Tag: Hong Kong

BLOG: Procrastination Station

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Wednesday. At home. Not feeling the best today. Yesterday was worse, but at least I was able to solve the mystery of this random obsession that has seemingly popped up overnight.

You see, being who I am, and having the set of life experiences I’ve had (especially recently), my new policy when it comes to my attractions to men is essentially to talk myself out of it every time it happens. Why? Because there’s no point in having feelings for men. They just lie, cheat, steal, drain your energy, and then disappear into the void. Pointless venture.

So clearly, I’ve spent the last few days trying to talk myself out of whatever this weird feeling is that I have developed for my neighbor. Here are my conclusions:

  1. This is clearly a proximity issue. This never would have happened if he didn’t live right next door to me. I never would have met him. I wouldn’t even know he existed. Our paths literally would have never crossed, like, ever. He has his own little local Island life that I will never be part of, and I have my own little expat life that he will never be part of. We don’t hang out in the same places. Based on the pictures I’ve seen, we would never hang out with the same people. I’m not sure if we even have that much in common, actually.
  2. This is just hormones making me crazy because that’s what they do. This is very apparent from the heightened sensitivity to all the smells he’s producing. Let me be clear: these are not bad smells. All of these are very good smells, and now they have all been magnified about 2000x, and that’s the part that drives me up the wall.
  3. This is basically just caveman shit, right? There’s not a lot of deeper thoughts going into whatever this is. I tried to explain this to my friend last night. I said, “I’m not sure what happened. I’ve been living here for 9 months. I was ignoring him for most of them. Then… I don’t know. I guess one day I came home and he was cooking himself dinner and I was like, ‘Okay, okay, I smell what The Rock is cooking!’ And then later he came outside in some ridiculous t-shirt with the sleeves cut off so I had a front row seat at the gun show and… apparently that was enough for me. I’ve been going crazy ever since.” That’s all it took, I guess. Definitely NOT deep at all.
  4. I like hot jerks. Who doesn’t, amiright? He’s definitely hot and he’s definitely been acting like a jerk. 100% sure it has nothing to do with me. I think he just has some stuff going on he’s not disclosing. As previously stated, this man is living proof that the literary trope of British men hiding ugly secrets in their attics is a real, actual thing, not fiction!
  5. He’s an actor. He’s easy to write about. The words… look at how they flow onto the page so naturally! I don’t even have to try! They are just there. Cannot resist the Muse Energy!
  6. Also, I think I might secretly be jealous of him??? Maybe??? Like, he lives here. His family lives here. He has friends and a community and he doesn’t have to worry about visa paperwork. He just gets to party it up and then travel all over the world to attend more parties. Yet, when I see him, he always looks miserable, or he’s in a bad mood, or he’s complaining, or he’s yelling at me. I think I’ve only seen him smile a handful of times. Mostly, it’s a scowl. I don’t get it. I wish I had a family that loved me, a community, a home. I don’t have any of that shit, and it’s not for lack of trying. So I guess I’m not really understanding what his issue is.
  7. He’s so judgmental of me! So now I feel like I have something to prove, which makes no sense to me at all. Why the fuck would I care about what some fancy Englishman dressed up in all white sitting all high on his hill looking down at me thinks about anything? The Colonial Era is over, bro! I don’t have to take this shit from you anymore! I’m American! Annoying! Yet somehow… it’s really doing it for me? Why? How? Something, something, Fireworks in the sky? Idk!
  8. This is an excuse to put off writing my book. He is just the latest stop on this trainwreck. Welcome to Procrastination Station! Have a set of Mardi Gras beads for your trouble, y’all. Then again, writing something is better than nothing!

So as you can see, I have effectively talked myself out of this situation, which is why I’ve just written close to 800 words about him in one go.

Meh. Only 800 words? That’s nothing! You should see Andrew’s bookS (there are two). Talk about writing about people I don’t like IRL!

Still can’t figure out what happened there. It will forever remain a mystery; hopefully one that will stay buried under the sands of time, especially now that I’ve paid $50 HKD to a witch under a bridge to “curse” him. Not gonna lie, pretty sure he would love that. That’s just how his character was.

ANYWAY WE ARE NOT WRITING ABOUT ANDREW ANYMORE! NO ANDREW ALLOWED! He’s been banned for life from my books. He’s definitely not in the latest one. No Andrew, no Bloody Mary’s, no Mad Dog. In my mind, I left them behind at the bar in the town. I already told that story. They’re not part of the specific story I’m trying to tell now.

You know who did end up in the book? Levi Gene!

LE GASP!

He’s not a major character. He makes like three appearances in the beginning in order to assist me with blowing up my life and then I go on a journey across the world. Good for him. Hopefully he’ll read it and finally send me that gift basket he owes me for helping him get divorced. That would have been the classy thing to do, bro. I know it, you know it, everybody knows it. It is what it is.

I’m definitely putting off writing this book right now. Ugh. Okay, I need to go make a sincere effort to be productive now instead of obsessing over Mr. Next Door, who is literally hiding from me right now. He’s pulled a complete disappearing act in the last week and a half. I wish I could say this improved the situation for me, but it didn’t, because now all I’m left with is the smells, lol. Somehow… that’s WORSE!

Okay, off for real. Farewell!

BLOG: Wan Chai’d

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Monday morning.

How do I explain yesterday so I myself can understand the progression of events?

Ridiculous.

Okay, so I started by going up to the Secret Society around 5pm. It was the most dead I’ve ever seen it. They told me I was customer #4. They opened at noon. Just in case you’ve never worked in a bar before, that’s bad.

So I sat and I waited for something interesting to happen. No one showed up to improve the afternoon. We speculated that they were probably all at a yacht party or on Lamma Island.

Not gonna lie: I was jealous of this thought. I want to go to a yacht party! And not just some random junk boat party full of 22-year-old college interns who found this event via Facebook. I want the full “Season Experience.” If I’m getting on a boat to drink for 7 or 8 hours in the sun, it’s going to be with a bunch of rich people in the middle of their own little soap opera. I don’t want to be a character in the soap opera. I just want to watch other people living in their own little soap opera and write it down later to entertain myself and others.

Television has ruined me, I know. It is what it is.

Anyway, none of that was happening. It was boring AF. I went outside for a cigarette and wished to the universe that something interesting would happen. All I can say right now is “Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.”

This is around the time my “Auntie,” aka a lady locally known as “The SoHo Queen” messaged me out of the blue. She is called this because everyone in F&B on this Island somehow magically knows this lady. No one seems to know what it is she actually does. As far as I can tell, she is called into manage various establishments when the owners are away. My friend and I like to joke about her being a gangster. At least… we were joking about it… until last night.

I met up with her at the Cantina, then followed her down to Peel Street to check in on one of her spots. There was only one person working there at the time. She was a very young Filipina girl. She looked at my Auntie with an expression I can only describe as “fear and terror.” I noticed over the course of the evening that this is generally how everyone looks at this lady. Like they know she’s a messy drunk, but they’re also absolutely fucking terrified of what she’s going to do to them if they step out of line. This is one of the many reasons why we think she’s a gangster.

So we are chillin there for awhile. Then she gets a call on her phone. She walked away for awhile to take the call, then came back and said, “I need to go to Wan Chai. Do you want to come with me? I can show you a really good story.”

I hesitated at first because it’s Wan Chai. In case you are unfamiliar with HK, Wan Chai is the neighborhood where creepy old men go to prey on very young women. Are there some good restaurants there? Definitely. Is it nice during the daytime? Sure. But once the sun goes down… it gets gross and creepy FAST.

This is one of the reasons why I prefer to stay in my “Central Bubble.” In Central, one is far more likely to meet a mix of people from all over the world gathering on a more equitable level. In Wan Chai… well… let’s just say it’s like the Thailand of Hong Kong. It’s pretty much exclusively old white men and uncomfortably young-looking girls and women from SEA.

Knowing this, I still agreed to go over there with this lady. I was like, “Sure, I’m always down for a story!”

So we get in a taxi and go over to Wan Chai. While we were in said cab, I suddenly realized I was traveling far away from home in a semi-compromised state to walk straight into a sketchy situation. I know better than to do this at this point. Yet I still did it. No idea why. For the story, I guess.

So we go there, we walk into this very famous, very well-known bar that people have recommended to me several times, and whaddyaknow? It’s a bunch of creepy old men and a bunch of uncomfortably young-looking girls. I am saying “girls” instead of “women” because “girl” literally means “an underaged, minor child.”

This is nothing I haven’t seen before while traveling through Asia. However, it does bother me a lot, mostly because these women are not “making an empowered, feminist choice.” They’re sold into sex slavery from the time they are small children and forced to provide money for their families. There is nothing empowering or glamorous about it. They literally have no other options. The men know this. They don’t care. They just want to get their dicks sucked. It’s just… sickening to watch.

As I said, we might as well have been in Thailand at this point. It is what it is. Once again, everyone in this establishment was looking at my Auntie with fear in their eyes. She left me at the bar, went in the back to do her business, then came back and sat down with me. Everyone on the staff was STARING at me. It was weird.

This was around the time I realized… ohhhh… this isn’t a joke anymore. This is real. This lady actually is a real-life gangster, and she has just brought to into a bar where women are being sold to the highest bidder, and now all these creeps are looking at me. Is she going to sell me too?

This would not be the first time someone has tried to sell me off to an old rich man in Asia. It’s happened at least three times so far (that I know of). Usually I think it’s funny, but this situation was about as far from “funny” as you can get. There was nothing funny to me about being in that bar at that time of night with the clientele that was there. Truth be told, I was legitimately terrified.

At some point, I became uncomfortable enough that I decided to leave. I hailed a taxi, which dropped me off like five blocks from my apartment (typical HK taxi driver shit), and vowed never to return to Wan Chai at night ever again.

Then I walked up to my apartment and tried to be as quiet as possible so as to not wake my neighbor, whose obnoxiously strong scent was still permeating the hallway. It hit me like a ton of bricks when I walked in. It’s kinda like a dog marking its territory, you know?

Anyway, as I said yesterday, normally it drives me up the wall, but when I finally got back last night, I was just grateful to be Safe and Home. I thought to myself, “I’d rather deal with this annoying overgrown manbaby and his weird smells and his moody, Diva-like behavior than ever go back to a place like that again.”

It is what it is.

We’ve definitely hit a turning point in this narrative…

After having been directly exposed to the reality of my two worst fears in life (homelessness and forced prostitution), I have officially decided it’s time to stop fucking around and get my shit together. So, that is what I will do. Just as soon as I cure this hangover, that it is. But after that… it’s hustle time. We gotta get dat visa paperwork, fam.

This is it. This is your Home now, Bets. There is no going back to whatever your life was before. The only way is to keep moving forward… and so we must move forward… and just do whatever it is we have to do…

The End.

BLOG: Shoebox Syndrome

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Sunday morning.

Back at the coffee shop writing. I came yesterday and today. They were happy to see me again. I have not been coming here in favor of quiet mornings with yoga and instant coffee. I’ve learned the hard way that yes, it actually is important to have my daily coffee shop routine. It sets me up for success by forcing me to sit down and write for the hour or so it takes to drink the coffee. Plus, the added bonus of being around HK-era on a mission to be productive. Soaking up that energy really helps a lot. I need to do more of that, in general.

Unfortunately, I am sad to report I have not done anything with my time this weekend. I stayed at home, ate spicy noodles from 7/11, and re-watched the Star Wars Prequels and Obi-Wan Kenobi. I decided to forget my attempt to turn my neighbor into my Muse by consulting my OG Muse: Ewan McGregor.

Needless to say, the problem is officially solved. 🙂

As the Buddha would say, “Just let that shit go, fam!”

I let it go for my own sake. I used to exhibit a lot of unhealthy behaviors around guys like this. I would obsess, stalk, fantasize. I was young and stupid. It wasn’t until I finally hit my mid-20’s that I realized men are stupid and never worth suffering for.

This guy especially. Nope. No way. For whatever reason, the fact that I live right next door to this man strongly motivates me to take as much space from him as possible. I cannot be physically trapped with him in such a small space. It’s driving me crazy.

I’m really not kidding when I say there’s no mystery there, like at all. None. I can go weeks without seeing or speaking to him. Yet, I can hear when he comes and goes. I can see his trash piled up in the hallway. I can smell his cologne floating down the hallway and permeating the elevator.

Oh, yeah, get this! THIS is the biggest issue I have with him: He thinks I’m so annoying because I’m loud. Well, he’s annoying because he smells! Whether it’s cologne or cigarette smoke or his cooking or post-workout mansweat or whatever, I can always smell him in that building. It drives me INSANE and I don’t know why. I’ve never had this experience before in my life.

THERE IS NO MYSTERY AT ALL!

He actually told me once which bar he goes to in our neighborhood. I don’t go there. Ever. Specifically because I know he is there. Instead I walk 10 minutes up two gigantic sets of stone steps carved into steep hills, then over towards the escalator, and then take it all the way up to the Mid-Levels to go to a bar up there, all to avoid him. Mostly to get stories, of course, but also to avoid him.

I’m sure a wiser person than myself would read this and comprehend what’s actually going on here from a biological perspective. Don’t really care. Let nature work this situation out in whatever way it’s intended. I’m not actively involved.

Anyway.

Hmm, okay, well, enough with these random thought dumps. We all know I can’t handle living next door to a hot sexy beefcake. It just doesn’t compute for me. Like, “Is this Human or Object? Neighbor is Human but Hot Beefcake is Object. Cannot compute. System Overload. Weeeeoooooweeeeeoooooooweeeeoooo. System Meltdown!”

I am ridiculous, I know.

Okay, I have a book to write. But first, I need to go to 7/11 and buy a new pack of cigarettes. Then I have to go to the market and pick up some basic supplies. Then I will sit back down at my desk and actually try to work on my manuscript, which I am once again putting off because addressing the trauma around my father’s death is really fucking difficult for me!

Off now. Have a good day!

BLOG: Revenge is Mine

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Friday night.

Here we are, sitting at the Secret Society, alone in the corner with a full view of the room (which is almost entirely men except for myself, the bartender, and two female patrons accompanying a much larger group of men. The only person I know here (other than the bartenders) is the guy from The Wolf who I do not like. I guess I’ll just sit here and wait and —

Literally, right as I was in the middle of that sentence, he got up and came over to me. He’s like, “Come sit with me at the bar!”

I’m so tired of men. I was just like, “Why would I do that?”

“So we can have a chat.”

“About what?”

“Anything you want.”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“Yes, but why does that matter? I’m asking you for a chat, not to come home with me.”

Oh, I don’t know, probably because the last time I agreed to sit at the bar and “chat” with you, you dragged me into the bathroom, offered me a line of cocaine, and then groped me in front of everyone at the bar. So, yeah, not exactly in a rush to hang out with you again.

“I’d rather sit here alone in the corner and write my book.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

He looked at me sadly.

“Okay, I just want you to know you look really beautiful today.”

“Okay, thank you, have a nice day, namaste!”

So I sent him on his way back to the bar alone and continued on writing.

Thank you, Universe, for giving me this singular moment of redemption. I really needed this. I could finish this glass of wine right now and not get drunk at all and then head on down the hill back home and I would feel good about the decisions I made tonight. Boundaries!

Wow, I really needed to do that. I’m just so tired of men who think they can just walk all over me. Today, I stood up for myself. I am proud of that.

My life dynamic right now:

Me: I need to escape from my neighbor. I’m going out to the bar.

The Men at the Bar: We are worse than your neighbor!

Me: I need to escape from this bar and get back home to my neighbor.

Wait, no, none of these options are working for me. Maybe I should start thinking about moving again. No men allowed!

Hmm… wow… rejecting that man just now really did fill me with a sense of happiness and pride that is quite unfamiliar to me. Just think, I could walk over there and make a terrible decision right now. Instead, I am sitting here alone in the corner with my notebook and my wine and I’m perfectly happy to exist in this world without men.

Let’s drink to not making any terrible decisions with men today!

HASHTAG: GROWTH! HASHTAG: CHANGE!

Oh wait, oh no, he’s coming back again. I can tell this man is not used to hearing “No.” He really seems incapable of taking a hint.

“What are you doing after this?”

“I told you, I’m working on my book. That’s what I came here to do.”

“Here? Really?”

“Yes, really. I’m a writer and I came here to write a book. That’s what I do. Okay, have a good night. Have fun with your girlfriend. See you again soon.”

*stares at me longingly with what I can only assume is his attempt at a smoldering gaze*

Gross.

OMG, he thinks he’s so smooth. Ridiculous.

Bye Felicia!

Okay, now I have to decide if I should have one more for the road or pack it up and call this night a win. I literally don’t even have to do anything else right now. Don’t have to talk to anyone, don’t have to resolve any stories, don’t have to seek out any new stories, nothing. I can just go home right now and wake up tomorrow with a full-blown self-esteem boost from rejecting this guy. No hangover, no nothing.

Hmm… I don’t think I’ll go home quite yet, but I am done with this bar right now. It’s just a bunch of men, and I am definitely NOT in the mood to deal with a bunch of men. Especially a bunch of strange men I am completely unfamiliar with…

Well, that decides it. We did what we came here to do tonight. Mission accomplished.

The End.

BLOG: It’s Possible!

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Friday.

Rainy day. Woke up to the sound of thunder, dark skies, and an endless downpour. Welcome to Hong Kong.

Now I am sitting in bed in my coziest sweatpants, drinking coffee and writing. Perfect life right here. I am so very grateful for this moment.

Made lots of progress on the book this week. I mostly spent my time tweaking the outline. My biggest piece of feedback from my last two projects was “lack of structure” so this time I am starting with a very nice, neatly-polished outline, inspired by the legendary bamboo scaffolding here in Hong Kong.

So now I have the outline and a document full of three years’ worth of blog posts to squeeze into said outline. Right now it looks like Year 1 takes up one chapter, Year 2 takes up 2-3 chapters, and the rest of it is all Year 3. I’m starting with a goal of 300-350 pages, which is much more manageable than the 1600+ pages of Franken-Blog prose.

I spent some time researching local publishers as well. I have some very promising leads. I am finally starting to feel like this is a real thing. I’ve got a book manuscript draft, I’ve got leads on publishers, I’ve got an audience waiting in the wings, I have a marketing plan. I can totally do this! I can finally make my lifelong dream come true!

It was all worth it in the end!

*takes deep sigh of relief*

I’m so relieved, lol.

It’s like my fairy godmother just appeared in front of me and started singing “It’s Possible” from Cinderella. Happy. 🙂

Meanwhile, no updates on The Boy Next Door. I guess he’s just decided to disappear into the void. Alas. Clearly he is not looking for a side-gig as a Writer’s Muse. Too bad. But, to be fair, it doesn’t pay very much, so I can see his point of view.

In the end, I decided to take some of his advice after all. He is right about some of it, and he knows better than I do because he is local. It is not entirely a waste…

Otherwise, I went up to the Secret Society again on Wednesday evening. Drank far too much, as per usual. Somehow ended up hanging out with the Finance Bros. How? This, to me, is probably one the stranger things that I’ve encountered on my journey. I consider myself to be an artist and an entertainer. How did this happen?

I don’t know, probably because… when I look at them, I see a bunch of uptight old men. When they look at me, they see a young, beautiful woman who puts on her little show and makes them laugh. It’s not that deep.

I have resolved to wait at least another week before I return there. I’m trying not to go too often. Once a week is enough. I must direct my attention elsewhere to other potential social ventures.

I did find the names of some organizations I can join here that will be beneficial career-wise. As we all know, I don’t really have a career, so anything will help. I’m just a person who has tried a lot of jobs that weren’t right for them and wants to find something more in-line with their character.

I have no solution for that problem, as of now, but I do have the potential to get this book finished and published. I shall focus on that.

Off for now. Let’s see how productive this day can be…

BLOG: I Choose Peace

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MONDAY

Here I am waiting for my dinner order. I’m in a much better mood now than when I woke up. At first, I was very angry at my neighbor for acting like such a jerk to me. As the day went on, I decided to just let that shit go. This is what men do. This is how they are. I don’t have the extra energy to waste on them anymore.

Now I am bizarrely indifferent towards him. Relieved that the Obsession Spell has worn off. I really do not like him at all, as it turns out. He’s not a very nice person. I can see why he is where he is in life. It is what it is.

Otherwise, my day yesterday was pretty okay. I wrote then went up to the Secret Society, where I met some new people I had not previously met before. Hung out with some people I know already. It was a good day. I really do have to learn to control the amount I’m drinking though. It’s a problem that will not serve me well in these types of rooms.

That’s probably what deflected me from the incident with my neighbor. I don’t need him to socialize, or for anything, really. So, what did I really lose? Nothing. Thank you for competing in the Six Nations Tournament of Betsey’s Heart and representing Hong Kong. Well done, lads. Carry on!

—-

TUESDAY

Not in the habit of writing lately. I’m pouring all my creative energy back into the manuscript I’ve managed to assemble over the course of the last year. I’ve also been spending a lot of time sitting in meditation. Not doing active, physical yoga. Just meditation. I’ve noticed a huge difference in my overall mood and sense of well-being.

Like right now, for example. Today I woke up and I was not angry anymore. Growth! It’s like… you know what’s better than worrying about some random man? That’s right! NOT worrying about a random man!

I win. I get to live happily ever after. The End!

And now back to our regularly scheduled programming, which is just me trying to figure out how to live my best Emily in Paris Life here in Hong Kong.

I am feeling much better about it since I started hanging out more at the Secret Society. I find they are much more open to what I do up there. They like having a writer in the mix. I’m told it’s refreshing from the usual bank and finance crowd.

Plus, it’s all people who are my age or older, not younger. They have lived here for a long time. They know more than me. I can learn a lot from them. It’s an important room for me to be in, whether I agree with their politics or not. I’ve learned to just not engage with it anymore. No good will come of it.

As I said in a previous post, hanging around the first few people I met here (like my Neighbor and this other guy I met who is in his mid-20’s), was becoming very draining for me. There’s a lot of negativity, a lot of cynicism, and both of these men felt way too comfortable projecting their insecure bullshit directly onto me. I don’t need more of that at this point in my life.

The main thing with my Neighbor is that he reflects my worst self back to me in a way that I find quite unsettling. I think I probably do the same for him, which is why he threw another tantrum and melted down at me.

Sidebar: I’m really starting to believe they’re putting something in those protein shakes that make men go crazy. Just a conspiracy theory I have.

At first, I felt bad about the exchanges I’ve been having with negative people this past year. Then I finally realized… it’s not about me. I’m working really hard on my emotional regulation skills, my general attitude towards the world, and my less-flattering behavioral habits. I’ve made so much progress, especially this year.

Sure, it hasn’t been easy. I think any normal person would come out of an abusive situation like the one I was in feeling unable to function properly. I don’t have to justify my healing journey to anyone, especially people who come from a culture that doesn’t value mental health at all.

Once again, I have come to the conclusion that spending time around men is draining, and spending time around women is ultimately better. I’ve started meeting more women recently who are mid-30’s and older, successful in the careers, single for whatever reason, and just living their lives. It gives me something real to look at and aspire to be. I used to view my older sister this way when I was young, but as I grew up, I realized how truly mean, spoiled, and cruel she actually is. Definitely not someone I aspire to be!

The women in my family are all so fucking mean all the time, especially to me. I couldn’t even tell them I was coming here until after all the arrangements had already been made because I knew they would try to sabotage it. That’s exactly what happened. They literally have no ability to support me or be happy for me. They just mow on in and take over everything and try to control me, which consistently ends with bad results.

Now they’re all shocked Pikachu face that I literally got on a plane and moved to the other side of the planet to escape from them. Yeah, there’s a reason I stopped calling you. It’s because I don’t want to talk to any of you anymore. It’s not that hard to figure out. At some point, I got tired of my mentally ill, alcoholic mother vilifying me to anyone who will listen while actively forcing me into a Cinderella-esque situation. Just crazy.

I don’t miss my family at all. I don’t miss my old life. I have zero desire to ever return to the US. I really gotta start playing that up more in job interviews. Give me a visa. I will stay for 7 years. Maybe even forever! I am ready to become a permanent resident of this small-but-mighty Island nation.

In ten years time, you’ll find me sitting in the Secret Society, giving out guidance to the fresh young expat who naively wandered in looking for a real opportunity to make a significant life change.

Off now. I need to tidy up the apartment and work on my various projects.

Sending peace and love out into the universe today. Have a good one!

BLOG: My Neighbor, My Nightmare

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Friday night.

Here we are at the Secret Society. Sadly, none of my favs are here. More incentive to leave early before I hook up with someone undesirable yet again.

This is the first time I’ve left my house to “socialize” this week. “Socialize” meaning sit at the bar alone eavesdropping on people who have no idea what I’m doing.

Anything to get away from my neighbor, who has been the subject of my fascination this week. I can’t help but wonder if he went down to the bridge in Causeway Bay and put an “Obsession” spell on me. He wished for the writer next door to write a story about him. And oh, did I deliver on that!

I spent all week speculating over what this British man could possibly be hiding in his attic. The answers are quite entertaining! I decided to write them all down and send them to him in story format. I thought he would appreciate it because he’s an actor.

Unfortunately for me, he did not. Things took a turn for the worse with this character later on Friday evening. And by evening, I mean early morning.

You see, I decided to come home at 10pm like a good girl and just put on my sweatpants and eat McDonald’s and go to bed early. Sometime around 5:30am, I awoke with a start. I thought nothing of it. Went out for a smoke, made a cup of tea, played some Mah Jong.

Then sometime around 6:30am, my neighbor finally came home after a full night out of debauchery. First I heard him stumble off the elevator and down the hall. Then he knocked on my door and shouted at me to stop writing about him. Triggering AF.

Then he went into his apartment and sent me a mean message on Instagram stating the same. When I tried to go outside for a smoke to escape him, he threw open his door and stepped out in a very intimidating manner. Then he went up to the rooftop and sat directly in the doorway so I would have no choice but to pass by him if I wanted to go out. He did all of this while wearing his sunglasses, which means exactly what all of us think it means.

I went upstairs to see just how messy he was. The sunglasses and weird little Joker smile on his face said it all. I admit to you that I was pretty pissed. Look at this fucking man out here judging me for how I live my life when he can’t handle a dose of his own medicine served up to him in return. Ridiculous!

This was about the moment I realized that I actually hate him. He’s so mean! He’s mean and judgmental. I finally decided to do a deep dive on him on the internet and figure out who he really is, which is nothing more than a spoiled little rich Island boy.

Like, okay, Mr. International Private School. Go off on how much of a shithole this apartment is just because it’s not in the Mid-Levels and doesn’t include a cleaning service. And you’re out here trying to judge me? I don’t fucking think so. You don’t even have a full degree. You have some bullshit certificate in Sports & Fitness. Is that why you’re so mad at me for writing a story? Because you can’t fucking read it, you stupid fucking meathead?

Asshole!

Meanwhile, all his pictures on social media are like, movie sets, pool parties, boat parties, holiday parties, parties parties parties, a wedding here, a wedding there, university in the UK, stag dos and Muy Thai fights in Thailand, trips to Bali, Vietnam, South Africa, Australia, Spain, even the USA. What the fuck does this outrageously privileged white British man even have to complain about?

Some women might look at this man and think, “Wow, he’s so handsome and mysterious and British. I can fix him!” Meanwhile, I look at him and think, “His body is a 10 but his personality reminds me why my ancestors fought in the Revolutionary War.”

I spent all of Saturday alone in my apartment, stewing in the tension from the exchange. I went out to grab my dinner to go, and when I came back, I saw him coming around the corner as I was walking up the stairs. I backtracked and ran down the stairs and back around the corner in order to avoid being stuck in the cramped space of the stairwell with him.

He did not stay out for long because he was sitting at the top of the stairs again sometime later. I was coming back in from a smoke when I walked around the corner and saw him sitting there. He tried to say hello weakly, but I just glared at him and brushed past him in silence. I have nothing to say to him anymore.

I really don’t appreciate how comfortable he felt coming home early in the morning all fucked up and immediately trying to use me as a punching bag for his obvious issues. At least when I come home fucked up, it’s because I’m dealing with some traumatic situation from the past. It’s not directed AT him. He came home and directed his bullshit AT me. Like, wtf, bro! That’s SO not cool. You said you were “working on it” and “trying to change.” The only person I see changing here is me, and she’s quickly changing into someone who has zero tolerance for men’s bullshit.

He’s very judgmental for an overgrown party boy in his mid-30’s with little significance to his name. I’m not taking his advice anymore. I don’t care how long he’s lived here. Plus, “You gotta cruise the Mom’s Groups on Facebook” is hardly the job hunting advice someone like me is looking for.

Best to just ignore this one from here on out. All he does is stare at his phone all day with his headphones in. He’s clearly checked out from reality at this point in his life. So not into it, bro.

This brings me to today, Sunday, where I was forced to evacuate my apartment after I discovered a cockroach crawling around in bed with me. As if this nightmare of a weekend could not possibly get worse, the cockroach DISAPPEARED between the bed and the wall and is now lurking somewhere in my apartment unknown.

I did the only thing I could do: I noped right the fuck out of there ASAP. Now I am sitting at a restaurant enjoying bottomless mimosas and mac & cheese. And, obviously, writing. I will deal with the cockroach later when I am drunk enough to find the courage to take it on.

We all know my useless-ass neighbor won’t be there to help me this time. He’s too busy playing Jekyll & Hyde in Betsey Horton’s Local Weekend Dinner Theatre Production.

Welcome to the worst apartment in Hong Kong. The rooms are small, the walls are thin (and occasionally melting), there are rats and cockroaches everywhere, and the next-door neighbor is a crazy British man with lots of secrets in his attic and a host of steroid-induced anger issues from drinking too much protein milk.

Love that for me!

Now the question is… should we head up to the Secret Society today? I think… yes. Let’s do it. I’m trying to be a little bit better behaved up there now that I have been “discovered.” That’s why I spent all week locked up in my little shoebox, obsessing over my jerk-off douchebag neighbor, and chipping away at my latest manuscript.

Now I have an answer for them when they say, “How far along is your manuscript? Have you found a publisher yet? I know a friend of a friend that can help you. Keep me updated on your progress and I’ll put you in touch.”

That’s all I care about at the end of the day. Forget this guy and his magical sweatpants, which I’m keeping, btw. He doesn’t get those back. Just saying. Not that I stole them or anything. I don’t even know what I’m saying right now. I’m clearly making this part up right now. What? Huh?

Okay, heading out now. Will update with more excitement from life in HK later…

BLOG: Working Away…

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Thursday. Here we are, waiting on our lunchtime carry out.

I have not written in a week. I also have not left the house much. The reason is because I have been busy assembling the first draft of my new book. It’s as finished as it can be. It’s all of the blog posts from the last 3 years assembled into one document. It goes up until the most recent post. So now that’s done.

The next step was to make an outline of the story I’m actually trying to tell. Got that done. Hung it up on the wall. Charted everything out for the plot. Made the list of characters. Made the list of chapters/stories. Everything is set up and ready to go for the next three rounds of edits.

The first step is obviously to cut out 1000 pages. The next step is to rewrite everything so it flows better. Then edit, rewrite, edit, rewrite, so on and so forth until complete. The important thing is that I am officially engaged in the process.

What else have I accomplished? Well, let’s say I’ve used the empty white space on my wall to my full advantage. One section is for all of the book plans. The next section is all of the planning for the “influencer business.” The next section is for the blog and portfolio. The last section is for my CV and job hunt. That’s an entirely different beast on its own.

All in all, everything looks good. As I said, I have not been going out in favor of staring at my wall and working on manifesting my various goals and visions. Everything in time, everything in time…

That is all I have to say for now. Just trying to keep a steady routine, avoid going out, and work on finishing my book. Not exactly a junk boat party. I suppose that part comes later, after I have accomplished all of my serious tasks…

BLOG: One Week’s Worth of Posts

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Wednesday. Here I am, at the Secret Society. I can’t stay away in spite of all evidence that I should. It is what it is. You know me.

I finally got a new pair of glasses, so I can finally stare at a screen for pro-longed periods of time again without hurting my eyes. It’s been, like, what? A whole week since I’ve written anything? No wonder I’m starting to lose my shit.

Now… where did I leave off?

Ah yes, I was right here, at the Secret Society. I had just been forced to put away my iPad because of an oncoming shark attack. Luckily, none of the sharks are here right now. It’s too early for them, I think. Hopefully I’ll be able to finish this post and make it out of here before they show up and start swarming me again. I assume they’re all down at The Wolf right now, which is everywhere I don’t want to be.

Okay, let’s go by the day… starting right where we left off…

THURSDAY

So I rolled up here and nothing interesting happened for awhile. All those old bankers were up here celebrating a birthday. I chose not to get involved. Not trying to get friendly with a bunch of old married men, as previously stated. Especially this crowd. I ignored them, they ignored me, everything was grand.

Then my Irish friend (he needs a name that isn’t Seamus lol) from Dublin showed up. You know, the married one who confessed his “love” for me, yet refuses to divorce his wife even though it’s clearly not working out between them. Yeah, that guy. Winner winner chicken dinner.

So we started chatting, but he was annoying me, as per usual. Luckily, right at that moment, that crazy old British Banker who roped me in here the first time around showed up to interrupt the conversation. He walked past us to go to the bathroom and gave me a sideways glance. I turned to my Irish friend and said, “Watch this.”

The British Banker (also needs a name) came back and immediately walked up to greet me. I asked him how his plot to overthrow the British Monarchy and install Trump as King is going.

“Now’s your chance,” I said. “The monarchy is old, weak, and unpopular. The Prime Minister is a cat. Brexit has ruined everything. It’s all very Shakespearean. I think you’re really set up for success here if you give it the good ol’ college try.”

The Irish guy snickered to himself as he watched this exchange. Meanwhile, the British Banker gave me a defeated look and sighed deeply.

“Oh no, no no,” he said. “Trump is an idiot. I simply can’t stand him anymore. He’s a clown running a big tent circus show.”

Oh, really? You don’t say. I’m amazed you finally figured it out. It’s like… Wow, that only took, what, like, four months? Hmm. Wonder what changed. Aside from… well… everything…

Anyway, so happy to report the plot to install Trump as King of the Commonwealth is no more. I guess they’ll be passing it on down to Wills & Kate after all. As they say, the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t.

“Say,” he asked. “How old are you anyway?”

“I’m 37, turning 38 this year. I’m getting close to cougar status. You better watch out or I’ll sneak up on ya!”

“You can’t sneak up on me.”

My Irish friend and I gave each other a sideways glance and I started laughing again.

“Oh, I think I already did.”

Needless to say, he found this very amusing and decided we are friends now. Sure we are. Why not? Everyone knows my favourite people to make friends with in this world are rich old white men. And here I don’t even get anything out of it except a bunch of random, ridiculous stories. Love that for me.

As this conversation came to a close, so did the bar. I packed up my things and headed on down the hill. I stopped by the Cantina on the way down, where one of my friends was working. We will call her Kitty (she chose this name herself). I stopped in for a drink while they were closing down the bar. That was when the ghost showed up.

As it turns out, my much beloved Cantina is haunted AF, which explains the slightly-off vibes there. The ghost was very much present on this evening, as evidenced by the flickering lights, weird vibes, and ever-present creepy feeling of being watched by a nonhuman entity. Kitty was terrified, so I walked her home since we lived in the same direction.

So ends Thursday.

—

FRIDAY

Friday was busy for me. I went to a shop nearby to pick up a pair of new glasses since I lost my other pair. Got an eye exam, which I haven’t had done in literally 20 years because the American healthcare system is wildly overpriced hot garbage.

Turns out I needed a prescription after all. Picked out a lovely set of frames, added in the blue light protection, and paid about $125 USD for the entire package. Mindfuck. In the US, the frames alone would cost $300-$500. Such a fucking rip-off.

After that, I decided to go visit the witches under the bridge in Causeway Bay for some good old-fashioned villain hitting. It’s a ritual where you write down someone’s name and put a curse on them. For me, I wrote down the name of someone who I felt put a curse on me roughly ten years ago. I didn’t want to curse him. I just wanted to cut the cord between us once and for all.

I won’t say who it was. I will just say it was someone from Verm who has caused me a lot of pain and anguish over the course of a decade. Personally, I feel like it’s very obvious. If it’s not… you clearly haven’t been keeping up. I think we all know who the main character in Bloody Mary’s was, and it’s definitely not me.

Anyway, I just wanted my energetic field to be free of his essence once and for all.

Prior to going to the bridge, I performed a protection ritual on myself. I meditated, set my intention carefully, and dressed in all white. I don’t mess with black magic/bad medicine/bad juju/whatever you want to call it. I fully believe putting a curse on someone will come back at you ten fold. That’s why I was careful to set my intention to cleanse myself, not to curse someone else.

I walked around the coven and looked for the perfect witch to cast the spell. For this, I decided to go with my gut. I think I chose right because the results were apparent right away. I left feeling lighter, happier, freer. It was the best $50 HKD I’ve ever spent.

I returned home to find my neighbor acting weird, as per usual. No idea what’s up with him, honestly. I keep trying to dig and he won’t tell me shit. You know these English guys. They’ve always got something hidden in their attics.

I straight up said to him, “Okay, if you refuse to tell me, my mind will fill in the blank for you. I will just assume you have a haunted portrait or a mentally ill ex-wife locked up in an attic somewhere.”

He didn’t say anything to that. Mmm, yeah… that’s what I thought, Mr. Rochester. It is what it is. I’m done digging. I’ll let that one come to me. I’m over this whole “In the Mood for Love” dynamic. I don’t need this shit. I can go out any night of the week and take my pick from the crowd. Fuck that.

This she says as the bartender she made out with last week stands directly in front of her. Haha.

This leads me into Friday Night, aka Girls Night Out. It was my friend’s birthday. I haven’t given her a fake name yet even though she’s the first friend I made when I came back to HK. I haven’t been doing well with this. Let’s call her… Anastasia! Haha, inside joke. She also chose this name for herself.

I met up with Anastasia at a random spot along the escalator. One of her regulars was there so he bought us some dranks. We hung out with him for awhile, then walked down to the Cantina to pick up Kitty. She didn’t want to close alone because of the ghost, so we sat and waited for her while she finished up.

As we were waiting, the bartender I made out with last week appeared. They both knew him already because they’re all Filipina/o. My friends immediately picked up on the weird vibe and looked at me like, “What was that?”

I made the mistake of telling them what happened. Y’all, they were SCANDALIZED! They wouldn’t stop giving me shit about it for the rest of the night. They started calling him “The Pirate” because I told them to stop screaming his real name so loud half of Central can hear. Like, girl, do you know who I am? No real names, please! So now the joke is just “Oooooooh Pirate!!!!” Like, yeah, he really do be out here looking like a pirate though. It is what it is.

After that, we went down to the Nepalese shisha bar for a drink and a smoke. We were there until about 3am. Kitty took off home, while Anastasia and I went to a late-night Indian restaurant I had no idea existed. It was amazing. Loved it.

Finally got home some time around 4am. My neighbor, whose name is now Mr. Rochester until he makes a decent argument in favour of something better, was definitely awake when I came home. I know because I heard him get up and go out onto the rooftop. He does this pretty regularly.

Unfortunately for him, I was in a different dimension thanks to the combination of the witch’s spell, the dranks, the shisha, the Indian food, and the two hits of a vape pen I took from some random finance bro at the bar. There would be no weird rooftop meeting on this night.

—

OMG, this is getting to be such a chore. Now you know why I have to write every single day. Trying to go a week at a time is just too much for me. No wonder I’ve been feeling so crazy.

Definitely had to take a break from writing for a minute. Also, the usual Krewe of Sharks showed up and wanted to talk to me. My not-so-secret identity has officially been revealed. I’ll get to that later…

Anyway, continuing on…

—

SATURDAY

Saturday morning I woke up as if it was any other ordinary day and checked my IG. The first person on my “People You May Know” was one of the mean girls from the yoga shala in India. Apparently she made herself a professional yoga teacher account and decided to use it to creep on me.

I clicked on it and discovered she is now marketing herself as a “trauma-informed yoga teacher.”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Bitch, PLEASE! Get the fuck OUT! You are not a fucking “trauma-informed yoga teacher.” You’re a mean girl with an Instagram account. Shut the fuck UP!

“BREAKING NEWS: The worst person you met at your YTTC is now a trauma-informed yoga teacher!”

LOL! LMFAO!

That’s the funniest fucking shit I’ve ever seen. Wow. Just… wow. Daily Inspiration for you: you really CAN be anything you want to be. All you need is an Instagram account and some basic-ass marketing skills.

God, that totally made my day. That’s fucking hilarious. I literally cannot even. I mean… good luck with that, girl. I mean that sincerely. Personally, I would never take your class after the shitty fucking way you treated me while I was ACTUALLY trying to sort out my trauma. Yikes!

Fucking delusional.

Anyway…

So that was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. Pure delusion right there. Truly fascinating from a psychological perspective. Like… really? I can’t.

Okay, moving on.

I got up and dressed and walked over to SYP to meet up with an old friend I met in Paris back in 2011. We met at one of Jim Haynes’ dinner parties. He’s this famous American who used to throw weekly dinner parties for strangers in Paris. It’s a whole thing. You can go look him up.

We met up for coffee and lunch and caught up on the last 15 years. He’s writing a book. He asked me a lot of questions about my writing. He also wanted to know why I never moved to Paris. I explained my crazy family situation to him. He said, “Yeah, you know, that never quite sat right with me. I remember when I met you that you had a very specific plan for your life. Then I kept checking in on you and you were still out in South Dakota. I just kept asking myself… what happened?”

Well, now you know! And now I live in Hong Kong instead, so it all worked out in the end!

So that was fun. We went our separate ways again. I returned home to prepare for the oncoming typhoon. Stocked up on snacks and drinks. Made sure the windows were sealed shut. Snuggled up in bed to watch TV all night. Fun times.

—

SUNDAY

This whole day was occupied by the typhoon. I couldn’t go anywhere, nor did I want to. Sorry but I’m not brave enough to go out wandering around in extreme weather just for the sake of the gram. It is what it is.

—

MONDAY

The most exciting part of this day is when I discovered an American grocery store in my neighborhood that sells Costco-sizes of American products. I got a giant bottle of Frank’s Red Hot Buffalo Sauce and a giant container of Creole seasoning. Yasssss. So happy! It’s the little things in life, truly.

—

TUESDAY

I did nothing.

—

WEDNESDAY

Finally, something interesting happened! I went up to the Secret Society, as previously mentioned. There was no one there when I first arrived, which gave me enough time to write out the events of my life up to Saturday. That’s when the sharks showed up.

I was busy typing away when I heard someone announce in a loud British accent, “There she is! She’s writing! She’s writing!” It was the Banker dude. OMG, he really needs a name. Now they all need names, because they found me out!

So when I’ve been up there, I’ve been going by the name Liz. I just didn’t want to be known, I didn’t want to be found, and I definitely did not want any of them to find out I’ve been watching them this entire time.

Unfortunately, they caught onto me. How? Well, I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that it’s because I’m a young woman in a room full of old men, sitting at a keyboard clacking away. In my mind, I think I’m invisible. In their minds… not so much!

And so they finally unmasked my not-so-secret identity as Betsey Horton, Writer Extraordinaire. I think they were all slightly disappointed to discover that I’m a writer, not a spy. I know. I’m disappointed too. It is what it is.

Naturally, they wanted to know more about my writing. At first I was nervous, but then I remembered that I was standing in a room full of highly educated people who live and work in Hong Kong making a fuckton of money. This is not some shitty dive bar in South Dakota full of aggressively illiterate MAGAts, nor is it an expat bar in Bangkok where shady people go to hide from their extensive rap sheets back in the West. It’s a different audience, for sure.

There is a reason why I joined this club, and this is exactly why.

I told them about Bloody Mary’s Bar, which they were highly amused by. I’m not even kidding right now, you guys. These gossipy old queens ATE THAT SHIT UP AND LEFT NO CRUMBS! Caught their interest right away, as I knew it eventually would if I sat on it long enough. Looks like that curse worked, MWA HAHAHAHA!

Then I explained what happened in Bangkok and about how mad everyone at the American Bar was that I wrote about them. The HK-era were like, “Well, of course they were mad. Thailand is where shady people go to hide.” TRUTH!

So then they wanted to know what I’d been writing about them. I said, “Oh, not much. I came here to hide, not to write.” Lies! I did not tell them the story about how I met all of them at The Wolf, nor about their friend and his little stunt in the bathroom. I mean, they were all there for that, but I doubt they remember. I remember, though. That’s not a story I’m likely to forget any time soon.

I was really scared they were going to be mad and throw me out. Instead, they laughed. They thought it was funny! They were like, “Oh, I want to read that. I want to see what fake names you come up with everyone on the Island and try to guess who they are. Haha, that’s so funny. You’re just like Lady Whistledown!”

So now my nickname is Lady Whistledown, which is hilarious, actually. Like, yep, that’s me. I am the modern day American equivalent of Lady Whistledown, and proud of it.

All of them encouraged me to finish the book I’ve been writing about my first year living abroad. I’ve never seen so many people cheering me on. It was wild! They are here for it!

My Banker friend was especially impressed with my discipline as far as writing every day goes. Like, “Oh, you’re for real, aren’t you?”

Yes, yes I am. I know it, you know it, everyone knows it!

And now they know the name Betsey Horton!

I still asked them to call me Liz, though. I just… really, really prefer to separate my writing identity from my every day identity. It’s a whole thing.

After bar close, I wandered on down the hill back home. Along the way, I ran into my Auntie, who I swear to god is secretly a gangster of some sort. We hung out for awhile at the corner bar across from the 7/11 on Peel Street.

That was when Mr. Pirate came along. I brought him back home with me to my rooftop, forgetting about the weirdness with Mr. Rochester. Mistake! Pretty sure Mr. Rochester came out onto the rooftop and saw us out there, because Mr. Pirate kept turning around and looking behind him and asking me if there was someone else there. I was like, “Oh, yeah, that guy. Just ignore him.”

Unfortunately, neither of us could ignore the invisible presence of the third party, so I had to send him on his way home. IDK. Maybe it’s all in my head. Or maybe… it’s not… because Mr. Pirate noticed it too and wouldn’t stop asking me about it. So… I guess I can’t be hosting any more guests at home now. Especially since the first insult Mr. Rochester lobbed at me during our first argument was, “All you do is get drunk and make out with random guys in elevators!”

Yeahhh…. Guess he’s decided to stake his claim to that specific elevator, lol. I mean, I get it. The thought of seeing him with another girl makes me weirdly jealous. I don’t know why. I don’t even like him that much. It’s probably because we are sharing a wall and he’s always around lurking in the shadows, waiting to jump out and scare me. He’s just this ever-present force in my life now that I can’t escape from. I would be so mad. I would be like, “Hey, that’s MY neighbor! Back off bitch!”

It is what it is.

Now I’m here at Ye Olde Irish Pub, the last place where I can hide. Yep, I’m a known quantity in the universe now. That means I gotta come all the way over to Kowloon to hide. And even then… they know me here too! Everyone knows me wherever I go! I’m special! I can’t escape from my fate! It has found me… again.

Alas.

Alright, I’m off to finish my Guinness (LOL) and then head on back over across the bay before the weather gets worse. Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day.

Have a lovely day!

BLOG: Is This A Wong Kar-Wai Movie?

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Thursday.

Back at the Secret Society, to the surprise of literally no one. I can’t help myself. Hellooooo! Who do you think I am?

Same old, same old. All the old men are here. I’ve decided to take the route of politely nodding hello to them and then otherwise ignoring them completely. Not trying to get friendly with a bunch of old married men!

Gee, I wonder why!

I was definitely here the other night as well. Got wayyyyy too friendly with the Filipino bartender, went to a second location with him, and inevitably made out with him.

I know, but like… What do you want from me? He’s my age, he’s hot, he’s covered in tattoos! It is what it is, okay?!

Luckily for me, he is not here tonight. Unfortunately, all the old men are. They’re celebrating someone’s millionth birthday. I’m pretending I don’t notice what’s going on. I just don’t care.

I actually came up here specifically to see the bartender, but he is not here. I cannot remember his name for the life of me. I don’t even know if I put it in my phone.

I just checked and I definitely did not put him in my phone. I guess the feeling is pretty mutual on that one. Thank god for that. I was genuinely worried. Alright, well, glad that’s all sorted out.

Meanwhile, I watched In The Mood For Love today, aka a Hong Kong Cinema Classic. Yes, I have seen it before, but that was a long time ago, before I lived in a tiny shoebox right door to a hot beefcake who I am definitely very attracted to, probably because he either yells at me or ignores me. Hello Daddy Issues! It is what it is.

Today when I watched it, there were no English subtitles. Welcome to my everyday life! Now you know why I stay in my comfy expat bubble, which isn’t actually terrible because here “expat” means “everyone from all over the world, not just specifically white people.”

So, I knew the plot, but I could not remember exactly what was said throughout the film. Therefore I was focused exclusively on the visuals and the vibes. It was a nice experience, actually. It forced me to put down the iPad and actually pay attention to every little detail in the frame. Just for a brief moment, I remembered how I fell in love with movies in the first place…

Then there was the question of vibes. Oh, the VIBES! I felt ALL the vibes. I was like… yeahhhh… this is how I feel about my hot neighbor right now. Problematic AF, as I’m 90% he is not feeling the same way about me. Either way, he’s an actor, I’m a writer, he’s right next door, and this fantasy is going to be projected onto him whether he likes it or not. It is what it is!

I did have a bit of a laugh though. He was hating on me for not having enough “Authentic Hong Kong Experiences.”

Meanwhile, I’m over here watching this movie like… “Wtf are you talking about, bro? I am having the MOST authentic HK experience right now. What do you even think living next door to someone like you is like for me, especially in this impossibly tiny, cramped space?! You do realize you’re a hot, sexy beefcake AND an actor AND British, right? Like, that’s basically a Triple Threat to me. It’s like the universe served me up my dream man then pulled an MC Hammer on me. Like, ‘U can’t touch this!’ RIDICULOUS!”

Yeah, it was depressing. In the end, I thought to myself, “Hmm… maybe I should go to Cambodia, or not, mostly because the vibe there right now is kinda scary. Soooo maybe back to India for my 300hr YTT course. I’ll whisper your name into a giant temple and then bury it with mud and grass. How romantic!”

And then I’ll just move onto the next hot, sexy beefcake because that’s just how it is these days…

Not that I necessarily want that. I just feel like he’s been pretty upfront about the fact that he finds me REALLY fucking weird and annoying. As I recall, he specifically said, “You are the strangest person I’ve ever met.”

He told me who he is, and I believe him. I learned this about men the hard way. Therefore, it is what it is.

That being said… he hasn’t asked me about his mail ONE TIME since using it as an excuse to unblock and re-follow me on Instagram. Just saying!

I did check for it though, because I’m me. Alas!

Anyway… what else did I do this week? Tried to start out the week productive, failed, then decided to re-watch Reservation Dogs to motivate me. I’ve rewatched it like 5 times now, but this time was different. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I’m a year removed from living in SD so it’s not as present in my every day life anymore. It felt like the very strong dose of medicine I needed this week.

If you haven’t seen this show, it’s focused on a group of teens living on the Rez in Oklahoma. It’s one of my favourite TV shows of ALL TIME. It’s fucking beautiful. The main theme of the show is dealing with Grief in various forms. Obviously it hits much different after losing so many family members to death in the last 5 years. I really, really, really needed to watch it way more than I thought. It was so healing. I felt so much better after my re-watch.

Inspired by my rewatch, I decided to go out this morning to meditation with a spirit plate, play the Lakota Ceremonial Songs Playlist, and ruminate on the Sun Dance. I pictured the Tree of Life and relived the memories of the ceremony.

Sure enough, one of my spirit guides appeared at the table. I’m pretty sure I know who she is now. I think she’s the Native woman from Shinnecock Nation my Great-Great-HoweverManyGreats Uncle married. He was a minister who worked with the Montaukett and Shinnecock during a smallpox epidemic that wiped most of them out.

I can prove this by the way. There is a significant record of this. This is not just some random shit I made up. I always felt some kind of connection there, but I didn’t know what it was. She led me to it eventually, but it took me awhile to figure out she was actually related to me and not a random spirit who decided to hitchhike when I was driving down Highway 18 through Pine Ridge and Rosebud.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure it was her because at the end, she said, “Thank you for acknowledging me. You’re the only person in our family who does. The rest of them are out there still pretending to be white. They’re the real Pretendians.”

That made me laugh, tbh.

Anyway, yeah, I don’t feel the need to justify this experience to anyone anymore because I know it’s real. I’m just more comfortable expressing it now that I don’t live in a small town full of crazy people who were determined to burn me alive at the stake every opportunity they got.

I asked her for some practical life advice and she told me to go to the eye doctor. Typical spirit shit, lol. She said, “Bad eyesight runs in your family. You lost your glasses two weeks ago and haven’t replaced them yet. You need to take better care of yourself in that way.”

So I booked an appointment for tomorrow. It’s a different system here. I looked around for the place with the most fashionable frames in HK and made an appointment with the optometrist tomorrow. I admit I’m relieved. Typing this right now without my glasses is actually pure torture right now. Can’t do it anymore. I’m shelling out the money for a prescription this time. That shit is real AF.

I asked her about other things too. Mostly about how to figure out my next step. It’s not like she can “tell me what to do” but she can give me general advice on the best direction to take.

It’s… complicated right now. I just… I don’t know. I don’t know!!!! I mean, I KNOW. I made a new vision board. I just… I don’t know. I feel so stuck.

It is what it is.

That being said, I love Hong Kong. I literally never want to leave this Island. However, I recognize that I am not in the healthiest place right now because of my grief and trauma, and I need to address that before I try to climb the career ladder again. Why not go to the Himalayas and do yoga while I figure it out?

I just have to be more serious this time. Goa was tough because it the first time. Bali felt more like a vacation from reality than anything else. Rishikesh, however… that is The Yoga Capital of the World. It’s very serious. Like… Fuck around and find out!

I need that. I need to be in a place where I can’t sneak out at night in search of alcohol to numb the pain of feeling my feelings. That being said… hook me up with dat Himalayan Kush, fam!

How do they say it in Reservation Dogs, “Weed is the Creator’s medicine, alcohol is the Devil’s work.”

Truth!

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Update from later:

Walked into some old man’s bday party. Definitely decided not to get myself involved. After all, I have nothing to say to a group of old married men.

Sat at the bar and minded my own business. Chatted with the bartender for awhile. Luckily, the one I kissed before wasn’t there. thank god. The story she told me was depressing. She was talking about how she has to grocery shop for 6 people in HK without a car. The entire time she was talking, I could not get the picture of my mom loading piles of groceries into the back of the minivan. I used to hate on it a lot, but now I truly appreciate the luxury the American people actually have.

And then we just pissed it away….

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Update from later later:

Will tell this part of the story later. To be continued…