Pushing Time

After the evening show, I left, only to find her waiting for me. She was a bit quirky, a bit unusual, which I liked, a bit trying too hard to be mature, which is understandable. She talked and talked for hours, to which I replied with enthusiasm. It’s hard to resist the urge to feel flattered and adored. She hopped to my bike, tilted her body towards mine, letting her thighs exposed to my hands just enough not to make it too obvious. I told her I was getting tired, which was true, and drove home. The weather was getting cold.

I used to wish I were straight, entirely, and sometimes that thought still creeps in.

I did catch a fever that night and told Joey about it. There was not much expectation, really, but he didn’t say anything about that.


I did my first simultaneous interpreting gig last Monday, which was a bit last minute and correspondingly disastrous. My former teacher was there to lend an extra hand whenever I slipped. I swore I could read a woman’s lips mumbling “bad interpretation” during coffee break. It did get a bit better in the session which fell more closer to my familiar subjects. I felt that the organizers were either really risky or just didn’t even bother to ask me there in the first place.

There was a sense of insecurity sitting in that cabin, where every head shaken, every hand movement of putting the earphones off or on and every eyes turned back was visible. You just sat there, behind that transparent glass, subjecting yourself to strangers’ assessment, knowing they heard the tiniest breath that you took while you could only guessed how they responded.

I just wanted to hide in that cabin forever while the crowd was flooding outside for coffee break and diplomatic socializing.


Military health check call came for the 2nd round this week. I tried to picture the bright side of it, and then no matter how hard, there was nothing there. It would be the much more enclosed and denser version of the society that I was trying to escape, where men in power play by power at the expense of the helpless, where hatred is nurtured and grown into physical and mental abuse, where all of my future plans, even when they still haven’t taken a concrete shapes, meet their demise.

I’ve never felt panicked like I do now. I rarely use the word “pray” or “hope”. But I do really pray that it wouldn’t happen.

 

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This entry was published on December 1, 2016 at 3:30 pm. It’s filed under Joey, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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