Tus Hlub Nyob HmongPride.com

Brisky afternoon, I rush on down the driveway, only after I have press the button for the garage to close down. The winter air surrounded as if when you hit nature's bee hive and bees swarm to attack you. I could feel the coldness crawling up my legs with everyone swift movement. I made it to the door, quickly fiddling through my keys to get the correct key. My door opens with my mom behind it. "Oh, hi mom," I said with a breath of coldness.

I take off my shoes on the doormat as all of us Hmong people do. We find it polite to leave our shoes at the door or perhaps so we can keep the carpet clean. I glide on down the stairs and grab a seat in front of my computer. I could see the blue icy lights still glowing around my computer tower. Darn, I forgot to turn it off. I move my mouse to awaken the great beast, laser shined from underneath.

"Click, click, click, click..." and I was back on HmongPride.com. HP has become a custom for me. I automatically attend here here as if I was the prefect school boy who goes to school everyday. Even if I was sick, I wouldn't dare skip. I would wander myself into HP and be welcomed by your friendly HP addicts or at least they try to be kind.

"Hrm," I thought to myself. There was something new, something different. It's like when you leave your room soundly, then return to find something misplaced, you know right away someone has touched your stuff. I looked at the chatters and what do you know, there's a new name on the board. Someone who I haven't talked to before, nor asked for her picture. As I am very well known for pursuing numberous amounts of pictures. I look at pictures like the little boys at the soccer tournaments look at their newly collected YuGiOh cards.

I start off with the everyday common line I always say to any newcomer, "Hi Neanie, share your picture with me?" To my surprise, she replies, "Hi Ninja." Skips a few lines and continues, "I'll share mines if you share me yours first." "Blah!" I thought to myself, what nonsense. I really believed girls should be more poliet towards us guys and share when we ask first. If they asked me, I would share first; but for a trade that is.

Cunning enough, I replied back, "Share yours first and I will share mines with you too." Our childish play went on for a few minutes. We ere like two little kids fighting over who gets to ride the swing first. We couldn't have just understood that either way, we would get our chance on the swing. So I pursued my rampage on this girl like fire ants of Africa. You stumble onto their home and you're in for a surprise. You'll be eaten alive if you don't hurry out.

She finally gives in to my productive ways. She flashes by her Myspace and says, "Add me then, after I see you, I'll delete you." I was sure enough, I didn't care whether or not she kept me on her buddies for long or not. I just wanted a quick glance at what she looked like so next time I would remember who she was. Just like those little kids at the tournament, even though you can't have the cards in their deck, you still look at their cards so you know what it looks like. Sometimes you just look to admire them and then you have them sticky-hand Hmong kids who take off with your favorite YuGiOh cards.

I added her on Myspace and what do you know. She was a pretty girl. Now I know why she was hesitating to share me her picture first. She thought I was one of them internet predators who come on here to sweep young girls off their feet. Or perhaps she thought I was just another ugly desperate guy who asks girls for all their pictures so I can carefully masturbate to them in the pits of night. But never the less, I returned back into the chatroom. I asked her, "Are you still going to delete me?" She kind replied now with a smilie face, "No, I'll think about it." Then she commented me, "I might want to keep you around, just so I can look at your dimples."

A small flame burst inside of me, then my innerself wanted to laugh out loud. Of course, I knew she had found that I wasn't one of those internet predators or desperate perverts. She then scrambled together to ask me of my information. I kind present her with my not-so-interesting self. Then popped the question, "Are you really 21?" I laughed in an instance reply, "Why, don't I look 21?" She said, "No." I laughed again, "Why would I lie about my age?" She then suggested, "I don't know, I just didn't want to be child molesting."

Carefully, I questioned her. I was the host of the show, I had the microphone. I interviewed her like a talkshow host, "What's your name?" She quietly responded, "Maichou." I continued, "Can I call you Mai, or Chou?" Quickly she typed back, "Mai is okay, but I would really prefer Maichou or MC." MC it was, I continued to call her MC for the rest of our conversation.

A clocks just ticked as if we were one, and the time matched perfectly. And yet the day was ending, so she hurried to say goodbye and left. I had to await for her return another day...