My Saturday morning starts with a call of interrogation.
After the call, I had no interests lying in the bed any more, though I hit my pillow late last night.
The call came from a friend I want to stay a distance but always find myself bombarded by her calls, text messages, online chatting. She is not gay, either am I.
That’s the problem. No one wanted to hang out with her. I did in the past few months. Then I know everything has a reason.
I emailed a journalist almost two weeks ago whose stories I always read in a newspaper I like. I got his reply a week later. I was quite happy about it so I kept telling the emails to some friends ever since.
Somehow, this special friend knows the email thing. She came to me on Thursday when I was editing some photos from RAW mode to JPEG.
“You emailed him, didn’t you?” She looked into my eyes as if I should be guilty.
It took me a while to make it clear who she is talking about.
In the past few months, this special friend had been talking of her painstaking romance to me over lunch, on the way to somewhere, any time when we came across. I don’t want to go too specific because I felt bad blogging other’s secrets. Somehow, the story was about her crush on a journalist. The journalist told her that he has a girlfriend and my special friend doubted that as she believes the journalist liked her right back but wanted to escape from his own feeling.
She has been complaining the journalist seldom replies her emails, text messages and sometimes hangs up her call. I could say nothing to a broken heart but encourage her that she deserves better.
I’ve been asking her where does the man work, did he work for a newspaper, a website or a TV station. She tells me I should not concern that. So I had to give up. I do admit I was very curious as I am always curious on certain unimportant things.
“But you never told me about his name and the place he works for,” I felt a bit unhappy about her chasing.
She kept her eyes on my computer screen and I felt she was such a jerk for that moment.
I told her I’m on deadline and had to finish editing those photo before 6. p.m. but she never showed a sign that she would leave me alone.
I had to speak out the journalist’s name I emailed, what did I write in my email and what he replied, even though at that moment I had no clue if the man was the one in her mind.
“Why did you email he? why he, there are so many other journalists out there?” I suddenly understand why people always say it is a small world.
Wait, how she know I emailed a journalist at first place, how she would know it is this one that she never mentioned the name to me.
She was never in a mood to answer my questions. She just stood there asking why I promoted my blog to the journalist, did I email because I wanted an internship in that newspaper.
Well, well, well. I told her I like my blog(of course not this one) being seen by others I always force friends reading it and giving feedbacks.
I said I could show her the email. And I asked her to turn back while I open my email box because I don’t want her to see my other emails. She said why I don’t want her to see others, even the title. That is the moment I started to regret the decision to let her see the email, but too late. I just told her that my email box is like my diaries. No one want show their own diaries to others.
When she finished reading, I told her I will talk with her on this other time as I was meeting the deadline and ten minutes has been wasted.
The evening I waited her showing up online. But she stopped talking when she got some internship information from me.
I thought perhaps she didn’t want to talk about it until I got her long message this morning.
I hated texting so I called back.
“You replied him, didn’t you?”
“You are going to meet him, are you?”
“I’ve tried very hard to forget him. Why you drag me into this again?”
I told her again and again that I did not know the person could be THAT one so all those questions seemed senseless.
I felt what she wanted is my promise not to get in touch with the journalist ever again.But why would I, even there is no chance at all to meet this man as my admired writer? what is her position to force me to do this.
I just wish I never made her acquaintance.