Tag: the Moose

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: Mardi Gras Continued…

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Thursday. I am… definitely hungover from yesterday. And by that I really mean the last few days. I was out daydrinking three days in a row. Not good, but also… it is Mardi Gras! And Chinese New Year! Laissez les bons temps rouler!

Yesterday was quite interesting. I got on the motorbike and ventured outside of my little bubble to a small Thai cafe to meet up with two of my friends mates. Just a couple of degenerate Bang lads, which I am now apparently one of. One is English, one is Irish. Both of them have lived here forever. One of them is more tolerable than the other. I’ll let you guess which one I prefer.

I sat with them all afternoon while they worked. I figured that if I can’t find a job, I should at least be hanging out with the people who have all the money. The things I witnessed… oh vey. This is exactly what people mean when they talk about white male privilege.

I didn’t realize they were working AND drinking, so I didn’t bring any of my work stuff with me. Instead I drew out my March calendar for my bullet journal, which I had to endure annoying comments about from the English guy. He wanted to know why I waste time making a schedule for myself if I have nothing to do. Haha, so funny. I pointed to a random day a couple weeks ago and said, “Look, I was very busy on this day. I went to the spa and I got my nails done!” My Irish friend, aka the Moose, found this amusing. My English friend did not.

He then proceeded to give me what I refer to as “The Caveman Lecture.” This is the speech men give where they mansplain the “natural way of men and women” according to how we behaved back in ye olde days when we all lived in caves.

I personally hate this speech. I find it obnoxious. Just because you personally have not evolved past your caveman mentality does not mean everyone else agrees with you. We don’t live in caves anymore, bro. We live in the 21st Century. Women have choices. We make them. Get the fuck over it already!

So he gave the big speech about how men are providers and women shouldn’t work and blah blah blah and then he stuck me with the tab. This is my biggest pet peeve! This is it, bro! This is your chance to provide! Show us the meats!

Show us the meats he did not. I should have expected as much given the fact that all of his afternoon work meetings were focused on the fact that a vendor hired by the multinational corporation he works for has not yet been paid after several months of delays.

As I said… white male privilege on full display right here in Bangkok, Thailand.

After all of that was over, I took a bike home. I made a trip to the pot shop to take advantage of their CNY special and then came back. I fell asleep really early because I was drinking all afternoon. I had a dream where a dinosaur had escaped from Jurassic Park and was running around terrorizing Bangkok. Interesting. It must have been inspired by the Caveman Speech…

Much to do today. I need to make plans to leave again. They’ve just changed the tourism visa laws again in Thailand. I definitely have to go now. It feels like Bangkok is a place I can come back to. I feel like I can go on whatever journey I decide now and come back here to my little Krewe and my little neighborhood and feel right at home. That’s quite nice to have…

What am I doing with my life? I have no idea!

Fun fun!

BLOG: Hail Zulu!

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Trash Wednesday. The party is over. Another year has come and gone. I could not have guessed this time last year that I would be spending Mardi Gras sitting at a farang dive bar in Bangkok, but here we are.

It was not so bad. I started with a grilled cheese and then drank very, very slowly. For awhile I got stuck talking to this weird American guy. Another crazy Californian. They truly are next level. He was starting to annoy me when my friend The Moose texted me and invited me to come to another pub. I was going to get up and leave when he and his other friend came in. I know the other friend but I don’t have a name for him. I was at his house with some friends a few weeks ago.

So they came in and rescued me from the crazy Californian guy, who continued hovering around and inserting himself into our conversation at random times. I, myself, was still trying to pretend that I’m not still secretly stewing over my Stew.

Had a couple of rounds of drinks, then the two of them exited. A different American friend from New York approached me. He asked me what happened on Saturday night with Uncle Jason. I said I had no memory of that. I was really drunk and watching rugby. He said “words were exchanged.” I was like, “Were those words, ‘fuck off, I’m watching rugby?’” Lol.

Shortly thereafter, Uncle Jason appeared, once again looking at me in bewilderment. I love knowing how much this guy hates me and trolling him this way. It’s hilarious to me. Sometimes when people mess with you, you just gotta mess with people right back.

Finally, Old Man Smiley appeared and took me aside. He said, “Betsey, listen to me. I’ve been trying to tell you in my own way. I’ve lived here a long time. There are people here who are very dangerous. You don’t want to be messing with them. Do you understand me?”

Yes, I finally understand you. I did not understand you before. Now I understand you. I understand exactly what you are getting at now. I’m learning the rules now. I didn’t know them before.

I went home after that. Found a New Orleans-style restaurant and ordered a spread. It was actually pretty good. The Jambalaya is more like a Thai fried rice style but the flavoring is on-point. Creole spice game strong. These people know NOLA.

Later, as I stood by the window overlooking the city, eating my rice with chop sticks, I wondered about my life again. I have no idea what I’m doing. Dead-end job. Dead-end career. Dead-end city. Dead-end book. Dead-end relationship. Dead-end everything.

What am I doing with my life?

I have no idea!!!

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…