Fiction: Group 3
Ba Gua Dream
Shekou International School, Kapur, Prisha - 14, Fiction: Group 3
o yao..um..yao yi..um..” stutters Bill, as he frantically scrolls through his English to
Chinese dictionary. He decided to buy one at a tourist shop near the airport, along with
about half a dozen traditional Chinese black ink paintings. I personally thought them to
be slightly overpriced, but that did not stop him from purchasing them.
Bill continues to struggle with his order, and by now, he has attracted a crowd. Everyone
sitting in the small wooden chairs lined up next to the counter have moved their gaze form their
food to Bill. They smile and snicker to themselves every time Bill tries to form a sentence, with
some of them being not so discreet with their amusement. A old man carrying sacks of hay
stops and listens Bill. He has a hunched back and torn up clothes, but that does not stop form a
smile forming on his face. And the chef, is even more amused. He has a bloated belly and
wears a white apron with stains covering its front. He listens carefully and tries to understand
what he can as Bill speaks his broken Chinese in the hopes to order a plate of shrimp fried rice.
“Bill, would you please knock it off? Some of us are a little hungry here.” I state while
gesturing towards my belly.
“Wait, hang on a second son. I almost got this” he says hurriedly.
Ignoring his pleas completely, I point at the picture of the delicious looking stir-fried
noodles on the menu. I tilt it toward the chef, asking him to take it as my order. The chef in
return, nods his head and turns around to find his ingredients. I slide myself deeper into the
uncomfortable, minuscule wooden chair, and place my hands on the light wooden counter. I
continue to hear Bill’s desperate attempts to get the chef’s attention, and silently laugh to
myself.
It is times like this that I like to observe, and look around my surroundings. I look and see
the busy streets in front of me. I see old women walking around carrying tiny feathery objects
with a black structure. Back home, people call them Chinese dream catchers. But Bill told me
that their real name is ‘Ba Gua'. They are kept in the homes of Feng Shui practitioners, and are
believed to have the power to ward off evil spirits.
I see a group of men pass by, wearing identical straw hats. Not the ones they sell at
airports made from plastic and glue, these are handmade. Every single piece of straw has been
placed on the base and sowed together.
I see a man selling noodles on what looks like a wok and stove set up on a trolly
connected to a bicycle. I can see him stirring around the ‘lo mien’ with expertise. This was
probably a recipe taught to him by his parents, and to his parents by their parents. This is how
everything is here. Passed down through the generations, and having such tremendous
meaning and long history. He has such an addictive smile on his lips, that I can’t help but form
one on my lips as well.
And it is times like this, times when I sit and look around, when I wonder, how on earth
did I get here? How did life lead me to this small food joint in Zhaoqing, Guangdong Province,
China? Looking back, it all seems lake such a blur.
“Hey Greg!” shouted a voice from behind me. I turned around and found that it was Bill. !
“Hey how are you Bill?” I asked.
“I’m doing okay son, how are you? Your mother doing okay?”
“Yeah, they're holding up, its always hard this time of year for mom. She seems so…
fragile. It’s so weird to think of her as someone who can actually…well, be hurting. She is
always so good at concealing her emotions, sometimes it feels like she doesn't have any.” I
said, and I meant every single word. Bill was the only one I could ever really speak to truthfully.
Well, there was dad, but thats over now.
“Yeah? Well, this time of year is not easy for any of us. How’s football going?” he asked.
I looked down at my attire, the knee length tights, and shoulder pads covered in a murky green
jersey with the number “9” written on it.
“Yeah, its going great Bill, thanks for asking.”
“W
