It is Friday night, and I just got back from Korean BBQ with some colleagues. I’m relaxing in my clean home (cleaning lady came today), with fully-functioning Internet (Internet man came yesterday), and a Vitamin C face mask on. It’s been more than a week since I last saw the Airport Express. I have Aretha Franklin on. I am momentarily blissed out.
One of my colleagues worked for 7 years in Korea before coming to HK. By the likes of it (we had an in-depth conversation about formal Korean bows which white men only do to parents of their Korean girlfriends, he had a pop-out sticker on his Galaxy S), he probably has a thing or two for Asian women, particularly Koreans.
We are shared veterans of long distance. He told me the sticker was from a girl, a loosely-defined long distance relationship and I understood that perfectly. Sometimes you meet people you like, but an acute awareness of how distance breeds impracticalities that naturally endanger relationships just makes you want to reconsider the whole thing.
Better to remain friends, a rational being would philosophize, and maintain that potential for something more, someday, sometime.
I think I am starting to get used to this – being emotionally-bonded to people physically not here with me. So I am only accountable to myself on my own terms, free to live, free to work, free to be, free to easily pick up a conversation whenever I choose, wherever I last left it. A bene placito (“at one’s pleasure”).