Posted 6:04 PM by Blah blah

For Trixy: How I Became a Fantastic Flirt: The True-Life Tale of a Wallflower Gone Wild. Funny!

Speak English? Hell no!

From Rasee:

"I cannot be in a romantic relationship with someone that doesn't speak English. I've tried and it's simply not possible when what I love most in the world are English words. When I first started university I played around on the local network and knew those online on the same time could talk to each other. It was how I'd kept in touch with my ex-boyfriend and it was how I'd met Jin's current girlfriend before they'd run into each other. I gave my phone number to a guy that seemed sweet, and since you had to type in English to converse, I assumed he spoke English somewhat competently. I was wrong. Bee was a sweet and conservative Thai boy that went to school far, far away. We talked on the phone regularly for a long while and when things took a romantic turn, I found out just how conservative Thai boys can be. He had never kissed or hugged a girl, and he thought holding hands was reserved for committed couples. Just hearing that made me want to question his sanity. In high school a couple of my closest guy friends had that same sort of 'respect' for women, but they weren't as hung up on physical affection as Bee appeared to be. He also did not speak English at all so eventually I got tired of having to work so hard to put words together."

This strikes a queasy chord with me, Rasee. I've been thinking hard over this question this year. Like I said before, bantering conversation is essential to me in a relationship. We've gotta have fun and rhythm when we talk. Like you, I love the English language and words in general. I used to spend my high school years poring over the dictionary for fun.

But does that mean I tend to go out with English majors or people who write well? No!

I've tended to go out with foreigners. Foreign-born girls. (Well I'm foreign-born too.) I tend to feel more electricity with them at parties. They tend to laugh instantly at my jokes. I like their infectious enthusiasm. We click. Some have been good writers, in their native languages. Some totally suck at writing. Some I barely spoke English with at all, but instead my other tongue---like Taiwanese. One was Italian, and she was a set of contradictions: a former Miss Italy contestant who also trained for triathlons, so feminine and emotional she'd cry in the lab, but tough enough to lift turbo pumps with one hand; a girl who studied physics and did mechanical engineering but who wore Ralph Lauren to work.

Inevitably we get into language and cultural barriers. Misunderstandings. They usually wouldn't understand this mishmash of words I call Tiger Cafe. We struggle to talk deeper. They listen blankly at my talk about pop culture and Charlie Rose. How important is that, really, I keep wondering? So what? We are enjoying each other's company.

When I meet native English speakers (including Asians born in America), something feels missing. Yeah, we can talk about the same supermarkets or local clubs, but it feels more like talking to your sister than a potential date. More flat. Sometimes compared to them, I feel like the foreigner, in my weirdo position of being neither completely Asian nor completely American. (You Asian Americans or immigrants know what I mean.) Yes, they understand every word I'm saying, but my dry, understated humor just bypasses them. Some are looking for a sitcom entertainer who tells them loud stories and one-liners. Or sometimes I meet people who ARE English majors or very scholarly. They can talk about deconstructionism and politics and the war in Afghanistan, but then I start falling asleep. Too academic. Too much jargon for its own sake. I start worrying that I've lost my funny bone "mojo."

And then I'll talk to my friend Atsuko, here from Osaka, Japan. And she'll laugh like crazy before I even finish my sentences.

So it's back to the foreign-born for me and that unusual chemistry we have, even though I've lived most of my life in America. Call it a fetish. Call it a superstition. I don't give a damn. I only know that I cherish that chemistry and our banter, while grammatically for five-year-olds, can go on for ages.

Until we hit that next cultural roadblock.