Chibimagic's Weblog

Archive for March 2012

As soon as I step off the plane, I am hit with the immediate, visceral sensation: this is home. Surrounded by faces like mine, hair like mine, skin like mine, height like mine. They are family: everything about this place oozes a sense of belonging. It engulfs me like the air, penetrating every alveolus of my lungs. The actual air itself is shamefully despicable: smoggy exhaust, factories, smokers, open coals. I think to myself, no wonder they have SARS–they deserve it. I think to myself, I’m cutting at least 10 years off my life with all the crap I’m inhaling here.

Back at the hotel room, I flip through channels, landing only on commercials. They are evenly split between shampoo, beauty products, and detergent. Seeing the actresses’ gleaming black, black midnight hair, I think to myself, this is beauty. Seeing their milky pure white faces, I think to myself, this is beauty. And by their standards, I am not beautiful. But at least we are measurable on the same scale. At least there is a scale. Unlike those ruddy-cheeked, straw-haired globs of flesh from that other place. Those “beautiful” people would be painfully out of place here; foreign, unwelcome. This is home. This is my home.

Sitting at dinner with 10 family members from my mother’s side, I eye my cousin beside me. This is the first we’ve seen each other since we learned to speak. I’m at a loss for words. In the other place I could flirt, play with language, be clever. But how do you do that with someone you’re related to? In a language you have only a rudimentary grasp of? But this is home–and hot damn do I wish we weren’t related.

In another city, I sit on the hotel bed, listening to other relatives chatter away in an incomprehensible dialect. Sounds pour from their mouths like paper snowflakes too hastily cut. Here and there I catch some of the less mutilated words. I let the rest wash over me, filling my ears, mind, heart. I think to myself, this is home.

A has been living in my bed for half a week now, despite the fact that his dorm room is a 45 second walk away on the other side of the building. M claims I’m keeping him like a cat. And really, I can’t remember the last night he spent in his own bed. All we do is lie here and cuddle and watch Desperate Housewives. It’s one week before graduation: I have papers to write, sets to finish up, and finals to prepare for. I need to kick him out. But he keeps sitting there, shirtless and adorable with a pencil across his mouth, brow gently furrowed as he makes his way through his textbook, his six pack quivering ever so slightly with each breath. Oh god, his six pack. I can’t stop touching it. He is the most physically attractive person I have been with. Adonis-like would be a fair description. I have no idea if he’s getting any work done. I’m certainly not. I ponder escaping to his room to get some work done and some sleep.

He sets down his book and curls up for a nap break. Not much sleep for either of us last night. I stare at him under my blankets. “I’m gonna take a creepy picture of you sleeping,” I announce. “Okay,” he replies with his eyes closed. Click. Two weeks ago we hadn’t said two words to each other. Two weeks later I would be moving in with him for the summer. Later that night, as he’s lying on my bed with his computer on his chest, I straddle him. “Make the sexy face,” I implore. He flexes his arms, curls his lip, and cocks an eyebrow at me. I take a picture with my phone and set it as his contact picture. I move his computer to the floor. He can lift way more than I’ll ever weigh, but he allows me to pin down his arms and lean in. My hair falls from my shoulders, enclosing us.


Posted on: March 5, 2012

“I think we should date.”

“I don’t know what that means.”


“Siri, what does it mean to date?”

“This might answer your question: Prepared date. 140 grams. 391 calories.”


“I think we should date.”

“How would that be different from what we’re doing now?”


“What’s the deal with you two? Are you guys dating?”

“I dunno.”

“Well, how often do you see each other?”

“A couple times a week.”

“Sounds like you’re dating.”


“I think we should date.”

“We already like each other and we spend all our time together.”


“What does it mean to date?”

“I think the generally accepted definition is spending time with someone you enjoy, in a non-platonic way.”

“But what makes it non-platonic?”

“Sexual attraction, desire, action.”

“But hardcore Christians date without ever doing anything.”

“Yes, but they have attraction and desire. The fact that they don’t act on it doesn’t change that.”

“So basically it’s all in the head?”

“Yes. If you’re both mutually attracted to each other and desire each other in a sexual way or a romantic way then it’s a date.”

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