Tag Archives: friendship

Relationships

On Being an Introvert and Being Myself

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I’ve always considered myself an introvert. My policy in new situations is to listen first, speak later once I’ve gotten the lay of the land. Most kids lie to their parents so that they can go hang out with their friends. But I would sometimes lie to my friends about what my parents said so I could stay home. I’ve been to restaurants and movies by myself. I’ve always loved being able to spend hours alone in the car. Whether it was reading, listening to music, cooking, watching movies or any number of other activities, I’ve always been quite happy doing things on my own.

It wasn’t until grad school that I realized what being an introvert actually means, and it took someone else to really point it out to me. Being an introvert doesn’t just mean that you’re okay or happy being by yourself. The difference between introverts and extroverts has more to do with where you get your energy, how you recharge after stressful situations, where you feel most revitalized. Being around people, even when it is amazing, fun, sparkling and shiny, drains my energy. If you consider yourself an extrovert, these situations probably give you energy, while being by yourself might drain it away.

I was lucky in college to find friends who seemed to understand this about me. We never really talked about it much, but the answer “no thanks, I think I’m going to stay in, make myself dinner and catch up on television” was always readily accepted. Deciding to go out was always met with a certain degree of surprise. My friends were simply happy to have me along when I wanted to go, and not inclined to pressure me when I wanted to go my own way and do my own thing instead.

Even then, I still didn’t quite understand what being an introvert met. I understood doing what I wanted—not forcing myself to go places I didn’t want to go or talk to people I didn’t want to talk to. Part of moving from adolescence to adulthood, I think, is learning the difference between want and should want. In college, I learned that what I wanted most was decisiveness and freedom—the ability to decide what I wanted and the freedom to take it, whether it was curling up in bed with tea and a good book, or going to a bar with my friends and drinking one too many vodka cranberries and doing high kicks across the bridge on the way home.

So, by now, I was solidly aware of my enjoyment of alone time, but I didn’t figure out the energy thing until grad school. My college friends were few but tight-knit, so it was pretty easy to block out some quiet nights with frozen pizza, fruit, and some good television, or to indulge by heading out to a party just because we wanted to. But in grad school, I made lots and lots of close friends—we quickly became a big, amorphous group, loud and rambunctious and high-spirited. We rode that high for the first few weeks of school, and I loved it. But I could never quite figure out why I was so exhausted. I was worried about being irritable, and I was worried about missing out.

The first time I said no was a revelation. I stayed home. I watched some television. I didn’t spend any money on alcohol. I went to bed early. I felt a million times better the next day. It took another few missed outings, a few more negative responses to text messages before I really figured it out. I was telling this story to a friend of mine, and it was her response that made it all click.

“Well, yeah,” she said. “Being alone is how you rest.”

I love my friends. I love parties and I love going out and I love dinners together. I love meeting up for coffee, and studying with people in the library. But I also love quiet nights by myself. And more importantly, I need them—they are how I build up stores of energy so that I can really enjoy social engagements later. Being by myself is how I stay myself. It makes me happy. And now, I don’t even remember those things to which I originally said no. Missing out on a few social outings hasn’t changed my relationship with my friends or affected my position in the group.

It’s all part and parcel of the same lesson—knowing yourself, being honest about what you know and need, and making sure you get it. It’s been a process for me. I had to start by learning what I want and learning to separate that from what I thought I should want. And then it was important to learn why I wanted it, so I could keep an eye out for those situations in the future.

Wherever you’re most yourself, however you’re getting what you need to be your best, most invigorated self, is an okay place to be.

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

Relationships

Glimmer of Love

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She is my muse, love.  My life.  My soul, which I never knew or believed existed until I felt her breath… my breath, filling my lungs.  Lately words have been flowing from my heart that I never expected to hear, feel, or believe.  It is as real and as drastic a transformation as I have ever experienced.  Apparently, it is wholely possible to look forward to speaking to someone just moments after hanging up the phone – to miss someone mere seconds following farewells.  It seems that, despite all doubt, in all appearances, potentially, probably, ipso. fucking. facto. that love not only exists, but that I find myself eyebrow deep in it.  This is a first.  Many firsts, in fact.  But, certainly the first time I find myself deep in something that did not require legal, medical, or moral assistance to get out of.

I am writing this for the same reason I’ve ever written anything, because I have to.  I have written, to date, a number of letters beyond my ability to count (which is to say, I’ve run out of fingers and toes) regarding the subject of love, the subject of my love, addressed to… well, you get the point.  I have killed four pens, 2.5 notebooks, and three packs of envelopes in just a couple of months.  So for anyone wondering if The Duke of Glimmer has been writing… he has, but only for one person as of recently.  And although she prefers not to share my attention, I’m sure she’ll grant me reprieve in this case.

My love is music, for I found her through music.  My love is friendship, for I found her through friendship.  She is dance, and light, and laughter… gorgeous hot days, and long desert nights.  She is drugs – I will not lie.  The greatest (seriously, the greatest) drug I’ve ever known.  I am convinced she is the path to my enlightenment – if that is a thing and it can truly be achieved.  And if not, I’m just fucking happy.  Really happy. Happy enough to write this sappy post that you will probably read, say “awww,” puke, then take an insulin shot.  And that’s fine.

The point is that it’s real and it’s out there – love.  It’s not something you’re expecting to find, or that you seek out on purpose.  It just grows, organically – non GMO, always fair trade.  I didn’t even know I wanted it until love found me, but now I’ll fight with the passion of a thousand souls to keep it, this fire that burns in my heart.  There’s no formula, just live your life and let it find you.  It will.  Somehow it found me.  Somehow there’s a beautiful woman in this world who is just like me, but better… so much better.  Genuinely, just ask Tracy, she’s better… and she loves me, lucky fool that I am.  So for anyone struggling or lonely out there – trust me, if you’re holding the glimmer, sooner or later the universe will send someone to share the burden.

Originally published by Hold the Glimmer at http://holdtheglimmer.com/

Photo by Anastasia Heuer

Photo by Anastasia Heuer

 

Travel

Time Stamped in a Different Time Zone

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This February will mark my two-year anniversary of booking a one-way ticket to Bangalore, India, ultimately leaving New York and my friends behind to chase a newfound interest in helping women’s rights abroad.

A lot has changed since the nights I spent in New York drunkenly crying on my bedroom floor, chain-smoking Camels to temper the taste of feeling pathetic, frustrated, and directionless in my mouth. Full disclosure: I listened to the entire Drake album on repeat for months, too.

And, yet, this March marks my return back to the U.S. to pursue graduate school. Though my intention behind the move was to donate my skills, the reality is that I took more lessons from India than I dished out.

India has gone above and beyond in delivering the unique experience that I desperately craved, but Frommer’s did not tell me how to handle spending the night in a lodge run by an oiled down 12-year-old boy, sleeping on a blood-stained bed sheet. Women’s interest blogs did not guide me on how to hitchhike on a 16-year-old’s motorcycle to get away from a group of leering men that started following me out of the gym. Expat groups did not tell me that before I even started my first day at work, my colleague would be kind enough to invite me to his daughter’s first birthday with the rest of the team.

But I don’t want to focus on the lessons of humility, patience and sanitation that I’ve learned from moving abroad. It would be trite to remind you to eat only cooked food or observe the local attire.  I don’t have photos albums of sepia-filtered temples or me doing the downward dog on the beach. #princessjasmine

All those things could be learned and recreated from a Lonely Planet forum or even a short-term visit to a foreign country. What I have experienced from being away from the U.S. is something that no amount of literature or conversation could have prepared me for: transience.

The life of an expat can be inherently sad and lonely. Unless you moved abroad with your family or plan on settling long-term in a new place, you immediately realize the implications of having a time-stamped relationship with your host country.

Almost everything in my current life has a clear expiration date, except for ironically, the milk (seriously, why doesn’t it ever go bad here?). I meet a fellow expat and, by the time I learn his last name, I also know his departure date and what airline he is flying. The takeaway? Always fly Emirates.

I find investing in these friendships exhausting because I wonder if I made any stable or consistent connections in the last two years. Are we all rushing into fake intimacy because it is better to be slamming shots under the guise of friendship than it is to be the lonely girl at the bar ordering white wine…. again?

Or can six months of friendship be a solid enough foundation to keep the momentum going for years to come? After all, those six months were littered with experiences like holding my French friend’s hand in the ambulance as we rushed to the emergency room to avoid a potential splenectomy. Or sitting behind my Australian friend on a scooter as we navigate a new beach town. And then I remember that our home countries are scattered all over the world. Our unifying thread is the time we spent in India. I don’t look for lifetime friendships in everyone I meet, but when I met you on Saturday and I know you leave in three weeks, I can’t help but ask, ‘Why bother?

Those restless nights in New York made me desire something else, but only professionally. I never questioned whether my personal life would turn into a revolving door of faces and names, nor did I imagine that I’d spend consecutive months with someone to never see them again. In essence, I took everyone for granted.

But this transience, she plays dirty. She’ll make you feel crazy and stupid until you are desperately refreshing Kayak for a good deal home. And just when your third bout of diarrhea hits from eating at the alleged five-star restaurant in the Sheraton and you’re stuck at home missing your friend’s goodbye party because a cab strike prevents you from physically attending, she comes over, sits on your lap, and gives you the ride of her life: Oh, a group of you guys are going to Goa this weekend? Sure, let me pack really quickly. Dinner at the Taj? Good thing I’m driving by RIGHT THIS SECOND.

Maybe she isn’t soo bad.

After all, transience has also shown me the beauty in expat life.  The constant merry-go-round of people in my life has forced me to enjoy each outing, each dinner, and even each bathroom trip for what it actually is. There is no false promise of the next hangout or a future trip. As corny as it may sound: moving away has forced me to actually live in the present.

And as you enjoy the third round of sangria at Sunday brunch with a group of people who you met three days ago at a some guy’s house party who is moving back to Canada next week, you also realize that life’s truest moments are those you spend with your fellow transient strangers. There are no guards up when talking to each other or feelings of shyness to cut through because you literally don’t have the time for the initial, get-to-know-you-slowly, game.  The second you realize that all you have are mere seconds to get to know someone, you stop sizing each other up and down and approach with more confidence and acceptance: commes des F down, we’re just doing dinner.

Now, I’m contemplating what profound insight to leave you with because my boyfriend just came home. I’m watching him change from a suit into a t-shirt—not because I’m completely creepy (well, okay, that too), but to take in this moment, because we may not be together after March, when I return home and he stays in India. He is an expat, too, from New York. I guess I really couldn’t leave New York behind.

This is when I want to slap transience for her loud mouth taunting, for filling me with doubts and “Why bothers?” We may be tragically time stamped. That ticking clock may force me to really—no, really—spend time with him here. But that’s all any of us ever have: today and an uncertain future. So I’m here now, today, with my own departure date. And all it took to appreciate this moment was to leave everything in my past.

Photo by Henri Legentil

Photo by Henri Legentil

 

Relationships, Sex

I Had Casual Sex With My Roommate

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There was a brief period in college where I was having what might have been seen as a sordid affair with a good friend. It was great. We were part of a big group of people who all worked together, and were all attached at the hip. Weekend trips to the beach, late night drunken karaoke sessions. I would find myself belting the lyrics of Moulin Rouge’s most soulful duet from the sunroof of a car with an Oreo shake from Jack in the Box in my hand and my friends leaning out the windows singing backup. And, as if eating poorly and consuming trash media weren’t enough, I decided to add what would eventually become an emotionally disastrous relationship to the mix.

I honestly don’t even really remember how it started, but a few nights a week the two of us would find ourselves alone, in one of our rooms, and things would get steamier from there. At first, it was fabulous. The best part about this “affair” was that it was so casual. There was literally nothing beyond hooking up, and after the terrible breakup I had just gone through it was such a relief to have something easy with a friend I trusted so much. There wasn’t any interest in dating, so we could dispense with the awkward so-what’s-your-middle-name conversations. Hell, we already knew all those things about each other.

Come spring quarter, our entire group was moving off-campus and we were all deciding where to live. A piece of our little group organized itself and signed a lease on a fantastic party house off the main drag and got excited about a whole year of playing and dancing and late-night heart-to-hearts. This friend and I, still in the midst of our precarious relationship, found ourselves staring down a twelve-month lease. But we trusted each other, and were really enjoying our rendezvous. Wouldn’t it have been smart to take it a little easy once that lease was signed?

Because, as it does, the other shoe dropped on me. My friend-with-benefits met and fell in love with someone. Which, under any normal circumstances, I would have been absolutely thrilled about. In fact, I was thrilled, except for two tiny details, which ended up having not-so-wonderful effects. First, I was not actually told that things had changed in our arrangement until things were already underway with this other girl (which made me feel not totally valuable and as if I was being kept on the line just in case). Second, I didn’t get to choose. I felt like I was being broken up with when the whole point was that we weren’t dating. Oh, and bonus: she had the same name as me.

I must say, I may not have handled this situation perfectly. My entire feeling was, essentially, “Who the fuck are you to go and date someone else with the same goddamn name?” Really helpful, trust me. But I felt like I had been blown off. It is not very productive to dwell on feeling worthless. And then to have to spend months listening to her moan from their room (oh, the thin walls), and watch their stupid fights… I wasn’t envious of their relationship, I just hated having been rejected. I hated that I was second string. I hated that I was the one who didn’t get to decide when it was over (control freak, much?). I never said anything about this to any of my friends, benefits or otherwise, because our relationship was never more than physical: I never felt like it was my place to explore what had happened. I think things would have been better off if I had allowed myself the space to really work things out. Instead, I stayed angry for the entire year.

This wasn’t jealousy. By then, I was dating someone else, but unfortunately I’m not exactly the type to let bygones be bygones. Tiny forgivable offenses like not cleaning up the dishes turned into character flaws and major issues. I was hypersensitive about everything, and I played a major part in dividing the house. Because we were living together, there was no space to cool off, no opportunities to stop picking at the wound. Our friendship never really recovered.

All in all, the actual sexy-times part of this lasted about a month, maybe, but the effects were long-lasting: four years out, I don’t really keep in contact with this friend even though I am still very close with my other roommates.  I really regret not maintaining that friendship, and the fallout from our not-actual-break-up-break-up. In the moment, there were really no downsides. We knew each other well, trusted one another, and could have a really good time. It was exciting and fun and we could ignore all the cliffs we were skirting. Until, of course, we teetered over the edge. Afterwards, it was all downsides. Awkwardness, uncomfortable feelings within our friend group, heightened tensions around quotidian issues.

Would I do it again? Probably. But this time around I would add a little more sunlight into the equation, and work harder to make things less awkward once it was all over. I would let go of my pride, and be open about how I was feeling. And maybe not sign a lease together.

Photo by Sara Slattery

Relationships

Let’s Ask: Friendships After Marriage

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Lily and Heather, two 25-year-old UE writers who’ve known each other since 2007, sat down over Skype recently to discuss how their friendship has changed since Lily got married two years ago. With things like #myfriendsaremarried and the overwhelming number of ring photos on Facebook (and the terrible commercials that accompany them), we wanted to have some real talk about what marriage and friendship have been like for us.

Lily: Let’s start by talking about how we met.

Heather: Sounds good. We worked together as Resident Advisors in college, and met in the training class we had to take the year before we started the job. Remember what that was like?

Lily: Haha, yeah! I would whisper something in your ear and you would raise your hand and say ‘Lily has something to add!’ because I was too shy to speak up. I was mortified, but it was so helpful! How would you describe our early friendship?

Heather: So much of it was spent in dorm rooms, going on dining hall trips, venting about residents, taking trips to beach, going on long walks through the forest, hanging out making flyers and posters and getting super dizzy from the paint fumes. We spent a huge amount of time together—sort of attached at the hip—and our lives were similar enough that people would call us by each other’s names. When did things start changing?

Role Shifts

Lily and Heather in the event center at Stevenson College, UCSC, after a long day at work.

Lily and Heather in the event center at Stevenson College, UCSC, after a long day at work.

Lily: Things started to change after I graduated a year early from college in 2009. I was working semi-full time in a terrible job at a craft store and navigating post-college life. You were finishing your thesis, transitioning back to American life after a summer in Uganda. We started having different time constraints and different worries.

Heather: I was still more or less in the college mode. I had a job, but school was definitely my priority. We also weren’t living in the same place anymore. You were living with a bunch of people who liked to party; I was living by myself. I felt like we really drifted apart during that time. But we got closer after my graduation in 2010 because then we were both figuring out post-college life, and we were both in relationships. We had more in common again and we could talk about the changes happening in our lives. On the other hand, though, you had just gotten engaged and were now locked into this decision that this one person was good for you. You had made a choice about being with someone forever, and could feel confident about it, which was different from where I was in my relationship.

Lily: I definitely had more security, but I also really wanted to validate my decision. I started getting really sensitive about it, partly because I was one of the first of my friends to get engaged and always got questions about it. I was totally wrapped up in negotiating this new, private thing—being engaged—and didn’t want judgment on top of that. So I started shutting people out, because I didn’t know what would feel threatening to my relationship with Robert. My partnership became way more a reflection of my character than it ever had been before. Suddenly, if I was having a hard time with Robert, it was because I had made the worst decision of my life. It was definitely a lot to handle, so even though we had all this new common ground and you were supportive, I was distancing myself from friends in general.

Heather: Oof, yeah. And meanwhile, I was kind of on the outside of this, not knowing what had happened to change our close friendship.

Unexpected Distance

Lily’s beautiful wedding on the coast of Central California.

Lily’s beautiful wedding on the coast of Central California.

Lily: What was that like for you? Did you feel shut out?

Heather: Yeah, actually. It was interesting because I didn’t feel the distance during your engagement. I felt l

ike I was able to support you. Since I was in your wedding party, we would talk regularly about wedding planning stuff, and then it felt natural to catch up on each other’s personal lives.  Part of what blindsided me was that you were so nervous at the wedding itself that you ended up being completely closed off. I had a hard time not taking that personally, even though I knew that your nerves had nothing to do with me. After the wedding, you drove off with your new husband and we really didn’t talk very much for months. I don’t remember exactly how long, but felt like a long time because it was so abrupt. I felt pretty rejected, but had no idea what to do about it—your life had just changed a lot, and I wanted to give you and Robert space to get settled. What was your experience, on the other end of being engaged and married?

Lily: Honestly, I feel selfish answering this because I was so wrapped up in everything going on with me. I had to figure out how my identity had changed: everything from sharing chores to how to deal with in-laws to my stupid signature because I changed my name. So much was shifting that I was totally self-absorbed. I knew on some level that I should do something for our friendship, but it was a challenge. I was figuring out how to protect and respect my partner in our conversations—like, is it okay for Heather to know this about Robert? On top of that, friends suddenly seemed to assume that I was an expert on relationships and love, just because I was married. It was so hard. I felt like a self-centered ball of emotions trying to untangle everything. This was pretty much all internal for me, whereas it seems like your experience felt out of your control.

Heather: Yeah, I didn’t feel like there was anything I could do about it, besides be patient and let you be the one to initiate a closer friendship if and when you wanted to. I thought maybe we just wouldn’t be close again, for whatever reason, and tried to accept that. But we slowly started talking more often, and it seemed like the more we talked, the more comfortable you got with this new phase of our friendship.

Dealing with New Boundaries

Lily: Totally, because the other aspect was this long process of finding boundaries with you, sometimes even explicitly, in conversations. I’ll say things like “Is it okay that I’m telling you this, Heather?” because I didn’t know where to draw the line with what’s TMI about my marriage. You’ve been really careful to make it clear that you can’t speak to my experience and want to be here for me, no judgment, and that you’ll never give ultimatums or resent my partner. It’s made me feel really safe to share my thoughts and feelings with you—we have our friendship, but Robert is neither ignored nor the sole focus. It’s been a crazy balance to hit: one that I can’t find with all other friends.

Heather: Trying to hit that balance has been pretty intentional on my part, but it just makes sense because I really don’t know what it’s like to be married. If I keep that in mind, then there’s no way I could make judgments. All I do know is that I want to support you, which means supporting Robert too, because you are deciding to be with him.

Lily: Is there anything I’ve done to make this process easier for you?

Heather: You were really open about the planning, stresses, and expectations you were facing with the wedding, which made a big difference. I got to be involved and supportive during that part of your transition into marriage, which felt good. And I actually feel more prepared for other close friends who are getting married, as far as being able to be a good friend to them. I am more aware of what could come up or what to expect. You also have been nothing but kind: there may have been distance between us at times, and talking felt a little rusty at first, but I always felt like you appreciated me. It was confusing, but did make things easier on my end.

Making This Work

Just a couple of friends, paddling through the waves of life.

Just a couple of friends, paddling through the waves of life.

Lily: You definitely support and respect the boundaries that I set up with regards to what I feel comfortable sharing and what is a little too intimate, because you have such a strong commitment to be friends.  D’aww!

Heather: I think it worked out between us because we were flexible: neither of us stayed stuck in the separate values we originally had about marriage. Otherwise, we would have been talking at each other the entire time and couldn’t have maintained a friendship. Even though we do come from pretty different ideological places about marriage, considering our history and parents and religion, we listened to each other carefully and with heart. We were able to let go of some of our assumptions, and we’re doing pretty well, two years out.

Lily: I’d have to agree. Love you, Heather.

Heather: Love you, Lily!

P.S. We’re not the first ones to write about this. Here’s a whole mess of friendship-and-marriage-themed posts, because, well, every friendship is different.

Heather Griffith is a grad student who loves writing about sustainability, justice, food, nature, and science. She is also a rabid reader, incessant cook, and barefoot enthusiast. Read more of her reflections at TO LIVE FOR LOVE.

Lily Henderson is a heart to heart professional. Mentor to college students. Loves language, personality theory, glitter, and any cocktail with champagne.

Photo by Sara Slattery

Relationships

The End of a Girl Crush

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I met B on one of my family trips to China.  I was 16, she was 17, but B was already so much more mature and sophisticated than me.  She was a bit of a socialite, honestly, and handled everything with an easy grace that clung to her like perfume.

Her dad and mine were good friends and, since I was in China by myself, she had been tasked with making sure I didn’t get bored or accidentally sell myself to the Triads.  To my surprise, instead of being annoyed or half-assing her guardianship duties, B threw herself into them. I found myself bewildered by the amount of excited attention I was getting from this very wealthy, vividly charming, porcelain doll of a “young woman.”  Not “girl,” a distinction that I noticed was made by all of the adults around us.

In case you couldn’t tell, I had a bit of a girl-crush on B.  And since I can already hear my friend Alex saying “Lez be honest,” let me clarify what a “girl-crush” actually entails to me.  Basically it’s another girl in whom you recognize a bit of yourself, whether it’s her sense of humor or her interests or whatever but she’s somehow managed to amplify herself with some secret quality that you can sense hovering just beyond your grasp.  You want her as your best friend because secretly, part of you kinda sorta wants to be her.  A little creepy, sure, but in my definition, it’s not a romantic attraction.

Anyway, so I was pretty fascinated by her and when she suggested we jump on a bus tour to one of the neighboring provinces, I was completely on board.  I was also completely out of my depth. I’d never really traveled on my own before and, even though I could speak Mandarin fluently, I was going to be facing a bit of a language barrier. All of the rural provinces preferred to use their native dialects (many of which are incomprehensible even to Mandarin speakers) and I was (am) illiterate in Chinese.  Thank goodness for B, who obviously had the language proficiency but also proved herself very capable of handling all sorts of scenarios.  She knew exactly how to walk the line between demanding and gracious with hotel concierges, how to be just the right amount of stubborn when haggling with artisans from the local tribes, and how to judge whether or not jade was “ripe” enough (don’t ask, I still have no idea what she was talking about.)

While we marveled at the breathtaking sights, B told me about all the places that her eternal wanderlust took her.  While she was at it, she’d dump loads of advice and personal research into our conversations. I soaked this up like a sponge, all the while thinking to myself, “I’ve always wanted an older sister.”  I cringe a little when I think about it but I took to every one of her ideas like she was handing me a secret guidebook to enlightenment.  She just seemed so certain of everything.  Every choice was so thoughtfully yet effortlessly made.  Next to her, I felt so manic and so restlessly lost inside my own head.

I was hitting that point in life when you first realize that the world is much larger than you could’ve ever imagined and more daunting than you could ever be prepared for.  And yes, I was freaking the fuck out, but—in true Tiger Cub fashion—very very quietly.  God forbid anyone get the sense that I was actually an adolescent, ya know?  Point being, I latched onto B because I thought she could soothe all those worries away and tell me everything would be okay because I very badly wanted to hear that.  Like, “Girl, please.  This is how you deal.”

Now, of course, I’m aware that this was/is impossible.  That, even at 25, I can’t tell my 18-year-old sister what shape her life should take in order for it to be “okay.”  In fact, I can’t even say I want her life to be “okay” because there is nothing beautiful or glorious or epic about “okay.”  But I can commiserate with what she’s going through and we help each other along—usually pretty gracelessly, but with love and humor.  Ironically, I might have had that experience with B back in the day.  Except I never once opened up to her.  Not really, just gossip about boys and parents, but nothing of true weight.  I was always too worried that these burning, wordless questions I had would feel needy.  And that my neediness would be repulsive to her.  So I clamped my mouth shut and tried to decipher the secrets she seemed to hide in her eyes.

I guess she did the same thing.  Looking back, I realize that there was much about her that didn’t feel quite…okay.  There were holes and crooked lines that whispered about a deeper, more complex ache within her that I was too young to fully understand.  Like when she’d push her bangle down her forearm until it dug angry, red ruts into her skin while she murmured dreamily that she longed to lose enough weight so that the bangle would just slip all the way down to her elbow.  Or when she’d idly pull lacy scraps of lingerie out of her suitcase and talk about the things she’d wear for the boyfriend, whose love for her—she was certain—had grown to an obsessive fever pitch despite the fact that she was equally certain she didn’t love him back.

Nothing really alarmed me though until our last night of the trip.  She and I were wandering around the (tourist trap of a) rustic town on our own when she pulled me into a bar and immediately ordered two whiskey drinks before sitting us down at a four-top table.  I asked her who was joining us and she simply winked and told me to drink up.

This wasn’t my first time drinking alcohol or anything.  One time, when I was 11 and we were on our annual family Christmas trip to Vegas (because Christmas in Vegas is as Asian as dumplings), my dad handed me “Sprite”, which was actually gin, and laughed until he was crying after I spat it across the hotel room.  I had always hated the taste of alcohol and my dad had enjoyed grossing me out with it since I was about 6.  So why did I drink the whiskey?  The promise of enlightenment, that’s why.

Our surprise guest soon showed up—our 27-year-old tour guide, who proceeded to get us very wasted very quickly (not difficult with 5’2” Asian girls.)  I can’t remember much of the conversation but it definitely included 1) criticism of my lack of Chinese culture and 2) sex talk.  To their glee, I was still a virgin and they took this as an opportunity to educate me while trying to one-up each other with…hm…highly detailed stories with a healthy dose of hentai references (look it up.  BUT NOT AT WORK.)  Our guide then dragged us from the bar to a club and then, around 3 am, to a private karaoke room.

I was fading fast by then and I think I dozed off on the couch because I remembered waking up with the tour guide’s arm around me—petting my hair familiarly—while B was singing her heart out to an early 90’s Andy Lau power ballad. I abruptly stood up and teetered over to B’s side.  While the tour guide took his turn on the mic, I asked her if we could go back to the hotel.

I remember her smile, eyes glittering with a strange, innocent mischief as she whispered, “I told him that you like him.”  Aghast, I asked her, “Why?” With a shrug, she replied, “I thought it could be fun.”

I just stared at her, under all that neon and shadow, and realized that she wasn’t going to get us home.

I made up some blatant lies about feeling like I was going to throw up, or pass out, or do both simultaneously, and got them both into a cab that took us back to the hotel.  When we arrived, B was the first out the door and the tour guide took that opportunity to grab my arm and tell me he wanted to take me to “the most beautiful place in the city.”  “Thanks, that’s nice of you, but really.  I’m gonna throw up.” I answered as I scrambled backwards out of the cab.

B didn’t talk about it the next day so neither did I. After all, she hadn’t been malicious in any way, just impulsive.  The tour guide was really just a harmless dweeb. I wanted to ask what she had been thinking but never quite managed to find the moment.  Or the courage, for that matter.

I lost touch with her after I returned to the US but I continued to hear rumors through what I refer to as the “Tiger Mother Grapevine.”  At 24, she’d been disowned when she ran away with a married photographer.  He was 30 years her senior, unattractive, and had abandoned his two-year-old son for her.  When I heard this news, I found myself wishing again—very deeply—I could call her up and ask her what she’d been thinking.  No judgment, just an old instinct to ask her what truth she’d thought she’d found.

Sometimes when I think about her, I imagine that I actually do call her up.  In this fantasy, she’s still that 17-year-old girl—beautifully and mysteriously sad.  But, luckily for both of us, I’m no longer my 17-year-old self.  I wouldn’t keep her at a distance.  I wouldn’t be afraid that my manic messiness would spill all over her.  I’d ask her what’s wrong and maybe she’d tell me and maybe I’d say something that would soothe her.  And then maybe I could get her home.

Photo by Sara Slattery

Photo by Sara Slattery