I love you, 바보...

Plans Go Awry

I knock on the door of probably the only Chinese household on the street, marked by the red square of paper held at an angle with the character for 'fortune' scrawled over it, and two rectangular strips of paper, also red, with more characters scrawled over, on either side of the door frame. "Happy new year, Kevin."
"Happy new year, Jay. Come in, come in. We're just watching TVB drama at the moment."
"Heavy CGI or heavy CGI?" I ask as I hand him the biscuits.
"Bad plot," he mumbles. I chuckle. It's been a long time since I last watched TVB.
"Aunty, uncle, Happy new year," I say, bowing deeper than usual. I noticed the screen was paused.
"Are you Korean?"
"Mum! I just told you, she understands Cantonese!"
"She acts Korean." ... Kevin just thinks I'm a bit strange with the bowing habit. He doesn't actually know... "Just like the Korean drama, Kevin."
"I spend a lot of time with Koreans," I explain in Cantonese. "Their habits..." I say, "I copy them all. But I don't like kimchi."
"So you live with your Korean friends?"
"No, at my best friend's house with his family. My parents and younger sister died when I was 16. I'm 19 now, and-"
"Where's he from? Mainland? Malaysia?" Kevin makes the wild guesses on the assumption I live with the ethnic Chinese.
"He's from Pakistan," I say, shaking my head. "Muslim," I add. She sounds like she's from Hong Kong, she shouldn't be one to judge.
"You live with Muslims?!" Aunty is, most likely unpleasantly, surprised by the revelation that the reason I lost 40% Cantonese capability was because I had no one to converse with at home.
"Yes, Aunty, I live with a Muslim family." And it's about time you wipe that grimace off your face. "They're not terrorists, in case you're wondering," I start defensively. Bitterly, because a bunch of CIA backed rebels who twist Islam around to their principles affect the global perception. I stand abruptly, and while I feel inside that I should have bore it like a good girl, I don't. I can't, because they're my community. I know many Muslims, friends of Zain's family. I can't just let it slide. But I can't become violent, not unless I want to lose my friend. "I'm going, Kev. Thanks for having me around."
"Mum-" he protested, but he was quickly cut off. I made my way to the door where my shoes were, slipping them on.
"Don't speak to your mother like that."
"So you're agreeing with-" but I don't hear any more, because I shut the door as I leave. I hear more shouting from Kevin as I sit quietly against wall of his house in the front yard. What would Zain do in this situation? He'd be muttering to himself, enough to make it clear he's annoyed, not enough to classify as threatening. Did I do that? Well I achieved my goal. Now what would Spunk do? Draw his weapon and knock her out, paying little consideration to his friendship. Friendship is important, he'd say. But honour and respect can't be found like friendship. It gets him in trouble. I suspect Kev will come out to apologise on behalf of his parents. I'm not interested in an apology from him. He has nothing to do with it. Heck, what's an apology going to do, even from the perpetrator? I can't just forgive and forget, that's not the way I am conditioned to go about things. I tuned into the commotion inside. Muffled voices, one distinctly female, another distinctly an older male. And then, Kevin's. "So what if she's Buddhist? Or Muslim? Atheist? It doesn't matter!" A hushed voice follows.
"It does... we don't want to have anything to do with them... marry a good Catholic and you know it."
"It's not about you any more!" Kevin roars. I've never heard him be so passionate about something that wasn't his saxophone, or music, or his studies. The door opens and I spring to my feet. Kevin appears. "Oh... hey. Didn't know you were right here."
"I heard everything."
"Re-really?" He turns bright red, if that was possible in his skin tone, dark by Chinese standards, even more so by English standards.
"I've never heard you be so angry before," I mumble to the ground.
"Well someone has to tell them they can't do this, Jay. Come, follow me. We're going for a walk." He offers his hand to me and I take it. "I have a few things to tell you."

I slumped onto the bench unceremoniously, half out of frustration, the other, genuine fatigue. All along the way, he had repeatedly apologised about his parents and the way they reacted. "It's fine," I say. "I get it a lot."
"No," he protests, holding my shoulders. "It's not 'fine'. I knew that the minute it came out of her mouth. I know what you're like, Jamie, and it can't possibly be alright. And if it can't be fine with me, it can't possibly be fine with you." We stand awkwardly in silence, each unwilling to move in any way. I feel my cheeks grow hot, sensing his unwavering gaze. The last time a boy ever held me by the shoulders I was about 7, it was Zain. We were possibly closer back in the day, back when he wasn't afraid to occasionally plant a kiss on the top of my head, him being marginally taller at the time. I outgrew him and was taller than him for the years following that until his growth spurt. It was acceptable. But I haven't dealt with boys being this close in years, and I'm still staring at my feet, the tree to my left and behind him, anywhere but meeting his gaze. "I don't know how much of it I was supposed to hear, Kevin, but it seems you might want a new residence for a while. And besides, doing what your parents want might be a little difficult around here, we have an approximate Catholic population of negligible, we also have an approximate Buddhist population negligible. I personally find it hard to draw the line between atheism and Buddhism." More silence. "So what were you going to say?"
"I..." He was evidently nervous. Exactly what it was, I have no idea.
"Oh spit it out, Kev."
"Uh... look. We'll take it this way... what are you reading for enjoyment at the moment?"
"Recently? Romance of Three Kingdoms. Chinese novel written about 600 years ago."
"Anything you memorised?"
"Guan Yu releases Cao Cao," I reel off, stating the name of the author. His face shows little recognition. It's from the novel, and fortunately, I'm straight out reciting this in Cantonese.