A Man, Whose Life Was Dictated by Crème Brulee

Translated…

Although he’d called himself, a “Man Who Escaped Because of Treason”, but I’d still seen him as patriotic, and thought that he’d loved his country so much.

The reason being simple, a man who’d fallen in love with the caramel cheese pudding from the flight meals to England, how can he possibly NOT be able to stay put in England?………

The turbulence hit, it’d started, twitching.  I awoke, from my sweetened dreams, like I was, all of a sudden, tossed into this, deep purple, constantly getting larger cloud whirlpool, with the flames, the shouting thunders, and the rain like the stages of the old Roman coliseums, enclaved, into a circle.

from the papers…

This wasn’t the prelude to some plane crash, but, it was, a trip of my olfactory senses—the plane still flew, steadily, leveled, the sun still shone just as brightly, like the painting on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.  The rest of the passengers on this flight were, enjoying their meals, they’d torn open the packaging simultaneously………

Before this encounter, I was, hit twice, with the olfactory awakenings: once at the snowy capped mountaintops of Switzerland in the restaurants, where almost every guest ordered cheese fondues; once more in Macau, with the entire street taken over with the dustiness of the Portuguese egg tarts.  Before those tourists who were chowing down, or stood in a long line, waiting to order, I’d always become like a cockroach that was, evacuated by the pesticides, ramming around, like a headless chicken, trying to escape.

“Excuse me”, a voice had, traveled through this lockdown of purgatory.

It was, a man with a monkey like face, short and slim in stature, sitting, by the window seat to my left.  Looked about forty, with the Gothic nose, the spread-out brows, with light blonde hair, that reminded me of the scarcely grown patches of Africa.  He’d spoken with a thick British accent to me in English, repeated, “I’m sorry, are you not eating that?”, he’d blinked his kinda shy looking, grayish blue eyes, glared at my caramel pudding that was untouched.

I couldn’t mumble out a single word at him, I’d pushed my pudding to him.  After he’d thanked me, he’d, blinked at me once more, and asked me again, “Are you sure you don’t want it?  Do you want my food?”, he’d thumbed through his half-eaten packed lunch, and found, an untouched, still in wrapping dinner roll.

not my photograph…

I’d wanted to tell him so gladly, that someone had, finally, helped me rid of an annoyance, that I’d wanted to thank him.  But I’d only, slightly waved my hand at him.

He’d become like a skilled miner, quickly, used the plastic spoon, dug an asteroid landing.  As he’d happily thumbed around with that small spoon, he’d glanced over at me a couple of times, or rather, precisely, at my tray.  And so, I’d made the gestures of “Go ahead, enjoy” to him, and, he’d gladly, accepted my offer.

Waited until the lunch trays were picked up by the flight attendants, there came, the era of peace again.  So, we’d started, carrying on in conversations.

“This would be the very first time I’d encountered someone who didn’t like pudding.”, he’d wiped his lips, showed an understanding smile toward me.  And, I can only, confess, that I was a person who held that deep animosity toward dairy products (save for yogurts and ice cream), that every time I’d gone on business trips to Europe, I’d immediately found a place to stay at the hotel that’s right by the supermarkets, or those B&B type self-help apartments, so I can make my own meals, and avoid interacting with the relatives of caramel cheese pudding, like those egg salads and what nots.

doesn’t that look yummy!

“Wow, then you must love the foods in your own country then!”

I’d told him, with this unimpressed tone of voice, that it was all, personal preferences, it had nothing to do with how much patriotism I carried toward my own country.  In Asian countries including China, there were those who’d enjoyed western styled meals.  “It’s just, that my appetite is more patriotic than my head is all.”

He’d told me, he was born in a home of a teacher in Yorkshire, who believed in the new religion, that his parents were very well rounded, very conservative, that he had three other siblings.  He’d worked in an insurance company, and for a social welfare organization.  After he’d graduated from college, he’d married his female classmate, then, divorced.  The cause of his divorce was the DNA test, the child they had wasn’t his.  “Do you know, that HALF of the newborn children in England are illegits currently?”, he’d become really moved, the unemployment rates, the taxes, the traffic, the public safety, as well as social welfare, and other issues had, made him disappointed.  Especially how the traditional marriages are now, crumbling, and there are those who are currently, “dating around”, and the belief of being faithful, fidelity had, gone out the windows; the heterosexuals don’t want to get married, and the homosexuals are fighting for their rights to marry, “It’s truly, outrageous!”

Because of his defeat in his marriage, this unlucky man had, quit his job, just went to the Philippines for a bit.  He’d told me he’d wanted to migrate to Southeast Asia, other than feeling disappointed with the British society, there was also the concerns for his health and the weather.  Plus, he’d believed, that Asian woman fitted to what he’d wanted as the ideal wife, obedient, quiet, dependable.  He’d even wanted to convert to Buddhism too, he’d tattooed the Chinese character for “Zen” on his left inner forearm.

The purpose of his trip, is to stay in Guangzhou for a few short days, then, head to Singapore, Malaysia and Thailand.  I’d not wanted to burst his beautiful bubbles about Asia—but, the problems he’d complained about, he wasn’t the only one who’d experienced it, and, the wave of change globally still didn’t get limited to just the economics.  Or maybe, he should take after Gauguin, moving to Tahiti, that’ll end his troubles for sure.  Comparing, I’d much rather give him more practical beliefs, like the early tea in Guangzhou, or the night tours in the Pearl River.

And so, this British man’s life is, directed by his own destinies, and, he’d blamed ALL of his misfortunes on bad luck, and, he’d become, fixated with food, and, because how he’s attached to foods, food will BE his downfall.