He Likes Me. Not.

Laughter is the best medicine, so let’s laugh at my crazy, hopelessly romantic, thinking-waaaay-too-much butt together.

So, as all dumb stories start out, I have this friend… this guy friend, who has quickly, as of today, turned into another blemish on my terribly embarrassing, non-existing love life.

It all started several months back when I agreed to give him my IM information because he claimed to be gay. Let me explain. He kind of creeped me out at first because he always asked where I lived, then when he finally found out said information he let me know, with, might I add, too much enthusiasm. I was not going to give my IM info to a kind of creepy, borderline stalker, straight man. But as soon as he said he was gay it was like a guest free pass to friendship!

I don’t understand my ways either.

Anyway, we would often text about a plethora of things: English questions, life questions, faith questions, etc. Until one day he asked me the strangest question of all, a question pertaining to women.

“But I’m confused… I thought you were gay.”
“What? No! I was only joking.”

Code red! False gay! This is NOT a drill.

3 Things came to mind.
1.) Who lies about being gay?
2.) What if he’s lying about not being gay.
3.) OMG. Maybe he actually is crazy!

Weeks go on and surprisingly we’re still friends, although now I’m way more suspicious of everything he says and does. Like, when he asked if I was home, I’d lie. When he asked where I was going for vacation, I’d lie. When he asked what I did for the day, I’d half lie.

Our whole friendship was building on an IM chat of lies. lies. lies.


Months pass of the lying, but during Christmas break the glittering lights and sparkling trees must have gotten to my head… I started to trust him. I stopped lying, well, I lied less. I realized that I did have a friend in this gay/maybe not gay guy. So, one day I invited him to the movies. Just as friends. We ended up not going. I left late and he was still stuck where he was. Perhaps all that was for the better.

On my walk back to my home I sent him an IM apologizing for the day.

Then I sent the emoji that made our whole friendship dynamic even stranger.
I sent a bald-headed, smile-faced character holding a heart.

He took it too seriously.


My whole body turned into red heat.

We were only supposed to be friends–my first healthy functioning, opposite sex friendship. *sigh*

Everything got worse. More weeks went by and in the empty spaces of my mind he would pop up. Often. Images of him and his smile occupied idleness. Kami, pull it together. He’s potentially creepy and he’s not even a believer. All of my arguments failed. I always had a rebuttal.

Can you blame me? He would send messages like this after meeting outside:


In the end, my stupid, hopelessly romantic heart won and I started falling for this lunatic. One night me and my clumsy fingers decided to send a message asking why Thai men don’t go for brown women. Yeah, I actually asked that… *eye roll*

I’ll spare the details, basically it was incredibly embarrassing and incredibly obvious what I meant by my inquisition.

He stopped texting me for weeks.

Whatever, I felt relieved that at least I pushed him so far away that I didn’t need to welcome anymore possibilities into my heart, that soft and silly thing.

When I finally stopped counting the days of no contact and forgotten the features of his face, a little jingle goes off on my phone–it’s him.

We pick up messaging again as if distance wasn’t just awkwardly sitting between us, fiddling its thumbs, for weeks.

The following day he starts asking me questions about how to flirt with American girls.

-Be nice to her
-Open the door for her
-Tell her she looks nice today
-Don’t be a stalker (I had to explain what that meant. See photo #1, he had no idea)
-Never force her
-Be her friend first
-Ask her on a proper date

He thanked me and I suppose went on about his day using his newfound wisdom.

A few days later I bump into him outside; it had been a while since we’ve seen each other in the flesh, especially with my new teaching and Thai learning schedule. It was totally frightening for me. He looked just a nice as I remembered. (Cut me some slack, I’m hopelessly romantic. Remember?) I talked as normally as I could, moments of eye contact, but not too much, carrying an air of nonchalance in my voice, interested, but not too interested. Those ten minutes felt like centuries, and when the lady preparing my order had to go find change I kicked myself for being hungry at that exact moment. She came back with the change, I practically rip it out of thin air, and booked it to my room after giving a decent enough goodbye.

Returning to my room, I wanted to text him, give him a good reason for my mad dash home, but I decided against it. I was not going to text him first. A few minutes of self-control and the loudest jingle blares out of my phone–it’s him.

We talk some about our day, I admit that I was shy and that’s why I ran home, he starts going off about working out and his muscles, of which I tell him I’m bored of hearing about. Normal conversation. Then, he goes into what seems like all of the advice I gave him for flirting with American women.

He sort of asks me out, albeit with his friends.
He makes it a point to call me “friend”, and since that day on has messaged me every day like a nice friend would.

**This is a side note, hence it’s position to the side, but during one of our conversations he asked about American women saying “I love you” and if it means anything. I connected that to the heart I sent him when we missed our movie hangout.


It all sounds like friendship, but then I get these messages and my stomach starts having washing machine syndrome.


Now my mind has no empty spaces to play in idleness because he is taking up all of the space. Again. Does he really like me? Why? I know I’m beautiful and smart and funny. Duh. But, really? Me?

I hesitate to tell my friends, fearing harsh judgement, or worse, maybe they would encourage me on in the madness.

Days are passing and all of our history keeps whizzing through my head, memories we had not even made yet. I know myself. I know I can make galaxies out of a string of thought, so I muster up the courage and ask him a strange question, probably the last strange question we will ever share.


The house of us that I had constructed out of ambiguous IMs and nothing melted under the heat of my cheeks–total and complete embarrassment.

Well, at least I know now, and now I have a pretty funny story to tell about the time I liked a maybe gay, possibly stalker, Thai man.
Let’s all laugh together!


*PS:  Yes, I know, his English was not the best. Once again, I’m a hopeless romantic willing to push through barriers for “love”–even language. 



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