Q

I am about this close to achieving my life-time goal: to be a Lian.

What I’ve been doing right:

• Live in the Heartlands. (A birth privilege, so booyah to the rest of you.)
• Wear predominantly denim hotshots.
• Fixation on bubble tea.
• Talk in inappropriate volumes in public.
• Have straight hair.
• …DYED straight hair.
• Dance at home in my room in my underwear.
• Troll the heartland streets at midnight.
• Take a lot of self-shots.

All I’m missing now is a Beng boyfriend. K here’s now it works in the Heartlands. If you’re of their species, they’ll smell you out within the half km radius. (You’ll smell them out too, usually of cigarettes.) The mating dance then commences – a period of jostling from their Beng entourage, and one will emerge and ask The Line. Yes, The Line, it never varies much and is a ubiquitous code known to all in our area: ‘You wan to be my fren?/Yao bu yao zuo peng you.’

If you’re available, you need to say yes to be initiated completely into the core of the Beng/Lian community. If you don’t, you’re not ready to. You have failed. But it’s okay, because in the Heartlands, you get this opportunity every few months (as long as you’re of age, don’t look like a complete troll, and give off appropriate Lian emanations.) I’M READY. I’M READY DAMMIT. I want to wear my hotshots and drink bubble tea while screaming vulgarities at my piss-haired boyfriend with his half-price phoenix tattoo. But I missed my chance and now I have to wait for the next cycle when the Beng season is on again.

It happened just a couple days ago. This time it was on the bus. Couple of Bengs smoking at the bus-stop. AH YES, the bus-stop, cesspit of mating rituals; also known as the Beng Scouting Platform. You board the bus, take a seat. And BAM! (you smell it. The scent of Marlboro. Initiation time.)

‘aahh hallo. you know my fren j’now.. wan to be your fren.’

-blank stare-

(HOW COULD I. I have prepared so long for this.)

‘yooou gottwitter?’

(I could have redeemed myself here, but no.)

‘no.’

(To be honest it’s because I couldn’t understand what he was saying. Mumbly incoherent Bengs and the works, yknw.)

‘orh. den got facebook?’

(DAMMIT there was where I realized he was asking for Twitter before AND YES I SHOULD HAVE SAID YES YES YES. I even have one of those pre-fixed Lian Facebook screen-names dammit.)

‘no.’

(WHY. WHY. WHY.)

‘orh means you donwan be fren wif him la?’

(At this point I realized OHSHITOHSHIT I am about to lose my tri-monthly chance of being part of the Beng/Lian Society, and WOULD have said yes, except I’d said no the first two times, and OCD dictates a third yes. I don’t know okay. It just seemed incredibly logical and natural and RIGHT to give him a perfect set of three ‘no’s. Damn you OCD.)

‘no.’

‘orh kay then never mind.’

(Almost immediately the regret set in. It was so swift, this regret, I actually said sorry.)

‘hahaha… sorry.’

‘no probrem no probrem.’

(POLITE BENG IS POLITE.)

WHY. WHY. WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY. NEXT TIME ROUND. I PROMISE. I PROMISE I’LL BE READY IN ALL MY HOTSHORTS GLORY. I WILL BE READY FOR YOU AH BENGS. I WILL BE READY TO JOIN MY PEOPLE.