I just watched a piece of news on YouTube about a goalkeeper who kicked the ball toward his teammates, and the ball accidentally struck a seagull in mid-air. The team leader immediately stopped the game and gave the seagull CPR. After about two minutes, the bird regained consciousness. I really hope it will recover fully.
I used to date a Turkish man, Mete. He loved football very much. His favourite team was Galatasaray. Even though we are no longer together, Google still feeds me the team’s results.
I know how it sounds — Mete and I never met in person. We met through WeChat Shake. He called himself Carl there. I wondered if he might be the same Carl I knew, and that it would be fate. But no, he wasn’t the same Carl. Mete and I dated online for more than four years. I loved him very much. Unfortunately, he was just as strange as John. This seems to be my life: too many men who claimed they loved me, yet they were either gone or never truly wanted to get close. As if I were a flower living inside a glass jar.
Yesterday I mentioned Carl, but I didn’t explain who he was. Carl was an Englishman who used to work in Hong Kong as a barista. He was brilliant. He learned Cantonese by reading comic books and asking customers to teach him the pronunciation. Back then he spoke Cantonese very well, and he could write Chinese too. He was also good with computers. I admired him very much. I just didn’t realise he was in love with me. I was so naïve.
One day he showed up at my office and gave me a letter — which I still keep — and told me not to open it until he left. When I finally read it, it was too late. He was angry that my mind was still attached to my first boyfriend. He was unhappy with his life in Hong Kong, and I didn’t pay attention or care enough to notice. He decided to leave Hong Kong. I don’t know where he is now, and I haven’t been able to find him since 1994. No excuses — I was never good at relationships. I do hope he is well and happy.