You said Frida Kahlo is one of your heroes. Of course I knew that. I knew that from your book shelf. I knew that because I knew your heroes are always in pain, and died of young.

In nobody’s London Fields, I sit on a chair, and read about Frida Kahlo again. I want understand you, and I want understand your twisted nude lying on the ground of your garden.

Frida, her body falling apart when she was alive. Her bones were being smashed by the bus accident. Death had been eating her everyday until one day nothing is fresh left. Again I see your naked man lying down on the ground. Your twisted statue, how similar to Frida’s body in her painting.

In your world, I am losing my world. In your pain, I am losing myself. Everything makes me thinking about you, only about you and your world. I am like a wallpaper stick on the wall of your house, looking at you and decorating your life. “Don’t bury me, burn me. I don’t want to lie down anymore,” Frida lay on the bed and said to her husband. She could not move one inch. A negotiation between her and the devil. My life compare with hers, is nothing.

freedom

freedom n. 1. being free; 2. exemption or immunity, e.g. freedom from hunger; 3. the right or privilege of unlimited access.

I say I love you, but you say you want to have freedom.

Why is freedom more important than love? Without love, freedom is naked. Why can’t love live with freedom? Why is love the prison for freedom? How many people live in this prison then?

schengen space

The “Schengen space” is the territory constituted by the countries which are members of the Schengen agreements. The following countries are today active members of the Schengen agreements: Austria-Belgium-Denmark-Finland-France-Germany-Greece-Iceland-Italy-Luxembourg-the Netherlands-Norway-Portugal-Spain-Sweden. The aim of the Schengen agreement is to allow free circulation of people within the territory of the member countries.

All foreigners who are legally resident in one of the Schengen member states can make short visits without a visa in any other member state, provided they travel with their valid passport, which must be recognized by all the Schengen states, and a residential permit issued by the authorities of the country of residency. Since the UK is not a member of the Schengen agreement, nationals who are not exempted from visa requirements by the Schengen member states, and who reside permanently or temporarily in the UK, need a visa to enter the Schengen space.

“Have a look at this,” you say. “If you got a visa to go to France, you could go and see all these countries.”

You pass to me leaflet.

I read carefully terms of the “Schengen Agreement.” I don’t know where is Luxembourg, where is the Netherlands, Norway or Finland, and I of course don’t know where is Greece. I thought Greece is in Rome. After I check the European map, I read it again the terms. I understand wherever I want to go I need visa, but I still don’t understand what is “Schengen.” Me, a native mainland Communism Chinese, a non-EU member and non-British passport. For visa application I need prepare my medical insurance paper, my financial document (thanks that I have a free accommodation here from you, so I save lots of money from my parents prepared for my renting).

“So much trouble, I don’t want to go,” I say. “I want stay in Hackney with you.”

You look serious. “I think you should see a bit of the world without me. After all, you’ve never been to the sea.”

“So, you take me.”

You only smiling. “I think it’s important you go by yourself.”

When visa arrive I am still doing research on European map, trying to understand where is where, like Poland is next to Germany, and Romania is above of Bulgaria. But I couldn’t find Luxembourg.

“Don’t worry. Just buy an unlimited Inter-Rail ticket, then you can take the train to wherever you want in Europe,” you say to me, very experienced.

“Unlimited?” I am so excited to know this.

“Yes, you’re under twenty-six, so the ticket will be cheap. You’ll get to see the whole of the Continent.”

“Continent? Where is that?” I ask.

“You’ll know where the Continent is when you come back.”

You talk to me like I am your child. Maybe I am like idiot in front of you. Maybe you love the idiot.

You take out some old maps from your bookshelfs. There is map of Berlin, map of Amsterdam, map of Venice, map of Madrid…You blow the dusts on these maps, and put in my bag.

“Now they are useful again, after all those years sitting on the shelf,” you say.

“But all these places must be changed from the time you went,” I say, thinking of map of Beijing every month being changed.

“It’s not like China,” you say. Then you take a novel called Intimacy, author Hanif Kureishi, and put into my bags too. “This is for you to read on the train.”

You sit down on the chair, having tea, and looking at me packing.

I already feel lonely when I put my shirts into the rocksack. Is that all you want? Want me away from you?

September

*

paris

Paris is the capital and largest city of France, in the north-central part of the country on the Seine River.

I thought English is a strange language. Now I think French is even more strange. In France, their fish is poisson, their bread is pain and their pancake is crêpe. Pain and poison and crap. That’s what they have every day.

“Du pain?”

The man serves me in a small brasserie nearby Les Halles, with some bread on the little basket.

“Non. Je ne veux pas pain!” I answer. I learn this from French for Beginners by Michael Thomas.

But one minute later, he comes back with a small basket of pain again, asks me:

“Encore un peu de pain?”

“Ça sufficient!” I say, wiping my mouth, stand up.

No more pain in my life.

Only rice makes me happy.

Journey London-Paris was big let down. When I sit on the comfortable chair in the Eurostar, the French-accent-staff announce the whole journey will take two hours and thirty-five minutes. Two and a half hours I will be in the centre of a new country. Europe is so small, I can’t believe it. No wonder that it wants to become a Union. I am so much looking forward to see English Channel. I remember a Chinese man in 2001 who swam cross this Channel to earn national face for Chinese government, but when he reached French seashore he didn’t have visa to arrive. Of course he didn’t have visa, because he almost naked. In China, we all thought that French people don’t understand Heroism. Hero doesn’t need visa. Even a third world hero. Chairman Mao used to swim cross Yang Zi River, biggest river in China, in his very old age. He is of course, a hero.

The train is fast. There are still green fields and white sheeps outside of window. The speaker announce that in five minutes we will be in the tunnel of English Channel. So exciting, I can’t wait. Five minutes later I find we are in the absolutely darkness, deep darkness. I thought the tunnel is made of glass, so it is transparent to be able to see the blue seawater. But there is no difference with London underground. In the long darkness, I wonder if those fishes beside us are blocked by the tunnel and will be confused in the sea. Disappointed, I am finding myself come out from the dark tunnel, and arrive to the French side.

Musée D’Orsay, Paris, a place exhibit lots of work from Impressionists. I-m-p-r-e-s-s-i-o-n-i-s-t, and I-m-p-r-e-s-s-i-o-n-i-s-m. Longest two words I have ever learned so far. Even longer than c-o-m-m-u-n-i-s-t and c-o-m-m-u-n-i-s-m. There are several paintings from Monet. I stare at these obscure water lilies, obscure gate, and obscure sunrise. The colour and the subject in these paintings are like somebody looking through a dirty window glass. Especially the one about the impression of sunrise, sunrise on the sea. Everything blurred, the wave, the sea, the sun, the cloud are all blurred. Even the colour is blurred too.