‘What will you do with them?’ I asked, pointing at the flowers.
‘The elders?’ you answered. ‘I will head them and boil them up.’
You remained in my memory as the elderflower picker. Even though I later learned that men (especially European men) do pick wild flowers sometimes. But that day in the park was only a few months after I came to Britain, and I had never seen a man do that with such concentration in public.
You were the elderflower picker. And that is how I still picture you, after all these years.
Vote Leave
– It says Vote Leave, but leave what?
– Oh, leave the EU! You know, the European Union.
I came to Britain in December 2015, six months before the Referendum. I had no idea there would be a referendum. I vaguely knew this word in a Chinese context. But in China we never had such an experience. I had never voted, because we were never asked to vote. Besides, we were told only countries like Switzerland or Iceland might be able to conduct a national referendum because of their tiny populations. Leaving aside politics, I had too many unanswered questions for myself when I came to England. After my MA in sociology and film-making in Beijing, I didn’t want to work in an office, nor did I want to stick around in China. I read a biography of the American anthropologist Margaret Mead, and decided to study visual anthropology in the West. I wanted to be a woman in the world, or really, a woman of the world – I wanted to equip myself with an intellectual mind so that I could enter a foreign land and not be lost in it. I would have a stance or mission, a way of navigating as an outsider. So I applied for PhD scholarships, and finally King’s College London accepted me.
So here I was. I had arrived in the deep winter. It was cold, and mostly grey.
I had booked a small Airbnb in south London for the first few weeks, and thought I would be able to walk to King’s College since it was close to the South Bank. I laughed myself to tears when I found out the distance was so great. It was almost impossible to walk in this city. There were hardly any straight avenues or boulevards one could orient oneself with, and the pavements were an uncomfortable public space to walk on. Once I almost tripped over what I took to be a pile of laundry, before I saw it was an occupied sleeping bag, a homeless person. Making my way through the dense city was like walking a tightrope strung across a raging torrent of traffic. It was so overwhelming that I chose to use the bus instead and perch myself by the window to view the world.
Two and a half months had passed, and I moved to accommodation in east London. One morning, I was on a bus on my way to see my supervisor. I saw a poster with the word Brexit. I didn’t know what it meant. I hadn’t read any English newspapers since I arrived. I checked the word in my pocket Chinese–English dictionary. Oddly, it was not there. The traffic was bad. We were stuck in streets which were lined with other buses. Right beside us, a red bus stopped. There were no passengers on it. A slogan on the side read:
We send the EU £350 million a week
let’s fund our NHS instead
Vote Leave
I studied it for a while, and with my adopted anthropological spirit I wrote it down and photographed it. I pondered on the slogan. I had heard of the NHS – something to do with everyone getting free medical care in Britain.
While I was scratching my head, I heard someone behind me say:
‘Look, there’s one of those stupid Brexit Buses again!’
‘Oh no!’ his friend responded, turning to look. ‘Will anyone believe this bullshit?’
I thought this could be my opportunity to interview a few natives. So I stoked up my courage, and asked in my most polite way:
‘Excuse me, what is a Brexit Bus?’
‘Sorry?’
The native informant stared at me, blankly. His friend laughed. I tried to hide my embarrassment. Clearly my question was stupid in some way. Nevertheless, I kept trying.
‘Sorry, I just arrived recently. I’m new here.’
The native didn’t bother to answer. He just shrugged dismissively.
But I was calm and cool, and didn’t give up. ‘It says Vote Leave, but leave what?’
‘Oh, leave the EU! You know, the European Union,’ he finally answered.
Oh, the European Union. For us Chinese, the European Union seemed grand. And in fact, deep down, we always wanted to be part of something like that. But apparently, some people here didn’t want to be in it. Before I could continue my interview, we heard an announcement: ‘This bus is on diversion. The next stop will be London Wall.’
I thought, London Wall? I knew of the Berlin Wall, but I had never heard of a London Wall. Was it also a Communist wall but between East and West London? With some curiosity, I got off the bus, and stood in a place called London Wall, but only found myself under a bleak-looking bridge with traffic lights in all directions. The Brexit Bus by then was gone too. Now I had to walk, but in which way?
Family History
– What’s your family history?
– Why do you want to know?
In the beginning I was very lonely.
I thought it was obvious I would be lonely. I had just come to Europe. But I asked myself: had I always felt lonely even when I was in China? Even when my parents were around? Yes, I had. Maybe because I was an only child. Or maybe because the burden of study had killed any other kind of life. But here it was different. Here it was the feeling of desolation. Evenings were difficult to pass. English nights were long, and they didn’t belong to the non-pub-going people. Nor did they belong to foreigners, especially those friendless and familyless foreigners. What were we supposed to do at night in our rented rooms, if we didn’t drink or watch sports?
There was an area by the canal I often passed on foot. It was a little green patch next to De Beauvoir Town, by a lock-keeper’s cottage. I didn’t know how many lock-keepers’ cottages were in use by Regent’s Canal. And I never managed to walk all the way along the canal. I was afraid to walk through the grim part of it. I didn’t trust it. But around this cottage I had a certain feeling of homecoming. So I went back there one evening, with my bag full of library books and a packet of biscuits.
The cottage was minute, as if it were built for dwarfs. There was neither a lock-keeper nor anyone else living in it. It was always locked. There were some dead sunflowers by the wall. I sat on a tree stump next to a wild nasturtium bush, and my eyes fixed on the rusty water. It was not that I could see the nasturtiums but I could smell them. We used to eat their peppery leaves as well as their sour-tasting flowers in my home town. My mother would pick them. So with that peppery smell in the air I knew what plant I was sitting next to.
A small waterfall was rushing down from the upper level of the canal. The sound was loud, but peaceful. In the near distance, the lights were on in one of the boats. A warm glow in the grey green. It was a mournful place. I never