Tuesday. The day after the crazy drinking marathon known as the Super Bowl. What a day it was…
After the event ended, I was left alone with my Old Irish Uncle, who insisted upon imparting more of his ancient wisdom upon me. This is how I learned that Hermès has been untrustworthy all along.
I was recounting the night the two of them got together and blew up my date with the British Guy, followed up immediately by the story about the Hot Beef Stew. He made a face at me.
“What a duplicitous bastard,” my Uncle said, in direct reference to the Hot Beef Stew. “He’s a liar on many levels. Not good for you.”
“Duplicitous,” I repeated. “That’s a good word for him.”
I turned my attention back to Hermès.
“Uncle,” I said. “Do you know that Hermès has been following me around?”
My Uncle made the same face at me again.
“What do you mean by that?”
“He was liking all my social media posts, he was sharing my blog around, he was all up in my business, and he fed me a fake story about the identity of the Hot Beef Stew.”
My Uncle shook his head in disappointment.
“I told Hermès to stay away from you. You know, the only reason he intervened is because he wanted you for himself. I told him no. Absolutely not. You’re a real Lady and you’re too good for him. There’s nothing he can offer you that’s in your best interest. He only cares about himself.”
I took out my phone and showed him our lengthy correspondence on Instagram. He shook his head again.
“I don’t want you corresponding with him anymore. He’s no good for you. He’s no good at all.”
“I am not corresponding with him at present. He blocked me because I called him a child soldier.”
At this, my Uncle’s eyes lit up. He roared with laughter.
“Toy Soldier, did you say? You called him a Toy Soldier? Hahahahaha! Oh boy, I bet he didn’t like that at all.”
“He did not. I also called him a little messenger boy.”
My Uncle’s eyes sparkled at me.
“That’s exactly what he is.”
“Right. So we don’t talk anymore.”
“Good. Keep it that way. Betsey, you don’t understand. He is full of shit. He would fuck you and throw you away and then go back to his girlfriend. That’s what he does to women. I’ve seen him do it a hundred times. He doesn’t care about you.”
“That’s why I kept him at arm’s length. I was more curious about his background story than anything else.”
“Oh yes, that, well… let me tell you something right now: he is no freedom fighter. He is not in the IRA. He is Irish Mafia. He’s a gangster. He is up to no good. I want you to stay away from him. You don’t know who these people are. You could end up dead. So, no. Stay away from him. Do you understand me?”
“Yes.”
“It’s too bad he’s one of the only Irish people you’ve met. We need to get you out more. There’s better people out there than that riff-raff.”
“So wait, what you’re saying is that he lied to me? He never actually liked my writing?”
My Uncle just shook his head at me.
“That duplicitous bastard!”
Sometime later in the day, the two of us were sitting with an obnoxious American tourist and a random Irishman who had wandered in. The American guy was super off. I don’t know if it was drugs or the effect Thailand has on people in general, but I really didn’t like him. He was super not chill.
Unfortunately, I was stuck with him, as this is around the time my Uncle’s Thai wife, who absolutely hates me, decided to come down to the bar to fish him out. She was not happy that he had stayed there with me all day long talking, for she is a very jealous woman.
“Oh Uncle,” I said to him as joke in front of some of the other regulars who had come in. “Here you are so worried about me getting shot in the head by the IRA when in reality it’s your wife who has been plotting to kill me all along.”
All of the good old boys started laughing together. Even Mr. Antony’s Friend finally cracked a smile. I’m pleased to see I’m finally starting to win him over with my award-winning personality.
His energy was strangely calm when he first saw me. I did not see the signs of anger in him anymore. He gave me a glazed over look, passed me by, and said nothing. I wondered if he’d read my most recent posts about my discovery about the identity of the Hot Beef Stew. Perhaps he has finally accepted the inevitable, which is that I am here to stay. What his motives are, I do not know.
I only know that I have been dubbed “one of the lads” and therefore cleared to hang around in a bar full of men. Well done me, I guess.
At the end of the evening, I decided to go to the pot shop and then head home. It was a full day out that started at 7:30am and ended… I don’t even want to say when.
I agreed to let my new Irish friend give me a ride there on his scooter. We hung out in the hip hop lounge, which is always a vibe, and then he gave me a ride back to my apartment. He was pretty good on the scooter. I wasn’t afraid at all. Usually, I am very much afraid of the bikes and scooters. Must have been the whole Irish thing.
When I woke up this morning, the weight of the conversation about Hermès was weighing on me. I was not happy to receive this news. I already knew all of it, but being told directly to my face of his ill-intentions for me was upsetting. I’m just very tired of duplicitous men in general. I have a lot of bad experiences behind me. The last thing I want is more…
The other issue still weighing on my mind is that of Hong Kong. I love Hong Kong, I really do. It’s such a special place. But I also think I am just happier here in Bangkok. I think the pace and lifestyle suits me more. I guess it’s easier to see that now.
I also think it’s a matter of giving myself permission to explore and figure out what is right for me. Some days I feel like I don’t know who I am or what my purpose is. I’m just adrift at SEA, clinging onto the nearest floating island of plastic, hoping to land safely on shore.
I’m only in my first year here. So many of the people I meet and talk to have lived abroad for a decade, at least. They say I am still so young, so fresh, so green. There is so much to this world I do not yet know or understand. It’s okay to make some mistakes along the way!
And so, here we are at the end of another crazy adventure. Every day is a new story. That’s what I like most about Bangkok: the stories. Hong Kong is so busy and fast-paced. It’s harder to find the stories.
I don’t know what I want or what to do. I guess I should just go meditate on it…