be the best arrangement, even if it would mean losing the freedom she has found. Compromise, it would seem, is necessary.

And it would mean we would not have to keep up the high cost of this long-distance relationship any more. Just earlier today, as I waited to board my flight, I realized how much time I had spent at the airport in the past year. Going about one of these short sojourns to Hong Kong has become a motion so familiar that the novelty of it has worn off somewhat, even as seeing Jo and spending time alone with her in a foreign city was a rejuvenation each time.

And today, on the last flight I would be taking for her in this closing chapter in our lives, the sense of renewal was especially strong. It was as though I was taking the very first flight all over again.

Happy seventh, my love.

In the pursuit of a dream, and in the fulfillment of both promises and obligations, I have not told you what you mean to me.

In the days past of deadlines and overtime, I have forgotten to say how much I missed you.

In the nights when your hands sought and found not the solace of my skin, but remnants of my past instead as you fell to the ghoulish whispers of your darker psyche, you have lost sight of what we had built along the way.

Lately, my heart has not spoken to yours, our heartbeats misaligned by a minute fraction in the wake of those ugly and harsh words.

But now I want to – and I can – tell you how you are the world to me, even when not with a million words can I express my feelings. That whatever words I have found may falter, even as my heart remains true.

That sometimes, just sometimes, silences speak more of what words can say.

I shed a tear tonight.

For the right you insist and maintain, even as I explained the best I could about why I cannot do certain things that I had done in the past.

I lost it on the way home, as the taxi cab sped through the empty highway.

I broke down and sobbed quietly.

For your refusal to believe that you mean the world to me, or that I would brave the resistance from your parents, the miles that separate us, and the demons in you with regards to my past.

You are your own solution. There is only so much I can do.

Heed my advice.

Stop before you tear us apart. I do not want an apology, for none is needed. I want a resolution before it is too late.

'Hi mom,' I said as she answered the phone. 'Happy lunar new year.'

'Happy new year. How did you spend tonight?'

'By myself.'

There was a beat before she spoke again. 'Her parents didn't invite you over for dinner?'

'No.'

Another beat. I could hear, in the background, laughter and chatter from the many relatives who had taken the trip down to my Grandmas for the reunion dinner.

'Are you alright about it?' she asked. The sadness in her voice was clear.

I shrugged. 'It's no big deal. It's not as though it would have been a comfortable dinner even if I had been invited.'

We spoke for a while more. When I hung up the phone, I felt as though I did not exist. Not so much to my family but to Jo's. And surely it was a fact, since their not inviting me was telling enough.

I shook my head and went back to my meal.

I watched as he reached across the space between the front seats, and took her hand.

In the back seat, behind the two new lovebirds, I watched. And my heart smiled, even if I could not bring myself to move my lips to form one. I could not smile because you are far away. Because you are unable to be here on this day.

Six months ago, on this day, we found ourselves truly alone for the first time, far from the maddening crowd we were amongst on that Sunday we first went out together, and enveloped with quietness rather than a million chatter.

And later, over dinner, even as I tried my best to engage myself in the conversation, I remained mostly quiet and sullen. Because I felt a pang of longing for your presence. How complete it would have been if you were there seated next to me. Because at one point, I realized something.

Quite a milestone, huh? you SMSed me earlier. I suppose we should have an idea of where we are heading now, yes?

Yes. But we have always known, love.

That we would not stop short of any place but the horizon. Even if our pace falters and our legs tire, we will walk hand in hand like we always do. And in that union we will find strength even in the face of the occasional bout of doubt, insecurity, or jealousy.

Happy sixth-month anniversary, Jo.

You were already at the airport and was having a meal with your family while I waited at the outdoor Harry's bar close at the wing of the terminal near the gate. I nursed a pint to sooth my nerves that had been unraveled just an hour ago when I stood nervously in the long queue at the check-in counter hoping that you and your family would not arrive before I could check-in.

In the minutes that ticked quickly by after I got an SMS from you saying you were on the way to the airport, I grew increasingly agitated at the unmoving line. With 15 minutes to spare, it was finally my turn, and I left specific instruction for you to check-in with the counter staff who has served me. Then I slipped into the safety of the departure area, where I would be out of sight from your parents.

I hated myself at that moment. That we had to make such an arrangement, as if we were an illicit affair. Illegitimate.

Yet, as we settled into our seats, we felt euphoria somewhat at the fact that this was the first time we were flying back together. Then, sometime into the flight, it became apparent you were going to remain quiet. When I asked you what was wrong, you said you were not ready to leave yet. It would have been perfectly understandable had I not been affected by the thought that it did not seem to matter to you that I had taken time out for the next five days I would be spending with you, and that this was the third time I had flown to you in the short span of two months.

Throughout the flight you were withdrawn, and I did likewise. Little did I knew that we would be remain mostly so for the next five days.

I held your hand and never once let go as we walked and walked, our hands clutched as I led the way for us. Even as we were in the midst of hundreds – while we forged a path through a sea of the nameless unknown – we were alone.

Weaving through the crowd, I was reminded of the scene of the elephant parade in that film we saw together just days ago.

‘You look happy,’ you teasingly said when I peeled my gaze away from the sky and turned to you.

‘I am happy you came out to spend this night with me,’ I said, though I knew, deep inside, my reply hardly came close to what I was feeling and what I wanted to convey.

We found ourselves on a bridge which has been cordoned for the night, devoid of moving traffic, with only parked cars abandoned by their drivers. The white arches of the iron bridge shone with every explosion in the sky as we hurried to the Fullerton intersection at the far end.

There, in the first few minutes of the newborn year, I kissed you again and again as the painted sky above burned to a climax. And amidst the accompanying cheers of the crowd gathered around the intersection, I softly said: ‘This is the best new year ever. I have never celebrated a new year quite like this.’

And I’ll want to the next year, I thought. And the next. Then the next…

We found a quiet corner in Marche and, after a few trips to pick up our food, sat down for a dinner on Xena's tab.

She listened and stabbed at her mountain of a plate of assorted fried seafood as I spoke. In the wake of what I would term as a lovers' tiff between Jo and I, I sought to find an understanding of what went wrong, and in the course of talking about it, a small epiphany hit me after she made a simple remark.

'She will blossom into a remarkable woman.'

It made me smile. 'Y'know,' I began, 'I've never told you this before – and I have told Jo this before – when we first got together, I told her this: 'One day you'd find yourself and know what you want in life. But when that day comes, I will cease to be part of your life. That I will not be part of what you want anymore. It will be part of your coming of age.'

I smiled again as I looked up from my food. 'Jo, of course, laughed it off and said I was simply being pessimistic. But it's not about me being a defeatist, it's just a rite of passage she'd go through when she hits the quarter milestone. I told her to mark my words, that that day will come.'

'That, I suppose, would be your purpose in her life. And perhaps that would be good enough.'

'Exactly.'

'So if you are so certain that is going to happen, why would you do something so drastic as uprooting yourself from here?'

I chewed absently as I pondered. Then I washed down the mouthful with a swig of my drink and cleared my throat.

'Because it makes me happy.'

In light of the events that had transpired in the past two weeks, there are things I want to say but I cannot, not without risking the strife these harsh words and their cognates would cause. That the mere suggestion of the thoughts behind the explicit use of these words would be a death knell to the end of all the convictions and beliefs we had so painfully laid our claims to all this while.

And so I shall not.

We found a spot on the ledge of a fountain at the concourse of the International Financial Center. The sky was clear but undefined, and the midday sun shone strong as a light winter wind blew.

We watched the office crowd. I turned and looked at Jo; she creased her brows lightly from the glare of the sunlight. A few feet away, an executive sat by himself and ate out of a styrofoam lunch box. Opposite us, more office workers laughed, chatted and ate at the many tables lined along the periphery of the entrance to the building.

We spoke sparingly as we sipped the drinks we had taken with us from lunch; there was a silence and a sense of foreboding as the minutes ticked down. In the wake of the two days that had flashed by -two days that I had plucked out from nowhere and made for ourselves – we were now at a juncture in which the euphoria has simmered and reality beckoned; its presence loomed, and with every minute, goaded and taunted.

* * * * * *

We were sipping strawberry milkshakes. When we first became a couple, we learnt, much to our mutual delight, that milkshakes were a shared indulgement. Since then, sharing a milkshake has become one of the ways we spent quality time together. The last time we had done so prior to now was in Phuket, when we sat at the balcony of our suite, clad in bathrobes, sipping milkshakes as we admired the night sky.

It was a moment equally dear now as it has been then. And somehow it was equally fitting on this day; many a time when we were alone, we sipped from the same glass of milkshake as we hid from the world outside, before we had to return to the reality we had temporarily cast aside.

* * * * * *

I glanced at my watch. It was 12:20. 'Well,' I sighed. 'This is it.'

She pursed her lips in disappointment. I pinched her chin.

'Don't look so sad. I'll be back early December.' I smiled in reassurance, even as I felt the same pang of sadness at my departure.

'Have you booked your return flight for Christmas?'

'Yes.'

'Lemme know when you confirm, so that we can fly back together.'

* * * * * *

I boarded the Airport Express train and picked a window seat so that I could look at her one last time. For the full 10 minutes before the train left the station, we did not break our gazes. She stood unmoving, and smiled occasionally to break the silence, though it was not as though we could have spoken.

Framed by reflections of the carriage interior on the window, the visage of her was like that as seen through a kaleidescope; she was surrounded by soft spots of cabin lights in a row, criss-crossed with snatches of blue, white and gleaming stainless steel in odd and warped shapes.

The train doors quietly hissed as they shut. She waved. I returned it and, as a last desperate attempt at saying what I could not, blew her a kiss. Seconds later, a mechanical whine emanated from somewhere in the bowel of the train and the carriage buckled lightly forward. As the train slowly gathered speed, I looked over my shoulder and affixed my gaze at her form on the receding platform, before the darkness of the tunnel wiped past the window and all that I was left staring at was my own reflection.

Over lunch today, as we shared a table with a couple, I asked Jo: 'Can you see yourself living here? Honestly.'

'Saying I can – which I can – is one thing,' she replied. 'But I'm not so sure if you were to ask if I like living here.'

I nodded. I understood and I shared the sentiment. 'This city feels claustrophobic. Personally, I much prefer the spaciousness of Taipei.'

* * * * * *

I had a few hours to go before Jo got off work, and I went looking for a small bite.

With a pastry and a canned drink in hand, I turned into the main road and, as I walked, searched for a spot I could sit down. But there was none. This part of the city felt as though it was designed and meant for people to hurry by, and not to pause or stop.

I gave up looking, and settled by a metal railing some distance away from a bus stand. Leaning on the railing as I washed down the stale pastry with the can of drink, I observed as the city wound down for the day. The sky has already darkened. In this hour, with the multitude of neon lights, the city took on a different look. Caught in the midst of a whir of both vehicular and human traffic, I felt like an anomaly, as though I was the only one who did not seem as though I had a place to go.

What would I be doing if I were to live here?

The question to the self was unexpected, but it was very real.

* * * * * *

We commandeered a cab and made for Causeway Bay. Unfortunately the cab driver, in his late fifties and severly bi-focaled, did not understand our repeated utterance of 'Times Square'. I thrust him a map and jabbed a finger to it, but to no avail.

'I can't see the map,' he exclaimed in Cantonese.

I tried the best I could to guesstimate what the pronunciation of the street name would be in Cantonese and uttered to him, though, given his reaction, seemed to confuse him even more. A couple of attempts more on my part and he waved me down, nodding as though to say 'I know, I know.'

All the while, as our vehicle crawled through the traffic jam, I peered out the window for signs that corresponded to what I was reading off the map. By sheer luck, we came down and off-ramp right next to Times Square.

'Is it this one?' he asked and pointed.

'Yes.' I gave my reply in Mandarin, to which he then responded adequately in the language. Right. I suppose I should have conversed in Mandarin all along. Then again, it was not as though there was a Mandarin translation of Times Square anywhere on the map.

I took her hand as we weaved our ways through an after-hours crowd hurrying home. She pointed out the various shops and eateries she has been to, and suggested some others we could try.

'The streets here aren't conducive for walking arm-in-arm,' I laughed as I grazed the shoulder of yet another passerby.

Every time I turned back to look at her, I found her grinning from ear to ear.

'You're smiling a lot,' I said.

'So are you.'

Yes, I was indeed. We came to the end of an alley.

'We can try the diner near our apartment,' she said. I paused for a moment.

'Our apartment,' I repeated and mused. 'I like the sound of that. Our apartment.'

Then I smiled and clutched her hand tighter.