free world
free world esp. US hist. non-Communist countries.
You say:
“I feel incredibly lucky to be with you. We’re going to have loads of exciting adventures together. Our first big adventure will be in west Wales. I’ll show you the sea. I’ll teach you to swim because it is shameful that a peasant girl cannot swim. I’ll show you the dolphins in the sea, and the seals with their babies. I want you to experience the beauty of the peace and quiet in a Welsh cottage. I think you will love it there.”
You also say:
“Then I want to take you to Spain and France. I know that you’ll love them. I wish we could live over there for a while.”
Later you say:
“I feel so good about the love that you and I have with each other because it happened so quickly and spontaneously, like a forest fire.”
And you say:
“I just love the way you are.”
Everything good so far, but from one thing-you don’t understand my visa limited situation. I am native Chinese from mainland of China. I am not of free world. And I only have student visa for a year here. I not able just leave London English language school and go live somewhere only have trees and sea, although is beautiful. And I can’t travel to Spain and France just to fun-I need show these embassy officer my bank account to apply my Europe visa. And my bank statements is never qualify for them. You a free man of free world. I am not free, like you.
May
*
custom
custom n. 1. a long-established activity or action; 2. usual habit; 3. regular use of a shop or business.
The café is name greasy spoon, Seven Seas. All windows is foggy from the steam. You order tea as soon as you walk into. Noisy. Babies. Mothers. Couples. Lonely old man. You are opening the newspaper and start drink thick English Breakfast milky tea. And me being quiet.
I want talk to you. But you are reading paper. I have to respect your hobby.
“So where are you from?” I ask handsome waiter in white suit.
“ Cyprus.” He smiles.
“Are these chefs also from Cyprus?”
“Yes.”
“So your Cyprus chefs cook English breakfast for English?”
“Yes, we Cypriots cook breakfast for the English because they can’t cook.”
I see from open kitchen that sausages are sizzling on the pan. And mushrooms, and scrambled eggs, they are all waiting for being devoured.
I love these old oily cafés around Hackney. Because you can see the smokes and steams coming out from the coffee machine or kitchen all day long. That means life is being blessed.
In this café, there is a television set above everybody’s head. The TV on but doesn’t have any images, only can hear BBC news speaking scrambly from the white snow screen. It is a little disturbing for me, but it seem everybody in this place enjoy it. Nobody here suggest fix the TV.
Suddenly white-snow-screen changes to green-snow-screen, and the BBC voice continues. A man nearby eating some bacons with the Daily Mirror says to the chef:
“That’s an improvement.”
“Yes, Sir,” replies the chef. “Well, at least you don’t have to eat your breakfast, read the paper and watch the TV all at the same time.”
“That’s true.” The man chew his bacons and concentrates on page with picture of half naked blonde smiling.
I want to talk. I can’t help stop talking. I have to stop you reading.
“You know what? I came this café before, sit here whole afternoon,” I say.
“Doing what?” You put down the paper, annoyed.
“I read a porn magazine called Pet House for three hours, because I studied English from those stories. Checking the dictionary really took lots of time.”
You are surprised. “I don’t think you should read porn mags in a café. People will be shocked.”
“I don’t care.”
“But you can’t do that. You’ll make other people feel embarrassed.”
“Then why they sell these magazines in every little corner shop? Is also even sold in the big supermarket.”
I believe everything to do with the sexuality is not shameful in West.
The man next to us finishes his bacons, half naked woman photo with huge breasts still being exposed.
“I think I go now buy another porn magazine,” I say, standing up.
“OK, you do whatever you want,” you say shaking head. “This is Hackney after all. People will forgive you for not being au fait with the nuances of British customs.”
You dry up your cup of tea.
fart
fart vulgar slang n. emission of gas from the anus-v. emit gas from the anus.
Suddenly the man next table reading newspaper with naked-breast-woman made a huge noise.
“What is that noise name?” I ask you.
You cannot understand what I mean. Too much involving in looking house property advertisement on the newspaper.
I try to explain: “How to say a word which represents a kind of noise from the arse?”
“What?”
“You know that. You know it is a wind comes from between two legs.”
“It’s called a fart.”
Fart?
The old man who reads the newspaper stares at us for several seconds, then buries himself into the paper again.
I never hear English person says anything about fart. They must be too shameful to pronounce that sound. There are lots of words we used in China so often, but here people never use it. Even English dictionary say it is a “taboo.”
“ ”
is fart in Chinese. It is the word made up from two parts.
is a symbol of a body with tail, and underneath that
represent two legs. That means fart, a kind of Chi. If a person have that kind of Chi regularly in his daily life that means he is very healthy. Chi (
), everything to do with Chi is very important to us Chinese. We had so many words related to Chi, like Tai-Chi, or Chi-Gong, or Chi-Chang.
Yes, fart, I want remember this word. Is the response means you enjoys a good homely cooking, after big meal. Mans in China loves to use this word everyday.
You are still concentrating on your Guardian, something serious about the terrorism. I am talking to nobody. The old man next table sees I am fed up, so says to me:
“I’m off, darling. Do you want my paper?”
He leaves the café but turns his head looking at me again.
I pick the newspaper from his table. There is a headline:
LOST FOR WORDS-THE LANGUAGE OF AN ENDANGERED SPECIES
It is a story about ninety-eight-year-old Chinese woman just died. She is the last speaker of womans-only language: “Nushu.” This four-hundred-year-old secret language being used by Chinese womans to express theys innermost feeling. The paper say because no womans practise that secret codes anymore, it marks that language died after her death.
I want create my own “Nushu.” Maybe this notebook which I use for putting new English vocabularies is a “Nushu.” Then I have my own privacy. You know my body, my everyday’s life, but you not know my “Nushu.”