Breakfast with Koe
Rivalry is a beautiful, twisted form of love. When I call you my rival, I mean it with complete respect and lust.
The air in the Filipino diner was smoky and flavorful and I could taste the garlic rice and fried eggs before the waitress brought them to our table. There were more sounds than patrons- a sizzling grill, giggling children, the saucy Filipina owner yapping at her husband over a heated telephone conversation. Koe was chugging her ice water faster than the busboy could refill the glass. I was building a mini-mansion out of Sweet&Low packets. It was breakfast at noon, and we were trying to keep the world from spinning.
“So what was with your flat this morning?” Koe asked in between gulps. She believed excessive water consumption was a metaphor for purity (or at least, a valiant attempt at purity).
“What do you mean?”
“Your floor was covered in Go stones. I had to stop your puppy from eating one.”
I smiled at this comment.
“Sabaku?” she asked again. The Sweet&Low mansion collapsed.
“He beat me.”
“Aaahh. The Great Rivalry. What’s the score now?”
“50 wins to 51.”
“And you’re gonna let him get away with this?”
“Absolutely not.”
“You two must have the most amazing sex life.”
The waitress brought our meals just in time to overhear the juicy end of the conversation. She said nothing, but couldn’t hide her smirk. Blushing, I lowered my head and avoided eye contact. Koe held in a giggle.
“Isn’t it dangerous to sleep with your rival, Sabaku?”
“Actually, I think in many cases it’s inevitable.”
“But what about rivalries between two heterosexual males.”
“That would be the exception. Though I’d still consider it to be somewhat romantic.”
“I know many heterosexual males who would kill you for that comment.”
I let out a long sigh. “Well It’s not my problem they’re in denial.”
We both laughed out loud. The other occupants of the diner turned to look at us, shook their heads, and went back to their business.
Koe continued chugging her water and attacking my statement. “But I’ve been in plenty of competition with people my whole life. You can’t really say there was something romantic in all of those relationships.”
I took a moment to think about this argument. “Yes, but even though the dictionary claims that ‘rivalry’ and ‘competition’ are synonyms, when you look at the contexts in which they are typically used, they are two completely different things.”
“Once again... Sabaku trashes Noah Webster.” She waved for the busboy to refill her water glass. I attempted to rebuild my Sweet&Low mansion while further explaining my position.
“You know, I can’t blame Webster for being old and out-dated. Though if I could rewrite the definition of ‘rivalry’ I’d probably include the words ‘passionate,’ ‘blood-thirsty,’ and ‘on-going battle’ somewhere in that eyesore of a text.”
Koe laughed to the point that she accidentally dribbled water down her chin. After catching the leakage with her napkin and regaining her composure, she let out a deep breath and responded to my ambition with her usual wit. “Well then, my dear kaibígan*, for your birthday you can expect an industrial-sized bottle of white-out .... and an ink pen.”
My birthday was in 10 days and I was going to hold her to this promise. We began and finished our meals to the tune of several other interesting conversation topics.
*kaibígan in Tagalog means "friend"
The air in the Filipino diner was smoky and flavorful and I could taste the garlic rice and fried eggs before the waitress brought them to our table. There were more sounds than patrons- a sizzling grill, giggling children, the saucy Filipina owner yapping at her husband over a heated telephone conversation. Koe was chugging her ice water faster than the busboy could refill the glass. I was building a mini-mansion out of Sweet&Low packets. It was breakfast at noon, and we were trying to keep the world from spinning.
“So what was with your flat this morning?” Koe asked in between gulps. She believed excessive water consumption was a metaphor for purity (or at least, a valiant attempt at purity).
“What do you mean?”
“Your floor was covered in Go stones. I had to stop your puppy from eating one.”
I smiled at this comment.
“Sabaku?” she asked again. The Sweet&Low mansion collapsed.
“He beat me.”
“Aaahh. The Great Rivalry. What’s the score now?”
“50 wins to 51.”
“And you’re gonna let him get away with this?”
“Absolutely not.”
“You two must have the most amazing sex life.”
The waitress brought our meals just in time to overhear the juicy end of the conversation. She said nothing, but couldn’t hide her smirk. Blushing, I lowered my head and avoided eye contact. Koe held in a giggle.
“Isn’t it dangerous to sleep with your rival, Sabaku?”
“Actually, I think in many cases it’s inevitable.”
“But what about rivalries between two heterosexual males.”
“That would be the exception. Though I’d still consider it to be somewhat romantic.”
“I know many heterosexual males who would kill you for that comment.”
I let out a long sigh. “Well It’s not my problem they’re in denial.”
We both laughed out loud. The other occupants of the diner turned to look at us, shook their heads, and went back to their business.
Koe continued chugging her water and attacking my statement. “But I’ve been in plenty of competition with people my whole life. You can’t really say there was something romantic in all of those relationships.”
I took a moment to think about this argument. “Yes, but even though the dictionary claims that ‘rivalry’ and ‘competition’ are synonyms, when you look at the contexts in which they are typically used, they are two completely different things.”
“Once again... Sabaku trashes Noah Webster.” She waved for the busboy to refill her water glass. I attempted to rebuild my Sweet&Low mansion while further explaining my position.
“You know, I can’t blame Webster for being old and out-dated. Though if I could rewrite the definition of ‘rivalry’ I’d probably include the words ‘passionate,’ ‘blood-thirsty,’ and ‘on-going battle’ somewhere in that eyesore of a text.”
Koe laughed to the point that she accidentally dribbled water down her chin. After catching the leakage with her napkin and regaining her composure, she let out a deep breath and responded to my ambition with her usual wit. “Well then, my dear kaibígan*, for your birthday you can expect an industrial-sized bottle of white-out .... and an ink pen.”
My birthday was in 10 days and I was going to hold her to this promise. We began and finished our meals to the tune of several other interesting conversation topics.
*kaibígan in Tagalog means "friend"