Only locals here know that eighty per cent of Taiwan’s expat community is Canadian. There is about one Canadian for every roach in this city. Considering the levels of this infestation, it is impossible not to meet them – they’re everywhere. On every street corner, in every bar and restaurant, on the MRT, in the bus – and they’re always yelling “fuckin’ A,” or being revoltingly encouraging. I could be taking off my shoes at the door, and my Canadian manager will breeze past with a “you’re doing a great job there!” I’ve even seen an Aussie sporting the slogan: I’m a fuckin’ Canadian – yeah!
Despite their general goodwill, I had the unfortunate experience of share-housing with the original CANADIAN PSYCHO (CP). The thing about a real psychopath is that they look normal - they dress in civvies, go to work like everyone else, and leave chocolate bunny-face croissants outside your bedroom。At first CP was a fairly quiet roommate, who tried to keep his long, unrequited love for Miss Canada out of sight. The first release from his tormented bondage came just before my arrival, when he got funky with her cousin. This was his first ‘man power’ experience, and brought up a plethora of father issues, which subsequently drove his lover out of Taipei. Following his lover’s quick departure, CP went to India and ‘found himself,’ then fell into rampant denial about his homosexuality; stalwartly insisting he could never fall in love with a man, and would never engage in the ‘disgusting practices’ of anal sex. Nonetheless, drunken nights always ended up with Chinese boys on his cock, and the empty threats that he was going to urinate on my face. These events were inevitably followed by seventeen page letters of tearful abuse directed at Miss Canada, accusing her of being a cold, heartless, soul-less bitch skank who fucked up every relationship in her life. Not forgetting he was Canadian however, he still courteously greeted us whenever he came home, before running to his room and slamming his door.
At this point let me mention that I had a total of three extended conversations with CP during our four months of share-housing; but in his mind I became part of the axis of evil – a fucked-up bitch – a sidekick to Miss Canada’s cruel torment – and a first-class enemy. I first realised this when CP put his single birthday card out on display which read: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SORRY YOUR ROOMIES ARE SUCH HOES!! Soon after, CP convinced himself I was involved in espionage and sabotage, and ascertained that I was a mindless puppet under the directions of Miss Canada … Paranoid schizophrenics eat your hearts out! It all began to climax around the time Miss Canada and I made arrangements to move apartments. I sent CP an SMS to make a time to tie up our apartment’s odds and ends, and was met by three days of silence, then an onslaught of wild accusations and emotional guilt trips. I was like: “CP, I just want to talk about the bills.”
In the final days, and to guarantee complications as the mentally disturbed do, CP accosted most of the furniture which he strategically hid around his locked room. I know this, because feeling I had restrained my cuckoo-nest alter ego for too long, I broke into his room and returned the stolen goods to the living room. He responded by throwing rice all over the apartment, re-accosting the TV, and leaving me a note that said: I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU THREW MY CLOTHES ALL OVER THE FLOOR (as if I would), and Knowing you has taught me a whole new level of immaturity – good luck with getting a mind of your own. I should have left it, but the cuckoo was out; I re-re-accosted the TV and left him a page long letter that concluded: It’s not my fault your parents neglected you. Crawl into a fucking hole and die! And just for the record, if I ever see you again I’ll have you knifed in the liver. CP’s new roommates arrived home first that day, and found my note. Bear in mind that what I have shown you was just the endnotes, and at first the new tenants thought the entire letter was for them. It was too much for their darling British souls, and they called me in teary distress: “Um, we found your letter yeah. Well, um, it wasn’t very nice. You didn’t mean it right? It was just a joke yeah?” No, no, my soft-hearted friends, “I meant every last fucking word – and make sure you give it to him.”
I guess they finally decided to give my letter to CP, because on the day the soft-cock left from Taiwan, a series of ads appeared in every personals column on www.tealit.com (a site frequented by Taipei’s foreign community). They all bore mine or Miss Canada’s names and phone numbers. Some claimed I was: a young Canadian girl, looking for fun with both foreign and Chinese men, and some claimed we were: seeking new room-mates. The first call came through from Dubai at 3am in the morning - a soon-to-arrive freak-box had seen my Arabic name, and was looking for a wife. Miss Canada and I received close to a hundred phone calls that week; everything from men wanting sex, to language exchange prospects, to new roomies. Viva la Vida!
Despite their general goodwill, I had the unfortunate experience of share-housing with the original CANADIAN PSYCHO (CP). The thing about a real psychopath is that they look normal - they dress in civvies, go to work like everyone else, and leave chocolate bunny-face croissants outside your bedroom。At first CP was a fairly quiet roommate, who tried to keep his long, unrequited love for Miss Canada out of sight. The first release from his tormented bondage came just before my arrival, when he got funky with her cousin. This was his first ‘man power’ experience, and brought up a plethora of father issues, which subsequently drove his lover out of Taipei. Following his lover’s quick departure, CP went to India and ‘found himself,’ then fell into rampant denial about his homosexuality; stalwartly insisting he could never fall in love with a man, and would never engage in the ‘disgusting practices’ of anal sex. Nonetheless, drunken nights always ended up with Chinese boys on his cock, and the empty threats that he was going to urinate on my face. These events were inevitably followed by seventeen page letters of tearful abuse directed at Miss Canada, accusing her of being a cold, heartless, soul-less bitch skank who fucked up every relationship in her life. Not forgetting he was Canadian however, he still courteously greeted us whenever he came home, before running to his room and slamming his door.
At this point let me mention that I had a total of three extended conversations with CP during our four months of share-housing; but in his mind I became part of the axis of evil – a fucked-up bitch – a sidekick to Miss Canada’s cruel torment – and a first-class enemy. I first realised this when CP put his single birthday card out on display which read: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SORRY YOUR ROOMIES ARE SUCH HOES!! Soon after, CP convinced himself I was involved in espionage and sabotage, and ascertained that I was a mindless puppet under the directions of Miss Canada … Paranoid schizophrenics eat your hearts out! It all began to climax around the time Miss Canada and I made arrangements to move apartments. I sent CP an SMS to make a time to tie up our apartment’s odds and ends, and was met by three days of silence, then an onslaught of wild accusations and emotional guilt trips. I was like: “CP, I just want to talk about the bills.”
In the final days, and to guarantee complications as the mentally disturbed do, CP accosted most of the furniture which he strategically hid around his locked room. I know this, because feeling I had restrained my cuckoo-nest alter ego for too long, I broke into his room and returned the stolen goods to the living room. He responded by throwing rice all over the apartment, re-accosting the TV, and leaving me a note that said: I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU THREW MY CLOTHES ALL OVER THE FLOOR (as if I would), and Knowing you has taught me a whole new level of immaturity – good luck with getting a mind of your own. I should have left it, but the cuckoo was out; I re-re-accosted the TV and left him a page long letter that concluded: It’s not my fault your parents neglected you. Crawl into a fucking hole and die! And just for the record, if I ever see you again I’ll have you knifed in the liver. CP’s new roommates arrived home first that day, and found my note. Bear in mind that what I have shown you was just the endnotes, and at first the new tenants thought the entire letter was for them. It was too much for their darling British souls, and they called me in teary distress: “Um, we found your letter yeah. Well, um, it wasn’t very nice. You didn’t mean it right? It was just a joke yeah?” No, no, my soft-hearted friends, “I meant every last fucking word – and make sure you give it to him.”
I guess they finally decided to give my letter to CP, because on the day the soft-cock left from Taiwan, a series of ads appeared in every personals column on www.tealit.com (a site frequented by Taipei’s foreign community). They all bore mine or Miss Canada’s names and phone numbers. Some claimed I was: a young Canadian girl, looking for fun with both foreign and Chinese men, and some claimed we were: seeking new room-mates. The first call came through from Dubai at 3am in the morning - a soon-to-arrive freak-box had seen my Arabic name, and was looking for a wife. Miss Canada and I received close to a hundred phone calls that week; everything from men wanting sex, to language exchange prospects, to new roomies. Viva la Vida!
