I admit, I have a problem.
Although I probably have several problems, I have to admit to this one right now. My problem is…
I admit, I have a problem.
Although I probably have several problems, I have to admit to this one right now. My problem is…
As a Computer Geek I am never offline. Never.
But there comes a time in even the most hardcore, always-online Computer Geek’s life when he has to go offline. For me that time is Week 26.
When you ignore people on Facebook, they pretty much disappear from your world, assuming that Facebook is the only part of your world where you ever encountered them. Ignoring people in real life is substantially less effective and much more work.
Ever notice when mutual friends reply to a comment on their posts left by the Ignoree? The friend appear to either be having a conversation with themselves or give replies that are out of sync.
If you are the Ignorer, you will sometimes remember that you are, and put 2 and 2 together to conclude that what you’re witnessing is half a conversation between your friend and somebody you’ve chosen to exclude from your Facebook life.
The same goes for when you are the Ignoree – although the realisation that you are the Ignoree is an entirely different feeling all together. Sinking, I believe it is.
The only way you know you’re being excluded from whatever comment / update / post was made in first place though, is by picking up on random snippets of other people’s responses to an apparently non-existing post. And to pick up on those, you must have been expecting to find yourself on some or other limited access list.
At least Facebook privacy works in that regard – a powerful blade that cuts both ways. Deep.
Also, if you’re spending too much time on Facebook, like I clearly am, then some statistics might cause worry.
Like having 515 friends, for instance, of which 235 are in common with your recently ex girlfriend. And realising, at about the same time, that of those remaining friends of yours, at least 80% are overseas / out-of-reach / a business contact / were added after a night out when you had a bit too much to drink.
The world suddenly looks a lot smaller and your prospects of future good nights out a lot slimmer.
It’s the price you pay for the choices you make.
It does, really. One moment you’re floating among the clouds, next moment your on all fours in emotional mud.
I got a job offer from KL yesterday. Obviously that made me happy.
Headhunted, well, not really, perhaps she was just phoning to find out whether or not I had friends who would qualify for the job. Needless to say, we got talking and it’s pretty much like what I’m doing now – in fact, it’s almost 100% my current job description – but it’s in Kuala Lumpur (as opposed to my current Kota Kinabalu – you know, close to my son).
Before I would consider anything at all, I do need to find out what the pay is – she didn’t have this detail handy, which made me think perhaps it’s not that significant. Considering what I have here, it will have to be a mighty big incentive to have me pack up all my shit and go there. She gave me a hint as to what her salary is, but she’s a top dog and if I can’t earn near that then why move?
Last night we said goodbye to a Tazmanian friend of ours who’s been out here in Kota Kinabalu and Sabah for a stretch with WWF (The wildlife fund, not the grown men in tight costumes, although he’s possibly interested in both) – we went to Atmosphere for their 10pm to midnight happy hour and oh was the hour happy. The cocktails average about RM11.50 including taxes (a damn good deal if you know alcohol prices in KK) and they’re arguable the best in town. The Bloody Mary is hands down, without a doubt, the best anywhere, but I advise you to drink that one last, as every other cocktail will seem to pale in comparison afterwards.
And that’s it for the floating amongst the cloud bit, but being on all fours in the emotional mud is not so easy to talk about, not because I’m an introverted, alpha male afraid of his own emotions, oh no dear, if you’ve read any of the older stuff on this blog you will realise I have verbal diarrhea when it comes to talk about emotions.
No, it’s difficult to talk about because in the great scheme of things it’s actually quite complicated. Or it was. But that’s about as much as I can say.
But excuse me, because now I have some wallowing to do.
With a start I just realised something.
I’m at work (taking a brain break now), I was pouring hot water in my giant-cup with the weak green-tea bag for the umpteenth time this morning, not thinking about this in particular, when, like crap on your shoulder from a random, spiteful pigeon, a thought dropped in on my mind.
The realisation was that in my life, at least four women (that I know of) got married to the next guy they dated after me.
I’m unsure how to feel about this, because I’m not sure whether to see this as a good thing or a bad thing. I guess women who get married will necessarily have to do it with the guy they see after the guy they saw last, unless, of course, the guy they marry is the first guy they’ve ever been with. You follow?
But out of the not-so-large collection of relationships that I’ve had since my very first one when I was 16, is having 4 women marry the next guy not a large number? Percentage wise, it’s a double digit figure not too far from 50. Should I be alarmed?
Almost a Virgin-taker
It actually happened to my very first girlfriend, which in the context of this perceived flash-crisis is more disconcerting than the rest.
I’ll call her R. Ah, sweet girl, but I was young and innocent, immature and confused and the way things were going we were both going to lose our virginities, which at the time would have been morally and religiously reprehensible and thus, I terminated the relationship with a stupid excuse that I wanted to “experience other girlfriends”, clearly thinking that if we gave ourselves to each other, marriage would be necessitated and at such a young age, would be the end of my single self.
Well, she went on to date the hunky rugby player named Hans, and years later when I bumped into her again she had married the guy. I was perplexed by an emotion then similar to what I experience now, but I admired her for getting married a virgin – or, losing her virginity to the guy she ultimately married, which ever way it went.
Several years and a few girlfriends later I dated C. Sexy, curvy woman. Anyway, she took my virginity so that was the end of that worry, but our relationship was superficial and largely based on equally large breast and the allure of an inexperienced boy. When the one lost its novelty and the other became a lie, the relationship – which we tried twice – died a fairly painless death for both parties concerned.
Well, she went on to date a hunky Dutch guy who could have been named Hans, and years later when I bumped into her online she had married the guy.
A little bit of Culture, a lot of Religion and no Sex
Not so many years and not so many girlfriends later I met F. South African woman at her best, oh so Afrikaans, very religious and reminded me of my chaste days and thus the short relationship was pure. It was a relationship with a pre-determined expiry date as I met her in the months leading up to my first ever overseas adventure.
The goodbye was nevertheless emotional as we had shared much and on a cultural and background level I guess she was the woman I had had connected with strongest during my formative years (I was not yet 21 and still forming). Shortly after our break-up I left to go overseas.
Well, she went on to date a hunky guy certainly not named Hans, and two years later when I bumped into her at Canal Walk, I couldn’t help but notice that was sporting a huge rock on her ring finger and she had married that guy.
Da Ai Zai Jung Guo – 大爱在中国 (Big Love in China)
Many years and not so many girlfriends came and went and I myself got married (it was after a girlfriend, which is quite a controversial story, especially for my xyf – but irrelevant here) and divorced and I had many adventures, triumphs and downers.
Eventually the energies of the universe conspired and I found myself in China.
Long story short, K stole my heart on Wudang Shan. But shortly after this relationship started it was also marked to expire when I decided that I had to return to Malaysia to be near my son. In spite of this we had a whirlwind romance and got very near and dear to each other in a very short time and this farewell was positively heartbreaking. I left China to return to Malaysia.
Well, she went on to date a hunky… well, I hope he was hunky and not some random bloke from an influential family that her parents organised for her (although that is rumoured to have happened). Anyway, I recently got hold of King (the foreign language teacher formerly known as Prince) and he updated me saying that Karen had gotten married.
When I read it in his email, what I felt was strangely familiar, but I had given it no thought and pondered not the familiarity of the scenario until just then that fateful moment, minutes ago when I was pouring hot water into my giant-cup with the weak green-tea bag for the umpteenth time this morning.
And having recollected these four women, who got betrothed to and, consequently, unified with the very next fellow following the demise of the relationship I had with them, I’m still not sure what it is I’m feeling.
Do I feel honoured because I think I was such a great loss that they felt they should grab and chain the very next bloke that comes along out of fear that they would let another great catch such as myself slip through their fingers? Or…
do I feel like I was slapped with a wet, smelly trout across the face because they felt that following the heartache and torment that I introduced into their previously tranquil lives, all they want to do is remove themselves from the dating pool and live out the remainder of their ruined lives in the arms of a man who perhaps they think they love, but who certainly love them and a hellavulot better compared to the ruin they found in me?
Or still, am I completely delusional, perhaps high on a weak-tasting-but-actually-quite-strong green-tea brewed from a low-on-taste-but-high-in-oomph green-tea bag causing me to over-analyse unbelievably trivial matters when really I should be working?
Yeah. That last one.
The sun didn’t come up today. Morning had broken, but the sun was not there. I drove to work and noticed only black cars, white cars and those coloured cars which are almost colours, but aren’t really. Without the sun my day had no colour. Nothing bright. The trees were dull gray, the ground they grew from black. Their leaves looking like it was covered with dust, drowning out the colour, turning the leaves into the colour of the inside of a disused furnace. The road was blacker than usual, the lines not white, but gray, stretching off into the smoggy distance.
I got to the round-about where I was expecting the colour of Chinese New Year decorations to liven up my bland day, but there wasn’t. Instead, on the off-white grass grew light gray flowers and from the black wires suspended above hung black lanterns. The dome of the mosque was dull, matte gray. Behind it I could see the cloudless sky, but even that was a pale light black.
I drove past the golf course, drab and life less, silt drifting on the golf course lake, making it obvious that beneath the dark black surface there was no light, there was no life. Hope had drowned there before. The parking garage looked like it always does, different shades of gray, devoid of light and dusty. Rubbish lay about, shades of black and white. At the staff entrance plumes of gray smoke drifted slowly upwards, smokers, chefs and stewards in their black and white uniforms, engineering in their black overalls, dragging from their cigarettes in equal slow motion, voices muffled and inaudible, white teeth behind gray lips which could have been smiling. I didn’t notice.
My black shoes made empty sounds on the dull surface of the gray tiles of the dimly lit corridor, neon lights hanging overhead, emitting bright gray rays, accentuating the grayness of the walls. My office had turned monochrome too, like bad reception on the public channel. White noise drowning out laughter and morning greetings, every sound recorded on a cassette tape being played too slow. My gray cup of coffee with the three table spoons of white sugar tasted bland and bitter.
I walked past the Marina on the way to my morning meeting, the dark gray water of the marina basin, although clear, but clearly lifeless and without fish. The fish had left, went looking for love elsewhere. Rubbish littered the corner where rubbish usually litters the corner; chips wrappers, chocolate bar wrappers, empty drinks bottles and unidentified pieces of junk floating about in a black and white collage. The black rocks glimmering in the absence of the sun which wasn’t burning down on my light gray head.
The coconut trees lining the boardwalk, hunched over with their shoulders dropped, their dull leaves drooping, the coconuts hanging in a way tears hang on the eyelids of the sad, waiting to accumulate enough momentum to roll down cheeks. The water of the swimming pool, slowly dripping from one level to another, molasses running down the side of gray waffle.
The morning meeting had many people talking deep and slow, unhappy voices emitting white noise. Moments laps and the tape speeds up, but the colour still devoid the scene. The lobby, full of people, shades of black on the floor, shades of white on the pillars, plants and water dull, slow and gray.
I was busy today, my colourless day – the work kept my mind on work, the absence of the sun didn’t seem to bother me so much when work occupied my mind. The absence of colour didn’t matter when I typed Word documents and read my emails, black letters on white backgrounds, keyboard with it’s white letters on the black background. The mouse is black, the screen is black, even my mouse pad is dark gray.
Just before I left for home a few rays of sunshine shone on me and briefly colour touched me. But like the glint in the eye of a beautiful girl, temporarily transfixed in the gaze of a young boy at the traffic light while she’s on the bus and he’s on a push bike, all to soon it too was gone. The sun disconnected, the colour went off line.
I drove home in my black car with the gray seats on a dark asphalt road with white markings. I got caught at the traffic light on gray, stopped on black, and crossed when it turned light black. At home I parked in the gray driveway, opened the black gate and stepped onto the white tiles of the living room with it’s gray walls. The stairs were dull and black, my bed a pit of despair.
And as a sunless sunset brought dusk upon my day, the white moon was already announcing the arrival of the black night from the east. At least, at night, everything is supposed to be black and white.
Yesterday morning I was listening, over the internet, to a Cape Town based radio station, KFM, and heard “Bodyrockers – I like the way”. Just what I needed as a pick-me up.
I downloaded the song and listened to it over and over again and it really lifted my spirits, like I had forgotten music can do. So the worries with Lara, although not out of my mind, were filed securely towards the back.
I was feeling so confident that I took the pants, which I bought a week or so ago, but was too long to wear, to the tailor I had discovered in Wuyan. I hadn’t had the guts to do this before, as it would require a level of Chinese which I do not poses.
Taking the trusty No.5 Bus I settled down and saw on the clock it was 13:20 and knew it would be time for Lara to take her break. I had barely finished this thought when my phone rang. It was someone phoning from The Restaurant’s phone and could really only be one person. I played it cool.
“Hi”, I said, chirpy as if nothing was wrong and I was unsure of who it was. “Hi”, she said, voice crackling as she has a bit of cold. I said “Oh, hi, how are you”, cool as Mr. Cucumber. She said “fine, and you? Where are you”. “On my way to Wuyan, on the bus”, I replied, offering no more than that. A brief pregnant pause followed. “Oh” she said. I offered nothing else. “You want come here?”, she asked after another few grating seconds. “Why?” I replied, not in the mood to make things easy.
“I want to see you.” And if my heart was a cookie, there would be crumbs all over the bus. Few things in life feel as good as knowing that someone wants you, even if it is only to see you. So I dropped the act and said sure, I’m on the bus already, I could be there in 10 minutes.
15 Minutes later I walked into the restaurant and it was great to see her. That smile of hers instantly disarming me.
I did frown a bit and asked her what the previous night was about. So she pointed out that my phone had no money, because she did try to phone me when she realised I had turned around, and then she did run outside to see where I was. By then my long legs and anger-fueled pace had already carried me across the busy road and out of sight.
So I felt better. I would like to say we embraced, kissed and made up, alas, we barely touch and thus the preceding is hardly likely. In light of what happened this year, I see this as an excellent test of my substance.
A question of ‘why are you with this woman’. Just of one thing? Am I really the dirty bastard that this year perhaps it might have looked like I am? Or am I the decent gentleman my mother raised who strayed a little bit off the path?
Anyway, it was good to spend a few hours with her. We had some lunch and afterwards we returned to The Restaurant and I taught her some more basic English. She likes to speak English, but her vocab is limited. She was quite sick and also a bit tired, so I watched her sleep on one of the couches in The Restaurant for 15 minutes, which was great. People, when they sleep, are most peaceful and often most beautiful.
I went to a pharmacy, alone, and managed to mime my way through getting her the correct medicine, which hopefully will help.
Afterwards I journeyed to the tailor in Wuyan, where communication was unnecessary, as when I walked up to the shop, bag in hand, they guessed what I wanted. The tailor swiftly measured my leg, flung the pants over the manually operated sewing machine, undid the previous seam with a few strokes of a blade and proceeded to stitch up the new measurements.
I haven’t tried it on yet, but I’m fairly confident it will be ok. Like the rest of me.
Well, there you have it. Stupid is as stupid does and tonight, stupid did just that.
My best intentions not to contact Lara lasted less than 24 hours. Although, I have to add, she SMS’ed me this afternoon. So I thought, “Ha! Now I have the power”.
I took my sweet time in replying, thinking of course, that she would be nervously on edge, watching her mobile phone the whole time, periodically checking if it was still working. All in anticipation of my all important reply.
Instead of my usual lightning fast, desperate-written-all-over-it reply of 5 seconds, taking my time I took a whole 15 seconds on this one, really working the suspense.
And then she didn’t reply. So I thought it warranted another SMS… and another. A victim of my own emotions, see?
In between my two classes this evening I fired off another SMS asking if she wanted me to go there (The Restaurant), but no reply. After class, sitting on the edge of my bed, pondering the perplexities that is woman, I thought screw this, I’m not Tom and she’s not Jerry, so I refuse to play these cat and mouse games any longer.
So I typed her a nice SMS saying, I don’t understand her, she doesn’t understand me, we should maybe just leave the whole thing alone, and then fired it off thinking what must be will be.
What was to be was that at that moment my phone indicated that I should check my service provider, because the message could not be sent. Checking revealed that I had run out of airtime. A sign?
Ever the optimist, I thought that’s why I haven’t had a reply from her earlier and that she probably did SMS me to say “come here”, but without airtime I couldn’t receive it.
So I scarfed and gloved myself and set off on my quest, as so many times before, to Liuyan. On the way I thought to myself what am I thinking, why am I doing this, obsessing like this, making such an ass of myself. The thoughts were impaled by Cupid’s arrow as I arrived at the bus stop near The Restaurant and walked my way in.
From the street level there are maybe 15 steps down to The Restaurant, so you can see who’s coming before they actually arrive. Lara usually cover’s the front desk as I think officially she’s the hostess. Anyway, as expected she was near the door with a colleague, but I saw her before she saw me.
I looked down to find my footing on the steps, but as I looked up again a moment later, I saw her running away into the Restaurant. I froze… shocked at first, confused a second later. Then I caught the eye of two of her colleagues, felt myself going red, turned around and left.
I decided to walk home. It took me 40 minutes which is the pace of a brisk walk. For the first few blocks I was fuming. Angry, humiliated, defeated in my quest for love.
After another few blocks I realised that her actions tonight is what I wanted – a clear communication. I can handle rejection, what I can’t handle is being kept in the dark and being non the wiser either way. Of course, my ego hopes that she would have tried to phone as soon as she realised I had turned around. My ego would be laughing thinking that she would hear the message that says my phone had no credit and would feel sorry for what she did and would spend the night lying awake, perhaps shedding a tear for the hurt she caused me.
My ego is mean and self-centered.
So here sits stupid, having over-played his hand, having made the classic primary-school mistake of being too eager. Putting too much paper shreds on the fire at one time can kill the fire.
And of course now there will probably also be no friendship. In fact, I have now veiled the whole restaurant in awkwardness and even the dynamics with Uncle W and T will maybe have changed.
What says the old adage – don’t piss where you eat… or sleep, or work.
Christmas in Shiyan, the Hubei Province of China, was big. Huge. Massive. Saturday and Sunday, apart from being weekend days and sunny, which in itself is reason enough to bring anything with a cell-count of more than 2 to the streets, were double as popular because of Christmas; houses all over Shiyan were empty.
I doubt whether there was a single establishment here which did not have a decoration, a Santa Clause or some sort of other Chirstmas paraphernalia stuck up somewhere to celebrate the fact.
The basics of Christmas are well known here – put up a tree and buy stuff. Little kids just want, want, want and, did I realise, so do adults. The giving part of Christmas, I think, got muddled up in the translation and is known to a few only.
It was an early start for me on Saturday at 11.30am. I was ready, costume laid out, for action. I donned the black mask and and cape… er, sorry, wrong Blog. I donned the Red Suit and Hat and whilst The Restaurant was still empty I was ushered outside to “Ho ho ho”, “Merry Christmas” and “Sheng4 dan4 kuai4 le4″ ( 圣诞快乐 ) random passers-by. It was rather chilli, but underneath The Red Suit I wore only a t-shirt and track-suit bottoms and were nice and toasty. What do they make that suit off anyway?
By lunch time there were no available seats in the 120 odd seater restaurant and young and old, fat and thin, were all stuffing themselves with Christmas cheer, presented buffet style at a very reasonable price.
Lara was at the door looking cute in her Mrs. Claus outfit and I couldn’t help but stare when I had a moment. Moments, however, were few and far between as Santa was a soft target for being poked by little kids and harassed by kids little and not so litte, for Li3 wu4′s ( 礼物 ). One thing is painfully obvious in any language: Santa carries presents.
The tide of people had subsided by about 14.30 and Uncle W was nice enough to give myself and Lara a break together. We first attempted some window shopping, but were swept away by the crowds too many times and settled on soaking up some sun in Liuyan Square instead. There were thousands of people every where and in my Chinese lessons today I learned a nifty phrase meant for such masses, which translates literally to “People Mountain People Ocean” and is clear and accurate in it’s description.
At 17.00 we were back at The Restaurant, ready for round two. Little did I know…
At around 17.30 the first guests started to arrive. The restaurant filled up quickly and queues formed and I eventually left when there were only a few tables left at 23.30. Santa diligently did his rounds, wishing each table a Merry Christmas or a Sheng Dan Kuai Le and passing presents and Christmas hats to those who liked them. Several kids came up and hung on and around me, but that was expected as Uncle W did ask me earlier the evening to ‘entertain’ the kids, should they require entertaining… and did they require entertaining. They can only eat so much.
Eventually I had to beat them down with my sack of presents as they started getting just a tad annoying. What was helpful though was being able to practice my Chinese on them. The kids speak nice and slow, plus they articulate, very propperly, the sounds of the Chinese words and thus is an invaluable source of brushing up and practising my pronunciation. Plus I expanded my vocabulary with all sorts of handy phrases and words like “No, I don’t have any more presents” and “sorry, I only have one of those” and “I already gave you 3 types of presents, that’s all I have” and lastly “go and sit down for a while, I’m tired now”.
I divided my time between being inside the restaurant and by the door. At one point a group of 10 school kids from the No. 12 Middle School arrived and wanted to enjoy the buffet, but the restaurant was packed and the only seats able to accommodate 10 people were taken. So they were told to come back in half an hour, but such is the nature of a buffet that people will sit and wait until they are hungry again so that they can have a second round. Thus half an hour later they were disappointed again.
I felt bad for them, so I thought I’d give them each a hat to spread a bit of Christmas cheer. There is a flight of stairs leading down to The Restaurant from the road level and I bounced up a few to catch up with them to hand them the hats. However, as I reached into my bag I was suddenly overwhelmed from all corners by hands outstretched and voices screaming “li wu! Li wu!”. I got pushed back down the stairs and pinned against the glass door and had to fight my way through back into the safety of The Restaurant in order to avoid a potentially dangerous situation.
At the height of the buffet, The Restaurant packed, with several more tables and chairs added from sources on which I am not exactly clear, it was time for the night’s entertainment (as if I had not been entertaining enough). King was asked to come and sing, but he specialises in Gospel. So I was requested to sing a more upbeat song. Thus, on came Rudolph The Red-nosed Reindeer and I felt thankful for the previous week at school – as this and “Santa Claus is coming to town” where the only songs that I taught the kids.
Microphone in hand, waitresses and kids lined-up behind Santa Claus, we hopped, skipped and jumped around the restaurant, me singing the song with great enthusiasm.
As the music was loud and had a high pitched artist singing, it complemented my super-bass voice nicely. After skipping through this and the neighbouring restaurant, conga-line in tow, the song had repeated 4 times and I “ho ho ho”‘ed over the microphone and said “mei ge ren sheng dan kuai le” ( 每个人圣诞快乐 ), which I hopes means “everybody, a Merry Christmas” and everyone gave us a standing ovation. That was nice.
Afterwards King and I belted out “Silent Night” before he gave “Noel” a solo go and received more applause. We had some food and eventually King left to go home whilst I waited for Lara.
She had to eat and I took the opportunity to present her with the chocolate my mom had sent me from South Africa. Not a huge gift, but sentimentally very valuable and, in my opinion, pretty thoughtful.
We were seated to the back of a couple, the man a foreigner, who had taken full advantage of the wine with the buffet and were well pickeled by this stage. They were loud and boisterous, like drunk people are, and I was tired and agro, like tired people are. Needles to say, they rubbed me up the wrong way and spoiled my mood and then as they left as the same time Lara and I attempted too, they insisted we join them to go dance.
I was, however, hell-bent on not joining them, but Lara seemed keen, which also pissed me off, as she has on all previous occasions rejected my invitations to go dancing. So I fumed for a minute like a child (which I realised in hind-sight). After wanting to throw my toys and saying I want to go home she said we should go to another place.
We ended up going to the place we had gone to before. Alas, on the way there I moaned again about being unsure as to what she wanted.
But, it was Christmas, the music was thumping, the club was busy and the floor was bouncing. We spent maybe an hour and half dancing before the tiredness got the better of both of us. At one point I leaned over, she thought I wanted to say something in her ear, but I kissed her cheek instead. She seemed pissed off, but I didn’t care, it felt good.
After a few more songs and seeing a stuffed Santa Claus flung into the crowds only to have it’s head ripped off and torn to bits, we departed.
On Sunday I again attended The Restaurant, but this time in the evening only. It was more of the same, although slightly more sedate as it wasn’t THAT busy. I had some fabulous fun as there were more children and they seemed less mob-like (maybe less sugar than yesterday). I also had some fun with Lara and again I sang “Rudolph the red-nose reindeer” and we had a longer conga-line going, waitresses, children and a birthday party of about 8 teenagers all joined the line.
I departed at about 10 o’clock and unceremoniously said bye to Lara and left. I went to Tina’s restaurant to say goodbye when Lara phoned me to ask what time I was going home. I was confused and after chatting to Tina for a bit, went back to The Restaurant again, but then she seemed different and said I should go home.
Women in general are strange creatures that are difficult to understand, but with the language barrier strange becomes weird and difficult becomes nearly impossible. This morning I SMS’ed her to say hi and to ask if I could see her today. She hasn’t replied. That was my last SMS to her and I am not sure when I will see her again. Sigh.
Last night I first phoned Jarrod, but by the time I got home he was already asleep. I also phoned my mom and sister and bantered with them for a while before I finally went to bed.
Christmas has come and gone with a mixed bag of emotions. Whatever will happen next…
The moon light has dimmed somewhat and the rose petals have wilted. Beyond the basics of any given language lies an entire mine field of miscommunication or, at least, frustratingly slow communications of seemingly basic things.
As I have tipped the scale of input vs. output towards the output side, obviously my learning has slowed down and thus my vocabulary has expanded little. With it has come all sorts of problems, least of which was me getting pushy in search for clarity and to ease my insecurities about the unknown.
Thus, I do believe the loaded gun has fired in it’s holster, consequently shooting me in the foot. So to speak.
Christmas is a big deal here in China and I’ve gotten myself involved way over my head in all sorts of things. In a fuzzy blur I have signed up to be Santa Claus AND sing, in a restaurant, on Christmas Eve. After a week and a half of spreading the Christmas cheer in my classes, my ‘Ho Ho Ho’ is up to scratch, but I have never been a singer. Oh oh no. Yes.
So, this weekend will be… er… fun? Perhaps.
I first have to fight my way through the rest of my classes. Last night, after again being virtually mugged by two little kids trying to tear my Christmas hat of my head, I kind of exploded and went on spewing fire about having my personal space violated so often each day.
Me getting angry is unfortunately a very visual affair, because with my bold, shaved head, I light up like Rudolph’s red nose. I could feel myself getting hot, and with it, red, from my chin up to my ears and then from the front to the back of my head. Quite scary actually, not intended, but wholly unavoidable.
Sigh. Alas, every action has an equal and opposite reaction and this too, will have repercussions. Those usually take a day or two. I wait patiently.