Making of Love

I brush my teeth and use a mouthwash
I speak of love in minty breaths
I tempt those tingly countless kisses
I'm getting ready for action.

The No.1 bra and underwear
A trace of makeup to boost my confidence
sniff my body, BO checked!
Spread a lotion for silky touch
Make my lips sweet and glossy

Dim the light
Turn on my side
Take 1 and Action

Nmm for appreciation
Ah for invitation
Oh for sensation
Yeah for exaltation!

Clenching eyes
Biting lips
Reddening cheeks
Roar! Lose control.

Pump pump
Bloom a balloon
Push push
Bear a fruit
Pop pop
Beat the drum
Pang pang
Break it down.

Turn it down
Lie flat on my back.
Breathe in and out.
in and out.
In and...

out of the trance
I turn on my side
Putting his arm under my head
I shield my body with his skin
I feel warm and become drowsy

my eyes give in and I start drifting
to his heartbeat slowing
down deeper and deeper to the dreamland
until a shaft of light breaks the night

Confetti

The party is now a history.
And he is no longer here with me.
Yet you tagged along by stealth.

Like jack-in-the-box, pop, you showed up.


When I woke up, on his side of the bed,
I saw something flickering,

a souvenir from the dreamland I was in.




One morning I was sorting out my bag.
In the dark, there was something twinkling.
I picked it up and cradled in my hand.


I was about to leave, putting on my coat.
I put my hand in the pocket.
Poke. Something pointy prodded me
and I pulled out a shiny sleek flake.
You cheeky piece of paper! 




At the door, I picked up a shoe to wear.
A tiny squatter there to glare.
I picked it up and gazed at the wonder in my hand.


My Tinker bell, I won’t scold you
for
 bringing back the memories.

Under your fairy dust, 

we were children in the snow.
How we spread our arms and spun around.
How we laughed and blew all the worries away
even though we knew we were leaving the Neverland.



My leprechaun, Peekaboo.

A Piece of Cake

I don't have the courage,
although I really want to,
buy a piece of cake just for myself,
a treat for being me.

I don’t have the courage,
to be okay to pick up a piece
and take it to a counter.

A staff says, 'Just this?’
‘Yep.’
‘Anything else for you?'
'Nope. Just that. Thanks.'

Yeah, yeah. I don’t want anything else.
Yeah, yeah. I don’t have anybody to share with.

I don’t have the courage.
I need to justify myself that it's okay
to buy a piece of cake for myself.
Think logically.
They'd rather sell you a piece than not sell at all.
If another customer does the same and multiply that,
It's the same thing as one person buying more than a piece.

Follow the logic then.
Why don’t I buy a piece of cake for myself?
What’s wrong with it?

Would I go buy a piece of cake for myself?

Maybe, another time...

St. Etheldreda

The prism of stained glasses shines in your glory.
The colour of pink reflects your tenderness.

You were a woman before a saint.
You, as a princess, lived a fairly tale.
You tied the knot to serve your husband.
You found no Paradise in your fairly tale.

Taking a vow to serve the one above,
You built a convent with your passion.
You sought and fought for something divine.

A power of woman stood before men
kneeling to pray for salvation.
Bestowed with belief, you kept praying.

Your chapel tells a story of your conquest;
a remain of Cambridgeshire in the alien city
served as a shelter for strayed clergymen,
and strove to live through difficult times.

You were a woman before a saint.
You, as a princess, lived a fairly tale.
You found no Paradise in your fairly tale
until you found it at last, in Heaven.

The Union Jack, My London

The Union Jack is like home to me, my everything. I LOVE the Union Jack. I would happily die wrapped in it although I am a Japanese person. People often raise eyebrows at this point. I even want a tattoo of the Union Jack on me maybe someday. When I mentioned that to some British people, they responded, ‘Really? I would never do that. It’s not like you’re one of BNP.’ Peter from England said, ‘I don’t like the flag because it reminds me of the discriminating British Empire and what it has done to those people.’ To hear these things has been a wake-up call to me who loves the Union Jack too lightheartedly as a non – British person yet I still remain so passionate about it. To understand the depth of the Union Jack and what it means or does not mean to other people, I have asked a group of people from different age and background. I also popped down to tattoo studios to interview tattoo artists regarding a tattoo of the Union Jack. I have learnt that the Union Jack can stir up so many emotions and induce many associations with history, politics and religions. The way people feel about the Union Jack is not monolithic. The Union Jack has been flying for hundreds of years. What is the Union Jack to you?

The Union Jack was first created in 1606 when King James VI of Scotland became James I uniting England, Scotland and Ireland. Wales and Ireland were under English rule at this point. It was initially a flag combining two flags of St. George’s Cross, a red cross in a white background and St. Andrew’s saltire, a white diagonal cross in a blue background. The Union Jack is now comprised of three flags of St. George’s, St. Andrew’s and St. Patrick’s, a red saltire on a white background and it represents the United Kingdom of England, Scotland and Ireland since 1801. Although the Union Jack is officially addressed as the Union Flag, its appellation of the Union Jack came into use since the 17th century. When I was interviewing Michael from Northern Ireland, he asked me to clarify whether I was talking about the Union Flag or the Union Jack which is the Union Flag flown from a ship. The confusion is understandable. In 1908, Parliament declared that ‘the Union Jack should be regarded as the national flag’.

It is interesting to note that a variation of the Union Jack existed in 1606 when King James I came to throne because of respective nationalism of Scotland and England; the one with St George’s Cross over St. Andrew’s saltire and vice versa. The dominance of one nation over the other demonstrated in a flag seems to indicate the importance of nationalism for individuals. Some interviewees have pointed out the dominance of the cross of St. George in the Union Jack, representing the prominence of England over others. An Italian woman Maria raised an interesting point that the Union Jack makes her associate it with England because in Scotland the Scottish flag is more dominant than the Union Jack.

As a shift of power can change a discourse of a country, the United Kingdom has experienced milliards of changes and still has been. Although Wales is now a country independent of England, its national flag with a red dragon does not appear in the Union Jack. When each national flag such as the Scottish flag or the Welsh flag is heisted in its dominance, it is as if to inflame the feeling of nationalism, as it were, a counterforce of the unionist approach of the United Kingdom. It exposes the limitation of the Union Jack in this current political climate.

Peter gave me another example of comparative nationalism seen in flags; when Rangers Football Club and the Celtic Football Club play against each other, Ranger’s fans fly the Union Jack and the Scottish flag while Celtic fans fly the Union Jack and the Irish flag. This is a similar way of displaying nationalism by each fan flying their own flags besides the Union Jack to show their own roots, identity and almost personalising the Union Jack by adding their individual colours. This divide between two flags is stemmed from the sectarianism in Glasgow when Catholic Irish immigrants moved to Glasgow because of the potato famine in Ireland since the late 18th century. When Rangers’ fans fly the Ulster Banner, it still reminds people of the sectarianism between the Protestant unionists or the loyalists of the British Monarchy and Catholic nationalists in Northern Ireland. Several people from Northern Ireland and Ireland have shared the same view that the Union Jack does make them think of such sectarianism and the oppression for Irish people.
When I asked about the Union Jack to Michael from Northern Ireland, he rolled up his sleeve and pointed at a scar in his arm. ‘This is what they did to me. I got shot for being where I was not supposed to be because I had a delivery to make for work. The Union Jack makes me feel sick.’ He told me that he is Irish and from Derry ‘where British call it Londonderry’. Stephen from Belfast would agree with his sentiment. He also told me that the Union Jack prompts him to think of terrorism and oppression because the flag was used by the loyalists. I have an Irish friend who got caught by a group of the loyalist Ulster Freedom Fighters and got his arm burnt with cigarettes while he was walking down a street in Northern Ireland. For warriors, soldiers or any group of people who fight for the honour of the country under the Union Jack, it symbolises their beliefs or morale, sometimes too strong for others to share their views.

I first met the Union Jack face-to-face when I was 17, when I became a friend with David from London. I did not have a British accent back then. From England he sent me a box of British goodies like Cadbury’s chocolate and pictures of famous places in London like Buckingham Palace, Tower Bridge and House of Parliament. Until then, I was more exposed to America than the UK while I was studying English. It was in a similar way how Western culture flooded into Japan via America with GHQ MacArthur after WWII. I did not know about the UK as much as I knew about America. My encounter with David was like a seed which grew to bloom inside of me as the UK, London, the Union Jack became more and more dear to me. While David was in Japan, he corrected my American accent into British accent. I would not force that to someday else, but in hindsight, I am now proud to be British.

My first visit to London was when I was 19 and it was December. I had previously travelled to Asian countries but this was my first time in the West. I remember being surprised by the multicultural London full of people from all over the world. I was also surprised by the people wearing different styles of clothes. Religious people with their cloaks and head bands. People wearing studded leather jackets and Dr. Martins whom I now likely to see in Camden Town. People wearing overcoats or cardigans or hoodies or just T-shirts. The length of skirts, shorts and trousers varied as many ways as possible. All kinds of clothes from all the seasons could be seen. London was so colourful and multi-shaped. This was also my first time when I noticed many people with tattoos on their exposed skin from their T-shirts or tank tops or on exposed feet in flip-flops even though it was December.

During my visit to London, I saw a lot of the Union Jacks all over the city. London is always filled with the Union Jack because London is like a heart of the United Kingdom, a capital city where its monarch and its government are based. The Union Jack is always flying at government buildings such as the House of Parliament and royal residences such as the Buckingham Palace. Many people have mentioned the association of the Union Jack with the Queen or the Crown. As the Mother’s Day approached this year, I saw many gifts for mothers displayed in shops. Among those displays, there were some items adorned with the Union Jack. The connection between the Mother’s Day and the Union Jack could have been because the Union Jack represents the nation led by the Queen, the mother of the nation.

As some British people identify the Union Jack as a fashion icon of the 70s sprung up from the subculture led by music bands such as the punk rock band Sex pistols and the rock band The Who. They employed the Union Jack as for their record covers from the late 60s onwards. Sex Pistol created an image for their song God Save the Queen using the Union Jack as a background and placing the Queen in the middle. This is another example of an image reinforcing the tie between the Union Jack and the Queen. Since then, British bands started to adorn themselves with the Union Jack. This may have started arguably because of the British Invasion in the 60s, introducing the British subculture to the US and beyond. The Union Jack may have been present to indicate the British nationalistic pride. The Union Jack as a fashion icon was still present in the 90s. The member of the Spice Girls Geri Halliwell wore the Union Jack dress at the 1997 BRIT Awards which made quite an impact for some who stated the association of the Union Jack with the Spice Girls. In this way, the Union Jack became more popularised as an iconic design. Since those British bands based in London gained an international acclaim, the iconic Union Jack has been circulating all over the world, increasing the distribution of the Union Jack in London.

Through politics and cultures, the Union Jack has become the epitome of London. I remember thinking that the Union Jack was the perfect image of London being vibrant and full of life and the Union Jack comprised part of London in my mind. It felt like the multicultural city of London had a place for me too, for me to be whoever I want to be. This was my first impression of London. It was inevitable not to get a souvenir with the Union Jack on. So I brought a piece of London back to Japan. Ever since then, the Union Jack seemed to remind me of such vibrant image of London, perhaps liberty and found myself drawn to it more and more.
Now I have lived in London for several years in total and I have loved every moment of my life in London. It is the city that I love and it is the place I chose to live. It is the language I chose to speak and the culture I wished to relish. London is now my second home. I believe all those sentiments are strong especially because in London I am an outsider from Japan. In a way Japan is similar to the UK in honouring traditions but it is different in multiculturalism. I find London welcoming and embracing as in the design of the Union Jack. The design of the Union Jack conjures up an image in my mind; a tree with its branches growing in many directions to the edge of a frame. Crosses of the flags in the Union Jack are like wide open arms. The feeling is as if I were under a spell of the Union Jack with its power uniting people together. People from outside of the UK have also used similar words to describe their impressions of the Union Jack; the Union Jack makes them think of openness, freedom, and the country which shows an interest in other countries. The Union Jack makes them feel united, at peace and hopeful.

As my connection with London grew stronger, the Union Jack has come to symbolise part of my identity, my life in London. My collection of the Union Jack goodies increased as much as it became part of my feature. Lately the design of the Union Jack has been popular even in Japan and goods with the Union Jack such as clothing, accessories, kitchenware, whatever you can place the Union Jack on, can be seen everywhere. It became more popular recently because of the 80s fashion fad. For me anything Union Jack catches my eye. As if I were a hungry wolf, I dash over to it and inspect it thoroughly whether I want to add it to my collection. I personally believe that the Union Jack is one of the best designs and the best designed flag of the world.

This year 2012 has been the year for the Union Jack with the Diamond Jubilee of the Queen Elizabeth II and the London Olympics following the last year’s Royal Wedding celebration. Not only the original design of the Union Jack but the variety of the design can be seen. For instance, a variation of the Union Jack in its design can be witnessed in the Team GB 2012 Olympic kit designed by Stella McCartney. The Union Jack on the kit is predominantly in a graduation of blue and red St. George’s Cross is absent. It is another way of recognising how popular the original design of the Union Jack is. As the original Union Jack is so dominant and powerful, it may have led to the appreciation of the deconstructed counterparts. The Union Jack has become a prototype of a design which can be arranged in numerous ways. Majority of the interviewees have noted that the Union Jack is attractive and appealing, whether they like it or not; in its design of simple yet dynamic placements of crosses and its colour with primary colours of red and blue. Jude from London told me that she likes the Union Jack as a design and views it more as a design of art not of a flag. Indeed there are many artworks incorporating the design of the Union Jack often without any contextual meaning. This also attests to the prominence of the Union Jack in its design. Sometimes I also appreciate the Union Jack as an artwork in its design. But for me the nature of the Union Jack changes depending on its context like a chameleon changing its colour in order to adapt to its surroundings. For me there is the Union Jack representing the UK as my second home while there is the Union Jack as a popular fashion icon.
Alvin from London shares the similar viewpoint. When he associates the Union Jack with the England flag and football, it makes him feel proud. But when the Union Jack appears in the historical context of the colonising British Empire, it makes him feel angry because he thinks of racisms and oppression during the time. He was born and raised in London but his parents are political refugees of Sierra Leon, a previous colony of the British Empire. The Union Jack has seen the history of the powerful colonising British Empire and the United Kingdom uniting other countries together. Sometimes contexts affect the perception of the Union Jack because of its associations.

For some British people, the link between the Union Jack and the exclusive far-right political parties such as British National Party and National Front still reminds strong as much as the ruling British Empire. Those parties have used the Union Jack to propagandise their extreme manifesto for British people and their extreme nationalism by discriminating others different from them. Such extreme political approach seems to jar with the current sentiment of global multiculturalism seen in cities such as London. But the image of such radical propaganda instigated with the Union Jack was so traumasing for some that it has made it difficult for them to overlook such negative character of the Union Jack and see its different aspects. This is reminiscent of those people from Northern Ireland and Ireland who wish to shy away from the Union Jack because its negative connotation is too compelling.
Considering how those British people feel towards the Union Jack, I asked tattoo artists regarding the Union Jack as a tattoo design. They confirmed that there had been customers who wished to have tattoos of the Union Jack or St. George’s Cross to represent their political views. But they added that customers who want a tattoo of the Union Jack in London are generally tourists. They get it as a token of their visit to London. Overall all tattoo artists tend to remain neutral to any tattoo designs as they are personal to each customer and selling products for their business.

A tattoo artist encouraged me to combine the design of the Union Jack with another design. For her the Union Jack was just a flag. Because the design is complicated with details, in order to maximise its look, she suggested that I add another design to it. This shows that she is inclined to prioritise the aesthetic quality of a design in a tattoo to a contextual meaning behind its appearance. I personally would not add anything else to it as I like the Union Jack as it is. If I added some image to it, it would not be my Union Jack.
Another tattoo artist said that perception of a tattoo depends on who wears it and how the person wears it in relation to its meaning and its purpose to them. This is another example to indicate the significance of context in displaying an image. Some of my friends said that perhaps the Union Jack on me who is Japanese may look different because I cannot be a NF or BNP member. It is interesting that I myself provide the context in which the Union Jack is to be interpreted by others.

There was one tattoo artist who gave me a new perspective on a tattoo of the Union Jack. His studio was located in the middle of Soho and I saw many sketches and photos of designs with the Union Jack. There was no image with the original design of the Union Jack on its own. The Union Jack was used as a background and it was adorned with a sexy lady, a bulldog, a crown, a rose and so on. When I asked the tattoo artist about the Union Jack tattoo in a political context, he warned me about its sensitivity; ‘are you worried what people think of it? If you are worried about offending anybody even when your intention is good, don’t get it. It can stir up things. You know in Buddhism, swastika means peace. You know that. I know that. But not everybody knows that. There was an English guy who believed in Buddhism and got a tattoo of swastika on his arm. But one day strangers who saw his swastika confronted him thinking he was part of the neo-Nazi. The guy said, ‘‘no, this means peace in Buddhism. I’m peaceful.’’ But the guy got beaten up. You can’t change the way people think.’

This was a particularly mind-blowing episode for me. I do feel angst towards swastikas. In Japan, swastikas are called manji and they are a symbol of harmony in Buddhism and used as a symbol of Buddhist temples. I grew up looking at the symbol on maps without knowing its association with Nazis. When I learnt the association, I was deeply offended. Although our swastikas have a longer history, now swastikas make people think of the Nazi emblem because it was used in such extreme context and the image was too powerful to be forgotten. To completely avoid such sensitive situation, the tattoo artist suggested that I should get a tattoo that is more fun like the tourists who get tattoos of icons of London such as Big Ben, a red telephone box or a crown. But I would not consider any other design for a tattoo. I would not really want a tattoo if it is not going to mean as much as the Union Jack to me.

In Japan it is a taboo to have a tattoo. If you have one, you are not allowed in public bathhouses and pools. I believe that some gyms will not allow people with tattoos. It is because tattoos are still associated with the tradition of yakuza, Japanese mafia. Although the younger generation tends to regard tattoos as part of fashion like piercing, the older generation still has a traditional image of Japan to hold on to. They started to enforce a tattoo ban at beaches since last year. Young people do find this backwards. My parents or grandparents won’t mind this as they do not have any interest in tattoos. Their generations have not been exposed to tattoos as accessories like me. But I do know that they would definitely be against me getting a tattoo because of its association with yakuza and our society not accepting tattoos. Secondly they would say something like, ‘how dare you even think of damaging your precious skin on purpose just to get a stupid mark on your body that is a precious gift from your parents?!’ I went through this once with my piercings when I was thirteen.

Back then at school in Japan, if you had pierced ears in junior high schools, you risked not getting into respectable high schools because they would be your judge of character and they would go on your school evaluation. I was regarded as a serious responsible good student, appointed as a captain of a tennis club to lead around seventy members and often as a class vice president. I had a different side of me being adventurous and wanted to be me and different from conforming people. At times it made my days stressful worrying about being reported and getting my future ruined. Similar things apply to dying your hair and making adjustments to uniforms.

In Japan this uniformity is still incorrigible and carries a lot of stereotypes as standards. I cannot completely disregard them. I am Japanese and I enjoy going to public bathhouses. If or when I get a tattoo, I would risk getting kicked out of some places. Then, why would I even consider having a tattoo when it stirs up so much controversy in Japan with denied entry to places such as bathhouses which are part of my culture? Is all of this worth going through just to own the Union Jack and make it part of me?

Since my first visit to London, I became fascinated with people wearing tattoos casually like wearing accessories. A tattoo is like an accessory to spice up your look and to give off the sense of what kind of person you are. Every tattoo means different things to each person. Some may have a tattoo because they like the look of the design. Some may have it because they mean something special to them. Tattoos are indeed personal. The owner of the tattoo becomes a context in which the tattoo is interpreted. As I saw more tattoos on people, I became more interested in tattoos and started to wish to own one for myself. But I am aware that it is a lifetime commitment. There is a laser removal but still it is a complicated process. It costs as much money or more to remove a tattoo. If you know you are going to laser it off, you’d better think it through at the beginning. In the past, I begged my boyfriend not to get me a tattoo as my birthday present however much I wanted it. He knew how much I wanted a tattoo and I also knew that he knew about my passion for it. But because of my cultural complication and a tattoo for life, I did not want to get it irrationally especially when I had no idea which design to get.

Whenever I got a chance, I asked people with tattoos what they were, what they meant and why they were tattooed on their specific parts. I had been asking myself, ‘what would it be if I were to have a tattoo?’ I was not sure what I wanted. So I was determined to wait until I came up with the perfect design to get a tattoo. One day, I saw a friend’s tattoo inside of his foot. It was a small tribal mark of some sort in one square inch. Suddenly it hit me. It was a perfect inconspicuous spot and a perfect size. At this point, the idea of getting a tattoo became more realistic. I started to contemplate on the design, the one that I would keep forever. When I looked around my room, my eyes met the Union Jack all over the room. ‘Of course!’ I thought to myself. There was nothing else. I was determined. The Union Jack I adore for its design. The Union Jack I feel so dear as part of me. I would love to get the tattoo but while I am unsure where I am going to live in the future, I must remain patient for now. If I could live in the UK for a long period of time, I would certainly own the Union Jack.

As we have seen, the Union Jack can stir up controversy as tattoos in Japan can. The perception of the Union Jack is different from one person to another. It is as personal as a tattoo on somebody. It may not mean so much to some while it can mean a great deal to the other. The Union Jack is a visually appealing design with its primary colours of red and blue creating a powerful image. The white saltire on the blue background helps to make the red saltire stand out as well as the white borders outlining the foremost red cross. As the British history took its course, the Union Jack was created uniting three flags of St. George, St. Andrew and St. Patrick to consummate the United Kingdom. It will not be the same Union Jack without any part missing. But as history unfolds, change occurs. Whether it is because of history, politics, religion or culture, it affects the way we look at the Union Jack and how we feel about it. As an outsider of the UK, my perception of the Union Jack is more different from the British people as my Union Jack is out of its original historical context. As I hold no part of it, perhaps the Union Jack was a like a framework for me to start building a body of it. My Union Jack is strongly attached to London because of my life in London filled with the vibrant Union Jack, becoming a part of multicultural London, finding my identity in the English speaking world, creating a second home. A tattoo of the Union Jack on me will symbolise my Union Jack. As I personalised the Union Jack to be mine, others apply their individual perception to create their own images. Some may find their part in the Union Jack. Others may find it elsewhere. The Union Jack may not accommodate your views. In the current political situations, the Union Jack is faced with a challenge. The Union Jack may look different in the future as the perception of people change. What is the Union Jack to you?

Daydreaming

I daydream in the middle of the night, thinking
life is so wonderful.
I think of you and your smile.
It makes me happy, means a world me.

I’m usually worried about a lot of things, asking
What am I doing? What’s my calling?
I waste time thinking, doing nothing.
I just bring myself, down down down.

Then I think of you and your smile.
It makes me happy, means a world to me.
And I daydream in the middle of the night, thinking
life is so wonderful.

Tomorrows seem so full of hopes. I gotta
get out and go on a journey.
Keep going, keep my chin up.
Believing me, I will never give up.

I daydream in the middle of the night, thinking
life is so wonderful.
I think of you and your smile.
It makes me happy, means a world to me.

I day dream in a middle of the night, hoping
life is so wonderful.

My Family is

I am a sponge.
I am sorry Father for eating up your money.
You could have continued your violin lessons for that money.
But instead I am devouring a bowl of raspberry trifle all to myself.

Father, what's it like to have worked for 30 years without taking sick leave?

Mum, what's it like to stay in a loveless marriage for bread and your hobbies?

Older Brother, what's it like to have a claw hand and be unable to tell people of the incident?

Eldest Brother, what's it like to apologise to your sister for the way he acted for all of his life?

What’s it like?

What's it like to lose your taste buds and now stomach because of damn cancer, Grandma?

Granddad, what's it like to look after your weak wife with your bent back while you lean on a stick?

What's it like never to meet any of your grandchildren and that your name doesn't come to us easily, Grandma?

Granddad, what's it like to look down on us from heaven watching us do things wrong?

I am a sponge.
I am sorry Father for eating up your money so that I can do whatever I want, instead of you doing more of what you want.
You could have travelled more often to see us in a country of histories and cultures, your favourite.

My father, for him to say in his reply, ‘thank you for your e-mail’,
it means something, something to me as his daughter.

My father never fails to response. He is the most responsible person I know.
He reads a whole book every Sunday. He used to buy books so much that he accidentally bought two copies.

His room creaked because his room was not meant to be a huge library.
My granddad's death, it reminded him of how much stuff we leave behind.
Now his room doesn't creak any more.

I am sorry I am a sponge.
I am a spoiled sponge.

Billy Billy Billy Billy

Wearing skinny jeans and a pink shirt with a flashy band's name across his chest, I thought he was gay. I can't remember which band it was. The Strokes? The Strokes doesn't really strike me as flashy pink though. It may not have been because of the colour or the band. Maybe the t-shirt was a little too tight for a straight science teacher? With a charming smile, he greeted me.

'Hi! I think you are a French teacher?’
‘Oui, c’est correct.’
‘Bonsoir, enchanté, I'm Billy.'
'Bonsoir. Je m'appelle Emma. Enchantée '. 'Parlez-vous Français?'
‘Uh... how do you say a little or just basics?'

This is how we met at a welcome party for new teachers. Billy is from Ireland. He was covering until Margaret's maternity leave was over. He couldn't find a job as a science teacher in Ireland. To boost his career, he took this temporary teaching position in London.
Other than the skinny jeans and the pink T-shirt, Billy was a handsome man, above the average. Middle built. He seemed like he could have had a beer belly but it could be just because of the misleading tight T-shirt. He had short blond hair with typical receding hairlines, round bluish green eyes that were so crystal clear and mesmerising. I gazed into them so many times. I saw them shine. He was very charming with a rather innocent cheeky smile like a little boy, which would appeal to your maternal instinct. His teeth were shiny white even though he smoked. His smile would make you smile. He was a clean person. His whiff of an aftershave was not bold but more like a pleasant touch of etiquette. He was nice to have a friendly banter with.

‘Are you having a laugh?’ Billy would do a nasal Ricky Gervais. ‘You like Only Fools and Horses too?’ Then he started singing. We've got some half price cracked ice and miles and miles of carpet tiles, T.V.s, deep freeze and David Bowie L.P.s…. It cracked me up. He was charming and funny. He seemed to get along with everyone because this was Billy.
Most of the teachers would go out for drinks on Friday after school. But Billy and I never went out for drinks just by two of us. There was no need to. We connected alright as colleagues. But not more than that. Billy was handsome but not my type. I used to go for tall macho men whose mere existence would save some pointless jabs. He seemed quite occupied getting used to his way around. His closest colleague was Matt, a P.E. teacher because he was using the Man U mug. Billy started singing. Glory, glory, Man United. Matt joined. Glory, glory Man United. They were mates just like that. I played football in school. I wasn’t any good at it but I enjoyed having a kickabout. But I could not be those football fanatics. So when Billy and I saw each other at school, we were just polite to each other to have casual greetings. Our greeting was usually in basic French.

‘Bonjour, mademoiselle.
‘Bonjour, monsieur. Ça va?’
‘Oui, ça va. And you…. Et vous?’
‘Très bien. Merci.’

After a while, it started to get on my nerves that Billy repeatedly used et vous.
‘Billy, we’re not strangers now. So you should say, et tu. Et vous is for strangers.’
‘Alright, alright. Et tu. Et tu? ’ He seemed to have got it. But again and again, he repeatedly made the same mistake.

‘No, no, Billy. Not s’il vous plaît. But s’il tu plaît to friends.’
Billy would say, ‘it means the bloody same thing.’ He got defensive but he had a smile on his face. I felt like it was my duty as a French teacher to correct those little things especially when he was learning French or at least trying, or showing off or something. I never found him annoying. Charming people can get away with a lot of things without offending others, can’t they?
I felt like Billy and I were friends. I would enjoy our friendly banters. On Friday pub nights, I would talk to him.

‘Hey, Billy! How are you? ’
‘I’m grand. How about you?’
‘I’m great. Oh, did you watch last night’s X Factor?
‘Yeah, do you remember the guy with the…puffy ballet thing around his belly?
‘Haha. Tutu.’
‘Yeah, tutu. What a full of shite.’
I enjoyed being his friend/colleague. He was funny to be around.
‘Mademoiselle, salt…salt…uh.... Ah! Sel, s’il vous plaît.’
I laughed and said, ‘Bien sur. But Billy, s’il tu plaît to friends, Remember. S’il tu plaît.’
Billy rolled his eyes and said, ‘Oh, God. Here we go again.’
It was fun watching him getting worked up in a childish way.
With a cheeky smile, I went on. ‘I have told you million times now. You’re a teacher. You should also be a good learner, you know.’ I was laughing in triumph. He was laughing in embarrassment.

One day, we were at the usual pub on Friday. I went up to Billy having fun with other teachers.
‘Hi, Billy. How are you today?’
He stopped laughing and dropped his upward smile. Suddenly in a non-friendly tired voice, he said,
‘Hey, Emma. Not bad. How are you?’
‘I’m fine, thanks.’ ‘What are you guys talking about?’
‘Nothing, really.’ He was on the move. ‘I’m gonna talk to the guys over there. Sorry.’
There was no charming full of fun Billy for me. When we passed each other at a corridor, he said,
‘Hey. How are you?’ Without waiting for my answer, he kept walking.
I didn’t know what I did wrong.

Several months passed. No improvement between Billy and me. Out of the blue, Matt, the P.E. teacher came up with an idea that we play football after school. A casual kickabout. When Matt asked me, I said I would join. On the first day of football, there were around ten of us teachers. A few female teachers showed up. Billy came out, wearing the Man U shirt.
‘Oh, hi, Emma. I didn’t know you play football.’ He sounded friendly this time.
‘Yeah. I played in school. I’m not good but I like having a kickabout, you know.’
‘That’s cool. Where do you play on the pitch?’
‘I’m usually a forward.’
‘Look at you, mademoiselle Ronaldo, la dame striker. ’ He said, with the cheeky smile on. The Billy I knew was back.
In the game Billy was very encouraging. When I made some good passes, he said, ‘Great pass, Emma.’ When I made good tackles, he shouted, ‘Well in, Emma. Come on.’
Since I started playing football, he became friendly towards me again. When I scored my first goal, he rushed over to me and lifted me up, roaring, ‘Eeeemmaaaa! Youuuu scoreeeed! Eeeemmaaaa! Yeahhhhh.’
I felt like a princess.

One Friday, it was a pub quiz night.
‘Hi, Billy.’
Billy turned around and looked at me. ‘Hi, Emma. How are you?’
His eyes were twinkling. My heart started to beat faster. I was sucked into his eyes, the ocean blue, endless, beady marbles, curioser and curioser.
‘I’m fine, thank you. Are you having a good time?’
‘Yeah. It’s fun. Did you get the name of the island where Father Ted is based? ’
‘Ah. Nope.’
‘Oh. Craggy Island.’
‘Ah, Of course.’
Billy laughed. Imitating Father Ted, ‘Dougal! God Almighty! Hell with that sort of thing.’
I laughed.
Imitating Father Jack, ‘For Christ’s sake, feck off! Driiiiiiiiink.’
I kinda started to fancy Billy.

One evening just before football, I was talking to another teacher. She was going to Paris for a holiday. So she wanted to learn basic French.
‘I will be glad to teach you any time.’ I said to her.
Billy was standing close to us. He came over. ‘I want to learn French too.’
‘Sure, I will teach you any time.’ I put on an air. But inside, my heart was racing.
‘Oh, really? Grand.’ Billy walked away.
On the same evening, I got a message on Facebook from Billy.

Hey, Emma. Well done today. You played very well.
So, I would like to take up your offer to teach me French. Are you going to Steve’s Farewell party this Friday? We could arrange a date then.
x
Billy

At Steve’s farewell party, I looked around for Billy. Our eyes met. We waved for each other and found each other.
‘Hello, Emma. How are you?’
‘Hi, Billy. How are you? I’m good. You?’
‘Yeah, grand. Can I get you a drink?’
‘Ah, thanks. Red wine, please.’
It was the first time he got me a drink.
‘Here, you go. Cheers.’
‘Thanks, cheers.’
‘Have you tried some food here?’
‘Yes.’
‘They do great pastas here. Their pesto is hand-made.’
‘Oh, really? I can’t really tell.’
‘You see, I used to work as a chef in a restaurant.’
‘Wow. So you can cook?’
‘Yes. I’m quite good, if I may say so myself.’
‘Fantastic. Someday you can have me for dinner.’
Billy’s eyes got wide and he laughed.
‘Oh, I mean, you have me over for dinner.’ My cheeks were burning.
‘I can have you for dinner as well.’
We were acting like teenage kids with coloured cheeks. Embarrassed, timid, flustered, but happy.
‘What are you doing next Friday after our drinks?’
‘Uh, nothing planned, really.’
‘I can cook you dinner then, if you want.’
‘Really?’
‘Oui! You can teach me a bit of French then.’
‘Sure.’ I was playing cool.
‘Grand. Next Friday. It’s a date.’
‘Alright, then.’ My heart was screaming inside, ‘YEAHHHHHHHHHHH!’

During the week, I told my flat mate Kevin about Billy. ‘Kevin, I have a favour. I have a date with Billy, the science teacher!’
‘On, fun. Attagirl. You said he was hot. So what’s the favour, darling?’
‘I’m not sure how the evening will pan out. But…’
‘Yes? But what?’
‘Umm, just in case, there is a chance of…’
‘Oh, you’re gonna do him? On the first date? Check you out.’ I was burning inside.
‘Well… there was an indication that we might…possibly…’
‘Shag?’
I rolled my eyes and said, ‘We didn’t say shag. But when I slipped and said you can have me for dinner, and I corrected I mean over for diner, he said he can have me for dinner.’
‘Oh, Juicy baby.’
‘Stop it.’ ‘Well, so just to be on the safe side, if you could…give me a…French letter?’
‘what the fuck is a French letter?’
‘You know, a condom?’
‘Haha. You can get a whole packet of like twelve from Boots.’
‘No, I don’t want a whole packet. I can’t commit myself to a whole packet.’ ‘I’d feel silly if I was so prepared and nothing happened. You know? It could be really just dinner.’
‘Oh my god, you are so cute. I hope you get to shag him. If not, I’d have a go.’

The next Friday after the usual drink at the pub, we headed over to his place. He was living with another teacher, Steve, from a different school. He came to our school to play football with us several times.
‘Where’s Steve today?’
‘He’s out. I told him that you were coming over. So he made some plans to clear the place for us for tonight.’
‘Oh, wow. Does he know who I am?’
‘Yeah. I told him, I’m bringing a girl from my school. The hot girl from football. Then, he said you are cute.’
I laughed and said, ‘you think I’m hot?’
‘Yeah, you’re hot. I thought you were cute from the first time when I met you.’
‘Oh, really?’ I was so embarrassed. I could have said something flattering back to him. But I held it back and played cool as my flat mate Kevin told me to.
‘Yes. But you kinda went off of my list.’
‘Huh? What do you mean?’
‘I thought you were an annoying bitch.’
I almost chocked on wine. ‘Excuse me?!’
‘You started to correct my French every time I tried to speak it.’
‘Oh, I didn’t know you minded that.’
‘I was trying. But I lost my confidence thanks to you. I couldn’t be bothered anymore. So I thought you were a bitch.’ He laughed.
‘Hardly. Bitch is a little harsh.’
‘But since you started to play football, your points improved and now back on the top of the league.’
I laughed. ‘What league?’
‘Billy Premiere League.’
I imitated his voice and said, ‘You’re full of shite.’
We both laughed. We opened red wine and toasted. He started to cook pasta and took a lead in the agenda of our conversation; relationships.
Billy started, ‘So, tell me Emma. What kind of people have you dated before? Did you have many boyfriends? You seem like an experienced girl.’
No kidding around, no polite talk or friendly banter this time. We talked on and on, topped up our glasses more and more until the wine bottle had nothing left to offer and dinner was ready. I was inebriated with wine and his irresistible charm.

The next morning, Billy made me macadamia chocolate coffee and bacon and egg on toast. The finest breakfast I had ever tasted. The more of him I saw, the more and the faster I fell in love with him.
After I got home that day, I duly reported to Kevin. ‘It was perfect, Kevin. Oh my god, I really like him. What am I gonna do?’
‘It’s funny to see you being in love. It’s so cute. When are you gonna see him next? I mean, not at school but outside of school like on a date.’
‘I don’t know. I’m gonna text him now and say I had a really great time yesterday and ask when we can go –‘
Kevin interrupted, ‘Hey hey, slow down, girl. Nobody likes a needy girl. You gotta take control, taking it slow, sweetheart.’
‘Really?’
‘Yep. You don’t wanna sound too keen. It’s a bit off-putting for a man.’
‘Right.’
‘Did you tell him that we are going to Ibiza this weekend?’
‘Yes, I did mention that. I also mentioned that my best friend Tom is also coming with us.’
‘What did Billy say?’
‘He said that’s cool. I told him that Tom recently broke up with his girlfriend. I assured him that Tom and I never fancied each other that way.’
‘Alright. Anyway you may find a better man out there. Who knows, you may be into a sizzling hot eurotrash boy, you know?’
I laughed and said, ‘Well, he said, don’t stop whatever you want to do because of me. Do whatever you want.’
‘Oh, really? Hmm. Interesting.’
‘Yeah. He said, he just came out of a long relationship. So he doesn’t want a relationship especially when he is here temporarily.’
‘Right, where is he from again?’
‘Ireland.’
‘Ah. So what happens now?’
‘He said to me, if he thinks of me, he will text me.’
During the day, it was so hard for me not to text him. Because Kevin told me off every time I checked my phone, I successfully waited until Billy texted me.

Re:
It was great to have you over.
Let’s hang out soon.
x
Billy

During the week at work, we kept it professional. But we started texting each other. A secret affair. It was exhilarating.

He texted me the night before football.

Re:
Hey Emma,
If you don’t have anything planned after football tomorrow,
you can come over and we can watch the movie.
You’re welcome to stay over if you like.
x
Billy

Re:
Hi, Billy :)
Sure. That’d be nice.
See you tomorrow.

On Friday, we were texting.

Bonjour, Billy.
Ça va?’

Re:
Bonjour, Emma.
Oui, ça va.
what’s your plan for tonight?
x
Billy

Re:
Nothing really.
How about you, Billy?

Re:
Do you want to come over to my place?
I’ll cook you dinner before you go to Ibiza.
x
Billy

Re:
How nice.
Can’t wait!

As I had an intense romance package in one week, I was rather immersed in the Billy world. Billy made me a playlist for my iPod. 80’s rock. We Built This City, Jessie’s Girl, 99 Red Balloons, Take On Me, Africa, Don’t Stop Believing, To be With You, More Than Words, I Want To Know What Love Is. (I Just) Died In Your Arms Tonight, Dream On, Every Rose Has Its Thorn, Love Hurts. Heaven. I never got into 80’s music. Heaven was playing in the background when we were engaged in our romantic affairs. The way he kissed me. He gently leaned his face forward and closed his eyes. I did the same. Then our lips met. His gentle touch gave me comfort and the tingly feeling down my spine. I longed for more. I felt like we were actually making love. Not having sex. Not shagging. It felt just right. It felt like he appreciated all of me. He held me tight. He kissed me before and after in the same way. He offered me an arm pillow. He stroked my hair. We talked in bed, looking into each other’s eyes. I felt complete.

On the plane to Ibiza, I listened to the playlist Billy made for me. I listened to it on the beach and before I went to bed. Every time I heard Heaven, I had a flashback of us in bed, making me relish the moment in my head full on repeat. Mind you, as Kevin said, there were so many hot guys out there. I could have fooled around with them if I had not met Billy. But he became my yardstick. Every man reflected a piece of him from head to toe, and inside and out.
On the second day in Ibiza, I finally got a text from Billy.

I hope you are having fun.
Thinking of you.
x
Billy

Re:
Hi Billy!
Nice to hear from you.
Ibiza’s fun.
We’ve been chillaxing.
I’ve been listening to your playlist.
They are really good.

Re:
I’m glad you like my playlist.
Which one do you like the best?
x
Billy

Re:
I like Heaven and I want to know
what love is the most.
I wish you were here, Billy.

Re:
Good choice.
Me too.
Can’t wait to see you.
Hurry back home.
x
Billy

Although I was on holiday, I just couldn’t wait to get back to Billy. Kevin and Tom were not happy with me. They called me a killjoy for my talk of Billy, Billy this, Billy that. They were running out of what to say to tell me off.
‘Oi, leave the phone alone.’
‘Hey, what did I tell you?’
Slap. ‘No!’

When I finally arrived back in London, I texted Billy from the airport.

I’m back!

Re:
Welcome back.
Come and see me.
I wanna see you.
x
Billy

Re:
Now?

Re:
Yes.
x

Re:
Directly from the airport?

Re:
Yes.
x

So I ditched Kevin and Tom at the airport and I went over to Billy’s. My heart walked, jogged and ran with me. When Billy opened the door for me, it popped. I was in full bloom. We hugged for the days we missed each other. We kissed to feel the moment together as us.

Billy said to me in bed, ‘Emma, I’m a little scared now.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m not supposed to feel this way towards anyone at this point in my life.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I feel like I am losing control. As I said, I don’t want a relationship. I’m a sort of a person who commits into a relationship. My life would be dominated by the relationship.’
‘Is it such a bad thing?’
‘In my current situation, yes. I’m here temporarily. When I have a girlfriend, I get anti-social, spending too much time with her.’
I laughed and said, ‘I wouldn’t make that happen to you. I’d kick you out of the house.’
Billy laughed.
‘And let you enjoy your time with your friends. It’s healthy that way.’
‘Look, Emma. I know about myself. I am that sort of a person who wants to put my girlfriend first. I can’t change it because that is how I am and I want to commit myself 100 % when I am in a relationship just because I want to. But now I don’t wanna get into a relationship and get hurt. I don’t wanna hurt you either.
‘Oh, I’ll be fine.’
‘Well, you know I came out of a long-term relationship recently. It took me a painfully long time to get over it. After several years being together, it didn’t work out. So I just can’t bring myself to do that to myself all over again.’
‘I can understand that.’
‘So, I think I need to slow down. I need to see less of you.’
‘You don’t want to see me anymore?’
‘No no, it’s not that. I really really like you. It’s fun being around you. But I know if I keep seeing you like this, I will be always thinking about you and I will lose complete control because I am already falling for you when I shouldn’t.’
‘Can’t you just let it be? It may not even work out.’
‘No, I can’t. I just want to enjoy now without worrying about anything else.’
‘Okay.’
What Billy said, it hurt me. I didn’t understand why he needed to think of what’s gonna happen when he didn’t know what would happen.

Since I was a little girl, it was my dream to go to see the bonfire and fireworks with a boyfriend on Guy Fawke’s Night. This Guy Fawke’s Night, we decided to go to Battersea Park as a group. Billy and I were still seeing each other. I asked Billy to go with me. He said he wasn’t really keen to go but he would come if I wanted him to. Some of the teachers were going. I invited Kevin and Tom. Kevin brought his boyfriend Kenny. It was the first time for Billy and me to go out to a public place. I put my arm around his. He patted mine. We walked next to each other. When we lost each other even for a moment, we looked for each other. We couldn't be apart. We sat next to each other on the Tube. Billy rested his head on my shoulder and said,
‘I was looking forward to this all day long.’
I tilted my head over his and I held his hand. We shared his earphones and listened to 80’s rock on his iPod.

At the bonfire, I was taking pictures of our friends and the bonfire. Then, I was trying to take a picture of Billy and me, stretching my short arm. We put our faces closer and smiled for the camera. Flash. I said to Billy,
‘Another one.’
‘I’ll do it. It’ll be better as I have a longer arm.’
I snorted and handed over my camera to him. Billy took it and stretched his arm. We put our faces closer. This time, I pretended to kiss him on the cheek. He held down the shutter. He turned and kissed me on the lips. Flash. On the screen, the picture appeared upside down. Our faces dominated the picture. Glowing faces and shiny hair. Our eyes closed. Our lips met right at the centre.

I transferred this picture to my phone. Now and then, I looked at it and made myself blush. I remembered how I felt at that moment, in my heart and on my lips. This upside-down picture became my favorite memory.

At our football, other teachers from different schools started to join us. Some teachers started to notice that Billy and I were more than just friends. Billy sometimes invited me to stay over at his place after football. We would leave the school together. When I introduced myself to those newcomers, some of them said to me,
‘Ah, you’re Billy’s girl.’
I was honoured to be associated with Billy but troubled at the same time whether to deny it or to enjoy being Billy’s girl in their heads, in the world that didn’t exist.

There was one evening when Billy didn’t show up at football. I didn’t ask him whether he was coming or not. I didn’t really see him at school that day. People asked me where he was. I didn’t know where he was. I asked Matt.
‘Do you know where Billy is tonight?’
‘Yes. He should be at his Irish mate’s birthday party. Billy texted me to join him after football to join the lads.’
‘Ah, right.’
I was hurt. I didn’t know about this. I was not even invited. I was not clearly Billy’s girl. We had been seeing each other for few months but we had never clarified what we were. I didn’t want to be labelled as his fuck buddy. But I was not his girlfriend although I really wanted to be. We were not just friends. Benefits had to be claimed.
Although I really enjoyed hanging out with him at his place, I wanted to go on a date with him. When I walked on streets alone and saw couples holding hands, I envied them. I wondered why it could not have been us. I wanted something to look forward to. It was always on the day or the day before Billy would text me and ask what my plans were for the day. I once tried asking him in advance.

Hello, Billy.
If you don’t have a plan
this Friday after the pub,
can we do something together?

Re:
Sure.
What did you have in mind?
x
Billy

Re:
I have a place where
I want to go with you.

Re:
Great.
I’ll meet you at the pub.
x
Billy

I wanted to take him to my favorite crêpe restaurant. I always wanted to go there on a date. I was so excited. Kevin had asked me earlier in the week if I wanted to have dinner with him and Kenny at home. I said 'maybe' then. But I wanted to ask Billy and make sure that he wouldn’t be available for us to do something together. After I texted Billy, I told Kevin that I was gonna have romantic dinner with Billy. Kevin said,
‘Aww. We would miss you. You’re always about Billy, huh? But whatevs. Whatever makes you happy, sweetheart.’
The thing was, there was nothing as important as him to me. I knew my friends were going to be my friends even when I cancelled our play dates at the last minute. They would get annoyed but they would understand because they know how I become when I am crazy in love. But it didn’t feel right this time because Billy wasn’t my boyfriend. I felt foolish when I thought about it. But I tried not to think about that and waited patiently for the Friday to come.

On Friday at the pub, Billy and others were already drinking.
‘Hey, Emma.’ Billy waved at me.
I waved back and said hello. He was sitting in the middle. There was no space for me to squeeze in. So I started to talk to the teachers in my vicinity. I was thinking I was going on a date with Billy soon enough, to my favorite restaurant with Billy, just two of us. This excitement kept me going to get through all the boring stories of whatever happening to others with a charming smile on my face. In an half an hour, some of them stood up and started preparing to go. I waited for Billy’s signal for our departure. Billy came over to me and said,
‘Hi Emma.’ He kissed me on my lips.
‘Hi Billy. How are you?’
‘I’m grand. Grand. We’re gonna go to the pub just around the corner to play pool. Do you want to come with us?’
My smile left me for the night.
‘Umm, Billy, what about our dinner?’
‘Uh, shall I call you when I’m done?’
A perfect picture in my head just got torn apart.
‘Don’t worry about it, Billy.’
‘Enjoy your boy time. See you later.’ I swivelled around and tears rolled down my cheeks. I walked to the station with my head down, dropping a trail of tears on the ground.

When I got home, there was no trace of tears on my face. But when Kevin said,
‘Oh, honey. You’re home early. How was your dinner?’
The tears came streaming down. I created a few dark patches on Kevin’s purple T-shirt. I told him what happened. He was angry with Billy. But Kevin said,
‘Well Emma, I don’t mean to sound harsh but you are technically his friend with benefits at the moment who could not be promoted to being his girlfriend.’
‘Kev, what’s wrong with me?’
‘Darling, there is nothing wrong with you. It’s his problem. He has commitment issues. Nothing to do with you. He’s not worth it. You’re better than that, sweetheart.’
‘But I really like him.’
‘Look, honey. You need to stand up for yourself. It’s so hard for me to see you getting smitten with an asshole who takes advantage of my precious girl. It makes me angry. I wanna punch him.’
‘Oh! Please don’t.’
‘I won’t. But even Tom said he can’t see what you see in him.’

One day, I had to confront Billy, ‘It’s getting hard for me, Billy. I think I need to stand up for myself. I don’t want my friends to get upset because of me.’
‘What do you mean, they are upset?’
‘Because I am beating myself up and getting hurt.’
‘What did they say about us?’
‘They said, we shouldn’t be together.’
‘They are probably right, you know. They are your friends. They know you and they care about you. You should listen to your friends.’
My voice was trembling. ‘I know. I’m so stupid for not listening to my friends but I just can’t forget about us and move on, you know. You are not just a friend to me.’
‘No, I’m not Emma. I know.’
‘I need to know whether you want to see more of me in the future or not. I can’t fool around with you. I can’t be a friend to you. I already like you too much.’ My stupid tears started to stream down.
‘Oh Emma, please don’t cry. You are breaking my heart now. I didn’t want to hurt you. It’s so heartbreaking to see you so sad.’
‘Every time people asked me whether I was your girlfriend, I didn’t know what to say. Because I am not your girlfriend, I’m your colleague and a friend. But it just felt so wrong. I wished that I meant you more than that.’
‘Emma, you do.’
‘But because I’m not Billy’s girl, I am just your fuck buddy, a friend with benefits.’ I started to sniffle.
‘No, you’re not. I do care about you, Emma. I didn’t want to hurt you. I really didn’t.’
‘If you do care about me, why can’t you give it a shot? Nobody knows what happens tomorrow. I may be stabbed to death.’
‘I just can’t Emma. I am going back to Ireland when Margaret comes back.’
‘Who knows I might end up in Ireland in the future?’
‘Well, you see, Emma. I just can’t handle a relationship right now.’
‘I know that you’ve been hurt before. But if you have any feelings for me at all, if you care about me like you said, I want you to consider. I just don’t want to wonder about what ifs and what could have happened. I would rather see it through and move on. I think we’re great together.’
‘We are.’
‘Then, why…?’ I had to blot my eyes with the sleeves of my jumper. Billy came over to me and hugged me.
‘Emma, you are breaking my heart.’
In his arms, I smelt his perfume and felt his warmth. This was what I wanted but I couldn’t have. I wanted to be a strong girl. I didn’t want to beat myself up anymore. I pulled myself away from him.
‘Billy, I’m gonna go.’
‘Okay. Let me take you to the station.’
‘No. I’m fine on my own.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yep.’ I tried smiling but I managed to make it into a jumble with a smile on a crumpled face with tears falling down helplessly.
‘Give me a call when you get home safe, okay?’
‘No, Billy. I’m not gonna talk to you anymore.’
‘Hey Emma, don’t be like that.’
‘I won’t talk to you. I cannot talk to you.’
‘Come on, now.’ Billy tried to reach for my arm.
‘Let me go.’ I flung it away. ‘Good-bye, Billy.’ I ran out of his flat.
While I was walking to the station, I deleted his contact from my phone.

I tried hard not to see him at school. I avoided him as much as I could. No more football for me. Even when Billy saw me and greeted me, I said hi when students were around. He texted me a few times.

Hey, Emma.
Please talk to me.
I don’t want to lose you from my life.
I still care about you.
x
Billy

Emma,
why didn’t you come to football?
x
Billy

Hey, Emma.
Why didn’t you come out tonight?
Everyone was asking about you.
x
Billy

When a whiff of Billy’s scent would drift towards me, I thought of him. When I heard one of the songs from the playlist Billy made for me, I thought of him. When I saw a sign of Man U, Billy wearing his Man U shirt popped in my head. Broken French, Guinness, Father Ted, the pub, his pasta, his coffee, his breakfast, all the X’s in the texts. I shook my head every time I thought of him. But it made me dizzy. I had wished so many times that I could forget about him just with a snap of fingers. Or if I could hate him, that would ease my pain to think that it was a good riddance. All those things around me kept throwing pieces of Billy back at me. The song Heaven always took me back to his room with us passionately in love.

I will remember you.

Casting cheeky glances at a newspaper
 held in your wrinkled hands, I asked;
‘Do you know what time the game’s on tonight?’
 That’s how our chumhood first kicked off.
 I would go to the pub to hear
your wheezing laugh, to have a chin-wag just about anything
 that kept us two as laughing drunks.
 I miss your pink kissable cheek,
your big smile showing the gap
 in between your front teeth.
I raise my glass to you,
‘Cheers.’

Play House

My five year old husband and three year old son.
I was the only girl. So I was the mother.
 We were a happy family.
 The man of the house spotted a gap in a bush.
 ‘In we go!’ We followed him into our home.
 I spread my picnic set on the ground.
Rolling up my sleeve,
 I served miso soup with air,
filled a rice bowl with sand.
 I wiped my glistening forehead.
 I did it for my family.
 When the sun’s orange, cloud were grey,
a woman came calling, ‘boys, come home.’
 When can we meet again?

Romanticism

Clicking of cobbled streets
where clink creaking carriages pass,
galloping horses lead their way.
Squeaking wheelbarrows rattle
 in a hustle of street markets.
 Neo-gothic palaces with spires and traceries,
 flourishing décor of patterned red carpets,
 chairs with elaborate golden legs, 
framed portrays of family members
commissioned to known painters,
art collection to add a touch of a connoisseur,
silverwares that requires polishing by servants,
 displays of exquisite marvels from the Grand Tour.

 Ladies in puffy dresses, layers over layers,
 elegant tailor-made dresses for ma’ams,
 admiration for a feel of stain, a colour of a ribbon,
 flowing rims and flowery laces;
Oh, such an intricate embroidery!
 swinging along a waltz.
What a beautiful lady she can be.
 All the talk of romance over tea,
 how to be courted and wooed
; how delightful to be a lady.

 Gentlemen with top hats and canes,
Savile Row tailcoats and waistcoats for Sirs.
 while ladies have their entertainment,
 men ride horses for chivalry,
they hunt for game and for their honour.
They engage themselves in deep conversations
 of politics over pipes and whisky,
 rarely about ladies,
but they know how to taking care of their ladies.
 Always, ladies first; hands of gentlemen to guide ladies,
 to guard them with their lives.

 Gentlemen lift their hats and bow.
Ladies do a courtesy.
 ‘Good day, Miss.’
 ‘Good day, Sir.’