Last year, towards the end of November, when I traversed the sea and went back to my home city, I met up with Cara Dean and at a charming Korean restaurant we had dinner. First of all, I could not believe she gained weight! I thought she was one of those people who are forever skinny no matter how much they eat because for the most part of her life, she was light and thin. It was for that very reason I especially loved hanging out with her because we were the same in that regard, thus, I wouldn't feel insecure about my body, or have my company constantly remind me I look ill. Hell, she used to even hold a more meager appearance than I ever did, and next to her, I look normal-sized, which was a delusion that was nonetheless delightful to my eyes whenever I'd perceive our reflection upon mirrors and glass.
The last time we saw each other was December 2022, and even then, there was a noticeable change in her figure, although it had not been as dramatic as it was now. I am not, by any means, saying she's fat, as she so absurdly claims herself to be, for she is far from that. Rather, she looks like how the ideal healthy woman should look: not too skinny, not too plump. Though proud I am of her for having achieved that physique, no longer can she relate to the insecurity we both shared in the past, and this causes me a certain melancholy, as we've always labeled our duo as "skinny bitches". Before, there had been three of us, but Venice, who was the notorious one in reducing weight and maintaining a slender figure, was, ironically, the first member to separate from the title. Now, I'm the lone survivor of the glorious trio and it feels rather lonely.
Cara explained that the change of her weight was due to stress. "Stress-eating", she said, then added her pimples as another product of the accursed mental and physical tormentor, and expressed how she envied my "baby face" so much because it looks like it's been untouched by the burdens of stress.
Huh.
It is true my face is clear, but I daresay she hasn't observed me under the unforgiving brilliance of regular light because whether painted or make-up free, I be looking like a zombie most of the time.
At the restaurant, Cara ordered samgyeopsal and some noodles, whilst I chose a banana split and a crepe. I love desserts, they're my favourite. More often than not, I intentionally eat less of the main course just to have more room for the sweet finale.
There was another pair dining at the very table next to ours. This table was occupied by two foreign white men. Beforehand, I have mentioned to Cara my search for my soulmate in the form of an outlander, but this was all half in jest, of course. So over our meal, with a countenance ever so observant and a shade of mischief attached to it, she motioned her eyes towards the direction of those two men.
"You said you were looking for your soulmate," she said from across the table.
"Ew. Not them," I replied dismissively. The men were considerably older and not at all attractive. "Get me a cute one, at least."
It was a mean thing to say but it wasn't like the said men deserved any merit to compensate for their conduct. They were obnoxiously loud, their voices ringing through the room as if they possessed ownership of the space. We would've minded our own business but that proved impossible when their unpleasant presence demanded acknowledgement. Mind you, there were no other customers save us four, so any other noises were drowned by their boisterous behaviour. Not only that, they were also being overly friendly with the cute waitress, summoned her so often with such an amiability coated with entitlement, and threw elaborate compliments her way that seemed more recycled than authentic. And as if that wasn't bad enough, they kept glancing at our direction, trying to get loud enough to get noticed, as if we hadn't already. You know how when someone wants to capture somebody's attention so they would deliberately start being loud or act conspicuous? That's exactly what the men's position seemed to look like.
When the waitress was placing the samgyeopsal on our table, the louder of the two men finally took the opportunity to speak with Cara. He asked if we were Korean, which she replied with no. They conversed for some more in English, me just watching the entire transaction, at the same time impressed at how effortlessly Cara was going along with whatever the man was saying, and altogether amused at the concealed annoyance on her face only visible to me. Then he started to speak in our tongue and remarked, with such self-importance: "Are you impressed that I speak your language?"
I no longer recall how Cara replied to that but that was an unnecessary flex because we literally didn't care. We'd already heard him speak it even before he opened his mouth to us and indeed, he didn't have a bad level. When most of the tourists who enter the country don't bother to learn the local's language, I suppose him being relatively good at it makes him rare. But honestly, what difference does it make when we also speak his tongue, even excellently at that? I might just be being harsh here because if he had only been a becoming fellow, it would've charmed us. But he was being anything but. I was so glad he didn't converse with me.
I silently teased Cara that the man fancied her because he kept trying to engage in a conversation with her. Then she countered this claim by saying it was I he fancied because it was I he kept on staring at.
Beurk. We both shuddered in mutual disgust.
But just when we thought he couldn't get any worse, he did. Later that evening, the same man did something that rendered me awfully uncomfortable. He pulled out his phone and started recording the place, but I highly believed it was just a guise for him to record me and Cara because by the end of it, he angled his phone's camera directly at our table and kept it like that for a while.
"What the fuck, bitch. He's recording us," I hissed whilst surreptitiously covering half of my face. I detest being recorded in public, most especially by a stranger, without my consent. That's why I enjoyed the mandatory wearing of masks during Covid. With anyone having the power to capture anything just one click away now—not to mention the influencers or wannabe influencers infesting the corners of the streets—the enforced rule became second nature to me, as natural as putting on clothes before stepping outside. So even when the pandemic was over, it felt strange going out with nothing shielding my identity. It took moving to another island, in the countryside, to get myself used to what had always been normal to me before. So only a year ago did I part ways with my fondness for masks, as there are fewer people where I reside now, and it seems rather foolish to filter out the crisp, unspoiled air of the countryside. Unless perhaps the motive is to capture the crowd or the surroundings and not specifically me, I wouldn't have minded being recorded by a complete stranger as much. But at present, the hideous bastard had the most advantageous view of me, as he was seated on the same lane as Cara Dean.
"What the fuck is wrong with him?" Cara murmured back in absolute repulsion.
To our relief, they departed before Cara and I finished our food. It was unfortunate that we were too timid for confrontation, but we would only be exposing more of ourselves on the camera had we done so. We could only hope the video he took wouldn't go online, may it be boring and uninteresting.