i can fix him

LINK: i can fix him

My mom would occasionally bring up my friend Aaron. Aaron was a pharmacist—tall, easily clearing 6 feet, overweight, and Korean. My other Korean girlfriend, layla had a pretty obvious crush on him, but the way she expressed it was painfully childish. She’d tease him incessantly, sometimes even smacking him upside the head like we were in grade school. The look on his face said it all. Unsurprisingly, he hated it.

Aaron would often ask if I wanted to hang out but there was always one condition: I couldn’t bring Layla. He simply could not stand her. I tried to explain that she genuinely liked him but just didn’t know how to show it properly. For him, though, it was a hard no. He was a foot and some change taller than her tiny 5-foot-frame, but her personality grated on him. Heavily.

There was one time, the three of us ended up going out together. We hit a 포장마차 (a street food tent) in K-town, and the drinks started flowing. I remember being exhausted and tipsy, and by the time the night was over, I was ready to pass out in his car. He leaned over and told me I could crash at his place but made it very clear: I couldn’t tell Layla. He didn’t want her to know where he lived, let alone sleeping over, and honestly, he was still irritated that I had dragged her along.

At his condo, he insisted I take his bed while he crashed on the couch. I must have been rolling around like a storm because by morning, the sheet and blanket were halfway off the bed. I asked him if he had a bottled water and a spare toothbrush—he did—and after a quick shower, I cleaned up his messy room. I would have cleaned his bathroom but I would need at least a couple of hours for that task. It was pretty foul in there. Ugh. #bachelorlife #notyourmommy #boyscanbesogross #whyaretherepubesalloverthefloor.

As I entered his kitchen, he made me coffee. I was stunned that he wasn’t the slightest bit hungover. Not even a smidge. The man had put away at least triple the amount I drank, and I’d never once seen him drunk or even buzzed in all the times we’ve hung out. He was a functioning alcoholic through and through. His face gave it away: broken capillaries, the reddish-purple tinge on his nose. Still, despite all that, he was unfailingly kind to me. But I never once felt attracted to him. If anything, he was in the friend zone, two minutes after meeting him for the first time. And besides, Layla’s crush on him was intense enough that I wouldn’t have gone there even if I wanted to.

My mom, though, was relentless. She’d ask, “Why don’t you date Aaron?” and I’d roll my eyes and say, “내 스타일 아니야” (not my style). I’d rattle off a list of reasons why it wouldn’t work. Her response was always the same—that I could “fix him.” According to her, if I were a good enough girlfriend, Aaron would bend to my will. If my faith in God was strong enough, he’d overcome his alcoholism and he would lose weight. If I was devoted enough, we could build a happy life together.

I stared at her, half in disbelief, half amused. “Mom, if someone wants to change, they have to want it for themselves, not for me. I can’t expect someone to transform just because I want them to. Everyone has free will. Besides, every time you’ve wanted me to change, I’ve done the exact opposite.”

She huffed, rolled her eyes, and muttered that this was exactly why I was too difficult to be with anyone. I just smiled. She could think what she wanted. The truth is, I’d rather accept people for who they are than to mold them into something they’re not. I know what it’s like to feel insecure and not good enough… so why would I want to inflict that type of torture on someone else? If someone chooses to grow or change, I’ll support them but I’ll never demand it.