LAC was a friend of a friend’s and arrived a little after we did. I saw him standing next to the table with nowhere to sit, so I asked the two girls beside me to scooch in so he could have a seat. I hadn’t even been introduced to him or gotten a proper look at him, and the opened-up seat wouldn’t be beside me, so it was clear I wasn’t doing it to sit next to him and flirt. I was just being nice. I knew what it felt like to arrive at a party and only know one other person and stand awkwardly on the outside. He did notice me for my nice act though, and half an hour later, when a seat opened up next to me, he sat down and introduced himself. It was only at this point that I noticed how cute he was. He was Cantonese but raised in L.A., and now he was working in Shanghai. He spoke Cantonese, English, enough Mandarin to get by, a bit of Spanish (because of LA), and a bit of French (because his grandparents were living in Ottawa). We were only chatting harmlessly for a few minutes when WAF came over to ask me if I wanted to go dance. I assumed I would excuse myself to the dance floor and come back in a few minutes, but he surprised me by getting up and taking my hand. He was coming with me? I led him on the dance floor and when I turned around, I saw that WAF had not followed us. A few minutes later, she appeared with MBB‘s best guy friend. Apparently she had felt the need to grab a dancing partner at the last minute. I couldn’t blame her. Unfortunately, MBB‘s best friend was not into her at all and barely danced; his disinterest was so immediately obvious that I don’t know how she got him to go to the dance floor with her in the first place.

LAC was not a great dancer by any stretch of the imagination, but at least he didn’t create his own rhythm to interfere with the music. Nonetheless, I avoided the dance floor most of the night and we just sat at the table, talking and cuddling. WAF was miffed that I found arm-candy so quickly, but I wasn’t worried that she would be able to find her own. By some strange twist, she couldn’t, and almost ended up making out with my friend, MBB.

LAC wasn’t very talkative and I noticed that he asked very few questions about me. But I had no doubt he was into me because he asked for my number very quickly and was physically keeping me next to him. Maybe he wasn’t a talker but his actions told me enough. He was among the hottest guy I’ve ever picked up, and he was also among the sweetest. When I couldn’t find my clutch¹, he walked around the whole club with me twice to look for it. He didn’t seem as concerned as I was, but in the end, it was still he who found it. He asked me to go outside with him, and we sat outside the club for a long time just talking. When he kissed me, he didn’t try to stick his tongue down my throat. Instead, his lips were soft and surprisingly gentle.

We vaguely made plans to see each other again the next night, but when nighttime rolled around, I wasn’t sure I wanted to see him again. Meeting a cute guy and having one great night together was something I was used to, but I wasn’t used to there being any follow-up. The way I saw it, follow-ups were a lose-lose situation. Either I would realize the guy was a complete jerk/idiot and wonder how drunk I must have been to think he was cute in the first place, or I would totally love the guy and feel emotionally torn-up that I had to leave (since I was only in Shanghai for two more nights). The Girl and WAF thought I was crazy. If everything the first night was amazing, how could I possibly not give it a chance? How could I even consider walking away?

LAC was texting me to make plans, and we decided we’d go to karaoke at 10:30pm. However, WAF and I were so tired that we fell asleep and didn’t wake up until LAC called me at 10:29pm. Fuck.
“Were you asleep?” He asked when he heard my sleepy responses.
“Um… yeah. We took a nap and forgot to set the alarm.”

I knew how it seemed. It seemed like we had made plans with him, and then went to bed, and if he hadn’t called, I would have stood him up. Luckily he was still at home because the karaoke place was right next to his place. We didn’t arrive until 11:45pm and he was a bit pissed. “If you didn’t want to come, you should have just said so,” he told me, even though I apologized profusely and tried to convince him it was a real mistake.

He was there with his cousin, and the four of us were shown to a medium-sized room with a flat screen TV and an awesome sound system. They ordered two bottles of vodka and so much food that we couldn’t fit it on the table. The servers mixed the vodka with OJ in this serving contraption that looked a lot like a blender at first. Once the singing started, all tension melted away, and I was glad to see that even WAF was having a good time, even though she had told me she didn’t like karaoke and was only coming as a favour to me.

LAC and I were so close and comfortable together, no one would have guessed we had only met the night before. He held my hand as we sang, at first secretly and then openly. He would squeeze my hand whenever there was a line in a song that he wanted me to hear. He put his arm around me and pulled me closer when he thought I was sitting too far away, as if that small distance made him miss me. When I wanted to go to the washroom, he’d go with me and wait for me. I loved seeing his profile as he leaned against the wall waiting for me, for me! And his face would break into a smile when he saw me, and he’d instinctively reach out one hand to take mine. One time when we were in the hallway, he spontaneously stopped and pulled me against him and kissed me, purposefully but sweetly. It made my head spin.
Yesterday, when he had kissed me, I felt nothing. It was a great kiss, but nothing. Tonight, his kisses made my spine tingle. When he looked at me and gave my hand a squeeze, my heart skipped a beat. What was this feeling?

WAF watched us openly sometimes, and I knew seeing us cuddle made her stomach turn. She got drunker and drunker, until she got to that stage where she was inconsolable to reason. She wanted to go to a club, she told me, and get hit on and flirt and feel attractive. LAC didn’t see her at all, he only had eyes for me. I have to admit it felt like a small victory, to let WAF see with her own eyes that not only could I attract great guys, but that they would treat me and my friends just so they could spend time with me², and be sweet to me the whole night. I was so tired and didn’t want to go to an after-hours club, but WAF was, like I said, inconsolable. I finally agreed just so she’d stop whining, and we decided to leave³. The boys weren’t going to come with us.
One thing I found weird was that LAC didn’t seem that sad to see me go, even though he knew I was only in Shanghai for one more night and this was probably the last time we’d see each other. Considering the way he couldn’t take his eyes off me all night and was unwilling to let go of me for more than thirty seconds, I was very surprised that he didn’t make some sort of goodbye gesture. He also hadn’t asked me for my email or Skype⁴. When we said goodbye that night, I got little more than a courteous nod and wave. His bizarre behaviour was ultimately explained after I left – he never intended on keeping in touch.

Does that hurt you to read as much as it hurt me to realize?
I never let people in, especially not people I meet in one night. I told The Girl later that I regretted seeing him a second night, even though it was an amazing night. Why? Because I started to fall for him. I can’t deny it, my spine tingled when he kissed me, and that’s only happened to me with three guys, ever⁵. And of course I shouldn’t be surprised, because I wasn’t planning on keeping in touch with him, or any guy I meet at a club, normally – but the second night changed my mind. The second night made me want to stay with him, made me want to believe he was falling for me too, made me almost wish for a relationship with this stranger, something I never let myself wish for, precisely to protect myself from getting hurt. And I big fat did it anyway.

Instead of wasting my time wondering what happened – Did I read his signals wrong? Was he not as into me as I thought? – I am simply accepting that this was the end one way or another, and someone had to get hurt. In some ways, it was better me than him, because then I wouldn’t look back in the future and wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t written “that guy from Shanghai” off. And at least now I know that I am capable of letting someone in and putting myself in a vulnerable position.

In spite of all this, or maybe because of it, Shanghai has been among the most memorable nights of my life, and I leave with no regrets.

1. I had left it with MBB and they had moved tables and I couldn’t find the new table.
2. LAC had mentioned that he was “broke” but tonight he did not hesitate to spend hundreds of dollars on karaoke, food, and booze.
3. To my relief, we ended up just going home because we didn’t have the address of the club she had in mind and the cab driver had no idea.
4. Having my phone number is useless because I would be using a different number in Hong Kong and Singapore.
5. One of them being MFL.

But Shanghai is still on my mind.

WAF and I stayed with The Girl was Goosed for five days and she was an absolutely fabulous host. The first night we got there, we went on a pub crawl that was themed “Around the World” with mostly expats. The first bar was an Irish bar, not that exciting, but I wasn’t going to complain about free food and drinks. We then went to an Australian bar, Dada (I don’t know what part of the world this was supposed to represent), and finally an insanely cool club called D10 Departure Lounge. It was shaped like an airplane, with a flight attendant that opened a sliding door and little airport windows looking out onto the hallway. It also came complete with overhead cabins, a first class area (VIP lounge), and a luggage hangar (dance floor and DJ area). During the pub crawl, WAF and I met ShanghaiShorty, a very cute Shanghai-boy who grew up in the U.S. and was visiting Shanghai for the summer. He was not very tall though, so although WAF was flirting with him first, she told me I could “have” him because she didn’t want a short boy. I started chatting with him at Dada and realized he was actually two years younger than us. I don’t normally like guys who are younger because their perspective on life is still undeveloped and I can’t stand trying to have a conversation with them without breaking their naivety. Unfortunately, he was the rule, not the expection, but he told me he liked talking to me, and I was pretty tipsy, so I stuck with it. There weren’t any other good-looking Asians on the pub crawl anyway. Although he didn’t make a move on me at Dada, we sat together on the bus on our way to the last stop, D10 Departure Lounge, and he put his head on my shoulder. Not the manliest move that’s ever been made on me, but again, I had to remind myself that he was a 20-year-old that didn’t party much in Shanghai and couldn’t even legally drink in the U.S., so meeting a girl in this context couldn’t have been a practiced act. When we got off the bus, WAF kept flirting with him, and when he went to buy another drink for me at the bar, WAF started grinding him. Instead of moving away, he danced with her, right beside me! I was miffed, but I didn’t care enough to do anything about it. He was really cute, but other than that, not a great catch – if he was more attracted to WAF, she could have him.

After I moved away, he came and found me, and asked me to go dance with him. I don’t know what happened, why he didn’t just go dance with WAF, and I was reluctant to be his ‘second choice’. So I asked him nonchalantly, “What do you think of WAF?”
“She’s pretty wild,” he said, “But not my type.”
“What is your type then?”
“You’re my type.”
It sounded like a line to me, so I pressed him a little more. “Why?”
“You’re fun, energetic, interesting. I like you.”
That was enough for me. With a last swig of champagne, I let him lead me on the dance floor. I knew that by appearances alone, WAF was hotter than me. I’m cute, but I don’t do sexy very well. She does sexy. So first impressions at a club, WAF is usually always picked up. I always expect her to be noticed first, and she is. I never expected that anyone who noticed both of us would pick me over her.

In truth, I knew I had zero feelings for ShanghaiShorty, but WAF and I had both hoped he would be our tour guide the next day. He had no rhythm on the dance floor and was a very mediocre kisser, I was completely bored after only two minutes with him. Meanwhile, WAF got drunker and drunker to the point where even the Mexican guy that had hit on her earlier in the night no longer wanted to dance with her. But to me, this was her on a good night, she was nowhere near as drunk as she normally got; for a pub crawl, she was on her best behaviour.

This first night partying with WAF in Shanghai started to make me realize something that would be reinforced in the following days: WAF may have been physically more attractive than me, but I was mentally/emotionally 100 times more attractive than her, and anyone who talked to both of us would realize that immediately. WAF is so desperate for attention, validation from guys that she is attractive and lovable, that she has her insecurities written across her forehead. She’s also not a graceful drunk, and gets way too drunk when she does drink. Most of the time, she looks pathetic, and I always feel embarassed for her when I see her like that. In Canada, when I went out with WAF, this was never “a problem” to her picking up, because in North America there are plenty of guys in every bar that would be interested in a girl like WAF for the possibility of a one-night stand. But in China, among Asians, one-night stands are rarely part of a guy’s expectations, and when that is ruled out, a girl like WAF suddenly holds very little appeal. This was the case with ShanghaiShorty, and also with other guys to come. WAF knew she was more attractive than me, and it drove her crazy that I had ‘picked up’ and she hadn’t. Not only had I found someone for the night, ShanghaiShorty wanted to see me again the next day, and agreed to show us around Shanghai. He texted me as soon as we got home from the club, asking when we were going to meet up the next day. Then he texted me as soon as he woke up and continued sending text messages throughout the morning. WAF didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to, jealousy was coming out of every pore. I wanted to explain that I always had that effect on guys (this was actually a conversation that WAF and I had had before, but now she was seeing it firsthand), that boys usually did call or text or add me on Facebook ASAP¹, but in her current state, I thought that would do more harm than good.
Later in the trip, when I met LAC, it made her so jealous I couldn’t talk to her about boys at all. I guess she never saw me as competition until we came to China.

1. My theory is that WAF just puts all of herself out there at once. I do the exact opposite, I’m very hard to open up, so to guys, all they see is a confident, mysterious creature, and it keeps them coming back.

…

“I got a feeling that tonight’s gonna be a good night
That tonight’s gonna be a good night
That tonight’s gonna be a good, good night”
DG and I are now in the middle of the dance floor, shaking and moving to the rhythm. We both have huge grins on our faces, drunk and happy. We sing along to this familiar song, knowing they’ll ring true tonight.

…

She grabs my hand and pulls me up to the platform. We dance around each other, as if we’re the only two people in the club. I’m oblivious to the two guys coming up behind us. Before I know it, she’s pulling me off the platform and pushing through the crowd. I look behind me just before we disappear into the crowd, the guys are looking embarrassed and their friends are laughing.

…

We laugh as we run away, returning to our spot in the middle of the dance floor. After a few minutes, I see a guy trying to dance with her from behind, so I put my hand around her shoulders and spin her to a different position. She sees a guy coming up behind me, and spins me away as well. Both guys leave feeling confused and rejected. We laugh. Tonight was going to be about just us girls.

…

On the way out of the bathroom, we run into a friend of mine, who had just arrived with some other people I partied with in first-year. We start dancing with them, our dancing duo now turning into a trio. The third girl, MG, spots a recently vacated stripper pole and points to it. I shrug my shoulders and we get up there, knowing that the rest of our friends are watching us. But when Lady Gaga comes on, all is forgotten and we just dance.

“I want your love and I want your revenge, you and me could write a bad romance.”

…

The three of us are dancing in the middle of a circle that our friends have formed around us. I feel a hand on my waist and a solid chest against my back, the faint smell of aftershave hovering above me. I throw my arm up in the middle of the song and accidentally hit the side of his head. “Sorry!” I gasp, as I turn around. I look up to see a tall Asian boy, one of MG‘s friends that I’d met once. I remember him to be good-looking, but tonight he is smoldering hot. DG winks at me and moves away with MG. TDH places his hand firmly on the small of my back and I melt into him, our bodies moving in sync to the music.

…

DG and I are waiting in-line at coat check, our faces gleaming with perspiration.
“Tonight was awesome,” DG says emphatically, her eyes shining. “This was the best clubbing night I’ve ever had!”
My expression mirrors hers as I nod. “Yeah, this was amazing. Girls night out at its best. I danced so much!”
“And did you see who you were dancing with? For an Asian guy, he was hot!”
I giggle, “I know, I couldn’t believe it when I turned around and it was him. Especially because we were dancing with all our friends, I didn’t think he would single me out.”
“That’s what makes it even hotter,” DG says with a twinkle in her eye.
As we exit the club, I say to no one in particular, “Tonight was a good, good night.” And I mean it.

More importantly, I get unimaginably bad hangovers now, and each time, I swear I’m never going to drink again – it’s that bad – and then, a week later, I find myself at another pre-drink. What is up?

I think somewhere between October and now, I realized that I have more sex appeal than I used to. I mean, I used to be more desperate and naive¹, and while that might be appealing to some (har har), now, I am an older, more confident version of myself. I’m also ten pounds heavier, but surprisingly, that hasn’t stopped guys from hitting on me.

So on Thursday, I shimmied into an outfit I had bought a long time ago but never wore because I didn’t think I was skinny enough to pull off a body-hugging dress. And yes, I haven’t gone to the gym in three months, and yes, I eat ice cream almost exclusively, but I still wore it, and I wore it proudly.

I arrived at my friend’s pre-drink only to realize that it was a major sausagefest. I knew most of the guys there, so the flirting was kept to a minimum. The guys were taking shot after shot of absinthe and aged whiskey and tried to drag us down with them. I had some of the whiskey, which was okay, but I didn’t touch the absinthe. A limo arrived to take us to the club, and one of the guys threw up in the limo. That definitely killed some of the atmosphere. But once we were in the club, things picked up again. There was a joint event held by the Asian clubs happening, so there were a lot of Asians there, many of whom I knew from first and second year. The downside of knowing most of the people was that I was more uptight than I otherwise would have been; I didn’t want anything happening that people could gossip about. On the upside, guys I sort of used to know kept buying me drinks, so I didn’t end up spending much money at all. As a result, I was quite drunk², but I kept it together and even took care of some of my friends.

All this partying and “meeting guys for one night only” almost feels like I have given up on finding a boyfriend. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I’m going to be moving to Singapore in less than a year, so anything that starts now will have an expiration date (I don’t do long-distance relationships). Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that I’m going to be graduating soon, and this may be my last chance to act like a reckless 20-year-old.

Whatever the reason, I feel like I should just embrace it. Once I graduate, even if I do go clubbing, it won’t be the same. I won’t be surrounded by horny university students³ who just did eight shots in an hour at a pre-drink. Alas, partying in university has just become another thing in my life with an expiration date.

1. Sad, but true. It was especially bad in first year because I was so curious to explore this “party world” and I was getting over MFL.
2. I was more drunk than I think I’ve ever been, in fact.
3. And if I were, I’d just be the creepy working woman among the young’uns.

Even though I was functioning on two hours of sleep, I could not have been more awake. I did not have a drop of coffee the whole day.

After the two interviews, I spent the rest of the weekend worrying whether I would get a call for a second-round interview. On Friday night, I went out with some girls for Zee’s birthday. I hardly enjoyed myself as I was constantly checking my phone. Eventually, my friends made me take some shots with them so I would loosen up. By midnight, I was so drunk I couldn’t see straight, partly because I needed to shake off the stress of interview week and partly because I hadn’t drank in months and therefore my alcohol tolerance was nil. We picked up tons of guys that night, which is something I haven’t done since first-year. In first-year, I would have been flattered by the attention. It would have been a novelty to have a guy hit on me, buy me drinks, and want to dance with me all night. Now, I was indifferent to it. Even when I was dancing with a guy who looked like Justin Timberlake, all I could think about was my couch at home. I extracted myself soon thereafter and hopped in a cab, without even bothering to find my friends (I was sure they were each grinding some guy though).
On Saturday, I nursed my hangover while nervously waiting by the phone. On Sunday, I worked most of the day and wondered whether my phone was broken.

Today, I got a call saying I didn’t get a second-round interview. Fuckers.

—
EDIT: I just got a call from my second interview on Friday and I GOT A SECOND-ROUND INTERVIEW! In NEW YORK CITY!! Fuck yeah.
I had figured that since I hadn’t heard from them in so long (usually they get back to you within 10 hours of the interview), I was definitely not moving on to the final interview. The likelihood of a second-round decreases exponentially with the number of hours you have to wait. Well I waited FOUR AND A HALF DAYS but it all worked out. Three second-rounds out of six first-round interviews? That’s a pretty sweet ratio.

Traveling is never my favourite part of these stories, because it’s hard to recreate the anticipation of an event after the event has already occurred. So I’ll skip over the part where I woke up at six am in order to catch a bus to the train station only to realize the bus was never going to come and then selling an organ and a limb in order to pay the taxi fare to the train station and then being literally one second late for the train I was supposed to go on. Skip all that and fast-forward to when I finally arrive in The City.
I was picked up from the subway station by WAF, WAF‘s boyfriend, who I will now call SubduedRageBoy (this will make sense later), and their friend, PotentiallyGayBoy. and whisked away to lunch. In the car, I changed into my new stilettos and used lunch as an opportunity to practice walking in them.
The food itself was not impressive, but the four of us had a good talk over lunch. PGB and I realized we had a lot in common, and if it wasn’t for the fact that we strongly suspect him of pitching for the other team, we probably would have made a really cute couple. Still, I can always use a gay friend; they’re usually the loveliest anyway.
After lunch we went back to SRB‘s house mansion and I started drinking. We still had a lot of alcohol left over from last weekend and I was determined to at least make a dent in the stash. Meanwhile, SRB and PGB were looking up hotels and planning our getaway to Montreal in two weeks time. Somewhere between my first and second glass of wine, I had donned a pair of rose-tinted glasses and felt as if the world was spinning with me at its center, that everything was right and perfect and everyone was lovely and sweet.
The rest of the afternoon seemed to pass at lightning speed (doesn’t it always when you’re drunk having a good time?). I must have been more buzzed than I thought because I almost sprained my ankle trying on WAF‘s heels and then laid down on the marble floor in SRB‘s foyer and pretended to swim. WAF reminded me that we were supposed to go shopping before meeting the girls for dinner, so I tried to sober up. But it was a long and difficult ordeal.

Finally, finally, when I was sober enough to walk on my own, WAF and I changed into our evening gowns cocktail dresses and headed downtown¹. We went to Forever21 and H&M and only ended up buying accessories, then clicked down the street in our heels toward dinner.
The restaurant we were meeting at was famous for their wine list, which was why I had picked it. The girls I’d invited were all chronically late, always, so I had figured we could just hang out at the bar and drink wine until everyone arrived. Unfortunately, the bar was closed (on a Saturday?!?! Do they not want business?), but fortunately, all my friends arrived relatively on time²! We ordered a bottle of wine, had an excellent dinner, and discussed politics and world issues school and boys and our futures as the most powerful women in the world.
At one point during the dinner, SSS mentioned something about MFL.
“It’s cool that you’re still friends with MFL even though he cheated on you.”
“What? He didn’t cheat on me… Did he?” I added uncertainly.
“Oh, I guess not. They got together after you two broke up, right?” She knew she was treading on dangerous ground.
I tried to pry some information out of her without being too obvious. “Do you know what happened at Costa Rica? I heard some things after they came back from the trip but…”
“They just crushed on each other. Nothing happened.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. The Other Girl told me in confidence.” SSS nodded knowingly and that was the end of that. I didn’t want to press further because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to maintain my composure if I did, but I did not take this as well as I wanted them to believe. So there had been developments between them during Costa Rica. He lied to me about more than one thing then!

After dinner, we headed to a nearby lounge where the boys were waiting for us. We started off with fruity summer cocktails (which I did not enjoy so much; I think I am just too manly for fruity cocktails, even though I love the glasses they come in and the colours and the little garnishes), and then ordered a bottle of ridiculously overpriced champagne because what the heck, I was turning the big two-oh, and if that wasn’t worthy of celebrating with a little bubbly, what is?
The champagne seemed to disappear incredibly quickly, and I was well on my way to Embarrassing Drunkard by the third “A toast! To SassyGirl! The most awesome person in the whole wide world!³”
When the champagne was done, three of the girls left, and I was officially drunk. The next part of the evening is kind of blur, except I remember wobbling around in my stilettos feeling very sexy and being checked out by the older men at the bar every time I went to the washroom. Although I didn’t enjoy their appreciative glances, I did kind of enjoy feeling young and much more alive than they were. Apparently most of the rest of the night, I was talking almost exclusively to HB, and he had his arm around me the entire time. Since HB has a girlfriend, WAF was quite alerted by his flirty behaviour, and told me so the next morning. But the truth is, HB has always been dead set in AmbiguityLand. It seems like when he met me, he decided to buy real estate in AmbiguityLand and became a permanent resident. I can’t say I like it, but when you’re drunk and a cute boy is offering to buy you any drink you want, these little details don’t seem to matter anymore. By the way, I ended up asking for Grey Goose. What? If he’s going put his hand around my waist and breathe against my ear, knowing full well he has a girlfriend and has been leading me on for years, then asking me to order anything I want, I might as well order the most expensive thing on the menu.
The other boys were not helping my drunken state either. WittyIrelandBoy and GrammarPoliceBoy both kept asking if I wanted more, if they should order another round of drinks. I couldn’t tell if they were trying to get me drunk (yes), but after we finished the Grey Goose, they ended up ordering another round of shots.
I don’t remember what our tab came out to but with the Grey Goose and the champagne and the shots and the other individual drinks we ordered, I’m sure it was an impressive figure. However, the boys insisted on picking up the tab (I love having rich friends – remind me to invite them to more events), and refused to take my money on account of the fact that I was the birthday girl (I ended up slipping in a $50 just because I felt bad and because I was too drunk to remember how broke I actually am).
Eventually, SRB arrived and we left the lounge. They asked me what I wanted to do next. I looked around and shrugged, “What do you guys want to do?” I asked back. “Anything you want,” they said. I don’t know if it was the booze or what but right there and then, on the street in front of the lounge, in my sexy black stilettos and Victory Ford dress, I felt like a princess. A real life verifiable princess.
How many times have I heard that in my life? “Anything I want.” Probably about three times, and once was in first year when a guy wanted to get in my pants.
And today, today I’d heard it at least five times. FIVE.
I suddenly realized how the entire day was about me. Nay, the entire weekend, was about me and my happiness and nothing else. As if, for July 19, 20, and 21, the rest of the world did not exist. And these people, my friends, were gathered here to celebrate with me and cater to my every whim.
“Korean food,” I finally said. “I want dukkbokki.”
So, off we went to find the finest Korean food The City had to offer at 2am. SRB drove us to Korea town, which was surprisingly busy considering the hour.
Three of us got out of the car first, then SRB and WAF drove off to find parking.
And that’s when it all went wrong.

Minutes later, WAF was running down the street swearing and holding her mouth with both hands. It was dark, rainy, and I was drunk, and even when she neared, it didn’t register – she was bleeding. A lot.
“What happened?” HB immediately asked her as she got closer.
In between bursts of tears she started saying something about how the fucking Korean guys outside the car fucking did nothing while she screamed for help as SRB hit her. She swore a lot. She cried a lot. She was also still bleeding a lot. The mascara was running down her face like a black waterfall and mixing with the blood and the rain. It was surreal. I was in shock, and suddenly felt completely sober. As HB continued to ask questions, I held her and navigated her toward a seat in the restaurant.
Once we were inside, we asked for water and napkins and she started to clean up, but then would break down into sobs again.
“Tell us exactly what happened,” HB said again. We all perched on the edge of our seats, watching her with confusion and shock.
“He hit me,” she finally said. “He hit me and I was screaming for help and the fucking Korean guys outside the car did fucking nothing. Aren’t you supposed to fucking do something if you see a girl screaming for help?” Again with the Korean guys.
“Wait, SRB hit you? Why?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know. He wouldn’t let me out of the car. He just kept hitting me. And I was screaming for help and the Korean guys -”
“He hit you for no reason? He just started hitting you?”
“-I couldn’t get out of the car. He wouldn’t let me out. And I was screaming for help, and then he noticed the blood, and he said ‘WAF, you’re bleeding,’ and that’s when he stopped and then I ran out of the car and the fucking Koreans -”
“Why did he hit you? Why wasn’t he letting you out of the car?”
“I don’t know! When we were leaving the lounge I noticed him check out these two girls so I just made a comment like ‘Oh, I saw you checking out those two girls,’ and then I don’t know…” She broke into sobs again.
We fell silent, unable to digest what she’d told us. Our mouths were agape and we looked at each other frantically.
“Do you want me to call the police?” HB finally said. He really seemed like he was going to, he even pulled his phone out. But WAF stopped him. I wasn’t surprised.
“Has this happened before?” HB asked after a pause. I stared at him incredulously. How could he ask such a thing! Of course not! Of course he wouldn’t – but my thoughts were cut short as I saw her nod.
“Once.” WAF blew her nose into a bloody napkin and picked up another one. “But it was a year ago and he promised he’d never do it again.” There were about a dozen scrunched up napkins on the table now. Our stock was running low, so I asked the waitress for some more.
Then, GPB nodded toward the door and said in a low voice, “He’s here.”
I didn’t even turn around to look at the door. I just put my arms around WAF and held her while she cried. “Is he gone?” She asked a moment later. GPB nodded, “He seemed to make a motion to ask whether he should come in, and then he walked away.”
We sat in silence for a long time. WAF continued to cry quietly. None of us knew what to say. I was still in utter and complete shock. HB and I made comments about how we couldn’t believe it, because SRB seemed like a very normal guy, and from what I saw of their interaction, he seemed to really care for her. How could he do such a thing? How could he do such a thing?!
Eventually, WAF stopped crying. I went to the washroom with her and helped her clean up.
“I’m sorry about this,” she said to me as I wiped streaks of mascara off her face. “I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined your birthday.”
I set my napkin down and gave her a hard look. “WAF, that is the last thing you should be worried about right now. Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry about.”
“No, but I do. I’m sorry. Everything was fine and look what happened. I’ve ruined your night.”
“Stop. Stop talking like that. You have nothing to be sorry about. We’re all just very concerned about you right now.”
She fell silent and let me finish cleaning her up. When we came out, I suggested we order to lighten the mood. But she said she didn’t feel like eating.
We ended up ordering a full table of Korean dishes (which tasted absolutely amazing despite the somber situation) and a bottle of soju. WAF worked on drinking the soju and we all pretended not to notice. I was still far from sober and suddenly felt ravenous. I ended up burning my mouth quite badly as I stuffed my face (the fact that the dishes were a little too hot to eat never crossed my mind at that moment). HB and GPB did the same.
When we had finished eating, we sat back and were reminded of the situation we were in. What now? WAF and I were supposed to go back to SRB‘s house for the night. My stuff was still there.
“Can we stay with you tonight HB?” WAF asked. HB agreed immediately. What else could he do? “We can get your stuff tomorrow,” WAF said to me. I nodded. What else could I do?

Just as I paid the bill, SRB appeared beside our table. He was soaked through from the rain and had an anguished look on his face. HB, GPB, and I silently shuffled out of the restaurant and waited outside.
We saw WAF get up to leave too but SRB had dropped down on both knees.
“It looks like he’s proposing,” HB joked as we watched discreetly through the front door. SRB was saying something but WAF was looking away.
After some agonizing minutes, they came outside. It seemed WAF still wasn’t acknowledging him. We milled about awkwardly on the front steps of the restaurant. Once again, SRB dropped to his knees. He apologized in hushed tones, and we pretended not to listen. We were there for what seemed like an eternity. SRB looked pathetic, he was kneeling on cement and being drenched in the rain. I might have felt sorry for him but every fiber in my body was still bristling in shock and indignation at what he did to my friend. I couldn’t get the image of her bleeding mouth out of my head.

Finally, WAF spoke to us as if he wasn’t there at all. “SG, is it ok if you stay with HB tonight? Would that be okay?” She asked lightheartedly. HB and I darted nervous glances at each other, and then at the dripping form of SRB on the floor. “Of course,” I said. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Are you sure?” She kept asking and apologizing.
“Yes, yes, I’ll be fine,” I reassured her. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I think we’re just going to go… talk.”
“Ok,” I nodded. SRB didn’t seem like he was going to hit her again, at least not tonight.

So, in the pouring rain, I limped in my stilettos the three and a half blocks to HB‘s apartment. When we arrived, he found some clothes for me to change into and we both collapsed onto the sofa. It had been an exhausting night, both physically and emotionally. We discussed what had transpired, analyzing the incomprehensible.
“Do you think she’s going to stay with him? I think she’s going to stay with him,” I said, chewing on the end of a finger nail.
“Yeah, she didn’t seem like she was going to break up with him.” He sighed. “But this isn’t the first time this has happened, what if it happens again?”
“Exactly. I don’t trust him,” I said, and I felt a swell of animosity against SRB in my chest that appeared out of nowhere. All of a sudden, I saw SRB as a raging, violent brute, and why hadn’t I noticed this before? But of course, how could I? He’d always been quiet and reasonable, responsible and sensible. He’d put up with WAF‘s antics with unending patience, and seemed to be quite protective of her. How could he be the one who hurt her?
“I just can’t believe it. I can’t believe it!” I said, over and over again, staring into a blank space on the floor.
HB nodded silently.
“But she’s going to stay with him. I know she is. Did you notice how the whole time she was screaming and swearing, it was about those Korean boys and not him? She said nothing about him.”
HB agreed. I continued, “The worst part is, there’s nothing I can do! I mean, what can I say? It’s not my place to interfere with the ins and outs of their relationship. There was obviously stuff she wasn’t telling us. It’s not my place to tell her to leave him. If she really loves him, I don’t think she’ll leave him even if her logical side tells her to.”
“Maybe you can talk to her, coax her.”
“What if she says ‘I love him.’ What if she says, ‘SG, I love him.’ I can’t argue with that.”
“True,” HB conceded. “This is a terrible situation. But he seemed so -”
“Exactly. I can’t believe it. I just cannot believe it.”

We chewed over the details again and again, but concluded that there was little we could do, and interfering would not necessarily help. We waited until 4am for her to call (she had said she would when she got home) but eventually gave up waiting and drifted into a restless sleep.

At 8am, I woke up. Immediately, I sat up on the sofa and peered around the unfamiliar living room. I was disoriented, and had temporarily forgotten where I was or what I was doing here. Then, the night’s events came flooding back like a horrible nightmare.
“Ughhh,” I groaned, as I fell back into the sofa. But I couldn’t fall back asleep. I felt gross. I was wearing an oversized t-shirt and boyshorts, I hadn’t showered, I hadn’t removed my make-up, I hadn’t even brushed my teeth before passing out the previous night. And I didn’t have any of my toiletries, which made cleaning up a bit of a problem.
I got up and walked around the tiny apartment, examining pictures and figurines here and there. I found a keyboard and played Fur Elise for a while, until I got stuck at one point in the song and I couldn’t remember what came after.
Eventually, HB came to.

“Hullo!” He greeted me sleepily, as if he too had forgotten the previous night’s events.
“Hi,” I replied, watching him from across the room. He was beautiful. Even with the rumpled hair and the improptu pajamas, he looked gorgeous.
He rubbed his eyes, sat up and looked at me, as if he might be thinking the same thing. I hoped. He walked over and sat down frighteningly close behind me, and put his arm on the back of the couch, as if inviting me to lean into him. Was he asking for a cuddle? My heart lept. I wanted to lean back into his arms but I was at the same time afraid. He was a permanent resident of AmbiguityLand after all. He had a girlfriend. He’d been touchy and cuddly with me years before, after I broke up with MFL and he still had a girlfriend. I’d been naive and hopeful at the time that he might break up with her and choose me, but it never happened. When he finally did break up with her, it wasn’t me he chose either, so I wrote him off as another impossible.
But now, what was this? HB doing another ambiguous move. Why? Why me? I cried to the gods above.

I decided to risk it. If he was going to flirt with me all night and take advantage of the fact that I was drunk, why not when I’m sober? Besides, I was upset about my friend! I needed comforting.
…
I’m terrible, aren’t I? My friend was probably living through hell (either that or having make-up sex) and I was flirting shamelessly with a taken boy. Bad SG, bad!

We cuddled for a while, flirted back and forth like a courtship ritual of butterflies, and I really felt the bliss of waking up and spending a lazy Sunday morning with a boy who could make you smile with just a glance. Of course, it was all wrong, it was all a horrible illusion that would disappear if I so much as breathed too loudly, but still, it was blissful all the same.
He found me some clothes that almost fit, so I wouldn’t look like a hooker walking down the street at 10am in stilettos, a cocktail dress, messy hair and smeared make-up. So we walked, arm in arm, to a brunch place, me wearing a pair of his jeans that were slipping down my waist and obviously too long for me, a shirt that said “I’d fcuk me,” and a pair of flip flops that were twice the size of my feet. Yeah, we really pulled off the not-a-hooker thing well. I got more than a few stares walking down Bloor St.
None of this mattered though, when I saw the breakfast platter that could feed a few hundred men arrive at our table. We devoured it in minutes, as well as a stack of crepes and a basket of toast. After brunch, the pants fit better, and we walked around downtown while I tried calling WAF every half hour. She was not picking up her phone and still hadn’t called me back. I started getting worried. My train was leaving at four and all my stuff, including the train tickets, were at SRB‘s house. I felt distressed and displaced. What was I going to do if she didn’t call me in time? I had nothing, not even the clothes on my back, and I was stuck in downtown with an ambiguous boy who threatened to steal my heart.

Eventually, finally, she called, said she was sending SRB with my stuff, that he’d be there within the hour, and that she was sorry. Again with the apologies. I tried to ask her about what happened last night, but she was tight-lipped. Said they didn’t talk much, said she hadn’t decided what she was going to do. She also admitted that this wasn’t only the second time it’s happened. It was the fifth. She had decided after the last time that this was a deal-breaker, and now that it’s happened again she can’t forgive him so quickly. I was relieved to hear they weren’t already having make-up sex, but nonetheless, I felt like she’d end up giving him another chance. I told her so. “If you keep thinking it’s the last time every time it happens, you’re going to spend your entire life waiting for the last time and it will probably never come.” She grunted something unintelligible and vaguely agreed with me. In my heart, I had a sinking feeling she wasn’t going to leave him.

SRB did arrive within the hour, just as she’d promised, in front of the apartment in a BMW convertible and clean new clothes. I envied him and his clothes, while everything I was wearing belonged to someone else, and was relieved to finally get my stuff back (especially my running shoes! I could not take wearing the stilettos or the oversized flip flops for another minute!). As he handed me my backpack and my bag of presents (I had left them in his car the night before, just moments before The Incident), he looked at me the same way he’d looked when he came into the restaurant dripping wet the night before and said, “I’m so sorry I ruined your birthday, SG. I know you guys think I’m horrible. I have no excuse. I’m really sorry. I’m… really sorry I ruined your weekend.”
It was literally the most awkward moment OF MY LIFE. There he was, dressed like he stepped out of Harry Rosen, having driven across the city in his sports car with European engineering to return to me my backpack and running shoes. I seriously thought he was going to get down on his knees and propose to me, too. To my relief, he didn’t. But he did put his hands together as if in prayer and bowed his head as he continued to apologize. I was speechless. What could I say? He had beat up our friend practically in front of us.
Without thinking, I opened my big fat mouth. “It’s ok,” I said, “It’s fine.” Seeing as how he still didn’t stop apologizing, I tried again, louder. “It’s ok! Don’t worry about it! My weekend was fine. I just hope you and WAF can work it out.”
Eventually, he stopped apologizing and left, and we walked back into the apartment. HB and I started laughing out of awkwardness. “Did you see his expression? Oh my God. I felt terrible!” HB exclaimed.
“Yeah, I thought I was going to cry. I really thought I was going to cry,” I said, unsure myself if I was joking or not.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” I finally commented, as we waited for the elevator. “It’s not ok. It’s not fine. Why did I say that? Why did I have to say anything?”
“There was nothing you could do, the poor guy looked like he was going to get down and propose again. You had to make him stop. It was the standard response.”
I shrugged. “But, I don’t wish they’d work out! I wish she’d leave him because he’s dangerous and has suppressed rage!”
“Well, you can’t say that. He might turn into the Hulk⁴ again and beat you up!” We laughed awkwardly, then HB said, “It’s too soon, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s too soon. Maybe in a few years we’ll be able to joke about this but… it’s too soon.”
We stepped into the elevator in silence.

Several hours later, I got onto the train and returned home. Home, sweet home. And now, as I type this, I still can’t believe what happened in the last 24 hours. It feels completely surreal, and I want to pinch myself or ask someone if they saw the same things I saw at 2am this morning. Did my friend’s boyfriend really beat her up? Did she really come screaming out of the car in tears?

I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.

1. We got a lot of stares on the subway and on the streets. Clearly we were over-dressed for shopping. Maybe they thought we were escorts?
2. Except SSS who arrived dripping and cursing because she got lost and it was pouring outside and she didn’t have an umbrella, the poor thing.
3. I am not sure that they actually said this because quite frankly, I can’t remember. But I’m sure it was something to this effect.
4. We’d started referring to him as the Incredible Hulk.

I didn’t really have a problem with this party-girl that had somehow appeared within me. As far as first-year university goes, this was the norm. But deep down, there was always a small voice saying – this isn’t you. You don’t wear makeup and show too much skin and click around in fuck-me heels. You don’t drink until you can’t see straight and you don’t make out with strangers.

Sometimes, in the middle of kissing some random boy whose name I don’t remember, or never bothered to ask, I’d pull back and look around. What am I doing here? How did I end up here? And who is this guy? He’s probably not going to call tomorrow, or ever. He’s probably not going to remember my name or what I looked like or even the fact that he kissed me. And then I’d push him away without a word, because there’s no tenderness in his kisses and no warmth in his arms.

And when I’m back in my room, alone and unable to fall asleep, I’d think of MFL.
First, I miss how he was always there for me. I knew I would miss this the most – he was my best friend, after all. Second, I miss how it felt to hold his hand. He always had sweaty hands. It was a condition that he was slightly embarrassed about, but I loved it because I could always be sure I was holding his hand and no one else’s. Third, I miss the look he gives me when I’m being exasperatingly stubborn. I used to go out of my way to be difficult because I wanted to see how much he could take, and he took it all. Fourth, I miss the way he’d remember every word I said. He would know what was going on on a particular day because I’d mentioned something about it weeks ago. Or he’d know what I should get a friend for her birthday because he’d remember some obscure conversation between us that I had relayed to him. Fifth, I miss how we were always thinking the same thing and he would finish my sentences. Sixth, I miss how it worked with him. It. Always. Worked. And with other boys, it doesn’t. At all. And I wonder if I was just the stupidest girl in the world for thinking there was something better than what we had.
Sometimes, I’d pull out my diary and read what I’d written when we were going out. Sometimes, I’d pull out the cards and letters he gave me and read them over. This last card really got me:

For My Soul Mate

If you ever wonder how I feel about you…
Look in the mirror.
In your reflection you’ll see
the person I want to spend
my whole life with,
the one I love more than words can say,
the one who makes me happy,
the one I want to grow old with.

So if you ever have any doubts about who makes my life complete,
look into the mirror and you’ll see.

I’ll remember how he planned our anniversary night two months in advance. I’ll remember the time he waited three hours on the subway platform for me when I wasn’t able to call him to tell him I was going to be late. I’ll remember how, that summer he spent in Hong Kong, he stayed up until 4 in the morning every other night for two whole months in order to call me (it’s a 12-hour time zone difference). I’ll remember how he wrote me a three-page letter every day when he was in Egypt for a week. I’ll remember how he brought me roses in the rain randomly.

And I’d get a little tearful. And I’d think, tomorrow. Tomorrow, I’m going to call him. I’m going to call him and tell him all these things. That I miss him on these six points and a million others.
I’d eventually drift into sleep. When I wake up, I’m already over it and I get on with my day. And then night comes and I’d find another boy’s arms to try out, and again, I’d come home alone and unsatisfied. And again, I’d think about MFL and doubt myself.

And so the cycle repeats.

But I can never call him and tell him these things. There are just some things you don’t do, and resurrecting a love whose time has come and gone is one of them. Because, as hard as it is to be without him, as hard as it is to find someone who understands me and loves me as much as he did, this is the way it was meant to be. He wasn’t – isn’t – the One. I knew it then and I know it now. If we got back together, all the doubts that pervaded me when we were together would still be there, and probably moreso now that both of us have changed.

To me, dating is not a game. It’s not something I do because I’m bored and would rather stare at the man-candy hanging off my arm than my dog. There’s only one thing I’m looking for, only one man I need in my life. And I believe when he comes knocking on my door, I’ll know it. There’ll be a clap of thunder and a swell of music and maybe a gong will be hit somewhere. I’ll just know it.

So, Mr. Right, where are you?

Inspired by this post.