Hey girl sitting next to me taking pictures of herself,
 
Stop. Just stop.

What are you doing? Why are you doing this? We’re in a club. It’s 2am. The music is loud and there’s a DJ playing. People came to see him. That’s why you paid money at the door. Remember? That thing they asked you for as you sighed for a long time and stared down the Filipino woman politely asking for some notes?
 
Oh, I get it. You don’t know what that is. It’s simple. It’s those weird red and brown pieces of paper that guys put in those black folders while you complain about the service during all those dates where you didn’t enjoy anything? The stuff your mom gives you when you cry and when you want a more glittery case for your iPhone? It looks great, by the way. Speaking of that, you look great. I see you’re wearing a short tight black dress. Good job! Some people might worry that they’ll just look like everybody else wearing that outfit, or maybe worse than everybody else because everybody else’s face is not busted.

But not you. You’re unique.
 
You know, I really want to like you. I do. When you came in and sat down next to me, I smiled at you. It was one of those just-trying-to-be-friendly smiles instead of just-hoping-you’ll-make-eye-contact-so-I-can-aggressively-hit-on-you smiles. You didn’t smile back. That’s OK; I wouldn’t either if I were a girl. But then you rolled your eyes. And you did it again. I assume this is because your upper inner eyelids were sore and you just wanted to give them an eye massage. Otherwise somebody might think you were being a bitch. But I’m sure you’re not. You’re unique.
 
Look, here comes your friend. She’s wearing a little black dress. How coincidental! Of all the bars in all of Hong Kong… right? She smiled at me. I smiled back! Wait—this is weird, you must be thinking. He’s not butting into our conversation, trying to (ugh) buy me drinks and (gross) talk to me. He’s just sitting there listening to music. Has the whole world gone insane?
 
I don’t know how to deal with this, you must be thinking. Somebody not hitting on me so I can reject them. Time to take out my phone. Good choice! Now—I’m extrapolating here—you decide to sketch out a little decision tree. Should I A) hang out with my friends, have drinks, live in the moment, be young and happy, or B) use my phone to take a lot of pictures of myself with the flash on then upload those pictures to Facebook and talk about it loudly? Hmmmm… I got it. B.
 
YES, B it is. This is a brilliant idea and my decision trees are never wrong, like when one told me guys love it when I tell them long stories about my dog. Here we go then. FLASH! I look fabulous. FLASH! I am sooo hot. FLASH! Pouty lips! FLASH! Head cocked to the side, eyeing the camera. FLASH! Oh, don’t you want to have so much sexual intercourse with me. FLASH! I’m at an amazing concert and you’re not. Time to upload.
 
On second thought, you think, these pictures aren’t enough. Might as well take 700 more just to be safe.
 
Girl, I understand. Your lips weren’t pouty enough and your friends weren’t jealous enough. I’m sorry that I asked if you could not do that at the table I was sitting next to—it’s really my fault. So it makes sense when you rolled your eyes again and did that thing where you talk about somebody like they’re not there and you don’t like them. I should have remembered that I enjoy feeling like I’m at a photo shoot at 2am in a dark club and honored that you’ve chosen to grace me with your presence. You were just trying to make a very slow strobe light, or perhaps you lost your keys and were lighting up the area every six seconds in the hopes of finding it.
 
I apologize.

Yalun Tu is a columnist for HK Magazine. You can reach him at yalun.tu@gmail.com or @yaluntu on Twitter.