Sunday, March 29, 2009




29.3.03 The wait was over. I got engaged today. But I felt no excitment at all. None. I hadn't a clue tying the knot to a China man could be so complicated. I still haven't a single clue. This is only the engagement. I don't want to think about our wedding day. They will make me look like a pig. I'm sure.

At 11.00am, P brought me to his family villa at Repulse Bay in his new Aston Martin. This was the only happy time I had for the whole day. I am always happy with just P by my side after all. My miserable day started when the iron wrought gate opened for the young master (and mistress, hopefully).

To be honest, I didn't have to bring my brain with me today. I didn't have to think. I just needed to do whatever I was asked. While doing those senseless so-called traditional things, I kept telling myself I was no puppet - at least I had to walk by myself - to make me feel better. Perhaps I should leave my brain at home so that I would not bring my emotion with me to this grand white villa.

I was at the breaking point when they asked me to drink a bowl of dark black soup. I could see the bitterness in it. Not mentioning the smell. It did not make any sense at all. Engagement should be one of the sweetest moment in one's life. How could these China men and women allow this weird thing to happen? Having something bitter to mark the end of the engagement ceremony. This is the most weird thing I've ever heared of. This is well beyond my imagination.

I looked at P. He could offer no helping hands. He had to drink his own.

I looked at V. She was there to arrange everything in this traditional Chinese engagement ceremony. She is a BBC but she knows all Chinese traditional things. In fact, she knows all worldwide customs. She studied it. She was supposed a friend of mine but she offered no help. She tried not to look at me. She said this was a tradition and by drinnking that dark black soup P and I will be blessed everafter. Strangely, I started to hate this girl. I suddenly felt that she's a kind of a witch. I saw a witch in her. I didn't know why. I felt terrible.

I didn't drink the soup. I drained it down to the pipes when no one noticed me. I didn't care if any one notice after all. Blessed or not, it's not down to this little bowl of dark black soup. This little artwork of a witch.

I don't believe it.

I love P. But not those soy sauce faced men and women. Not his country. Not his country's tradition.



gwenzilla said...

i like this first half, can't wait to read the other half!!

加燦 said...

Very interesting.

As this is a "story", I suddenly have the urge to psychoanalyze you. You can call me Mr. F, and please go over there and sit on a couch and tell me about your dream. :)

The Man Who Loves Everton said...


thanks millions.

but i'm afraid, as usual indeed, the 2nd half is a bit disappointing - as pointed out by ms lam, privately.

still hope you enjoy. thanks.

The Man Who Loves Everton said...

Dr 加燦,

Thanks. But I'm afraid I don't need your couch. Haha...