W4 recently contacted me. It was kind of hilarious because at one time I was so into her. Now it's just whatevers. I think this is the feeling that guys get after they finally banged a girl once, even though I didn't even see her naked or went as far as second base. Either way, she sent me a message and I didn't bother to respond right away. The old me would have done it instantly. See, I've grown up. I think it's pretty funny how she can just send me a text after no communication for two weeks. Then again, maybe I should have been the one to try to talk to her, but after telling me that she was too busy to be in a relationship after I sort of gave her an ultimatum, things just fell apart. We lost our magic. I didn't feel the same way like I felt when I first shook her hand and sat down. I did reply back to find out she had eye surgery on some tear duct infection. Good thing I'm not with her anymore. I don't think I could date The Governor from The Walking Dead, if you know what I mean... of course you don't. You don't follow TV, you just sit here and read my dumb blog and watch my crappy videos. (Thank you, kindly)
Our conversation back and forth was pretty tiresome. I felt nothing. We were apart for too long. Myanmar changed me. I fell in love with a Burmese vendor....
Kim and I were in the middle of Bagan, and the sun gave us an intense beating. We were drinking water and sweating it out every ten minutes. The whole deal about Bagan is that people come here, rent bicycles and visit all the pagoda and temple complexes. We were ballers so we rented a car. It was towards the end of the day and we were pretty bored of the repetitiveness of the day. The first two hours were cool, but seven hours of desert temples and tourists made us tired. Eventually, we found shelter inside one of the hundreds of temples that lined the skyline. They're all pretty similar. We walked and walked, who knew why we were in such a hurry. Then I spotted two girls on the outside of the temple painting with sand colors on parchment. Sand paintings are pretty common around Bagan. Some of them were really beautiful. But none compared to the younger girl. When our eyes met, I dropped my guard and suddenly I felt cold. An imaginary gust of wind blasted at my face. Despite this, I felt calm. My lips ached. I smiled gently. I knew that was it. This was my soul mate as soon as she opened her mouth, "Sand painting, you look sir."
I asked her if she was married. She laughed and said she was single. My jaws dropped to the dusty ground. My shoes were ruined. The rest of my life was ruined. Here she was in the desert of Bagan. I'd be so far away. There goes my happiness. I closed my eyes mid conversation to imagine life with her in the immediate 20 years that followed. Things didn't look pretty, yet her beauty remained. Her quiet sullen eyes. Her light brown, Aztec complexion. Her eyes, her eyes... contrasted against her poverty. She was angelic in every nature. Her English accent hinted at a subtle British, which made her words even easier on my eyes, "Just look, okay if you no buy."
Her sister was doing the painting while she was hustling my heart away. I forced Kim to buy a painting so I wouldn't look cheap. I threatened a pillow to his face until he suffocated if he didn't buy something from my soul mate. I recalled emphasizing on how he would ruin my eternal romantic bliss if he omitted to do so. Then it was time to go. I couldn't stand there behind the metal bars separating the inside from the outside. She sheltered herself from the direct sunlight and sand, while I was appreciating the relief from the dark confines of the temple. My rationality took over as I bid her farewell. I asked her to marry me out of the corner of my breath a few times. To her, I was a handsome Burmese. To me, she was a possibility at the utmost happiness. On the way out, as we got into our car, she walked around and I swear to God, she loomed over me like a descending phoenix as I was forced to squint in direct sunlight. She stood in the path of the sun, and her arms waved at me as if she was flapping her wings of glory. She was tall and slender. My mouth quivered. I kept repeating to myself, "If I truly love someone, I'd like them go." over and over again. As I sat in the car I drooped my head low and started yelling at Kim that we have to go back, we have to go back to the island... I mean we have to go back to the temple. This didn't happen. I wanted to. I wanted to just spend the rest of my limited time in Bagan with her. We could watch the sunset together. We could paint together, perhaps paint the rest of my lives together. I miss how she tied her silky hair back. Her freckles. Her rough weathered hands. I wiped tears away in the car as the driver smiled at me with his red teeth courtesy of his favorite chewing betel leaves. Kim attempted to talk some sense into me. I wouldn't have it. My ears were plugged by notions of me and her holding hands together swimming on tire swing from an old willow tree. We would own a pet bull terrier too. I choked back tears and looked at her until she was no longer visible from the back window. I closed my eyes and recited the name of that temple complex so maybe perhaps I would return the next day. I never did. But, I want to meet someone who makes me feel like this all the time. I met her, but life threw us a knuckle ball. Where are lemons when you need them?
Late at night, our initial conversation still echoes deep within my pounding wounded heart:
"Do you have a husband?"
"No, I'm single."
"I'm single too, do you want to go to America?"
I'll always remember her gentle words, "You buy two, I give you good priiie."
|I can't watch this footage without feeling completely morose.|