This Thanksgiving, I would like to give a shout-out to those things that make my life complete. Thank you for being such an integral part of my happiness!

Gchat: Thank you for being my main vehicle of communication with friends. Thank you for  importing my aim contacts so that I don’t have to open two chat clients, or rather, even launch one at all.. Oh, and thank you for adding people automatically, like my professors and TAs, so I can always know when they are ignoring my emails.

Good Chinese food. Thank you! It’s so hard to find a good place to eat these days. I usually hate going to other Chinese restaurants, but that’s because there are so few good ones out there. That’s why I am thankful that places like the Hong Kong seafood bistro on Castro Street we ate at tonight exist; thank you for not drowning every item in soy sauce, for not having a signature dish of hot and sour soup or General Tsao’s Chicken, and for serving peanuts with MSG (much to the distaste of health conscious Americans). Usually you can be indentified by the predominantly Chinese makeup of your customers, and to the few patrons of other ethnicities, you have my props.

Gummi coke candy. Have you ever tasted such a perfect fusion of taste and texture? Miniature shaped cola bottles that fade from dark brown to clear. Perfect to leave in your mouth and melt, suck along the length of the bottle, or chew impatiently and immediately pop another. Caution: 1 pack may not last as long as you would like, but multiple packs may result in binge popping. Thanks!

Roommates: Thank you for putting up with me while I had swine flu, for protecting yourself from my virus hacking coughs, for always letting me in when I forget my key (like today), and for being faithful company to weekly senior pub nights. Thank you for letting my boyfriend crash on our couch when he’s too drunk to drive home, and letting your own drunk friends crash in our room.

Verde Milk Tea: Thank you for being probably the only other perfect combination of food and texture; for the perfect amount of frothiness with the perfect flavor. Thank you for the free wifi, unlike starbucks, so that I can bring my homework and thus not feel guilty about driving 40 minutes just to have you. And thank you for always running out of my favorite flavor, rose, and for always closing right when I have my late night milk tea urges. Also, thanks for keeping my wallet empty.

My Levi’s Skinny Jeans: Thanks for being the perfect companion to a night on the town. Whenever I’m in the mood for a little booze, you’re always there. Along with some pumps, you make all the guys stare and buy my drinks. Thanks for keeping my wallet a little fat.

and YOU! I know this is cheesy, but its true. Thanks for reading my pointless ramblings and thoughts about my life. Thanks for caring. And thanks for being the amazing people who have touched my life.

.. Continued

Tian Hao was a migrant worker I had met in Beijing when he delivered Italian food to my apartment. A week later he was introducing me as his nu peng you, girlfriend.

For the two weeks that I had remaining in Beijing before returning to school, he moved into my apartment. We came home from work and ate dinner while watching TV. He was always grinning and joking about how he would make a lot of money by turning his family apple farm into an apple juice company. Then he would fly to America to live with me and work as a waiter in a Chinese restaurant.

While he was helping clean up the night before my flight, he suddenly took a serious tone, and said, broom in hand, “I will miss these past few weeks with you. It gave me the feeling of having a family again.” The disparity of our lives was like an elephant in front of me. I was returning to my world of intellectualism and comfort (almost pampering). Being with him for two weeks was like my voyage into a rural and romantic world. But it was just a voyage, and people have to return from voyages at some point.

It was a voyage for him too. The next night, he would return to his one room (could you even call it an apartment?) shared with three other migrant workers. Where at night it was so cold, they layered blanket upon blanket brought from their rural hometowns. Where the walls and floors were dirty and grimy, the bathroom was shared with the entire hall, and nobody ever bothered to clean since they would probably find a new job in a new city few months later anyway.

When I left in the cab, he brought me some fruits from his family farm. Inside the bag was a few chopped apples and a lone pear. “I couldn’t part the pear,” he told me, “because then that would really be goodbye”.  (Pear, in Chinese, is li, a homophone with apart. To split a pear is to split apart).

On the airplane, I was thinking about that moment when the cab drove away, and our hands pulled away. I suck at writing poetry, but the image inspired me to scribble a few verses:

His hands.
Tanned mud faded with sweat,
short stubbed fingers,
dirt caught in between his nails,
callused palms that were rough to the touch.

Her hands.
Porcelain pale padded with comfort,
long delicate fingers,
tips finely manicured, except
a lone callus swollen from a lifetime of script.

Their hands.
Fingers laced,
a checkerboard of two worlds
colliding for a brief moment.
As the cab pulls away she pulls her arm inside,
and rolls up the window.

And the Chinese pop song by Jay Chou played in my head, “海鸟跟鱼相爱”.
The seagull and the fish fell in love

I can’t do this. Here I am, laying in bed next to him, trying express my annoyance. Amid his pleas of, “I’m sorry”, all I can think of is how your response would be to laugh and shower me with kisses because you think I’m cute when I’m pissed. My stomach turns, and I have to get out of bed to write this blog post in the middle of the night.

I was walking back home from class the other day, when I decided to call you. Last time, you called me just to chat, because you were feeling “blue”. We haven’t talked for a few weeks since then, but you weren’t glad to hear from me. Maybe you read my blog recently and found out that I’m dating someone else. Maybe that makes me a bad person, because I’m initiating contact with you while I’m taken.

But how do I stop comparing everything he does to you? (You usually win). How do I remove you from the pedestal in my mind, and appreciate people for their unique personalities? Am I just using him to feel more comfortable in your absence, like if I can’t have the one I love, then at least I can have someone who loves me? But that makes me feel so disgusted with myself…

And yes, (I’m sure this one will boost your ego). Sometimes, when we’re making love, I can’t help but play flashbacks of you in my mind. Even though I try to suppress it, you still sneak into my conscious and for a moment, all I sense is you; I see your face in front of me, feel your hands touching me, and your smell.. oh that smell.. a natural mixture of skin and pheromones that I have yet to encounter anywhere else. Why is it so hard with everyone else, but so easy with you?

A few years ago, I broke up with you because for some stupid reason, I was still obsessed with an ex-boyfriend. I was crying, but you told me it was ok, as long as I learned my lesson: not to let our past relationship hinder my relationships in the future. I guess I need to listen to you now, and continue my life without suffocating myself with our memories.

I posed this question to both my roommate and my boyfriend.

“If you’ve been dating for one year, because then you’ve been through all the seasons. All the ups and downs.”

“Nine months. Sounds like a good round number. What do you think?”

“Three months,” I responded. They burst out laughing.

“That’s only because you can’t keep a boyfriend for any longer than that.”

Ok, so maybe I haven’t had a long-term relationship for a while. I just haven’t met someone who I absolutely meshed with, someone for whom the opportunity cost of being with them didn’t outweigh the benefits.

A new relationship is exciting. You’re getting to know a new person. Exploring new territory. Engaging in unfamiliar interactions, even if the two separate people are familiar. Ultimately, you’re learning more about yourself and gaining skills for the future. It’s a setting to mold yourself, without much investment and commitment. Isn’t that the attraction of playdough? That we can create any shape we want, adding indentations or chopping off arms, and know that in the end it doesn’t matter because it’s all just going to get smushed back into the playdough container anyway, and the next time we start afresh with a new playdough ball?

What distinguishes a long-term relationship? Greater commitment? A sense of purpose and direction? More emotional support and stability? And how long does it take to achieve that? How do I know when I want to throw in the towel and admit to myself and him that it’s not going to work out? Do I wait and expect that something will happen that makes me fall madly in love with him?

I suppose I should provide some context for my rambling. These questions have been running through my head recently, and if I’ve at all had contact with you in the last week then you probably know.

In the past, I always fell pretty hard and early for the guys that I’ve been attracted to. I meet them and know that I am attracted to them. Something about our interaction, it’s like they just seem to know me. Some physical attraction too, I won’t lie. I keep making excuses to see them, and I work hard until I get what I want. And I usually do get what I want.

I like my boyfriend. A lot. But the story goes a bit differently with him. We met two years ago living in the same dorm, and were decent friends since. Sometimes we hung out in the dorm, but we obviously had different interests and different friends. We never called eachother just to hang out, and I never really made it a point to see him. Just a couple of times, hanging out playing video games or singing karaoke. Oh and once, we went to a Mae concert.

Through various happenstances of chance, we ended up renting a room together for two weeks. I never had any romantic inclinations towards him, never made any advances toward him, and I didn’t even know if he was heterosexual. But I did know that our friendship became a lot stronger as we learned more about eachother, and started to find our differences rather amazing. So that’s why when on move out day, when he jumped under my covers to keep me warm, I just smiled.

I don’t know what I’m doing. Everything is so different. I’ve never dated a friend before – only people to whom I was attracted since the beginning. I’ve always chased after what I want, yet this came to me as if it were natural and effortless. That’s why I don’t feel that strong passion, as I usually do. But maybe it’s just the nature of this relationship. Maybe relationships that aren’t so intense don’t burn out so fast.

But what I’m wondering is: How long should I wait before I know if this relationship is something that I want to pursue and invest myself in? Should I end it before it gets too complicated, while we can still end on good terms and maintain our friendship; before anyone gets hurt? I have the impression that he likes me more than I like him; am I just cheating him, taking advantage of him?

I need some insights.

Just finished my shift at the Sexual Health Center. We were asked to write a pick-up line at the bottom of our shift entries. Here’s mine: I’m a backward machine. Turn me on first and then I’ll plug it in.

I’m sorry sir, we cannot accept your blood.

You can exit at the other end of the mobile. Thank you and have a great day.

——————————

My mom was helping me move into my freshman dorm room. A blue Toyota Sienna parked behind us. He timidly pulled aside the sliding door and took his first steps on campus.

How will people accept me?

All the new faces gathered in the dorm lounge. We hadn’t even met, but we were told that by the end of the year we would be a family. The staff were talking about something like no alcohol in public places, and being considerate to our roommates. We were to vote for dorm president, any nominations?

The dreamy-eyed blonde with the athletic build.

The overly tanned chick in a spaghetti strap and short shorts.

“This guy”, I offer. He swings his head to follow the line of my finger.

Who is she pointing at?

His body takes a sudden jump back when he realizes that everyone is looking at him. I don’t even know his name.

“And the reason for your nomination?”

“He seems like a sincere guy.”

—

Chem section let out late. Great, I’m late for house meeting. Breathing quickly, I rush into the lounge. He is sitting on top of the back of the couch, commanding the room.

“Hello Crystal”, he smiles. “Glad you could join us. Continuing with business…”

—

I was waiting to take my senior portrait in the student center. Flipping through the brochures trying to sell me various overpriced portrait packages, I felt a warm, familiar presence behind me.

“Hello Crystal, long time no see.”

He looked the same, but more mature. Dressed in a jacket and tie instead of the usual sweater and slacks, matched with baggy jeans and flip-flops. Yet, he was the same goofy freshman who had the unlimited capacity to surprise me.

“Nice outfit,” I offer.

“Thanks, they can’t see my pants anyway, right? Saw a blood donation mobile center on the way here, want to donate blood with me?”

“I’ve never done it before,” I reply, apprehensively.

“Don’t worry.”

And somehow, because he said it, I didn’t.

Lying on adjacent makeshift beds, the nurses took our blood pressure and searched for a usable vein. He flashed a reassuring smile at me, like we were in this together. His “First Time Donor” sticker proudly adorned his chest.

I’m sorry sir, we cannot accept your blood.

Your blood.

You have had sexual contact with another male.

We don’t want your blood. Gay blood.

You can exit at the other end of the mobile, have a great day.

At the Student Sexual Health Center where I volunteer, we keep a shift by shift blog of happenings so all the staff know what’s going on. Reproduced below is a hypothetical entry that I would keep based on my experiences today and in the past.

Wow. Such a long day today. I usually counsel from 2-3, but I volunteered to take on the next shift as well for the rest of the term; Stacey has been dealing with mental health issues lately and kept missing her shift anyway.

Started off pretty slow, no one came in, so I flipped through flashcards of 52 sex positions.

2 Females in for 12 free condoms. They giggled at each other while browsing through our selection.

1 Male in for 3 free condoms, he wanted to ration them out throughout the term.

1 Female asking whether our lube was cheaper than the store’s.

1 Male walked straight in completely ignoring me. I decided to do something else so he wouldn’t feel so awkward. Then he grabbed some condoms and walked directly out before I could even look back up. But wait… I need your ID number..

1 Female in for 12 free condoms. I know her, we have mutual friends. She asked me for recommendations and I just suggested she try a variety until she finds one that she likes. Also asked me about how to become a counselor at the center.

1M and 1F. Looks like they were a couple picking out condoms together. How sweet.

1 F in for a pregnancy test. Went through the key info with her, like that it was only accurate after two weeks, and the directions. She seemed pretty nervous. I suggested she try it in the bathroom down the hall and return if she has any questions.

1 M. First time here, very shy. Didn’t want to talk much to me, and just browsed through our library for a bit. Speaking of library, this book on female orgasms looks pretty good…

Female back in, the pregnancy test didn’t work. Maybe you didn’t pee for long enough? Let’s go through the directions carefully. Here, try it again. Didn’t see her again so guessing it worked the second time.

Shit, its 5:15, where is the next shift? I have somewhere to be…

1 male in with a question. He is scared his girlfriend is asexual because she won’t have sex with him. Heard a lot of “Is that normal?”. I suggested a range of other possible explanations, and advised that he talk with her. Probably she is just scared or uncomfortable, it being her first relationship.  Chatted for 40 minutes.

Guess the next shift didn’t show. I’ve been here for three hours. I’m so outta here.

Lots of debate jargon – but any debaters out there will know what I’m talking about.

To the tune of Taylor Swift’s Love Story

We were both frosh, when i first hit you,
I read my case, and the timer starts
Im standing there,
On the podium with time to spare…

read inherency,
read the harms, the plan text,
read the solvency, and then whats next
I say hello, I now stand ready for cross-ex

you were my opponent you were throwing questions,
And your partner read disads about nuke war,
and i was sitting on the side lines preping my 1AR,
And I said:
Cross-apply number one , the status quo is out of whack,
the disads non-unique, without an impact
We outweigh cuz the plan solves mass death
It’s a debate round, judge just vote aff

one year later, i once again hit you,
you hide your case cause you’re dead if we knew,
you close your file,
Stop us prepping for a little while,

You ran counterplans, I had no good answers.
And my coach said stay away from theory args,
But you ran me in a corner,
So I pulled out AT: dispo, and I said

Disregard the counterplan on dispositionality,
Perm: do both, theyre not exclusive mutually.
We outweigh cuz the plan solves mass d.
It’s a debate round, judge just vote for me.

I got tired of losin’, wondering if I were ever going to win.
My speaker points were amusing,
When the judge wrote up his ballot and said…

Reason for decision , the status quo is out of whack,
the disads non-unique, without an impact
The plan outweighs cuz it solves mass death
It’s a debate round, and I vote aff

The Migrant Worker Saga, continued.

It was 2:30 am. I had to work the next day. The Migrant Worker stood in the doorway as I said goodbye and thank you for a great evening. “I’ll miss you,” he said. I only smiled. As I was about to close the door, he leaned in and kissed me. It was a rough, gritty, kiss – the kind that used too much teeth and not enough affection. Or maybe he just didn’t know how to kiss well.

1:15 pm. He had just gotten off his morning shift as a bicycle delivery boy at the Italian restaurant down the street, and had to return to work for the dinner rush at 3. We were watching the Chinese equivalent of animal planet together on my couch. He puts his arms around me, and moments later we’re frantically grabbing at each other. He starts to carry me to the bed, when I ask if he has a condom.

“No,” he responds with a scoff, “I never use those.”

“Then I am not going to have sex with you until you go to the store and buy some.”

It is almost time for work. We’ll have to wait until later.

11:15 pm. He bikes with me standing in the back to the pharmacy next to the restaurant where he works. I start to walk in when I notice that he’s not following me.

“Aren’t you coming?” I ask.

“No, are you kidding? I work next door. People know me.”

“Whatever you say,” I shrug.

Inside the pharmacy are two nurses and a male customer. The store has a U shaped glass case housing most of their products, with a central island glass case showing off condoms. The male customer was half-jokingly, half angrily scolding the nurses.

“Why do you display these kinds of things right here in front for everyone to see?”

At that moment I coolly walked up to the nurses and asked to purchase a package of “those things”. The man stared at me dumbfounded. That girl is a slut. Who uses condoms anyway? Why is the girl buying the condoms? She must have AIDS. I guessed at what he was thinking.

The Migrant Worker was no where to be found. I scanned up and down the street before I noticed him on the other side. “I didn’t want people to see you walk out of there and then come home with me,” he explained.

“How do you use this thing?”
“Can’t we do it just once without it?”
“It makes me feel less pleasure, I can’t come.”
“My ex-girlfriend never made me use one.”

Despite his protests, that night I had great, protected, sex with the coolest Chinese migrant worker I know.

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 chain of events started when my best friend bought me the book, He’s Just Not That Into You for Christmas. I had the biggest crush on the guy who lived down my hall. In fact, I would time my appearances in the dining hall to coincide with his meal schedule and choose my routes around the dorm to maximize my chances of bumping into him. But after almost a whole quarter of my obsession, I decided that enough was enough and that if he didn’t reciprocate after giving him so many opportunities, that he “just was not that into me”.
It’s funny how things turn around. The last day of the quarter before break, he and I were hanging out in my room. No longer restrained by the awkwardness of attraction, we were chatting while giving each other back massages. Eventually, we found ourselves fooling around and after a few steamy moments on his bed he asked me to get a condom and I obliged.
I didn’t feel attracted to him at all; I just wanted to have sex. From our massage chat I learned that he was a virgin. In retrospect, I should have considered his feelings more; a random one-night stand is not the most memorable way to lose your virginity, and I was taking that moment away from him. But at that moment, I must admit that I didn’t care about him at all. I was just thinking about myself.
I know that men get a power kick out of having sex with virgins but what about the other way around? It’s a power dynamic that was completely new to me. Instead of the usual reciprocity, I found myself confronted with almost complete sexual dominance. So I blanked. He was nervous, I was nervous. Erections went limp, vaginas went dry. I tried to reassure him that he was doing it right. I answered his questions of, “how is it” with the parroted, “it’s really good”. I tried my best to be understanding and to not let my disappointment and frustration show. But the night ended anti-climatically, with two used condoms and zero orgasms.
I’m not saying don’t have sex with people less experienced than you are. In fact, I bet it could be a great experience! But if you do, let me offer the following words of advice (I must apologize that this essay is very heteronormative, as I don’t have much experience in anything else):

For the experienced girls:

Do not put so much effort into making the guy ejaculate. Too many girls think that this is the ultimate marker of their sexual abilities. Just enjoy yourself! Don’t be afraid to take control if he seems to be unsure.

If he seems nervous, don’t keep going. Try taking a break for a while and doing something else, like oral sex, hand job, or other romantic things. It’s a good way to take your mind off the pressure of performing.

If he asks you if he is good, don’t lie. If he’s not good, don’t tell him that he’s the best you’ve ever had. Just speak plainly (without putting him down). For example, “Everyone is trying to figure it out their first time”.
For the guys who have sex with more experienced girls:

Do not be intimidated or threatened by a more experienced woman. Try to have positive feelings, such as flattery and confidence that she is willing to share her body with you. Do not be afraid to let her “take the reins” so to speak. Who knows, you may be rewarded mentally and sexually.

Do not feel like you have to ejaculate. Putting too much emphasis on ejaculation places a lot of stress and hampers erection. Just enjoy yourself!

Remember, mindset is everything! You won’t enjoy yourself sexually if you don’t feel comfortable and at ease.