by Jessica Pan
The sun started fading and I shivered.
“I think I’m going to go home, guys,” I said, and I stood up. Olivier scraped his chair back over the cobblestones.
“I’m walking that way too,” he said quickly.
“Okay!” Sasha kissed our cheeks, and Olivier and I left. We walked up the street and when we reached the corner, he took my hand. I looked at him, waiting for him to explain. Why did he have my hand? Was he giving me something?
“Rachel,” he said. “I...want to kiss you.”
My heart started pounding so loudly I was afraid I’d misheard him.
The caffeine and adrenaline rush made me start shaking like a scared rabbit. Was this really happening? Every time Jacques or Sasha teased me about dating Olivier, I always brushed it off while secretly daydreaming about him whenever I wandered alone through Paris. For months, we’ve flirted and had so many close calls, and it was moving so slowly that I had almost given up on him. But finally, here it was, his perfect face so close to mine, his eyes so starry.
I couldn’t stop shaking.
“What?” I said.
I had to make sure my brain wasn’t playing tricks on me. I thought maybe he was confused about the English word for kiss, and that if I went in for his lips, he’d go for cheek kisses instead, then push me away and call me a lusty whore.
I did not know how to respond to his request. I swallowed and squeezed his hand.
And then he’d pushed me back against the wall we were standing in front of, and we were kissing. I’d never been kissed like that before, softly and passionately. The entire time, I was still shaking, fluttering, barely present.
And then he pulled away and took my hand. I opened my eyes.
We walked around the Marais, swinging hands. We wandered into an exhibit about Paris architecture, holding hands and grinning at each other the whole time.
He left me with a kiss on the corner of Vieille du Temple, with a promise to meet up later tonight for a loft party up in the Nineteenth.
Every time I think about it, I can’t believe it.
Olivier kissed me. I’m in Paris. It is all too good to be true.
Love,
A Vindicated Lusty Whore
JULY 19
Jess to Rachel
Rachel! OMIGOD HE KISSED YOU. He kissed you. I actually do not know how to convey how exciting this is for me as well! Why am I so excited? I don’t know, but I am! Finally, Olivier! HE KISSED YOU!
Okay, now that I have finally gotten all that out of my system, I’m just left wanting more. What happened next? Do you think this is it? The moment when our Ones are revealed to us?
Either way, I’m in Australia!
Didn’t even think I’d make it here because my Beijing apartment was such a disaster. I had 113 books in my apartment. What the hell was I supposed to do with 113 books?
Note to future selves: Never buy anything. You will just have to pack it in a suitcase one day and be at the mercy of airline attendants and their draconian weight regulations.
But...Olivier kissed you! And you kissed him back, you lusty whore!
I want more information and I want it immediately.
I’m in Melbourne! It’s winter here! I flew from a Chinese summer into an Australian winter, but the sky here is blindingly blue and the sunlight is so white.
I’m writing this outside from a café on a street in the north part of the city, Carlton, where I used to spend most of my time when I studied abroad here. I love revisiting parks and bookstores where I have so many memories, but as I wandered through familiar streets to get here, I felt, very strongly, that I was no longer twenty. At twenty, everything here felt new and exciting. Every adventure felt like a life-changing experience. And now, at twenty-four, it feels slightly muted. Has it changed because of life experience? Is this what getting older is?
Even though I stood out more in China, it was more as a general foreigner, but here I feel so self-conscious as an American. My first day here, I gave a homeless woman my change, but when she discovered my origins, she recoiled in disgust and spat out, “You’re American?? I hate Americans. You’re all taking over Australia.” Then she wandered off with my money. I had literally given her two cents for her thoughts. I want a refund.
She may have a point—our pop culture is the dominant culture here. But even so, I’ve been in Asia for so long that I feel I missed out on a bunch of things. I have no idea what’s cool anymore. All I know is that all jeans are now supposed to be skinny, all lipstick is now supposed to be red, and everyone wants to sleep with some guy named Don Draper.
Last evening I wandered around Melbourne’s Chinatown, which is just one street long and crammed full of tourists eating dim sum. It did not feel like real China to me. Disappointed, I walked by a Starbucks and saw hordes of Chinese students sitting outside together. That was slightly more like it.
Real China is so far away, but parts of Beijing linger with me. It was normal to shout in Mandarin, “Waitress!” at the top of your lungs in a busy restaurant. Try doing this in Australia, especially in an American accent, and it’s the quickest way to have all of the Australians in the restaurant turn on you. And you have to be aggressive in China to get anywhere. I’d forgotten that outside of Asia, it isn’t normal to run onto a bus pushing everyone out of the way and if someone steps on your foot, you have to apologize passive-aggressively. I hope I don’t become too soft here.
When I ride the tram outside the city, I see the silhouette of gum trees on the horizon instead of the construction cranes of China. The sky here is enormous, just as big as it is in Texas. Melbourne has a small bustling city center, but about half a mile outside the center, it becomes sprawling suburbs.
It also feels so quiet because I know no one here. I’m staying in a hostel and have been searching for a place to live. I went to register for my classes yesterday at the Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology, and half of the students seemed so young because they enrolled straight after college. Classes begin next week, and I’m still trying to adjust to the fact that I’m going to be a student again.
All I want to do right now is have coffee with you and Astrid and Rosabelle. I’m tired of meeting new people. I want to say something wildly inappropriate and not a single one of you bats your eyes. Rosabelle will order black coffee, and for old times’ sake, Astrid will light up a cigarette, even though she quit last year.
Being back here is making me sentimental, but I SEE SAM SINGER TONIGHT! The last time I saw him, we were standing on a dock in Malaysia—it feels like a lifetime ago.
I’m flying to meet him in a few hours and I’m nervous. Really nervous. Like can’t-sit-still nervous. Beijing and my old life are a million miles away, and Sam is waiting for me in Sydney.
WISH ME LUCK!
Love,
The Most Excited Passenger on the Airplane
JULY 20
Rachel to Jess
Melbourne sounds so shiny and new and far away. But here, reality is setting in. Everything felt so perfect, so dreamy, and now...I don’t know anymore. Something feels off with Olivier. I’m trying to make us be in sync again, like we were every day when we were just friends. I want this to work so badly.
After Olivier kissed me, we met up later that night and went to a loft party. We had to wait in line for a long time with Jacques and Sasha and Marc, but they suddenly started treating us differently. They left us off on our own. But I didn’t know how to act like his girlfriend! I wasn’t his girlfriend yet! What do girlfriends do?
Standing in line with Olivier, I didn’t have anything to say to him. He kept squeezing my hand with a soft look in his eye, and yet I couldn’t think of one thing to talk about. We’re so far past all of the initial background that you usually share on first dates, and I’ve seen him so frequently lately (like just earlier that day and the night b
efore) that there was no news to share. We’re not at the point where we talk about deeper subjects. Also, we were waiting in line for a party, so I wasn’t about to ask his opinion on the origins of the universe or when he sees himself getting married. The silence made me so uncomfortable. I felt infinitely boring.
Finally we were inside the party. One big smoky techno party. We immediately made a beeline to get drinks. Then I dropped mine as Olivier grabbed me around the waist and kissed me hard, passionately, his arms tightly holding me as the room danced crazily around us in the dark, with only a slideshow on the front wall providing any light. Worries gone. We did this for two hours.
Finally, when it was over, Sasha and Marc split off to take the bus back to their place, and Jacques went to meet up with some other friends. Once again, Olivier and I were left to our own devices. And Olivier went along with the whole “We are now an established couple” thing, holding my hand and waving good-bye to everyone as we walked away from our friends.
He walked me to the subway, and then we made out in the Metro station. But once we were on the subway, he asked, “Are we going back to your place or mine?” But we had just kissed for the first time that very afternoon! This felt so wrong to me. We were friends before and it took us so long to just get to the next level. Why did everything have to happen the very same night? I was completely confused about what was happening! WHERE WAS THE SEDUCTION? Where’s the subtle angling to see if I want to spend the night with him? Where’s the rascally look in his eye?
Basically, compared to my romantic fantasies, he might as well have looked me in the eye and said, “Where does the penetration begin? At your place or mine?”
I kissed him good-bye and told him that we should go home alone.
I am freaked out over how fast everything is moving. Is that how it felt in the beginning with Sam?
I went to bed that night feeling like I should have agreed to go with him and just accepted the blunt overtures as the way he is. Like I should forget about seduction. I was scared I had somehow made him feel rejected.
But then he called the next day to see how I was, and I was so relieved that he still wanted to see me. That afternoon, I met up with him and Sasha and Marc even though I felt run-down and had the beginning of a cold. They were all standing in front of a lingerie store waiting for me when I got out of the Metro. Subtle choice, guys. I cheek-kissed Marc and Sasha and had to go in for a real kiss with Olivier. A short one, but Sasha and Marc were literally a foot away watching.
We hung out in cafés all day, switching to a restaurant and then a bar in the evening. We acted exactly like we always did, except this time Olivier had his hand on my back. But when it started to get dark, Olivier once again asked, “Your place or mine?” I still didn’t understand why he was rushing everything, but I agreed on his place because I wanted to redeem whatever I may have lost the night before.
So even though it was a Sunday night, even though we were both tipsy and I felt like I was getting sick and even though we were both exhausted from staying out so late the previous night, we went back to his place.
We got to his place and we made out on his bed. It was so sexy and exciting...for the first hour. And then it just went on for too long. Although I’m so attracted to him, it still felt like I was kissing a good friend. I’m so timid when it comes to initiating the physical, but I thought he would be more aggressive because of all the arm brushing and knee touching of the past few months. It turns out we are equally physically reserved.
Somehow we had gotten far enough that my cardigan had come off but he was still fully clothed. Lesson of the evening: One of you has to be the aggressor or you both end up just lying on top of each other, still fully clothed, staring at each other.
I was just too shy to take off his clothes. It felt like at any moment, he’d be like, “Stop! What are you doing, you fucking weirdo? Why are you taking my shirt off?”
My cold was getting worse. I kept having to get up to get water. Finally we both decided to get some sleep. He told me I should sleep over, and even though I was so stuffy from my cold and his apartment was about a million degrees, I felt like if I left right then, the night would be a failure. I wanted a chance to salvage everything.
So we both lay there, staring up at the ceiling, like a terrible sitcom. A terrible, hot, sweaty sitcom.
In the morning, things were still awkward. All of a sudden, it was like I was his guest in his hotel, with him offering his shower and cereal. Finally I left, kissing him good-bye and turning to go home. And then he pulled me back and said, “Can I see you again tonight?”
WHAT? He wants to see me again tonight? Don’t we need some space? But he must still like me? I felt both dread and relief.
Jess, I don’t know what’s going to happen tonight. I do know I’m going to enjoy my seven hours without him before he comes over tonight after work.
He obviously likes me, right? Advise me, please!
Love,
Panicked
JULY 21
Jess to Rachel
Oh God, your ordeal with Olivier sounds like total hell. Ahh, I feel so awkward right now! Like I need to take a shower or something. Alone. I also feel thirsty when I think about making out for hours and having a cold. I think you should sit back, relax, and rehydrate.
First of all, why are you guys cramming eight dates into one? An afternoon in a café, a jaunt in the park, a loft party, another café, another bar, another party—tell Olivier that this is just so much, too much, and way too soon! The only reason Sam and I had an accelerated relationship was because of the constant sense of urgency that he was leaving. Also, we had just met, so every conversation revealed something new.
I would like to grant you permission (because I feel like you are waiting for someone to give it) to remove the clothes of someone you are kissing, especially if the kissing is going on for more than one hour. If you still don’t like being that forward, just request him to take off your clothes. You don’t even have to be coy about it. Just shout, “Take off my shirt!” Trust me, it works like a charm every time. Although I don’t know how to say this in French. The only thing I can say in French is, “No mas touche pas!” or “Do not touch me!” Useful for the Metro, maybe not so useful when trying to seduce your crush.
In all seriousness, the beginning of a romantic relationship is delicate. It’s always the trickiest. When Sam and I were reunited in Malaysia, things felt strange for the first few nights. I suddenly felt shy and nervous. Even now, we are still so new, and the balance is fragile sometimes. Sometimes it still feels like we are flirting. There are still awkward silences. What I’m learning is that if both people are willing to make an effort, that discomfort goes away, and you can’t view a few clumsy encounters as a sign of incompatibility. You both just have to have that blind faith that someday you will stop feeling awkward. My current theory is that’s the test of true love—waiting out the awkwardness.
Who knows? Maybe everything will flow perfectly tomorrow. Maybe all he needs is Sasha to take him aside and say, “Romance her, you fool!” And relax! Everyone just needs to relax.
Please, whatever happens, just make sure something changes before you two end up lying next to each other fully clothed and sexually dissatisfied for the next twenty years. I have to say, I’m very disappointed in Frenchmen right now. What, they think the accent is seduction enough? Non.
I mean, take my advice with a grain of salt, since I did plan my whole life on a whim. But a whim that I don’t regret.
I spent the entire hour-long flight to Sydney tapping my fingers, thinking about Sam, and staring into space. When the plane landed, I was the first one off. I jumped onto a train to central Sydney and when I stepped off the platform, Sam appeared from behind a column, grinning. His hair was slightly longer and he wrapped me in his arms and then we looked at each other, stunned that we were both finally in
the same place. It was one of my top ten moments ever.
He took me to a tiny authentic Chinese restaurant because I’ve been missing Beijing’s food. Days in Sydney were spent lying on Bondi Beach, and at night we watched the fireworks at Darling Harbour.
You’ve never been to Australia, so let me overgeneralize, although this will anger the natives. Sydney is like Melbourne’s hot blond sister who likes to fake tan and wears high heels to breakfast. Melbourne is the artsy, intellectual sister who makes her own clothes and listens to underground rock. She is, sadly, not as popular. It’s like Sydney’s always flicking her beach-blond hair and calling her sister “Mel-boring.”
Melbourne is full of hipsters. Entire neighborhoods feel like they’ve been transplanted from Brooklyn. Yesterday, I walked by live window mannequins who were shaving each other’s beards off. There seems to be some sort of vintage resurgence here as well, because all of the girls I’m meeting love baking cupcakes, knitting scarves, and wearing secondhand clothes.
Sam told me that if I start doing any of these things, he’s not going to recognize me. I left him in Sydney after the weekend. Saying good-bye with so little time together was hard, but I know he’ll be visiting me in two weeks. He’s currently working at a magazine in Sydney that is struggling, so he’s considering making the move to Melbourne if things don’t change. I’m really hoping this happens soon.
So after a weekend in Sydney, I’m back in Melbourne alone, drinking a coffee outside. My classes have weekly local news quizzes, and I don’t recognize a single politician’s name, so I’m cramming. (Australians resent how little everyone else knows about their country, so I’m trying to prove them wrong, although failure seems inevitable.) You’re welcome to join me at this café, but good luck finding me in the sea of other black jeans and newspapers.
Let me know what happens with Olivier. I’m here if you need me. I mean, I’m in Melbourne, which is basically the bottom of the earth. If you look at a globe, I’m about half an inch away from falling off the planet. But I’m still here.
