My name… Just what is my real name? Being a Japanese-born-Chinese, it is no wonder everyone would have problems calling me. My real name is Fujimiya Ran as Japanese, and Teng Gong Lang in Chinese. I used to be addressed as Lang. People joked, calling me a little wolf. But from that day when my dearest younger sister ended her life in a hospital bed, I took her name instead. Whether she would ever be mad at me, I can only apologize. My family, devastated by the sudden shock, could only pray that I live my life well.
Now, I made people call me Aya, regardless whoever thought my name belonged to a female. Why should I care? People have their own choices in life. You only have to differ the right from the wrong. In fact, there is no right or wrong. I like this particular quote I made myself(1). 'People have a picture of their lives, but the scene always changes'. What I really mean is, you choose your way of life, but nothing in this cruel world can go as smoothly as you think it would be.
Every morning, when I awake, I would at times wonder what I would encounter each day. My dream was to be a writer, of novels, stories, whatever I can think of, but I knew that was not as easy. Especially in the state I am in now. Yet this has a lot to do with living in a place like Shanghai. A grey fog hangs over the city, mixed with continual rumors and an air of prosperity, a hangover from the time of the shili yangchang, the foreign concessions. The air of superiority affects me: I both love it and hate it.
Anyway, I'm just a twenty-year-old, with a rather odd yet natural red hair that flow straight half-way down my back. So odd that at least eighty-percent of the people who got to know me thought I was a woman. I don't mind, after all, I am living my life for my dead sister. A year or two ago, I published a collection of stories which didn't make a lot of money but got me attention (some reader sent me letters with compliments and some remarks). Three months back, I left my job as a magazine journalist and now I'm working as a waiter(although the boss decked me in the waitress's uniform because of my looks) at a joint called Green Stalk Café.
-(... l …)—
There was this tall, rather good looking guy whom I thought was a regular customer, (since many people enjoyed coming over especially during high tea, or just plain read a newspaper to busy themselves along with a cup of coffee) always reading a book to spend his hours with a glass of vanilla cappuccino(2). His changes of expressions really caught my attention, his every move. He seemed to know I was watching him, but never said a word.
Until, that is, the day where he managed to slip a note into my jean's back-pocket which said: 'Meet me outside during your break.' I was really interested at the way I think he wrote. During my break, indeed, he was waiting for me outside. In the dark alley behind the Café, and that would probably make me understand why I was so enticed by him. He said he had been watching me for a long time, and said that he hope he could confess himself to me.
He said he loved me, even though he knew clearly I was a guy. I'm not gay or anything, but when he said it, I was at a big loss of words. It's hard to put a finger in what made him so good-looking in my eyes, but it had to do with his world-weariness and his thirst for love. I was hesitant as believing him, seeing that a person like him could be out with any rich woman, yet chose a low life-like person like me. He said he loved me.
I don't know how, but I think I felt the same way.
-(…1…)—
Not long after we met, he told me a family secret he kept well hidden in himself. His mother was living in a small town in Spain, with a local rich man, running a Chinese restaurant. To them, money grew on trees.
His father died when he was three, suddenly, out there, less than a month after going to visit to visit his mother. The death was stated 'myocardial infarction'. Ling still remembered that day, where his grandmother kneeled before the grave with tears streaming down her face like a running tap.
He was told by his grandmother it was his mother who murdered him. That she had another man and they both plotted the death together. Ling stared at me with a strange look in his eyes and said. "Who could imagine such a thing? Until now her words are swirling in my mind of confusion. Maybe she was right, yet Grandmother could just be so devastated she was thinking unspeakable things. But whatever, Mother sends me a lot of money monthly, enough that I need not work a lot anymore."
He watched me in silence, one that I feel awfully uncomfortable at. His story grabbed me, because I'm drawn to tragedy and intrigue. I'd enjoy adding thrillers to my stories, concerning 'conspiracy', 'lust', 'poison', 'madness'. I have one gift, and that is to understand the root of sadness, happiness or anger, and I definitely understood Ling clearly.
"Death's shadow only fades little by little as time passes. There will never be more than a thin glass barrier between your present and the wreckage of your past", I told him as I stroked a wet cheek.
He clenched his hands together, and looked at me with his hazel-eyes and made a tiny smile. "But I've found you, decided to put my faith and everything in you. Don't stay with me out of curiosity, but don't leave me straight away."
-(…1…)—
I moved into Ling's place, a big-three bedroom apartment on the western outskirts of the city. The living room was decorated in a simple, yet comfortable, with a sectional fabric sofa along a wall, and a Strauss piano. Above was a self-portrait, in a look like he had just surfaced from a pool.
To be honest, I didn't like the area much. Surrounding was dark alleys, with dim, tall lights which are not really much of a help. It was close to being surrounded by gangs who raided the nights in search of victims to rob. Ling never let me out alone after sunset, only able to leave if he or someone else was there. Not a single tree in sight, and the place reeked of rubbish. A phone box leaked like a water hose whenever it rained. It was so dark and gloomy, it was like only being able to expect any memorable future, only the dark ones that you would never enjoy.
After his father died, Ling dropped out of high school in his first year. His speechless and lonely childhood turned him into a nihilist. His view to the outside world were negative, and he always spent half the day laying in bed, reading, watching videos, smoking, musing on the pros and cons of life versus death, the spirit versus flesh, calling premium phone lines, playing the computer and sleeping. The rest of the time would be spent with me shopping groceries and other necessities. When he needed money, he would send his mother colorful postcards or envelopes, and she seldom hesitate to send the amount needed.
The last time he ever visited his grandmother was probably years back. He said she was overacting over the death of his father, and it became a nightmare. He left her. She sunk into a permanent state of delirium, fixated on the 'murder' in Spain. It was only because her thought of revenge against his mother and that Spanish made her continue her life. She lives in a western-style house in the city now, fuming over the death of her son, cursing her fate, destiny and her daughter-in-law.
-(…1…)—
Sunday. Seven-thirty in the morning, and I awoke from my sleep. I stirred about on the bed. I could feel Ling right behind me, breathing down my back. He shifted a little, and I could tell he was also awake. I looked over my shoulder, and he returns with a lazy smile. I gave a chuckle, and got up onto my elbows. He still had his arms around my waist, I noticed. I moved over, gave him a morning kiss and got off the bed.
He sniffed with I left the room. Such a cheeky person, and that's why I love him. His tenderness and patience are compatible with my attitude. Ling couldn't handle sex. I'm not affected by it, truthfully. I'm not sure if it was related to the tragedy that caused his mental problem, but I wouldn't care less. I came to adore his kisses though.
In the kitchen, I settled for making egg congee. I picked a red rubber band and tied a loose tail. Outside the kitchen I heard Ling go to the balcony for his morning smoke. Did I mention he was considerate as well? He understood perfectly that I hated the smell of cigarettes, and took the liberty of smoking outside instead. I continued making breakfast, boiling the water to make tea.
About half an hour later, the table was set with two bowls of congee and two cups of tea. He was done smoking as well, and took a seat at the table. I did the same, putting aside the apron I was wearing and hooking it on the wall-hook. He started eating, not caring about how hot the porridge was.
"Will you be able to go to the Green Stalk Café with me?" I asked, taking a sip from my tea. He swallowed his food before answering.
"Aya, I've got an idea. Why don't you quit your job? You could continue writing those novels I love to read. Besides, we've enough money."
"I'll consider, alright? I want to work longer. You can find some interesting people there anyways."
"Whatever", he mumbled. This was his pet phrase, technically meaning he had no more to say.
We finished breakfast and took a quick shower before Ling took his. He came out wrapped only in a towel, while another one was in the other hand and drying his hair. "I'll call you. Take care", he said, and gave me a kiss on my cheek.
I left soon after that. I had to be quick before rush hour starts. Vehicles would be congested for as long as four hours in this area. The sun was already moving towards the middle of the skies, shining down on the street hemmed in on both sides by skyscrapers – towering between sky and earth. The pretty details of life are like dust suspended in the air. They are the monotonous theme of our age.
(1) Is there such a drink? O.o
(2) Actually, that's my own one...
Hello people! This is actually a book fic. I loved the story alot actually, so I decidedI'd make it my own way.I hope to hear reviews from you people!Very much thanks!This story is to take over Sought to Freedom which many people enjoyed reading. (thank you thank you thank you) Because I wanted to edit the story a bit. 'sweat drop' please don't kill me! I'll make it up with this story! I'm sure you'll like it. But if you don't... I''m sorry? Anyway, thank you for reading whether you liked it or not.