1

Useless

"Aiyaa!" Yao picked up the heavy cardboard cargo box and set it on the table with a thud, sending a few messily-arranged immigration papers flying. He stepped away, clutching his aching back and groaning with disappointment. Things were everywhere—scattered throughout his small apartment room were boxes and boxes of items from China he had brought over on his trip. Immigration is hard.

He rummaged through the various items, and many of them were seemingly unnecessary. "Sports equipment, old art stuff—why do I need a silk sash? Broken calculator, violin strings, useless foldable plastic chair, paper-mache doll, hmmmm, no Harry Potter is definitely important, baby pictures—oh no, these aren't too cute—and these many good luck charms just won't do a thing. Ah!"

Reaching to the bottom of the pile, Yao pulled out a pair of tonfa—a couple of short, wooden weapons—and then held them up in triumph. "There! I've found another one!" He placed it next to his array of swords, short axes, sticks, and other martial arts equipment. "A few more left to go and I can finally set up the classroom!" he said as he briskly dusted off his hands. "And then I can get the ads going by tomorrow."

Yao Wang was an average college student from China—he spent most of his time buried in studies and would sometimes take a glimpse at outside activities. His life had felt dry and without color, as his world had been restricted to his high school grounds, old and battered-up house, and martial arts school. After relentlessly seeking an opportunity that would pull him out of the daily drab of his mother's demanding voice, the loud sounds of his neighborhood, and the endless noise of flipping text book pages, the solution came. He was accepted into a university in California, and within one week Yao found himself bumbling out of San Francisco airport, confused but all the more excited.

He was pulling out an old, dusty matryoshka doll when the doorbell rang. Ding-dong! "Hey, Mr. Wang~!" It was a strangely overly-enthusiastic voice—though muffled by the door, it rang like a bell.

Yao opened the door to find a rather cheery-looking blonde with flashing blue eyes under a pair of glasses. Had it not been for the American-flag shorts and shopping bags, the "I Heart New York" water bottle, the brand name "Texas" on his glasses, and the Captain America t-shirt, Yao would have considered him sane. He'd seen patriotism, but none quite like this. I suppose all Americans are like this, Yao worryingly told himself.

"What's up man? I'm your apartment manager, Alfred!" the American said with a wink. "Sorry I wasn't at the office the other day. You okay with the room?"

"Uh, yeah, it's nice," Yao said. "Thank you very much."

"Eyo, no need for thanks, man!" Alfred thought for a while. "Say, how're you gonna pay?"

Yao blinked.

"Come on, don't take it personally! I'm the manager remember?"

Yao hesitated. "Um, I teach."

"Teach what?"

"Kung fu." Yao could see the shower of stereotypes headed his way.

Alfred jumped back in surprise. "Whoa, dude, so you're like fucking Bruce Lee or Jackie Chan or something? That's awesome! Can you fall through glass and do a back flip and punch everyone in the room at once and stay uninjured? And you're in college. What, you must some prodigy!"

Yao sighed. He saw scenes of his mother dragging him wherever she went, boasting about how he could kick with the best form, how he could spin and attack with swords the fastest, how easily he beat up the other kids—and, wow, did you hear about how he could exceed even his teacher?—treating him like some object to be proud of and flaunt without shame. He had felt so used—he didn't want to be the prodigy he was. "I teach. That is all"

Alfred didn't seem to care. "Man, with your skittles, you don't have to be the slightest bit afraid of the guy next door. You can just pwn him with a motherfucking roundhou—"

"Guy next door?" Yao asked, intrigued. "Why, what's so bad about him?"

"What's wrong? Dude he's one hell of a creeper."

Yao turned to the apartment room beside his own. Indeed, it was rather ominous; the room was situated behind the staircase leading to the next floor, so the shadow that fell on it would naturally make appear gloomy—but all the curtains and windows were closed, so, even though two lonely brown boots stood before the door, it appeared as if absolutely no one was inside.

"Yeah, don't even get me started." Alfred patted Yao on the shoulder. "If he messes with you just come tell me, m'kay? Or you could just give him a Falcon Punch in—"

"Alfred. I have to go back to arranging my things, so if you please."

The blonde looked a little offended. He sheepishly backed away, saying, "Haha, sorry man—you go back to whatever you were doing." He waved vigorously as he headed back to his office. "See you later!"

After waving back half-heartedly, Yao walked back in, shaking his head. He resumed inspecting the condition of his room once more. "What was I doing again?"

And he saw the matryoshka doll again—the dusty old matryoshka doll, sitting lonely on top of a cardboard box. Yao curiously opened the doll, but instead of finding a set of smaller, similar dolls inside, he found nothing but absolute vacancy. It appeared desolate, unfulfilled. He put it back into the box, and said, "Useless."