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It was the last day.
It was the last day. Holy shit.
I wasn’t freaking out. I wasn’t nervous. I wasn’t scared.
Just the enormity of what I was going to do later tonight was slowly sinking in. I was going to do it. I was going to
fucking do it. Considering the way I had been slowly ramping things up the last 9 days, everything was in the bag. If it weren’t for some unfortunate events (like Yu fucking messing me up the night before), I could’ve easily had her signed early.
But it didn’t matter.
Tonight I would do what I had to do, swagger back into Montreal and for the first time in my life, I would have both a girl and a job set up for the summer.
Life is good when you’re on top (pun, without a doubt, intended).
This was the one day where absolutely nothing was on the schedule, which left a whole realm of possibilities. I approached Chiaki and innocently invited her to downtown with me. She immediately accepted, and we were about to bounce when I got a look from Teddy.
I
haven’t really detailed the other half of the story running concurrently with mine, but Teddy was going after Soon Hae (I’m being intentionally vague as it’s not my story to tell-read it
here). Anyway, going one on one with Chiaki and leaving Teddy to babysit the others would’ve seemed harsh, so I added Yuki and Shin to my crew. Yuki and Shin, because they’re fucking hilarious and because their names aren’t Yu.
After waiting 30 minutes for Chiaki to get dressed and put on her makeup and all the other ridiculous little things girls need to do before they go out, we walked towards downtown without a goal in mind.
Given that this was the first time I had walked through Calgary without Teddy’s lead, I have no idea where exactly we were or where we were headed to. But somehow, we ended up in an Art Gallery somewhere in downtown Calgary.
Because Shin and Yuki were so enthralled by the paintings, we eventually lost them and me and Chiaki became alone.
Seriously. Alone.
There was no one else in the art gallery-no visitors, no workers, no janitors, nothing. The gallery was divided into 4
Shin and yuki
can draw better than the shit at the Calgary galleryfloors and Yuki and Shin were meandering through the first level while me and Chiaki were somewhere on the third.
I was semi-interested in the paintings as I dabble in art myself, but this shit sucked. I hated it. It was some new-age, modern bull-crap and it wasn’t inspiring or funny or serious and just looked like streaks placed on the fucking canvas by a two year old toddler with ADD. But I know none of you give a rat’s ass about the art (“When is he going to start talking about how he almost got to base but ended up failing because of a timely intervention?”) and frankly, I didn’t care about the art either as Chiaki and I were alone in what would’ve been a romantic scene if the paintings were semi-decent.
We both agreed that the paintings were pure crap (I actually found myself loving her all over again when she said this…a hipster who thinks modern art is crap?) as we rapidly made our way through the gallery. We hit the end of the fourth floor and glanced at the last awful painting and then tried to figure out what to do.
Luckily,
I could make a caption...
but you're busy staring at the electric blue tights a small bench just so happened to be positioned at the dead end.
I took the initiative and sat down.
She suddenly seemed to be really interested in the pamphlet she couldn’t read and then the gilded frames of the paintings and then the paintings themselves and then the lights on the ceiling…
I’m a patient hitter.
She sat down.
Whoever placed this bench here must’ve been the stupidest motherfucker on the planet as it was too big for one Asian, too small for two Asians, and far too small for one normal sized North American. But stupid motherfuckers are what allow smart motherfuckers like me to move forward, so I gratefully accepted this advantage presented to me.
I scooted over to one side but the thing was so small that the two of us were basically leaning against each other to make sure we didn’t fall off the ends.
Her smell was intoxicating. Her body was pressed again mine. My mind was going nuts and it took all my self control to…well, let’s attempt to make TravelBlog semi decent.
I really had no idea what to do. I just wanted to
Yu and Maggie
Yu and Maggie both demonstrate their proficiency in counting in binary stay in this position forever, her leaning against me, me leaning against her, staring at some white man’s attempt at deeper meaning by drawing streaks on a canvas. This was the first time since that spooning session we had that I had really gotten some alone time with her. I was going to relish this moment.
I closed my eyes and sighed.
But good moments can’t last when you’re with two other kids…and of course Shin and Yuki…
…weren’t interrupting us.
My eyes snapped open.
Given the amount of paintings up on the walls, those two arts students would be taking their sweet time coming up 4 floors.
Wow.
And given the emptiness of this place, it wasn’t what one would call “hopping” either. I was guaranteed about 15 minutes of alone time.
Ok.
I had to plan my course of action. Every one of my batters had been advocating the “slow” route. “Chill, Gen. Don’t rush things. We know her and her style is slow. Take it easy,” they had all advised. But yesterday my boldness worked and would’ve paid enormous dividends if it hadn’t been for Yu’s sheer idiocy.
Yu and Soon Hae
Yu doesn't realize Soon Hae is just humoring her I decided to combine my brashness with the patience my hitters were promoting.
I spent five minutes gradually leaning more and more into her and hesitantly—“This is not the time to be HESITANT!” my inner coach screamed—excuse me,
and boldly wrapped my arm around her shoulder. She leaned in and her head glided into the crook of my neck.
Jackpot!
I leaned my head on top of hers.
Jackpot!
Now the question. Do I try for first? Since I was going to show some patience and restraint, I had another 5 minutes to decide.
Being the computer scientist that I am, my mind was trying to build a huge state chart and going through the logic if I chose one decision over the other and what scenarios it might lead to (Dear Parents, This is how I apply my university education. Love, Gen). But my mind wasn’t working correctly. My mind couldn’t even name my home state, to say nothing about building a state chart.
My mind was just overflowing with three things; my nostrils were filled with her scent, my arm was wrapped around her shoulder and she was
so, so close.
My mind struggled to return to reality: assess the problem and find a solution!
Fuck this shit!
Go for it!
My mind screamed one last warning: “Remember to take it slow!”
Ok, slow.
Ok. Ok. Calm down. Ok. Deep breath. My pulse finally changed from “bursting out of my arteries” to a “quickened pace”.
Ok, stay in this position for a few minutes.
She smells amazing…
“Concentrate, motherfucker!”
I ripped through the ABC’s in my head. Then repeated pi to all the decimal places I knew (all 4 of them). I named state capitals. I repeated my birthdate, my social security number, my high school id number, my phone number, my university id number, my address, my email, my mother’s maiden name, my height, my eye color, my blood type, my cell phone number, my Japanese address and I furtively glanced at my watch and saw only two seconds had elapsed. Fuck…
Her body was
right next to mine!
“No, no, NO! Patience!”
Like the Sirens, I was going to crash my ship straight into the rocks if I couldn’t find a way to plug up
my senses.
My head remained motionless on top of hers while my eyes zoomed around the gallery, looking for something to latch onto. But all I took in were gleaming white walls and uninspiring paintings. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Her smell is so nice!
My thighs were actually tingling!
-and as I tried to desperately think of something to focus on, her head snapped up, ricotcheting mine upwards, suddenly cracking our heads back into position.
What the fuck?!
I swiveled my head around the room, thinking Shin or Yuki had entered or maybe fucking Yu had managed to sneak in and trip me up again.
But no, it was as empty as before…
My head spun back to Chiaki. But she wasn’t looking at me…
…she was staring at my crotch.
I blinked.
6 times.
Yes, she was staring at my crotch.
I pinched myself. Thrice.
Yes. She most definitely was.
What the hell? What the fuck? “Take it slow my fucking ass!” She’s staring at my fucking crotch!?
I slowly pivoted on the bench so I was facing her.
I lifted her chin
Fighting with utensils
As usual, the Caucasians have superior weapons up with my finger.
She kept her eyes downcast until the last possible moment, until they were staring straight into her tonsils.
And then they snapped up and met mine.
“Are you going to take it?” she hesitantly, innocently asked.
“Hell fucking yes I’m going to take it! I love you!” my mind screamed.
But I calmly spoke in my usual arrogant character: “Should I?”
I smirked.
She looked taken aback for a second.
And a teasing smile played on her lips, “Yea, maybe you should…”
Her eyes shot back to my lap….or rather, the side of my lap…near my pocket…
And I realized the tingling sensation was not the burning fire of my love expressing themselves in my loins, but my cellphone vibrating from a call.
“Can you hear me now?”
“Fuck. You.”
I don’t make this shit up.
This has been a trip of amazing basehit attempts being thwarted by the most ridiculous of scenarios. Hell, that’s basically the definition of my life. The call turned out to be from one of my friends in Montreal wanting to know if I wanted
Fighting with Utensils 2
...not only superior weapons, but Caucasians band together to go to the gym with him.
Of all things.
What are the chances a friend of mine calls me during mid-winter break during the exact moment I’m deciding whether to take ball four and head to first?
And calls me to ask to
weight train?
I’m small. I’m Asian. I’m skinny.
Does it look like I motherfucking weight train? Do you honestly think I need muscles for anything other than twirling pens in my hands or typing “lol” into my instant messaging program? Do I even know where the
fuck the gym is?
After explaining how I was on the other side of the country and I can only curl my calculator, I had to spend five more minutes explaining why I was in Calgary and him pretending to sound interested: “Wow, Calgary. That’s cool, Gen. I heard there’s, like, a rodeo. It’s, like, a nice city.”
What are the fucking chances?
By the end of the phone call, Yuki and Shin had made it up to our floor and Chiaki and I pretended like nothing happened.
I turned off my phone.
“Fuck technology!” this computer scientist screamed.
Shin, drunk
Making sure he didn't take another hit of shisha Well, at least chalk one up for sitting romantically for 5 minutes.
Fucking friends.
I then took them to a shisha bar as I had been hyping it up for Shin the whole week and he was itching to try some.
Itching being the right adjective because as soon as he took his first hit, his eyes glazed over, then rolled to the back of his head, his body slumped into the chair and his face took on a look of pure, unrestrained bliss.
And he took another hit.
And then another.
And then another.
And then another.
Finally, Yuki got impatient and tried grabbing the pipe from Shin. He wouldn’t let go.
He took another hit.
And then another.
Finally, after ten hits or so, he finally passed it around and he lay in the couch with a huge grin on his face.
The rest of us enjoyed it-it was the first time for Yuki and Chiaki as well and they were having fun. Then I blew some smoke rings and they went bananas. They begged me to teach them and I tried my best
Shin
Trying to cope with Shisha withdrawl as Shin lay comatose in the corner somewhere between Cloud 9 and 10.
And then it was his turn.
“You want some?” Yuki asked.
He immeadiately snapped up, 100%!c(MISSING)onscious, grabbed the pipe, took a hit and once again, his eyes glazed over, then rolled to the back of his head, his body slumped and his face glowed with happiness.
I got a kid addicted to…
shisha?
After dragging Shin out of the shisha bar, we decided to head to Calgary Tower on my suggestion.
Here was the chance to score major brownie points (and finally get to first?) and I let my intentions known to Shin and Yuki. They took the hint and quickly agreed to my wonderful idea and we headed over.
Finally, the chance to seal the deal, in the most romantic of locations.
Finally!
I was pumping myself up.
In five minutes, you’ll go up the elevator and sweep her off her feet with the Calgary skyline as a backdrop. You’ll fucking hit a grand fucking slam on the observation deck. You’re finally going to end your string of untimely interruptions and fucking nail this
Calgary (from the Calgary Tower)
What I would've seen...before I swept her off of her feet shit.
Plus, how much would respect would you get on TravelBlog if the climax of the trip erupted on the top of a huge, tall, tower?
But instead of bringing her up to the observation deck and then as I’m about to kiss her, a lighting bolt from the sky hits me while a bird shits on my head while my phone magically turns on and vibrates while Yu sees me and announces her prescene and a fucking cymbal crashes, we found out that just seeing the skyline from this tower costs $14 bucks a head.
We’re poor students and even poorer after burning cash the past 10 days.
Plus Japs are
frugal ($14 bucks when we can see this shit for free from Teddy’s house?).
We all decide to head back to Teddy’s house.
Just my fucking luck.
We head back, reunite with the other half of the crew and then order Greek food.
We gorge ourselves while voicing our sadness of this being the last day.
We finish eating, and go our separate ways packing.
I pack quickly (I’m a straight guy), head over to Yuki
and Shin’s room and they tell me Chiaki is downstairs.
I head down.
Now was the time.
It was the last night. At 5am tomorrow, she would be flying west towards Japan, and I would be flying east to Montreal.
She was sitting in the kitchen.
Alone.
I stood in the hallway with Shin and Yuki, gasping for breath like an asthma patient in Mexico City.
They patted me on the back.
Go gettem Tiger.
You got this.
They went upstairs, and I realized it was just the two of us on this floor.
Do it.
I took one last breath, and strode in, just as she moved from the kitchen to the dining room.
To look natural, I picked up a magazine laying on the kitchen table and pretended to be interested in the situation in Tibet as I glanced at my “Made in China” watch.
Took another deep breath.
Strode into the dining room, just as she moved into the entranceway.
Fuck. What awful timing.
Two short breaths, and I marched into the entranceway…
...only to have her go
You know you're asian when...
...people tell you to open your eyes...and they're open. to the hallway…and I quickly followed her into the hallway…and she made a quick exit back into the kitchen…and we found ourselves back in our original positions…
What the
fuck was going on?
After two more laps of this nonsense, I leaned on the wall, hands on my knees, staring at the floor.
Dazed. Confused.
Huh? HUH!? WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?
I ran into the kitchen, and she just as equally as fast, ran into the dining room.
WHAT THE FUCK?! Why is she running away from me? WHAT THE FUCK?! Weren’t we on great terms today—no, weren’t we on good terms for the whole fucking trip? WHAT THE FUCK?!
I made one last attempt, I slowly stepped into the entranceway…and she escaped out.
My legs gave out and I managed to collapse into a bench conveniently located in front of a full length mirror.
I stared.
If my heart had been broken, this would’ve been the place to cry. This would’ve been the time to cry.
But my heart wasn’t broken.
It was destroyed.
She hadn’t rejected me. She had full on denied me
of anything and everything. She hadn’t shut me down. She had CTRL-ALT-DELETE’d me like a Windows computer. She hadn’t ripped my heart out. She had systematically Zyklon-B’d my heart to death.
Broken hearts can be glued back together with tears and emo songs. Destroyed hearts have no hope.
I was slumped on the bench. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t talk.
Why? Why? Why was this happening? WHY?
I jumped forward, fists balled up in my hair, nose plastered against the mirror. Why? Why? Why? What the fuck is going on? What did I do? What happened? Where? What? When? WHAT THE FUCK?
I thrust my nose further into the glass, searching for answers and just got a dazed reflection gaping back.
I stumbled back into the bench.
Mouth slightly open, eyes glazed, occasionally blinking. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even curl up in a ball to ride out my emotions. I didn’t even have emotions. I sat, like a vegetable, staring, completely defeated…
Why?
I tried moving my legs to escape the piercing eyes of my reflection. They refused. They lay, sprawled beneath me…
Why?
What happened?
I tried using logic. I am a computer scientist, after all. We spooned day 4, we’ve been on great terms, we held hands (briefly), we had tons of fun today and you sat with your arm around her shoulder, we talk a lot AND we’re good friends. Yet she refuses to talk to you today…and my circuitry brought me back to the same question…why? Why? WHY?
Why?
I tried constructing an argument. I am a Literature minor, after all. We’re good friends, you’ve dropped subtle hints, she’s dropped subtle hints…then, WHY THE FUCK IS THIS HAPPENING?
Why?
I tried the overused analogy of baseball. Full count, bottom of the ninth, last game of the year, crowd roaring, Tony Gwynn cumming in the announcer’s box…and she leaves the fucking stadium? She leaves me fucking standing in the batter’s box, on national TV, with nothing but my bat in one hand and my dick in the other?
Why?
I tried thinking like a J-Popper. He’s skinny, stupid, different and American. But I spooned with him and held his hand and let him drape his arm over me and dropped hints…so I hope
Gay pose
I briefly thought of becoming homosexual after Chiaki shredded my heart he confesses his love to me so we can fall in love like in all the crappy J-Dramas I watch on TV…THEN WHY NOT LET ME SPEAK?
Why?
I tried thinking like a New Yorker. You’re hawt shit, you tawk like a fuckin’ New Yowka, you drink like a mafacker and bitches should be hangin’ off yo’ cock. What da fuck are you doin’ bein’ a lil bitch? Rope shorty in, rail her six ways to Sunday, go to the bodega and grab yourself a Coke!
Yeah…
Yeah!
YEAH!
I’M FROM FUCKING NEW YORK CITY, BITCH! YOU AIN’T SEEN NOTHING YET!
I tilted my cap, adjusted my shirt, sagged my pants, cocked my head, flipped off my reflection and fucking bounced into the kitchen, knees bent, arms outstretched into gang signs and a FUCKING New York City smirk on my ma-facking face:
“YO!”
She quickly glanced in my direction, and sped out like a Jew leaving Wall Street on October 29.
And I stood there, knees still bent, arms still outstretched into gang signs and a FUCKING New York City smirk still plastered on my ma-facking face as I listened
Gay pose 2
but it was actually just an excuse to wear pink to the whir of the refrigerator echo throughout the room.
An hour later, Shin and Yuki discovered me frozen in place in the middle of the kitchen. Unable to face the reality and still unable to comprehend what the fuck was going on, I couldn’t bring myself to answer their many questions. Seeing as I was in a huge state of shock, anger, confusion and depression, they dragged me upstairs to their room and tried talking.
I babbled incoherently, my mind flying through thousands of thoughts per second. Through my meandering words, they got the basic idea of what happened, were just as confused as I was and then with their Japanese minds, deciphered her message, “It’s over.”
Being in the intense state of confusion that I was in, I grasped onto their seemingly logical explanation and then full blown depression hit.
Sinking into the floor, I watched Shin and Yuki draw some shit (remember these kids are fine arts students), decided to give it a try (what the fuck else was I going to do at that point? Jerk off? Eat a tub of ice cream? Watch “Sleepless in Seattle”?) and drew some
Graff I Drew
When depressed, turn to art. of the best art of my life (note to aspiring writers, artists and musicians, get depressed and you’ll create some of the best shit ever). I drew some crazy dark picture, then Soon Hae joined us, asked me to do a piece for her and I threw up some graff. Yuriko and Ted then joined into this artistic fray and seeing as it was already 3am, we decided to do an all-nighter.
Tired from sleep deprivation, still immensely depressed, still immensely confused by the events of the night, completely shocked and ridiculously angry at Chiaki for her bush league tactics, I sat in the corner of the room and then it was time for them to leave and their suitcases were loaded into the car and they sped off.
I stood outside of Ted’s house, refusing to acknowledge the cliché scene of a broken hearted soul watching a car/train/bus/plane disappear down the road with the girl of his dreams.
But realization hit and my eyes started welling up.
I pretended to stretch my neck to keep my emotions from exploding out (and to keep up appearances in front of Yu and Yuriko). But of course, as
I look skyward, every fucking cliché love line about moons and stars plays in a loop in my head like an annoying Spice Girls CD on repeat.
I manage to keep myself (outwardly) composed, Ted comes back with the car, we’re cruising to the airport, I’ve checked in my bags, gotten my ticket and I slouch into WestJet flight 540, seat 22A, still a complete wreck as the plane taxis down the runway and we’re several thousand feet above sea level.
Teddy and Yuriko are passed the fuck out, and I’m left sipping at warm, canned, fucking apple juice tossed in a flimsy plastic cup with one cylindrical ice cube for the next 5 fucking hours to keep my brain preoccupied from the catastrophe that was the night before.
I can’t even order booze because I’ve been cleaned out by this trip and I have only $10 remaining to cover the cab ride home.
And, of course, every fucking channel on the fucking tv is some sappy soap opera to quickly remind me of the night before.
Or they’re showing basketball highlights of games I already know the score to so my mind can easily
Shin, with his art
Going through major shisha withdrawl wander back to Chiaki.
Not that I wanted to watch the tv anyway.
Headsets on this flight cost $4.50.
I stumble into Turdeau International Airport in Montreal.
5 hours spent sinking into my dark thoughts and I’m empty. The only reminders of my flickering life were my eyes burning with sleep deprivation.
I was completely devoid of all emotions. I didn’t even get angry when Yuriko told me Yu had been the cause of Chiaki avoiding me that night.
I just nodded my head.
Resigned.
I didn’t even crack a joke the whole cab ride home as Ted recounted his half of his story.
I tossed in the last $10 I had in my name for the cab ride and then lugged two pieces of luggage through knee-deep snow and subzero temperatures with the wind howling straight into my face.
I manage to crawl into my house after taking twenty minutes to walk two blocks.
Clean, cold, dark and empty from a week of abandonment.
My roommate isn’t back yet.
I drop my bags in the entranceway and wander aimlessly through my two bedroom apartment.
I open the fridge. Nothing.
I flip on the telly.
I try to get excited about the Canadiens’ playoff chances.
I try to care about the falling Nasdaq.
I try to stimulate interest in a $19.99 egg-beater.
I try to be fascinated by Amazon red fire ants.
I try to worry whether Alicia will be America’s Next Top Model.
It’s too much noise.
I lie on my bed. I can’t sleep.
I glance at my calendar. I have a midterm tomorrow.
I need help.
I’m cold.
And with whatever force I still managed to have, I was able to make a decision.
Eat poutine.
I wasn’t hungry. But I needed comfort. And since I wasn’t going to burden anyone with my depression, I might as well eat comfort food.
And pretend I was talking to someone about my problems.
And pretend my life was fine.
And try to piece everything back together.
So I head back out into the tundra.
And walk to Werby’s.
And order a poutine.
And descend further into my thoughts as I wait for
Poutine
Montreal comfort food. It doesn't try to talk about your "relationship" after you've eaten it out. my order.
And when this disgusting combination of filth is served, I take a bite and though I hate to admit it (and I haven’t told this part of the story to anyone yet), I break down.
Two or three (or, ok, maybe four or five…or six) tears silently roll down my cheeks and my forehead slams into the table.
The waitress’s cautious voice enters my ears.
“Are you…ok?”
…and those three words triggered my tongue and my emotions and my thoughts as I let loose and finally got all this shit off of my chest by spending the next ten minutes rampaging through my tumultuous ten day trip and the feelings I have for Chiaki and all the things we’ve done and all the little victories I had and all the things I love about her and explaining my shattered emotions to this waitress I’ve never met before as I talk into the table as she stands in shock, holding onto the back of a chair for support.
The bartender is staring at me while rubbing the same spot on the bar endlessly with his dirty towel and the only other customers in the restaurant, a pair of university girls, are gawking at me mouths agape in mid-chew.
I finally push out the events of the last night from the back of my throat and listen to it roll off the table and shatter onto the floor.
Elevator music seeps through the restaurant.
Everyone’s jaw is still on the floor.
One of the girls brings her hand up to her mouth.
The bartender breaks the silence.
“Shit.” He breathes.
The waitress says something deeper.
“You’re a good guy. You’ll get what you deserve.”
Even though I know these words mean nothing, as I stare at the cheap, plastic surface of the table, I get a little flicker of happiness in my vortex of gloom.
The bartender has somehow ended up beside my table and pushes a glass under my nose.
“Here. Drink. On the house.”
I down it and finally look up from the table to thank him.
The waitress is still standing there, steadying herself on the chair as genuine concern fills her doe-ish brown eyes.
“Are you sure you’re ok?” she asks, a slight frown gracing her worried features.
It’s back.
I straighten up. Lift my chin. Arc a ‘brow.
“Can you make it ok?”
Epilogue I spent maybe 2 weeks being in this strangely depressed state, while outwardly I made sure I looked normal. I still have no clue what to do with Chiaki-I think I'm over her but given the ridiculous way in which we parted ways...I have no clue what to do. I want some closure in this but what the hell am I supposed to do? Do I destroy my whole summer season so that I can meet her in the last two weeks of August and finally tell her my feelings 5 months late? If she had straight up rejected me, I would've been sad, bounced back and got on with my life, but there's this nagging thing in the back of my head...
Shit, leave your suggestions.
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Maddy
non-member comment
You should
1) continue playing "baseball" but use itfor practice for the huge series at the end of the season 2) continue playing baseball as you do and try to add her to your pitching rotation at the end of the summer (so you get a 5 man like last yr) 3) be depressed and destroy your summer and put all your eggs in one basket 4) get back with me cuz im the hottest girl you ever know ("I tell people I dated a model to get respect"-pssh, im a stat booster?) i think choices 2 or 4, but wait until others have commented