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My name is Nene. My ID card says Nai, the Thai word for Mister, followed by a long boy’s name my father chose from a monk’s list. I will not write it here, and no Thai law will let me change it.
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There are three things you need to know before you read this. Firstly, I loved living alone. After years of sharing rooms and dealing with intrusive family members, this was the dream. Second, I was shy and hated engaging in conversation with strangers first. And third, I was a clueless girl and didn’t see the signs.
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Domestic optimization was the norm. Doubtless the digital annulment date was preset, with the standard option to revoke if both parties agreed. Counselors would be notified and the newly decoupled would be placed back on the affinity market, with their newly developed partner preference tastes biometrically optimized.
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Her heart thumped sporadically against the now softened cage of ribs inside her. Droplets of overly salty sweat rained down from her hairline, she reached up for her hair with clumsy fingers and greasy clumps fell away, some sticking to what her hands had become.
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I leaned in and pressed my lips against his own. They were soft. He kissed back. I know he did. I swear, he kissed me back. And for a few seconds there was only Maverick and Reston—hiding in a bush during recess and locking lips in a safe space.
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After the positive pregnancy test, I became something ancient—maternal with my nesting habits and my constant hunger. I watched the body I occupied grow and change, a ship of Theseus rended from flesh. Joy and anticipation replaced desire and pride. The horrible things pregnancy wrought on my body—hyperemesis, preeclampsia—were signs of something greater, a life…
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I opened my mouth to counter that statement, but had no argument. What did I do with my life? I wasn’t invested in my job. I played games, watched videos, scrolled social media. My outside activities involved others prying me out of the house to participate—otherwise, I wouldn’t have made the effort. I had no…
