ode to myself
written: 9:41 p.m. on Sunday, Nov. 02, 2003

"So what's the problem?"

Beat. No reply. Sullen eyes staring back at him.

She shrugs. "You tell me."

"That's difficult. I don't know you at all. So why don't you give me something to work with?"

Is that a grin he's seeing? Oh, maybe just an ironic, sarcastic one.

"I don't understand Chinese. What's this song about?"

He sighs. "Domestic violence."

"Really." She purses her lips. Averts her eyes. Maybe he's struck a chord.

He presses on. "You don't listen to Jay Chou? I thought everybody listens to Jay Chou."

She rolls her eyes. "Why would I listen to a singer who sings words I don't understand?"

"How come? You're Chinese."

"No. I'm not. I'm a banana."

"I see."

Beat. Silence. Unnerving silence. She feels herself beginning to squirm. This leather chair sucks.

She glances at the clock. Fuck. Forty-five minutes more to go.

Why the hell did she con herself into doing something like this? Her mate was right. It's a bloody waste of time.

She stares at her fingernails. She picks at her fingernails. She listens to the soft ticking of the mechanical clock. She listens to the song. Foreign words that she doesn't understand.

What's the deal with this Jay person anyway? He's probably another one of those stupid F4-types who can't sing for shit.

"You must have came here for a reason."

Damn. And there she is, thinking that she could just sit here for forty-four more minutes and not have to say a word. How naive.

"Maybe."

"You paid fifty dollars for nothing?"

She shrugs. "Maybe."

Domestic violence, huh? How cliche and commonplace. As if anyone can even tell what that guy's rapping about. Even if she understood Chinese, she doubts she'd be able to decipher his unintelligible mumbling.

"Want me to translate the song for you?

"Who cares about the fucking song?"

He smiles. Breakthrough.

"Or maybe you want me to translate your thoughts for you."

She throws her hands up, lets out a sigh of clear frustration.

"Or maybe" -- her voice drips with mockery -- "I just want you to leave me alone?"

He smiles again. "If you wanted that you wouldn't have came here."

She snorts. Doesn't say a word.

"I know what your problem is. You're proud, you're cynical and you're having problems with admitting that you need help. Your pride gets in the way of things and however hard you try, you can't get around it. Which is why you're here. And the fact that you're here is a great testament to knocking down the first barrier that keeps you from letting go of all the demons in your head. You're troubled by myriad issues that you will discuss with me, and you can't handle them because they're getting more and more out of hand. You used to be able to curb them, keep them in check, and pretend that everything is fine by running the hell away from the scene of the crime. But you realise that it's not working anymore. Rather, it's beginning to sling your sanity through mud as if it's worth nothing more than dog shit."

He pauses to gauge her reaction. Her eyes are cast downwards, her face hidden by a veil of cascading long hair.

Oh well.

He continues, "That's why you're here. And I know that I'm right."

Beat. Silence. This time, thick enough to slice into half with a mere penknife.

She stares at her feet. Her nailpolish is chipped beyond repair. She gets an urge to reach down and peel off the layer of artificial beauty, but she resists it.

Okay. Time to let out the truth.

"I lied."

"What about?"

"Me being a banana."

"How so?"

"I understand Chinese perfectly."

"And the rest?"

Pause. And then, with a wry grin,

"Fucking-A."

[background music: �Բ��� - �ܽ��� | jay chou's "i'm sorry"]

this entry requires chinese simplified encoding

before sunrise // before sunset

Previously:
- - Tuesday, Aug. 29, 2017
I'm moving. - Sunday, Jul. 11, 2010
In all honesty - Tuesday, Jul. 06, 2010
What I want for my birthday... - Sunday, Jul. 04, 2010
On Roger's behalf. - Friday, Jul. 02, 2010