“My parents beaten me if I don’t eating meat or any food on table in a meal. My parents curse me being picky and spoiled. Because others dying without any food to eat.”

“…” Still don’t say anything.

“How come man is vegetarian? Unless he is monk,” I say.

Still no words from you, but laughing.

You watch me eating all of meal. I try finish the duck, and the tofu and the beefs. My stomach painful. There are still porks left, and I order to take them away.

While I eating, you write top ten favorite food on a napkin:

avocado

asparagus

lentils

spinach

lettuce

pumpkin

radish

broccoli

aubergine

carrot

But, is this list will be the menu in our kitchen for rest of life? Is terrible! What about my meatball, my mutton, my beefs in black bean sauce? Who will be in charge of kitchen?

noble

noble adj. showing or having high moral qualities; of the nobility; impressive and magnificent.

Sunday. I want do shopping. I say we need buy some toilet paper, some candle, some garlic, some ginger, some greens. (I not say meat, but actually that what I want buy after eating vegetables with you every day.)

“I want go to Sainsbury.” After saying that, I realising I need practise my English manner, so I ask you again: “Shall we go to Sainsbury?”

You not look happy.

“Hmm, right. Let’s worship in Sainsbury’s every Sunday.”

“What worship?”

“Worship? It’s how the Chinese feel about Mao.”

I don’t know what say. Don’t you know now we worship America?

“I don’t like Sainsbury’s,” you say. “I like the rubbish market. They have much more interesting things there.”

“Which rubbish market?”

You take me to the Brick Lane market. Is really a rubbish market. All kind of second-hand or third-hand radios, old CDs, used furniture, broken television set (who want buy a broken TV set?), old bicycles, tyres, nails, drilling machines, dusty shoes, pirate DVDs, cheap biscakes…I wonder if all these things made in China.

You walk in the rubbish market with your old brown leather jacket and your dirty old leather shoes. The jacket is so old that the sleeves are wore out and the bottom is pieces. But you look great with these rubbish costumes in the rubbish market.

I think you are a noble man with noble words. I am not noble. I am humble. And I speak humble English. I from poor town in south China. We never see noble.

April

*

surprise

surprise n. 1. an unexpected event; 2. amazement and wonder-v. 1. to cause to feel amazement or wonder; 2. to come upon, attack, or catch suddenly and unexpectedly.

Suddenly another thing else new and unexpected:

“I need to leave London for a few days.” You pack clothes.

“For what? For where?” It is too out in blue for me.

“To see my friend Jack, in Devon.”

“Who is Jack? I never heard you talk about him.”

“Well, I have lots of friends.”

“I come with you.” I starting open wardrobe to take some clothes out.

“No. You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“No, I’m going on my own.”

“Why?”

“I just don’t think it’s the right time for you to come.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I have my own life…”

I don’t understand you mean: “But we go together. We lovers!”

I upset. Your decision destroying image of perfectness.

“Come next time,” you say.

I stop. Don’t know what do.

“How many days away? I will feel lonely.”

“Just three or four.”

I can’t say anything. But what I am do without you here in house? I even don’t knowing where electricity box, and how answer telephone in proper way.

“You know, you’ve got to go out and make some friends,” you say, “so you’re not always dependent on me. What about those girls from your language school?”

“Don’t need another friends. I don’t want. I only want be with you.”

You pack some your stuffs. You walk to the back room. Five seconds, you pushing blue bicycle out.

“This is for you. I bought it in Brick Lane. Look, you can wear a skirt-there’s no bar in between.”

“Try it,” you say.

I don’t care the bicycle. I walk and hug you tightly. I put my head into your old leather jacket.

Finally, you leave. White van stays outside. You take bus and then you will take train. England is small country compare China, but still, I feel you leaving me somewhere far away, somewhere unknown, somewhere I don’t involve at all.

I thought we together, we will spend time together and our lifes will never separated. I thought I don’t needing go these double-bill screenings to kill raining nights. I thought I will not scared to live in this country alone, because now I having you, and you my family, my home. But I wrong. You doesn’t promise anything solid.

So now I go out into the world on my alone…with that blue bicycle. And remind me to ride on left side at all times.

pub

pub n. a building with a bar licensed to sell alcoholic drinks.

Park my bicycle outside from Dirty Dick’s, nearby Liverpool Street Station. Dirty Dick? That normal name for English pub? Anyway, it is first time I came into building with a bar licensed to sell alcoholic drinks. I hope you will take me into pub, but you went away somewhere unknown instead.

I sit in pub alone, trying feel involving in the conversation. It seem place of middle-aged-mans culture. I smell a kind of dying, although it still struggling. While I sitting here, many singles, desperately mans coming up saying, “Hello darling.” But I not your darling. Where your darling? 7 o’clock in the evening, your darling must be cooking baked bean in orange sauce for you at home…Why not just go home spending time with your darling?

But mans here just keep buying pint of beer one after another. Some is drinking huge pint Lager, is like pee. Others buying glass of very dark liquid, looks like Chinese medicine. They watching football and shout together, without having food. In corner some tables with foods. Make me feel very hungry. See the food is biggest reason I am deciding go to pub. But everyone pretending food not there. Like is invisible or just for the good show. I take out my Concise Chinese-English Dictionary, start to study. I trying not thinking of the food too much.

In front of my table, five big mans all smoking cigarettes; this is the fog of London. After some times, mans come to my lonely table and ask something.

The way I am talking in English make everybody laugh. They must like me.

A young man buy me beer. He is the only good looking one.

I say: “I feel so delightful drinking with you. Your face and words are very noble.”

The man surprised and happy. He stops his drinking.

“Noble, eh?”

“Yes,” I say, “because when you start talk then you look very proud. I like the confidence. I don’t have.”

The man holding his big pint listens careful but not sure about what I mean.

A while, he says: “Love, you only think my words are noble because I can speak English properly”-oh properly, that word again!-“but it is my mother tongue, you know. It’s not that hard. But anyway, thank you for the compliment.”

“You deserving it,” I answer seriously.

But the man calls me “Love”! Love is cheap object in London.