I wrote in a recent article how my conversation with my so-called “Failed Valentine” ended in “Take Care.” But this good bye was not the end to our conversation. Not yet:
At 7:24 p.m., while I was walking home after playing with the 13-inch Macbook Pro at the Apple store in downtown San Francisco, I called her, talking about the midterm we took a few hours ago during geography lab.
We shared our answers on numerous questions, while asking whether our results for the sling psychrometer, for instance, was accurate — a precursor to whether we got the same answer. I called her thinking our conversation would be brief; I just wanted to blow off some steam after this midterm, and if she did’t mind, I wanted her to listen.
She ended up listening.
But my iPhone, as I was nearing home, was at 3-percent. I told her I would call her back if my battery died, but she hung up on me first.
“Hmmm,” I grinned but didn’t think further.
I went home, tossed my Chrome Soyuz backpack onto the floor and immediately attached my iPhone to its charger. I called her back, a second later.
We talked and talked some more about geography, but our conversations soon changed course. I started asking her questions about her personal life and went on to a conversation about high school, her teenage years — she was a “complicated” person who went through “many phases” in her life — and her attractions to non-Asian ethnicities.
I later learned she was a “white washed” female who was attracted to Caucasians more than Asian Americans because she did’t grow up in an environment surrounded by Asian Americans. This was in contrast to my lifestyle, since I grew up being exposed to a lot of Asian Americans, mainly of Chinese descent.
We then went on to talk about Justin Bieber and how he was recently involved in an altercation with a paparazzo and was restrained by a security guard. I made fun of Bieber, sarcastically commenting on his songs, while criticizing the older demographic — age 18 and above — for liking him and falling in love with his songs, when he was just a teenager himself.
Then we talked about Britney Spears and her shaved head. I told her I never looked at Spears the same way again. She told me she felt sorry for her.
And then we talked about Tumblr and how she had one since sophomore year in high school. I poked fun of her Tumblr usage, saying this is why females spend more on Tumblr than males, or so I thought.
“I could have been wrong,” I said. “I don’t know, really.”
We talked and talked, and little did I know, our conversation went from 12 minutes to 6 hours and 41 minutes.
We were having a lot of fun on the phone, talking about anything that popped into our minds, while interrupting each other whenever we felt like boosting our egos.
But near the end of our conversation, she started mentioning she was a “complicated” person who did not plan on keeping in touch with me, cues within our conversations that slowly shifted our friendship towards chaos.
But I was having so much fun, I brushed off her comment, downplaying the seriousness of her tone:
“You’re crazy,” I said after chewing my cheese ball.
“The next person you’ll be close with is me, right?”
OK, this comment, once I think about it, was not that sarcastic or characteristics of a troll. But in the moment, I didn’t think twice about what to say: I just said what I wanted to say because, simply put, I felt like it.
She went on to say she was close with a small group of people, which I retorted with a random number — “less than 5” — but she retorted back with “10 people in her life.”
I tried to figure out who these 10 people were. She asserted she was close to mainly family members, a few friends from high schools, and strangers she met randomly in class. I was attempting to extract more information about her comment, so I could, once and for all make sense of this seeming nonsense.
She didn’t directly acknowledge my comment, but she didn’t deny it either, going on to say she was close to people who live around her.
“Your neighbors,” I said.
She sounded startled, trying to explain her comment. But I interrupted her, cutting the B.S. from her details and directly telling her my thoughts.
“So what you’re saying is that you don’t wanna be friends with me because you already have your group of friends and you’re not interested in making more.”
“Yes,” she said.
I did not agree with this thinking, but I also didn’t believe imposing my views on friendship was the right alternative. If this so-called “friendship” would last, I thought, right now or in the future, I have to respect her wishes even if I was upset:
“OK, all right. I respect your choice,” I said, but as I sensed my voice trembling, I changed to a professional tone: “This is certainly a decision I do not agree with — in fact, I vehemently disagree — but you already have your mind made up, so it is what it is. I respect your wishes.”
She said thank you. But her tone was very low, as if she was reluctant to lose touch with me.
I addressed this reluctance by reminding her I am her friend, and whenever she needs anything — a conversation or help with geography homework — I am here for her.
She thanked me again, and, for the last time, said goodbye. She hung up.
This hang-up was, indeed, our last conversation as friends — a friendship that is now replaced by her strictly enforced view of us as, simply, classmates.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Check back this weekend for an analysis of the friendship game and relationships in progress.
Photo: CODYody via Flickr