The Unfelt Joy and an Unexpected Encounter

It was around my ninth birthday when my parents began their current routine, leaving early and returning late, always busy. I often stayed with my grandparents, sometimes with my aunt and uncle, and other times with my maternal grandparents. Wherever I lodged, my parents would send living expenses to that relative.

Though labeled “living expenses,” little of that money was actually spent on me. It felt more like a fee for my relatives’ goodwill, a token for entrusting them with my care.

My relatives treated me kindly, and my family often remarked that I was the only boy of my generation, raised amidst boundless affection.

My life was remarkably uneventful. Each day I ate well, dressed well, and slept soundly, living a truly carefree existence. Unlike other children, I never learned music, chess, calligraphy, or painting from a young age, nor was I skilled in singing or dancing.

Even when relatives introduced me to friends and family, I had no talents to display.

While I never brought them particular pride, I never cried or demanded rewards, ensuring I caused no trouble. Everyone called me sensible, a well-behaved child. Yet, I knew I was somehow different from other children.

On my ninth birthday, my relatives secretly planned a surprise party for me. I played along, pretending not to notice. To make their preparations smoother, I even found an excuse to go out and only returned in the evening.

The surprise they had arranged was more than just a lavish cake and an abundant feast.

My parents, too, had returned specifically to celebrate my birthday.

This was the surprise my family had prepared. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to smile.

I knew I should have been happy, should have shown excitement and pleasure at their return, but I simply couldn’t. I found nothing to be joyful about, nothing to laugh at.

It was merely an ordinary day, serving as an excuse for adults to celebrate, to create an atmosphere of feasting and revelry, marking it as special.

I couldn’t smile. I had no interest in a “special day,” nor any interest in surprises.

Under my family’s awkward and strange gazes, I knew I had disappointed them. Amidst the blare of party horns and the pop of confetti, beneath the birthday hat my mother had personally placed on my head, I had wounded everyone.

My parents’ smiles grew strained, and my relatives scrambled to salvage the situation. Ultimately, my birthday passed in a subtle, uncomfortable atmosphere.

From then on, my birthdays were always cursory affairs; my parents never made a special trip home again. I understood… it was all my fault.

****

The Lolita boy possessed a slender waist and delicate frame. I doubted anyone could discern his male identity from his physique alone. His demeanor, too, perfectly matched that of a demure young girl, graceful and gentle. Relying solely on life experience, it would be difficult to uncover his true gender.

“Um, just a heads-up,” he began, “I didn’t deliberately try to hide it, so I don’t intend to apologize…”

He clearly embraced his hobbies and interests without reservation, having deeply considered them and arrived at his own understanding. Yet, despite asserting he had done nothing wrong and had no intention of apologizing, a faint guilt still colored his expression.

“We just met by chance, and I thought we wouldn’t see each other again,” he continued. “That’s why I never introduced myself.”

He wasn’t using his natural voice; instead, he spoke in a sweet, soft tone that suited his image. I couldn’t fathom how he achieved such a voice, nor the effort it must have required.

“I still feel the same way now. We won’t meet again anyway, so it doesn’t matter if you know I’m a boy. If you had any romantic fantasies about me before, you can only blame yourself for being unobservant. And I hope you won’t delve into it further; it wouldn’t be good for you…”

He took a sip of his coffee. He had spent a considerable amount of time in the restroom, seemingly reapplying his makeup, so the coffee had grown quite cold.

“In any case,” he said, lowering his eyelids without meeting my gaze, “that’s how it is.”

A silence settled between us. We ate and drank without a word, neither of us looking up to gauge the other’s expression. However, he was clearly less adept at enduring such quietude than I.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked, though I knew he’d been stealing glances at me. “You’re not really upset, are you?”

He didn’t need to lower himself like this. He had done nothing wrong, nor did he owe me anything. If this continued, the atmosphere would only grow heavier, leaving neither of us at peace, turning a chance encounter into a sour memory.

Had I not remained silent then, had I offered some reaction, laughed it off earlier, we would surely be chatting naturally now.

I needed to say something, do something, to salvage this stagnant atmosphere, to preserve a connection that had barely begun. This was my first time facing such a situation, yet my mind was utterly blank. I had no idea what the right course of action was.

Was I doomed to repeat the past? To remain indifferent to everything happening in the world, oblivious to those around me, and then, unwittingly, hurt others?

That would be too despicable.

“It seems there’s nothing more to say,” he murmured, already restless. “In that case, let’s…”

“I don’t care about your gender,” I interrupted him, stating plainly. “Your gender, your name, your preferences, everything about you—I don’t care.

I have no thoughts or expectations concerning you, so I won’t be hurt. Therefore, you… don’t need to worry about me.”

We were both treating each other as fleeting passersby; a brief encounter would yield nothing substantial. We wouldn’t make changes or choices for each other, for we were insignificant in each other’s lives.

Still, perhaps we could leave behind a memory, an inexpressible one, claiming a small space in each other’s long, minuscule lives.

“I’ve been like this since I was very young. At some point, I suddenly lost interest in everything. I stopped feeling curious about unfamiliar things, and even the small joys that once brought me endless happiness became utterly bland. I no longer craved knowledge, nor did I intend to change.”

And so…

“So, I have no interest in you at all. My silence when I learned you were a boy was simply because it was my first time encountering such a situation, and I didn’t know what to say. My recent silence, however, was because I was looking at my coffee and thinking about a new Pokémon called Poltchageist, contemplating its moveset and how to distribute its effort values.”

Perhaps one person is destined to hurt another, or perhaps the outcome of any interaction is merely self-indulgent expectations followed by self-inflicted disappointment. From beginning to end, it remains a solitary affair; the other person has no obligation, no need, to respond to you.

One-sidedly, we approach others, hoping to gain something, only to end up stripping a piece of flesh from each other, creating no meaning, leaving only the memory of pain.

He stood with his bag in hand, not returning to his seat, silently listening to my words.

“…What’s a Pokémon?”

“It’s the original work of Pocket Monsters; Pokémon is its official name,” I explained.

“Is that so?” he mused, looking at me, lost in thought. Then he added, “I have work tonight, so I need to leave. You can eat the rest of the food or take it to go.”

“Mm, alright.”

We fell into another silent gaze. Could the light in our eyes travel to places words could not reach?

“And one more thing…” He slowly walked closer, hands behind his back. He leaned down beside my ear, his long, straight black wig falling over my shoulder. “If we happen to meet again next time, I’ll tell you all my contact details and everything about me.”

With that, he walked towards the door, finally waving goodbye and wishing me farewell.

****

“You really take the cake,” Dorothy said, closing her book. “I send you to deliver a book, and you stumble upon something so interesting.”

Only three of us were in the activity room. Dorothy sat across from me, holding “Love in the Time of Cholera,” a book I had just given her. Yu Tianman sat quietly beside me, listening intently as I spoke.

Mei Ruolan, meanwhile, was still with the girls’ basketball team, assisting with practice. Apparently, they had intense training for the next two weeks and wouldn’t be able to attend club activities for a while.

“So, are you hoping to see that cross-dresser again and tie the knot with him?” Dorothy scoffed, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. She rose to refill her water glass, then settled back into her seat and resumed reading.

I hadn’t yet clarified my own thoughts and feelings. So many things in this world remained unclear to me.

Even knowing we were merely passing acquaintances, knowing he was indifferent to my life, I still felt a desire to hold on, to forge a connection, to create an intersection in our lives.

“A boy with two moles near his eyes and a petite figure?” Yu Tianman murmured, “I feel like I’ve heard something similar somewhere.”

“Oh, Tianman, don’t just blurt out information to curry favor with him.”

“No, really, I do have some impression.”

Yu Tianman stroked her chin, shaking her head as she pondered deeply. Dorothy, meanwhile, continued reading her book, occasionally glancing up at us while taking a sip of water before returning to her pages.

“It was just something to talk about,” I said. “We won’t meet again anyway.”

“You can never say never,” Tianman suddenly leaned closer. “Fate is a funny thing, you know.” She looked at me, and I looked around the activity room. “Right?”

I believed I understood her meaning.

If I truly did meet him again, would I want to be his friend? But how would I even begin? I had no idea, utterly perplexed.

Why had he left those words at the end, planting a lingering thought, making it impossible to accept our parting with candor?

Never mind. I’ll deal with it if that time ever comes.

“Well, Yi Chang and I have both had our turn, so it’s your move, Little Tao,” Tianman announced. At her words, Dorothy’s face fell.

“No one said we were taking turns,” Dorothy grumbled.

“But Yi Chang shared such an interesting story; you should contribute something too.”

“It’s precisely because he shared something so interesting that I’m worried my story won’t be exciting enough,” Dorothy sighed, placing her book flat on the table. “Don’t blame me if I ruin the mood, okay?”

Tianman nodded vigorously, and I followed suit.

“You know that super otaku in our class, Tianman? The one with the glasses and buck teeth? He bought one of those really expensive anime figures, what’s it called?”

“A figurine,” I supplied.

“Yes, that’s it,” she confirmed, her eyes seeming to say, ‘You actually know that?’ “Even though he’s a day student, he deliberately had it shipped to the school address, then opened the package in class to show off to everyone.”

“Then all the boys crowded around him, scrambling to get a look,” she recounted, unable to suppress a giggle. “The result was that several hands managed to break a part of it off.

Without a word, he got into a fight with the person who broke it, and then the disciplinary committee took him to the dean’s office.”

Dorothy’s face was alight with laughter. Though it was mocking, she clearly found it immensely amusing. I didn’t grasp the humor, while Yu Tianman’s laughter was clearly forced.

“Little Tao always finds joy in such bleak affairs.”

“Of course,” she replied, her smile still lingering. “Isn’t it the greatest pleasure in this world to see someone deceived by false desires, ultimately reaping the bitter consequences?”

“What a dark sense of humor.”

“Enough about me, Tianman,” she said, picking up her book again. “It’s your turn now.”

“Alrighty!” she chirped, grinning. “Just now, our homeroom teacher—you know, that really young and pretty Chinese literature teacher—was, um, propositioned by a boy from the next class…”

The rest of the time was spent sharing such everyday anecdotes. They didn’t delve further into my encounter with the cross-dressing boy. Perhaps they genuinely didn’t care, or perhaps they thought I had simply fabricated the story to keep the conversation flowing.

After listening to a string of Yu Tianman’s relationship gossip and Dorothy’s classroom blunders, I returned home and spent the remainder of my Friday playing games.