whoops.

"When you were here before, 
Couldn't look you in the eye
You're just like an angel, 
Your skin makes me cry

You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You're so fuckin' special

But I'm a creep, 
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here

I don't care if it hurts, 
I wanna have control
I want a perfect body 
I want a perfect soul

I want you to notice 
when I'm not around
You're so fuckin' special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here, ohhhh, ohhhh

She's running out again
She's running out
She run run run run...
run... run...

Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you want
You're so fuckin' special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep, 
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here

I don't belong here..."

Weeks of careful planning and psyching myself up for something I thought could potentially be pretty cool crashed and burned in a wreckage of molten metal and flames and looked a little something like this:

(in Japanese, outside of the JR Akihabara station as the sun sets)

"See you when I get back."

"Hey---wait."

"...what?"

"Can I talk to you alone? For, like, five minutes?"

"Uh..........why?"

"Just like--I just do. is that okay?"

"Sure, I guess."

"Okay."

"So, uhm.....what?"

"Okay. So, I'm sure you already know this but....when I'm with you, I'm really happy, and you make me smile....I haven't met anyone like you before."

"Oh."

"And....I really like you."

"............oh." The wind blew. His shoulders stiffened up and his skin lost a shade. "....wellthankyouyouseethethingisI'mverryflatteredbut.....IhaveagirlfriendbutI'vereallyenjoyedspendingtimewithyoubye." He stuck out his hand, for a handshake.

".....oh." I shook his hand. "I just wanted you to know."

"Okay. See you later."

"Yeah--hey, have a good Summer vacation."

"Yeah." He stood and looked at me for a moment in affable disgust as though I had turned inside out, but he still wanted to keep that polite, Japanese smile on his face. He left, and the sun set. 

Excuse me for believing that taking a foreign girl you just met out to dinner alone multiple times, giving her things, talking to her on Skype into the wee hours of the morning, and never even hinting at the fact that you may have a girlfriend allows one to misconceive you as being single.

I am done with Japanese men, I am done courting anyone, and if some rich, beautiful, 30-something record executive with a few houses and a motorcycle wants to propose to me, then you know what, I'll think about it. No, you don't even get an answer yet. I'm going to sit and mull this over in my head for a good week or so to determine if your kind should have a chance at marriage with me or if you all deserve to fucking die.

It was as though he officially terminated whatever relationship we had with each other. "Oh, I'm sorry, your transaction with Yohei has been denied. Thank you for using our services, goodbye."

A handshake? 

A handshake??

Perplexed and bewildered, I got on the train to Takadanobaba, a 20 minute extension from the train I could have taken to get home. I was heartbroken for about 30 seconds before I realized that if he had, indeed, said something to the effect of "Oh, really? Why, what an ironic happenstance; I too have feelings for thee!" then I would have been ready to abandon everything I really cared about, torn up the business cards I've been collecting, and prepared to be barefoot and pregnant on a goat farm somewhere out in Aomori. If I would have had a semi-stable non-career-related reason to stay attached to Japan, that would have been potentially very dangerous for both my psyche and my wallet....especially if it was to be with a guy that takes strange foreign girls out to dinner and never once mentions my name. In a few, insensitive words, I think that motherfucker just saved my life.

I was positive I had misconstrued every friend signal, come at everything from the wrong angle, and made the world's most foolish ass of myself until I talked on the phone to my mother who, although slightly bonkers, made a few good points as to how I probably couldn't have construed our situation to mean much else. 

But what could I expect?

He's pretty, 

he's Japanese,

and he's only 20.

If those weren't solid indications to keep the fuck moving, then I don't know what are. At least now I know. 

So fuck you, Japanese male population. I hope you feel some semblance of guilt the next time you scratch your head and wonder how some foreigner who hardly speaks your language could have possibly misconceived you to be single.