A Love Letter

Inspired by the book I picked up in a second-hand bookshop this afternoon and then read in the shelter of a nearby hole-in-the-wall restaurant, I have written a love letter. I spent the afternoon reading, eating, watching the rain fall outside the shop, and making limited small talk with the mother of the family who ran the restaurant. Could I possibly have had a better day off? The book was called Love Letters of Great Men. My favorite letter was by Balzac and included the following gem of a quote:

“It is impossible for me to understand how these papers impregnated by me will be, in eleven days, in your hands, and why I remain here…”

What an impossibly creative and evocative use of the verb “impregnate”! Anyways, to get on with my love letter.

“To the porcelain hand of my beloved China,

Oscar Wilde wrote, in his incredible wisdom, that “pleasure hides love from us, but pain reveals it in its essence.” Is that why, O beautiful country, I have only just discovered my love for you today? I love you, my dearest, and I have suffered deep and penetrating pain for you. Quite literally, actually. I’ve come through the past week a period I shall think of as “The Stomach Wars”. I will likely fight them again many times, unwilling as I am to forsake all of your food (as many of my coworkers say they have done). But for now, I shall relish the victory of a stomach once again able to digest solid food.

Yes, my sweet little dumpling, I lean on images of you in the heat and dizzy dehydration. I cherish you through the classes taught when I had not eaten for days. I love the way you smile at me and say “Hello! Welcome to China!” through the mouth of a rare street vendor, always so proud of his single English phrase. I relish your steamed foods, your vegetables, your peanut sauce.

But, most importantly, I am besotted by your mystery. To sit in a small restaurant and listen to the construction workers at the table next to me joke over their hurried lunch has become one of my greatest joys. And as I pick out stray words, my body burns with longing to understand every word.

Even your common sights beguile my senses. I glance out at the street and smile to see someone zipping by on a motorized bicycle with a mattress and two chairs strapped to the seat. I laugh with surprise to see the next passer-by actually pedaling his bicycle. As the rain patters down the street past the open entrance to this little eatery, I look back at my recently purchased book (我们的大世界 – which means “our great world”). It was made for a Chinese primary school student. It is perfect for me!

Am I fooling myself, beloved, to begin to hope you may someday return my affections? That perhaps, just as the girl in the soap opera episode I just watched with the twelve year old dish boy – the girl who ended the episode weeping with joy in the arms of the man she loved – I too may one day look into your soul and say “我爱你“ and hear your reply…and understand?

always passionately yours,
赵苗苗

p.s. You are most beautiful, I think, when you smile in the sun towards the tail of a retreating thunderstorm.”