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Mi experiencia en Asia - Love or tears in Shanghai

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Mi experiencia en Asia - Love or tears
in Shanghai

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	MyriamEspinaluna 03/04/2005

Love or tears in Shanghai
---By Myriam Arteaga

ONE windy day at the outdoor cafes of Xintiandi while people from the five continents were tasting five different kinds of rice I asked a Japanese woman how to say \"I love you\" in her language.
She explained Japanese do not express their feelings freely and usually use a word closer to \"like\" than \"love\".

The Japanese I asked was my co-worker Fumi. She is very extroverted with short brown-tinted hair and loves to smile and carry colorful handbags.

We work together in one of the many foreign companies housed in the hundreds of new skyscrapers crowding Shanghai. According to the local Labour and Social Security Bureau\"s latest figures there are 19,500 expatriates like us now living in the city. We come from 126 countries and regions and, as Fumi says, some of us do not profess love as easily as others.

Another Japanese who worked with us was a man named Akira. He was tall and slim but shy, like when he cast his narrow black eyes away while speaking, or when he stuttered. Often Akira wore wide jeans with many pockets, colourful T-shirts and tennis shoes to work. It made him seem 20-years-old when in fact he is almost 30.

But he also had an ancient-style beard and sometimes spoke so loudly into his cellular phone he had another personality that seemed to fit his rebel black hair, which was so thick it almost looked artificial.
One day as he sat by his computer, Akira\"s hair reminded me of the time my mother wore a wig when I was a child in Colombia. It was my first communion party and I felt so proud of my mother because she looked very sophisticated compared to the other mothers there. Sitting by Akira thinking about my childhood I realized how little a nine-year-old girl could know about her mother.

A few weeks later, just 30 minutes before the end of our work day, Akira sent around an e-mail saying he was leaving us. The note further explained he was content because his colleagues had treated him well. After reading it I turned my head everywhere seeking goodbye faces but found only sad looks and sweet smiles.

Something then made me notice Akira was wearing a formal shirt and tie. The tie was purple and tucked into his shirt pocket to keep it away from his hands while he typed. Just before leaving Akira removed the tie from his pocket so it pointed to his feet and the earth. Then at five minutes to six, he stood slowly, arranged the papers on his desk, and started saying goodbye.

During his farewells he looked at his hands and bit his lips until he turned toward Fumi like a soldier and made a very formal bow. I was sure that he finally looked deeply into her eyes, because she responded the same way. The glance seemed to take hours, like some secret ceremony between two Japanese wrapped in a halo of light.

Fumi returned the bow in silence then turned so I could see her nose becoming red and one teardrop running down her cheek. After that she sat at her computer and continued working. Meanwhile, Akira turned toward the exit in a military way and walked off carrying his belongings in his hands, and in his memory a group of people from many parts of the world with many different ways to say love you\".

Stepping onto the streets of Shanghai outside he became surrounded by millions of Chinese with millions more ways to say \"I love you\". But our teardrops are all the same, aren\"t they?

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