I have noticed the patterns.
Around 1999, all my twenty-something friends in the States were in a mad rush to get married. And just after 2000, all of my American friends were in a frantic dash to buy a home. Then around 2003 and 2004, the marriages started showing cracks. Some saved theirs. Others didn’t. I was of the latter group. Then everyone in the “didn’t work out” group – started hitting the dating scene again – looking for greener pastures. Some went crazy with a different person every night. Some became stalkers. Others became depressed. And around 2007, they started regretting being part of the “didn’t work out” group and realized who they had left hadn’t been so bad. To add insult to injury, they would meet up with the “we worked it out and are stronger than ever” group. And they became envious.
I think it’s at this time finally we in the “didn’t work out” realize what love is. Especially if we tried a second time with no success. Its unattainable. Its not a formula. Its not a book to read. Its not a certification or a training program. And sometimes its not even good. But its not bad either.
The best thing for love is to wait and make yourself better. Watch others in love. See your flaws. Correct emotional ticks. Embrace your weaknesses. Enhance your strengths.
Think Sarah Conner in the Terminator 2 when she was in the insane asylum preparing for a nuclear war that she knew was coming.
So with all the patterns, the rationalizing, the emotional and mental angst, the relationship cross-training, and the multiple rebirths: single guy, married guy, divorced guy, single guy again, sex addict guy, lonely and shallow guy, attached but non-committal guy, and finally single guy the third.
And suddenly, it happens.
Love.
And god, it's crazy.
I have only met my favorite author once in my life. And it was by accident and sadly they weren’t my favorite author at the time. Terry Kay came to the Big Gun or WGUN for an interview in Atlanta when they turned his book, “Dance with a White Dog” into a movie of the week on CBS. He was an older gentleman, white hair, and kind eyes and a little nervous before I took him into the studio with Rich Simpson. I explained to him how the interview would go and asked if he wanted anything to drink – coffee, tea, or water. He said none of the above. Then I rushed back to the board to kick off the next segment – traffic every 15 minutes, weather, and the Hot ‘Lanta sports with Dave Cohen.
The interview went flawlessly. Rich asked some questions and then made some jokes. It had helped that Rich really read his book over the weekend and loved it. Rich was giddy at 5:30 that morning when we were prepping for the show.
“Great day. Great guest today. Great show,” Rich beamed with his wrinkled, cherub face.
When Terry Kay left the studio we shook hands and I said it was very nice to meet him.
I never saw him again. And to this day I kick myself. Because his next novel, Shadow Song completely changed my life. It inspired my short story, “Blithe”. And between him, Lewis Grizzard, and Margaret Mitchell of Gone With The Wind fame he contributed to putting Atlanta back on the literary map. He is the modern day writer that I emulated.
Then I moved to Hong Kong.
The last time I had seen Joe was in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia nearly three years ago. She was a writer for the Strait Times. We had many a conversation about how the New Strait Times was censoring the stories she was writing. She was becoming incredibly frustrated.
Next to Angie Wong from Time Out Magazine, Joe was my second favorite writer. And I told her that. And she would laugh and poke me in the ribs, “Fuck Angie. I will have a write off with her any day.”
“Bring it,” I added – momentarily pretending I was Angie’s agent.
She had left Kuala Lumpur for a specialized Master’s Program at a university in Adelaide, Australia. For two years we had kept up with each other’s ups and downs, breakups, reunions, and sexual escapades.
But Joe refused to read my blogs. She knew that I fictionalized the facts to protect the innocent. And always said, "if I want to know what happens to you in real life, I will just ask you. Not read about it."
So this trip was to catch up.
I stepped off the Virgin Blue flight giddy. I got an SMS from her. “Where are you? I am so excited!”
I hurried to the taxi stand and the guy in the yellow vest steered me to parking bay 5. Parked there was one of the most beat up taxis I had ever seen. But the driver was very young and smiled sheepishly. He was standing outside his cab smoking. When he saw me approach – he leaned in and released the boot so I could put in my luggage.
When comfortable in the backseat, he turned and asked with his Indian accent, “Where to?”
“The Richmond Hotel. It’s 128 Rundle Street.”
He looked at me for a second as if it didn’t register what I had said. But then he turned back around and put the car in drive.
And thirty minutes later when we were at the end of Rundle Street, he sadly turned to me. “I am sorry. Where did you say Richmond Hotel was?”
I shrugged. “Uh. 128 Rundle Street.”
He paused before he answered. “But we are on Rundle Street now. Sir, I don’t see it.”
“Well, its near the Uni. That’s all I know.”
“You don’t know where it is?”
I got a little aggravated. “Uh, no man. I have never been here before. You live here. I don’t.”
He was apologetic. “Yes sir.”
I pulled out my Blackberry and rung Joe. No answer.
“Can you call the hotel or a friend and see if you can get directions?” the taxi driver asked looking me in the eyes through the rear view mirror.
“I am.” And I dialed Joe again. No answer. Which is weird because she had just SMS’d me.
“You don’t know where it is?” the taxi driver asked.
“Hey man, I have never been here in my life.” That’s when my Blackberry vibrated.
“Where are you?” Joe’s voice asked.
“My taxi driver doesn’t know where it is. Can you give him directions?” I asked. And before she answered I had already handed the phone to him.
“Yes?” the taxi driver said juggling my phone and keeping his hands on the steering wheel.
Rundle Street was bustling and crazy. College students were everywhere – drinking, talking, yelling, running and walking in every direction. The “bars and pokies” were teeming with life. The pubs and bars were filled to capacity spilling out into the street.
The taxi drove past the Hungry Jack’s (the Australian equivalent to Burger King) and made a left and stopped by the curb. The driver put the car in park and turned back around and handed me my Blackberry. “Your friend said she would meet you here.”
“Okay,” and as I pushed into my wallet to pull out the AUD30 to pay him. I looked up and saw Joe in the window. She stood there looking sophisticated. Her Master’s Program had done her well. She waved. I paid quickly and reminded the driver my bags were in the back.
I came out, “Whatup girl!” And I kissed both her cheeks and hugged her tight.
“God, you are so European.” She said. And I could tell her accent had changed again – with an Australian twist.
I extracted my bags and I followed her rolling my luggage. “So where is this place? I thought you said this hotel was very popular.”
“Well, if that dimwit immigrant actually got to know the city he migrated to maybe he would know where it was.”
“Whoa,” I answered. “This coming from the fellow immigrant?”
“Well people don’t know that. No one knows – they can’t place me.”
And I heard her accent. “God your accent has become a swirl. British, American, Indian, and now Australian.” I let out a breath. “Shit, no wonder no one knows what you are.”
“You think?’
“Yes, you are perfect product of your environment.” I told her.
“Well, you and me are the same. Our home is where we are. We neither belong there or here. We belong where we belong.”
“Preach on sister.” I stopped and hugged her again. She giggled and pushed me off. “Its great to see you, sister. Its so hard to meet someone who can understand us.”
“Yes because we are always a foreigner in a foreign land. Even when we are in our country of birth.”
I had just got of the cab and was walking along the sidewalk on Exhibition Street when I felt my Blackberry vibrate. I was late for a meeting on the 31st floor of the Telstra building – so I thought it was one of my colleagues calling to ask where I was. The number showed up PRIVATE NUMBER.
“Jackson.” I answered.
“Hello?” a man’s voice said.
“Yes, this is Jackson.”
“Ah yes. Sorry to bother you. But do you know a girl named Sophia?”
I stopped walking. “Uh, yes. Why?”
“Did she just go to Hong Kong?” he asked.
I was very stationary now. “Yes she did. Who the hell is this?”
“Well I am her boyfriend. I live in Toronto, Canada.”
04 JULY 2008, TIME: 16:16:36
I couldn’t sleep on my all night flight from Mumbai so I push through the exhaustion. I have only been in Hong Kong 16 minutes but am I rushing with baggage in tow to Taikoo Shing to have a meeting with a very irate customer who is pissed at the local Hong Kong office.
When the customers leave the bar of Ruby Tuesdays convinced that I am going to help them – I hurriedly ask for the bill. And through Friday evening rush hour traffic on the MTR, I get back to Central. My Pakistani security guard meets me once I pass through the locked ground floor door and does his customary thumbs up and crazy laugh to welcome me home. Get to the 14th floor and drop my bags. I am drenched in sweat. I strip naked. I dump out my clothes on my bed and in the nude I sort out my clothes by colors – and drop them in the washing machine. Then I do my favorite summer time thing – I open the windows of my bathroom to let the heat and humidity in and take a cold, very cold shower.
04 JULY 2008, TIME: 19:19:50
I am late already. In a black t-shirt, blue jeans, I run to the Airport Express just as a train departs. Damn. I then sit down waiting – impatiently tapping my foot – nervously looking at my mobile phone – hoping that time will go backwards so I won’t be late.
04 JULY 2008, TIME: 19:54:10
I jump up too early and stand by the door exiting toward Terminal 1 looking like a typical tourist on their first trip to Hong Kong. Finally the train stops and I leap out running toward the Arrival Hall B. And when I get to the flight departure and arrival big screen – I notice that it says their flight arrived late. Whew. I have time now so I go to MIX to have my favorite – Wow size Spunky Monkey. I stand a little back from the divider of the arrivals and watch the people coming through. And I notice how sleep depravation has made me incredibly horny or the women in Hong Kong have gotten sexier since I was home a week ago. I am watching the couples and families reuniting. Couple after couple I see them embrace. I see them kiss. And I wish I had someone to wait for me.
04 JULY 2008, TIME: 20:13:43
I am not paying attention. And when I look back at the people streaming out, I see them. They are all smiles. I see Karen laughing when she sees me – and then oh my god – I see Sophia. I had forgotten how beautiful Sophia is – and it seems that the entire airport is staring at her. I lose my breath. Get a hold of yourself Jackson.
04 JULY 2008, TIME STOPS
When I arrived in the Mumbai office early Monday morning, my friends Manish and Vikas said I was very lucky.
“You know its monsoon season but with global warming – everything is off,” Manish explained.
“Yes, usually on the first of July it’s raining buckets.” Vikas added. And with that we started work.
When I left for my hotel late that night, we had scheduled to meet at the customer site around 9:30 in the morning. We had about 15 KM to go but with Mumbai traffic it would take about 2 hours if not more. So I had my driver picking me up around 7 AM to allow for me to miss the traffic.
The next morning when I heard the wake up call – and the sweet ladies Indian voice being very polite but reminding me I had told her to call and wake me. I always play this game – even if I just woke up – I act like with my voice that I wasn’t asleep.
I taught myself this trick when I used to get the call from the radio station manager at my apartment when I was in college. I was working two jobs and going to college and I was usually late once every two weeks. Fred Webb, the nearly centurion year old station manager, would call me irate because it would be 5:30 AM and I was supposed to already be at the station warming up the transmitters. And I would hear the phone ringing and scream out of my dream with burning eyes and a fiery brain. Everything inside me yelling, “What? Who? Where?”
I would race in my underwear down the hall of my apartment under Professor Foley’s house and collect myself in 2 seconds and pick up the phone, “Hello?” I would say calmly.
“Its 7 am, sir. Would you want any coffee or tea brought to your room?” the lady on the phone asked.
“No. Thank you ma’m.” I said collected. “But thanks for asking,” to reaffirm in my game that I was not asleep.
“Well have a good morning,” and with that we said cordial goodbyes and I failed to put the phone back its in cradle – so it rattled and I slid it around and finally hung up. Damn, I lost.
That’s when I saw the rain painting the balcony windows and the rattle of wind spraying it in blobs across - making a louder racket. I got up without thinking and went to do my morning ritual.
I wasn’t worried until I got to the lobby and asked for my driver.
They called out on the loud speaker for “Jackson’s Driver” and the rain was falling like liquid from a glass. No one answered. I figured I was early. So I told them not to worry. And I sat out on one of the comfy couches. I waited for nearly 30 minutes. And finally the guy who had asked for my driver over the loud speaker came over.
“Sir, I think you need to seriously reconsider going out today.”
I was surprised. “Why?”
“The monsoon has started today. And it’s horrible out there. The water is rising and traffic is horrendous. Where are you going?”
“Near the airport.”
“Sir, you need to make a reservation with one of the hotels near the airport then. You will not make it back tonight.”
So by orchestrated accident, I met Lala in Ice Bar in Greenbelt 3 while still in Manila. We had parted ways nearly six months ago under infuriating circumstances. Her friends had invited me out – knowing it might be a risky move.
I acted quickly to bury the hatchet with a round of tequilas for her and her friends. She came up looking radiant as ever – as always the case if you are a woman who knows she is going to meet her ex-boyfriend. And perfectly timed, when I walked in the bar, she was in the arms of a drunk, foreign guy who was groping her and touching her inappropriately. And to rub salt in the wound, she was smiling as if she was enjoying it.
This amends plan was thought up by Vanessa my part time love counselor, full time divorced mother of a little boy and little girl, and night time bar maid at Ice Bar. I spent many an evening after work sitting at the bar and Vanessa spilling out Red Bull mixed with Vodka and advice that she wasn’t even following herself.
So it was fitting when Vanessa personally dropped the tray of 8 tequila shots on the bar. I took the salted shot glass of tequila and moved in Lala’s direction. She met me halfway on the dance floor. She was already halfway drunk. And I saw her hand but I chose not to react. She slapped me hard – three times.
My cheek stung but I smiled through it. And strangely, I was aroused.
Knowing my hands were occupied with tequila shots, she grabbed my crotch and squeezed and leaned in and told me, “I don’t know whether to tear your penis off or suck it.”
I gulped.
I was walking through Greenbelt trying to find something to eat when I saw them again. It had been two days since our return with zero contact. The girls were at the table with new guys – loud, drunk obnoxious foreigners who were in their mid-forties.
But there was the third girl that Rabbit and Rose had told me about. Her name was Dee. She had this withdrawn look on her face. I mean she was smiling and laughing with the jokes and being charming – her hands and fingers rubbing the shoulders and arms of the Argentinean guy who I also knew about – but there was this absent look about her. The guy’s name was Jacques. I had seen his picture multiple times on Rabbit’s Nokia.
They had not seen me yet. So I turned back to the security guard who had just waved his magic bomb wand across my bag to see if there were any explosives. I stood beside the metal detector.
“Yes boss,” the security guard asked with his eyes watching those entering and leaving.
“Hey, I just wanted to tell you. See that table of people over there?” And I pointed.
The security guard looked confused but nodded. “Yes boss.”
“See that bald guy with the white shirt with the buttons open all the way down his chest?”
“Yes.”
“That guy beats his girlfriend. Her name is Dee.”
The guard then looked me in the eyes and was very quiet.
“I just wanted to let you know. I am going to go up to him and punch him in the face just three times and walki away. I am not trying to cause a problem. But I wanted to give you a heads up.” I said and that’s when my body started shaking from anger.
The security guard squinted trying to register what I had said. “Excuse me?”
But I didn’t answer. I turned and walked a straight line to the table.
Rose saw me approach and was startled. Rabbit saw me and broke into a smile. A very broad smile. But then she saw my face and it was like she read my mind and saw my trajectory.
The men who had sexy women surrounding them at every angle and the wine bottle in its bucket chilling were laughing loudly at something that ended with the words, “Fucking wanker,” and they exploded with laugher.
I was up on the forty year old bald guy. “You Jacques?” I asked while I balled up my fist.
His smile changed. “Yeah…”
And before he could say a smart ass comment I had thrown two punches. I felt the smack against the bone of his cheek and I felt the give when I crunched his nose. The table sprung into screams. And his buddies started lunging to stop my arms. But not before I had swung underneath and caught him on the chin to hear the smack.
His friends had grabbed me and pulled me back. Rabbit yelled, “Jackson!”
“Hey, I am cool!” I yelled. “I am done.”
Jacques had a trickle of blood coming out his nose.
“You never, ever hit a woman fucker,” I reached into my pocket and threw a business card on the table. “If you want to fucking hit someone, don’t be a little pussy, hit a guy you little prick. I am always ready. Call me.”
And like that, I tore out of the hold of his buddies who were completely shocked and walked away. The security guard I had talked to was there. Surprised. He was wanting to draw a gun and he reached his hand out to stop me but just paused and scratched his head.
As I pushed out of the commotion, I caught a fleeting glance of Dee. I saw her eyes had tears but a slight smile.
“What happens tomorrow? Huh? When we all go back to our normal lives? Are we all going to be friends? Am I going to watch you two get pregnant? Or get AIDS and die? How are you going to help your families then?” I yelled on the beach.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Rabbit said and she jumped up from her beach chair in her string bikini – almost popping out.
“I cannot do this. I cannot act like this is a wonderful little vacation. When this might be the last time I see you – happy. Hell, alive.”
“You don’t know us.” Rose said. Also picking herself from her beach chair and adjusting her bikini top over her breasts.
“Right! Exactly! I don’t know you. Hell you haven’t even given me your real names. Rose? And Rabbit? What the fuck names are those?!” And I took my bottle water and threw it at the palm tree. “Most guys are going to just see you as meat. And how are you going to find a good guy doing what you are doing? Good guys don’t go and pay for sex.”
“Fuck you! You hear me!” Rabbit screamed at me. “Fuck you!”
“No. That’s exactly the point! I don’t want to. I think you two women are amazing. Why do you disrespect yourselves like this… Uhhh…” And I was so mad that I couldn’t vocalize any words. Finally it came out, “Stay away from me! Get away from me! I don’t want to see either of you anymore. Okay?! Fuck you both!” And I stormed back to my Casita 19.
A million thoughts were raging through my brain. Again, I was angry with God. Why do circumstances warrant that two of the oldest daughters be forced to quit high school and become ‘bar girls’ to provide for their families? And why the hell didn’t their fathers keep their dicks out of their mothers or learn to control his cum – so he wouldn’t have six kids and force the oldest daughter to be high class prostitutes? He couldn’t afford one child especially six. And hell why was I stuck on this remote island in the Philippines alone? What was wrong with me?
I was walking in circles in my bedroom with the doors open letting the ocean breeze blow through. I could feel the cool wind on my pink sunburn. Suddenly, when I turned around I saw them standing on my deck. Rabbit had her arms crossed and she was angry still – I could see it in her pretty face. But then I saw Rose, she smiled meekly.
“You have a good heart.” And she reached out and touched it.
“You don’t know my heart. It isn’t good.”
“Yes, it is good.” Rose said.
I shook my head. “Look, I told you to leave me alone. Get away from me!”
Rose came closer to me. And she said, “We are not going to leave you alone.”
“Why not? Leave me alone!”
That’s when Rabbit spoke and uncrossed her arms, “If we leave you, you will be alone. You will be all alone on this island by yourself. We don’t want you to be alone. No one deserves to be alone.”
That’s when I cracked. I went down on the bed crying. And the women climbed all over me hugging me and wiping away my tears.
I got the call that she wanted to meet me for a business dinner to discuss possible future opportunities for investment and production. I was ecstatic! I was trying to build some real traction for LOL Entertainment Group film and media production for some time. And let’s call her, Mrs. Wong, was a very, very rich woman mostly because of her husband.
We had met briefly at my Woman Versus Man Charity event. And I already knew a little about her. She can’t handle two bottles or red wine plus tequila shots. For her pushing nearly 40, she was a fantastic dancer and incredibly sexy. She was also the mother of a little boy who was the center of her life.
We met in Causeway Bay just outside Sogo department store. We had agreed to meet up and walk together to the Excelsior Hotel. I was instantly confused coming out the wrong MTR exit. And she led me with voice directions via our mobile phones.
“Okay, how will I see you?” I asked her. “There are a million people.”
“I am the only one wearing dragon red.”
And just then, I turned and saw her. And she took my breath away. Its like that scene in the movie when the lead guy sees the woman who is about to change the destiny of his life.
And little did I know that, the destiny of my life would indeed forever change.
Recent Comments
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Jule said:
[this is good]Nice post, I read it in its entirety on soulparking.I enjoyed it, thanks for sharing. read more
on The Profound Thing (Singapore) -
Deepak K Pandey said:
Hey you find it little awkward, right! but this is how life is in India. there is a rush everywhere... read more
on :30 (Mumbai, India) -
imkwazy said:
This was great. i could never show up late to work but i love that other people take such satisfaction... read more
on Blind Man Clockwork (Hong Kong) -
Anthony !!! said:
[this is good]i am liking your point of view (though only partially aggreed) read more
on Paper Cups (Hong Kong)
Thanks Jule. You know not so bad yourself. But i appreciate the readership. ;) read more
on The Profound Thing (Singapore)