2 Questions Every Girl is Asking Herself

Chapter 7

It rained today.

There's something lovely about summer rain. I can smell the dampness in the air; hear the split splatter sound of water, even the green foliage takes on a new layer of lushness with the arrival of rain.

This scene reminds me of childhood, the feeling of sitting on the porch watching the rain fall, daydreaming about my latest crush - two people walking side by side under an umbrella. There's a bit of melancholy, a bit of loneliness, but a wistfulness to it you want to savor, like the refreshing taste of hope.

I'm going to see my latest crush tomorrow. I'm all nervous and excited, debating what dress to wear. The yellow one? Or the green one? Do I want to appear sweet and demure or sporty and sexy?

His name is Hong Wang, which means to burn brightly. I hope he will like me.

We went to the same kindergarten and elementary school together. He was the detective. Myself and another girl, we were his right and left wing-woman. We'd hide behind walls of our kindergarten and battle against imaginary enemies.

He wasn't tall as a kid, so we always sat within a row or two of each other throughout elementary school. He was a rebellious and hyperactive boy. Though not much of a fighter himself, he somehow always seemed to enjoy provoking bigger kids and getting himself into fights and quarrels. During lunch break, he'd spend the entire hour out in the field playing soccer, rush back to class at exactly 1pm, with hot steam rising out of his head, and sweat running down his face like rivers. We usually nap with our arms folded on our desks as pillows right after lunch. This was his perfect opportunity to wolf down some Chinese pancakes he'd kept hidden in the desk drawer along with his greasy notebooks and homework assignments.

When I saw him last time I visited Tianjin, which was 3 years ago, he was 23, and looked the same as he did in elementary school, only taller. And a lot more...mature. As if the space of time had calmed him down like a paper weight, and he's no longer bouncing up and down like a fly caught in a glass jar. He was the last one to hear about the reunion (literally found out about it half way through our dinner), but still made it at the last minute. When we were leaving, the restaurant packed 6-7 boxes of leftovers for me to take home. As naturally as breathing, he took them from me and walked me to the station. He did it not because he liked me romantically, but because he believed that's what a boy should do for a girl. I always remembered that.

3 years later, I come back to China for grandma's 90th birthday. This time I wanted to make sure he's invited to our reunion. I track him down through another elementary school friend, who dug out his home phone number from ten years ago. I call his house hoping the number still works, and yes! his mom answers. In the sweetest voice possible, I politely introduce myself, and explain my reason for calling (you never know, if I become his girlfriend or wife, she'd be my future mother-in-law, and first impressions can last a long time.) She tells me he's working in Beijing, and gives me his cell phone number. After much back and forth scheduling, we finally arrange a time for a mini-reunion: it'll be Hong Wang, myself and another elementary school friend who's also working in Beijing.

On a beautiful Thursday, I go to Beijing to see them. Unfortunately, (or maybe fortunately) the other friend had to bail at the last minute, so it was just Hong Wang and me. He comes to the station to pick me up. I spot him right away. He still looks the same, just taller and bigger, with a few sprigs of moustache, which I don't understand why he keeps. He offers to take my purse, watches for traffic, guides me to walk on the inside, gets me a drink while we waited to be seated at the restaurant. So attentive and caring, I almost felt like he was my boyfriend.

It was a SiChuan restaurant near his firm that served spicy fish hot pot (basically steamed fish bathed in a sea of chili and red oil. it makes me salivate just thinking about it). He tells me he may have to go back to work after dinner. 

We talk about work, life, hopes and dreams. He went to one of the best universities in China, (which doesn't surprise me), and works for a big IT firm that is the Chinese equivalent of Oracle. He tells me his dream is to be the governor of a village, so he can make a difference in people's lives and be remembered for something. I found it endearing that he shared so candidly about something so personal. I tell him about my travels, which he listened to with great interest. We reminisced about our childhood, and shared updates on classmates from elementary school: who's doing what, who's gone where, who's marrying who and who's having babies.

I ask him what he does outside of work. He says he works a lot of overtime, so there isn't much free time. He goes on QQ (a chatting software), watches sports, surfs the net, plays basketball. Never once did he mention the existence of a girlfriend. So I figured, he probably doesn't have one.  

We finish dinner and walk out of the restaurant, for a moment I wanted to hold his hand, or rather, wanted him to hold my hand. He tells me to sit on the sofa while he paid. So I sit on the couch, read a magazine. When it's all finished, he turns to me and says gently, "Full? Let's go." As we walked out of the restaurant, I shuddered at the cool summer breeze. He contemplated offering his jacket to me, but then stopped himself, instead, he said, "you should buy some more clothes. It gets chilly here in the evenings." Darn!

On the way back, I tell him that my dream is to live by the beach and write novels all day.

"Is that your boyfriend's dream?" he asks.

"No, it's my dream."  

Then I realized that was probably his lame and only attempt of the entire evening to figure out if I have a boyfriend. And oh silly me, dodged the question. (Can we rewind please?)

Now usually, if this is a North American date, the guy would be trying to extend the date by proposing another activity, if he's interested. So here I am using every molecule of my body to wish that he'd propose another activity to confirm my lingering suspicion that he likes me.

And...No....

We sit in the cab and...

He proposes nothing.

So I think to myself, 'Ok, maybe Chinese boys are different.'

Fine, I'll do the asking.

"I feel like having ice cream. Would you like some?" I suggest at last.

"Either way I'm fine with it. If you wanted to get some, we can get some."

Okay, this is a lukewarm response, I guess it means no.

I return to my great aunt's apartment in Tsinghua University in Beijing, whom I was visiting earlier that afternoon, and recount to her the evening with great enthusiasm and detail. She listens with interest and at the end of the story asks, "So basically, at the end of the night, neither of you know if the other person has a boyfriend or girlfriend?"

I shake my head with shame like a twelve year old.

And then this 80 year old lady proceeded to help me devise a game plan in figuring that out.

"Here's what you do. Stay here for the night. Call him tomorrow so you guys have another chance to meet. When you call him, tell him that you'd like to take him and his girlfriend out to dinner. This is natural enough. Since he took you out, you're offering to return the favor, nothing fishy about that. If he doesn't have a girlfriend, then offer to show him around Tsinghua University. Here's the map," she hands me a map of the campus.

I love old people.