why would i need a wooden screen for my thesis? 

 

i dont know. 

 

since searching for items has become a big (really big) part of my life, my logical capability to answer questions like this is long gone. 

 

the lady who was selling this wooden screen lives right next to columbus circle in the upper west side. 

 

the screen is really heavy, she said, you will need to bring someone to help carry it. because you will be moving it down three flights of stairs. 

 

she was a secretive lady. she did not reveal her real name nor phone number. she would not send me her exact address until we were near. 

 

it was an expensive townhouse on a very quiet street. as soon as we arrived inside, the smell of the building reminded me of my high school dormitory. old wood with moisture. 

 

she had moved the screen into the hallway by the time we arrived. like herself, the interior of her real estate also remained secretive. 

 

she was absolutely honest about the weight. it was heavier than i thought. 

 

the staircase felt endless. we made countless stops on the way down. 

 

by the time i reached the ground floor, my back was aching. i was panting out loud. once we hit the street and got to put it down. i was already out of breath. 

 

bruh im twenty-five. i am old. i said to my friend. 

 

no you just havent been eating or sleeping well. 

 

i ordered a lyft xl. the driver was a middle-aged chinese man. he was very precious about his car yet couldnt figure out how to put down the seats in order to have this six-feet screen to fit in the back of his car. he wasnt fluent in english so we started to speak in chinese. he told me that just recently some lyft passengers’ furnitures broke the rear window of his car which costed him a thousand dollars. he looked absolutely concerned. 

 

thanks to my friend’s knowledge on cars we figured it out. we got into the car. me sitting in the front and my friend sitting in the back. i kept on assuring him in chinese that we had made sure that the screen would stay put and it would absolutely not break any of his car windows. 

 

i run into chinese drivers time to time. usually middle-aged men who have a family in new york. usually living in flushing. i always chat with them. and in most cases, the reason why they chose to immigrate to the states is for ‘a better education’ for their kids. some of them are less politically opinionated, and some of them have very much to say about the chinese political scene, which is usually the incentive for them to move, besides wanting ‘a better education’ for their children. 

 

youre from shandong 山东 right? i asked. 

he was confused why i could figure that out so quickly. 

 

i guess the only gift i got was the hypersensibility of recognising where precisely a chinese driver is from. well, because i have never missed once. 

 

i speak both cantonese and sichuan dialect besides mandarin. most chinese drivers that i have met are from either guangdong 广东 or fujian 福建, which the majority of the chinese population in chinatown are from. the ones who you would run into the most often. 

 

i love being in the old part of chinatown in manhattan, as i often encounter cantonese store owners who remind me of my grandma because of certain personality traits that they share. outspoken, straightforward, love to joke, loud, and most importantly, they are always extra sweet when i speak cantonese with them, things like adding extra food to what i have ordered. i am being cheeky. 

 

back in the car, the driver and i are still chatting. he told me that initially, years ago, he wanted his first-born child to go to hong kong for education. but protests happened. violence took place. a close friend of mine who was going to college in hong kong at that time had to leave because all classes were dismissed. the campus was on fire, literally. 

 

i asked about the driver’s own upbringing. his father was at ti’an’men 天安门 square during the cultural revolution. and he himself had been put into jail for a while for protesting back then in china. he does detest chinese government – a whole lot. he said he didnt understand why my parents still chose to stay in china. my response was, because they feel lonely here. they dont speak english. the last time when my mom was visiting me in new york city was already four years ago, when i was ill. she felt to me like a lost child. she seemed so small and fragile walking down bowery. she is no longer that adventurous person anymore. she has aged just like i have. she would only go to chinatown to get groceries every day while she was here. feeling her vulnerability in this city always makes me cry. 

 

though these are not very convincing enough reasons for him to empathise. 

 

we all arrive at where we are for different reasons. 

 

knowing that gives me peace.