one of the interesting things about being in a chinese speaking (though almost everyone speaks english) city is having people read my leg on their own and then ask me if it’s my boyfriend’s name. uh, no, i reply. i did not brand myself with my boyfriend’s name. what kind of girl do you think i am? a lame one? it’s my dad’s name. at which point they look at me funny. thinking to themselves, you are no asian. you are not even half-asian. the extreme amount of sarees and that henna tattoo on your hand notwithstanding, you’re still whiter than the dickens. whatevs yo, my look replies to them as i run away from strangers who like to approach me.
i come home today! well, in the vaguest sense. i get on a plane at 5:30pm and will show up in the states after like 15 hours at 7:30pm. but now it is only 9:30am and i’ve got a deal of last-minute things to do so i am off.
yay i am glad you are coming home i miss you call me!
In the picture on the right, is you chin on your knee? Or is it on the top of someone’s bald head? Or is it on top of your fat breast pressed up as high as it will go? Just wondering. . .
It’s a great picture though.
She’s looking to her right, and your seeing her shoulder.
i. uh. wow.
thanks, gene.
i made it home! it was touch and go with the turbulence and the clutching my arm so hard i am now bruised, but survival, you are mine. suck it plane, suck it. michele, 1. fiery death plunging into the pacific ocean, 0.