I slowly take off my clothes and look at the little strip of cloth handed to me. The cloth felt like paper, and it was held together by a string. It resembles a fundoshi, a Japanese garment typically worn by men. It is, frankly speaking, a thong.
I look at the thong.
I slowly put my clothes back on.
Then, midway through pulling on my pants, I thought, fuck it. It's not like I can run away now.
I take off everything again, and put on the small piece of fabric. I have never felt more naked. In fact, wearing that piece of probably recycled paper made me feel more naked than wearing nothing.
I turn to the little bed that was waiting for me. I lay down, and wait, heart thudding. It is all happening too fast. I hear the sound of feet shuffling next to me, but I shut my eyes, too scared and embarrassed to keep my eyelids ajar.
You often see charts at the dentist's or the doctor's office, which ask you what level of pain you are feeling, on the scale of 1 to 10. If I could convert that chart from a chart of pain into a chart of discomfort, I would indicate a level of 17 at this moment. Level 17, because I have, what feels like, a piece of paper stuck in my ass, and I am naked other than that piece of paper stuck in my ass and barely covering my crotch.
Level 17 discomfort, because not soon after, a woman comes in, and starts rubbing warm crystals into my chest, and mind you, I have boobs. She's just doing her thing, rubbing my boobs like it's what she was paid to do.
Okay, yeah. She is paid to do that.
Today, I went to get a massage that felt more like a violation of my no-no square, which left me quite listless. I didn't realize this treatment involved a... Frontal body massage. Usually, the back is quite enough for me, or the legs. But today. Oh, today is something different.
As her hands moved across my body, all I could think was oh, not there. Noooo, don't go any further up. Okay, hands off my ass. Hands off those boobs too. Oh god. Think happy thoughts. Impossible. What happy thought could possibly run across my mind when some woman I don't know is invading my no-no square. Come to think of it, it would be even more disturbing and uncomfortable if someone I knew is invading my privates. Essentially, I would prefer people staying out of that area.
After two hours of torture, I was allowed to put my clothes back on. I felt more exhausted than before the massage. I thought massages are supposed to be relaxing. I thought massages would be a little vacation for my knotted muscles and tired body. I thought wrong. This massage was a cruel work out. It was painful. It was tiresome. I was tense and awake, feeling that level 17 discomfort for the entire period I was on that little table.
Not to say that the lady who did the massaging was doing a bad job. She loosened up the muscles on my back, which feel a lot better. But I could have gone with less contact with my privates, and possibly a little something more to wear other than a thong.
I'm often told that I am pessimistic. I suppose I could look at this massage in a more positive light. My thong virginity has been broken. My threshold for humiliation probably went up several notches. I'm out of positive thoughts.
On the bright side, I've realized how much I hate intimate, physical contact. The next time someone makes a move into my no-no zone, I will give him/her a black eye, a kick in the crotch (believe me, it'll hurt for a girl too), and I would maintain a 10m radius around that person for the rest of my life.
Wednesday, 25 June 2014
Monday, 23 June 2014
Home
Penang is also hot and humid, which is indifferent to Taiwan's weather. And it sucks.
I thought living on the 13th floor would make things better, because it's always windy up here, but nope. The wind is wet and hot, as if your dog is breathing on your face all the time. Stepping outside is like stepping into a sauna, or getting into a car that has been left in the sun for several hours.
Despite the need to shower several times a day, the heat is useful to me. I haven't felt hunger since I left San Diego. I don't know how the weather is doing it, but sitting in this uncomfortable warmth has given me no appetite at all. Which means I don't feel the need to eat, which is all the better for my summer diet plan.
What is not beneficial to my summer diet plan is my friend's creepy uncle, who lives in my apartment complex. I don't actually know my friend's creepy uncle's name, so I'm just going to call him Creeps. I come home for the first time in forever (I sung that last bit. It's all your fault, Anna), and I find him standing at the gate, with the guards. I have quite a history with him, and most of my friends would know this. He crashed my birthday party and started chatting to my friends and telling them what kind of food to order. No one knew who he was, and I wanted to kick him in the face and throw him into the pool.
He also stopped me while I was cycling around our apartments. Or rather, he told the guards to stop me from cycling around our apartments. What the fuck Creeps, mind your own business. He also stopped me every time he saw me downstairs so he could talk to me about the randomest crap he could think up. Once, he saw me in the little gym room we have in our apartments and knocked on the door. I got off the treadmill, opened the door, and asked what he wanted. Creeps said: "What are you doing?". I wanted to say: "I'm reading, of course. Why else would I be in the gym and on the treadmill? Gyms are for reading, duhhh", but I was respectful, and said instead: "I am running." He was about to start talking to me more when I slammed the door in his face and got back on the treadmill.
The last time he stopped me, we talked for half an hour. About the education system in Canada. Philosophy. Politics. He knows this politician guy, and he has politician guy on speed dial. Good for you. Why don't you call him up and chat to him instead of a teenage girl 3 times younger than you.
I always tried to break away from the conversation, but he just moves onto a different topic. It took me about 4 or 5 times before I realized I could pretty much tell him to fuck off if I didn't want to talk to him.
Anyway. I really really didn't want to see his face, but he's there. I will never be able to exercise in peace. I won't be able to swim in the pool knowing that Creeps might be watching. I really hoped he'd be gone, or at least different when I got back. Nup. He's still friendless. Unless you count the guards.
I used to hate home. It used to feel like somewhere I couldn't relax. Somewhere where I'm always suffocating. Now, I'm moving around this space with ease, still remembering where things are in certain cupboards, and which switches switch on which lights. I don't want to live here, and I don't think anything will change that. However, for now, this place is home.
With my parents. Creeps. Same old Penang. Friends who went to places all over the world for college will add some spice to life back here. Speaking of which, I can't wait to see those faces.
I thought living on the 13th floor would make things better, because it's always windy up here, but nope. The wind is wet and hot, as if your dog is breathing on your face all the time. Stepping outside is like stepping into a sauna, or getting into a car that has been left in the sun for several hours.
Despite the need to shower several times a day, the heat is useful to me. I haven't felt hunger since I left San Diego. I don't know how the weather is doing it, but sitting in this uncomfortable warmth has given me no appetite at all. Which means I don't feel the need to eat, which is all the better for my summer diet plan.
What is not beneficial to my summer diet plan is my friend's creepy uncle, who lives in my apartment complex. I don't actually know my friend's creepy uncle's name, so I'm just going to call him Creeps. I come home for the first time in forever (I sung that last bit. It's all your fault, Anna), and I find him standing at the gate, with the guards. I have quite a history with him, and most of my friends would know this. He crashed my birthday party and started chatting to my friends and telling them what kind of food to order. No one knew who he was, and I wanted to kick him in the face and throw him into the pool.
He also stopped me while I was cycling around our apartments. Or rather, he told the guards to stop me from cycling around our apartments. What the fuck Creeps, mind your own business. He also stopped me every time he saw me downstairs so he could talk to me about the randomest crap he could think up. Once, he saw me in the little gym room we have in our apartments and knocked on the door. I got off the treadmill, opened the door, and asked what he wanted. Creeps said: "What are you doing?". I wanted to say: "I'm reading, of course. Why else would I be in the gym and on the treadmill? Gyms are for reading, duhhh", but I was respectful, and said instead: "I am running." He was about to start talking to me more when I slammed the door in his face and got back on the treadmill.
The last time he stopped me, we talked for half an hour. About the education system in Canada. Philosophy. Politics. He knows this politician guy, and he has politician guy on speed dial. Good for you. Why don't you call him up and chat to him instead of a teenage girl 3 times younger than you.
I always tried to break away from the conversation, but he just moves onto a different topic. It took me about 4 or 5 times before I realized I could pretty much tell him to fuck off if I didn't want to talk to him.
Anyway. I really really didn't want to see his face, but he's there. I will never be able to exercise in peace. I won't be able to swim in the pool knowing that Creeps might be watching. I really hoped he'd be gone, or at least different when I got back. Nup. He's still friendless. Unless you count the guards.
I used to hate home. It used to feel like somewhere I couldn't relax. Somewhere where I'm always suffocating. Now, I'm moving around this space with ease, still remembering where things are in certain cupboards, and which switches switch on which lights. I don't want to live here, and I don't think anything will change that. However, for now, this place is home.
With my parents. Creeps. Same old Penang. Friends who went to places all over the world for college will add some spice to life back here. Speaking of which, I can't wait to see those faces.
Thursday, 19 June 2014
Grandparents II
I think I'd be able to write a book solely based on the conversations I have with my grandparents. It's very taxing talking to them, and at the end of most conversations, I feel a little suicidal.
Grandma: is that bowl of porridge enough?
Me: yes. I wasn't even hungry to start with. I can't actually finish this bowl.
Grandma: porridge doesn't fill you up.
Me: I'm. Not. Hungry. How would eating more suddenly make me less hungry. Plus, I don't even like porridge.
Grandma: there's more porridge in the kitchen. Go eat more.
Me: what the fuck, Grandma.
Grandpa: you went to Alaska, right?
Me: what. No. What.
Grandpa: you must have! To fly back to Taiwan, you need to fly to Alaska!
Me: Grandpa, that makes no sense. Alaska is north. To get to Taiwan, you have to fly west. I didn't go to Alaska.
Grandpa: No! You have to fly north, go to Alaska, then go to Japan before you get back!
Me: Nooooo. There is no reason to fly north, then fly back south. That is just a waste of fuel.
Grandpa: but that is the route! They have to refuel in Alaska.
Me: I took a direct flight. We didn't have to refuel anywhere.
Grandpa: no, you don't get it. Even if it's direct, you have to refuel.
Me: that means it's NOT a direct flight. If you stop, it's not direct. The word Direct literally means... Direct. You don't stop.
Grandpa: did you watch the news? A few years ago, an airplane flying back from the US was shot down over Russia.
Me: that doesn't even have anything to do with what we were talking about. I didn't fly over Russia. And why would the news report something that happened a few years ago?
Grandpa: it was six years ago.
Me: why did the news report something six years ago?
Grandpa: no. The news was six years ago.
Me: *muttering to myself* I hate my life.
Grandpa: so did you go to Alaska? And also, there was a spy in the plane. That's why they shot it down.
It's like they don't even hear what I say to them. And, because my whole family on this side is deaf or something, we yell, and it's like we're all vying to see who has the best vocal chords.
There have been more than embarrassing number of conversations I had with my Grandpa, where I had absolutely NO idea what he was talking about. I just nodded and said "ah"'in the right places and in a most understanding manner possible. It was as if he was talking in a completely different language. I think one talk was about organ smuggling. And the other was about the moon landing. But really, it could be anything.
Grandma: are there clubs in university?
Me: yeah. I'm in the Taiwanese people's association. There are other clubs.
Grandma: oh. So there are clubs in the Taiwanese people's association.
Me: No... That itself is a club. There are sports clubs, and other countries usually have their own clubs too. Like... Singaporean people or Russian people associations.
Grandma: wow. So many clubs in the Taiwanese club.
Me: gah.
On Thursday, we spent the whole day (and I MEAN the whole day) watching this old Chinese music channel, in which people cannot sing and the music is terrible. The reason we were watching this is because my Grandpa says there is a song played by a saxophone, and because I'm going to learn the sax this summer, he wants me to hear it. I told him that there are lots and lots of songs played by saxophones, and it's really not necessary to wait and find this one song. He is very adamant, and insists this is the only song ever where the saxophone plays. We found the song after 7 hours of waiting. The music video consists of a guy playing the sax in front of a green screen, with really scenic, but cheesy and blurry backgrounds. He was wearing a leopard print fedora, and the song is terrible.
Grandpa meant that this is the only song to have the sax play the solo (main melody). I wanted to throw myself off our building at the 5 hour mark of watching this stupid channel, and after finally understanding my Grandfather 2 hours later, I want to find a higher building to throw myself off it.
Grandma: is that bowl of porridge enough?
Me: yes. I wasn't even hungry to start with. I can't actually finish this bowl.
Grandma: porridge doesn't fill you up.
Me: I'm. Not. Hungry. How would eating more suddenly make me less hungry. Plus, I don't even like porridge.
Grandma: there's more porridge in the kitchen. Go eat more.
Me: what the fuck, Grandma.
Grandpa: you went to Alaska, right?
Me: what. No. What.
Grandpa: you must have! To fly back to Taiwan, you need to fly to Alaska!
Me: Grandpa, that makes no sense. Alaska is north. To get to Taiwan, you have to fly west. I didn't go to Alaska.
Grandpa: No! You have to fly north, go to Alaska, then go to Japan before you get back!
Me: Nooooo. There is no reason to fly north, then fly back south. That is just a waste of fuel.
Grandpa: but that is the route! They have to refuel in Alaska.
Me: I took a direct flight. We didn't have to refuel anywhere.
Grandpa: no, you don't get it. Even if it's direct, you have to refuel.
Me: that means it's NOT a direct flight. If you stop, it's not direct. The word Direct literally means... Direct. You don't stop.
Grandpa: did you watch the news? A few years ago, an airplane flying back from the US was shot down over Russia.
Me: that doesn't even have anything to do with what we were talking about. I didn't fly over Russia. And why would the news report something that happened a few years ago?
Grandpa: it was six years ago.
Me: why did the news report something six years ago?
Grandpa: no. The news was six years ago.
Me: *muttering to myself* I hate my life.
Grandpa: so did you go to Alaska? And also, there was a spy in the plane. That's why they shot it down.
It's like they don't even hear what I say to them. And, because my whole family on this side is deaf or something, we yell, and it's like we're all vying to see who has the best vocal chords.
There have been more than embarrassing number of conversations I had with my Grandpa, where I had absolutely NO idea what he was talking about. I just nodded and said "ah"'in the right places and in a most understanding manner possible. It was as if he was talking in a completely different language. I think one talk was about organ smuggling. And the other was about the moon landing. But really, it could be anything.
Grandma: are there clubs in university?
Me: yeah. I'm in the Taiwanese people's association. There are other clubs.
Grandma: oh. So there are clubs in the Taiwanese people's association.
Me: No... That itself is a club. There are sports clubs, and other countries usually have their own clubs too. Like... Singaporean people or Russian people associations.
Grandma: wow. So many clubs in the Taiwanese club.
Me: gah.
On Thursday, we spent the whole day (and I MEAN the whole day) watching this old Chinese music channel, in which people cannot sing and the music is terrible. The reason we were watching this is because my Grandpa says there is a song played by a saxophone, and because I'm going to learn the sax this summer, he wants me to hear it. I told him that there are lots and lots of songs played by saxophones, and it's really not necessary to wait and find this one song. He is very adamant, and insists this is the only song ever where the saxophone plays. We found the song after 7 hours of waiting. The music video consists of a guy playing the sax in front of a green screen, with really scenic, but cheesy and blurry backgrounds. He was wearing a leopard print fedora, and the song is terrible.
Grandpa meant that this is the only song to have the sax play the solo (main melody). I wanted to throw myself off our building at the 5 hour mark of watching this stupid channel, and after finally understanding my Grandfather 2 hours later, I want to find a higher building to throw myself off it.
Two more days. Eh.
Wednesday, 18 June 2014
Toosday
An old lady was sweeping leaves in the park near our apartment, and her straw hat was blown off by the wind into the grass by the river in the middle of the park. The river has steep grassy banks on both sides, and it has railings to prevent people from falling into the river and cracking their heads open. I was doubtful when I looked over the edge of the railing, at the hat that was several metres below me. I can easily climb over the railing, I guess. I can also easily fall into the shallow, rocky river and break my cranium. The old lady looked so sad, so I told her I'd get her hat.
I shook off my flip flops, because I didn't want to lose them in the tall grass, and hopped over the railing. I think, to outsiders, I looked like I was... Living on the edge. That was a bad pun. Romelle would be proud of me. I spent my childhood climbing trees and falling down, so climbing over the railing wasn't that bad until I was on the other side. I was real good at falling down, but I'm not too keen on falling here.
Anyway. I stood on the other side of the railing, and started climbing downwards. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck don't fall fuck you hat fuck fuck fuck" ran through my mind. It was difficult looking for footing, and I regretted not having done more rock climbing. I was practically climbing vertically, not realizing before how steep the sides were. There were broken pieces of glass in the grass, so I had to choose where to step really carefully. I scaled down two layers of rock, and grabbed the hat. I reached up to give the hat to the lady, but I was too far below. I climbed back up with the hat and eventually got back over the railing. The lady thanked me numerous times when I handed her the hat.
Going up was a lot faster than going down. I think I just wanted to get out. I have scratches over my legs and they itch a lot. The grass was rough; it would be more accurate to call them weeds.
Looking back on it, I don't think I will risk my safety for a hat again. Ever. There were snakes in the grass. Broken glass. Infectious stuff tainting the skin on my legs. There were so many things I didn't consider before rescuing that stupid hat. At least the old lady was happy, and my cranium is intact. All is well.
Then, that night, I walked by a dad and his daughter by their motorcycle. The daughter looked like she was about four or five years old, and while waiting for her dad to load their motorcycle with groceries, wandered into the middle of the road. I was waiting to cross the road, thinking irresponsible parents should be guillotined, when I heard the sound of an engine. I thought the kid would have common sense to come back from the middle of the street, but noooo, fuck that shit, she goes where she wants to go (kudos to her for being badass, I guess). The dad was oblivious to where his daughter is, which means he should really be guillotined, but there was no time for that. Seriously, dude. You're on the side of the road. Watch your kid.
I dashed forward and snaked an arm around her waist just as a motorcycle was about to run her over, and rugby-carried her back to the side of the road. She didn't even scream (I swear, if she wasn't so fucking dumb, she'd be so badass, and I would take her on badass adventures). I placed her down, and she just looked at me, her face framed by the giant helmet she was wearing. No apology, no thanks, no nothing. I wish I was such a composed kid. Her dad didn't even notice all this happened. I squat down and said to the kid in Chinese: "You're a little too young to die.", and felt extremely old after saying it, so I added really quickly in English: "Wait 15 more years before you try this again, you little fucker." And I went on my merry way.
Risk-my-life Tuesday. My new Tuesday catch phrase. Not that I have mottos for everyday of the week. I should though. Taco Monday. Because Tuesday is taken.
But seriously. First I save a hat. Then I save a kid. Eugh. What is happening to me.
I shook off my flip flops, because I didn't want to lose them in the tall grass, and hopped over the railing. I think, to outsiders, I looked like I was... Living on the edge. That was a bad pun. Romelle would be proud of me. I spent my childhood climbing trees and falling down, so climbing over the railing wasn't that bad until I was on the other side. I was real good at falling down, but I'm not too keen on falling here.
Anyway. I stood on the other side of the railing, and started climbing downwards. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck don't fall fuck you hat fuck fuck fuck" ran through my mind. It was difficult looking for footing, and I regretted not having done more rock climbing. I was practically climbing vertically, not realizing before how steep the sides were. There were broken pieces of glass in the grass, so I had to choose where to step really carefully. I scaled down two layers of rock, and grabbed the hat. I reached up to give the hat to the lady, but I was too far below. I climbed back up with the hat and eventually got back over the railing. The lady thanked me numerous times when I handed her the hat.
Going up was a lot faster than going down. I think I just wanted to get out. I have scratches over my legs and they itch a lot. The grass was rough; it would be more accurate to call them weeds.
Looking back on it, I don't think I will risk my safety for a hat again. Ever. There were snakes in the grass. Broken glass. Infectious stuff tainting the skin on my legs. There were so many things I didn't consider before rescuing that stupid hat. At least the old lady was happy, and my cranium is intact. All is well.
Then, that night, I walked by a dad and his daughter by their motorcycle. The daughter looked like she was about four or five years old, and while waiting for her dad to load their motorcycle with groceries, wandered into the middle of the road. I was waiting to cross the road, thinking irresponsible parents should be guillotined, when I heard the sound of an engine. I thought the kid would have common sense to come back from the middle of the street, but noooo, fuck that shit, she goes where she wants to go (kudos to her for being badass, I guess). The dad was oblivious to where his daughter is, which means he should really be guillotined, but there was no time for that. Seriously, dude. You're on the side of the road. Watch your kid.
I dashed forward and snaked an arm around her waist just as a motorcycle was about to run her over, and rugby-carried her back to the side of the road. She didn't even scream (I swear, if she wasn't so fucking dumb, she'd be so badass, and I would take her on badass adventures). I placed her down, and she just looked at me, her face framed by the giant helmet she was wearing. No apology, no thanks, no nothing. I wish I was such a composed kid. Her dad didn't even notice all this happened. I squat down and said to the kid in Chinese: "You're a little too young to die.", and felt extremely old after saying it, so I added really quickly in English: "Wait 15 more years before you try this again, you little fucker." And I went on my merry way.
Risk-my-life Tuesday. My new Tuesday catch phrase. Not that I have mottos for everyday of the week. I should though. Taco Monday. Because Tuesday is taken.
But seriously. First I save a hat. Then I save a kid. Eugh. What is happening to me.
Grandparents
There is an unwritten, unspoken law in the house where I stay, and it's not necessarily something I agree with. However, the idea persists, and Grandma is always right. It seems that, I am always on the edge of starving to death, and thus food must be made or served every other hour for the pleasure of my stomach. The food is usually provided by Grandmother, who cooks as if she was Snow White feeding seven hungry men dwarves who spend their day digging in a mine. Other times, Uncle brings food home and BAM! there is enough food to feed twelve dwarves.
Okay, now substitute yours truly, with twelve dwarves.
I have a wager with Anna this summer, and that is to lose five kilograms before we start our second year of college. I'm just going to say, that I am off to a terrible start.
This is my typical day:
- wake up whenever (I think I'm half jet lagged. I wake up at 8:30am, which is waaaaaaaay too early. I say half jet lagged, because 8:30am means 5:30pm San Diego time, which makes no sense whatsoever. I usually go back to sleep for another couple of hours)
(After rereading this, I realised... I'm not jet lagged at all. My sleep cycle is actually normal wtf)
- Grandma gets very excited when I wake up, because that means she gets to start cooking. She makes me breakfast.
- we watch news on the telly while I eat breakfast
- an hour later, she makes lunch. Sometimes, WHILE I'm eating breakfast, she asks me what I want for lunch and proceeds to start making lunch. I tell her no, but my attempts are futile to those stubborn, Grandma ears.
- we eat lunch and watch more telly
- I need to run some errands while I'm back in Taiwan, so I go off and do that. Sometimes Grandma comes with me. On those occasions, Grandma will buy me food on the way. Guaranteed.
- come home. Grandma brings out snacks and demand they be eaten.
- we eat stuff while watching telly
- Grandma prepares dinner
- I play on PSP or iPad.
- we eat dinner while watching telly
- we might eat more late at night if Grandma is still awake
Grandma believes I'm always hungry. I don't think I've felt hunger in a long long long time. I was always forced to eat when I'm not hungry, and saying no to Grandma is impossible. Even if I don't go and get food, she will get it for me, whether I want it or not.
I've forgotten how to talk to old people.
It's very one sided, because they tend not to hear your side of the convo, so they continue talking about whatever they were talking about long after the topic has changed. Sometimes, they blurt out whatever is on their mind.
Uncle: Have you been to this theme park?
Me: erm. I know we went to one last year, but I'm not sure if it's the same one.
Grandma: You went to a theme park last year! With both your aunts.
Me: Yes, I know. I just don't know if it's the SAME theme park.
Grandma: You went to a theme park.
Me: Yes. I did. That wasn't the question. The question is whether I went to this particular park.
Grandma: You went to the theme park.
Me: Yeah, okay Grandma.
Hairdresser: Wow, I see that you resemble your Grandma.
Me: really? That's actually kinda upsetting.
Grandma: yeah, she looks as ugly as I do.
Me: thanks Grandma.
Grandpa: So what are you studying over there?
Me: (with my limited Chinese abilities, I barely know how to say my major) Cognitive Science.
Grandpa: what's that?
Me: it's kinda like psychology.
Grandpa: in Los Angeles?
Me: What? No. I'm studying something like psychology. In San Diego.
Grandpa: Is LA far from San Francisco?
Me: Erm. Yes. It's more than 5 hours away. But I live in San DIEGO. Not San Francisco.
Grandpa: what are you studying again?
Me: Gah.
Grandma: Are you hungry?
Me: No.
Grandma: I'll cook you fried rice.
Me: Grandma, I'm NOT hungry.
Grandma: what do you want in the fried rice?
Me: I don't WANT fried rice.
Grandma: okay. *cooks some anyway and gives it to me*
Me: thanks Grandma.
Grandma: Hmm. I'll cook some noodles too. Rice is too dry.
Me: please stahp.
- ends up with a bowl of chicken soup, a plate of fried rice, and a bowl of noodles. I swear, American portion sizes are kid meals compared to Grandma portions.
I think Anna and my Grandma have teamed up with an evil plan of some sort. I will soon become a ball of fat with only rolling as my mode of transport. My front profile will look like the top of a turtle, and I'd have to start waddling everywhere. Or rolling, whatever.
Thank fuck I'm only here for a week.
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