思念

Despite my words words words that I will not return home often, do not miss home, sometimes, the fact is, I do.

Which is why, on Friday night, as I walked along the canals behind my house, I was reminded of the canals in The Chinese High School , next to the hostel where I used to live for four years. I remember walking through the roads, corridors and buildings at nights, on weekends. I remember four little girls dipping and splashing our feet in the water at night. I remember lying on the grass hill overlooking the basketball courts and studying. The feel of the rough, hot concrete underneath my bare feet when we played basketball in their courts over the weekends. I remember the green-ness of the plants above the wide steps facing the canteen. The red track beneath the fabled haunted clock tower.

And so, I sat down on the steps of the canal and cried.

That night, I walked for a long time. I followed my feet and the stirrings of my heart through the maze of quiet East London streets. Alternately attracted and repelled by noise, I mostly avoided humanity, weaving into tranquil streets which beckoned, but was attracted by the mellow live music and warm cheer of the White Swan and Cuckoo on Wapping Lane. Thus, I wandered aimlessly, hoping that the physical mirroring of my emotional lost-ness would act as an antidote to neutralise the chaos within.

At one point, I turned to look at a cyclist who had cycled by. He had turned back to look too. He said: Hey. And I replied: Hey. He stopped. I turned away to walk on. But he said: Don't run away. I responded: I'm not running away. I'm walking home. He asked me for my name. I paused to think about it, but because there seemed to be a sweet sadness about him, and I was filled with such deep ennui (there is a perfect Chinese word for it - 郁闷), I gave him my name. His was Martin.

And so, it transpired that two perfect strangers who had crossed each other on a random street near midnight, made a connection.

He asked me if I would go back with him. I guess I should have been offended. But because he didn't seem aggressive and didn't seem to intend offence, and I'm a fairly easy-going girl, I didn't take offence. We talked for a little bit.

And then he said: "Since I'm never going to see you again, I might as well ask you this - will you Ever consider taking me home?" I asked: "You specifically, or generally a random guy I meet on the street?" "Me specifically." I took his question seriously and frowned at the sky as I tried to imagine if I would. "No," was my eventual response. He was upset. And I struggled a little bit on whether to tell him why. But because he had shared a bit of his life with me, I explained to him why he shouldn't take it personally, that it was not specific to him.

And he said something which I found amazing: "Love isn't just a feeling or an emotion. Love is a different world altogether." Although yes, I do realise that it was part of a pitch for me to sleep with him, still, his words struck a chord within me.

I gently insisted that I had better get going on my way home and said it was nice to have met him. And we both went our separate ways.