IN WHICH OUR PASTY HERO DISCOVER HE IS A SHE

I have always thought of myself as a gay man trapped in a woman’s body. Frankly, that’s the only way I’ve ever been able to rectify my gender inappropriate machismo and bravado with my overwhelming lust for men. In other words, if you don’t bring me the flowers I want for my birthday, I will, in fact, punch you. However, it would appear that I’m going to need to revise that, as I realize now that I am, overwhelmingly female.

I have the flu. It sucks. Fever, the shakes and so much nose blowing, my upper lip looks like Angelina Jolie and I swapped after she got in a fistfight. I’ve had the flu since yesterday morning (Saturday, 1/6) and while it’s better today, it was so bad yesterday, at one point I collapsed on the floor crying at how shitty I feel and how I’m a million miles away from healthcare I recognize. I know I’m truly sick if I catch myself being overwhelmed with self-pity. I don’t know, something about the achy joints of a fever dissolves my emotional ability to keep it together. I felt so shitty, all I could think about was calling Z to have him come take care of me the way I know he would. It made me cry a little bit more that, for the first time in my life, I was nakedly about to reach out to someone else to take care of me. I’ve taken care of myself, more or less, since I was 16 and the only time I’ve accepted the offering of support from others, it’s always sheepishly and regretfully with profuse apologies for infringing. I’ve always tried to be blasÈ or fabricate ulterior, more benign reasons for actually requesting help from others. I’ve never told another person, face to face, "I need you to save me. Period." I hate admitting I need other people because I’m afraid they’ll see how much more I actually need them and then be scared off.

However, as I reached decidedly for the phone to ask for help and making no attempt to level out my weepy voice, I understood fully that he would come over and take care of me, no questions asked. I have never been so sure of anything in my whole life. And I had no problem asking him to get me whatever I needed. He would call a doctor, take me to the hospital, fetch me my medicine, fetch me food, watch movies in English with no Chinese subtitles, pamper me and stay with me (platonically; he’s clearly not ready to engage me physically), leaving only to teach his training classes. I knew it would make him happy that, at my weakest moment, I called him to take care of me like the tragic Victorian heroine I never would have imagined myself capable of much less allowed myself to be. In my emotional rawness and complete lack of defense, that he was all I could think of to help me would have meant a lot to him. Hell, when I told him that my mom said to say, "Happy birthday, [Z]" he clearly understood the implications of my mom knowing him and wishing him well. (I thought it would be a good way to answer the unspoken question that every other Chinese person has been utterly fascinated by, "How does your [WHITE and for whatever reason infinitely superior] family feel about you dating a… CHINESE?") He stopped mid-Chinese-sentence, studied me for moment and said, "What" clearly disbelieving what he had heard. I repeated myself, first in Chinese and then in English so he was clear that I was clear what I was saying. He shook his head, disbelieving and then broke into a touched but small smile. He said, "Thank you" (In English). He didn’t speak again for a few minutes as he just watched me.

And then my weeping turned into sobbing because, as a girl, I realize that he works seven days a week, most of the day and we live a country where there’s no such thing as sick time. He sleeps in a cold building, is up early (never my fault) and goes to bed late (usually my fault). As much as it blows for me to be sick, he simply cannot get sick.

So, I cried and cried (which really helped the whole "fish lips/runny nose" issue) thinking about how I wanted to call no one but Z. I didn’t want help from anyone but him but I couldn’t put him at risk. Instead of reaching out to my boss or beloved coworker (like I have with illnesses past) I just holed up in my apartment and moved into my bed because I’m batshit insane. And just to confirm how far gone I am, I am intensely satisfied that tomorrow, if the topic comes up, and he asks the inevitable "Why didn’t you call me" that I can say, "I didn’t want to get you sick" and not "Well, I just called [insert another man’s name]." Only someone off their rocker wants their love interest to know that they want no one else, to the exclusion of their own health.

I’ve never wanted a boy to be this clear that I’m his possession. At first, my Doubting Thomas figured it was the language barrier and the ability to project fantasy onto him but the consistent and naked courage, generosity, gratitude, humor and straight up kindness is positively mind-boggling. I’ve been lucky to be in love with one truly good man before. I never thought I’d get another one. I think about all the good men I’ve been surrounded with and how, when I was younger, their gestures of kindness were beyond unappealing; as if a man who "likes me too much" is a drawback. I see all the men I’ve been bumping into since Z and I established our direction and I see how many men are beginning to gather the courage to approach me romantically. And, while they would all be wonderfully nice in their own way, I think I’m finally old enough to let those opportunities slide. As incredibly tedious as it may sound, I’m finally ready to jump in the deep end with both feet.

I guess I just finally had to admit I was a girl.