I'm... a labubu.

I was walking by the gorgeous (and absolutely fuckin razing hot) bay area of Sydney on my vacation to meet my expat family when I realized, I have an unfounded attraction to labubus.

At first, I thought, "aint this shit weird af" and yes, I recognize it is. It's unacceptable and society hates me for it.

I discovered a conversion clinic in Melbourne where they turn you into a 24k gold labubu, and I thought, "is this worth the validation that I so... crave?" within that thought, I left.

I realized, maybe I don't need permanent surgery to feel validated, so instead, I dressed like a labubu. I spoke like a labubu. I felt like a labubu.

I found a seemingly kind labubu-having stranger, knelt down to reach for their labubu--keychained on their Dubai chocolate branded IKEA frakta bag.

It was time.

I needed to talk to this labubu--it was time I used their language--singaporean chinglish.

I spoke, "ohio labubu-hyung... are you genki-dubaichocolate popmart desuka?"

The labubu didn't reply to me.

The random australian man who owned the dubai chocolate branded IKEA frakta bag looked at me in trivia.

I gazed back at the labubu, and tried again.

"I'm personally popmart genki ikea blahaj desu..."

The labubu didn't reply.

It was my first heartbreak. Or, dubai chocolate-break, perchance.

I was so distraught I only drank arizona tea for breakfast lunch and dinner. I played sabrina carpenter to sleep, and put gorrilla glue on my hair to wax it in place permanently.

I had to abandon my labubu identity. It was wrong, I knew I didn't have to. But I believe my trauma and experience was valid.

I decided, I don't need to love labubus if they do not love me. I decided to turn Aromantic moving onwards--even if I craved the romance of a labubu.

Image for attention. I'm sorry. I need to mentally recover.