Recently, a friend of mine gave me great advice. I know it was great advice because it confirmed exactly what I believed I had to do to solve the predicament I found myself in. It wasn’t some huge revelation or a huge surprise, it was just the most obvious and efficient way to fix my woes and end my conundrum. Of course, as simple as the advice was, the execution is what always proves to be my biggest obstacle.
Originally this was a whole different post entirely. As I started drafting several ideas and kicked them around for my next post, I realized there was a common thread: being hooked. We’ve all been hooked one way or another, either we were the one being strung along, or we were the ones doing the stringing. Whichever role you played, you know how messed up the situation can be.
As of today, I am entangled in several hooks. Thankfully, I am the hooker in all but one of these situations. Unfortunately, I am the hookee in one of these situations. Before you jump down my throat and berate me for treating these people in such a manner, I never actively sought out these relationships and didn’t realize the nature of them until much, much later. Also, unless you have been in one of these situations, you don’t know how unnaturally complicated and quick these things can snowball.
To preface the post, let me give you a little insight into my upbringing. I was born in New York, but I grew up a minority in a white neighborhood. Although there was a substantial amount of Asians where I lived, I was still a minority in the Asian sub-population (95% Korean v. 5% Chinese/Japanese/Indian/Viet/Hmong/Thai/etc…) I was chubby, below-average height, wore glasses, and was dressed by my mother until I was in third grade. To make it easier for you to picture, this guy bears a surprisingly strong resemblance to my pre-adolescent self. So, when I finally hit puberty, my 155lb frame stretched out from 5’4″ to 6′. By my junior year of high school, I looked nothing like I did just two years prior. Although I was physically a brand new specimen, I still retained all the introverted tendencies that I accrued the previous 16 years of my life. I had to be told, much later after the fact, I had cultivated quite a following of pubescent high school girls (my Writing AP teacher took me aside in class one day and told me, “You’re disrupting my freshman classes, all I hear from the girls is ‘Did you see what Meditationsonasubway wore today?‘ and ‘Ewwww, I can’t believe Meditationsonasubway was talking to HER this morning‘”, true story.) Anyway, this isn’t me bragging, this is me telling you how OBLIVIOUS I was to what was going on around me in regards to the fairer sex. Hell, I didn’t even have my first girlfriend until I was in my senior year of high school because I was under the impression nobody liked my awkward Asian ass. Furthermore, three-fourths of my college career was spent in a serious, long-term relationship, so my teachings with women didn’t even start until I was 22 years old.
Going back to the topic at hand, I have always told girls that I get involved with what my intentions are upfront. I don’t fib, bend the truth or give them hope for something to blossom in the future. After all the warnings, is it really my fault if I got them on my hook? No, really. I ask you, because I have no clue. Is it better to continue treating them as a friend while they secretly yearn for something more? Or should you just sever all ties with them and forcibly unhook the poor bastard? Currently, I’m going with option #1 and just avoiding mentioning the huge, purple elephant in the room. It may not be the most gracious route to take, but it works well with my non-confrontational methods.
Now, for the juicy bits. I am currently in the process of getting de-hooked, and it has been a slow, arduous journey. I’ve been on the hook for about 10 months now, and in that period I have tried and failed several times, like a shitty rehab patient, to remove the hook. The toughest part of growing a backbone is when you have nobody to support you through the process. Countless times I just needed a friendly voice telling me, “Fuck her, she’s being a bitch and in the process making you look like an even bigger bitch,” or some other friendly reminder that I get to choose who I spend my time and energy on. Trying to cut someone out of your life is tough, tough business, especially if the other party hasn’t exactly done anything specifically to wrong you. Fortunately for me, I had my epiphany after spending 1hr+ navigating my lesser-frequented subway lines to rendezvous with my hooker (#funwithpuns) and arriving at our pre-approved destination. Of course as soon as I emerge back into the world of cell phone signals, I receive something along the lines of, “cnt make it sry.” Boohoo, I know, but it was definitely the slap in the face that I needed. After FUMING for the even more annoying return trip, I made a decision on that downtown 6 train to go for broke and sever all ties. With the advice of my friend confirming exactly what I thought needed to be done, I started my current and hopefully final mission to rid this blight from my life.
Pray for me.