The Shouting Boy

So I turned to my wife and asked, “Did you hear that shout?”

“What shout?” she asked, sleepy-eyed.

It was Sunday morning in Shenzhen. The streets were quiet, nearly without traffic, cars and pedestrians alike. My wife and I were already up and on our way to the gym. I was very much jet-lagged and about to convince myself that the airplane engines were somehow still roaring in my ears, when there it was again—a bawl. This time, it got my wife's attention as well.

One of the first things I did on arriving back in Phuket was to call Orn. I arranged to meet up near the Jung Ceylon Mall in Patong as I had by now rented a nice newish Isuzu D Max pickup truck. I had also rented a two bedroom condo overlooking a communal swimming pool. Orn sounded pleased to hear from me and a little surprised. She explained she hadn’t really expected to hear from me.

            When I was attending the University of Maryland, one of the classes I took was History and Culture of China.  Naturally, the material covered in the course included Chinese philosophy and Taoism was featured with some prominence.  The main text for the course, An Introduction to Chinese Civilization edited by John T. Meskill, included a brief synopsis of Taoism.  According to the book, one of the central precepts of Taoism was "Do by Not Doing".  I have to admit that this concept completely escaped me.  My ex-wife later assured me that I could not possibly understand Chinese philosophy unless I could read it in the original Chinese.  I came to accept this simply because I could not conceive how one could ever do something by not doing it.  My mind just could not conjure a scenario where that was even remotely possible.

Visiting China always cracks something open inside me. If I want to describe this thing, I close my eyes, and it will appear as a hotel room that has just been put back into operation after being unused for a long while. Its door and windows are wide open to air the place out. Furniture is dusted off, floors swept. After the final once-over, the room is ready to do the only thing it's supposed to do: accommodate fresh memories.

Yes, okay, in some ways I was the author of my own downfall. I am not seeking sympathy. I’m telling you how it was. I don’t have to think too hard to imagine how Noi felt to see me walk away from the bar with Orn and return to my hotel at just after six in the morning. Yet, in light of what had just happened I felt no guilt. Noi had it coming. I felt that at the time and since. The “since?” You will soon discover more when you read on.

My friend Wayne (not his real name) is a medical doctor at a large university hospital.  Twice divorced but ever the optimist, he is currently in search of the woman to spend his remaining years with.  Recently a female researcher from China visited his university.  He was interested, and not only in a scholarly sense, as I deduced from a couple of emails I received from him querying me on matters of Chinese culture. After not hearing from him for a while, I decided to check on  how things were going, and received the following response:

            Since Melcyan and, I suspect, others as well, were interested in reading about how I met my ex-wife, I decided to make that the subject of my next blog entry.  At the beginning of 2009, I had spent the last nine months dating online.  During that time, I was using E-Harmony and was not specifically looking for East Asian women.  I found the experience rather disappointing.  I was surprised at how few of my "highly compatible" matches were interesting to me and how few of them were interested in me.

The day was fixed for our trip to Phuket. Noi and I were familiar with the place but some of the others had never been there before. They were excited. Before setting off on the long drive I had made it crystal clear to Noi our appointment was for two in the afternoon the following day. She knew she had to be present with me during the appointment with the lawyer as she had to sign the legal documents. She knew exactly what was required of her. It was my “insurance policy.”

            I'm not really sure just how widespread the term, "Peanut Gallery", is but it is a well-known term among Americans though most have no idea of its origins.  Several months ago, I was sufficiently interested to perform a little online research.  Turns out that Peanut Gallery was originally a theater term.  During the days when Vaudeville was the most popular theater genre, the performers took to calling the balcony the Peanut Gallery.

            Every day I checked to see if she has logged-in again, and every day I was both disappointed and relieved that she has not.  I was disappointed that she has not logged-in and read my messages, thus proving my interpretation of the fact pattern correct.  I was relieved that she has not proven my interpretation false by logging-in and then failing to read my messages.