Hiding and Loving: Part 6

A few hours later, we returned to my dorm. Li Tian took off her unlaced, white high-top tennis shoes and wiped them down with the sponge. The shoes were her signal to the world that she was butch. The manly shoes showed she was stylish, but not girly. They stuck out from above her pants and matched her swagger as she walked.

“Do you like my shoes?” she asked. I told her I loved them. We sat together on my dorm bed with take-out bowls of rice and vegetables.

 “I have some bad news,” I said. 

“Okay…”

“I bought my plane tickets back to the States.”

“Okay…”

“October 3^rd.”

“What…? So soon…”

“Yeah. My visa. It’s expiring. I have to go back,” I explained. 

“I thought you got an extension.”

“I did. For 60 days. My 60 days is up on October 3^rd.”

“Oh," she said. Tears began to stream down my face. I put down my rice bowl.

“Hurry up and eat,”[1] she said to me, laughing through her tears, shoveling the rice into her mouth. The laughter came from the attempt to pretend that everything was fine when the house we built began to burn to the ground. I laughed too, but I didn’t pick up my bowl again.

“Is there a possibility you would immigrate to the US?” I asked her.

“No, Sarah, that’s not going to happen. Maybe we’re not meant to be together after all.”

“Let’s get married,” I proposed.

“Did you go crazy?”[2] she said, and we laughed through our tears.

We touched our foreheads together again, this time with tears falling down our faces while sobs rocked our shoulders.

---

[1] 快吃饭吧

[2] 你疯了吗?

Hiding and Loving: Part 5

I was walking up the stairs, and Li Tian was behind me, giggling.

“Love you,” she said in English.

I pretended not to hear her. She had just had a couple of beers. Maybe she was just drunk, or maybe I just heard her wrong. But I was going to pretend that this hadn’t just happened.

When we got upstairs, she said to me, “Did you hear what I said?” her eyes dancing playfully, smiling shyly.

“Yeah, I heard you.”

She collapsed into a fitful of giggles.

“I said it. I said, ‘love you.’” 

She kept saying the “love you” part in English. I smiled, feeling awkward. 

Don’t say that. Don’t say that, I thought to myself.

“I know,” was all I could muster. It had finally happened. I couldn’t say it back. I just couldn’t.

“Am I crazy?” she asked.

“Yeah, I think maybe you’re drunk.”

A few days later, we were entwined in each other’s arms and legs, looking into each other's eyes. 

There’s no reason to hold this back from her any longer, I thought to myself.

“Wo ai ni,” I said, meaning “I love you” in Chinese.[1]

She just smiled and wouldn’t say it back in Chinese. I could see the hesitation in her eyes. I knew she preferred to say it to me in English. It carried more weight for us to say it in our own mother tongues. I told myself to be patient and let her say it on her own terms in her own time.

She said it back to me in Chinese a few days later.

“Wo ai ni, Sarah.”

“Wo ye ai ni,” (I love you too) I responded in a whisper. We kissed, our tongues dancing with one another. We slept, our breath in sync, our bodies pressed against each other, our limbs wrapped around each other’s bodies, keeping each other warm from the incoming fall chill.

In September, we went to the local amusement park.

“They say in China that if you say ‘I like you’ at the top of a Ferris wheel, you’ll stay together forever,” Li Tian said, smiling at me. “I’m not saying we have to say it at the top. I’m just saying that’s what people say,” she said nonchalantly. “Maybe we’ll say it, maybe we won’t,” she said with a shrug.

 We rode the Ferris Wheel then, reaching higher and higher into the sky until we could see row upon row of 20-story buildings as far as the eye could see. The high-rise apartments were skinny and anorexic looking as though they would topple over in one second if there was an earthquake, with cranes and green renovation nets outside countless buildings being constructed into the skyline’s cityscape.

When the Ferris Wheel reached the very, very top, she whispered, “I like you” in Chinese and I said it back. We touched our foreheads together first, and then our lips touched tenderly. In that moment, I felt that anything was possible. It felt like we were the only two people in the world. A wish passed from the lips and into the air, floating there and then away. My body was filled with such care and affection, like I wanted to merge with her into one being and float away into the clouds together.

We giggled watching other couples make out in the other Ferris wheel cars, and they too collapsed into hysterics when they realized we were watching them.

Below in the carnival sections, I played a shooter game and won her a prize: A pink teddy bear with a little placard that said, “I love you” in English. She giggled excitedly and said, “You’re turning me into a girl, you know?”

---

[1] 我爱你

Hiding and Loving: Part 4

One day after a trip, Li Tian came to pick me up at the airport even though it was after 11 pm. She brought me yogurt and helped me carry my luggage. She bought me a new water bottle to replace the one I had lost on the trip.

In the days that followed, she was eager to come see me whenever I was available, despite her working over 1 hour away from my apartment. Before I knew it, she started to grow on me. I opened up my heart and she took a step back, and we fell into an easy equilibrium and rhythm.

She was busy and I was busy, but we made time for each other in the evenings anyway, a renewed sense of energy pulsing between us.

She introduced me to her friends. She took care of me when I got a cold. She brought me food. I introduced her to my parents when they came to visit.

I was starting to fall in love.

The days passed quickly as we tried new restaurants: hot pot, spicy chicken, roasted fish, Taiwanese, Korean.

We got delivery and watched movies together. We ate dumplings for breakfast together. Awkward silences became a thing of the past, and when we were together we never stopped giggling. We shared ice cream cones. She wrote me poetry in Chinese. I became accustomed to spooning at night and she slept over almost every night. Soon, I couldn’t sleep without her.

The deadline of my departure was quickly approaching. It was August and I had two months left in China.

Hiding and Loving: Part 3

This post is written in honor of virtual Pride 2020 events happening throughout the month of June in lieu of the protests and parades that normally happen this month.

In the couple of weeks that followed, I let her stay over—but I made her stay in the living room and I slept in my bed alone. She took me out to elaborate all-you-can-eat buffet dinners and to the movies. We went to the lesbian bar Joy and drank too much. I taught her how to swim at a water park with our mutual friends one day.

Since I promised her that I would give it a month of dating before we decided on being girlfriends or not, she reminded me frequently that we started seeing each other on June 1^st.

The July 1^st deadline was looming large on the calendar.

I went back and forth about dating on a daily basis. Should I stay or should I go? She was way too clingy and needy, and yet… I was not willing to let go.

Finally, in true avoidant fashion, I decided to let her decide. I would tell her that I’ll date her exclusively if she’s okay with breaking up when I leave. Otherwise, we can be friends with benefits or just friends.

On June 30^th, when I told her I was leaving in October and we would have to break up then, she started to cry.

“I know, it sucks, but you know love is pain, love is suffering. There’s no way around it. We can still enjoy the time we have left as a couple, or friends with benefits (paoyao),[1] or just friends. It’s your choice. I’m okay with either option,” I told her, a little desperate, trying to convince her to keep seeing me. 

She paused to think about it for a while, and then said, “I don’t want to be your paoyou. I want to date you. I want to be your partner (duixiang).[2] I’ve never depended on anyone like this before. You make me feel like a girl. Let’s do this.”

We were officially official.

My stomach did a little flip flop and I wondered if I made the right decision. Maybe I should have been more adamant about the paoyou thing, I thought silently to myself.

The next day I got a dozen red roses delivered to my house with a note: “Love is suffering.”

I wanted to barf. I didn’t want her to spend money on me because I didn’t want to feel obligated to her. I didn’t want to feel special.

---

[1]  炮友

[2] 对象

Hiding and Loving: Part 2

(This is a true story that occurred in June 2017.)

“Did you get the text I sent last night?” Li Tian asked.

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t respond.”

“I didn’t know what to say. I’m not really a big texter,” I explained. 

“I see,” she said, pausing for a while.

“Well, let’s go out to eat then,” she suggested. She took me to a Western restaurant with sandwiches, pizza, and hamburgers. I got a hamburger and with the first bite, I groaned in pleasure. It was the first authentic hamburger I’d had in months: juicy with a crunch of lettuce and tomato in between.

“So I was thinking that tomorrow morning I could make you breakfast,” she blurted out.

What. The. Fuck. She just assumed she would be staying over tonight???

“Uh, sorry, you can’t stay at my place tonight.”

“Oh,” and a look of disappointment crosses her face, as her face turned into a frown and her eyes relaxed like a puppy.

“Yeah, I can’t really sleep with other people in my bed. So I need to sleep alone,” I explained. 

“Oh, okay. Well I guess I’ll go over to Aynur’s tonight,” she sighed. 

“Okay then.” I inwardly roll my eyes.

The next day, a Sunday morning, I woke up alone.

“Seriously, Sarah?” I thought to myself. “You spend almost three years alone and now when you have an opportunity, you can’t even let her stay over? Is this how it’s going to be the rest of your life?”

I picked up the phone and called her.

“Li Tian.”

“Yeah?”

“Hey, I was thinking… next time you can stay overnight, okay?”

“Okay.” I could hear the smile in her voice.

Despite my initial hesitation, Li Tian and I continued seeing each other. Dating included her calling me multiple times a day to tell me to dress warmly at night and bring an umbrella when it’s going to rain and to eat lots of fruit and vegetables and drink lots of hot water. I always responded by rolling my eyes.

Ring. Ring. I saw “Li Tian” on the screen and sighed. Again?

“Wei?” (Hello?)

“Wei.” (Hello.)

“Have you eaten?” This is a common greeting in China, equivalent to Americans’ “how are you?” question.

“Yes, I’ve eaten.”

“What did you eat?”

“Yogurt.”

“You know, that’s not really enough,” she told me.

“Yes, it is,” I insisted. I hear a sigh on the other end of the phone line.

“Okay, fine.”

“I have a Dad, I don’t need another one,” I told her later. “I don’t need you to take care of me. You need to lay off.”

“Got it,” she said.

“I don’t want to rush into anything. I think we need to slow down. I’m not really looking for a girlfriend,” I explained.

“Well, then what are we? Is this just for fun for you? Is this just like playing a game to you? Because that’s not what I want," she countered.

“Let’s give it a month of dating, okay? Get to know each other a little better. I barely know you and I can’t tell if we’re a good match. Then after a month we can decide.”

“Fine,” she agreed reluctantly.

I dedicate this series of posts to the Black Lives Matter protests. Because we are all in this fight together. Sitting in silence is more harmful to ourselves than ever. As Dr. King said, "Threat to justice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere."

Hiding and Loving: Part 1

In honor of queer and trans lives lost to police violence, I share with you a true love story.

Queer people have valuable perspectives that bring to light the complexity of the social categories we have constructed that mark bodies according to race, ethnicity, gender, and sexuality. The current fight is about power and sovereignty over our own bodies. I believe that breaking down the categories and labels on our bodies is the key to building a more peaceful and inclusive world. I hope this story illuminates how people with particular markers on their body (e.g., race and gender) and constraints on what they do with their body (e.g., sexuality) live lives of fear and oppression and hiding, but also of incredible courage, triumph, hope, and LOVE. 

“You are so beautiful,” she said as she took a long drag of her cigarette and blew the smoke up towards the ceiling. She wore a black and white tuxedo tailored to her short and thick frame. Her hair was shaved in the back and sides covered by a bowl cut on top. She had one black stud in her left ear. The rotating strobe lights illuminated the blue mascara on her eyelashes. 

The air hovered thick with smoke. I blinked through the haze as my brain swam and the room tilted.

A piece of me cringed internally at her accented English as the awkwardness of the sounds and syllables formed against her untrained mouth. I hated myself for my judgement as so many others had been patient with me as I learned foreign languages. “Be nice,” I told myself silently.

I let out an awkward smile as I felt my eyes crinkle a little too much, and my lips stretched artificially to show my teeth. I diverted my eyes to anything else in the room, avoiding eye contact with her.

I didn’t respond.

“You can call me Li Tian,”[1] she said with her hand outstretched. It was Spring 2017. Li Tian and I were celebrating hard at a lesbian commitment ceremony in Far West China. She was the “best man” at that day’s wedding between two of her best friends from college.

In the midst of disco ball lights and the pounding vibrations of K-pop, my attention was then quickly diverted to a girl with red lipstick who stumbled toward me, and feeling my boobs, asked me through slurred giggles, “Are you a man or a woman?” My hair was shaved on the sides and back. I’m tall compared to Chinese girls; my arms muscular, my boobs small. I’m used to this question. Still, my heart dropped into my stomach. I said with a forced chuckle, “I’m a girl.”

Before I left, Li Tian asked to exchange numbers.

“I would love to learn English from you,” she said to me in Chinese. I reluctantly agreed.

While I was outside the bar waiting for a taxi, she grabbed my hand and reached up to kiss me. I kissed her back, the alcohol on her breath and lips pungent. The bitterness from the beer tasted sharp and yet sweet. Then, she shoved her tongue into my mouth. I broke off and backed away, chuckling awkwardly.

“I like you,” she said in English.

“Oh.”

“I mean, I really like you,” she said again in English.

“That’s cool,” I said.

“Maybe we can see each other tomorrow?” she said as she switched back to Chinese.

“Okay.”

“I’ll call you when I'm done with work,” she said.

The next morning, I woke up wondering which parts of the night before were a dream and which parts were reality. I saw that she had texted me: “Sarah, I really like you. I hope that someday we can say I love you to each other. You are so beautiful [red heart emoticons].”

“What have I gotten myself into?” I shook my head. I was leaving China in five months. I didn’t have time for this. I deleted the text immediately and didn’t respond to it.

---

[1] Li Tian and the other names used in this blog are pseudonyms.

A letter to my roommate

Dear Terrence, 

You are the best roommate I’ve ever had. You have taught me so much--how to cook, care for plants, meditate, bring positive vibes, love myself, be present, and not do anything I don’t want to do. You taught me how to see alternative realities to the world, how to connect with the universe, and feel a higher power as a co-creator. You are one of my best friends and my spiritual friend and teacher. 

You went to Thailand for a month and I thought half of myself was gone; it was like I was cut in half. You brought back two notebooks made from recycled elephant poop. “For your writing,” you said. Those were the best gifts anyone has ever given me because I knew then that you believed in me as a writer. 

Yesterday, you asked me: “Have you thought about writing something about what’s going on? You could write something about me, and the Uyghurs. You know what I’ve been through; you’ve seen it yourself. Maybe you could use your voice to communicate to others about race.”

So here goes.

You haven’t been given a fair shot. The melanin in your skin made you a target, and on your back you carry the violent trauma of slavery, colonization, and capitalism. 

You witnessed your mom getting beaten and your own family stealing from you. You had to deal with crackheads in your neighborhood. You were the victim of bullies and uncaring teaching, and suffered under a system that only taught to one type of learner. 

You, a man, have also been the victim of violent men and toxic masculinity, a trauma you carry with you to this day. 

You suffered under a system that tries to take you down every step of the way. The word “micro-aggression” doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

I witnessed this myself one day on the bus when a white boy disrespected your space and your body, treating you like you didn’t even exist. When you asked for some space, he reacted in anger and violence, ignorance and stupidity; his own white existence clearly sheltered from the pain of the world while yours had heard the same story way too many times. 

The inequality was clear and obvious that day: If he had hit you, nothing would have happened. If you had hit him, the bus would have stopped, cops would have been called, and you would have been sentenced. 

That night, we got off the bus and walked the two miles home hand-in-hand. You poured your heart out to me. Your childhood trauma due to the ravages of crack given to Black communities as a way to control them. The cartoon character of Biggie on the screens at the concert that night was not fun or funny to you; it was a representation of the way your people have been objectified, exoticized, and relegated to entertainment. The cartoon dishonored the legacy of an artist who had passed away by gunshot wounds way before his time, at the young age of 24. 

These stories are all too familiar to you. 

Terrence, it is true that the world is unfair. The greatest embarrassment and tragedy this world has ever known is the exploitation of the blood and sweat of black and brown bodies for the grossly unnecessary comforts and accumulation of material goods and power of the white person. 

It’s not fair. It really isn’t. 

But you would be the first to tell me: “Be grateful. Stay positive.” 

You are the first to laugh at this whole game. The game of life. You see this ridiculous world and you see the humor in it. And you will be the one always laughing. Because while the white people are living in fear--fear of death, fear of losing power and money--you are living your life in joy and presence, knowing that life is so much better than what material comforts can provide. 

This is what you have taught me and I owe you so much. 

You told me once that you have something to say to the world, but few mediums to do so and nobody to listen. 

I understand that and hope one day you find the way that you can speak and people will listen. The podcast you did was the first step. I hope you do many more. 

In the meantime, know that I’m listening. And you are heard. Know that your wisdom and guidance has changed my life for the better, especially in terms of helping me realize the spiritual side of myself. Your own courage has given me the strength to contribute to a better understanding of race and inequality through my writing and work with the Uyghurs. 

And I know I’m not the only one. 

From your martial arts coaching to your kombucha, you have touched so many lives and I know you will continue to do so. 

For you, COVID-19 was nothing. Compared to the rape and torture of your people for generations and the prisons built to lock up your people, the world-changing trauma that rocked white people’s worlds was nothing to you. 

I couldn’t understand that at first. I saw COVID-19 as a public health and safety crisis. I staunchly defended my morals in the face of it. 

But in my fear, I failed to see a public safety crisis of another magnitude that was right in front of my face the entire time, yet I had chosen to look away. The ongoing “epidemic” that is the murdering of Black people. 

The worst part? For you, the police brutality shown on countless videos was nothing new. “Yup, that’s about right, this has always been happening to my people,” you said. This was your main reaction of the events of recent days. 

And even worse? You want to participate, show your support, and have your voice heard. But you are quite literally scared for your life, knowing that you have a high likelihood of arrest and getting hit with a potentially fatal or permanently damaging rubber bullet. 

Dear White People,

So, white people, it’s our turn. We hid for cover, scared for our lives from COVID-19, blind to the murders that were happening in our backyard. Our privilege and our ignorance was only too obvious to the Black and Brown people who have been murdered for generations under white supremacy. And still, thousands turn out, risking their lives to COVID-19 and police, refusing to be silenced. That is true courage. 

We can’t hide any longer. 

We can’t pretend any longer. 

We can’t be silent any longer. 

It’s our turn to face our fears and live lives of integrity and justice, not in fear but embracing courage and the unknown. 

I’m not saying you, my reader, have to go out and protest. But at the very least, listen and be aware. 

“You have two ears and one mouth,” Terrence always tells me. 

Here are some things you can do:

• Listen and support Black artists, businesses, podcasts, and victims of police brutality
• Read and educate yourself about what’s going on
• Start to dismantle the system by refusing to participate in materialism and consumerism
• Be present
• Be kind
• Love yourself. For loving yourself is the greatest honor of all that you can do for the universe