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I’m a persecuted journalist from China. They are Taiwanese gangsters. We hung out one night earlier this summer. If had to summarize the time we shared I'd say "a beautiful friendship blossomed", though after reading this story some may draw different conclusions.
Content warning: This work contains explicit language, sexual scenes, and references to sexual assault and drug use.
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My farewell party wrapped up around 2am. That was when Kai* showed. He offered to give me a lift home. I got into his car, and suddenly became very awake. I asked whether we could keep partying.
We’re headed to a pick-up, you can come with us, he offered.
Vicky is a female hooligan from the Mainland, Kai* introduced me to his two brothers in the car. Gang brothers.
No I’m not a hooligan, I’m a journalist, I corrected him.
If you write about anything you hear or see tonight, I am going to rape and kill you, Kai* said.
Well at least I’ll get to have sex with you before I die, I quipped.
If you write anything, I’ll kill you and rape your body, he reissued the threat.
I’d be dead. I won’t even feel the rape.
He’s not the first Taiwanese gangster I know who makes empty violent threats. I didn’t believe that Kai* could, or would rape me. We first met each other at a martial arts dojo. The first conversation we ever had was about stretching. He said he got his splits while serving a prison sentence. I was pleasantly surprised, and told him that I was on my way to prison. The Chinese government accuses me of treason, and if I ever try to go home, I’ll most likely be condemned to a lifetime in prison.
I liked Kai* from the start. He’s a gentleman – he probably doesn’t even know that. I know because I rolled with him. Rolling is a mock fight in jiu jitsu where practitioners spar using chokes and holds that force a surrender. When I first started rolling I could get zealous, and when I did, most men would forget about our height or weight difference and use brute strength against me. Kai* never did. When I shoved my fist into his neck, my knuckles drilling into his arteries, he chuckled like he’d just seen a child spell for the first time. I later used my go-to move on him, the guillotine, where I pinched his head under my armpit, connected my hands and turned my arms into a rope that strangled him. His face turned purple but he did not tap to submit. When I let go, he continued rolling with me at a reduced pace without attempting to retaliate.
I watched him compete twice. The man is a beast. After one of his competitions, I saw him holding the hand of a little girl as they walked down the stairs. His steps were so gingerly they tugged at my strings. When I heard she was in fact his girlfriend’s child with another man, my heart melted like strawberry ice cream on a 40-celsius-degree day.
We were picking up etomidate vapes. It’s a downer, Kai* said. According to the internet, the substance is usually used intravenously for general anesthesia. The suppliers took their time. While we waited, Mark*, one of Kai*’s brothers, bought a small bottle of whiskey at a convenience store. Can you drink this? He challenged me. I said yes. Do you need a chaser? No.
I’d been living in Taiwan, on and off for a year now and it was the first time I’d consumed alcohol outside a convenience store (a local tradition). Without traffic on the road the breeze smelt like flowers. I love Taipei’s nights, and it was a shame I was rarely out at this hour. Nighttime had been reserved for sleeping, so that I could train the next day.
I took off my sweaty wig, bangs and pigtails. My bald head wowed Kai*’s brothers. Few other Taiwanese male, or male in general, find my utilitarian hairstyle appealing. Every two weeks I shave my hair off in the shower, so I never have to worry about styling or washing my hair, and thus have two less problems to worry about in life. The only disadvantage to having a shaved head is that it makes me stand out. So I’d been wearing a wig for public speeches or media appearances. I thought if people were under the impression that I have hair, they wouldn’t think of me when they see a bald girl, and I could go about my daily life unrecognized. Friends at the gym rarely see me in a wig. Tonight I was wearing one because I was saying goodbye to Taipei, and wanted to wear a dress and makeup and look girly and pretty for once.
Mark* offered me a tab of LSD. He asked if I’d taken it before.
Me: Yes, at a therapist's office.
Mark*: Therapists give people drugs now?
Me: Some trauma patients have trouble discussing their trauma. MDMA or LSD make it easier to open up and share painful experiences.
Mark*: On our way to the karaoke Kai* told us you’re some sort of a spy.
Me: No I'm not a spy. I just have to be careful, because spies are after me.
I added: Although both professions mine information. I suppose the difference is that spies work for governments, and journalists serve the public. Corporate journalists have to serve their companies first and foremost, but I suppose most journalists aspire to mine information for a nobler cause – keeping the people informed.
The etomidate people finally showed. Kai* and his brothers were short 200 bucks. I lent them the money, and became party to a tiny drug deal. The substance was contained in a vape, which we passed around in the car. Kai* insisted that etomidate wasn’t illegal. I said the boundaries of legality stopped mattering to me a long time ago. Writing down words is illegal. Vocalizing my thoughts is illegal. Breathing is illegal, probably. Kai* said he on the other hand cared about legality a lot.
Good for you, I said.
We drove to my hotel. I’d been living there for six months. Normally on my way in or out I would chat with the guards – one of them was a former Judo athlete on the Taiwanese national team and occasionally we discussed the effectiveness of various throws. This time as I entered the building I smiled sheepishly and walked past the guards’ office as swiftly as possible.
The hotel must have been around for decades. Everything in my room looked dated, from the wallpaper to the carpet to the chairs. Between the entry hallway and the main part of the room I installed a pull-up bar. Resistance bands in bright colors hung off the bar like a curtain. All the furniture in the room had been rearranged. Tables and chairs were pushed into the corners. The two twin beds were stacked and pushed against the wall, to create space in the middle of the room for crash mats and a spinning dance pole. In the previous few days, I’d given away the mats and the pole, my guitar, and all my soft toy dinosaurs. The place felt empty and foreign.
Being a girl in a pretty press was uncomfortable. I changed into shorts and a t-shirt and hung my wig on a bottle of water. We sat on yoga mats on the floor listening to music. Fear by Kendrick Lamar. Till I Collapse by Eminem. Everybody Dies In Their Nightmares by XXXTENTACION. Mark* said my music was exactly what he and Kai* would usually listen to.
This seems like a good time to stretch, I said. Kai* and I stretched half-heartedly. Mark*’s head was on the floor. How did he get that high? I asked. Mark*’s like that, Kai* said. Why am I sober as a church mouse? I asked. I was offered another tab of LSD.
Soon enough Kai*’s head was on the floor too, right by my shin. I hesitated for a few seconds, then raised my forearm and stuck my fingers into his hair. I drew little circles on his scalp, and he seemed to enjoy it. Mark* asked how long I’d known Kai* for.
A few months, right? I asked Kai*.
Mark*: I assumed the answer would be eight or nine years.
Me: People bond fast when they practice fighting together.
Kai* peeled off the floor and brought his lips to mine in one motion. Smooth as ever like a cobra.
Mark*: Ahem, do you guys want me to leave?
I shrugged, and looked at Kai* for his opinion. He shrugged too. We made out. The next thing I knew someone was yanking down my shorts from behind. I turned around and it was of course Mark*.
Me: What the fuck are you doing?
Mark*: I thought we were doing this together…! Is that not the plan? Totally cool if that’s not the plan. I know I’m not as tall or handsome as Kai*. My dick is so much smaller than his. I get it. I really do.
Me: It’s not about that, man.
Mark*: I know, I know.
He looked hurt.
Me: I mean, you need to give me time to think. The fact that you want this to be a threesome is new information to me.
Mark*: It’s okay if you don’t want to. Totally fine. I should probably go and leave you two to it.
Me: Just let me think, okay?
Mark*: Seriously, no pressure.
Me: I have given a lot of thought to threesomes, or orgies in general.
Me: I went back to China for the last time in 2019. My grandmother was sick. My family thought she didn’t have long to live. Dad asked me to go back to see her, and celebrate one last Lunar New Year with her. I was in no position to say no. Filial piety and all that.
The guys nodded in confusion.
Me: But I had been writing about Xinjiang and the camps and I knew the police in China were onto me. Do you understand? I had to go back, knowing that there was a chance I’d be taken directly into custody from the airport.
Ok, they said.
Between the moment I decided to go back, and the date of my flight, there was a whole month. That whole month most of my thoughts revolved around one thing, which was that this could be the last month of my life as a free woman, and my last chance at ticking off a few things on my, on my …. To them I spoke Chinese. They’re both Taiwanese.
(On my) bucket list, I said in English.
Being in an orgy was on my bucket list, I switched back to Chinese, my eyes glued to the old carpet on my floor, I’m sure.
That month passed, and orgy remained a thought. It actually takes time and effort to find one. I wasn’t determined enough, and work was so busy, and there were other things on my bucket list, like doing a photoshoot to record my existence as a free woman, like participating in a standup comedy competition. I did the photoshoot, and the comedy competition, and lost miserably.
To this day I still have never ever had an orgy, or even a threesome, I continued.
Neither have I, Kai* said.
Yeah, neither, Mark* said, I don’t do anything this exciting. I’m a single father of a nine-year-old daughter.
The revelation made me respect him more. I’m sure he was aware. I’m sure he plays this trick on women all the time.
Me: Ok I would totally consider this. Today is the day that I show you how a woman can give equal affection and care to two men, no matter the size of their penises.
Me: Important question – are you guys clean?
Mark*: Yes! I don’t get laid at all, and Kai* recently got out of a relationship.
I’d met Kai*’s ex before, the little girl’s mother. She’s very pretty, and lovely to me.
Me, to Kai*: Oh I’m so sorry that didn’t work out. (I wasn’t sorry at all.)
Kai*: I’m strictly monogamous. She was cheating on me by kissing another guy. I broke up with her immediately. I’m clean. Clean as a whistle.
Ok let’s do this, I said, taking off my clothes. They took off theirs too. Kai*’s hands were all over me. Mark* was looking hurt again, like a kid left out of a game on the playground. I said stop.
Me: The thing is, Mark*, Kai* and I are classmates and we’ve rolled together before, many times. I know his body and feel safe being with him. The two of us, on the other hand, just met a few hours ago. For us to do this I need to warm up to you.
I suggested: How about the three of us hold hands to begin with?
So we sat cross-legged holding hands. It reminded me of a “healing circle” I saw in a spiritual retreat advertisement once. I laughed for a minute. I told Mark* that his hand was soft, softer than mine. It made him blush.
I’m not finished telling my story, I said.
Grandma lived beyond my last visit to China. I think she’s still alive and well. She has a lot of life in her. All the women in my family have a lot of life in us. Anyway – after that visit, when I was about to fly back to Sydney, airport staff tried again and again but couldn't issue me a boarding pass. I overheard one staff member telling another that my name was on a blacklist. In the end they somehow managed to print a boarding pass for me, and the customs let me through without any questions. I couldn’t believe my luck when I boarded the plane back to Sydney. Of course, that was when it became clear to me I could never ever go back to China again.
Having passed the point of no return, I completely gave up on self censorship. I wrote more articles, gave public speeches, and even went on television to comment on Chinese current affairs. I was studying Xinjiang to the point of obsession, thinking about the camps and Uyghurs during most waking hours. In comparison, I spared little thought on my family being harassed and threatened in China. The following February, I published a report about forced labor in Xinjiang that was quoted in media outlets and legislative bills around the world. A few weeks later I debated a Chinese diplomat on live television. I suppose these events completely pissed off the Chinese government.
Six months after my report on forced labor, August 2020, my best friend traveled to China to visit her family. She was taken repeatedly by the secret police for questioning. They threatened her with ten years in prison, and forced her to spit out everything she knew about me, which was a lot because we lived together for three years. She confessed information about my work, my studies, my social circle, my medical history, my preferred sport, and beyond. That Christmas, a documentary series was dropped on YouTube about my alleged sex life. Every man in my life that my friend knew of, from my friends to my boss to my colleagues, was included in that series. There were four episodes. Obviously the Chinese government produced the series and circulated it.
The next spring, they hit me with a propaganda campaign. Headlines called me a liar, a she-demon, a traitor to the Chinese nation, a drug addict, a mega-slut. An anonymous witness was quoted as saying they’d seen me in a drug-fueled orgy with more than fifteen white men.
The ironic thing is that tonight is the first time I’ve taken drugs recreationally. I had a party phase between 17 and 19 when I lived in Beijing, but the only substance that was available was alcohol. After I left China I worked my butt off trying to survive, to find a job, to improve my English, to break stories, to save the fucking world. There was never the time, or the mental space for drugs.
Before today, I’ve tried three types of drugs, all under the care of therapists: marijuana, MDMA, and LSD. Funnily enough, the reason why I went to these therapists in the first place was because the government kept interrogating my friend. They caused her so much pain that I became clinically depressed and severely suicidal. I’d rather if they interrogated me, or even jailed me. Do you understand? I think it would have been less painful if they just tortured me instead of her.
The boys said they did understand. As gangsters they understand nothing but brotherhood.
Me: That’s not even the end of it. What seemed to be internet bots also circulated a porn clip of some Asian woman. The internet insisted the woman was me. It was not me. I could not prove to anybody that the woman was not me. I’ve never shot a porn, and I’ve never been in an orgy. Yet I became famous for these things. I subsequently became unable to have sex, or even masturbate. Until recently, I couldn’t think of sex without feeling acid creep up from my stomach.
They made sex dirty, Kai* said.
But sex is not dirty. What’s dirty about sex? It’s a beautiful thing, or could be, I said.
Stay tuned for more next week.
點擊這裡閱讀中文版
Consider me gripped.
Whenever I read or hear the word "hooligan," it makes me chuckle in a melancholy way. When I was a child, my mom (who has been deceased for over 20 years now) used to call me a "hooligan" whenever I behaved in a rambunctious or overly boisterous manner. It's really hard for me to take the word seriously, because it makes me think of child me bouncing off the walls and chewing great wads of Bubble Yum.