Letter 1. 2014

Dearest Teddy,

Very grumpily did I start Monday this week: the weather was as foul as my manager’s temper, and everything went horribly wrong at work. A thousand things piled up on my desktop – both virtually and physically – and I was practically expected to teleport to as well as exist in several places at the same time. But! The most welcome surprise of YOUR EMAIL appeared around noon (seriously, why were you awake at 4am? – not that I have any right to judge you; my body clock wails at the thought of regularity, full stop.) – and here I am, saved, rescued, elevated from the depths of mundanity, happily typing away on my own cosy keyboard instead of the monstrous computer at work, blissfully intoxicated in the aftermath of your words.

Indeed there were some curious misplacements of phrases, but let’s save language lessons for video calls. Congrats on passing HSK 5! That is such an achievement, and I am immensely proud of you. And since you asked, I will take advantage of this and simply pour you with all the trashy web series I’m binging at the moment – I need to watch them for my dissertation and internship work, and I’m not going to suffer that in solitude.

Will you be able to visit Shanghai this year? I am here for most of the year apart from the Spring Festival period – my brothers and I are going to Sanya for that! It has been ages since we last went anywhere together as a family. And we’ve never gone that far down south for that matter, either. When I was a child I dreamed endlessly of going to Hainan – every year there seemed to be somebody in my class who went there for a holiday, and it would be a casual thing to bring up in conversation. But such trips were luxuries beyond our reach at the time, and we would have to make do with the postcards from my brother’s friend, who travelled a lot. It used to be a game between me and Xiao’ai to imagine what our holidays ‘far, far away’ would be like. I remember he wanted to explore jungles and islands whereas I preferred quiet mountains with lakes and waterfalls, and we both developed a great curiosity for ancient heritage sites. But Hainan still bore an allure to us – of course, now I see the structural hypocrisies of consumerist tourism, nonetheless, there is always something about the long-lost childhood dream finally coming true. No, I’m not so naïve as to think everything will turn out to be exactly as I imagined ten years ago; I am positively certain a large part of it will have little to do with my childhood dream at all. It’s the anticipation of something coming close to completion after a long wait that is delicious.

You know, like all the time we spent together in the past year. That was a rare case of a childhood dream coming true as perfectly as the heart could desire, and even more.

I’ve never been an optimistic person, unlike Elizabeth Jane, who has a whole world of hopeful prospects in front of her to look forward to. Often have I thought that I’d used all my luck in finding a real family and finding you, and I dared not hope for anything more than the sweet camaraderie we developed as children. But last year blossomed into so much more – and it has taught me to hope.

In a scandalous, shameless fashion, I miss you more than all Austen and Brontës and Montgomery put together.  

Fondestly yours,

J.

Letter 2. 2015

Dearest Tee,

I am tired, so tired, of everything and everyone around that is happy, especially happier than me.

This is an awful thing to say, I know, especially when people around me are happy and deserve no less. I would put on a mask and pretend I don’t care had it been anyone else, but I do care, massively, and that just makes it worse.

No, Teddy, I have not fallen into any trap of cultist activities, unless you agree that monogamous marriage in the modern world is a cult in some way. And yes, my brother Cang is finally getting married.

Have I told you much about their relationship? Well, in short, they are the perfect couple, I love them both to bits, and I genuinely couldn’t wish anything better for my kind, hard-working, gentle-souled brother whose life had already been too harsh for so many years. But I’m a bit sunburnt from their radiant joy and overwhelming wholesomeness.

Not that they are those sickeningly sweet couples who seem to do nothing but brag about their relationship – on the contrary, they are both shy, reserved people, and very rarely engage in PDA. From my observations at least, neither of them really is the conventional marriage-curious type, and yet they reached this conclusion somehow after years of what seemed like pure intellectual dating, the result being me writing this to you while mending my formal dress for tomorrow, at 1am, which is technically the wedding day already.

I’m glad I don’t have to be a bridesmaid, as my sister-in-law doesn’t want any. She hates fussy traditions and makes sure the ceremony is as simple as possible without sacrificing the purpose of the celebration. My brother has a best man, though. His best friend from uni. I don’t think he particularly wants a best man as part of the ceremony, but he can hardly say no to this friend, who is one of the few people in the world whose importance to him he openly acknowledges. Their wedding is neither wholly Chinese nor Western, but a clever juxtaposition of their professions, party games, and theatrical effects. The wedding guests are mostly friends and friend-ish colleagues of the couple, a fairly private group without obnoxious relatives. Well, I know my brother – he simply didn’t bother to invite any relatives; it might have not even crossed his mind. As for the bride, she has far too many relatives, so she simply asked her parents to treat them to a separate dinner among themselves, excluding all but her parents from this wedding.

I know all this because I have been involved in the wedding planning process despite not being a bridesmaid. Both me and Xiao’ai. I did all the film editing and he did all the visual design. To be fair, I enjoyed it mostly, but I’m also choked in a horrible sense of emptiness, highlighted by the perfect couple so conspicuously hoping for my happiness too.

Because I don’t think I can or will ever participate in the kind of happiness they are embracing. Neither my sense nor sentimentality believes in the purpose of marriage, at least not for myself, and I’ve already had the best of so-called ‘domestic life’: those years the three of us spent together and built a home. Nothing in marriage can top that for me now. That sense of homeness requires a certain reliance and dependence on each other that could only have been forged in vulnerable, childish innocence, and I am way past that now. Teddy, I love you and sometimes it is frighteningly clear how much power that love wields over me, but we cannot make a home, can we? Not even Elizabeth Jane and Huo Di make a home in their stories. They are drifters, adventurers, the romanticised and glorified versions of ourselves, partners in soul and story, and such partners are bound to explore and not settle. There are far too many realistic dimensions between us, and I cannot possibly fathom how we should cross through those veils.

Ships of love,

J.

(In a love triangle made up of visas, passports, and tedious jobs)

Letter 3. 2007

Dear Teddy, 

How are you? And happy new year! 

I am very delighted because I received your box yesterday. Isn’t it exciting to think that when you sent it, it was still last year, and it crossed two years in the time I waited for it? Thank you for the Christmas photos, I like them very much. Please say thank you to your mother as well, for the lovely chocolate Santas. They are so pretty that I almost dare not eat them. But of course my favourite thing from the box is your letter, and the second favourite is the books. I have started reading Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. It is very interesting and easy to understand, because I have the Chinese version too and I can read both at the same time. When my English gets better I will read them all and tell you what I think. 

I think your Chinese is better too, although I don’t understand the last sentence in your letter. But it’s OK, because I know what you want to tell me. I always know. As you wrote the whole letter in Chinese last time I am going to try writing it all in English this time. That is why it is so short, because I cannot think of much more to say without making funny mistakes. But one day we can learn to write longer letters and say a lot more. 

Thank you for sharing your email address. It is so nice to have one, isn’t it? I would love to send you emails and not spend weeks waiting for letters. Sadly I don’t have email yet because we don’t have a computer at home. My brother had one, but it is broken. However, we have a computer lesson at school every week. I will ask my teacher if he knows how to use email. 

I wish you happiness and health. Looking forward to hearing from you again!

Your friend,

Jane 蒹白

Letter 4. 2008

Hi Teddy,

A mysterious voice says it is time for quicker letters and less waiting time! And as a result, these words find their way into your inbox today.

If you haven’t guessed who this email is from, then I will be very disappointed in you. Unless you’re not Teddy, then I apologise for suddenly appearing in your inbox. Teddy, email back so I’ll know it has reached the correct address. I have a lot of other things to tell you, but I don’t want them accidentally filling some stranger’s head.

J.

Letter 5. 2016

Teddy.

By the time you receive this, England’s probably entered autumn, hasn’t it? It’s still summer in Huaiping as I write these words, ink seeping through my fingers as the old pen leaks from old age.

It’s been a while since we exchanged hand-written letters. It’s been longer since I wrote you anything in Huaiping. I’m sitting in the park where we once went singing in the bush and scared off some poor passers-by. What little bastards we were back then! I smile at the memory but feel sad – much better as I am at singing now, I no longer have that courage or impulse to simply burst into song.  

What remains unchanged is my love of the distinctive smell of summer wind in dear old Huaiping – it is only dear and old when I’m feeling nostalgic under the magic of its summer breezes at night, greenishly warm and humid; nowhere else smells like this. I remember telling you about it in broken English ten years ago, just before you went back home. You said a string of words I didn’t understand at the time and therefore have no memory of, but I do remember, still vividly, the way your eyes went misty and then sparkled, smiling at me like you’d discovered something beyond beautiful. That is the summer magic, and I always knew you would understand.

Ten years have passed since then. We are no longer children, Teddy, not even teenagers. Solitary contemplations on the nature of our bond, although adding to the sweet sorrow of trying to be closer to you, have not been exactly easy. I don’t know whether it’s the togetherness that is lacking from our pursuit of connection, or the inevitably widening gaps between our lifestyles.

Last night I had a dream about Echo Land. We, as ourselves, entered the forest from opposite ends and spent a long time fighting various obstacles in the mist, before finally reaching each other. When you saw me, there were tear streaks on your face and your smile was simultaneously delightful and heartbreaking. ‘Where do we go next?’ You said, and after the shortest pause we simply threw ourselves at each other, locked up in an embrace as if never letting go again. ‘I don’t know.’ I said, looking wildly at the misty forest around us, and feeling very sad.

At this moment, Elizabeth Jane and Huo Di emerged from the mist, fully grown up and looking at ease with the surroundings. They looked at us for a long time, and smiled, a little nonchalantly, before heading off to a new destination together, walking very fast side by side.

It seems quite silly to be so sentimental over some fictional characters’ successful rendering of their fictional grown-up life, but I am. We’d forgotten about these two for ages – and there they were, doing far better than either of us in real life.

In real life, I’m back in Huaiping because Grandmother is ill. She had an operation last week and only just left the hospital. There was a family meeting to discuss hiring a second nurse to take care of her, and those of us who have a job all contribute to the nurse’s salary. Grandmother has never been unkind to my mother’s children, but she never became very close to us either. I learned to like her as a person as I grew up, but it was a bit too late to form any real bond of love. I would probably have loved her if she’d taken us in instead of our aunt, but that was never to be the case.

I suppose it’s the same for us in a way – I don’t wonder as much now as I used to, but what if we grew up in the same country? Would we still have become friends in the first place, and loved each other throughout these years? Would that love have been as fundamental in the shaping of our souls? But there are no what-ifs. The gulfs and continents are more than physically real. Teddy, you say we need to look at what we have and be grateful for the existing richness of our connection – and I am, but what have we got besides the fragments of stories, when we are bound to take different paths?

I’m not going to send this letter, Teddy. When you wake up tomorrow you will have received my messages on the phone, as usual. And may that ‘usual’ last a bit longer, longer than a usual story.

Letter 6. 2009

Dear Teddy,

Hope this letter finds you well! You’ll notice that this is another short letter – but what is it with the 20 pages of A5 paper in the envelope? You ask. Well, I invite you to the new and complete first 3 chapters of Echo Land or 《回音地》, recreated from our old conversations. Would you like to join me in more adventures for Elizabeth Jane and 霍荻?

Love,

J.