Language of Love - 3. Chapter 3: "Pok Gai"

Chapter 3- “Pok gai !”

When I returned home, I saw this email in my inbox:

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Subject: Tomorrow

Hello,

Where should we meet tomorrow?

When do you want to meet tomorrow?

Huítou jian

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My mind was racing with thoughts, like should we meet early? Should we go directly to the restaurant? Or, how can I back out of this date? While it might seem like a normal gesture to not respond and back out completely, certain Chinese customs make it complicated. No, there’s no such thing as gay dating customs, or at least none left in recorded Chinese histories. The custom issue is based of host and promises; I made a promise to host him at one of my favorite restaurants. He accepted the invitation and as his host, I have an obligation to him.

This is where western styled dating doesn’t work out well with Chinese customs; you can renege from a date with excuses like I have something important to do or simply not go in a Western date, which is not the case for Chinese hosting customs. To not attend without an actual reason, it would be like a slap on the face in Chinese etiquette with a blood grudge against you that can last beyond their lifetime. Of course, we’re both guys and this is not a normal host and guest arrangement, but I still have to keep up my end just in case.

I thought through everything I could and came up with some details:

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Subject: Re: Tomorrow

Hey,

We should meet at the gates of Chinatown at 2 PM. It will allow us time to walk around and get to know one another.

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Well, the rest of my night was spent in more mundane activities. I cooked up some pork and tomatoes. I steamed some Chinese cabbage with chicken Bouillon. It was a simple meal served with white rice, nothing exactly breathtaking or gourmet about it.

Hakka cuisine and culture is another derivative of Chinese people. While I might be a Southern Chinese boy based on my birthplace, my ancestors were originally from Central and Northern China. Hakka in old Chinese means “Guest household”, since Hakka people were the guest of native southern Chinese people centuries ago. Over time, the culture began to blend with southern Chinese peoples; creating modern day Hakka culture. I am about ¼ Hakka in terms of my background due to my paternal grandfather and maternal grandmother. Some western sociologists make the mistake to classify Hakka as a separate ethnic group, but in reality, you should consider it more akin to a culture rather than a people.

Hakka cuisine is very simple based on cooking with whatever you have and bringing out the flavors. If a market sells pork cheaper than chicken on a certain day, then you eat pork that day. Another facet in Hakka cooking, natural flavors are accentuated, instead of covered up with spices, i.e. tomatoes would be accentuated by its two tones: sour and sweet with vinegar and brown sugar.

I cook based on a Hakka style, but believe it or not, I prefer stronger bold flavors. I also hate eating fish, which Hakka cuisine considers a staple food. For me, the problem with fish is that if you accentuate its natural tones, you create an awful fishy taste. I like heavy spices in other cuisines, like Southeast Asian coconut curry or American BBQ ribs.

After dinner and a short TV intermission of TVB’s new series “Triumph of Skies II” blended with channel flipping to NBC’s “Law & Order”, I went to bed. I tried to sleep, but the next day’s events troubled me endlessly. A lot of things could go wrong with this meeting, least of all that we would not be able to speak to one another properly as his spoken English is poor.

I somehow drifted to sleep and woke up at 11 AM. I followed my usual morning routine, except I applied some Polo Black cologne. I have more expensive cologne of course, but I preferred Polo Black for casual things. Besides, I am not a metrosexual; I’m a gay man, so I don’t need to show off to the world that I can be as gay as myself.

I remember this one time, when I arranged to meet this guy for a coffee. He was covered with expensive Emporio Armani brand cologne. That guy smelled like he had just rolled out of a rose garden, dipped in Febreze, and his ass was lighting a scented candle. Really, do you think that a scent like that would get you in bed with me? Hell, I could only stand the guy for thirty minutes due to the smell.

For an outfit, I chose something simple and natural. I just put on a simple short sleeved blue t-shirt and some cargo shorts with a pair of sandals. I call this my “twenty-something don’t know what to expect” outfit.

I walked over to the bus stop and waited patiently as my phone buzzed with a message coming in. It was only 12:45PM, we had another 1 and 15 minutes. Part of me was excited, but I also felt a twinge of déjà vu. My first boyfriend was the same way; he called endlessly and worried that I might not show up for our dates. It was cute, but after a period, it became stressful.

The bus had arrived and I took a seat. I opened my phone to read the dreaded message, which I hope were not pangs of desires for this meeting.

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Him: Hello

Him: I am at the moon bakery for breakfast

Him: Can I offer you anything?

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My tension began to fade and I hit myself mentally for doubting his intention. I actually do love moon bakery in Chinatown, it has my favorite breakfast food, ”Lai Wong Bao”, or in English, “Egg Custard Bun”. One of those and a cup of black tea with sweetened condense milk, I would be in heaven. However, I had already had a quick breakfast of Cereal.

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Me: Thank you

Me: I am not hungry right now

Me: However, I suggest you try the Lai Wong Bao

Me: And Lai Cha

Him: I am eating that right now

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Serendipity was working overtime; he was having my favorite breakfast! I wanted to respond instantly, but I felt something bump against me. A baby stroller had hit my leg and I looked up to see a big angry African American woman in front of me. She was not alone; she had three kids, plus the baby in the stroller. Out of politeness, I got out of my seat. She took it immediately without a thank you or any type of consideration. I moved to the next seat up, but one of her kid had taken it. There was another seat behind that one, but her other two kids were bouncing up and down the aisles, so I could not approach it. I had stood awkwardly watching all this.

At that moment, I was angry and filled with some very choice epithets, because I couldn’t respond to him with a text as her kids were screaming and running around. I knew better than to utter a word out of angst, though. Don’t get me wrong, I love kids and I would want to have some, too. Part of me just wanted to chastise this woman, “Why the hell did you have so many kids without teaching them manners?” Some gay guys I know hate “breeders”, their slang for heterosexuals. They point to stuff like this as an example. However, I don’t blame or hate heterosexuals for this kind of behavior. This is different; it is a combination between inherent issues with African American culture and a lack of discipline in our modern education. Rosa Parks did not resist a white man taking her seat, so African Americans can do the same to other peoples, who only want to enjoy their bus ride and tap out messages to a possible romantic partner. Others can call me a racist for saying this, but I feel that equal rights must be based on equal obligations, including the respect of everyone else’s rights to a peaceful bus ride.

When we reached the subway station, I immediately jetted out of the bus and ran towards the train platform. I was praying that the train would be boarding and I could catch it before those kids and their mom came along. My luck held out as the train was boarding and about to close the door, when I arrived. Too bad my phone does not have reception underground or else, I’d texted him back.

As I walked out of the train station and headed up the stairs, my initial restraint for this meeting had disappeared. I was as giddy as a teenage girl going out with a sweetheart for the first time. I could feel the blood coursing through my veins and I could feel the energy building up for this meeting.

I wanted to take a shortcut that I knew behind an old building, so I can have a first glimpse at my prospective new boyfriend. Most people view Chinatown as a small collection of 8 streets, but if you know the alleyways and the hidden gems near them, then it doubles in size. Almost every Chinatown that I’ve been to is like that: Chicago, Philadelphia, and New York’s 3 Chinatowns. Most Americans and tourists just go to the restaurants, bakeries, and bars in the main streets, but avoid dirty alleys with fire escapes.

At about 1:45PM, I had caught sight of Chinatown’s gate from my vantage point. I saw several people walking around, but none of them were him. I opened my phone’s web browser for his image and tried to match up the guys there. I guessed he was probably finishing up his tea, so I waited. At 2 PM, I got a message on my phone:

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Him: Are you late?

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I looked around and could not see him there, but I did see a kid with a cell phone. He was wearing sneakers, cut-off shorts, and striped red/white t-shirt. My first reaction was a mumbled Cantonese phrase, “Pok gai !”. In Cantonese, the expression denotes something like “Shit!”, “Fuck!”, or “Christ!” for unexpected things that happen. I knew he said he was short, but the picture made him look a very natural, like any other twenty-five year olds. With that thought, I looked around more and saw something else that spooked me a bit. There was a camera crew a few feet away.

Was I being Punk’d? Is this a new reality TV show, gay guys get tricked by kids that pretend their older? Is this like a perverse version of Chris Hansen’s hidden camera show? I was scared and a bit confused. I had to play through all the events in my head first; he was the one, who created the topic first. He said he was 25 years old and I have not had any contact or sexual relations with him yet, so it wouldn’t be that.

Maybe, he was just the way he was. I knew plenty of short guys, none of them looked like they were 13 years old though. I’ve heard about people, who had really youthful faces and bodies. I looked at the picture again and realized it could be him. I mean, I chose the best picture of myself as well, when we were exchanging pictures. Maybe, he wants to look his own age rather than what biology has handed him. It’s not a major turn on, unless you’re a nympho or a quasi-pedophile. However, he’s a good guy and I don’t have any problems with different body types. I mean as long as his equipment is not that of a 13 year old; he’s just like any other guy. We’re not even official boyfriends yet, so why not just be open minded.

I began walking towards him and typed a reply on my phone:

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Me: I’m here

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