As I stood at a bus stop, I noticed a pretty woman raising her head to read the route map. There were only two of us. She has a delicate face, and puts a yellow towel on her neck, like the way a laborer yelling “福氣啦！” in the end of a TV commercial does. It was hot. She toweled her sweat-beading forehead occasionally. She looked poised like a local who knows where she is going. I was heading to an unfamiliar place, and I felt a sudden urge to talk to her. To strike up a conversation, I took advantage of my ignorance and asked her, in Chinese, which line I should take to get to my destination. She raised her head again to read the sign,
“Almost every line can get there,” in English she answered.
A Filipina, who can read Chinese?! That’s rare, I thought and said so.
She said she is a Japanese and can read some Chinese. To my second amazement, she speaks fluent English. I took the same bus with her, and our chatting took flight as if we were on board an airplane. She told me where she wanted to buy taro cakes to bring back to Japan and how she missed her mother’s cooking. I told her I was going to a Japanese restaurant— what a coincidence—recommended by a friend I knew from the Internet. She had lived in America for some years; I have never been abroad. I have never felt so comfortable speaking in English. It comes so natural for both of us. It was a pity I had to leave earlier. When I got off, looking backwards, waving good-bye, we look like friends who have known each other for a long time.
