Letter 1

Dear, I will begin to tell the story.

I came to Shanghai for the first time in November 2004. This was the place where I learned to wear red. A light blood red, warm and cheerful, with the soft sheen of Thai silk around my neck. Today I cut my hair. Yes, the long hair you have seen. You probably wondered how long it was when unbraided and untied? I will tell you: the tips reached the underside of my buttocks. That's how long they were. Anyway, this is part of the past: now they reach the lower part of my lower jaw and that is quite pretty. It makes my eyes shine brighter and my face look livelier. My long hair is part of the past but you are part of the future. Not of the past. And not of the present, somehow.
I also had it colored slightly darker than my natural hair tone, and I asked for one bright red lock on the side of my head. Of the very bright red that I have learned to love in China. I probably hope this auspicious color will bring me good luck. Maybe I even hope it brings you closer to me, or me closer to you. These days, I hope everything brings us closer together.

So I first came to Shanghai at the end of 2004. Did I meet you then? I do not think so. I seem to remember a young man driving me from the restaurant to the big food market near the Old Town. A silent, unsmiling, taciturn young man, which is why I wonder whether this young man wasn't you. But in my memory his face did not look like yours. It was not as handsome. However, I remember that his face made an impression on me. What impression, I could not tell for sure. I cannot help but associate this young man with you. I do not know why. Maybe it was you and I didn't know as yet what you would become for me later. Maybe he wasn't you. But judging by the feeling I got from sitting in that car with him at the wheel, I remember something that reminds me of you. A slight sulking, a mysterious disapproval, and extreme shyness bordering to hostility. Sometimes that is how desire utters its first cry.
I remember the man was young, I remember the waves of hostility, or what I interpreted as such. But I do not remember the young man's face.
Is it possible that someday you do tell me: "Yes, I was your driver, that first time, taking you to the market on a sunny morning"? If you did tell me that, it would mean a lot. And first of all that we'd have left many obstacles behind us.
But we are not there yet, my dear. Far from it.

Shanghai is not a city with a complex structure. With a map in hand, it is not difficult to find your way. I saw such beauty there once I decided to walk alone. Your city, and your country, hit some very important and deep strings in my heart. I never feel foreign in your city. I consider the people my brothers and sisters, and sometimes tears come to my eyes when I think of them. The weather was reasonably cold, not freezing. I cannot describe that first trip accurately though my memories of it are so vivid. Maybe they dwell in such a sensitive region of my heart that I cannot put words on them. Someday, maybe, I can tell you about it. You will have to be close, very close to me, and listen to me silently. Your voice, in short words, will encourage me to speak. It will be dark and soft, we will have to share each other's warmth. Someday, I always say: someday. Someday is a key word with us, my dear.

Day by day, I believe our relationship builds itself like a temple. I put in my love and patience as cement, and God provides the stones.
You are mysteriously associated with all the moments of peace and admiration I experienced during my lonely walks in Shanghai: my visit of the near-deserted Confucius temple, where I bought a lovely small figure of Guanyin carved in boxwood. The food market I discovered nearby. My browsing at Datong Lu, through identical fake antiques, dusty china bowls and rubber Mao busts. What I particularly remember is the crisp, blue, ice-cold evening that was falling upon me like a veil. The mandarin oranges I bought at a shop before grabbing a cab and going back to the hotel. I was so thirsty I ate one in the car. Your city, my dear, has given me a new liking for Winter, because I found that Winter was very graceful there.
I knew — and that became clearer and clearer after I got back home — that I had been greeted in Shanghai by friendly souls and spirits, perhaps ancestors, perhaps brother and sister souls. The contact had been renewed, a process had started, a new alliance had been made. I was very far from suspecting that, a few months later, the alliance would materialize as a love for you. What does it matter, if it is Heaven's will?