Within a month of my boyfriend breaking up with me…
I changed my plane tickets back to the States, called up my friends to make travel plans, bought tickets for Thailand, Indonesia, and Singapore, changed up my style with two new pair of reading glasses, cut away more than ten inches of my hair, dyed it brown…
flirted with my hairdresser, went on a shopping spree, bought sexy black lingerie, splurged on a pair of kick-ass heels, reread “Tale of Two Cities”, and of course found myself another relationship.
This time around?
I had a Turkmen-Muslim courting me in Chinese.
The hilarity of the situation did not escape me.
Mammet.
He…
can't be described as the type that struck you as particularly good-looking, nor was
particularly brilliant.
could obsess about soccer, Akon, and mayonnaise.
had a habit of fiddling with his phone, which
would spin compulsively between his thumb and index finger.
was just about 6’, dressed like a Parisian.
was learning Japanese and fluent in Russian, Turkmen, and Chinese. But…
didn’t make for outstanding conversation and his taste in music was… terrible.
simply peeked my curiosity, blipped onto my radar, because
spoke so many languages, and his voice was dead sexy.
I
have a thing for voices.
had never heard of Turkmenistan.
kind of just wanted to say I dated a guy from Turkmenistan.
really like guys who can speak more than one language.
could read him like a book.
knew he wasn't smarter than me.
admit,
rebounded.
I had to leave China in eight months.
He had to go back home to an arranged marriage.
He warned me, “I can’t marry you. I can’t love you.”
I replied, “Get over yourself”.
It seemed like the perfect situation. A few months. Fun, light, non-committal and more importantly, there was an end-date… And I hate to admit it, but I liked it that way.
There was no immediate spark or strong connection.
But, he was exactly what I needed.
When I woke him up at seven in the morning, crawled under the blankets, and started quietly crying…He laid down next to me, silently, wiping my tears – remarking how I was still beautiful when I cried.
When I went to the bars with the sole purpose of forgetting the night and hopefully the last two months before that night…He accompanied me to the bars until four in the morning until he finally had to leave to catch his flight to Guangzhou for work the next morning.
When I had higher expectations that he would sleep around with other girls than text me…He managed to find time in his schedule in between conferences, meetings, and clients -- to Skype with me even though he’d only get a few hours of sleep.
When I woke up mad one morning and refused to talk to him…He bought me a scarf to apologize, made me breakfast in bed, and more importantly he looked at me as if he was the luckiest guy in the world. I had forgotten how nice it felt to be –
Loved.
Wait. What?
Stop.
Rewind.
Play.
And then I asked myself an important question… did I want this relationship?
No.
Shit.
And it all went down hill from there...
I changed my plane tickets back to the States, called up my friends to make travel plans, bought tickets for Thailand, Indonesia, and Singapore, changed up my style with two new pair of reading glasses, cut away more than ten inches of my hair, dyed it brown…
flirted with my hairdresser, went on a shopping spree, bought sexy black lingerie, splurged on a pair of kick-ass heels, reread “Tale of Two Cities”, and of course found myself another relationship.
This time around?
I had a Turkmen-Muslim courting me in Chinese.
The hilarity of the situation did not escape me.
Mammet.
He…
can't be described as the type that struck you as particularly good-looking, nor was
particularly brilliant.
could obsess about soccer, Akon, and mayonnaise.
had a habit of fiddling with his phone, which
would spin compulsively between his thumb and index finger.
was just about 6’, dressed like a Parisian.
was learning Japanese and fluent in Russian, Turkmen, and Chinese. But…
didn’t make for outstanding conversation and his taste in music was… terrible.
simply peeked my curiosity, blipped onto my radar, because
spoke so many languages, and his voice was dead sexy.
I
have a thing for voices.
had never heard of Turkmenistan.
kind of just wanted to say I dated a guy from Turkmenistan.
really like guys who can speak more than one language.
could read him like a book.
knew he wasn't smarter than me.
admit,
rebounded.
I had to leave China in eight months.
He had to go back home to an arranged marriage.
He warned me, “I can’t marry you. I can’t love you.”
I replied, “Get over yourself”.
It seemed like the perfect situation. A few months. Fun, light, non-committal and more importantly, there was an end-date… And I hate to admit it, but I liked it that way.
There was no immediate spark or strong connection.
But, he was exactly what I needed.
When I woke him up at seven in the morning, crawled under the blankets, and started quietly crying…He laid down next to me, silently, wiping my tears – remarking how I was still beautiful when I cried.
When I went to the bars with the sole purpose of forgetting the night and hopefully the last two months before that night…He accompanied me to the bars until four in the morning until he finally had to leave to catch his flight to Guangzhou for work the next morning.
When I had higher expectations that he would sleep around with other girls than text me…He managed to find time in his schedule in between conferences, meetings, and clients -- to Skype with me even though he’d only get a few hours of sleep.
When I woke up mad one morning and refused to talk to him…He bought me a scarf to apologize, made me breakfast in bed, and more importantly he looked at me as if he was the luckiest guy in the world. I had forgotten how nice it felt to be –
Loved.
Wait. What?
Stop.
Rewind.
Play.
And then I asked myself an important question… did I want this relationship?
No.
Shit.
And it all went down hill from there...
casualties. RIP.
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