Chat with a Turkmenistan lady

I went to a book club event that just started recently, and the book I was reading was a teenage sci-fi adventure with a very simple plot and people were basically chatting about the topic. As long as I am a little careless on this occasion, I will fall into the disease of talking about my personal experience. It should be one of the symptoms of introverted people who overcorrect when socializing. So I accidentally talked about how I broke my arm when I was drilling an undeveloped cave with my friends when I was young. The effect, of course, is one of "wow".

Probably because the story worked so well, and then when I talked about why the protagonist in the novel fled from the impending collapse of the survivor's homeland to an unknown land of hope—or hopelessness, I got more involved and talked about how to live in China How did the job at that time become a sensitive word, how many inspections the boss at the time wrote until there was no chance to write another inspection, and how I decided to leave the country that made me unemployed. I know that I am the only Chinese among the people present, so I don't feel too scared after I finish speaking.

The story didn't get much of a "wow" and I felt like a veteran of the war or fire who, when the time comes to tell a joke, can only tell old stories that make it hard to respond appropriately. Fortunately, I have passed the stage where I need to silently say "as long as I don't feel embarrassed, the embarrassing is someone else", and I am sure that this level of gaffe can be turned over by ruminating for a few minutes before going to bed tonight, so as not to let I tossed and turned until late at night before falling asleep.

Surprisingly, a woman about my age stopped me after the reading and asked if I had time for a chat. The reading session ended 15 minutes earlier than expected, so of course I had time. We sat down in a corner and chatted.

She was from Turkmenistan and asked me if I knew the country because most people here didn't. I said I knew, although not very well. What appeared in my mind was the Japanese manga "Shoujo Bride Story". In addition to the overly beautified lifestyle scenes in Central Asia in the second half of the 19th century, there is only "Russians are coming" which is not suitable for foreign cultures. Background information that people bring up when they chat for the first time. So I'm left with one knowing question: Do you share a culture with the Uyghurs in Xinjiang, China?

She said yes. Terrible things happened there, just like what happened to you.

I said, no no, what happened there was much, much, much more terrible.

Tears were streaming down my face just as I said the last two words of this sentence. Even when I saw this kind of scene in a literary film, I would feel that the actor was using too much force, but this happened like this.

Apologizing, I searched my bag for tissues that I knew were not there. She also tried to help me, but unfortunately she didn't bring it. Luckily she didn't seem more emotional than I was, and I was as calm as anyone who hasn't burst into tears in front of a stranger.

I stopped crying and asked her, maybe your place is okay? I mean the government, there are no dictators like us.

Her eyes dimmed: No, we have one too. He made his son president, and he's going to make his grandson after that. We are now the same as North Korea.

We both fell silent for a few seconds. I said, I don't know what's wrong with the world, there are so many dictators. When I was growing up, the world was changing. And now another Cold War looms.

She nodded and told me the story of her family. Her husband is doing his third master's degree here, because that's the only way they can get a visa to live here. After they left Turkmenistan, they have traveled to 15 countries, studying or working, trying their best to stay legally. During the COVID-19 pandemic, they had to return to Turkmenistan because their visas expired, but their home countries refused to open the country to them, so they continued to stay abroad, changing countries and changing visas. Their children grew up in this upheaval.

Our conversation continued, and most of the questions were understood by the other side before they were spoken. There was so much I didn't have to explain to her, and neither did she. At the end of the chat, I asked her if she would come to the book club again? She said that during Ramadan—which she didn't need to explain to me—her energy was limited, so she might come less often. I understood very well and told her that I would come later.

Today's book club also confirmed that the next book to be read is "Anne's Diary". This theme will definitely bring back some inappropriate memories for me. I just hope that the atmosphere of the scene will not be the same as that of a PTSD mutual aid meeting. However, I'm pretty sure that the Turkmenistan lady wouldn't have wanted to know me, and I wouldn't have known such a legendary story if I hadn't babbled.

I don't know where the family will end up settling. In fact, I don't know where our family will settle down. I guess this is the life of exiles, we leave our hometown, or our hometown has left us, "We push forward, the boat against the current, and keep going backwards until we go back to the past."