The People’s Republic of Desire

41 Nick's Choice

After five years of courtship in England and two years of living together in China, Nick and CC broke up: Nick dumped her after their trip to Shanghai. Everybody in his circle of friends thought that Nick would stay in Shanghai and continue to pursue the Portman Hotel waitress with whom he was infatuated.

Instead, he is back in Beijing and has begun seeing Little Fang. CC is very upset after hearing this – especially since we have all been friends with Little Fang. CC comes to complain.

"But doesn't Xiao Fang already have someone?" I ask her as I remember Little Fang's boyfriend, an earnest young man who always seemed to have a GRE English vocabulary book in his hand.

"She's always had the hots for Nick, I guess. Otherwise, why would she have offered him free Chinese lessons?" CC says.

"I suppose you're right," I say, "But Little Fang seemed so nice. I'm sure she didn't initiate this relationship. Perhaps it was Nick."

"Whatever. If the bitch was really my friend, she wouldn't have agreed to go out with him," cries CC.

"Did Nick tell you why he wanted to break up with you?" I ask.

"He said he had decided that he liked local girls better than girls like me who grew up overseas. He said local girls aren't so snooty and stuck-up. Niuniu, do you think I'm a stuck-up, snooty princess?"

"No, CC, of course not!"

"But why did Nick dump me for Xiao Fang? Niuniu, tell me, is it because I'm not as pretty or as sexy as the local girls?" CC asks.

"You're beautiful."

"Then, I guess I'm not Chinese enough. He said I don't have the elegance of a real Chinese woman." CC sighs.

"Sounds like he has yellow fever," I say. "He really does have an Asian fetish. Time to move on, dear. Nick is just a single blade of grass on the lawn, and even as we speak, there are new seedlings blowing in the wind. And in Beijing, the grass grows quickly!"

CC looks pensive and sad, saying, "But maybe he's right, maybe I'm not Chinese enough. Whenever Westerners see me, they all think I'm Chinese, and expect me to speak perfect Chinese, to be a submissive Asian woman and drool over them just because they're foreigners. But I'm not Chinese – I'm a Westerner. I grew up in England; English is my native language. I only speak Chinese when I'm with my parents. I know far more about European culture than I do about Chinese culture. And I'm not about to throw myself at some Western guy just because he has blue eyes and blond hair.

"When I came to China, I thought, if I study Mandarin and learn a bit about kung fu and feng shui, then I'll be Chinese. But when Westerners ask me questions about Chinese culture, I've got no idea. I've worked hard for so many years, but I'm a failure. I don't belong anywhere. Doesn't matter whether it's Nick or those men I met in Asia, so many of them want someone exotic. If they go out with a local girl, it gives them a colonial sense of victory, of conquering and taming the mysterious Orient. But me, I'm too Western, too similar to them – I see myself as one of them, as their equal. I'm not exotic enough, so these Western men don't think being with someone like me is sufficiently romantic. Am I right?"

"Why are you so worried about what Western guys think of you anyway? If they don't understand you, if they don't appreciate you, then why don't you go out with a Chinese guy instead?" I suggest. "You're pretty, smart, funny, there must be loads of Chinese guys who want to go out with you."

"I don't know – I've never been out with Chinese men before."

"Why not?" I demand.

"Somehow we just don't click. It'd be like dating one of my brothers or something. And Western guys are always so much funnier, laid-back, not so stressed about pleasing their parents. And Western guys have got much better bodies!"

"Hmph, you can blame Nick for having yell ow fever, but it seems to me you're just as fixated on Western men," I say to CC.