098: Stalker and I

So, yesterday, my stalker from Japan, her friend, and I hung out.

Well, I guess, firstly, I do need to explain why she came to be known as my stalker. Simply put, she had the misfortune of falling for me.

You see, I used to tutor people, as a part time job; it was one of those things that you weren't supposed to do (please read, illegal), but we all did it. Mainly so that we could meet someone, anyone, outside the crazy, fucked up "education" circle of people we had to deal with at work. So, yeah, I tutored her.

She was unique, and smart, in that she didn't want to learn English from me. Upon finding out that I also speak Korean, she decided that I'd be best suited to teach it to her. The money she offered me was too tempting to turn down. What can you say, I'm easy. So I agreed, and thus began my foray into teaching the language I use with my mother, the language, by the way, my future partner will need to learn, if he wants to be a part of my fucked up family.

Anyway, I guess I was sending off some strong pheromones her way, because by the end of the last lesson, she tells me that she's fallen for me.

Yes, my dear readers, ME!

How do you respond? All that comes out of my mouth was, "Thank you..." However, sensing the impending "but," she quickly interrupts me, saying, "Please don't say anything." And like something out of a cheesy Korean soap opera, she rises, turns, and walks out the door, into the night, into what I imagine... Well, something like this:

Cue, cheesy K-pop love ballad.

A full view. You see the heroine coming out the door. She walks away from the door. Her pace quickens. Suddenly, she stops.

We do a slow 360 around her, clockwise, and as the song hits its chorus, you know, because that when the music crescendoes, we come to a close up on her face. You see a tear drop. She fights back her sweltering sadness, muffling her cries.

Cut to the hero. A full view. He's sitting down, head turned, heavy and downcast, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. We do another slow 360. This time, around him, counterclockwise. A close-up of his face.

Will he get up? Will he go after her?

Cut back to the heroine. We see her backside. She turns her head, expectantly.

Cut to the outside of the house. We start zooming in to the door.

Cut to the inside the house. You see a close up of a hand, slowly moving towards something. What is it? Could it be? It's the doornob. The second verse has ended, and we come again to the song's crescendoing chorus.

Cut to the girl. Close-up. She's still expectant.

Cut to the hand. The doornob's turned. It's his POV. The door creeps open, revealing... What do we see? We see, we see. The toilet.

I really had to go.

Nothing was said between us after that night, except for a text message I sent her that read, "let's be friends."

Come on, what do you expect from someone who is emotionally stunted as I am? And in a few weeks time, I had returned to the land of the free, the home of the braves.

The end?

Nope. She sent me a gift. Something to remind me of Japan: Senbei and green tea. Then another gift. Then another. And then another.

My roommate asked if I had a stalker, because one of the gifts she sent was a bag of white chocolates, each shaped as a woman's breast with a supple, pink nipple. Hold two of them together, you'd have a full, voluptuous set. Bite into one, you'd find a milky white cream. Yummy. From then on, she came to be known as my stalker.

So, yesterday, my stalker from Japan, her friend, and I hung out.