"Three weeks?"
"You, turning your back on love or whatever. I give it three weeks."
I gave my sister my sternest stare, which had absolutely no impact at all because my webcam had frozen.
"Maybe four if you really, really mean it," she added after a pause. "This is you," she reminded me.
I bridled and put my green tea down because you should never make important decisions while holding something hot and liquid: it's just dangerous.
"That's it," I said. I'd been thinking about a break anyway, but nothing will push me to a decision quicker than being underestimated. "No dating, no kissing, no physical contact, no romance, no love, no hand holding. Nothing. For one whole year."
"Ha."
"No blogging about dating or kissing or romance or love or hand holding, for one whole year."
"Ha. Like some kind of romantic Lent?"
"Yes, a romantic detox. I mean it. Or I'll give you £200. Cash."
My sister abruptly stopped 'ha'ing.
"Really?"
"Really. It's an experiment. I want to see what will happen."
"Oh my God, are you going to grow your armpit hair too? And start throwing things at men in the street and stuff?"
"No."
There was a pause.
"I do need £200," she said thoughtfully. "Our washing machine is broken."
"Deal," I said. And then I felt strangely warm and motivated, which is - perhaps - a sign of things to come in the next year. Or perhaps it's a sign that my tea had spilt in my lap and soaked through my trousers and if I didn't get up immediately I was going to end up with burnt thighs.
Tomorrow is White Day in Japan. On Valentine's Day, Japanese girls are supposed to give their lovers presents; exactly one month later, Japanese boys are supposed to return the favour with something three times as expensive. In Korea, they've taken it one step further by introducing Black Day: if you get nothing on either the 14th of February or the 14th of March, on the 14th of April you are supposed to eat black bean and black cakes to mark your loneliness and single status. And, presumably, stand somewhere nice and public so that kissing couples can throw stones and coffee flavoured chocolates at you (left over from the month before because nobody likes them: not even people in love).
I'm using White Day to wipe the slate clean: like a kind of romantic Easter. It's been an emotional year, it's been a dramatic year, and my heart needs a good, long holiday. I don't need love, I don't want it, and I want to see how much I can achieve without it. I want to throw all of my energy into seeing the world and creating things and learning a new language and making new friends: not into mending and breaking my heart over and over again. I want to eat my black cake happily, and with pride, because it means that I'm celebrating my freedom rather than commiserating my loneliness.
It is White Day in Japan, but for me it is the beginning of a new, clean, bright, White Year. And it starts tomorrow morning.
"You, turning your back on love or whatever. I give it three weeks."
I gave my sister my sternest stare, which had absolutely no impact at all because my webcam had frozen.
"Maybe four if you really, really mean it," she added after a pause. "This is you," she reminded me.
I bridled and put my green tea down because you should never make important decisions while holding something hot and liquid: it's just dangerous.
"That's it," I said. I'd been thinking about a break anyway, but nothing will push me to a decision quicker than being underestimated. "No dating, no kissing, no physical contact, no romance, no love, no hand holding. Nothing. For one whole year."
"Ha."
"No blogging about dating or kissing or romance or love or hand holding, for one whole year."
"Ha. Like some kind of romantic Lent?"
"Yes, a romantic detox. I mean it. Or I'll give you £200. Cash."
My sister abruptly stopped 'ha'ing.
"Really?"
"Really. It's an experiment. I want to see what will happen."
"Oh my God, are you going to grow your armpit hair too? And start throwing things at men in the street and stuff?"
"No."
There was a pause.
"I do need £200," she said thoughtfully. "Our washing machine is broken."
"Deal," I said. And then I felt strangely warm and motivated, which is - perhaps - a sign of things to come in the next year. Or perhaps it's a sign that my tea had spilt in my lap and soaked through my trousers and if I didn't get up immediately I was going to end up with burnt thighs.
Tomorrow is White Day in Japan. On Valentine's Day, Japanese girls are supposed to give their lovers presents; exactly one month later, Japanese boys are supposed to return the favour with something three times as expensive. In Korea, they've taken it one step further by introducing Black Day: if you get nothing on either the 14th of February or the 14th of March, on the 14th of April you are supposed to eat black bean and black cakes to mark your loneliness and single status. And, presumably, stand somewhere nice and public so that kissing couples can throw stones and coffee flavoured chocolates at you (left over from the month before because nobody likes them: not even people in love).
I'm using White Day to wipe the slate clean: like a kind of romantic Easter. It's been an emotional year, it's been a dramatic year, and my heart needs a good, long holiday. I don't need love, I don't want it, and I want to see how much I can achieve without it. I want to throw all of my energy into seeing the world and creating things and learning a new language and making new friends: not into mending and breaking my heart over and over again. I want to eat my black cake happily, and with pride, because it means that I'm celebrating my freedom rather than commiserating my loneliness.
It is White Day in Japan, but for me it is the beginning of a new, clean, bright, White Year. And it starts tomorrow morning.
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