It is those who react otherwise that
scare the heck out of me.
On a chilly morning I was sitting there
alone in a corner of a warm hotel dining room, guzzling down a third
tray of the buffet-style breakfast. Nearby some middle aged Chinese
diners coarse yet rich enough to stay at a 5-star hotel are just
being themselves, a few western guests of all ages and sizes but
apparently not together scattered around the room, and waitresses in
red qipao (mandarin gown) asking people if they preferred coffee or
tea as soon as they sat down.
It was the first day of my first
business trip ever. A dozen people of the Firm were staying at the
hotel and I only knew one senior from my department. It was still
early in the morning and that senior was nowhere in sight. Not that
she would bother to have a one on one breakfast with me anyway.
Of all my breakfast binging which would
last for the rest of the week, I somehow managed to notice a girl of
my age carefully scooping food into her tray. I couldn't stop
checking her out: her delicate, pretty face was perfectly innocent
without any makeup. Such youthful vibrance radiated from her touched
me a million times more than the free buffet.
I intuitively knew that she was from
the Firm too. Such pretty things may abound in Hong Kong, but when
you spot one in this part of the town where rural migrant population
dominated, it was hard to take your eyeballs off her very soon.
Under the influence of black coffee, I
got up from my seat to get another serving even if I was already full
to the point of nausea. I turned my back towards her, trying not to
raise any suspicions, but when seconds
later I turned back to “randomly” look for some more food. She
was already gone.
Then it was lunch time, everyone from
the Firm was at a big round table in the client's luxurious
restaurant, being served gourmet Chinese
dishes. She barged in late, with documents in her hands, explaining
in Cantonese. I detected an accent, which means she is a mainland
sister.
The second day the client's senior
management, who are nothing but slobs and mobs in suits, invited us
to dinner. Magically, the CFO whose Mandarin I sometimes had trouble
understanding sat between me and her. Mr CFO talked most of the time
with her. And I learned that she was articulate, knowledgeable, and
was from the same province I was from. Every time something funny
came up during “their” conversation, I laughed out loud like a
girl laughing at her crush's jokes. On an afterthought, that was
when I gave myself away. Mr CFO did not drink much herself but tried
to get her drunk. She insisted she could not drink much and sipped
the same glass of grape wine the whole night. I, on the other hand,
was flushing after only two rounds of toasting.
From Day Two onwards, our group decided
to work in a different room from the other group. So there were only
a few occasions where I could see her. Every breakfast for the next
few days, she was always at her usual spot alone, her back facing the
entrance but when I came in she would coyly look back to the
entrance. This made me so awkward I forgot how to walk normally. Or
she was just waiting for her colleagues.
Not every lunch she would join us all.
One day we bumped into her on our way to the cafeteria, I seized the
opportunity to talk to her in Mandarin but she pretended she did not
hear me. What she did was cheerfully talking to everyone in my group,
senior or junior, which is the right thing to do. When we got there,
her group had not arrived yet. So she asked ME if I had THEIR group
leader's phone number.
In Cantonese.
Ain't she smooth.
But I still appreciated her initiatives.
The rest of the week went on without
much drama. Then it was Friday and it was time to get back to Hong
Kong. We were at the “International” airport with no wifi in the
air. I got in the shortest line to check in and the next thing I knew
she followed me and waited right behind me, asking me, again in
Cantonese, “Is this the line for business class only, since we are
all flying economy?” pointing to the sign above the counter.
At that very moment I knew this might
be the last chance I could talk to her. I should have told her that
we were from the same province, which would have been a great opening
line. I should have asked her why she was still going to Hong Kong
instead of going home for the Chinese New Year. Then I would have
told her that my parents were with me in Hong Kong. Nice to meet you.
Nice to meet you too. Blah. Blah. Blah.
But the problem was, I did not know
what language to use. Speaking Cantonese to a fellow mainlander is
unnatural and awkward. But speaking Mandarin may seem too intimate
and chummy. English? Bitch please.
Instead I looked at the sign and
replied, “Uh...Uh..Ohhhhh!..”
Those were the last words I told her.
Those were the last words I told her.
I didn't even get her name. And I wondered if we would ever meet
again.
Hours later the plane landed in Hong Kong. On my way home, I was pulling a suitcase heavier from all the extra files and client's new year's gifts, but all I heard in my head was:
“She was covered
in leather and gold,
21 years old
I lost her in the cold
It's unfair, she's out
there
Somewhere, somewhere,
somewhere in Brooklyn”
-
Somewhere in Brooklyn
Bruno
Mars
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