My clothes smell like faded floral perfume, the scent of MR DIY’s bulk pack of laundry detergent. That is how I will smell while networking with United Nations representatives at the upcoming conference in Taipei. I wonder if I am even worth flying over there. I had accidentally counted one of our Burmese participants three times. In fairness, she had registered under two different emails and aliases across each entry, but I had no idea the lunch boxes we ordered for catering would be so expensive per person.
Irrational as it is, it is these times when a romantic relationship seems like an ideal course, someone to reassure me that my insufficient Excel sheet-checking does not reduce my value as a person. Of course, the hypothetical significant other might be the type to say, ‘well, your boss has a point’, ‘can’t you deal with criticism’, ‘you’re being too sensitive’ or the like.
I used to see romantic relationships in binary code: 0 = single; 1 = married. ‘0’ meant all the inconveniences of single life: carrying grocery bags and heavy backpacks alone, grunting while trying to lift the corners of a mattress alone to change the sheets, piping up a ‘hello’ when entering an empty apartment to avoid revealing that I am a lone female. Flipping the switch to ‘1’ promised a more streamlined, life upgrade: sharing rental and holiday costs, a financial safety net, a man to carry heavy items – and of course, a life companion but this notion is less concrete to me.
Only in my mid-twenties did I realise that the software update from 0 to 1 fell short of promises. Actual phone upgrades sometimes make breaking news as they wreck phones across countries, leaving users frantically trying to restore their previous software versions. Other times, upgrades work but take up so much data that the device itself overheads. 1s can flick back to 0s, leaving the inconvenience of corrupted files that only operate on the 1-system. In the relationship context, this might mean needing to downgrade from a swanky apartment one could only afford with the partner’s income and squeezing back into a random landlady’s single bedroom with four other strangers.
Once when feeling guilty about my dismal financial situation, I looked up whether singles or couples save more money. The pop psychology and lifestyle pages conflicted: some said couples mathematically save more because they can half costs compared to singles; others said that singles save more because couples often cave under pressure to spend money on romantic gestures and comforts to avoid ‘being a bad partner’. The articles all agreed that the most expensive arrangement was constantly drifting in and out of relationships, vacillating from 0 to 1.
Rather than 1s and 0s, the categories of romantic relationships might actually be ‘single’ (A), ‘unsuitable relationship’ (B) and ‘happy relationship’ (C). Statistically, C is the happiest and A is workable. B is the misery that results in fatherless children which in turns leads to more young male criminals and spineless daughters with daddy issues. Eventually, option C would be idea but knowing that the odds are against me, I am content with option A.
Even though my plane ticket allows 20 kilograms of check-in luggage, I always try to fit everything in a carry-on sized bag with plenty of room to spare. The bag should be compact enough for me to carry upstairs if needed – because I will be the only person there to pick it up. Toothpaste must not exceed 100 grams. I follow Facebook packing tips like rolling instead of folding clothes and separating shoes to fit them in the gaps. There are only two outfits, yet they puff up and take up two-thirds of one side in the luggage bag.
The anime theme song ‘From Me to You’ plays from my phone. Midway through the cheerful piano introduction, my fingers slide the answer button below Hồng’s profile picture which is of her in front of United Nations flags. Oil and sweat marks track across the screen as I wait for my boss to reveal another crucial error I have made.
‘Hello chị, is there something I can help with?’ I put on my best semi-British, butler voice, hoping a deferential tone will soften the gravity of whatever blunder I’ve made this time. ‘I trust you have reached the hotel in Taipei where our co-organisers and I will join you.’
‘That’s what I’m calling about.’ Hồng’s accent alternates between American and Vietnamese. ‘Vietnamese authorities have worked out that our event will be in Taipei. They’re sending threatening emails to participants who have signed up for our event.’
‘That’s not good.’ Actually, I’m relieved that her call isn’t related to yet another of my errors. ‘Would you like me to write an email to participants? I can do that in the next 1-2 hours. I’m just packing for the flight tomorrow anyway.’
Silence, then she gives an ‘OK’ with an upward inflection. Does she doubt my ability to help with damage control? She continues, ‘I’ll message you some key points. We need to emphasise that the trolls or whoever only sent emails to generic addresses. That will reassure people that the guest list wasn’t leaked.’
‘No worries.’ For some reason, I am in the AI customer service voice from my Australian job.
‘There are some changes to accommodation. I’ll be staying at a different hotel.’ Hồng makes a coffee order away from the microphone before continuing, ‘If there are spies following me, I don’t want them to find our panellists. One of them is wanted professor from Hong Kong and the other is Tuấn – I need to check if Tuấn can even come now. I think you’ll be able to stay at the same hotel as them as originally planned. You’re reasonably low profile.’
‘No worries.’ Again, the AI customer service voice. ‘I’ll handle things on the ground. I can pass as Thai Chinese and am not worth targeting.’
‘It’s not that you’re not worth targeting. But the Vietnamese authorities don’t know you yet.’ Hồng interrupts my self-deprecating laugh which is also scripted in my customer service persona. It’s not that you’re not worth targeting. Is that true? I’m just a foreigner who can pass as non-Vietnamese and doesn’t speak proper Vietnamese. On paper, I could just be another western saviour wannabe who will throw money at pitiful social media posts of malnourished African children. ‘I’m going to send more instructions before you fly. Make sure to check them before going through immigration. I’ll let you go to draft the email and then get ready for the flight tomorrow – how’re you feeling about all this?’
‘The turn of events is… Unfortunate.’ A response that is too panicked will prove Sơn right: that I am too sensitive and weak for a career in activism, a statement he made to dismiss my heartbreak at his betrayal. But if I am too calm, it might reveal an inability to understand the full extent of the security problem. ‘However, I can use my relatively low risk profile to keep things moving.’
The laptop sears my thigh as I balance it on my lap. Three dots make a Mexican wave on the screen as Hồng types. While waiting, I count out five pairs of socks and shove them into the luggage bag. Even though the security risks are somewhat opaque to me, one thing is clear: out of everyone in the team, I have the best mobility and lowest level of suspicion attached. The next part is up to me.
