“Do you realize how you hurt Frank?” Xiao Yu, one of my coworkers and friends from the Internet company, confronted me one afternoon, nearly a week after my birthday party. He didn’t even have to point a finger at me — I could feel the judgment in his large, almond eyes, framed by a mane of short hair parted severely down the middle. “You flaunted your relationship in front of Frank, who sat right next to you. You even let him photograph you and John together.”
As I listened to Xiao Yu chastize me, I realized one thing: I’d never thought about Frank that evening. Continue reading “Chapter 11: Exes in China Make Bad Friends”

There it was, a tiny blue duffel bag on the floor of the guest room. I found it Tuesday evening, after returning home from work.
“Everyone in this entire teahouse is staring at you,” giggled my Chinese tutor Mandy, as she clutched my arm on the way to the restroom.
The West Lake, framed by a glittering night sky and the willow tendrils hanging over our bench, could probably turn any young couple into lovers on such an evening. Especially this Western woman and Chinese man sitting beside its taciturn waters, watching the bats dip and sway to catch mosquitoes to the tune of the humming cicadas in the trees and bushes.
Aiden asks:
It’s not every day I walk out of work with three heaping bouquets — two of roses, and one of carnations. But this day, where I feel as if on the brink of living out a girlhood princess dream, is not not any day. It is Friday, July 26, 2002 — my birthday, and the day after John’s last day of work.
There stood John, my Chinese coworker, in front of our office building, just as he promised moments ago. “I’ll be watching you in the bus.”
Frank, my ex-Chinese boyfriend
Ellen asks: