Another New Friend

I unexpectedly made a new friend yesterday.

My accordion teacher, Mr. Sun, had stepped out for a moment, and while I was waiting, a tall woman who looked like she was in her mid-30s poked her head in and asked if she could listen to me practice. By the time my teacher came back (which was not after long), I had found out the following information:

• Mr. Sun is one of the top accordion teachers in China, and his students often win in national music competitions. He is often written up in the local news. (Last year I interviewed him for a podcast that I never got around to making…but somehow this information wasn’t transmitted to me!)
• The woman knew him from when she was little since their parents were friends.
• She lived in Japan for a couple of decades.
• She is germaphobic and cannot stand how the average Chinese person goes about sneezing, coughing, not washing their hands, touching things, etc.
• She carries extra blue hospital-style facemasks in her purse and never goes on a bus without one. (At this point she forced a facemask on me, and I put it in my back pocket.)
• She also lives near my university and her son was at his piano lesson in the next room over. (And she wanted us to go back together. I assumed this meant she was offering a ride, so I agreed. Later I found out I was wrong.)

When my teacher came back, she was still complaining about Chinese people, so I sat for bit listening to them argue (my teacher defended China and the Chinese people), waiting for my lesson to start. As is frequent in China, the conversation turned towards Japan, and Mr. Sun said that he still doesn’t like Japanese people because of all the Chinese people they killed (This is the patriotic line. He was in the military band for many years, after all.) The woman countered that the Nationalists also killed lots of Chinese people—their own people—so it’s not just Japan. Mr. Sun said the Nationalists are now in Taiwan, so…but the girl’s mom is from Taiwan. At this point I started to fidget with my accordion, and Mr. Sun quickly ended the conversation. But the woman decided to make herself at home and sat with us for the entirety of my lesson.

Let me describe this woman to you. I noticed her legs first. They were clothed with blue spandex tights with white stars on them, and brilliant white, high heeled, knee-high leather boots. Then there was the bright pink jacket that thankfully hid the flowery dress that clashed magnificently with her loud tights. Around her neck she had tied a sequined and embroidered gold scarf. Her dyed blonde hair was growing out frizzily, and she had it pinned back with various bejeweled and flowered barrettes. The son that she had mentioned was, to my surprise, a lanky 16-year old boy with a serious expression. He looked at me silently but did not return my greeting.

I found it really hard to say no to her, and after my lesson I found myself crossing the street with her tight grasp on my arm, heading for a bus stop that was definitely not the most convenient or efficient way for me to get home. It took me almost 2 hours to get home (as opposed to my usual one), but she had plenty of things to say to fill 2 hours with a new friend. She lamented the fact that she can’t connect with “the people around us” because they think differently than she does, and her son is an outcast at school because he’s not like those other bad children; he never hurts anyone and he picks up trash when people throw it on the ground and he likes to be clean. Also he’s 16 and has never spoken to a girl before, maybe you could talk to him a little? Don’t you think he seems different from other children? (He seems a little lonely, I said. I didn’t say what I really thought: Mom needs to let go!) She sometimes switched into Japanese with her son, who was born in Japan but grew up in China, and has naturally acquired the language by talking to his mother, who also taught her husband.

She is also passionate about traditional Chinese medicine. Sitting on the bus with our facemasks on, she examined the pulse in both of my wrists. Apparently…

• My liver and kidneys are very strong
• My heart and stomach are pretty strong too
• My lungs are weak (You cough a lot, don’t you, she asked me.)

Then she checked my hands. The first thing she noted was how young hers looked and how old mine looked. Our hands looked the same age. I get a lot of sun, I explained meekly. How old do you think I am, she wanted to know. I guessed 30s to be safe. I’m almost 50, she whispered in my ear. My palms weren’t pink like hers, either. And my nails weren’t quite shiny enough. Both bad signs. I need to take care of myself starting now so that I don’t have all sorts of problems when I age. She gave me some hand exercises and massages to do.

How about your mom? Is she unhealthy? I didn’t bother to tell her how healthy my parents are compared to most people their age. It’s too bad your mom had you so late, it will affect you for the rest of your life. Not to mention your brother! You got all the nutrients before he came along!

If I understood her correctly, I am a yolky egg with not enough egg white; she is an egg with plenty of egg white. A woman twice my age has put me to shame.

She wants me to go pick flowers with her today; I’m supposed to fry the flowers up with an egg because flowers supplement yin energy, which will help to preserve my femininity. I told her I have prior engagements, but she has my contact information, so I may be in for another round of flower-picking, pulse-checking, and sympathetic listening sometime in the near future.