Monday. Here we are, back at the cafe. The barista said I was late today and asked me if I’m hungover after partying over the holiday weekend. Unfortunately, I am not hungover, but I think I would prefer to be over what I was actually doing this morning that caused me to be late: paperwork.
Sometimes people will find out I’m American and ask me what my opinion is about immigration. My opinion is that I immigrated to another country so I could get the hell away from America. It is what it is.
There’s a lot of paperwork involved. It sucks, but it’s worth it. At least, I hope it will be. What I’ve learned from all of this is that if I ever get married, I need to find someone who knows how to do the paperwork and isn’t afraid to tackle it all head-on. If he can’t do the paperwork, he’s not the one for me.
Speaking of potential husbands… there’s a hot GAA player at 10:00 with a Celtic tribal armband tattoo. Hardcore. Very Braveheart. Love it. I really get the vibe this guy is going to sweep me up in his big strong arms and rescue me from the English.
Excuse me, sir? Can I potentially schedule a time with you later to watch you take your shirt off? Grand. I just want to see any other Celtic-inspired tattoos you have that perhaps cannot be seen. You know, for academic research purposes only, of course.
Amazing how I have the confidence to charm the pants off a random beefcake, but not the confidence to properly take on the job market. Two completely different beasts.
Picking up men is generally pretty easy. I don’t actually have to try. These guys are all coming to me. Getting a job, on the other hand, is generally much harder. I suppose the solution is the same either way: develop the deluded level of confidence exclusively possessed by mediocre white guys and go after what you want.
Easier said than done.
Okay, Betsey, just pretend the job market is some random hot guy in a bar with a sexy accent and just go for it!
Do we need another hike to the top of the Peak? I think we need another hike to the top of the Peak. Get that motivation level up. Come on, Betsey. You can do it. You got this far. You’ve already metaphorically made it to The Tower. Old Peak Road is behind you now. This is the part where you get to cruise around in a circle on flat ground for an hour. Enjoy it! Don’t stress. Just make it happen.
No pressure or anything, of course.
My problem is my own perception of my worth and capabilities. Obviously I am a very intelligent, confident person. I mean, Jesus, how many people have you actually met in your life who just woke up one day and moved to Hong Kong? Not many, I imagine. Yet, here I am. I did it and I’m here. That’s pretty fucking impressive.
That should be enough on its own, but it’s not. Probably because my family acts like I’ve committed a crime against humanity by doing what I’ve always said I wanted to do for as long as I can remember: move to the opposite side of the planet to get as far away from them as humanly possible. It’s hard to recognize your own success and be proud of yourself when everyone in your life actively punishes you every time you do anything in alignment with your true self.
Anyway, forget them. This is Hong Kong. Everyone here lives to serve the Highly Controlled Family System. How many Asian people do you know who get to live their lives the way they actually want to, especially if they are immigrants in the US? Not many. The choices are: doctor, lawyer, accountant, engineer, CEO. That’s it. You get to pick one. You don’t get to be a writer or actor or comedian unless you’re really, really, really lucky. I am not alone in my struggle. In fact, I am just one of many BILLIONS who struggles with their desire to please their very traditional family and their desire to live a life true to themselves.
It is what it is.
I am not alone!
So get over and quit whining and get back to that job hunt.
Right, got it.
No more whining.
The next time I start whining, my Irish ancestors are going to send the faeries to kidnap me in the Dream Realm and force me to spend the whole night slaving away down by the docks. Here’s your reality check, Betsey. Enjoy it while it lasts.
Ugh.
I suppose if I had to choose one of those options, it would be lawyer. I would make a pretty good lawyer. I’m very good at arguing. Plus, genetics. My dad is the one who actually steered me away from law school in favor of being a penniless, perpetually unemployed writer who never leaves home. Thanks for nothing, dad. It’s very clear in hindsight that you all conspired to ruin my life so you would always a have a free, live-in helper to clean your house and take care of your other kids and pets. Awesome. Thanks again! This has served me so well in life.
Honestly, I think he was just a narcissist who could not understand his family outside of his personal utility. He was the main character and we all just exist to serve his needs. It doesn’t matter what the rest of us want or need. We are just little dolls to be trotted out in public and propped up as accessories whenever need be. Just smile for the photo and pretend everything is perfect even though you’re dying inside. Let’s just say I relate a little too well to Kate Winslet trying to jump off the ship at the beginning of Titanic.
Sometimes I ask myself: Am I actually a real writer, or am I only doing this because it was my only option after my parents decided to lock me up in the house forever and never allow me to leave? It’s not like I’ve ever had the opportunity to explore any other options. Everything was always chosen for me. No wonder I have no idea who the fuck I am at age 37.
Well, I suppose I have to be a real writer now. I’ve come this far. Can’t just abandon it now. Plus, I don’t think I could stop if I tried. I had the worst writer’s block during the pandemic and it was literally PAINFUL. It was PAINFUL! It hurt so much inside to stare at that blank page for hours, tortured by the lack of inspiration, forced into resurrecting Andrew over and over again because I had no other material to work with.
It’s soooooo much easier to write every day now that I live in Asia. Every day I wake up and write. Just like that. Endless material. Something new and different every day. So many amazing, unique characters. I love my characters. I love all of the people I’ve met over here, even the people I don’t actually like. I love writing, they inspire to write simply by existing as themselves, therefore I love them.
I think I’ll be okay. I’ve done my ancestry research. I come from a long line of people who were brave enough to leave the only world they knew behind to get on a boat and sail off into the sunset in search of better opportunities. If all of them can do it, so can I.
So can I…