I had a productive meeting with my boss today. He was surprisingly sincere and eager to donate to my cause (the emancipation of the jups that is). My future’s in limbo and I knew this was coming but he seemed optimistic that something could be worked out. The likelihood of finding something in asia (yes the entire fucking continent) is slim. New york city beckons again and there’s a part of me that’s very excited at the prospect of returning. London’s also a possibility and while I do think London’s is New York’s less attractive, less interesting, more uptight and pretending-to-be-more-cultured sister, having 4 financial capitals on my CV is better than having 3. And then there is a miniscule possibility of trying Sao Paolo on for size. I think I’d like it there.
Then again, maybe none of that works out and maybe I am stuck without a job. Or worse that they ship me off to Spain to do some really shitty job that I don’t want to do (which means I will inevitably quit).
So today I was faced with, for the first time, the possibility of leaving Hong Kong. I wasn’t happy, to tell you the truth. I felt a bit jaded. Another move? I feel a vagabond, a really glamorous one, but a vagabond nonetheless. The first thought that crossed my mind was that I would miss wakeboarding – the one thing that made me feel really really good about myself. My second thought was I would miss my girlfriends here … Jin and Elvish Pixie have been so good to me and it would totally suck to leave my friends behind. My third thought was “don’t be silly, you love your friends in NYC too” but while this is true, the fact of the matter is heaps of my friends have left or are leaving New York, some are always traveling while others are getting married and settling down.
And then again, my life is full of curveballs so right when I felt that leaving Hong Kong would absolutely and permanently break my oft-broken heart, tonight happened. During the day, I got three vaccine shots in preparation of my Kenya trip. Granted i only needed the yellow fever one, I still went ahead and got the other 2. Hep A I’d been meaning to get since I was 20 so it’s about fucking time. So I couldn’t drink and I got mocked all night for that and getting rubbed, punched, held by my arms was painful and annoying and scary considering the doctor forbade it.
Had a dinner with an Italian friend visiting from Singapore and then drinks with Elvish Pixie and her boyfriend and their friends to bid adieu to said boyfriend who is leaving hK. My friend is not just any odd guy – he’s my classmate from business school and he used to be good friends with he who shall not be named. He filled me on his only meeting with he who shall not be named who is apparently so busy that he cancels on friends, never turns up to group dinners, etc. I am not surprised. Apparently he was sorry for the way thing had ended with me but then again not really. I had started the day feeling optimistic that I could still turn my life and career around from the shitpile that he turned it into but being reminded of his shitty worthless existence made me feel like I had just taken a cold shower in dejection.
And then I went to the aforementioned sendoff and things didn’t go down too well for me there either. Why? I was in flats, as I am well entitled to be at the end of a long, hot day and evidently it was hilarious to all and sundry. All my friends ganged up and laughed at me. Yes, you read that damn fucking right. They condescended to me and made me feel like I was 5 years old. Hello shitty worthless existence – you could be the nicest person in the world (which I am not claiming I am) but if you’re short, you’re pretty much a human compost heap, inviting openly for everyone to shit on you.
All my life I have struggled with my stupid, unconventional looks. Throughout school and college I was mocked mercilessly. I don’t have one single godforsaken feature on my entire body that would be considered conventionally beautiful and the worst of the whole lot is my height, something that I absolutely cannot fix. They have botox and nose jobs and lipo and hair colour but the one thing they cannot do is make you taller. So it really really fucking sucks raging donkeys’ bollocks to be mocked for something you can do fuckall to change. What sucks even more is I don’t walk around mocking people’s physical features so I feel it’s undeserved. If it’s unacceptable to walk upto someone and say “Why don’t you wear a bag over that ugly mug of yours?” then it should be unacceptable to say “Why don’t you wear heels, you’re so tiny” or some such drivel.
I came home and showered, as one must in this sweaty Hong Kong summer, and cried quite copiously and uncontrollably. I struggle, even as I write this, to understand why, 25 minutes later, tears are still streaming down. A part of me wants to dial a number, call someone and tell them how I feel but I know all too well, that none of them would understand. They don’t know what it feels like. They’ll probably tell me I am cute like a cherubic kid and I will only loathe myself more when I hear that because what could be sexier than a cherubic midget.
And I thought, maybe that’s what I needed, a liberal dose of disappointment to help me along, “jade” me back to cold, cruel reality (even if that is not what my friends intended). That maybe moving out of Hong Kong will not be so hard after all. Maybe that’s the point of moving – not sticking around long enough to be disappointed.