Young And Romantic
Many years ago when I lived in Hong Kong, I shared an office with a young man named Andy. Andy was about five years younger than me. Like many people his age, Andy had earbuds on all day long listening to romantic love songs. He was also very particular about his clothing. Compared to him, I, who always went to work in T shirt, jeans and Birkenstocks, definitely fell into the old, dorky folks category.
Out of curiosity, one day, I asked him what was so compelling that he must listen to it non stop. Without saying a word, he put the earbuds in my ears and told me to listen to this very song that he liked a lot.
I listened to it. Andy eagerly sat by my side to wait for my response. "How is it? Do you like it? Isn't it great?" I was not trying to be rude, but I would rather be truthful, "Mm, it is ok." "WHAT????" he was totally outraged. "Okay? It is only okay? What do you mean it is okay???" He started telling me how moving this song was. He was shocked by how I failed to appreciate the delicate sentiments. According to him, I was like a piece of rock that did not share tender human feelings. He went on to ask if I was born a boring adult because anybody who experienced youth should harbor some warm feelings about love.
It was somewhat amusing to see a young man jumping up and down passionately to tell me what love was about. It was abundant youth on full display.
After Andy was done blowing off the steam, I asked him if he had ever been in love. "Mm, I have had three girlfriends. It didn't work out." Has he ever hand-written a love letter? "I may have sent a few cards. Who writes letters these day? I use emails," Andy replied. (Mind you: We are talking about the 90s -- way before the age of texts and Instagram. ICQ was the latest thing . . . )
"So, you mean you write love letters?" Andy looked at me with curious puppy eyes. "Yup, I did. I was once in a real long distance relationship . . . for two years. I was studying in France, but my boyfriend was living in the US. We sent each other letters. I remember writing him a 38-page-long letter." I took a look at Andy. His jaws almost hit the floor.
"On my way to school, I found a feather. I saved it and sent it to him with a letter. When I saw a beautiful fallen leave with brilliant colors, I flattened it in my dictionary and then mailed it off with a card. I saved up money to buy a box of chocolate to send to him. Many nights I would take a break from studying to look out the window towards the direction where he should be. I would sit there and stare for a long time. I often wondered if I kept looking, maybe I would be able to see the light from his window and find his silhouette . . . "
I turned to look at Andy. He was frozen, looking at me with eyes welled up with tears. "Oh my God. That was so romantic! What happened? How come you are so cold and hard now??" "Cold and hard? You think I am cold and hard? Is it about that song? How do you think that song compare with the real life I lived?" It made me chuckle to see the poor thing so worked up. "True. I don't write letters to my husband anymore. He lives with me now! So, I cook him dinner. I do our laundry and clean the house. I carefully cut his hair, trim his beard and mustache. And that is not romantic enough to you?"
Once again, I lost him. With disdain on his face, Andy put on his earbuds and walked out of the office.
Out of curiosity, one day, I asked him what was so compelling that he must listen to it non stop. Without saying a word, he put the earbuds in my ears and told me to listen to this very song that he liked a lot.
I listened to it. Andy eagerly sat by my side to wait for my response. "How is it? Do you like it? Isn't it great?" I was not trying to be rude, but I would rather be truthful, "Mm, it is ok." "WHAT????" he was totally outraged. "Okay? It is only okay? What do you mean it is okay???" He started telling me how moving this song was. He was shocked by how I failed to appreciate the delicate sentiments. According to him, I was like a piece of rock that did not share tender human feelings. He went on to ask if I was born a boring adult because anybody who experienced youth should harbor some warm feelings about love.
It was somewhat amusing to see a young man jumping up and down passionately to tell me what love was about. It was abundant youth on full display.
After Andy was done blowing off the steam, I asked him if he had ever been in love. "Mm, I have had three girlfriends. It didn't work out." Has he ever hand-written a love letter? "I may have sent a few cards. Who writes letters these day? I use emails," Andy replied. (Mind you: We are talking about the 90s -- way before the age of texts and Instagram. ICQ was the latest thing . . . )
"So, you mean you write love letters?" Andy looked at me with curious puppy eyes. "Yup, I did. I was once in a real long distance relationship . . . for two years. I was studying in France, but my boyfriend was living in the US. We sent each other letters. I remember writing him a 38-page-long letter." I took a look at Andy. His jaws almost hit the floor.
"On my way to school, I found a feather. I saved it and sent it to him with a letter. When I saw a beautiful fallen leave with brilliant colors, I flattened it in my dictionary and then mailed it off with a card. I saved up money to buy a box of chocolate to send to him. Many nights I would take a break from studying to look out the window towards the direction where he should be. I would sit there and stare for a long time. I often wondered if I kept looking, maybe I would be able to see the light from his window and find his silhouette . . . "
I turned to look at Andy. He was frozen, looking at me with eyes welled up with tears. "Oh my God. That was so romantic! What happened? How come you are so cold and hard now??" "Cold and hard? You think I am cold and hard? Is it about that song? How do you think that song compare with the real life I lived?" It made me chuckle to see the poor thing so worked up. "True. I don't write letters to my husband anymore. He lives with me now! So, I cook him dinner. I do our laundry and clean the house. I carefully cut his hair, trim his beard and mustache. And that is not romantic enough to you?"
Once again, I lost him. With disdain on his face, Andy put on his earbuds and walked out of the office.
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