Chinese Women, Asian Women, Online Dating & Things Chinese and Asian
Imi was born and raised in Europe, Hungary. After finishing his school years, he moved to Canada to search for a better life. He lived in Toronto for 13 years and currently resides in Vancouver. He is a romantic at heart with a strong desire to always do the right thing. He would like to give hope to the Chinese and Asian ladies with his story and send a message that love eventually finds everybody.
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While The Orchids Sleep, The Butterfly Emerges From Its Chrysalis (Part 6)    

By Imi
1429 Views | 10 Comments | 7/9/2017 1:24:13 PM

From the kitchen, the woman went to the hallway. After checking her dress in the mirror there, she quickly ran her fingers through her hair one more time, then opened the door. In the doorway, a young man stood, slightly out of breath after climbing six flight of stairs. In his hands, he held a potted cactus, the size of a soccer ball. He looked to be in his early twenties. Sweat covered his face, and a lock of hairs stuck to his forehead. His gray T-shirt was soaked through, leaving dark spots around his armpits and on his chest. His chinos, loose-fitting, were cut at knee hight. His bony legs ended up in a pair of battered running shoes. He had abnormally large feet. If hard times were to sneak upon him and in the lack of a job, he could have easily tried out for an elite swimming team. With his lean body and those huge flippers of his, he could have even made it to the Olympics. Looking somewhat startled, the young man apologized for being late with the delivery. Then, as if in need to say more, he opened his mouth but, in the next second, quickly swallowed the words and looked behind him. One of the woman's neighbors, an elderly man with a walking stick, was getting down the stairs.

They both waited in silence until the man had disappeared at the lower level and only the knocks of his walking stick against the steps echoed sharply in the stairway.

“Being a little bit late is not a problem,” the woman said, and, after a short pause and a smile, she added, “Would you mind coming in and helping me place the cactus on the balcony?”

“Not at all,” the guy said, stepping inside.

From the front door, they went straight to the balcony with the woman leading the way. The man followed her closely and scanned the apartment with interest. Clean floors, brand-new furniture, a cat on the couch, homey atmosphere. “You've got a lovely apartment here,” he said.

“Thank you,” the woman replied, turning back and rewarding him with one more smile. She then showed the man where to put the cactus on the concrete railing. Once the cactus was up there, she asked him to move it a few inches to the right.

“How 's it now?” the man asked, following her instruction.

“A little bit more to the right, please.”

“How about now?”

“Yes, thank you. Now, right there will be just perfect.”

“I didn't realize this cactus was for you,” the young man said, stepping back from the railing, his huge feet accidentally kicking one of the containers with the vegetables in it on the floor. They both looked down, but the young man went on as if nothing had happened. He must have gotten used to having his awkward feet caught in something here and there. “My sister didn't tell me, and I don't remember you've ever told me you liked cactus.”

“I like everything related to nature, as you can see,” the woman said, motioning toward the vegetables on the balcony with her head. “Animals, too. You can name anything—”

The woman couldn't finish her sentence because the man all of a sudden stepped in front of her and slid his index finger under her summer dress between two buttons and began caressing the soft skin on her tummy. Being a head shorter than he was, the woman had to look up at him. She stepped on his feet comfortably to shorten the distance. The man's eyes were hungry, his lips thirsty, and his scent filled her nose. It was strong, manly, mixed with the bitter smell of sweat and a faint fragrance of deodorant. She closed her eyes for a fraction of a second as memories began to tug at her mind, then opened them again, alarmed.

“Not here,” she said, coming to her senses, stepping off the man's feet, and pulling him inside the apartment by his arm. “Someone could see us.”

“Why haven't you ever told me you lived here? So close to my sister's flower shop?” the young man asked once they were inside.

“I thought it was better for you not to know where I live.”

“Why's that?”

“You know that I'm a married woman, and my life, at the moment, is drifting out of control. I don't think it would be fair to you if you knew all the things about me.”

“It's only an address,” the man said. “Why do you have to be so secretive about it?”

The woman ignored his question. “I need to tell you something. I don't think we should continue down the road we're on. We should really stop seeing each other altogether while we can.”

The man kept quiet. His expression showed not even the smallest sign that he understood what the woman had said. He just stared at her with eyes wide open. The woman went on.

“So, maybe, this was the only reason for asking your sister to deliver the cactus for me. I knew you would be the one to do it, and I needed to talk to you somewhere alone, somewhere out of people's curious eyes.”

The young man lowered his eyes and looked at the floor between them for a while. He nervously moistened his lips with his tongue but said not a single word. The tabby cat was still asleep on the couch, having no interest in their conversation. In the kitchen, the stove chimed as its timer ran down. And at that, the man raised his eyes, slowly following the woman's shape under her dress. She stood in a shaft of light, and the thin, white summer dress did nothing but display her lithe, well-proportioned legs, nicely-formed hips, and the outline of her breasts. He felt the urge to reach out and hold her body in his arms, but he didn't dare after what she had just said.

“What if I don't want to stop? he asked her. “What if walking in parks and stealing kisses from you now and then when no one's around is not enough for me? What if I said I wanted more? I know I would be a better man for you than your husband ever could be.”

The woman shook her head. “You're too young. You are only twenty-one. I'm afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Afraid of you.”


“Yes, you. I know you can't wait for me because you're too young. You need to live and enjoy life.”

“I don't understand. What exactly are you talking about? Are you going somewhere?”

“As I said, you're better off not knowing too much about me.”

For a while, they both just stood there looking at each other, lost in thought. The woman was well aware that she had made a mistake when she let the young man get close to her two weeks earlier. But in her defense, she was young, too, and desperate for understanding, a listening ear, in an alien city. She needed this young man's soft kisses in the park to stop thinking about the never-ending abuse. But it was over, now. She had to do what she had to do.

“Please, just go now,” she said, her head hanging heavily and hair hiding her face. “My husband's gonna be home in a few hours.”

“I don't want to,” the man said, reaching out and gently raising her head by her chin. The woman looked at him as tears began to roll down her cheeks in silent harmony. “Why are you crying? Tell me the truth. Isn't this what you want—me being gone because you're afraid of me?”

“No, that is not what I want. This is not the life I wanted, either. But this is what I got. However, it's up to me, only me, without your involvement, and anyone's involvement, to change it and stop being someone of a lesser being. You might never understand how much you meant to me. Your kisses, our walks in the park . . . For those few, stolen hours, I was someone I've always wanted to be.”

“Then, why do you want to give up on me? Why don't you divorce your husband and come with me somewhere no one will know a thing about us?”

“I can't.”

“Give me a good reason why not?”

“Because my whole existence is a lie. And tomorrow when the sun rises, I will become someone you don't know.”

“I still don't understand a single word you're saying.”

“I'm sorry. You have to go now,” the woman said, crying no more.

The young man reached out and wiped the last teardrops with his fingers off her face, then lowered his head and kissed her swollen lip. She kissed him back, but her thoughts were somewhere else. She thought about the gentle touch of the orchids from last night. Then, she thought about tomorrow morning. What if that voice would never sound in her head again? What if it would never reassure her again that the thing she was about to do was the right thing to do? What if her dream of being free would always stay an unreachable dream?

“I will wait for you in the flower shop every single day,” she heard the young man whisper in her ear. His warm breath on her skin made her want to hug him, but she gagged the feeling and restrained herself from touching him. “Wherever you have to go or whatever you have to do, I want you to remember that. I know you're not afraid of me. I think you're afraid of yourself. Or, perhaps, you don't trust me, because I'm younger than you are. I wish I could change your mind. If you ever need me or want to speak to me, you know where to find me.”

At that, the man kissed the woman's forehead and left her to stand in front of the balcony door. Without saying another word or goodbye, he let himself out. The woman heard the front door close, and then a terrible silence followed. Instantly, she felt a deep void inside. It seemed to get even greater by the second until she heard the echo of her beating heart, sounding like a church bell on a cold winter night. She'd never felt so scared and alone in her life.

Through the balcony door, she could see the cactus on the railing. It looked like a stealthy animal in the dark, ready to pounce on its prey. While watching it, she thought about the young man and the flower shop full of flowers. Her family members also came to her mind. She said goodbye to them, one by one. She then turned away from the window and went to the kitchen.

Outside, a warm rain started. First, it only drizzled, but then it began to come down heavy. The streets quickly emptied of people, and cars became scarce. Only a few taxicabs seemed to wander the streets, hunting for lost pedestrians in the rain. The woman sat down at the dining table and watched the clock on the wall ticking the evening away. Her cat came in from the living room and sat down at her feet under the table. It licked one of its paws, then washed its face. Downstairs at the front gate, the torn Venus's slipper was beaten by the heavy rain and lost its petals one after another. The soil and the remaining fragments of the broken flower pot were washed away in the running water, down at a nearby sewer. Then, from one minute to the other, the rain stopped falling. The city became quiet and slowly slid deeper into the night.

The woman sat motionless at the kitchen table for a long time, hardly blinking, her face emotionless. The cat looked up from under the table at her every so often, then got bored and tardily roamed back into the living room.

Soon after the cat had left, the small shadow of a smile appeared on the woman's face as she heard the voice in her head and, at the same time, felt as if someone had crawled through the gaping hole of her broken soul, like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis.

Copyright owned jointly by Author and CyberCupid Co., Ltd. Breach of copyright will be prosecuted.
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#2017-07-09 13:23:36 by JohnAbbot @JohnAbbot

Imi, I am starting to see in you a hopeless romantic. I that something you save for your writing or does it come out in everything you do?

Do you talk to your wife with the same emotion that seems to fill this story you're telling? With the same depth of feeling, and passion?

If you do, then I am guessing that you get more action than all the rest of us put together, because I can't imagine any woman not melting over the way you have been laying bare the heroine of your storiy's soul, with such profound empathy and gut wrenching feeling.

And now you've added to that the younger lover that few women could resist.

If you stay on track with this, and it ends as well as it has started, then with just a little editing, I suggest you could package it up and sell it on Amazon in the Romance/Mystery niches, and find a real audience for it.

I continue to enjoy the read... 

#2017-07-09 22:32:29 by Imi5922 @Imi5922

John, thanks for your encouraging words. To answer to your questions, however, I have to say that you misread me. But it's a small mistake since you know me only from what I write on CLM. I don't think, in today's society, I can name one man who could be romantic to his girlfriend or wife all the time. Or come to think of it, I can't even name a woman who only looks for a man's romantic heart when it comes to choose a life-long partner. If I were so romantic at heart, there should be a question arising in your head by now, why the hell has Imi never been married before? Don't you think?


What I can tell you, John, with utter certainity and without revealing too much, though, is that when I'm romantic with my wife, she enjoys that side of me very much. But that requires a place and mood. But recently, however, I've discovered that she enjoys even more when I'm funny. And because she does, I, too, enjoy putting a smile on her face. I'm glad she gets my sarcasm, and goofy side of me.


So, in short. No, I can't be romantic all the time, but when I am, my wife is happy. And that's what is important to me.


About this story. There is no more part to it. I think there is enough clue for everybody who reads it to know what's gonna happen to the woman's husband. And she and the young guy might be an other story, but I'm not sure about continuing it. I just leave it like this. I realized that I don't like to write a story as a narrator. I prefer to use the more personal "I" pronoun as to tell a story.







#2017-07-10 13:28:02 by JohnAbbot @JohnAbbot

Imi, I didn't mean to suggest that you are romantic all the time. I agree that would be impossible for anybody. I meant that you had a romantic component to your personality that seems to run deeper than most of us have. Or at least deeper than I have.

I am sorry that you won't be continuing the story, because I was quite enjoying it, but I understand that a good story tends to "write itself", and that a good writer recognizes when it has come to a natural end.  So I'll just have to imagine that potted cactus connecting with the villain's noggin all on my own. I can do that.

Thanks for the read. 

#2017-07-11 00:21:41 by anonymous16358 @anonymous16358

Imi, I believe the reason you had never been married before is because you are and were a hopeless romantic. You were searching for the woman of your dreams who "knocked your socks off"

I was once in a relationship like that but her parents forced us apart...she was black and I am white...her parents were racist assholes I was not, they ruined a beautiful relationship...I never got back with her because I was told in no uncertain terms I would end up dead if I did. She asked me not risk that....

I believe in "soul mates" therefore I am a hopeless romantic at heart, I know one guy here who is gonna jump all over this reply but

Finding a Chinese woman who is a romantic is difficult as they are not raised with this trait as part of their makeup....I believe they dream of it but struggle when it is in front of them....

Chinese women have a trait which I call "disinterest" essentially they seem on the outside as uninterested in you or what you are saying unless it is about them, kind of a narcissim. Doesnt mean they dont care about you it is just the way they are.

I have never met a Chinese woman who does not exhibit this trait and no it is not just me or how I treat them, any man who is involved with a chinese woman if truthful will know this happens just they wont admit it.

I am personally glad you are not writing this story anymore as I actually dont like it much. I would rather hear about your "real" story about your west/east relationship as I know I could learn alot from your words...



#2017-07-11 06:12:34 by Barry1 @Barry1




"Soon after the cat had left, the small shadow of a smile appeared on the woman's face as she heard the voice in her head and, at the same time, felt as if someone had crawled through the gaping hole of her broken soul, like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis."


A nice ending, Imi.  Perfectly in keeping with the title of the series, "While The Orchids Sleep, The Butterfly Emerges From Its Chrysalis".


Good job!  (clap)

#2017-07-12 21:30:51 by melcyan @melcyan



"Chinese women have a trait which I call "disinterest" essentially they seem on the outside as uninterested in you or what you are saying unless it is about them, kind of a narcissim. Doesnt mean they dont care about you it is just the way they are.

I have never met a Chinese woman who does not exhibit this trait and no it is not just me or how I treat them, any man who is involved with a chinese woman if truthful will know this happens just they wont admit it."


These words make no sense to me. I know 12 Chinese women very well. These words just do not apply to any of them. They certainly do not apply to my Chinese partner.


You also say you believe in "soul mates" and that you are "romantic". I too use these words, there is nothing wrong with them. However, I would never accept a label of being a "hopeless romantic".  That is definitely a problem that needs to be overcome - it is not a compliment. The term "perfectionist" also identifies a flaw but many who suffer that affliction make a similar mistake by seeing it as a compliment.


Romance has a role to play in any serious relationship but it runs a distant second place to genuine intimacy. The quoted words above could never be written by a man who has achieved genuine intimacy with a Chinese woman.


#2017-07-13 01:34:45 by anonymous16363 @anonymous16363

@Imi, like I have said many times, everyone has an opinion....  as far as being "hopeless romantic" it to me means always being a romantic person with never having the option to be anything but a romantic person because it is the way a person is wired. It was not meant as a compliment nor a derogatory statement. It is what it is...

Yes I have been genuinely intimate with a chinese woman and I am not referring to sex....

I am not insulting you in anyway...just stating "my" opinion just as you do yours..

If you do not see the disinterest it is because you are used to it. Maybe the label I put on it is not disinterest it could be more of a filter or a mask to hide their true feelings at that moment. Just as they will do so to save face...could be wrong, wouldnt be the first time!


Cheers mate!

#2017-07-15 04:06:04 by anonymous16375 @anonymous16375

I am anon16358 and I made a mistake and addressed my comment to Imi when it was meant for Melcyan...sorry for any confusion..



#2017-07-15 15:09:09 by melcyan @melcyan


"as far as being "hopeless romantic" it to me means always being a romantic person with never having the option to be anything but a romantic person because it is the way a person is wired."


My older brother would agree with you 100%. He describes himself as a "hopeless romantic". He annoys me when he uses these words because he talks as if the practicalities of making a relationship work are out of his sphere of operation. Whoever he is with just has to accept him the way he is. It either works or it doesn't. It was meant to be or it wasn't. That attitude annoys me intensely.


He bends my ear for hours on how someone failed him but from my perspective, he has not put sufficient work into building a successful relationship in the first place. My relationship with my partner started 7 years ago. I am not the same person I was 7 years ago. My partner is not the same person she was 7 years ago. As our level of intimacy has increased over 7 years, so too has our level of personal growth.


I suspect that there are many men like my older brother who see "personal growth" as not applicable to them. They feel that they are too old to change. My brother uses the term "hopeless romantic" as a cop out for avoiding the day to day hard work of building of a high-quality relationship.


My brother has had a high-level relationship in the past but unfortunately, his partner died of cancer. His late partner did the bulk of the work in making that relationship work. If he wants to achieve a relationship like that again he needs to greatly increase his chances of success by doing his fair share of the relationship building work.


"If you do not see the disinterest it is because you are used to it. Maybe the label I put on it is not disinterest it could be more of a filter or a mask to hide their true feelings at that moment."


It is true that my partner masked her feelings to some extent early in the relationship. However, over time I have learnt to read her very well and she reads me even better. This is a natural part of increasing intimacy. We now read each other so well it is almost impossible to tell even a white lie.






#2017-07-18 13:23:27 by JohnAbbot @JohnAbbot

@Imi5922 @anonymous16358 @melcyan @anonymous16363

It's interesting to me that all of you take the description of someone as being a "hopeless romantic" so seriously. Melcyan, for example sees it as a pretty serious personality flaw (perhaps disorder) and to some degree the others of you seem to agree.

I am not saying you are wrong, but I've never thought of it as having any deeper meaning that describing someone as more inclined to cry at a happy ending in a romantic movie, as opposed to just being happy for the lucky couple and quickly moving on to making some more popcorn so we can get to the important action flick we've been waiting for while the women's chick flick droned on to its inevitable happy or sad "tear jerking" conclusion.

Now that I understand that this term holds a much deeper and more significant meaning for others, I will avoid labeling anyone with it. So Imi, I retract that description of you. I just meant you're more likely to cry at weddings than I am, and more likely to say the right thing at the right time to make your significant other feel good about herself, to make her find you comforting and appealing more often than not, and to probably prevent her from often wondering what she is doing with you.

Those are all nice advantages for you, but I, on the other hand, probably get to watch more James Bond movies than you do. Albeit often watching them alone.

In any event, I see it as sort of a compliment to call someone a "hopeless romantic" and not a suggestion that you have a serious character flaw. 

Cheers, John

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