2 Questions Every Girl is Asking Herself

Chapter 27

The second day we moved into the concrete jungle, Jeremiah said he didn't feel well.  At first I wasn't sure if he was really sick or just using that as an excuse to avoid household chores. This went on for a whole week. He lay in bed all day, didn't say any more than 10 words to me every 12 hours. I made him breakfast, lunch, dinner, washed all the dishes, did all the grocery shopping, and even ran out to buy him ice cream and coca cola when he lost his appetite and couldn't eat. I did my very best to care for him and yet when he got better he couldn't be bothered to make breakfast for the both of us, or clean up after himself, or just talk to me more? Is this what happens when you live with a guy? He becomes absolutely absorbed in his computer, and would rather talk to his friends on Facebook than you? I thought he stayed because he wanted to be with me. But now I feel his feelings for me are slipping through my fingers like sand, and I have no way of stopping it even if I did all the housework.

What happened?

I think in men's heads, there're only two questions they need to answer 1. Do I want to get into her pants? Yes. Then he'll make efforts to be nice to you. 2. Is she the one? Unfortunately in most cases the answer to this one is no. He can probably figure that one out after living with you for 3 days. However, he may choose to stick around for tender loving care, but he really can't be bothered to care if you feel like shit.

I was so mad one day, I drew a decision tree that analyzed what I think went through his head:

[See image to the right]

Now as I think back to this random living arrangement with Jeremiah, it's so ridiculous that it's almost funny. We went from total strangers to 100% intimacy in a matter of days. It's like the universe's way of saying, "You want some passion and speed? Here you have it, go enjoy your time living with a man, kid!" I later watched a Korean drama called Full House, which is a romantic comedy of an aspiring writer who inherited a beach house from her father and lost it due to backstabbing friends. She ended up entering a fake marriage with the man who bought the house to earn it back. During the early days of their marriage, she was more of a maid than a wife. When she's not busy cooking and cleaning and on her knees scrubbing floors, she'd be sitting in front of the window writing. As I watched that scene, I thought to myself, 'why does this seem so disturbingly familiar?' My days at the concrete jungle were just like that. I'd be writing all day and break to make breakfast, lunch and dinner. Thankfully, I didn't have to scrub any floors.

One afternoon, I told Jeremiah I was going to the post office to mail some postcards, and he came with me. This was the first time he came out of the house after he'd gotten over the flu. It was a ten minute walk from our house to downtown Ubud. He didn't hold my hand like he used to. And he didn't seem to want me to hold his.

That was when I came to the conclusion that he didn't like me anymore. I was no longer a girlfriend but merely a roommate and a maid.  When we got to the tourist information center downtown, Jeremiah was really tired from the walk (he still had the back problem even though the flu had been cured), so he sat down to rest, and I went ahead to the post office, which was located somewhere further east in an indeterminate distance. I told Jeremiah I could take anywhere between 15 minutes to half an hour, "Don't bother waiting for me, feel free to go ahead and do your own thing," I said.

"Ok, if I'm not here when you come back, then I'll be at the hair salon getting a massage. See YA!" Jeremiah said with special emphasis on the See YA!

I figured that pretty much just means he won't be here if I wasn't back in 30 minutes.

The post office turned out to be a lot farther than I thought. Half an hour had already passed by the time I finished sending the postcards. The sun was shining brightly and there were so many cute little bookstores, cafes and souvenir shops lining the streets. I checked out the bookstores to see if they might have some good novels. And then I discovered a coffee shop on the second floor with a gabled roof and billowy white curtains, so I went in to fuel up on some waffles with raspberry butter and a latte, while reading over a local English newspaper on community events in Bali.

On my way back home, I forgot to check the tourist information center to see if Jeremiah was still there. I figured it's been two and half hours, he's probably in the hair salon getting a massage. When I walked in, they said no white guy had been there that afternoon. Ok, maybe he'd gone straight back home. When I got home, the door was still locked. I had to get the landlord to open it for me since Jeremiah carried the key.

'Gosh, I hope he's not still waiting at the tourist information center!' I thought to myself.

I jumped in the shower to cool off, for it was a hot day, and when I came out of the shower, Jeremiah was standing in the doorway, sweaty and fuming.

"What did I say when you left?" he demanded in a louder voice than usual.

"That you'd be at the hair salon?"

"I said, if I'm not here, I'd be at the hair salon."

"I checked at the hair salon because I didn't think you'd still be waiting at the tourist information center."

"I said, if I'm not here. Here is not the hair salon. What's the point of wasting all that time sitting there, if we're not going to walk back together!"

I was overcome with a bittersweet shock of pain in the pit of my stomach. 'So he does care? Why can't he just friggin' wash the dishes after I cook?'

"How would I have known you'd care enough to want to walk back together when you barely even talk to me all day?" I retorted back.

Jeremiah fell silent. He went to sit on the bed to rest his back, while breathing hot air through his flared nostrils.

He looked so cute all mad, I went up to give him a hug, "That was very sweet of you to have waited so long. It was a misunderstanding. People misunderstand each other sometimes."

That seemed to have been the right thing to say. Jeremiah's breathing softened.

We lay in bed in silence with a giant space in between. And then, without looking at me, he put his hand on my arm, and left it there.