The morning after the Chen Chen interview, I had dim sum with Julie, a girl I had met at the "spin-off" Fei Cheng Wu Rao in Hotel Vancouver. (She was the girl in the long black dress.) After such a confusing turn of events, it's lovely to get together with a fellow contestant to compare notes over tea and shrimp dumplings. Julie is 19 years old and came to Canada recently to study business. While school's out for the summer, she made plans with friends to visit Tibet in August. You may think most contestants go on FCWR to find true love, but really, people go on for all sorts of reasons; some for the thrill of a new experience, or the chance to win a pair of tickets to Greece, others get on the show to inflict regret and jealousy to an ex-lover. Julie's goal with Fei Cheng Wu Rao is a free trip to China. As for me, I did it for the publicity it would bring to my book.
When I returned home around noon that day, I saw that I had three missed calls from Matt. Even though we exchanged emails every day, Matt called rarely. I smiled at the knowledge that he missed me enough to call, and flipped open the laptop to check if he'd sent an email. But instead I found a new message sitting in my inbox that arrived as early as 7 am.
From Fei Cheng Wu Rao!
I sped through the letter, heart hammering with excitement. By the time I got to the end, my brain still hadn't absorbed anything I'd just read, too busy with being excited. So I went back to the beginning to read it again. The email listed eight bullet points of instructions on what to bring, where to stay, what forms to fill out. But nowhere did it say "Congratulations! You've been selected." In fact, I couldn't find my name anywhere in the letter.
Is this a friggin' mass email?
I clicked reply to find out exactly what's going on. If there's another round of auditions in Nanjing, please tell me now. The organizer, BeiBei, wrote back right away, letting me know FCWR is bringing back 16 girls from Canada. All of whom have been selected. All of whom are going straight on the show.
16.
Not 24.
In all of Canada.
Wow.
So this means, I am going on the show!!
I emailed Matt right away to relay the good news. My mind was already octopussing eight different things at once: passport, visa, plane tickets, dresses, shoes, deadlines, before Matt's reply popped onto the screen and brought everything to a screeching halt.
"Don't go."
WHAT?!
I shot back an email reminding him of the conversation at the Shanghai restaurant. He replied admitting to that conversation, but he didn't think I'd really do it. "It's sorta upsetting you applied for a singles dating tv show, I am kinda sad you did actually."
I slumped back into the chair and stared at the computer screen for a long sad time. The weight of his words pressed down on my chest like a block of steel.
To be honest, Matt's response was both surprising and unsurprising. Because no matter how soberly, logically, amiably a couple talks about going on a singles' dating show, there's always tension in the air. (Even when you're as far apart as Canada and Brazil.) His sadness hung over my head like a dark cloud pregnant with the promise of storm.
I never forgot the time when I was 19 years old, at a hockey game with a male friend. It was a platonic friendship, and I made no effort of hiding it from Ed, who was mildly irritated by the fact that I went, but didn't put up a fight about it. A month later, he simply left for good. We had too much drama over male friends already. That hockey game was the last straw. I just didn't see it coming. I got completely blindsided by it.
Yet now, I feel like I'm standing at the same intersection. About to make the same decision. Matt knows I'm doing it for the publicity. Just as Ed knew the male friend was only a friend.
But still...
I don't want to be blindsided by anything again.
A successful author once told me, "Any chance at publicity, big or small, is an opportunity. You should never say no to publicity." But publicity is a vague and uncertain thing. You can hope something comes out of it, but nothing is guaranteed. It's not like if I went on the show, a job offer or a book contract or any tangible reward is waiting for me on the other end. After all the hoopla and pizzazz, after the curtains fall and the sparkles settle, the only tangible outcome could very well be losing my boyfriend.
But who amongst us lives with absolute certainty? How will any of us know what will happen if we don't try? The show isn't a meaningless hockey game. I am no longer the 19-year-old girl who dismissed her boyfriends' feelings as insecurity. And Matt isn't Ed.
I want to go on the show, and I want to have Matt's support.
So I wrote him an email.
I explained to him my intention with the show. And as gently as I knew how, I asked why he felt upset, especially given he'd encouraged me to apply in the first place.
A few minutes later, he came back with this calm, and understanding reply:
... at the time i felt like it wouldnt be a big deal, but now that i'm here away from you, i regret saying that. haha If you think it will help you with writing, i'll encourage it.. but all i ask, is to know your boundaries, and really consider how i would feel about stuff .. as people will think you are available...
When I saw that message I wanted to wrap my arms around Matt so tight the way string squeezes itself around ham. Boundaries. No problem. I'm great with boundaries. I've been practicing boundaries for seven years. I know exactly how to do it. I'll just keep to the FCWR schedule, have gender-neutral conversations, and kill the light for all male contestants without exception. All traces of my flirt radiation will be closely monitored and self-contained. I will neither attract nor repel the male species. I'm going to be that totally, completely, non-magnetic girl on stage.
I will be aluminum.
(Or as the British call it, aloomeenium.)
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