Tag: IRA

BLOG: Lady, Interrupted

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Thursday.

At the coffee shop. One of my barista friends was so happy to see me when I came in. She was like, “OMG you are literally the first normal person to come in here today. All morning it’s been tourists! They just keep getting weirder and weirder. And then they treat us like we are the problem! What is that about?”

I am going to go out on a limb and guess the tourists in question are either Mainlanders or Russians. Everyone knows Mainlanders have some very specific, very strange behaviors that distinguish them from HongKongers. It’s fun to observe from afar. It’s not so fun when you’re right in the middle of a large group of them.

As for the Ruskies, well… I had my own unfortunate encounter with some tourists last night. It was… yeah.

I was not originally planning to go out last night because of my hangover. I was comfortably settled into bed watching movies when my friend messaged me out of nowhere and asked if I wanted to go out. It was about 10:30pm at this point. She is the one who I was supposed to go out with on St. Patrick’s Day, but she wasn’t feeling up to it.

We met up in Central around 11pm and walked around looking for a quiet place to chat. We found a super cute cocktail bar with an interior straight outta the palace of Versailles. Loved it! We were sitting there chatting and having a good time. That was when the Russians invaded.

A large group of them came in and flooded this tiny little place at once. All of them were wearing those stupid Leprechaun hats. They had clearly already been drinking for some time. They were loud and obnoxious and totally ruined the vibe. One of them even started doing Ye Olde Cossack Dance in the middle of the room. Don’t get me wrong; she was good as hell, but this was neither the time nor the place for such rowdiness.

We finished our drinks and relocated to a different place around the corner. It was still too loud. Neither of us were in the mood for that level of overstimulation. Either way, I was happy just to be there with her. It’s so refreshing to finally have a female friend I can just chill out and vibe with. I get so tired of being surrounded by men.

I really enjoyed hanging out with her last night. She reminds me to be grateful for this opportunity. I know I complain about my family all the time, but I do acknowledge the fact that they have helped me out financially A LOT. I just wish they wouldn’t be so fucking mean about it all the time. It’s essentially like getting paid to put up with constant verbal and emotional abuse. I just don’t want to listen to it anymore.

Literally, all I’m asking them to do is read my frickin’ blog. Read one of my stories. Just one time. Read a story! See where your money is actually going! Just one time! Bare minimum: acknowledge this website exists. Read a story. Stop saying crazy, unhinged shit like, “You’re not a REAL writer!” Yes, I am.

Do you even know how many men in Bangkok are angry with me right now because of the things I’ve written? How is that not real? And what about Bloody Mary’s? What about all the shit I stirred up when I was writing that? Furthermore, I am recognized and remembered as “Betsey Horton the Writer” everywhere I go. Everywhere. I can talk to someone for 20 minutes at a random bar in a place like Hong Kong, disappear for 3 months, come back, and be recognized STRAIGHT AWAY!

How is that not real? That is literally how celebrities are made! I didn’t choose this life. It chose me! People remember me. They remember my stories. I can’t wrap my head around their reasoning for pretending my entire body of work doesn’t exist.

Literally all my grandmother and aunt do is READ. You would think they would actually sit down and read what I have to write instead of shitting all over me and tearing me down all the time and pretending like I’m somehow different than Virginia Woolf or Jane Austen.

Virginia Woolf literally said, “A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.” She wrote a whole book about it! You think I haven’t read that shit?! Come on! Who do you think inspired me to do this in the first place?! The worst part is… I know they’ve read Virginia Woolf too!

They literally act like I sit around doing nothing all day and that’s not true! Yes, I need an editor. Yes, I need an agent. Yes, I need connections and job opportunities and a variety of other things I don’t have. I’m not there yet.

I need better stories than whatever garbage I was writing when I lived in South Dakota. I have the stories. I am overwhelmed with stories. I need an editor who is going to sit down with me and seriously help me sort of the stories. I am trying to find this person. It hasn’t happened yet. In the meantime, just lay off of me already, would you?!

This is all coming up for me because my selections for my double feature movie night yesterday were Lady Bird (which I had never seen) and Girl, Interrupted (which I have not watched in about 20 years). Lady Bird is basically the most accurate depiction I’ve ever seen in media of my relationships with my mother, aunt, and grandmother.

Girl, Interrupted is… a little more complicated than that. When I watched the movie and read the book for the first time, I was literally in and out of a hospital like that because I was struggling with depression and suicidal thoughts. It was meaningful to see the struggles of myself and those around me glamourized onscreen by the likes of Winona Ryder, Angelina Jolie, and Brittany Murphy.

While I could relate to some of it when I was 17, I did not have the understanding of mental illness that I have now. I had not found my way “out” yet. I would argue that I did not get “out” until last year when I got the job in Hong Kong and ran for my fucking life. Sometimes I feel like I’m still “in” that place, metaphorically speaking.

That’s why they call it the Hotel California. You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.

Here is another reason I am upset with Hermes. I recognized him from the Hotel California the first time I met him. We all know each other here, even when we are total strangers. He kept commenting on the fact that he noticed I had what he referred to as “prison behaviors.” I always sit with my back to the wall, facing the room, watching the door, monitoring who comes in and who comes out. He does the same thing. He learned how to do it when he was in prison to stay safe. Same, same. The only difference is that I was in a hospital.

I am quite open about this particular aspect of my history because I think it’s important to erase the shame and stigma around mental illness and encourage others to get the help they need. However, I was not quite so willing to share this information with a total stranger in Bangkok who walks around telling everyone he’s with the IRA (he’s not). He basically wormed his way in and gained enough trust for me to explain this to him, and then he turned around and used it against me.

Not cool, bro! Totally not cool!

So yeah, I think it’s only fair to put that image up and make him look at his own lie directly in the face. I hope he really takes the time to sit with that and think about the consequences of his behaviors towards others. As previously stated, he is such a little shit! He needs a wake up call. That’s why I say… next time I’m coming back with the Big Spoon. I could do so much worse than this. You got off easy this time, friend. Don’t do it again.

Ultimately, I think of him as my weird Black Sheep cousin from the North who nobody wants to talk to or about. I see him in a very childlike way, in spite of the fact that he is slightly older than me. He is very, very young in my mind. Like a Peter Pan type. Just living it up in Never, Never Land, totally unwilling to ever grow up.

I could never relate to Wendy until now. I had fun on my little adventure in Thailand, but ultimately I chose to leave because I knew it was time for me to grow up. Strange metaphor to make.

In my heart, I know I will always think of the Irishmen I met in Bangkok as my spiritual family. I’ve got my crazy uncle from Dublin who drinks too much and randomly imparts wisdom and knowledge when I need it. He taught me so much about my history and culture already.

Then we have the Moose, who is my weird cousin from way out in the country. Then the Hot Beef Stew, who I was attracted to the vague familiarity of him, only to discover much, much later that he is a distant cousin. Distant enough that it’s not totally gross, but still close enough to be inappropriate. Also, he is married, so No. Definitely not, No. And then Hermes, who, as previously stated, is the Black Sheep cousin from the North.

And there you have it: my first Irish fam. They taught me so much about myself. They inspired me to learn who I am and where I came from. Forget going back to Thailand! Put me on a plane straight to Ireland! I want to learn the Irish language and dig through the archives looking for my family and learn how to drive a stick shift so I can roam around County Cavan.

Yeah, forget the stag hunting. I’m going digging for my family history. I feel very strongly that my Irish Grandmother has tasked me with this. I have been doing my Ancestry work and it’s the Irish side that is completely missing from the tree. The only way I can get the information I need is to go there and dig through the library.

I feel like Indiana Jones running all over the map of the world right now. I remember this time last year, before I was offered the job that brought me to Asia, when I was deep in meditation and asking for a sign. I saw my dad appear holding his old globe that I saved from his office. I heard the theme song playing and watched the red lines appear, tracing a trail all over the world.

My barista friend just came out for a cigarette break and a chat. She asked me if I’m going back to Thailand. I said, “No, I need a break. I need to take some space from whatever shit I stepped in over there.”

She nodded and said, “Are you sure they’re not tracking you here in Hong Kong?”

“Oh, probably.”

“Aren’t you afraid they’re going to come here and find you?”

“Not really, no.”

“Why not?”

“I’m just… not.”

I have my own reasons for this. First of all, I haven’t actually written anything that bad. These men just can’t handle being told they’re acting like misogynist jerks by an American woman. That’s why they all fled the West and came to Thailand.

Second, I don’t think Hermes can actually leave the country. Even if he could, he’s a bit tied up at the moment taking care of his sick water buffalo. He’s all about posturing anyway. There are plenty of people higher up than him on the food chain who don’t consider me to be a threat to them. I doubt that’s going to be a significant problem.

As for Uncle Jason… seriously, like, whatever, bro. I literally do not care who he is or what he does. I am not interested. Sure, I have some vague notion of what he does, but I’ve decided to conveniently look the other way. I must busy myself with more important tasks instead.

Ultimately, I just wanted to teach Hermes a lesson. Most of them will agree he needs a good whack on the arse. Next time I’m coming back with the Big Spoon! Ya heard?!

Phew! That was A LOT! Time to quit writing for the day and tend to my other tasks. You know, like checking out this total beefcake who just walked by carrying something that looks like a lacrosse stick. I think that’s one of the GAA sports, isn’t it? Don’t they have something that looks like lacrosse? Yeah, that’s why the Irish and the Native Americans get along like peanut butter and jelly. They’re playing the same game, but the sticks look a bit different. It’s a whole thing.

See, this is what I’m talking about. Nobody cares about you, Uncle Jason. I’m not interested in your English bullshit, okay? I’m tired of being English. I’ve been English my whole life. I’m over it. I want to be Irish now. So I need to go learn about the Gaelic sports and watch some hot men run around a field with large sticks. Okay? Okay.

And she lived happily ever after.

The End

BLOG: The Call of the Wild Farang

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Monday.

I feel like I never write anymore since I put my latest manuscript together. Hong Kong has me focused on an entirely different beast, which is stability.

Naturally, I have made the irresponsible decision to escape this stressful, demanding lifestyle for a week to go to Bangkok. Why? Mostly because I can. I have not found a new apartment here in HK yet, so I have a gap in my living situation. I was stressing over endless fake Airbnb ads, and then the universe magically intervened.

Shortly after my previous post, I received an email informing me that I had literally accrued enough points from my previous hotel stays to go somewhere for an entire week for free. The same day, I also received a message on Facebook from a friend telling me it’s time for me to come back to visit Bangkok. It was all a strange coincidence indeed, and I do not believe in coincidences, so I figured… why not?

Why not answer the call of the wild farang? I can hear it from across the SEA. It’s saying, “Betsey, come take care of your sick water buffalo.” And by sick water buffalo, I definitely mean myself. I am the sick water buffalo, plagued by insomnia and existential dread.

Every day I wake up and watch the news. I see someone innocent being kidnapped, beaten, and/or murdered in broad daylight in the street. I can’t escape the feeling of guilt that I can’t do anything to help. It’s shitty.

Welcome to being Irish, lol!

I know what all of you are thinking:

Betsey, are you not worried about Thai immigration? Not really, no. All of my paperwork is 100% in order this time. I can prove that I legally reside in Hong Kong and I am not trying to live in “The Kingdom” illegally on a tourist visa. Plus, I already planned out my entire mini break.

It goes: spa, massage, hair, nails, yoga, pool, visiting friends, and hitting up every Irish Pub I can find. You know, for my “ancestry research.” It’s very hard to find Irish people in Hong Kong. I would like to know more about what it means to be Irish. There are lots of Irish people in Bangkok. So let’s go meet some Irish people and party it up!

Hopefully, we won’t run into Mr. Hot Beef Stew again. If we do, I’ll just tell him I have a girlfriend… or is it a wife?

Hahaha!

That aside, I’ve got my return flight booked and I can show my correspondence with my real estate agent proving I’m residing in Hong Kong. That’s literally all they want. It’s not that difficult. Sometimes we learn these lessons the hard way!

Thailand: great place to visit, not so much to stay, unless you are okay with becoming a total degenerate, which I am not. I’ve already lived that life. I want more than that. So much more. I just don’t know how to climb the ladder in front of me. It is what is.

I know what you’re thinking:

Betsey, why don’t you go to the beach? The answer is because I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts. I want to see my friends so that I don’t have to be alone with my thoughts. I lived in isolation in a small town in the middle of nowhere for a decade and a half where everyone I met treated me like shit because I was different. I don’t want to be in the middle of nowhere. I don’t want to get away from people. I just want to be in a big city surrounded by people all the time. It is what it is. Hit me up in a few decades when I’m all city’d out, if that ever even happens.

Apartment hunting in HK is a challenge to be sure. That’s part of the reason I’m in this situation. Airbnb is full of fake ads. I finally gave in and hit up an agent at ResidenceHK in search of serviced apartments that offer amenities such as laundry and housekeeping and 24/7 security, none of which my current apartment has. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve been living in an illegal apartment in a commercial building, which explains the lack of pretty much everything. The lack of security is the biggest dealbreaker for me, to be honest. I hate coming home every day to find the gate wide-open for any random person can wander in. That’s why I’m leaving it up to the professionals to guide me on this one. They know Hong Kong much, much better than I do.

My friend says she had the same issue when she first moved here. She was staying in a building with no security and that’s why she could not sleep at night. She said she suspects the reason I am not sleeping is because I don’t feel safe in my building. Safe in Hong Kong, yes, but not safe in this specific building.

This is partially the reason I decided to take this mini break. Mostly it was the offer of a free stay that hooked me. It’s not really “free” because I’ll be blowing money on food, drinks, and “goodies,” but at least I don’t have to pay for the giant loft full of natural light and extra space for my yoga mat. That is very important to me, especially because finding a job is really hard right now!

Ugh, job hunting. The bane of my existence. It seems to be a total shitshow for everyone worldwide right now. Once you’re off the market, you’re off the market. It’s impossible to get back in unless you know someone. I’ve spent a lot of my time here trying to network and meet as many people as I can. I am making some good contacts. I talk to as many people as I possibly can.

It’s just… I don’t know how to use those contacts to help me in my job hunt. It feels weird and exploitive to just ask a stranger to help you find a job. I’m not very good at it. I just talk to people for the sake of talking to people at this point. There’s so many fascinating people with interesting stories to tell. Everyone I meet is a character. It’s what makes life worth living to me.

I have not spoken to anyone in my family except my brother in many moons now. I stopped speaking to my grandmother after her crazy “You’re not a real writer!” speech. That was really shitty of her. It’s been about two months since that happened now. Honestly, I don’t miss her. I’d rather visit with the spirit of my Irish grandmother who is deceased instead.

I did talk to my uncle (dad’s brother) via email. He was telling me what he knew about our Irish heritage. I don’t think he expected me to find anything, so he was very surprised when I came back with new information really fast. I have not heard from him since, unfortunately. Not really sure what’s going on there.

Anyway, should be fun going out on my little Irish adventure in Thailand. I can’t even imagine what I will encounter. All I know is that it will make a great story. That’s all I care about in life. I just want to write a great story. When I was reading my manuscript, the best stories and characters came out of Bangkok. It’s like, cancel this book and give this epic sideshow its time in the spotlight. We are so here for it!

I know, I know, I could go somewhere else. I could go to Vietnam or Taiwan or Cambodia. But I don’t want to right now. I want to go to Bangkok. Why? Because I love it there, in spite of all its ridiculousness. I need the inspiration. And here’s the thing about Thailand: once you become a prisoner of the Kingdom, they own your soul forever. Ask anyone who has been there. They already know.

I don’t foresee having the same issues this time around. According to my information, the creepy British Guy, aka that stupid, wanker is long gone. He has taken the girlfriend he bought and paid for off to an island somewhere. Gross.

Likewise, my “friend” from the IRA is still up Chiang Mai, so I will not have to worry about him stalking me. There is one other character left who could potentially cause some trouble, but I’m sure if I just keep making jokes in his general direction, he’ll relax a bit. Maybe. Or maybe he’ll drink another five pints and have a screaming meltdown at me again. I guess I’ll just offer to bring him a plate of Hot Beef Stew, ayyyyye!

Either way, I’m here for it. Bring on the stories!

He can’t really still be made about his friend, can he? I mean, jaysus, Mary, and Joseph, that was so not on me! He totally lied straight to my face! And anyway, there’s like a zero percent chance I’ll see that guy ever again.

Famous last words, naa?

Just kidding, of course.

Otherwise, I have already made plans to see several of my friends I made there. Should be a good time! They may be degenerates, but at least they are real AF. If I never see any of those fake, self-centered idiots from the Yoga shala in Bali ever again, it will be far too soon.

The people I meet in Hong Kong are very different from both of these groups. Most are either working or students. Many are escaping their old lives back home. They tend to be serious, professional, intelligent, highly educated, and motivated. It’s good energy to be around. I meet the best people here, honestly.

I go to this gay club every weekend. I’ve already made tons of friends. I met a dancer two weeks ago who teaches dance classes. She offered to set me up an interview with her studio owner to teach yoga there. So, at least that’s one promising lead I have. Otherwise… I’ve applied to over a dozen jobs and I’ve been rejected and/or ghosted by all of them. The market in general is shit worldwide. It is not a reflection of me.

Still trying to follow up with that journalist I met in Bali, as well as the reporter from CNN. Both of them are hard to get ahold of. I’m planning to write some fluff pieces on tourism in Bangkok for some new portfolio material to pass around. You know, “Top 5 Best Irish Pubs in Bangkok” and that kind of crap. Anything to get away from my unpleasant past in South Dakota. I have nothing positive to say about it. That time in my life was literally a nightmare. I am grateful every day I finally escaped. I never want to go back to that miserable shithole ever again.

In so many ways, I still feel so lost. I am lost at SEA, adrift and clinging to a floating island of plastic, waiting for the moment I finally see land again. I crave stability so badly. I want the job, I want the career, I want the apartment, I want a long-term relationship, and a family and a home. Yet it all feels so impossible, so far away.

Still, I would rather be here than back in the States. I will never regret leaving. I don’t regret taking a chance and coming abroad. It’s always been my dream. I just didn’t expect it to go this far off the rails. Anyway, I trust the universe to manifest what I need, even if it doesn’t look like what I want.

I need to go start packing now. I finally got some space bags from the shop around the corner. That will make everything 100x easier. I have to put some of my luggage in storage while I’m gone because I don’t want to drag everything with me all the way to Bangkok again. I had to buy some warmer clothes because we had a cold snap here. I wasn’t expecting to need a fuzzy jacket and a couple of sweaters, but here we are. It is what it is.

I won’t need the winter clothes in Thailand. The weather forecast for the week is hot and sunny. Unlike here, where it will still be cold and cloudy. Definitely ready to relax out by the pool and soak up the sun!

Off now. Wish me luck on my journey back to the Ye Olde Land of Siam!

BLOG: My Irish Family

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Friday. How did it get to be Friday already? The days go by so fast here. Now I understand why they say, “It’s already tomorrow in Hong Kong.” It really is.

I’ve spent the last few days finding my way around the Mid-Levels, grocery shopping, budgeting, cleaning, and organizing. It’s very boring, lol, but it needs to be done. Now I am out on my rooftop with my coffee from the shop around the corner and my yoga mat. I’m going to do my routine after this. I haven’t done my full 60-min Hatha yoga routine in…. Well… since I was in Bali. Yeah. It’s bad.

Anyway, last night was very upsetting. I finally got ahold of my maternal grandmother, who I have frequently mentioned I do not enjoy talking to, but feel obligated to do so anyway because she is over the age of 80. The reason for this is because I am a free spirit and she is very old-fashioned and controlling. Traditional. Conservative. You know. English. Or as we say in the States, WASPy AF.

I have not spoken to her since before Thanksgiving. Yeahhhhh. So I had to tell her the whole story about how I returned to Hong Kong. She was not happy to hear about my Thai immigration jail stay, nor was she happy to hear that I returned to Hong Kong. She was even less happy to hear that I was given a choice between being deported back to the U.S. or going to HK and I chose HK.

I could hear the anger in her voice, but I could tell she was trying to hold it back. She was never happy for me. I didn’t even tell her I was coming here until after I had already bought my ticket and gotten my visa paperwork. I also didn’t tell her I was going to India until the day before I left. There are obvious reasons why. I was trying to go to Paris for so many years, and my mother, grandmother, older sister, and aunt would sabotage me every single time. Every single time. They are not good people. I left so that I wouldn’t have to live my life under their oppressive control anymore.

As is tradition, she just had to find a way to try to pull the rug out from underneath my feet and steal away my joy. They always do this. They can’t just be happy for me. They always have to try to knock me down. Always. And usually, I let them. I’ve spent my whole life letting them tell me what to do and control everything. Now I’m free of them and they don’t like it. So when she came for me last night, she attacked the one thing none of them have ever been able to take away from me: my writing.

She told me, in this exact words, that I “need to give up my dream of being a writer. It’s not a real thing.That’s just something private you do for yourself. No one has ever read any of your work. You’ve never been published. No one wants to listen to the stories you have to tell. Just let it go already.”

As soon as she said it, I felt the fire inside of me burning. That fire. That Irish Fire. The fire my Irish Family in Bangkok brought out in me at the American Bar. The fire they taught me to see, to feel, to use to do something good for this world. I felt it rise up inside of me so fast. I just knew in that moment exactly what I had to do.

Finally, for the first time in my life, I stood up to her and told her to fuck all the way off. Literally, why is it so difficult for people to just be happy for me?!

I said, “How dare you insult me like that. I have an entire portfolio of self-published work available to read on my website, including my newspaper column from university. I’ve written multiple books. My blog has caused so much controversy. The only person who doesn’t read it is you. You’ve never read it. You refuse to even acknowledge it exists! You don’t know me at all. Don’t you ever say to me to give up on my dream.”

She immediately tried to backtrack and say, “You misunderstood me.”

“No,” I said writhing a strength in my voice I’ve never heard before. “I heard you loud and clear. You’ve been saying the exact same thing to me for the last ten years. You don’t understand me. You’ve never understood me. You don’t love me. You never have. I will not let you or any of your family control my life anymore. Get it through your head: I am not like you. I don’t want to be like you. I am never going to be like you. You don’t get to tell me who I am or what to do anymore.”

Then I hung up and threw my phone into a pile of pillows. Then I went over to said pillows and beat the crap out of them while crying and screaming into them so as to not disturb my neighbors. I was so upset. So upset. Yet somehow, I felt so much stronger in that moment than I ever have in my entire life. I finally stood up to her and in that moment I felt proud.

Eventually I calmed myself down and fell asleep. In my dream, I was taking the escalator up through the Mid-Levels. At the top was an Irish Pub. When I walked inside, I saw my Irish grandmother (who is deceased) sitting at a table surrounded by a group of strangers dressed in old-fashioned clothes. Somehow I instantly knew it was my Irish Family. The side of my family I’ve never really known.

“Surprise!” she exclaimed. “Congratulations, sweetheart. Welcome back to Hong Kong! We are so proud of you. I am so proud of you. Come over here and sit down with me.”

I sat down at the table with her and she took my hands in hers. She was not old anymore. She looked young, happy, vibrant, and fresh. I looked around at the ghosts behind her. They were all smiling at me, but they did not say anything.

“Is my dad here?” I asked.

“Not today, sweetheart. He’s helping someone else right now. I’m the one you need to see today.”

I nodded at her and let her speak.

“I’m sorry about your other grandmother,” she said. “Truthfully speaking, I never liked her. I never much cared for your mother either. I never understood what your father saw in her. I didn’t like the way they treated other people. I especially never liked the way they treated you. I wouldn’t stay quiet about it. That’s why they were always trying to keep me away from you.”

I am crying as I write this. Just sobbing. The pile of tissues on the table just keeps getting bigger as I go on.

“I knew from the first moment I held you in my arms that you were special. Everyone knew you were special. Everyone. They all knew. They always knew. That’s why they treated you the way they did. That’s why they always try to put you down. They’re jealous of you because they know you are special. You were always meant to be special. You were always meant to walk a different path. They’ve been trying to block you from that path for a long time now. Now they know they can’t anymore.”

I nodded at her. I know it too. Deep down in my heart, I’ve always known it. I know that I am special too. I know. I was always so different from everyone else around me. They punished me for it. They tried to make me into someone I could never be. That’s why I ran away from home. I couldn’t be who they wanted me to be. I will never be what they want me to be.

“I am so proud of you,” my grandmother continued. “So proud. It was always my dream to travel the world, but I couldn’t because I had four kids instead. You are doing something now that the women in our family have never been able to do. You’re so strong. You’re so brave. I am so proud of you. I can’t believe you made it all the way to Hong Kong! Wow! I always wanted to go to Hong Kong. I always wanted to see China. I love Chinese art, history, culture, food. I’m so grateful I taught you to appreciate it too. You don’t recoil with fear or hatred when you meet someone different like the other side of your family does. You just dive right on in. I admire you so much.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I am still crying right now as I write this.

“You are going to be a great writer someday. I know it. I see it. And I’m here to guide you every step of the way.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s time for us to go now,” she said. “But we have one more surprise for you.”

The ghosts surrounding her stepped aside to clear the view of the bar. Sitting on the line was my Irish Family in Bangkok. Hermes, the Moose, my Uncle, and yes, even Mr. Mark Antony himself. He looked at me with a little smile and nodded his head in approval. Then they all raised their glasses for a cheers.

It was at precisely this moment that I jumped awake in bed. I could still hear my grandmother’s voice in my head: “I love you. I’m so proud of you. I’ll always be here for you. I’m always watching over you. I love you. I’m so proud of you, Betsey. I’m so proud.”

I knew in that moment what I had to do. I got out of my bed, sat down at my metaphorical typewriter, and I wrote our story.

Now all of you are reading it too…