My college roommate and I would wake up simultaneously as our alarms blared into our dreams. From the right side of the room, came a croaking, “fuuUCK”; from the left, a whining “Shi-it”. We liked to say that I started every day off with a fuck, and she started it with a shit.

Over the summer, I found myself homeless and living off the charity of friends for a period of time. Eventually a good guy friend and I settled down into the kitchen of a pot-engulfed renegade artist colony. We had been friends for a long time, so I didn’t have any qualms about it. In fact, I wasn’t even sure if he was heterosexual. For the two weeks before school started, he and I spent almost every moment of every day together: working, cooking, and hanging out. I did his laundry, and he gave me rides. We timed our schedules so that we could work out together. I started to feel like I cared for him, much more than in a friend or roommate way, like I wanted to take care of him, and him to take care of me. But we were just friends, so nothing more ever crossed my mind…

“I’m so cold!” Every morning (when I could manage to wake up in the morning, that is), the even-in-the-summertime chill crept underneath my comforters and led me to cry out. From his bed (well, really just a futon cushion spread on the floor), my roommate always faithfully offered me a blanket. When I woke up on the last day that we were to share that kitchen together, I whined, eyes closed, “I’m so cold!”. Unsatisfied with his usual blanket offer, I replied, “No, I need a fucking heat generator!”

I suddenly felt my comforter lift and a body fall onto the bed beside me. He wrapped his arms around me and said, “I’ll warm you up”.

And that is how I started dating my friend and roommate. A pleasant surprise, like an unassuming box of chocolates.

This is the 4th chapter in the series about The Migrant Worker.

What kind of 30+ man makes friends with 20 year old girls? I felt pretty dejected after I realized the cute policeman was already married. So dejected, in fact, that I decided to take revenge by asking to dinner the Migrant Worker whose calls I had been avoiding all week. Needless to say, he accepted immediately.

He picked me up on his yellow Annie’s delivery bicycle after work. At 11pm, I would’ve thought most places had closed, but he took me to a part of Beijing that I had never encountered. The people who frequented this night market were those who got off work after most people had gone to bed, mostly young men like him who had come to Beijing in search of work. They only had a chance to eat dinner at midnight and play a few games of pool afterwards. The smell immediately caught my attention; it was a mixture of the glistening sweat on their bare backs after a long day’s work, and vegetables fried in peanut sauce. Although that sounds gross, it was the most down to earth scent I can remember.

During dinner, I asked him how much money he made, not considered a rude question in China. About 200$ a month was the answer.While he stepped outside for a moment, I quickly paid for the meal: only about 3$. Coming back inside, he finished eating and called out for the check. When I explained that I already covered it, he was enraged that I didn’t let him pay for the meal. He worked for his money, whereas he didn’t want me to use money that my parents gave me on him. This was the portrait of the honest worker that I had been searching for.

He sent me home on his bike at 2am; he pedaled while I stood on the bars behind him, holding his shoulders to keep from falling backwards. The quiet of the sleeping city accompanied by the bleakness of the dark gave me an eerie feeling; I thought Beijing never slept. Crossing the highway, we passed by three other guys on their bikes, and he gave out a loud whistle. I heard three whistles back.

Laying down on my couch, I thought back about all that had happened that night. Even though I had lived and visited China countless times, I had never known this side of China before. I couldn’t sleep, and spent all night texting him until 7am when I told him to come over and we fell asleep on my couch.

This is the next chapter in my project of archiving all of my memories about you so that I can finally be free of the past. Continued from previous post.

When I was younger, I said “I love you” all the time. I threw those three words around like birdseed, usually following the words, “Thank you so much!”. Once, my dad suddenly kicked me off the computer while I was about to send off an email to a classmate thanking him for his help, and he saw that I had finished with the forbidden three words.  Needless to say, he sternly lectured me about how eighth graders cannot possibly know what love means.

In my junior year of high school, I still hadn’t changed that much. I was at my house doing some last minute prepping with my debate partner for a tournament the next day, when my printer broke down. Not knowing what to do, I got online (back when people still used AIM and before the days of gchat). Using my classically middle school screen name with all its XX’s, azn, and baby’s, I scanned my buddy list to see who could help. Even though I had just met you the day before at Chinese school, I double clicked your screen name – you seemed like a computer-savvy guy despite all your ghetto pretenses. As my buddy icon flashed in the lower right corner, proudly declaring  “Italians are Hot”, you patiently walked me through various fixes, probably thinking to yourself that I was the biggest ditz ever. Even though we couldn’t get it working again, I was so grateful that you would take an hour out of your time to help me, that I told you,

me: Thank you, I love you so much!

short pause

you: lol

me: what, is my love unrequited?

long pause

you: we’ll see

Perhaps you weren’t the greatest person at recognizing hyperbole followed by sarcasm, but you took me seriously. Three days later, I saw in my chat screen:

you: so.. do you want to talk about what you said a few days ago?

I had no idea what you were talking about, so you said to forget it. But we didn’t forget it, did we? Because all of a sudden we started hanging out and talking (and flirting) all of the time. It’s like, with that conversation, a little birdie popped the idea that perhaps something romantic could happen between us. Later, well into our relationship, we both confessed that if I hadn’t said I love you, and if you hadn’t misunderstood me, we would probably never get to know how great we are together.

You didn’t really tell me that you loved me much, because you claimed that I should just know. Even though I might have overdone it with my flippancy, sometimes I think that saying I love you too much is better than too little.

mood: 5 can’t. fall. asleep…

physical tired: 5 why am I such an insomniac?

spiritual tired: 3 GRE coming up

Written by a good friend and the author of “Why do I still care?” Comparing the two entries, it’s evident that he has learned a lot about himself – and offers advice that I need to learn as well.

Ever broken up and wished and hoped that someday you and your ex will get back together? You start to treat that him/her right, converse, and try to begin anew. However none of that matters if the same arguments that have occurred in the past continue to occur.

Even if everything seems amicable, old conflict will hold you back. You absolute have to move on in order to begin the healing process. You have to let go of the things that made you two argue in the first place. You have to be willing to forgive and must be more understanding and forgiving. Trust plays a huge role as well. However, even if you do everything right, the other person may find someone else. In that case, do not get angry, do not get mad, and do not be jealous. Congratulate your ex for finding someone else he/she cares about.

You cannot wait for the other person forever. In fact, you should not wait at all. You will only depress yourself and waste other opportunities that lie ahead. If you two were meant for each other, things will work themselves out. Being jealous will guarantee that things will not work out. It’s best to simply move on, enjoy life, and grow so that the next time you two encounter each other, you will be a much better person.

I’ve been stuck in such a cycle. I’ve moved on, I’m letting things go, but the arguments continue. There can be no way of getting back together if that keeps up. For several weeks now things were going uphill, and everything seems to be going great. And yet, the same stupid arguments have not let up. One day, a huge argument broke out which was basically the same as the arguments of the past, and continued the same old crap that had always kept the relationship back. It seems like something I cannot escape. To break the cycle either my ex or I have to change, and I cannot rely on my ex for that. I have full control over my own actions, and thus it is up to me.

If you’re stuck in such a cycle, remember that you have the power to change it, but it takes a lot of effort, and a lot of patience. You cannot expect immediate results, and it could take years. That’s what I’ll be doing, putting in more effort, and having a great deal more patience. I refuse to give up.

How many times can one person endure being put down by another? What if the one putting you down is the same one you are in love with?

My boyfriend broke up with me over a year ago, but I still cling to his memory. Even though he always reminds me that there is no future for us, I still reach out to him.

The past few months have probably been too good to be true. I took a chance and dialed his number, but this time, instead of telling to move on, he actually called me back; and kept calling back. I can’t believe that eventually, he even liked me again, and invited me to visit him at school. We spent an amazing week together, waking up to lazy weekends, visiting the park, playing computer games – it didn’t really matter what we were doing, just that we were doing it together. When I was with him, I felt safe from all the forces of the outside world. When I was with him, I felt like no matter what happened to me, everything would be alright. He was my otter, he made me feel carefree.

When he told me that he wanted to come visit me, I started dreaming of apartments,  cars, and dogs that we would share together. I started thinking about whether I should buy or rent a car to pick him up from the airport, whether to book a hotel, how to have a perfect weekend. But I also wanted something more. I wanted to be loved in return.

But in the end, it’s always the same.

I opened myself up to him, and he didn’t want me.

After a year. A whole year of caring for you, of feeling hurt when you didn’t care. A year of calling my friends when you rejected me, of forcibly casting you out of my memory, of failing to do so, of painful nostaglia when I uncovered a forgotten artifact of us.

I don’t love you anymore.

Maybe this is premature. But right now, I could care less what happened to you. I could throw away the CD you burned me for Christmas, and wrote “Merry X-mas =)” on,  without regret. I could pick up your call and tell you I’m too busy to talk to you because I have better things to do.

Remember I was trying to chronicle all my memories of you on my blog, so that I could finally forget about you without losing you forever?  Now, I don’t have any inclination to finish that project. You are a memory not even worth preserving, not even subconsciously.

I thought I loved you, or maybe it was a ghost of you. In all my brooding over my loss of you, I didn’t realize how much you had changed from the person I fell in love with at 16. When did you become so self-centered, incapable of caring about another person’s feelings? When did you lose perspective about the important things in the world? Why do you demand the world to change around you, when you are too stubborn to change for others? How could I ever have thought that the you I was in love with would return to me?

I am emotionally numb. I do not feel angry at you for hurting me to this point. I do not feel hurt because of what you did. I do not feel happy because I am finally liberated from this debilitating relationship. If anything, I feel sad, for you. Sad that that you who I loved is gone. I would say I hope you realize and change, but that would be a lie because (and I realize how incredibly selfish this is, but) I honestly don’t care if you live the rest of your life this way, and because I’m not hopeful; in fact, I’m rather dubious.

“because I don’t think that you are a good person.”

“But why?”

“You’re too petty.”

A little over a year later, I don’t know why, but we start talking again. a lot. For the past week, we’ve been talking on the phone for over three hours a night. You know that I still like you, that I still haven’t gotten over the idea of us. And you say that you care for me, but you still don’t like me because I’m ‘petty’. I know I’m petty, I tell you. I’m working on it, trying not to get pissed off over little things, trying to not hold grudges and stay mad for a long time. I really am getting better.

Last night you called me in the middle of a party. When I told you that I would call you later you replied, visibly (or audibly, in this case) frustrated, that you were going to sleep. I felt pretty bad after that and I wasn’t able to enjoy the party or go to sleep for hours.

Today when you called, I told you that the way you said those things hurt my feelings. You told me to stop being so sensitive. Am I just being petty again?

“So what does petty mean to you?” I ask.

“Making something that’s not a big deal a big deal.”

It wasn’t even that big a deal, but the fact that you just completely dismissed how I felt makes me wonder whether you really care about me, whether you really care about anyone’s feelings. You are not even listening to me.

Or maybe I should just let this slide. I am clearly getting more upset over this, while he is sleeping peacefully, ignorant of how he has made me feel. What is the use of getting mad?

Caught in between my desire to assert myself and the desire to prove to you that I’m not petty, I am paralyzed and hurt.

(continued from previous post)

My cellphone displays your name on the screen. Why would you be calling me, I haven’t spoken to you in six months since we broke up.

“Do you want to watch Slumdog Millionaire?”

“You mean like, on a date?”

“Yea, sure…”

You pull up my driveway in the same car you drove to prom, the beige Honda with the mini teddy bear hanging from the rearview mirror. I just spent thirty minutes getting ready and choosing my outfit, trying to look good while pretending that I didn’t try too hard for you. I slide in the passenger seat, as casually as if we had actually been dating.

“Where are you taking me for dinner?” I cheerfully ask.

“I was thinking La Madeleine, I really want french food.”

—————-

“So where are we going for dinner?” I was so excited. I was 16, he was my first real boyfriend, and this was my first real date. He even picked me up in a car – no more ‘ask your parents to drive you on your date’ for me. I could tell that he had tried hard to look nice, because he was wearing a blue button-down shirt instead of the same two-sizes-too-large T shirt he always wore. I think I even smelled a hint of cologne. I had never had someone go through all that trouble for me.

We ate at La Madeleine because it was close to the theater. It was a cozy french restaurant with candlelight and charming decor. We picked a small table near the back of the restaurant, by the window. The food was not memorable, but we both went crazy with the free fruit jam and toast, wanting to try all the different varieties. By the end of the meal, we had probably eaten more in free jam than the restaurant had made in profit off of us.

————–

“I think it was this table, let’s sit here,” you say pointing to that cozy table in the back by the window.

“Sure,” I laugh, uncomfortably. Bringing me to the same restaurant and the same table where we started our relationship four years ago. It almost seems like we’re celebrating our four year anniversary. Except we’re not.

“So, how has school be like for you?” I’m trying to make idle talk. We catch up about school, family, life in general. It’s almost like we’re high schoolers again, going on our first date. Is this the message that you wanted to send me? That we can start over and return to when things were happier between us? If you’re willing to, then I am too.

————–

You walk me to the door as you send me home. I turn around before entering, purposefully dawdling around hoping that you would kiss me. You know what I’m thinking, but then you see my grandfather at the top of the stairs staring you down. I guess our first kiss will have to wait until next time. I close the door behind me, and can’t believe that things were actually going right for once.

————

You start driving me home but purposefully slow down as we near the turn to my house. Seeing no resistance from me, you speed up again, but drive straight, taking the road to the ballpark instead. You park the car in the darkest part of the lot, lean over to the passenger side, and start to rub your body against mine. As I feel you inside me, I realize that you didn’t really want anything else from me. You didn’t really want to start over. You didn’t really care about my feelings. You just wanted this. Well you got what you wanted, and left me worse off.

continued from this post.

You loved the song, “Do you remember?” by Jack Johnson, and you would always play it for me, telling me that you wish you could still play it for me in ten years. I always thought the line, “You were lazy about it you made me wait around” was pretty apt for how our relationship got started. We danced around for a long time, both of us too shy to initiate anything. That’s how it goes with high schoolers, right? We went out many times, to a football game, an arts and crafts festival, a book fair, (how did you let me drag you to these things?) the movies, but it was never very clear whether these were dates – and I was too nervous to pursue the matter further. One time while watching a movie at my house, I even wanted to lean against you, but was too embarrassed and came up with the solution of putting a pillow between us and leaning on that. Finally, after Christmas, I gave you a call. I was sitting in the kitchen of my best friend’s house, and I asked you plainly, “Do you like me as more than a friend?”. You said yes. I was ecstatic.

High school dating is so cute. I hate dating in college – you go from just dating to basically being married just like that [snap]. In high school is when we first start to learn what dating is about. It’s a journey that we go on together to learn our preferences and boundaries, what ticks us off and what makes us tick. You would wait for me outside of my class and walk me to my next class. Since you were a senior, you skipped class a lot to find me. In the mornings, you waited beside my locker, and in the afternoons, you walked me to my bus. Sometimes you even drove me home, even though you lived 40 minutes in the opposite direction. We would do really cute things together, like both dress up nicely for no reason; I remember on that day I found you sleeping in your blue shirt and trousers next to my locker, and as I walked up in my high heels and pink-flowered skirt, you hugged my legs with your eyes still closed.

We were skipping class, lounging at the end of the hallway against the blue radiator, when you suddenly asked me, “Would it be ok if I told you that I loved you?” I asked, “Are you saying that you love me?”. “No, I’m just asking if it would be ok for me to say so”. A few days later we were lying on my bed, talking. You suddenly told me “Crystal, I love you”. I didn’t know what to say. To be honest, I didn’t love you at the time. At least, I had never been in a serious relationship and so didn’t really know what it all meant. I asked you if it was alright if I didn’t say anything. I think you knew that I would eventually figure out my feelings, and so you weren’t too upset that I didn’t say “I love you too” immediately.

A month later you left for a week for Florida, and I could not bear it. I missed you so much that I could feel it in my body. That is when I knew that I loved you. While on the phone, I wanted to tell you – but I was so shy that I kept stopping myself. When you finally told me you had to go, I shouted out, “Wait! I have something to tell you!” Then I delayed for about an hour while you walked around trying to balance yourself on the curb. “I love you”. There. I had said it. “I know. I love you too,” you replied. Later I asked you whether you knew what I was going to say, and you responded, “Of course, it was obvious”. I didn’t think it was that obvious…

I’ve been in a bad mood all day because during my routine morning email check, I received an email from my last ex-boyfriend, from whom I haven’t heard in six months. After some disingenuously polite questions asking about my time in Oxford, he asked me to return the keys to his house that he had given me. Ignoring his jabs at pretending like he cared, I straightforwardly replied that I did not remember anything about a key; which was the truth.

I might sound like the stereotypical resentful ex-girlfriend, and I probably am. I will completely admit that my feelings my cloud my judgment. But I still have not completely wrung out my disgust for him. It’s not that I’m bitter that we broke up, it’s not that I’m jealous he has a new girlfriend (does he? I couldn’t care less). It’s that I honestly think he is one of the most unlikeable people I have ever met.

The first time you meet him, you can’t help but like him. That’s what trapped me to him as well. He knows how to smile at you, talk to you, make you feel like he would go out of his way for you, even though you’ve only just met. When we first started dating, I wanted to show him off to all of my friends, because I knew that he would impress them as well.

The more I got to know him, the more I realized that his congeniality was really just a cover for his vapid intrapersonality. He valued his friendships for how they could benefit him, and saw all his friends as potential connections. I knew something was wrong when I asked him what he wanted to do with his life, and he replied that he never really thought that was important, as long as he made money. However, I was too stupidly in love with him to let that bother me, and I pushed my discomfort aside. Towards the later part of our relationship, he had at that point already lost any feelings for me. Yet, he still asked me to call up my dad’s business connections to help him find a summer internship, meanwhile pretending that he still loved me. Even when I finally caught on to what was happening, he still proposed that we try to amend our relationship; perhaps he worried that if we broke up, my dad’s contacts would not pull through for him. I finally wised up and got out of there (quite literally).

The next time I saw him was at a group meeting of my superviser’s research team (also a job I had helped him get). He smiled at me with his characteristically congenial smile (whenever I imagine his smile, my insides burns with a green flame of disgust), and, much like the email I received today, asked me about how I had been. I didn’t even bother to pretend like I cared, I just responded and continued my work, leaving before he had another chance to speak. That was the last time I saw or heard from him.

Dear Crystal, It’s almost the end of the quarter. How are you and how has life been at Oxford? When are you coming back to Stanford?

When I got his email, I can almost imagine him flashing his unctuous smile, calculating whether the effort for social interaction will be worth the reward.  Whenever I think about the way I let myself be used by him, the way I deprecated myself for him, my entire body (particularly my stomach and my muscles) systemically does flips out of self-disgust, while I can feel my blood pulse in my hands out of anger. I sincerely hope that most girls will never have to experience this feeling of self-deprecation due to a guy.

Best song that describes how I’m feeling now: Picture to burn, by Taylor Swift