Tag: Old Irish Uncle

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

SCRIPT: Liz vs Hermes

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EXT: A Muay Thai Gym somewhere in Bangkok, Thailand. The sign above the door reads “Jace’s Place.” A Grab bike pulls up out front and an Irishman hops off. He adjusts his little messenger bag and smooths his back. He takes a deep breath as he walks through the door. His name is HERMES.

Inside he sees a woman with short, straight bleach blonde hair dressed in a red two-piece yoga set standing in the middle of the ring. She glares at him as she plants her hands on her hips and taps her foot impatiently. She is LIZ.

LIZ: You’re late.

HERMES: I just came from Chiang Mai. I didn’t realize you were waiting here for me, Betsey.

LIZ: Betsey isn’t here today. My name is Liz.

HERMES looks her over and laughs.

HERMES: What, do you have multiple personalities or something?

LIZ: That’s right.

HERMES: Are you the good one or the bad one?

LIZ: I’m the one you don’t want to fuck with.

HERMES laughs at her again.

HERMES: Or what?

LIZ: Or you end up in a story like this. I have a whole collection of them. I write them when I want to take my revenge.

HERMES: And what, exactly, are you taking revenge for today?

LIZ: You. All of you. You dragged me into a mess that I don’t want any part of. You think I am just some stupid, naive little girl, but what you don’t know is that I have a very serious anger problem and I am going to take it out on you today.

HERMES: Why me?

LIZ: Because you have the most punchable face.

HERMES: So what? You think I’m gonna get in that ring and fight you?

LIZ: You have no choice.

HERMES: And what does Uncle Jason think about you using his place for this?

LIZ: He’s indisposed at the moment.

Cut to shot of UNCLE JASON tied up in a broom closet with a sock stuffed into his mouth. The scene quickly cuts back to the ring, where a THAI GIRL brings over a set of boxing gloves and presents them to HERMES.

HERMES: I’m not going to fight you, Betsey. I told you, I don’t hit women.

LIZ: That’s not what I’ve heard. And stop calling me Betsey. MY name is Liz. We are not the same. Now put on the goddamn gloves and get in the goddamn ring.

HERMES: I’m not getting in the fucking ring!

LIZ: GET IN THE FUCKING RING!

HERMES: Or what?

Suddenly, the door bursts open and a much older Irishman with long, wild hair marches in with a taser. He points it right at HERMES. HERMES gasps at the sight of the only person he is legitimately afraid of.

TASEER: Get in the fucking ring, Hermes.

HERMES: What are you doing here?

TASER GUY: [shrugs] Bit of a slow day. Now get in the ring.

HERMES takes the gloves nervously and climbs up into the ring.

HERMES: How did you even meet this woman?

TASER GUY: At the same place she met all of you. The American Bar.

Cut to shot of the inside of the American Bar, where all the lads are gathered to watch the Greatest Show on Earth. LYDIA, the bartender, cues up the TVs to play the live CCTV feed from the gym. She takes out a giant bowl and starts passing it around the bar.

LYDIA: Gentlemen, place your bets!

OLD MAN SMILEY: I’ve got 50 baht on Hermes! That little cunt doesn’t stand a chance against him.

OKLAHOMA: I don’t know about that one, Smiley. She’s got a lotta rage. I’ll put 100 baht on Betsey.

UNCLE SEAMUS: Ooh, this is a tough one. They’re pretty evenly matched. What does my beautiful wife think about this?

AUNTIE EM: [jumps up and down with a big smile on her face] Betsey! Betsey! Betsey!

UNCLE SEAMUS: Whatever you say, sweetheart. 50 baht for each of us on Betsey, but only because I enjoy watching Hermes get punched in the face. Never gets old!

CHICAGO EAST: I’ll bet 100 baht on Hermes. Betsey is just a spoiled little Princess. He’ll take her out in one punch.

FINN: This is not possible. You always underestimate this woman, Chi. This is your greatest mistake. I’m putting 200 baht on her knocking him out with one punch.

NEW YORK YANKEE: 500 baht and a round of shots on Betsey. She’s no delicate little lady, Chi. I agree with Finn. She’s gonna knock him right the fuck out.

MR. POSH: 500 baht on Betsey. She’s been to my house. She’s ridden on camels. She knows the date of the Norman Invasion. She’s definitely gonna win this round!

THE MOOSE: I will also wager 500 baht on Betsey. She might be a lady, but she’s a real Irish country girl at heart. I fully believe she can hold her own in a fight. What do you think, Antony?

Everyone in the bar turns around and looks at MR. ANTONY (aka the Hot Beef Stew). He sits in silence for a moment as he thinks it over. He then pulls a crisp, clean 1000 baht note out of his wallet and throws it in the bowl.

MR. ANTONY: I choose Betsey. That riff-raff Hermes deserves exactly what’s coming to him. I do not appreciate the way he interfered in our affair. He caused a lot of problems for both of us.

CHICAGO EAST: I can’t believe you’re gonna bet 1000 baht on her after she called you a ‘dirty little slut’ on her blog!

MR. ANTONY: [shrugs with indifference] I deserved it.

THE MOOSE: I thought you didn’t read her blog, Chi.

CHICAGO EAST: I don’t! I mean… sometimes I do… I mean… doesn’t everyone?

MR. ANTONY: That reminds me, has anyone seen Jason today? I feel like he should be here.

The scene cuts back to the broom closet, where UNCLE JASON finally spits the sock out of his mouth.

UNCLE JASON: [screaming] I’m gonna KILL that little cunt! You hear me, Betsey Horton?! I’m gonna fucking kill you!

The door to the broom closet suddenly bursts open. The TASER GUY stands in the doorway, holding his taser menacingly.

TASER GUY: You will do no such thing, Jason. She’s under my protection now. You leave her be or I’ll zap your dumb ass.

UNCLE JASON: Ugh! Fine! Will you at least let me go so I can watch the fight? I’m betting 10,000 baht on Hermes right now.

TASER GUY: You’re making a big mistake, but okay. Ladies!

Two THAI GIRLS come into the broom closet and help UNCLE JASON off the floor. They untie him and escort him to a bench by the ring. The TASER GUY takes a seat next to him.

The camera pans over back to the ring and re-focuses on LIZ and HERMES. Another THAI GIRL climbs into the ring to act as the referee. LIZ takes a step back from the center, puts her hands in prayer, and bows to him in respect. HERMES rolls his eyes and holds up his gloves.

HERMES: I just want to warn you in advance. This is going to be over pretty fast.

LIZ: It sure is.

REFEREE: Round 1! Go!

The bell rings to signal the start of the match. LIZ raises her arms above her head and lifts one leg into Crane Pose. She steps back gracefully into Warrior II and motions with her hand for HERMES to come at her. He steps forward to take a swing right at her face. Much to his surprise, she dodges him fast. He loses his balance and stumbles forward. LIZ promptly knocks him down onto the floor with a roundhouse kick to the face. He lands on his back and stares up at her in awe as she looks down at him with disgust.

HERMES: How did you do that?

LIZ: I’m a fucking yoga teacher, you dumb fuck. That’s how.

LIZ proceeds to beat the ever-living shit out of HERMES, destroying his perfectly punchable face in record time. The crowd at the bar watch in silent awe, their jaws dropping to the floor one by one.

LIZ: DON’T. [punch] YOU. [punch] EVER. [punch] MESS WITH ME AGAIN. [punch] DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!

HERMES goes limp on the floor as she knocks him out with one last punch. The REFEREE pulls LIZ off the poor bastard and holds her arm up in the air.

REFEREE: The winner is Liz!

LIZ rips off her gloves and throws them down on the ground so hard they bounce out of the ring. She lets out a primal scream of pure rage like none of these men have ever heard in their lives. It’s kinda scary, but also kinda hot? She spits on HERMES as she stands over his limp body.

LIZ: Happy St. Patrick’s Day, motherfucker.

LIZ storms out of the ring and disappears somewhere off screen. TASER GUY roars with laughter as he looks over at UNCLE JASON. He is frozen in shock.

TASER GUY: I told you it was a bad bet to make.

UNCLE JASON: But… but… what… I don’t understand how this could have happened. You fixed it, didn’t you?

TASER GUY: I didn’t have to.

UNCLE JASON: Fuck!

Meanwhile, at the bar, everyone is sitting there in stunned silence. The camera takes a moment to focus on each individual expression as it pans across the bar. LYDIA calmly stands over the cash register, counting out the winnings. She puts all of the cash in an envelope and hands it over to MR. ANTONY. As per usual, she is all business.

OLD MAN SMILEY: Wow.

OKLAHOMA: I told you she has a lotta rage.

UNCLE SEAMUS: That’s my niece, everyone! That’s my long-lost Irish niece!

AUNTIE EM: [smiles proudly] My niece! My niece!

UNCLE SEAMUS: That’s right, honey. Family. Not a threat. Family.

AUNTIE EM: [nods] Family.

FINN: I told you not to underestimate her, Chi.

CHICAGO EAST: [stares at the ground with shame]

MR. POSH: That was fun! Let’s face it: That fucker Hermes has had it coming for YEARS! I don’t feel the least bit sorry for him. Sooner or later he was going to mess with the wrong person. I just didn’t think it would be… a girl.

THE MOOSE: [staring up at the TV with stars in his eyes] She’s not a girl. That’s a real woman right there. I think I’m in love with her.

MR. ANTONY: [pats THE MOOSE on the back in solidarity and chuckles] I know I am.

NEW YORK YANKEE: [gets out of his seat and rings the bell loudly] Lydia! A round of shots for the bar, please!

LYDIA already has the plate prepared. She passes out the shots and everyone holds theirs up high. Everyone except CHICAGO EAST, who is still staring at the floor in silence. Just as they are about the take the shot, the door opens and BETSEY walks in. She has long dark, curly hair and is wearing a black maxi dress. Everyone freezes and stares at her in shock.

BETSEY: What are you all staring at?

NEW YORK YANKEE: How did you get here so fast?

BETSEY: What are you talking about? You know I only live one block down the street. I’ve been in my apartment all afternoon. I was taking a nap.

CHICAGO EAST: But… but… but… that was you. It was you up there on the TV. It was you.

BETSEY: Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

OLD MAN SMILEY: Whaddaya talkin’ about? You got multiple personalities or something?

BETSEY smirks at him knowingly and shrugs.

BETSEY: Maybe I do…

The Krewe looks at her with a mix of fear and awe as she walks up to CHICAGO EAST and picks up his shot glass.

BETSEY: I’ll take that. Slainte, fam!

UNCLE SEAMUS: SLAINTE!

Everyone takes the shot. BETSEY walks over to MR. ANTONY. He hands her the envelope of cash.

MR. ANTONY: Your winnings…

BETSEY: Thank you, darling. I’m sorry for all of this.

MR. ANTONY: I’m sorry too. I should have been honest with you.

BETSEY: Thank you. I would have gone with you anyway. I don’t have healthy boundaries around these sorts of things.

MR. ANTONY: Are we okay now?

BETSEY: Yes. I told you. I like you.

MR. ANTONY: Still?

BETSEY: Always. You’re one of my Muses now.

MR. ANTONY: Just like your Andrew.

BETSEY: Yes. Just like My Andrew. Except you are way, way, way hotter than he was! That’s why I call you my Hot Beef Stew.

MR. ANTONY: Grand.

BETSEY: Grand!

They exchange one last look before she turns to the crowd and waves goodbye.

BETSEY: See you later, everyone!

BETSEY walks out of the bar, clicks her heels together three times, and lands back in Hong Kong.

The End.

BLOG: Duplicitous

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Tuesday. The day after the crazy drinking marathon known as the Super Bowl. What a day it was…

After the event ended, I was left alone with my Old Irish Uncle, who insisted upon imparting more of his ancient wisdom upon me. This is how I learned that Hermès has been untrustworthy all along.

I was recounting the night the two of them got together and blew up my date with the British Guy, followed up immediately by the story about the Hot Beef Stew. He made a face at me.

“What a duplicitous bastard,” my Uncle said, in direct reference to the Hot Beef Stew. “He’s a liar on many levels. Not good for you.”

“Duplicitous,” I repeated. “That’s a good word for him.”

I turned my attention back to Hermès.

“Uncle,” I said. “Do you know that Hermès has been following me around?”

My Uncle made the same face at me again.

“What do you mean by that?”

“He was liking all my social media posts, he was sharing my blog around, he was all up in my business, and he fed me a fake story about the identity of the Hot Beef Stew.”

My Uncle shook his head in disappointment.

“I told Hermès to stay away from you. You know, the only reason he intervened is because he wanted you for himself. I told him no. Absolutely not. You’re a real Lady and you’re too good for him. There’s nothing he can offer you that’s in your best interest. He only cares about himself.”

I took out my phone and showed him our lengthy correspondence on Instagram. He shook his head again.

“I don’t want you corresponding with him anymore. He’s no good for you. He’s no good at all.”

“I am not corresponding with him at present. He blocked me because I called him a child soldier.”

At this, my Uncle’s eyes lit up. He roared with laughter.

“Toy Soldier, did you say? You called him a Toy Soldier? Hahahahaha! Oh boy, I bet he didn’t like that at all.”

“He did not. I also called him a little messenger boy.”

My Uncle’s eyes sparkled at me.

“That’s exactly what he is.”

“Right. So we don’t talk anymore.”

“Good. Keep it that way. Betsey, you don’t understand. He is full of shit. He would fuck you and throw you away and then go back to his girlfriend. That’s what he does to women. I’ve seen him do it a hundred times. He doesn’t care about you.”

“That’s why I kept him at arm’s length. I was more curious about his background story than anything else.”

“Oh yes, that, well… let me tell you something right now: he is no freedom fighter. He is not in the IRA. He is Irish Mafia. He’s a gangster. He is up to no good. I want you to stay away from him. You don’t know who these people are. You could end up dead. So, no. Stay away from him. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“It’s too bad he’s one of the only Irish people you’ve met. We need to get you out more. There’s better people out there than that riff-raff.”

“So wait, what you’re saying is that he lied to me? He never actually liked my writing?”

My Uncle just shook his head at me.

“That duplicitous bastard!”

Sometime later in the day, the two of us were sitting with an obnoxious American tourist and a random Irishman who had wandered in. The American guy was super off. I don’t know if it was drugs or the effect Thailand has on people in general, but I really didn’t like him. He was super not chill.

Unfortunately, I was stuck with him, as this is around the time my Uncle’s Thai wife, who absolutely hates me, decided to come down to the bar to fish him out. She was not happy that he had stayed there with me all day long talking, for she is a very jealous woman.

“Oh Uncle,” I said to him as joke in front of some of the other regulars who had come in. “Here you are so worried about me getting shot in the head by the IRA when in reality it’s your wife who has been plotting to kill me all along.”

All of the good old boys started laughing together. Even Mr. Antony’s Friend finally cracked a smile. I’m pleased to see I’m finally starting to win him over with my award-winning personality.

His energy was strangely calm when he first saw me. I did not see the signs of anger in him anymore. He gave me a glazed over look, passed me by, and said nothing. I wondered if he’d read my most recent posts about my discovery about the identity of the Hot Beef Stew. Perhaps he has finally accepted the inevitable, which is that I am here to stay. What his motives are, I do not know.

I only know that I have been dubbed “one of the lads” and therefore cleared to hang around in a bar full of men. Well done me, I guess.

At the end of the evening, I decided to go to the pot shop and then head home. It was a full day out that started at 7:30am and ended… I don’t even want to say when.

I agreed to let my new Irish friend give me a ride there on his scooter. We hung out in the hip hop lounge, which is always a vibe, and then he gave me a ride back to my apartment. He was pretty good on the scooter. I wasn’t afraid at all. Usually, I am very much afraid of the bikes and scooters. Must have been the whole Irish thing.

When I woke up this morning, the weight of the conversation about Hermès was weighing on me. I was not happy to receive this news. I already knew all of it, but being told directly to my face of his ill-intentions for me was upsetting. I’m just very tired of duplicitous men in general. I have a lot of bad experiences behind me. The last thing I want is more…

The other issue still weighing on my mind is that of Hong Kong. I love Hong Kong, I really do. It’s such a special place. But I also think I am just happier here in Bangkok. I think the pace and lifestyle suits me more. I guess it’s easier to see that now.

I also think it’s a matter of giving myself permission to explore and figure out what is right for me. Some days I feel like I don’t know who I am or what my purpose is. I’m just adrift at SEA, clinging onto the nearest floating island of plastic, hoping to land safely on shore.

I’m only in my first year here. So many of the people I meet and talk to have lived abroad for a decade, at least. They say I am still so young, so fresh, so green. There is so much to this world I do not yet know or understand. It’s okay to make some mistakes along the way!

And so, here we are at the end of another crazy adventure. Every day is a new story. That’s what I like most about Bangkok: the stories. Hong Kong is so busy and fast-paced. It’s harder to find the stories.

I don’t know what I want or what to do. I guess I should just go meditate on it…

BLOG: The Headache

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Saturday morning.

Here we are at the coffee stand after whatever that experience was last night. It was strange, but it is Thailand. What is the point of being here if you do not go out to a full moon party made up of old expat men and hallucinate from drinking the kratom tea?

Now we can check that experience off our bucket list, I suppose. I’m glad I ran all the way home just to vomit in the toilet and then imagine myself entrapped in a giant honeycomb-shaped trap made up entirely of golden goo?

Of all the hallucinations I’ve had while taking various drugs in the last year, that one would probably be ranked at the top for most pleasant experiences. I guess he decided to go for the Gold after all. Well done, man. Well done.

I did run into my Old Irish Uncle last night. I showed him my family tree. He was very happy to hear that he inspired me to go digging for my family. Then he suggested I just fly to Ireland direct. I agree with him on that one.

I asked him if he knew how my dear friend Hermes is doing. He said, “Oh, well, you know how he is.”

“Yes,” I said, “I do know. He is always so busy taking care of everyone else that he takes no time to take care of himself. I always say to him, ‘Hermes, you need to chill out, do some yoga, and eat some butter cookies.’ But he does not listen to me.”

My Uncle looked at me increduously and let out a hearty laugh.

“That is sooooo NOT who he is.”

“Well, maybe it should be.”

He laughed at me again.

As per usual, he asked me if I was “all loved up,” which is apparently Irish for, “Have you gotten laid lately?” I explained that no, I have not been with anyone since my mysterious Irish Guy, aka the Hot Beef Stew.

This is the same man, who, as we all recall, lectured me about “not acting like such a slut” while putting his shorts back home to go see his girlfriend or wife or whatever she is. Sounds like you’re the slutty one here, Mr. Antony.

And so, dear reader, I have not been out “acting like a slut,” mostly because I’m tired of dealing with rakes and scoundrels such as this dirty dog over here. He ruined all of the fun for me.

I did not say any of that to my Uncle, but I did feel it in my heart and soul as I jokingly said, “Oh Uncle, you were right about that handsome Irishmen. I can’t forget that magical night we had. I am a changed woman since. He really lived up to all the hype.”

He gave me an approving nod and said quite seriously, “Ireland better watch out!”

Damn straight.

“It’s good to see you acting more like a Lady,” he said. “Hong Kong has been good to you. Off with you now, then. That’s enough lessons for today. Remember what I taught you: always stand up for yourself, and keep that fire alive inside.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I hope you find your family.”

“Thank you.”

We went back inside, where the mood towards me was chilly, at best. It was fun just to watch them react around me. Mr. Antony’s Friend is definitely making himself obnoxious. He follows me everywhere. He is all up in my beeswax.

Like, what is there to overhear, sir? My list of the Top 10 Best Expat-Owned Restaurants in Hong Kong? My subscription to ClassPass? My difficult search to find a new apartment that isn’t a tiny, dark, cramped, little box?

It’s flattering, to be sure. I can’t even imagine what this Krewe must get up to if they are circling around me like sharks, waiting for the best moment to strike. I’m sure it’s something well beyond my wildest imagination. It would probably be something that only happens in the movies…

This guy absolutely hates me. I don’t even know why! I didn’t even write about him until now. Sorry, I got dickmatized by your man’s lucky charms over here. What I can say? They’re magically delicious?

Honestly, I wasn’t expecting this either. I expected him to just fade away like they always do. But not this one. This one oh-so-helpfully pulled out a map of Ireland and sent me off on a wild adventure through Hallmark Channel Original Hallucination Land.

It’s funny to watch Mr. Antony’s Friend react to me. He’s so, so, so serious. The only person I’ve met who was more serious was Mr. Antony. It took forever to get him to crack a smile. He didn’t laugh at any of my jokes. He’s definitely a control freak. I could tell by the way he raised his eyebrow when I suggested he schedule in some sexy time with me.

I guess I don’t know what they are all so serious about. I am a reasonable person. My silence can be bought. You just need to provide me with the financial compensation I require to be able to afford not to move forward with this book. It really is quite simple. You just have to put an offer on the table.

Anyway, we’re not here to negotiate. We’re here to go to the spa, which I already did yesterday. It was quite lovely. I did the sauna, scrub, aromatherapy, hot stone, and Thai massage. Feelin’ brand new AF.

Now I need to get my nails done. I can get rid of these obnoxious sparkly green extensions and get sparkly gold and Lucky Red for Chinese New Year instead.

Life in Bangkok must be pretty boring if this is what gets their feathers all in a ruffle. Well, it’s all very exciting to me, a person who has been living in the middle of nowhere for way too long. It’s quite like the Mos Eisley Cantina in Star Wars. I love it. Just Grand.

Well, it’s all in good fun, lads. Just chill out. Relax. You’re in Thailand. Start acting like it!

I knew from the moment I met this man that he was going to give me a massive headache. Now, here I am, trying to enjoy my lovely vacation to beautiful Thailand, and all I can do is sit here in agony with this massive fucking headache…

BLOG: Mah Jong in the Sandbox

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Tuesday.

I have completely lost track of the days. Truth be told, I have no idea how I am even functioning right now. I basically just drank for four days straight. To say I feel very low right now would be an understatement.

I just want to get my shit together.

I felt the judgment of my Minder upon me when I left my apartment at 12:30pm today to get coffee. I just heard a little voice in my head going, “How are you living in Hong Kong? You don’t have your shit together at all!”

I don’t know. I ask myself the same question every day. To be fair, I did choose Bangkok. Unfortunately, Bangkok did not choose me, probably because I am not an old rich white man with plenty of money to provide for a water buffalo farm. However, Hong Kong did choose me. I have no idea why given my current state of mind, but I am here. So now I am here.

The only explanation I have is Mah Jong, the traditional game of China. I saw a stand-up comedian do a bit about on Instagram the other day that I could really relate to. He said, “In Chess, everyone starts with the same hand. In Mah Jong, you get what you get. It’s up to you to play the hand in front of you and figure out how to win.”

It reminded me of the scene from Crazy Rich Asians when the fiancée and the mom are playing Mah Jong. The fiancée lets the mom think she has the upper hand and is going to win the game easily, but in the end she herself is the one who actually holds the winning hand.

Just a little bit of Ye Olde Chinese Wisdome for ye. It’s more for me than it is for you. I find that if I stay quiet and listen long enough, the universe always has the answer I need.

No sign yet today of my little pigeon friend, who I have since dubbed Paddy. Imagine having to mind after me and realizing that it’s hard to stalk me because I’m not keeping a regular routine.

I just imagine Hermès giving updates to Mr. Antony like,

“Well her blog said she was going to go do one thing today, but she didn’t do that at all. Instead she did this other thing, which was on the agenda five days ago. Why doesn’t she ever do normal things like go grocery shopping? She just goes to 7/11 to buy beer and then stays in her house and watches Netflix all day. Maybe if we’re lucky, she’ll go out and do her little yogi-song-and-dance on the rooftop today. Is she okay? I’m starting to get a little concerned here. This is not the job I signed up for. I really thought she was part of the CIA! Turns out she’s just a mess and a half. She needs to get her shit together.”

Meanwhile, Mr. Antony is just sitting there with that same dumbfounded face he kept giving me the entire night like, “What on Earth is going on here? Who the hell is this woman?!”

Oh, I just love these two characters. I could play with them in my metaphorical sandbox all day. I don’t need to know everything about them. I can just use my imagination. It’s like playing with two G.I. Joe action figures but I’ve repainted them to look like the IRA. Well, at least Hermès is. I don’t know about Mr. Antony over here. He remains shrouded in mystery. All we really know about him is that he is Irish and Posh, so maybe he’s more like the James Bond action figure, fancy Tuxedo edition.

I’ve got Mr. Antony saying, “I’ll take this martini shaken, not stirred, extra extra dirty. And an extra large bowl of hot beef stew with a side of mashed potatoes with extra butter. We need more butter, y’all!!!!”

And then Hermès is saying, “Look at meeee, naaaa. I’m such a pretty boy, naaa. I’m a real gangster, naaaaa. I’m so well-connected, naaa. You don’t even know how powerful I am, naaaa.”

Then we break out the British Guy, who is played in this sandbox movie by an Octopus stuffie wearing a monocle and bow tie. He says, “RAWWWR! I am the Evil Empire coming to destroy you all! Submit to me or die!”

And then Hermès and Mr. Antony fight back and lop off the arms of the evil octopus one-by-one. Then they rip off the bow tie and monocle and stab it in the head. Then they bury the carcass in the sand and plant an Irish flag on top. Then they plant a Lakota flag on top. And then the Rainbow flag to represent the LGBTQIA+ Nation.

And fuck it, why represent one nation when we can we can represent them all? Let’s go ahead and plant the United Nations flag there too. And can please get a wholeass Planet Earth flag in there too while we are at it?

Let us stand here and represent all the nations, all the peoples, all the animals, all the plants, all the fungi, all the vertebrates, all the invertebrates, all the known, ll the unknowns, the water, the fire, the earth, the rocks, the sky, the heart, the hearth, the metals and minerals, the moon, the sun, the stars, the galaxies, all the aliens we don’t even know yet, and all of the space in between, above and below. All of the Kingdoms in this universe, spoken for an unspoken for.

Meanwhile, the Moose is just sitting in the corner of the sandbox watching the show with Texas Rodeo Barbie on one arm and Canadian Mountie Barbie on the other, ehh?

My Old Irish Uncle is just in shambles. He’s just watching the whole scene unfold with his head in his hands like, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. This is NOT what I meant when I told you to get yourself all loved up!”

*giggles to self again*

Oh, how I amuse myself so…

You all might be powerful men, but to me you’re just action figures in a metaphorical sandbox.

Cut to shot of my Irish Grandmother looking down at me from heaven above and nodding in approval. “That’s the spirit, sweetheart! You show those men who’s the real Boss!”

I love them. You can just ship me straight to Ireland any day now. I’m here for it. How much does it cost to do a Masters Degree there? Do you think I can get a discount if I show them my family tree? I’ve never even thought about it, to be honest. I was always so fixated on Paris. Maybe the universe has a different plan for me after all.

Hmm, I was just wondering why I haven’t seen Paddy the Spy Pigeon yet today. It always follows the same route. Then I caught something moving in the corner of my eye. I looked up and saw it in the reflection of the building across the way. It is sitting on top of the maintenance shed watching me from behind. Clever. Very clever. It knows I’m onto it now…

Haha, I could write this shit all day. Unfortunately, I really do need to go grocery shopping today. And, ya know, probably take a shower? I have gone full bed rot. It’s disgusting. What has become of meeee? I have no idea.

It’s like damn, Paddy, you know everything about me now. Stop spying on me and actually give me something to do with my infinite free time and amazing journalistic skills.

Ah yes, my skills. My amazing journalistic skills that I totally fucked up on Sunday night. I fell into my own goddamn Honey Trap at this Mexican place. It was so embarrassing for my life and my soul. I spent all day hiding in my apartment trying to drown out my humiliation. It didn’t work.

Luckily I had two very old friends from childhood come along and say, “Betsey, we have known you your whole life. Writing has been your passion since you were a kid. We’ve been watching you write your entire life. So you made a mistake one time. You don’t need to punish yourself for it. Just learn from your mistake. Your time will come.”

Yes it will.

Just play the hand in front of you, Betsey. It doesn’t matter what cards you’re dealt. You can always find a strategy to win the game and come out on top.

Truth.

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…