The lovely Chinese lady
There is an old Chinese woman who lives across the hall from us. She does not speak English. I don’t know how and when exactly it started but, somewhere between now and a few months ago, we became friends. She usually knocks on our door thumping it with all her might and gives us food. She keeps talking in Cantonese I think it is, and when I try to resist her gifts, she shakes her head vehemently. She usually gives me exotic Chinese stuff, which I fear contains pork and so never end up eating. But I take it anyway and keep chanting “thankyou thankyou”. I realize how the English language becomes insufficient. Yesterday as I was coming up the elevator, I spotted the lady again. The other day she had pointed to herself and said “Kim” so I said my name pointing to myself. I called out her name and she saw me and held my hand. I impulsively hugged her. She then held my hand and took me to her apartment, gave me bananas, clothes and some exotic looking crackers. She also showed me the photos pasted on her walls. “Hollywood” she said pointing to a picture of a Chinese family with young children…they must be her kids I thought. And one she said “Vancouver”. So I asked “No HongKong?” and she shook her head all the while talking in her native tongue. She lives all alone. I wonder where her children are…why don’t they take her with them? I had heard that Asians have highly respect for their elders…maybe I’m misinterpreting her…after all I don’t understand Cantonese. Or maybe I’m judging.
For me, what is remarkable is that this lady, whose words I do not understand, and who doesn’t comprehend my words – can have a relationship with me that is far more comfortable than I have with many of my relatives and acquaintances. I feel no awkwardness, no discomfort talking to and hugging her. I tried giving her stuff too – but every time she shakes her head stubbornly and says something which I cant understand. What I can understand is that she refuses to take anything from me…reminds me of my Pakistani tradition of not taking stuff from younger people, in a way. I understand but I feel bad. So yesterday when I insisted through signs that she has to take the dessert I had gotten, she took my hand and took me into the apartment, and into the kitchen and showed me how much she had. There were rows of boxes of chips and biscuits. I guess she was saying I have too much. And she handed me more crackers. I’m just surprised that even though we are complete strangers, we can’t even have a comprehensible conversation, in my own way, I really care for her.