by Jinryu


It’s been an abnormally long hiatus from posting online.


I had actually written up a post a couple of days ago to put on, but because I had forgotten my USB key back at my parents’ place from the last time I went there, I was using an old MP3 player as a temporary storage device instead.  That MP3 player doesn’t work very well and as a testimony to that, it just decided to eat my post without so much as a thank you.  The reason why I need a USB in the first place is that station where I often work overnight, at triage, doesn’t have internet access, so I need to save my writing for later uploading. This post comes courtesy of network shared drives– during my boredom last night, basically reading all openable files it occured to me that a lot of these drives must not be local.  My guess was pretty good– turns out that although the triage computers don’t have internet, the ones in the doctors’ station do, and they’re linked by network drives.  That means that I can save my data onto the drive in encrypted, cleverly named files (such as “Infectious Disease C8482 Study”) and nobody will be the wiser.


Well, so what’s new with you folks?



I was thinking about something recently, and that’s this whole thing of ‘staying in touch.’  The whole expression, it seems to me, has to do with just shooting the shit with people every now and then.  But how important is that really?  We can do that peripherally with a 4×4 inch IM window at the corner of the screen, which we tab into periodically from watching How I Met Your Mother streaming online.  You’ve heard it time and time again that the internet changed everyone—staying in touch at a certain point no longer meant that you needed to within a touching range with someone.


Social networking sites are kind of paradoxical in that way because activeness in cyberspace is often inversely proportional to activeness in meatspace.


Well, so what’s new with you folks?


I guess you can say, I’ve been keeping busy.



I introduced [Kingston] a few posts ago and the reason being is that lately, she’s become somewhat of a constant in my life.  And that’s problematic.


But let’s start at the beginning.  After that first night when she joined my group at Tokebi’s for Korean food and drinks, she texted me the next day saying that because of what we’d been eating the night before, she suddenly had this homesickness for instant noodles.  Being the gentleman that I am, I invited her over to my newly rearranged apartment for a dinner of instant noodles with dumplings and veggies.  These were eaten over a few bottles of soju and half a bottle of Metaxa—Metaxa being a god awful brandy derivative made by the Greek but used by the Portugeuse use for honoring the dead—and well, things got a bit tipsy.  The evening began at 7 and by the time we had worked our way up to 1am when my roomies came home, we’d talked about a fair number of useless things, from the mud in which dead men lie, to the laughter that defines the human condition.  You know:  Shooting the shit.  It was sorta like keeping in touch, except not over a phone or in front of  a screen, but in front of a live person.  Being in touch range.


Which is why I say that it’s problematic.  Because as the night progressed, so did my urge to get closer to her.  But that in itself isn’t why it’s problematic—there’s nothing wrong with being attracted to someone, of course.  Thankfully my roomies came home and after brief comical introductions, we decided to call it a night.


By the time we’d had enough for the night, it was late and the trains that she needed to take home had ago chained their gates shut.  She decided to stay the night.  She took a shower, borrowing my only towel, and used a clean pair of scrub pants and one of my Street Fighter shirts for pyjamas.  She was pretty exhausted and just fell into the satellite chair in my room, already half asleep and insisting that she sleep there and that I take the bed.


Gentleman that I am, I picked her up and threw her on the bed, and drew out the spare mattress for myself.  I think I was more drunk that she was, and in that sense, it’s significant that was still able to function the way I did.


Although I lay on the mattress next to hers and we were both pretty exhausted trying to process all that alcohol, somehow I ended up in the bed with her and we spent who knows how long, of all things, checking out the names on her phone.  We made fun of the names one by one in the dark.


And that was it.  Eventually she fell asleep.  I rolled myself off the bed, and slept pillowless and blanketless on the spare mattress.


You see, she’s got a boyfriend back in Vancouver.


And I keep telling myself, you are not a homewrecker.

You are not a homewrecker.



The next two weeks, leading up to yesterday still, we’d meet eachother almost everyday to do something.  Half the time it was her idea.  We went out to bars, restaurants, shows.  I’m sleep deprived, but I feel great.

Sometimes we did groceries and instead decided upon cooking dinner at my place.  Yesterday after I finished my overnight shift, she came over in the morning and made me berakfast: butter and peanut butter on toast.  I’d never heard of the combo before but it’s not half bad.  After breakfast, despite my exhaustion, we watched a movie before going out for coffee.

At the Just for Laughs Festival, we went to see Ethnic Heroes of Comedy, as we were spilling champagne because we love racist jokes that much, it was then I realized without a doubt that I was fucked—I was falling for this girl.  That she worked in a healthcare setting and understood parts of my life related to it wasn’t enough on it’s own.  Nor was it that I like her style, her bluntness, her purposeful alternation between miss-know-it-all and the atypyical dumb-blonde.  Nor was it that this or that– in the end, it was because when she laughs, it makes me think: this is someone I don’t want to lose touch with.


I almost told her right then and there.  But you know me– as much as I can find rationalizations to do anything, so too can I find rationalizations to do nothing.

And as much as I’d like to flatter myself, the homewrecker principle isn’t the only thing holding me back.  I’m just scared, to be honest.  She’s going back to Vancouver at the end of August (how do I always find girls with mileage problems?) and, of course, there’s one detail:

she keeps in touch with her boyfriend.  And he sounds like a good guy, from what I can force out of her.


I don’t think I can deal with being the replacement boyfriend in the meantime.  Yet I persist, because my heart’s in charge of operations.

And when has my heart ever let me down?