The wind was flying that day. It was the type of wind that hissed as it coursed through your body, confessing the mystic secrets of the north. Bushes and trees lining the road danced around to the beat of the wind. The neighboring street lights and massive buildings poured a multitude of intersecting shadows on the black asphalt, creating overlapping Venn diagrams on the ground. The main road that led to the Sambor train station was quite desolate for being the biggest street in such a bustling metropolis. Without the traffic medians and the assembly of country flags hanging from the street poles, one naked road pointed towards the even less impressive train station. Amidst all the fluttering skirts and jackets trying to escape with the draft, Marius marched on, but without that usual commanding stride. Every action that Marius had taken was infused with complete assurance. He rarely second-guessed anything he did, as if he was simply following the instruction of a game, the script of a play. The objective of each raise of a hand, each breath of air, each step of a foot—it had always been crystal clear to him. But recently, Marius had somehow lost that power to his movements. It was a gradual process that had started two years ago when his book deal fell through. His certitude wavered, conviction weakened, and confidence waned. Certain sentiments of his started feeling contradictory as question marks had begun appearing behind every thought. Marius didn’t string together these small occurrences at first. He wasn’t aware anything was going on until he'd seen enough, until that last piece of the puzzle was fitted in the middle, exposing the full picture that he unconsciously helped assemble. Perhaps no one else noticed any major change in his demeanor, but that was because he continued to display the same character on the outside, deciding to elude his continuous battle with doubt. He was constantly trying to straighten the endless question marks, but the stretched-out exclamation marks would invariably arch back to form a semicircle like an elastic band behind Marius’s back. In his mind, his life felt like an exam without an answer key; he is free to write anything on it, but nothing would be correct, nothing would be false. If only, he thought, if only his questions worked like magnets that automatically sucked up the corresponding resolutions when in proximity. 

The city of Sambor stood out like a sore thumb among the other cities in Tanwai. It was the only city big enough to be considered a city, the only city that inhabited foreigners, and it was the only city that used English in this island country. From the beginning of time, the Chinese-speaking Tanwai people had already accepted Sambor as a peculiarity that housed the foreigners—originating from which western country, the fables did not remember— and as long as they were mostly confined in Sambor and were not hostile towards them, the Tanwai locals were content with it. The relationship between the two groups of people had not tinged with dislike, but rather an unfamiliarity that they did not want to dissipate. 

The decades of coexistence hadn’t changed the fact that the samborians would never cease to be referred to as the foreigners. Everything in Sambor was in English, a language that the Tanwai’s general public still had not been acquainted with. A Tanwainese that knew English on top of Chinese was a rarity. As Marius stood there in the lobby of the train station seeking out his train schedule, he has already helped three elder Tanwai couples with directions and translations, almost reminding him of his own peculiarity. After learning that his train departed in 10 minutes, he picked up his briefcase and trotted towards the right end of the rectangular plain lobby. The clinking of his dress shoes echoed through the whole hall, creating an off-beat harmony with all the commotions of the Sambor train station. Spotting the food stand by the corner, Marius thought about getting a snack before quickly telling himself that he was not hungry. His vision did not wander left or right at all, fully concentrated on the small brownstone archway marked “C” and the rather small foreigner standing beside it holding a clipboard and a tally counter. 

“You said the name was Marius right? Marius what?”

“Lin. Marius Lin.”

The ticket counter gave off the slightest reaction when hearing such a Tanwai last name paired with such a foreign first name. The foreigner’s small eyebrow twitch and minuscule pouting lips almost flowed under. Marius quickly cast the thought of the previous interaction out of his mind as he walked down the dimly lit stairway. He wasn’t particularly excited about this trip. All he wanted to do was to relax in his seat for the entirety of the train ride. Exhaustion emitted from deep within, illuminating an altered version of himself like cosmetics.

The southbound high-speed train was piercing through the high mountains that bordered the vast city, allowing the Sambor natives to marvel at the sight of nature, something they enjoyed superficially in their concrete ocean. Marius, being partly raised by the compassionate sun and prickly grass blades, paid no special attention to the passing views. Instead, he was appreciating the last few minutes of the golden hour, a daily phenomenon only visible to the ones that remembered to look for it. The towering mountains around Sambor made it so that sunset in the city was 45 minutes earlier than in the rest of the country. Thus, even though it was completely dark when Marius boarded the train, streaks of sunlight successively shot through the windows as they made their way out of the mountain range. The colors of the sun and sky, Marius thought, are hues that artists ceaselessly try but fail to imitate. Watching the sun slowly submerge itself into the horizon soothed him in a way. Marius wondered if the sun ever said no; if it ever chose to not accept its everyday fate and tried its hardest to stay above ground, denying itself rest till all the humans on earth had gotten their shine. Marius’s focus on the sun’s demise was so intent that he didn’t sense the train coming to a stop. He would’ve kept his eyes on the view till the sun gave up if it wasn’t for the sudden appearance of a person in his booth. 

“Phew. This is booth 37 right? Okay, that means I was sitting in booth 38 then. God those people were so rude. Like yes, I got it after your first scream, this is your seat! Hah. Great weather today though.” 

Without a response to any of this newcomer’s statements, Marius automatically scanned him up and down, and arrived at his own conception of this stranger. He was a Sambor man who gave off quiet hints of Tanwai qualities. His hair shared the same glistening gold hue that the foreigners had, but it had a slight curl to it. The nose that rested in the middle of his big eyes held that significant size which Marius had always marveled in the foreigners, but the absence of a high bridge destroyed the perfect image. The height of a foreigner was there, but the chest width failed him. It piqued his curiosity as to how a foreigner’s appearance could be stuck in the grey zone so distinctively. With his head turned back towards the window, Marius could still hear the stranger strenuously trying to squeeze his excessive bags into the upper compartment. After a few minutes of the stranger’s huffing and the bag’s crumbling sounds, the Sambor man’s triumph was announced with a big sigh that had contentment and satisfaction mingled within its breath. He squeezed through the small crevice between his seat and the square table in the middle and plopping down in the window seat right across from Marius. The clenched right fist of the stranger knocked on the table as he settled himself. Moments of inscrutable silence, seasoned with a few sighs and coughs, was endured by both men, then the stranger suddenly turned towards Marius and asked:

“Would you like to hear about something that happened to me at work today?”

Marius, who was still trying to take in the setting sun, directed his pupils toward the stranger’s direction before his head followed. The moment that he looked into this person’s eyes, Marius knew something. He knew this person was not just a random passerby, that the pairing of the two of them in booth 37 was not a mere coincidence. The deeper he looked into the blueness of his eyes, the more assured he was of this conviction. Marius saw in those eyes traces of resolution, remnants of some answer, parts of a key—to what lock he did not know. His heart throbbed a beat, vision crystalized a little, and his skin momentarily became a braille code inscription. He felt slightly lightheaded as if this stranger’s ambiguous but concentrated aura was being channeled through their eye contact, straight into his brain. Marius knew, with confidence he had not felt in a long time, that this person was put here in this booth with a mission. This Sambor stranger with hints of his origin was an entry in his pre-written agenda. Eager to the brink of thirst to chase this assurance, to find out not who but what this person is, Marius couldn’t deny this stranger’s offering. He took a second to calm his nerves, then uttered the only response his disheveled brain could conjure.

“Yes. Tell me what happened.”

§

“I work as a tissue paper tester at Flora. You know the brand right? It has gotten so big recently. I will spare you the details of how I came to be in such a weird occupation, but through some unusual interactions, I realized I had the knack for detecting quality in tissue paper. No one fusses much about tissue paper. People just choose whichever packaging has the most recognizable brand, not caring for the details of the paper itself. Companies don’t even print that information on the packaging anymore, knowing that customers don’t read them. They just look for the same blue box, pink box, yellow box—whatever that comforts them. After all, the thin white papers all look the same, right?  Well, the thing is, each type of tissue paper is different. A different texture, thickness, and chemical makeup. The tissue paper we export to other places also differs from each other. For example, the Flora tissue papers in Singapore are chemically different from the ones sold here because of the ridiculous humidity over there. Of course, toilet paper has a different texture from kitchen paper towels. That is not what I am talking about. As you know, Flora just makes tissue paper, you know, those that come in rectangular cardboard boxes placed on your dining table. They are the Renaissance man of the tissue paper world. You can use it to wipe your hands after a meal, clean some small spills on the floor, or use it after a bathroom trip if the roll ran out. It is in perfecting this everyday product that Flora got so big, and I was partly responsible for that. I essentially helped them curate this flawless formula in the early days, and it was so successful that it is still in use today.”

Marius was still trying to process this man’s sudden spill of information. He talked incessantly, not giving him any chance to respond, though Marius had nothing to say anyways. But it was true, Flora had exploded in recent years; he had a travel pack in his pockets. He never would have thought that this man who came in minutes ago would be the one that was behind every intricacy of the tissue he—and everyone else in Sambor—used every day. Marius didn’t say anything, only nodded his head every minute or so to signify his attention, though at times it had been diverted by the movements of the stranger. Throughout his talking, he seemed to periodically fidget with his right hand, like he was solving a rubik’s cube with one hand. Stacked on top of all the other peculiarities of the stranger, this one was overlooked by Marius.

“People didn’t know the real reason behind Flora’s sudden colossal success. Perhaps they assumed it was good management, good advertising, or just a company that caught a good wave. But they didn’t know that it was because of the tissue paper itself. It was because of the unexplainable difference people felt when they used Flora. Their brain does not acknowledge the minuscule differences, but their body senses it. Since no second thoughts are put on tissue paper, it just never occurred to anyone that there could be any variance in tissue papers apart from the tangible thickness. They just unconsciously kept on buying Flora because they had no particular issue with it the last time they bought it. However, they have no idea that what drives them to Flora every time is something almost like substance addiction; they need to wipe their skin with Flora. When they go to a friend’s place that does not use Flora, they can, very very subtly, feel the difference too, but it would never amount to more than a random thought in their head. After all, who is thinking about the sensations tissue paper gives you? Who is arguing over which brand of tissue paper is the best? Whenever a thought like it pops into their mind, it gets thrown out of their head for its insignificance. They don’t want to seem crazy. But the thing is, the difference, it is there. Again, I will spare you the details, but the chemical components in Flora tissue papers are unique and more complex than you will ever imagine. To say the least, due to its formula, Flora tissue papers emit this serene feel that cannot be reproduced anywhere else. When it comes in contact with the skin, it produces the touch of an angel, the sensation of heaven. The tissue paper almost strokes you, pampers you like a child, telling you that everything will be okay. I know it, that’s for sure. I had to test the tissues on every part of my body an endless amount of times. I was the only one that could consciously feel that ‘sensation’ and say explicitly if it was there or not.  Everyone else, even the executives at Flora, couldn’t seem to describe any difference; it transcended their physical limits. Their five senses might not have picked it up like mine, but they felt it within nevertheless. For some reason, it always reminds me of how it is sometimes for beginners smoking weed. Trying it for the first time, many people say they wouldn’t feel it, and that’s only because they don’t know what the sensation is supposed to be like. The weed is definitely in their body, but lacking a conception of the feeling, it isn’t recognized. ”

As the stranger continued his explanation, Marius’s disbelief in this magic that Flora had was making it hard for him to take him seriously. Still, he found himself reaching into his pocket and retrieving his pack of tissues, even though his hands were clean, his nostrils were clear, and his eyes were calm.  

“Thing is, we have to keep it that way too. It has to be undetectable. If this was to get out, I don’t know what trouble Flora will face from what type of organizations. I’m only telling you because you don’t look like a big mouth. And even if you do tell it to other people, they would not believe you. Anyways, though Flora has made millions, I am not rich as one would assume. I wasn’t paid much since the start, just enough to get by comfortably in Sambor. I didn’t ask for any more too, being fully content with getting paid to rub some tissue against my skin every now and then. After Flora achieved corporate success and had all their manufacturing process streamlined, I was just tasked with occasionally testing random batches and verifying important orders, and one instance of the latter was what got me into trouble. A few months ago, Flora took the opportunity to expand into the South African market. A big order was being sent out to Beira, a smaller city in Mozambique. Because it was going to be the first batch sent out to Africa, I was called to test it. Problem is, my uncle was sent to the ER that morning for a long-overdue heart failure; we all saw it coming a mile away, but it just so happened to fall on the day that I had to test the Beira batch. Obviously I had to go see my uncle for what could be the last time; that man practically raised me in Sambor while my parents were enjoying retirement out in the mountains of Tanwai. But the problem was the testing couldn’t be rescheduled. The tissues were all manufactured and ready to be sent out the next day, it was just waiting for my approval. Thus, I made a rash decision and told a work friend of mine to secretly sign off on it under my name. After the initial trial-and-error stage before the formula was finalized, no problems had ever occurred in the years of testing I did. The manufacturing was so automated, the blueprint so precise, that there was barely any room for error. I essentially treated the tests that I conducted as a formality, so I didn’t think my faking one test would have any consequences. Well, they say there’s a first for everything, and that Beira batch was the first to be horribly faulted. Within a few days of the deliverance, our representative over there reported a dreadful scene: countless Beira citizens were seen on the streets desperately rubbing more and more Flora tissues on their bodies. The second that one tissue was rubbed to shreds, they would pick up another one and continue sanding their skin with it. They were going crazy. Thousands of people were breaking into stores, scouring for any Flora tissues like dead zombies. The streets of Beria were filled with lifeless people clinging onto their stock of tissues and fighting off any predators. It was like they all restored to their primal setting in face of the ‘sereneness’ that Flora gave off. What happened was that the Beira batch’s ‘serene effect,’ put simply, was way too strong. Once the effect was able to be registered by the body, the dependence on it became more intense and paralyzing. As I said, we had to keep it undetectable to avoid troubles like this. Luckily, we curbed it before it got too big to hide. Because it was such an obscure little city, none of the events were heard outside the city in the first few days, and we went in before anything got out. Flora was able to stop all the commotion and silenced the whole thing. Any footage or pictures of the incident was bought off and every witness was handled appropriately. Any question was answered politically by calling the incident a ‘product of Beria’s crippling hallucinogen crisis.’ The process to deal with the whole situation was hard and expensive, but Flora couldn’t risk anything.”

Marius’s disbelief was only strengthened in face of this new ridiculousness. But it wasn’t a disbelief that conveyed doubtful truthfulness, but instead an incurable curiosity. The stranger finally paused for a moment to reach out with his left hand his blue porcelain water bottle, leaving his clenched right fist on the table. The fist seemed too tight for it to be holding something, thought Marius, but the stranger’s rippling muscles and blood vessels beneath his hand made it seem like he was trying his hardest to let what’s enclosed in it not escape, like he was grasping the universal blackhole within his fingers. 

“Rightfully so, the blame was put on me. I couldn’t tell them that I faked the test; ignoring my own consequences, that would have meant fatal trouble for the friend that covered for me. Flora just thought my senses were off that day, making me numb to the touch of the tissue. That’s the thing: I’m not paid much and I don’t have much authority in the company, but I have an inherent importance to Flora that’s acknowledged by both parties. They were furious, but they also knew they needed me if they wanted to avoid any future outbreaks. So they sent me on a three-month paid leave to gather myself, to ‘regain my senses’ so to say. That’s why I’m taking the train today. I usually never leave Sambor, but I am going to go see my parents in the countryside. I never knew why they wanted to move out of Sambor, but that’s the only place I can think of for a peaceful retreat. And if anything, I still respect and adore my family.”

The Sambor man’s deep sigh and diverted attention to something within his small bag marked the end of his long monologue. Marius didn’t know what he was supposed to do with this new information, what the stranger’s intent was in telling him this story. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to reply to him either, or if the stranger was expecting a response at all. Marius wasn’t used to hearing someone talk so excessively in one sitting, and being not much of a talker, he had never faced more pressure to respond. An enigmatic silence followed, a non-communication that suggested a deep contemplation within the both of them. The periodic chords emitted from the crackling train tracks ringed steadily like a sound effect played on a loop. Marius felt like the longer he kept silent, the further away the assurance he had set out to chase was getting. It felt like every air molecule surrounding them had stalled in mid-air, trapping them in this hardened mold. Even the stranger’s right arm has ceased to move. His confusion and misery were soon resolved when the stranger, in the same abrupt fashion as his last question, said:

“Come on, tell me something about yourself now. It’s always an exchange. Talking about family, how’s your relationship with your family?”

Marius was once again dazed by his question, causing him to swivel potential answers around behind his teeth like mouthwash, not leaking a single drop out until it was ready. Similar to the stranger’s first question, it gave Marius such an enigmatic rush that it made him consider inquiries he usually wouldn’t give in to. Since he left his family for Sambor, he has not talked about this topic to anyone. But now facing such a peculiar figure—an undefined man that left so many paths open—and his oddly specific, yet timely, question, Marius felt like his only choice was to give his answer, and in the most holistic and truthful honor he had ever conducted.

§

I grew up in Tannai, an oceanside city pocketed in the southwest corner of Tanwai. Many of the oldest Tanwai families reside in this beautiful naturalistic town. The great-grandmothers always reminded the younglings that Tannai was the capital of Tanwai before Sambor became its defining city. Though much of the current generation took the elder’s cries with a pinch of salt, remnants of the old empire are scattered throughout Tannai. Immediately after stepping off the train, the coexisting relationship between mother nature and elements of the abolished state becomes apparent from the Tannai train platform. A gigantic brick archway greets passengers with indecipherable ancient writings inscribed all along the elephant-trunk poles, but the untouchable immenseness of the artifact is nerfed by the flooding flower vines entangling itself around all surfaces, leaving only selected characters visible through the dense vegetation. Under the inaugural entrance stands Mr.Gao—the platform guard that had served as its protector for decades—in full uniform, always spotted welcoming children and elders back home. Past the train station, rows of two-story buildings obediently stay inline, doubling as the storefront and the residence of many working families. The crippling asphalt roads expose patches of brown dirt, spewing up dust clouds as three-wheeled trolleys and motorcycles speed past it. Beyond this city center that surrounds the train station lay numerous gardens that were transformed from century-old temples. Innocent kids run around the garden catching butterflies while waiting for their parents to come back from grocery shopping, especially during summer days when the ocean breeze floated effortlessly from the beach just a few blocks away. Situated right by the ocean, neighbors to greenery and tranquility, is our Lin family townhouse. Most of the wealthier families in Tannai have one; it functions as a congregation place for all the family members. It was in our beautiful townhouse where I last saw my family, and more importantly, the last time I was able to see my grandfather. 

That day, we were having dinner to celebrate my aunt’s birthday while simultaneously using it as my leaving ceremony. Backpacked with the aspirations of becoming an English novelist, I was set to leave for Sambor in three days. I was one of the rare kids who got sent to an English-speaking school in the nearby town—a choice my parents later regretted—which made me completely fall in love with the English language, practically forgoing Chinese. It was not long until I realized that I wanted to be surrounded by more English, to submerge myself in the dialect that I adored, ultimately culminating in me wanting to move to Sambor after college. The decision had been debated for months and had caused some tension in our family. However, regardless of what the sentiments were regarding my departure, the family still congregated together to have a pleasant evening. If anything, a united loving relationship was the one thing that the Lin family had put heavy importance on. 

The long dining table—enough to fit all 13 of us—sat in the living room with the leftovers, seasoned utensils, and unfinished birthday cake still resting on top. The playful screams and laughs of my five younger cousins echoed through the house, constantly reminding the parents that the kids were alright. The gossiping mothers rested on the couches sipping tea and eating old-fashioned Tanwai desserts while the fathers guarded the fireplace discussing recent sports topics. Secluded from all this commotion, my grandfather and I sat on the porch overlooking the vast ocean, talking about nothing of significance but everything of importance. As he did every time we finished these family dinners, my grandfather asked me if I was still hungry, and I replied with the answer he hoped for every time: of course. To my declaration, we would set off on our little field trip to the small food stand near the beach, leaving the rest of the family behind. No one had to be notified, no one tried to tag along. Everyone knew we were together after family dinners, everyone knew it was our bonding time. It has been like this for a decade and it brought joy to mom, dad, aunts, uncles, grandparents, neighbors, shopkeepers; the sight of an elderly grandfather spending every precious second with his elder grandson. But notice how I did not include my name in that list. 

“Ready to go to Sambor are you?”

“yes packed most of the essentials, still picking out what clothes to bring.”

“You know it gets cold up there yeah? Good to bring the thickest clothes you have. If not enough, you should buy some more jackets once you’re there.”

“I already bought some puffers in case. I should be fine.” I strenuously replied with my imperfect Chinese. The taxing efforts I laboriously needed in conversing with my grandfather was eased when Zhen’s crepe stand came into view. This was our go-to snack spot because it served one of the best authentic Tanwai flat-crepes I’ve ever had, but my grandfather’s reason was in ‘wanting to keep the local economy flowing’ as this was among the only places he spent money at since he retired. Or that was just the stereotypical elder’s white lie, putting a transparent cover over the real reason being just an excuse to have alone time with me.

“Still the same orders Lin?”

“Always. One with rice, soy, and oyster, then one with egg, cheese, and bacon.” Always. We are one of the older families of Tannai, and we run a family business producing inexpensive metal supplies for the local businesses, so basically everyone in town knows my grandfather. Myself, some of them were still getting acquainted with, one crepe at a time.  

“My grandson is leaving town soon! In a few days!” My grandfather shared with the food stand owner, strategically leaving out the word Sambor. 

“Really? Don’t be sad old man, I’ll give him extra bacon today!”

We slowly made our way onto the beach while chomping away at our crepes. My grandfather was trying his best to finish it before we got there since he always made sure not to spill any of the food onto the beach. As usual, we arrived at the beach at the best time. The sun was now hiding behind some dispersed clouds close to the ocean horizon, sending dissected light beams down onto earth like portals to another world. The rising tide was slowly destroying dozens of abandoned sand castles. We walked onto the beach and turned right towards our townhouse to complete the last leg of our circular excursion. My grandfather was walking slower than usual that day, savoring every ticking second between footsteps before they struck zero. The tranquil calmness that oozed out of him at all times was stolen. 

“Remember when we first started getting the crepes? Back when you were in middle school. It has to almost 10 years ago. Then, he didn’t even have an actual stand and menu, remember? All he had was one cart with a single grill on top, making random creations requested by customers. He is doing a lot better now. Quite a lot of customers now. So I’m sure he will be fine missing out on our orders from now on.” 

“What do you mean? You no buying the crepes anymore?”

“I don’t know. Not for a while maybe. Eric is only 11 years old. Maybe I will come back with him when he’s of the right age.”

There is a huge gap between me and the rest of my generation. Eric, who’s eleven years younger than me, is the closest in age with me. The other four cousins are all within three years of age with Eric. Additionally, I am the last remaining full Tanwai child in this generation. The four cousins are all halfies, products of my two aunt’s marriage to foreigners. There was always a separation between me and the other five cousins, not just literally but also emblematically. My grandfather was the elder son of his generation, my father was the elder of his, and now I am for mine. Being the elder son of your family has its significance in the Tanwai culture. When my mom and dad were trying to have kids, they prayed for a male. I was manifested and put here on this earth, in this family, for the purpose of leading the next generation in life and in business, and in this case, to also preserve the Tanwai identity in the Lin family. In my grandfather’s mind, losing me could mean losing the pillar that acted as the connective tissue between the generations. But in my mind, that connection was lost the moment I said my English name for the first time to my grade school teacher.

“So what’s your immediate plan? You know, once you get to Sambor.”

“Well, first thing I do is try and get a job at the… uh… Northern Publishing House. Once that is settled, I going to continue working on book I am writing right now. Hopefully, two years is all it took.”

“Is it going to be tough getting that publishing job? What would you do if you didn’t get it? You’re going to be out there alone, with no family members. I have a friend or two that lives there, I will get you guys in contact in case you ever need help.” 

“Okay, understood,” I replied superficially, knowing that I would never see those friends of my grandfather.

“That apartment you said you’re going to rent is all settled too? It has a washer and a dryer right? What about a shrine? Don’t miss the monthly prayers.”

“Yes, grandfather. Costly building, it will have washers in the basement. And yes, I will go to shrine at the end of every month. “

“That roommate you got, is he a foreigner or one of us? Are you going to have Tanwai friends over there?”

“Ā gōng, why are you worried all of a sudden? We talk about this already last week, all my affairs are in order.” I replied, ignoring the last two questions he asked. 

At this point, my grandfather’s foot dragged to a dramatic hard stop in the sand, kicking up a slight sandstorm in front of us that mystified our next step.

“I’m worried that you will be lost in Sambor. I’m scared you will lose the Tanwai connection. You will never lose that dark complexion of yours, but your spirit—that you can lose.” I stood facing my grandfather’s back and dropped my chin to my chest. I already knew the pacifying answer that I would give every time this topic came up. My brain would always be left churning whenever it was mentioned. Do they not feel it too? Can they not feel the disconnection deep-rooted between us? Can they not tell that I lost that Tanwai spirit the second I found my love for English? Was it not apparent that part of the reason I have accustomed myself to the English culture was that it was the gateway out of this enclosed place? The more I studied English, watched western TV-shows, and read English books, the less proficient I was in building connections with my family. They wouldn’t be able to understand the jokes I could make. They wouldn’t be able to relate to the references I could bring up. They wouldn’t be able to engage in literary conversations with me—what I enjoyed the most—since those only existed as English concepts in my head. Even if I wanted to, even if I tried my hardest to be as close to my family as they wanted us to be, it wouldn’t be possible. Of course, it pained me a little, but I realized that it was ineluctable. They had to have known all this all along. They had to. 

“No one in our family has moved out of Tannai before,” my grandfather said. “For six generations, every Lin had stayed here, managed the metal business, and maintained the Lin family name within this city. It is a peaceful and relaxing life here you know? The company is already established and running on its own, all you have to do is go into the office every few days and sign some papers, then you get this comfortable living. Everyone here would know you and respect you. All your family would be here, welcoming you back home every day. You are the elder of your generation too, the next leader. All your younger family members will look to you for guidance in the future. You’re a Lin, Kài Ji. You will always be welcomed back here.”

That Tanwai Chinese name given to me at birth, while being the way my family referred to me, was no longer what I called myself. It had been like that for years since my elementary school teacher asked ‘what is your English name?' The self-realization I felt when people at school called me Marius—the name I gave myself— could not have been compared to the ghostly feeling when Lin Kài Ji was uttered at home. Though he was a successful businessman and a revered religious figure in Tannai, nothing mattered more to my grandfather than family; this value had been infused into the blood that ran through us, the wooden planks that lined our townhouse, the blades of glass in the garden, and the grains of sand we stomped on. Everyone in our family lived within walking distance of each other and the townhouse, which made bonding activities a regular thing. We were a unit that glued every member together without choice or contest, consistently exerting a gravitational force that pulled us in, a force that slowly damaged the power of love. All the affection and adornment I unmistakably had for my family didn’t change my desire to escape that orbit; in fact, my love for them was exactly the thing that was driving me to do so. It would not be sustainable for me to inhabit this mesocosm they maintained. I had to develop an indestructible determination so I would not look in the eye of my enemy with tears. I had to fight with confidence in the battle between my first name and my last name; between the name I gave myself and the one I was given; between Marius, and Lin. 

“I have to see what out there, Ā gōng. This place will always be my home. I will come back eventually. Once I am done observing life.” I paired this reply with a big sigh, wondering if my answer was enough to satisfy my grandfather for now. The tide continued to climb toward where we stood. No amount of sand or seashells was going to stop its inevitable advance. 

“We’re all going to miss you. We will pray for your safety and prosperity. Come visit us often, and call every week. Remember to take that family emblem I gave you, carry the Lin name into Sambor. Just know what you are striving for, Kài Ji. Be sure of it, and never lose your path. Let’s walk back now, it is about to be dark.”

My grandfather resumed his slow steady steps as I stood fixed in my spot observing the setting sun. When I looked back, he was already a few steps ahead and left behind a deep trail of footprints carved into the sand like props on a stage, all lined up for me to replicate. I took a second to marvel at how structured and neat the footprints were, how alluring it would be for me to sink my foot right into the ridges to see if our shoe size matched. But before I was able to take my first step, a splashing wave came flowing in and engulfed the footprints. The whooshing whitewater, producing sounds incomparable to any other, spun and churned around in a bewildering fashion, creating white ridges resembling a snow-capped mountain range. Pebbles and sand grains carpeting the surface of the beach would all be the water’s prisoner of war, dragged down into the oceanic void as it exits the shore, exposing a novel layer of the beach that had a lot of pent up emotions to spill. What remained after the waves flowed back into the ocean was a clean, untouched plain of sand empty of any previous influence. My grandfather’s perfect tracks were now gone. I sunk my foot into the soft, malleable wet sand and marched on without watching my steps, not knowing that the path would not lead to the destination I envisioned. I didn’t know that the English life I desired didn’t have such a wide open entrance. I didn’t know that the curly hair and dark complexion would be enough to render me a remnant of the Sambor community. I didn’t know that no matter how fluent my English got, no matter how poetic my writing would be, I would never be taken as seriously as the foreigners. I didn’t know that I wouldn’t be able to escape the Tanwai last name adhered to my face. I didn’t know that I wouldn’t be able to be Marius. But that was for me to find out on my own, in my own way. I couldn’t have known then. 

§

“That was the last time I saw my family and my grandfather. Two years later, a surprise phone call from my mom signaled the passing of my grandfather. My emotions were mixed, contradictory. It felt like a symbolic shackles chained around my whole body was loosened, but it skinned me as it unwound. I didn’t go back for the funeral. Work conflict. And I haven’t gone back to Tannai since I left. I do miss my family sometimes, but I haven’t gone back.” 

Marius finished telling the story that he had never told anyone else. He had never heard all those thoughts in words before. Illustrating the whole story required him to dig up old sentiments that was previously sheltered in a forgotten cabinet deep within his brain. Hearing every detail of it uttered out loud pulled that shutter door wide open, allowing the oceans of memories and emotions to come rippling along, wetting every surface of his mind. With his eyes closed, Marius could hear countless workers attempting to clean up the mess. They kept on mopping and mopping, but it never occurred to any of them to use a bucket to collect that water. When he opened his eyes again, he fixed his vision on the stranger that he momentarily forgot was still there. The stranger was just sitting there staring blankly into Marius’s face.

“And how often have you been talking to your parents?”

“At first, we called almost every week. Then the frequency gradually went down to us calling whenever something came up. Less than once a month, which is where it is at right now.”

“I see. You should talk to them more.”

The stranger then nodded his head slowly, the way someone did when they wanted to communicate messages that couldn’t be conveyed through words. Suddenly, the two travelers felt the train coming to a sharp stop.

“Oh! Here’s my stop. It was nice to meet you! I’m glad we got to do this, it was great. Take care.”

With this, the stranger swiftly snatched his porcelain bottle off the table and extracted with ease the bags he spent so much energy stuffing. He then floated out of cabin 37 carrying two handfuls of luggage without giving Marius a parting wave or glance. Marius felt a combination of deep confusion and anger. What was that? Who was that? What was the ‘this’ he pointed towards? Marius thought they did nothing but simply told each other a piece of their story. He didn’t receive the revelation he believed he was going to get from the stranger. There was no response to his confession, no resolution to his enigma. Marius tried to look out the train window, yearning for the escaping view fleeting away at light speed. He didn’t realize that the sun had already sunk below the earth. A swallowing plate of darkness was painted on the window. Marius wanted to find comfort in the soothing mother nature, but all he saw was his own reflection staring back at him with those same desperate eyes. He sternly looked into those eyes unblinking for a few ticking seconds, marked by the churning train tracks, then he closed his eyes and lowered his head. Dripping sounds were still being emitted within his lonesome thinking. Marius decided to solemnly let the dripping continue, hoping that none of the water would instead seep into the furniture, molding it. 

Marius still had his eyes closed when he sensed some light coming through the window. He uncovered his vision a little to see that the train was pulling into another station. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he felt like it wasn’t that long ago when the stranger got off the train. The light from the station rendered the window transparent again, which allowed Marius to see a sign that he had not seen in a long, long time. Marius once again experienced the electrifying goosebumps that came with the chance encountering of something that seemed preordained. This wooden plank with six letters printed on it acted as an artificial light source that slowly evaporated the continued moisture in his mind. He rose from his seat as the sun did from the east. Now, Marius saw that across from him, resting on the window seat cushion, was a crumble of tissue paper left behind by the stranger, wrapped up like how the Tanwai elders collected their finished sunflower seeds. Believing it was the stranger’s litter, Marius scooped it up and was about to throw it out the window when he felt a protruding object poking at his clenched fist. He began unraveling the corners of the tissue like the petals of a rose. What Marius found inside the enclosed flower, wrapped up tightly with Flora tissue papers, was a seashell. Marius couldn’t help himself but smile at his discovery. This was the last piece of the puzzle, he sternly thought. The discovery of the seashell allowed him to finish the picture he was assembling, except the completed image was entirely different from what he initially thought he was constructing. Marius stuffed the seashell in his pocket, discarded the Flora tissues in the trash, picked up his briefcase, and walked towards the opening train door, even though it wasn’t the station printed on his ticket.

§

“It’s getting late, Mr.Gao. Get home safe later.”

“Kài Ji, welcome back! We’ve been waiting for you all this time.”

“Yeah. I almost missed my stop. Almost.”