When I pissed myself in China

No, it’s not something that I’m proud of; it never is, but some moments are so effing awkward, traumatic, yet thrilling that I have to write about it. The smell of sweat when you’re traveling alone for two straight days; running about here and there, trying to figure shit out while you follow rules less than seriously… it was my own mistake that rewarded me with an unplanned visit to China; the holy land of my dreams where giant fishes fly and the old wise men atop cloudy green hills smile to the tune of the guzheng. Where battery operated plastic swans scoot along a teeny little pool of water on a never not rainy morning. Before I got to think and see all that, I was busy freaking out at the airport in hopes that I don’t screw up international laws this time. Just sucking it all in, just taking it a bit more seriously than usual. I held my breath, took off my jacket and all the layers, and quickly tied my hair on top in a messy bun. For someone who’s always freezing, I sure as hell was blazing fire. My skin was flushed and shiny, my hair; black as raven. Glancing at the glass reflection of my self, I looked pretty alright stressed.

They served pop and water, so naturally, I drank water. Little did I realize that I hadn’t planned well considering that I hadn’t peed once that entire sixteen hours on the plane ride there. Nor, after being herded like a sheep (well I wasn’t, but it felt like it), did I get a moment to just find a bathroom ASAP. I had already made too many grave mistakes that landed me an unplanned stay in China, so I was determined to follow rules as strictly as possible now. All the assistants at the airport in China said hello they speak English but they didn’t understand what I was saying nor could I understand them. It was best for me to just be desperate and freak out so that I wouldn’t miss my van to the hotel.

Well, that’s when it happened. At the service counter, I realized I didn’t know if my hotel van was coming soon enough for me to hold it in, and I pissed on my self. I couldn’t stop it. The hell with the van; if I had to pay another penalty for not following orders in china, then so be it. I ran to the bathroom.

A nice old cleaning lady in the bathroom warned me that where I was running towards was a squat toilet for the locals, and pointed to me the pedestal commode in the next stall. Little did she know that all I ever wanted was to use a squat toilet. China goals… a big fat CHECKKk off the list. I pissed all over that squat toilet, but I cleaned it up.

Came back slightly cleaner and managed to catch my van to the hotel in time. What miracle that was.

Outside, China was drenched in cloudy sprinkling rain. Took every opportunity to take photos like a desperado.

Inside the hotel, the silence was extremely loud. It’s a very hallucinating feeling to stand amid silence after going through a series of constant stress. Maybe I was on the verge of fainting, I did have chronic low blood pressure (is it ’cause I just don’t really care about anything?), but I never had fainted in the past.

In that state of, “What’s real what’s not, I’m here, alright, let’s do things in a simple, orderly, robotic way” I laid all my important things like passport, tickets, and documents all lined up on one of the double beds. The absolutely necessary second thing that I did was take off all that armpit smelling, sweaty, drenched with pee clothing and stood in the middle of the room stark naked as an ultimate, mighty, free woman. There could be many highlights to one’s life, but being butt naked after running through hell fire in restrictive clothing, tops my list. It wasn’t only that, but I was also so present at that time. I did everything with a quiet mind in that silence. Dirty clothes went there, documents laid here. I fell back on that crisp white clean bed and was in a state of zen. A nice shower would be ideal, but I had to wear something quickly and run downstairs before they stopped serving breakfast. I had to check out Chinese breakfast in China. Then I’d come back, take a long shower, a loving sweet nap, and then explore the great outdoors of the little city a super happy and excited chick.

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Deep night with a douchebag

Southeast Asian beaches remind me of him. I was young, the night was wild, the winds were gently blowing over my face,
and there was mystery light blinking from a ship afar. The stars were crystal clear and bright, the breeze was warm. My skin was radiating even in the dark. So warm it all felt; deep in my heart. I was staring at the shoreline while people slept all around. There was silence now
After a wild night at the bar. I didn’t drink, but I loved being around drunk people because I got to be myself… and you can have some really awesome conversations with drunk people. We cry about world poverty, tell each other we love each other and all.

The drunkards and I were walking out of the bar towards the beach. I saw what appeared to be a drunk old man holding onto himself on the stairway railing as he also walked out of the bar. Moments later, that douche was winning an argument against an international audience full of drunk Americans and French at the beach. I didn’t know what his problem was, but he was making some serious hilarious allegations as a Brit in a foreign country. Turns out you become hilarious when you get old, as he did at… thirty-two?

I was quiet the entire time because I didn’t have much to say to that. Or I couldn’t. It was both. Ultimately, it ended up being just the two of us who were consciously awake and talking about vulnerable stuff. He highlighted his age right before he found out that I was nineteen and said that I was too young. He verbally rejected me. I was going to be twenty soon, so what was his problem? Besides, I was a thousand times more mature than he would have guessed. Jerk! Is what I thought.

If it was my choice, I would have climbed onto him, straddled him on the chair, unbuttoned his shirt and had a major smoldering hot make-out session. But that was just a thought. We continued sitting on the beach chairs next to each other as the rest of the drunk people slept around us. It was really attractive to see a loud mouth grow quiet. They become human just then, and you have total access to their hearts. He was really calm when we talked about supposed deep things. It’s like he grew into becoming a different person; not someone so faraway, wild, and loud, but someone who got to know a small part of me, was close to me in that time and space for whatever reason the celestial skies had in store for us. I saw a shooting star for the first time in my life, and it was the only time I never was able to fall asleep on that freezing beach next to a man who I was really able to converse with, no matter how amateur and jacked up it was, for the first time in my life.

My friends and I didn’t have a hotel room that night, but they were able to fall asleep while I stayed awake freezing to death. He said it was time for him to stop; the red blinking light far away across the ocean told him that. My heart sank. I guessed everything had to end at some point.
He said if I needed a place to stay, I could come with him.
But my wise, conscious, decent ass said something like, “Oh no bla bla bla.” Hindsight, it was bullshit. I would have totally gone with him. He got up, kissed his hand, placed it on my forehead, then walked away. I watched him walk away into the dark horizon; his body getting smaller and smaller with the growing distance. I froze still and didn’t say a word, but wished that he would turn around and come back. He’d say something to me… that it wasn’t all a hoax, that it wouldn’t ever end. He didn’t turn around.

Next day no sight of him. On the ferry ride out of the island, no presence of him. Nada, nothing. Nothing mattered for a while, it was like an end to all joy. All I knew was that his name was Terry, thirty-two, British, never married, and that he was going on a trip around the world. I couldn’t ever find him again based on those five facts.

He asked me he rejected me he rejected me he asked me. He walked away, he had asked me. He never came back, he rejected me.

What if I had said yes to his invitation? A feeling of warmth encapsulates my mind.

Scenario one: I would have slept next to him for the sake of having comfort only; for the practical purposes of getting a shelter. I would have apologized if I had accidentally touched him. Maybe we’d exchange contact information the next day, and possibly get in contact in the future.

Scenario two: I would have slept next to him, and within five minutes, we wouldn’t have been able to contain it. We’d have a deep, hot, sexy make-out session that would prolong for hourrssss. In the morning we’d be all wrapped up in each other. We’d have to unwillingly be ripped apart from each other. We’d exchange contact information and promise to get a hold of one another soon, and it would develop into something substantial and magical.

Scenario three: We’d sleep next to each other pragmatically for the sake of me having a shelter, and within five minutes, get it on. The next morning he’d regret it, I’d be sad, we’d end it and lose contact.

Scenario four (what most likely would have happened, positively speaking): We’d sleep next to each other pragmatically for the sake of me having a shelter, then slowly we’d hold hands. We’d look at each other for a while across the bed, and have a gentle, sweet kiss. We’d be in a loving embrace and give each other soft kisses that would slowly escalate upwards as our hearts would beat and souls would resonate in unison. The next morning, we’d exchange contact information and promise to see each other again.
We’d give each other a call in a day or two. Maybe try a few more calls, but it wouldn’t have been the same again, and then we’d eventually lose touch.

Scenario 5 (what most likely would have happened, negatively speaking): He would have fallen fast asleep on a sofa and left me hanging.

We would have lost touch eventually no matter what the scenario would have been. I wouldn’t have been able to endure all his grandeur and pomposity. He wouldn’t have been able to deal with a young impressionable chick who would listen to his every nonsense.

So for forever now, I can keep making abstract what ifs, make-believe theories, and imagine the possibilities.
Maybe I would have been wrong.


Book I’m not gonna read, sketch I’m not gonna draw

Something happens when I head to the east.
Way more interested in soaking in the air, sounds, and sights; the honking of the cars, the hustling and bustling of people, random music, everything. Sitting on the rooftop watching people walk.

Two years ago I went into a spell of whatever the f it was when I came back from Asia. Something happened and cracked open my misery. I had zero interest in drawing for over a year and haven’t read a book since then (I hate reading anyway).

I doubt things will change this time around. It’s much better to sit there and look at that lively world than to look at a piece of paper. I just want to move there forever, but they say happiness is a state of mind, wherever you are. Screw that sh! What a bunch of lie; happiness is a lively place with warm weather.

Kicking rocks for no reason

I remember when I had an epiphany that I would ultimately forget again. It was during one of my first jobs in an office as a collage student. That job was where I had gotten a taste of the adult working world. There was a creepy mathematics dude who used to always stop by my desk; especially after finding out that I was going to take a semi break from school and travel the world for a while. His wife was Asian and he had mentioned that she belonged to some welcoming committee — whatever the f that meant. Anyway, I remember sweating frivolously one time when he stopped by my desk to give me a book on languages. I had no idea why I was sweating uncontrollably because I hardly ever sweat, and I also had zero interest in him. I found it hilarious while it was happening, and it made me sweat even more. It’s like laughing uncontrollably when you watch your car sink down a body of water. I heard that it did happen to someone.

Anyway, back to the epiphany… but before that, I must mention that those were good days. I felt so appreciated in that office; although as an undergraduate student slave, I was doing super low level jobs like filing their crap together while they entertained their minds with cool stuff. My cube didn’t have any windows nearby so I didn’t get to see the light of day. It was ok ’cause the job was only like 2-4 hrs a day anyway. There was a graduate student on the opposite side of my cube who wore a beanie cap. He had a little son, and he listened to “Hey Ya” by OutKast on his headphones really loud. That song was going to be the theme of that summer for me.

I loved that time. Although the job was boring, I loved the whole set up. In the drawer of my cube there was a starfruit lotion. I loved the thought of a succulent and shapely starfruit. I also really loved repeating the word gabana during that time, and I really liked saying banana too. So I mashed it together and it was a banana gabana starfruit type of segment of my life.

One enjoyable lazy hot day, I kicked a little rock on the sidewalk as I walked back to my dorm. I was surprised at how good my aim was; considering that I have horrible aim in general. The rock kept getting kicked perfectly. I felt like an Olympic football player. I realized that when I kicked the rock without intention, it got kicked perfectly. But when I kicked it with too much expectations in mind, I got nervous and missed. That was the epiphany: Just don’t care too much!

One moment I was kicking a rock on the campus sidewalk– month later I was halfway around the world carried in the arms of a dude while getting myself into a whirlwind chain of language-less events. He was a French-Spaniard traveling the world too, and body language was the only language we spoke. It was way more fun than kicking rocks. Mmm that creamy skin and that spankable a$$. I know that guys usually objectify women, but I absolutely love it when I objectify men. I was going to be obsessed with his pretty face for many years after that, but a toothless weirdo with the ability to shatter souls could have done just as fine, too. And probably more.

Fifteen years later he wants to give up everything to see me again, says he’s missed me all fifteen years. It was all that I had ever wanted to hear when I cared. Fifteen years later, I don’t feel the same. Not even re-listening to “Hey Ya” is doing it.

I guess it was like kicking rocks. Too much expectations, unintended consequences. No need to regret anything though, it was a great time in my life.