Yan-Yan

This is not a tale about Japanese (are they Japanese?  Filipino?) snacks.  No.  This is about a different Yan-Yan altogether, so if you're looking for the poor man's Pocky, go elsewhere.

No.  This is about a boy.  A boy I used to call Yan-Yan.  His real name was Christian, and he was Filipino, and I guess (he said) his grandma or someone used to call him Yan-Yan, a reduplication of the last syllable of his given name.  I thought it very cute and quickly adopted it.  Why?  Because I was head over fucking heels in love with the man, that's why.

He had a similarly cloying nickname for me, too.  But I'm not telling.

Anyway, Yan-Yan made me a bunch of CDs--wait, is 'burned' the correct term?--and I unearthed them today, and I listened to one, the one that was my favorite, the one titled "Heideggerian Deluxe:  Artsy, Faggy British Fish & Chips."  It's an unnecessarily long title, I agree.  It is filled with songs from Travis and Portishead and Supergrass and Coldplay and some other deep-yet-uplifting artists.  It's actually a great CD, and I say that despite the fact that I would probably not buy a CD by any of these artists individually.  Oh, wait, no I do have the Supergrass CD.  And I might buy Portishead.  Oh, right, and there is an Ian Brown song on there, too, the effin' brilliant "Dolphins Were Monkeys."  Good stuff, that.  But Travis and Coldplay?  Not really my thing.

I hadn't thought a lot about Yan-Yan in quite some time, but listening to the CD opened a floodgate of lost love.  The feelings were real and prickly and a bit achy in awkward places. 

So, what's so very noteworthy about that?  Listening to the CD burned especially for you by an ex-boyfriend does that.  Certainly.  But, see, I never met Yan-Yan, like, in real life.

I met Yan-Yan in a goddamned Internet chat room, I believe it was an MSN chatroom for Asian-Americans.  I'm not at all Asian (my slogan was "white like rice!"), although I am American.  I was just trolling for Asian guys, particularly Japanese guys.  Let's not get into my thing for Asian, and especially Japanese men, right now.  Let's focus on Yan-Yan.

Anyway, I used to spend time chatting in there and became a regular.  It got to the point where we had a little gang going; most of the others in it were Filipino-American.  It was fun chatting, and I never took it seriously as "real" friendships, although I did occasionally talk on the phone with a couple of them and--egads!--met a couple of the guys in real life.  Hah. 

Never met Yan-Yan, though, and it took a long time for us to fall in love.  As he said, he had walls.  I didn't, but I also wasn't looking for love, just cheap thrills in the form of rapidfire dialogue and flirting.  Yan-Yan hardly ever carried on private chats; he always just stuck to the main room.  Except one day he started a private chat with me.  And things got out of hand.

It's not what you're thinking.  We started talking about music.  He was impressed with my taste and knowledge.  He was impressed with my wit.  He was impressed that I was not trying to get his phone number or promising him eternal love.  Like I said, things just got totally out of hand.  I fell in love with him.  It was so stupid.

This went on for a while, and at some point we started making plans to meet.  We also started talking on the phone.  In the heat of a moment (probably talking about The Pixies, but you never know) we told each other the dreaded, "I love you."  I meant it, and I believe he did, too, at the time.  I did not mean that I wanted to marry him or even necessarily sleep with him; you can't know that over the Internet or phone--at least I can't.  I don't know exactly what I meant, I guess, but I do know I really felt what I said.  I know it now, several years later, because of the very real emotions fucking Coldplay evoked in me today.

Huh, well, I'll be a dolphin.  I just tried to find his web page, and it doesn't appear to still be there.  Dang.  I thought I might take a wee peek, but, no, denied.  Should I be walking the beach?  Then I'd be holding his hand.

Anyway, approximately one day after telling me he loved me, he got really scared and backed out.  He told me in chat and in email.  I kept thinking that if I could just convince him that we could slow it down--way, way down--he wouldn't end it altogether, and some day we could still meet and see how it went.  But he was already gone, really.  At the L word, the walls went up, very much up, and there was no more access.  I sobbed.  I called him when I knew he wouldn't answer his phone, just to hear his voice on voicemail.  I listened to a lot of "British Fish & Chips."  Oh, pathetic, right?  I had a heartbreak from some guy I never even met, a face and a font in the ether.

I did meet a couple of the other guys--oh, 3, actually--from the chat room in real life.  I wasn't in love with them, though they were interesting and fun guys (and at least one of them was dead hawwwttt), and I dated one of them for a few months (yes, in person).  When those ended, as they inevitably did, I was barely even fazed.

But, Yan-Yan just hangs there like a ghost sometimes.  I have wondered if I would have gotten over him, too, like SNAP!, had I actually met him.  Probably.  Or I would have married him. You know--one of the two.