Remember when we both got woken up by a cockroach after we had our first coitus following our first date, a few days after we first met? We both jumped like bunnies in a field, startled by the dern roach and then your retarded fat cat was playing with that big bug in the corner. You then put the roach in a small plastic receptacle and threw away the whole thing through your window, which was open and had a big ass hole through the mosquito net. That’s when I realized how I got my ass bitten by them squeaky flying bastards. And I also realized that there must’ve been at least one more cockroach that had visited you.
We tried to sleep back but we couldn’t so I put one of my hands in your fluffy, moist vagina, while with the other I was chugging the leftover of a beer bottle, sitting next to a pile of clothes in that whole room of disarray, smelling of mold and cat piss. I can’t forget that night in all the time that exists on this planet, holy shit. One of my top memories in this whole rat infested, contaminated city of Hanoi.
We sure had loads of memories, darling. Even if you turned out to be some mentally ill unmedicated bat shit crazy ass insecure babe, I still found charm in yer mood swings. Plus, we talked about some of the wackiest shit ever. We both shared and rejoiced in that deranged, far-fetched, dank and edgy humor, which we put in our chat box without any hesitation. If some of that stuff would get leaked in the wrong circles, we’d probably end up in some high security, ultra monitored, premium detention center where nobody would even know we’d be there.
I remember that one time when you called me crying and being desperate, telling me that you were troubled and that you needed my presence straight away. Even though I was drunk as a skunk after I downed one too many shots of the celebrated rice wine with some of my favorite uncles at my beloved junk shop, I still hopped on my dern 2-wheeler and stepped the gas. Drove all the way from damn West Lake to your abode in the deep Ha Dong, praying to the skies that none of them Pikachu pricks (the Vietnamese traffic police, dressed in yellow uniforms, thus the nickname) would stop me. After I almost crashed 3 times, I ended up at your place just to find out that all the cry and lamentation was due to your neighbor telling you politely to clean the shower. Silly you, forgot that it was your turn, eh? And because of all that you were so certain that the girl next door was hating your guts. Baby boo, people are not as hateful as you think, you know?
You told me one time in January to fuck off because our whole ordeal wasn’t your vibe, so I accepted that. Then the lunar new year came and I went down to Bangkok to have myself a time, because I simply despised the bleak Hanoi winter with all my being (and I still do). Down in sunny Thailand I smooched with this Indonesian babe one night and then got fucked on weed and mushrooms, as any single man on holiday would do. At the same time, you texted me, being all cute and funny, lowkey inviting me back to yours once I’d return to the most polluted village in the world, as the Viet capital is known by some.
Thus, we had some good old intercourse while your dumbass cat was watching, as usual. But then your mood swings kicked in again and I was like: “to hell with this, I ain’t never seeing this deranged bint” so next time you bitched in our texting I was like: “ok, the end lol, bye” and that was quite the finale. Or at least I thought it was.
You texted me again some months later and I acted with utmost indifference. And your smartass sensed that I wasn’t like my usual self in our interactions and was all surprised. “We broke up, darling.” I told you. And for some reason after that I bragged about my change of thought and everything that went in Bangkok, including the magic mushrooms and the smooching with that Indonesian short and chunky cutie pie. And you didn’t like that, telling me how much of a dickhead I was and went even that far as accusing me of cheating, even though you had told me yourself to fuck off a few weeks before that trip.
Despite me trying to explain to you that it’s every man’s right to go nuts and be totally unrestrained once his ex told him to fuck off and that whatever had been before couldn’t be no more and that it was the end of whatever that had been and could’ve been later on. But no no no, darlin’, you had to take it personal. You then sent me a long ass message bragging about your hopes and expectations and how nice it would’ve been if I were a simp. And I couldn’t even reply to all that text yapping because you blocked me straight away.
After a while none of that even mattered, for I went to Europe to see Granny one last time, returned to work another month, just so I could go again to Europe and spend the summer there because I couldn’t stand the heat in Hanoi. Did some drugs in Berlin, got smashed drunk in Poland, had a one-night stand with a Romanian chick in one of the shabby Bucharest dorms and then pissed from the top of a Bulgarian mountain. Just so I could come back in Vietnam, make a blog, write a novel, and drive my motorbike to Saigon. So, it’s all good. No harsh feelings. Hope that yer well and that you found yer prince charming simp lad who answers your calls at 2am and agrees to every thing you may utter, regardless of being at times your very own fairytale fabrications or just complete nonsense.