Tears streamed down her pale drawn face as she clutched at her pillow tightly. Sunlight streamed through the window and it seemed an unfair taunt that it was a rare beautiful day outside. The world was still spinning but hers had come to a stop again. Eyes squeezed shut fighting the tears that slowly ebbed until she could fight no more and sobbed openly into her bare hands. This time it was really over and she knew something inside was at peace and another part horribly disfigured. Her body shook violently with the deep breaths someone deprived of air would take. But for now all she felt was she had lost him forever and could never go back. After 5 years the chapter had closed.
Two months before she took the long train journey across the English countryside to the small town she had long since moved away from . Isabella fumbled through her over packed overnight bag and drew out her mothers antique compact mirror. In her reflection she could already see smudged black eyeliner and quickly wiped it from under her eye. Her make-up had a habit of sliding around like paint on a pallet to her annoyance. Her face was always heavily covered to disguise the pimples that still emerged in her early 20’s. Something to do with hormones the doctor had shrugged. Still she was a attractive girl with deep almond shaped-eyes, a delicate nose and full lips. She always managed to full together outfits for every occasion that suited her body accentuating her long toned legs and hourglass shape. Today she had worn fitting jean pedal pushers and a striking red halterneck careful not to lean back against the worn train cushions. After reapplying the last of her yummy lipgloss, contented now, she shoved everything back in the front pocket from where it came from. Leaning against the glass she watched the trees and electricity pylons pass by and wondered how much nutrients would be left in the well ploughed land. Her thoughts drifted to her old house in the fall when she would watch the tractors make huge wheels of wheat outside her bedroom window. It always fascinated her to gaze at the sea of perfectly designed lumps. She remembered the loneliness of the spaciously empty house and sitting on the window sill wondering if someone would ever love her. Her sister was older now and liked to amuse herself by watching episodes of “Friends” over and over again. Her whole family was isolated from each other and the world now. She had dreamed of a strong man coming to rescue her from her family and protecting her with all his love. She would meet him crossing the road, in her school, a friends brother’s mate, or a repair man called to the house. As it turned out she had met him the day they sold their home again, and she knew the moment she saw him she would love him forever. She smiled to herself dreamily as her eyes recalled the moment she first spoke to him. She had been excited watching him all day moving boxes into the van and exchanging bashful smiles. Moving house this time didn’t seem nearly as hard as it had done before and she dashed around pushing boxes to the door and making cups of tea. As the last box was unpacked the next day and after a girly chat with her best friend Kristy, Isabella plucked up the courage to say hi and the romance of a lifetime began. It always felt like the best thing she had done in her life, her eyes re-focused and she realised she would change trains soon. Her heart began to beat stronger at the thought of seeing him again mixed with the powerful feeling of dread. She brushed a couple of loose hair from her face, sighed and wished it would all go back to the way it was before.
Standing on the old Victorian style platform once again she shuffled her bag around her shoulder trying to counter balance the weight. Her hands were clammy and her mouth dry as her eyes searched across the emptying station for the broad grin and deep eyes that made her a feel like a schoolgirl. He stood under a brick archway looking ruggedly handsome as he always did in his work clothes with his hands in his pockets. She looked down at her feet and willed herself to cross the peeling iron bridge. She reached him with her head lowered and eyes on him and everything melted away for this moment when she would be in his arms again, Isabella dropped her bag at his feet and wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face against his inhaling in his sweet smell and kissed him gently. They broke away too soon for Isabella as he asked her the usual and took her hand in his and lead them to the car. She hoped that this time it would be like old times and then the dread kicked into her stomach that maybe it wouldn’t. They idly chit-chatted the drive to the next village and Isabella familiarized herself with the landmarks and small village houses again and remembered the day she and Kristy had rode on their bikes for hours to meet him on a summers day. She was lost in her own thoughts as she gazed out nodding to the beat of the music. They pulled up on the off road driveway and onto the gravel that crunched under the ill-equipped sports tyres and stopped. With a heavy heart now she clambered out of the low bucket seat and hoisted her bag back on her shoulder and adjusted her clothes straight. The pigs were getting big and there looked to be more chickens than she counted last time. She looked away and felt like a walking disaster already, she sighed to herself and kept going. Phil’s house looked more and more like a farmers home with dozens of fresh eggs on the kitchen counter and the cheerful yet melochony yellow paint on the walls and where cups of tea were ever ready. The furniture never matched and yet had it’s own harmony and musky feel accompanied with the fireplace Isabella never thought to light. His parents had lived here for many years now yet had dreams of selling up and retiring abroad. Isabella thought that they probably still felt obligated to stay for their children’s sake although Phil was the youngest of four siblings now 26. His family would be classed in England as “normally dysfunctional” which kept Phil’s parents busy plenty. It was odd to Isabella as his parents were so kind hearted and humble happy people that they should be shouldered with all the 21st century problems of single parent families and a not so drug rehabilitated eldest son. Phil was the black sheep of the family, kept himself to himself and had a good idea what he wanted from life but not the motivation to get it, still he had the good sense to keep his nose out of trouble. Five years after she had met Phil, he was still sitting on the fence wondering which way to go which frustrated Isabella near to tears today. She put her bag at the end of the bed and took out her tobacco and rolled a cigarette quickly to perfection. Being in his room reminded her that he was a big fish in a small pond where there was barely enough room for two people. She craved the familiar comfort of his touch yet they sat parallel on the side of the immaculate made-up bed like a pair of book ends with the ashtray between them. It never felt this difficult to be with him and the silence filled the room bouncing back deafening. Why was it so hard for them now? The smoke curled up in the room and Isabella sighed again. “What’s up?” he’d ask, “Oh, nothing…I just dunno what to do”. “About what?” he pressed. “Just stuff, us, it doesn’t feel the same” she replied sadly. “What do you mean?” sounding confused. “You know…just how it used to be” she struggled on, “I don’t know what happened…”she thought and her brow furrowed as she searched inside herself. Phil leaned away with his head turned to the window now. She stopped from digging her own grave and shook her head and stubbed out her cigarette, she said “Sorry, let’s just forget about it” and brushed her hands down her jeans to straighten them again. He looked at her with eyes that said “What the hell Isabella” and rolled onto the bed and switched the tellie on. It was like walking on eggshells from there on in. She had made her bed and now would sleep in it. She laid down and looked through the t.v and was lost in her thoughts again. If she couldn’t explain it or understand it herself then what chance did she have in ever communicating it out to Phil. She felt hot and stifled by thinking about the hopelessness of it all and how trapped in her own mind she was. Locked in torment for all eternity she thought, destined to be alone and confused forever. Love was in the room, but it was blocked out the way the moon eclipses the sun. Her heart was closed to him now, she knew for sure. A part of her had died a long time but she didn’t realise until now she was hauling a carcass around. She would give anything to feel the love she once felt with the man beside her. She cursed herself the way she had a thousand times before for ever leaving him in the beginning. Things would be so different had she stayed, she would be so different. She debated silently if her life would have been better, she would probably working in a grocery store, working humbly and as hard as he did everyday, struggling and striving for the little luxuries they dreamed of. But she would have the love and affection she always dreamed of, and suddenly it didn’t sound so hard in her head. It sounded oh so easy in her mind and everything would work out okay because they had each other, and that’s all that mattered. She slowly turned her head to him and softly sighed and apologised with her brown eyes until he looked at her. His gaze gently took her back into his arms and he stroked her hair.
She would never forget the day she first left him, from that moment on, Isabella’s world changed. It was like a shift in the tectonic plates beneath her feet, a violent separation that tore the land. It shook everything in sight until it reached the deathly silence that followed. Little did she know that the land she stood on was drifting out to sea further and further from where she once stood. Phil and her family on the other side, standing, waiting in the dust. She turned to look to where she was heading and when she looked back they were all smaller and her distress lessened. They were still there, just further away. She promised herself she would be back, just after three months.
Isabella stepped off the plane into a heat she never felt before. The air-conditioning of the plane had reminded her of a long late autumn evening turning into freezing winter in England. The automatic doors of the airport slid open and a rush of heat went through her whole body as if the whole world was a furnace. The silent tears she had cried as the aeroplane took off were from another time, another time zone, another country. She had made it on her own and a wave of pride washed over as she looked out on Malaysia. She had landed on the island of Penang. It twinkled tiny lights and she had known that those tiny lights were filled with places she’d never seen. She deeply inhaled and then felt the weight of the jet-lag and the night set in. She looked out for her auntie and uncle she hadn’t seen in 11 years, Isabella’s father had shown her a picture of the couple before she left. In fact he had briefed her for hours what his home country, Malaysia was all about. They had sat in his budding garden in London together as she listened attentively to every word he spoke in fascination and amazement. Nearly sixteen years old, when her father told her the world was her oyster, she believed him. He gazed dreamy-eyed reminiscing over the food she would taste, the people she would meet, the places she would see. It was the closest she had felt to her father and she had the desire to succeed and make him proud where others had failed. He had spoken at lengths how Isabella’s cousins were running in the rat race despite their education, they would never be free in his mind. It hurt her that he had spent more time with her four cousins and barely knew his daughters mind; How different she truly was and how much she was alike him. It would be many years later she would be able to prove to him what she had already known and make him feel proud. He had envisioned her trapped, raising a bunch of kids and surviving on social benefits. He had known that Isabella was in love and his fears for her lead her to the safety of Malaysia. He had wanted her to explore the world as he had and live to the fullest. Isabella vaguely grasped at his point but couldn’t imagine being any happier than she already was unless Phil explored the world with her. In the same way her father had wanted to save her, she had wanted to save Phil from his exhausting, unappreciated job. In her mind it was perfect. She trusted that everything would work out better than fine. What her father failed to tell her, was that she was an oyster, that men could sense she held a pearl inside and she was to protect it. She was exposed in her curiosity in her journey to opening up her mind. He had always placed her physical well-being as top priority and taught her well how to avoid and escape harm, however, she knew nothing of protecting herself emotionally from the harm other would inflict intentionally or unintentionally; the people who smiled and held her when she cried.
Isabella’s auntie had the biggest smile she’d ever seen, one mixed with pure happiness and a emotional tear escaped her eye onto her rounded sun seasoned face. She took Isabella into her heart and home that night and Isabella felt as safe as her father promised she would be. Isabella was to stay in the town her father grew up in, Taiping. The alertness and anticipation she had felt for the long-haul flight faded away in the car and she fell into a exhausted sleep excited to wake up the next day to call Phil.
Isabella had finally felt accepted into a society of people and bloomed quickly. She had always felt like an outcast looking in, and now she was amongst people that took her in and protected her. She was looking out onto the this new world. She soaked up the sounds of a sizzling wok and the song of unfamiliar birds in the morning. The scent of her pillow and the taste of wan tan soup in the morning. Her senses were alive to the heat on her fair skin and the cool tiled floors under her bare feet. She was taking in her surroundings and environment and felt that in a day Malaysia was more home to her than England ever had been. This was the alternative life she never had as a child. Her parents had met shortly after her mother was released from hospital from her death bed. Isabella’s grandmother had finally told her more of the truth days after her 21st birthday. As the story goes, Isabella’s mother was on her way home driving in the early hours of the morning from a night out when the tyre blew out in a quiet suberb of London. She was alone when a friendly helping hand came to her aid. Isabella’s mother was very beautiful at twenty-four, she had striking green eyes that sparkled when she laughed and spoke eloquently, they were the type of eyes that could end a war with the softness of her pleas. Her hair dark almost black, shined and fell in loose curls down to her lower back. She was a petite lady with shapely curves and retained her supple athletic figure from the earlier years of her gymnastics routine. She wouldn’t have been out of place attending grand balls with the way she moved so gracefully, yet now she was standing by her broken down car asking for help to the strong handsome hero. With the temperament of a innocent child, she agreed to accompany him back to a friendly house party. It was then at the group gathering she was offered drugs she had never heard of or seen before and she accepted.
She was found by her terrified mother and out numbered brother some weeks later in the same house she went back to that night. She was naked, huddled in a corner and her gentle mind seized and rocked with addiction. Isabella had never seen her hardened Scottish grandmother cry as the memory and pain ripped a old wound wide open. Isabella cried as she listened and visualized the horror of her grandmothers discovery of her baby girl. She was the daughter she had dressed in pretty dresses and bows as a toddler and was now scavenged and ravaged by at least one man. for her mother and her grandmother cried for the daughter she felt she failed. No one could be angry at Isabella’s mother for her innocence it was pure heartbreaking sadness. Instead the anger channelled through to her grandfather who offered to cycle 25 miles when the news reached him his daughter was in critical condition. Isabella’s grandmother never understood why her daughter cherished his blahzay appearance more than the mother that stood by and held her hand night and day through a coma. This was Isabella’s family secret. But for now, all Isabella had known about her parents relationship was that they had never married or lived together and it was a mutual decision. Her mother had wanted a child and she had chosen a Chinese man born in Malaysia as the father. Up until now, Isabella thought little more of him than a sperm and cash doner. It was difficult for her friends to understand how she separated her ‘biological father’, K.c from her step-father Paul. She had found out the summer before she started secondary school, when her mother sat down on the ground in the jungle animal decorated bedroom. She asked the twelve year old very slowly and carefully if she knew who momma’s good friend K.c was. Isabella was confused, of course she knew him, he bought her sweets and sometimes birthday and Christmas presents. Isabella rubbed her fingers through the worn carpet against the grain fluffing and flattening it again repeatedly in circles. When she looked up she saw a sweet smile and her mother looked bemused at her innocent child. “K.c is your dad”, she said plainly which brought on another wave of confusion to Isabella. How could a virtual stranger be her dad and what did that mean about the man she had always had in her life and raised her. How could that be when she looked in the mirror she never saw the Chinese blood in her, but it was plain as day to everyone else.
Isabella had never seen so many Chinese faces before as they hustled in for dinner. She was memorised by their eyes and how dark and deep they seemed to go. She was stuck that in every pair she came across they all held back something and pride glazed over them. Honest and hard-working her auntie and uncle were, a combination she had never seen so strong. In England the eyes were overworked and anxious yet in Malaysia they always made a big fuss over pouring tea and sitting down together. The place they came to eat in was along a row of buildings with the bottom shop entrance defaced and open aired. It was like walking into a sheltered cave with fans whirling around at high speeds and the steam from the woks circulating in the air. The people bustled around and the sound of plastic chairs scraping the tile floors filled her ears as the whole place was animated. They sat down on a round table that had been freshly wiped with odd little orange plastic dishes and a glass container with black liquid inside in the centre of every table. She felt semi-confident that she would be able to use the chopsticks but wondered what the blue porcelain scoop spoon was for. It surely wouldn’t fit into her mouth like the spoons back home. Every time she has eaten Chinese food with her mom from their favourite take-away shop there has never been cause for a spoon. So she waited in curiosity and looked around at where she was with her hands on her lap. The clothes people wore looked very outdated and washed one too many times. Oversized tee-shirts for men and women, shorts above the knee and Jesus looking sandals or flip-flops that made a smacking sound. Isabella felt overdressed in her casual sky blue pedal pushers and a white lace trimmed vest top and must have stood out from a mile. Girls around her age had no make-up on and their hair brushed up in a rough silky black pony-tail with stray hairs strewn from the heat. The old and young dressed and acted alike and she found it hard to distinguish one Asian from another. She focused back to her aunt and uncle who has been so very kind to her and they made general chit-chat until a guy stood by the table and spoke quickly in another language without looking up from his pencil and paper. Auntie spoke back just as quickly and looked at uncle and Isabella to confirm, although now she sat still leaning in a little closer. She broke her train of words and direction as she asked what Isabella would like to drink and a little nervously if she liked pork. Most of the time around auntie, Isabella looked up at her with bright eyes and a enthusiastic nods which seemed to please her. Then more words she couldn’t understand were exchanged and the guy spun around and took strides to the back of the clattering kitchen. A pot of tea with a slightly chipped spout was set down moments later and tiny cups with no handles the same blue pattern as the spoons was pushed in the middle along with orange juice. Auntie began pouring the tea carefully into each cup and rested the teapot back in the middle. She made a big fuss that it was very hot and to sip it slowly. Isabella held the cup in three fingers and took a sip and tried to hide her mouth after she burnt her tongue. As she tenderised it on her teeth she looked at the dog-eared aluminous posters with Chinese calligraphy. Lots of squiggles that didn’t mean anything to her no matter which way she tried to read it. The food came in on big oval dishes…one two three and four each one totally different from the last. Isabella’s eyes widened as she inhaled the sweet aromas of the steamed leafy vegetables with chopped garlic, fine strips of red seared pork with cubes of soft tofu. The colours were incredible and her mouth instantly started to water. The beef oozed tenderness which she instantly recognised with green peppers and a thick translucent sauce. And then finally a beautiful whole steamed fish came flying down on the table along with three heaped bowls of rice. This was a magnificent feast and she graciously allowed her auntie to put more food on her plate and nodded even more enthusiastically. Each mouthful tasted better than the one before with their own unique textures, crunchy and smooth, chewy and silky. Isabella knew she could even live off these first dishes forever and be happy. After tucking in until the fish looked like it belonged in a cartoon with only the fish head remaining and bones and the plates contained congealed sauce and lonely stray food she sat back and left the urge to lie down and rub her stomach. Isabella could hardly believe that food could be so good and thanked her auntie and uncle until they blushed and suggested they go home and rest.
The drive home in the air-conditioning felt blissful this time as she gazed out of the back window. The streets were long and narrow with bends and curves at the end, driving slowly along the park the trees were enormous and gracefully billowing down to the water which filled the lake. Her father had told her before she left that it was mined for tin when the Chinese first came to Malaysia and that the void in the earth filled in with water and became one of the most beautiful landmarks in Malaysia. It was a picturesque sight with vibrant greens stretching into the distance with seating areas with roofs the same style and bright colours as the ones she had seen in pictures of China. Couples were dotted around in the clear lake on paddle boats eating ice cream quietly contented. Isabella smiled sedately and gazed at the brilliant blue sky.
Isabella unzipped her suitcase as she sat cross-legged on the floor. She was sleeping in her cousins room across the landing from her auntie and uncle. Taking out the folded clothes she realised that her favourite cardigan was going to be too hot to wear here. Reaching for her phone and sprawling on the bed she re-read each of the messages she has saved from Phil. She hoped in someway they would ease her growing loneliness but as she thought of what he might be doing in England, she missed him more. She became restless until she got on her feet again to find her auntie and an international calling card and retreated hastily back to the privacy of her room. Zapping a chain of foreign numbers until the one she knew off by heart she held her breath as she heard the dial tone. “Hey Phil, it’s me…”, “Oh hey Isabella, How you doing?” She could tell that he was smiling and she relaxed her shoulders instantly. “I’m great, this phone line isn’t too good tho”…”What?” He replied “…I can barely hear you” Isabella half smiled half frowned at the absurdity of the situation. She struggled on repeating herself half a dozen times explaining what it was like in Malaysia and eventually stopped before getting frustrated. “I miss you Phil” she said softly. “What?! Speak up Zoe” “I MISS YOU PHIL!” “Oh…I miss you too…” The phone beeped in her ear and told her she had one minute remaining. “I’m sorry babe, I’ve got no more credit, I really do miss you and wish you was here… I love you”, “I love you too Isabella, call me soon, I miss you…”. It was almost physically painful to put the phone down, she put it on the table slowly and kept her fingertips on it for a long time and then walked away in silent thought.
As the days rolled by, Isabella became immersed in the culture that breathed around her. Fascinated by the superstitions and way of life that governed the people, and constantly surprised and curious to know more about why things were the way they were. Her cousins came down from Ipoh, a city a few hours away and she wondered what it must be like. Ban Lee was the younger cousin and reminded her of an impressive warlord from his height and frame, like a big towering tree he stood firm and when he laughed his body shook. Ban Hock was as equally as tall with a lean figure that would bend like bamboo in the wind yet resistant to a storm. Ban Lee teased her a lot that she was in nappies when he last saw her and the three of them would sneak off after dinner to have a cigarette away from disapproving parental eyes. Isabella felt like she had two older brothers looking out for her wherever they loved teaching her to play the computer games they played almost religiously. She would even dream about being a archer and protecting her cousins from a distance. She followed them to play pool in worn and tired joints and would sit on the side sipping lemonades and laughing at the jokes thrown around table. She was happy to have good company and felt she would miss Malaysia and it’s treasures when it was her time. Isabella’s perspective made a striking contrast the world she was raised in and England now paled in comparison. She could only remember the grey skies, the junk food lifestyle and expensive clothes as a general overall. The weather was either clear or raining in Malaysia, the food choices endless and the clothes uniquely beautiful and cheap. She was a teenager living in a tropical paradise without her parents who ate the best cuisine daily and dressed like a supermodel. Isabella never laid in the sun like her best friend would abroad, she was praised and admired for her fair skin. The first word she learnt in Malaysia was “swuei” which translated as “pretty” and she heard it everyday wherever she went. It was a big difference from being told she was pretty from a ugly chink. Isabella was teased from primary school and bullied through secondary school living in constant embarrassment and fear of what people would say about her. She was always anticipating the next insult, and shove in the corridor that she had walked with her eyes to the ground for as long as she could remember in school. If she found herself alone, she was very much introverted and vunrenable looking for someone who could empathise. She found refuge and strength in her closest friend and they never seemed to get picked on together and could get away with minor mischief and cheekiness in private jokes. With no threat of attack, she was ready to burst into laugher any moment and lived for sugar and adrenaline rushes. She had been in love with Phil for six months when one night she was out with a semi-close friend Micheala in town. They were hanging out on street benches rolling stolen cigarettes from parents and watching the cars fly by with bassy music systems. Isabella never really knew why they sat there waiting for the attention of flashy racer boys but it was the fun she shared with Micheala. They had jumped in a merceades the week before with a twenty-something guy and Isabella sat in the back seat memorised by the new cream leather and how well the suspension held up over the bumpy country roads out of town. As they sat by the side of the main road now, Isabella spotted a group of girls she avoided at school coming around the corner towards them. Isabella looked at Micheala as a cue to do something but she received a blank face and a embedded shuffle on to the bench. Isabella was fairly confident that nothing would come from it as Micheala was a fairly liked girl and a hefty 5,10ft figure so she stood her ground waiting. The head of the pack had been skipping most of school lately to tend to her recent pregnancy and the side-kick bitch now stood in her place. They accused Isabella of chatting up a local boy who one of the pack fancied and called her a slag. She was cornered by five girls and three younger boys who were picking stinging nettles and waving it in her face and brushing it on her arms laughing. Micheala had slipped to the side and stood at the back watching as the tormentors further cornered her. Her heart was beating so loud she could feel the blood pulsing in her head and her hands were sweating buckets that she clenched them in a fist to hide them. She stood bravely and tried to hide how scared she was and tried to convince them of the truth plainly. They stood dumbstruck for what to do next and in silent observation of their prey. The head bitch a short boyish blonde with permed hair and gypsy hoop earrings stood within arms distance to Isabella now and she saw no exit to escape. “You want to hit me don’t you” she said as she observed Isabella’s hands. “Well go on then, hit me you dumb bitch”. A thousand things ran through her mind as she assessed the situation, Isabella recalled that the person who made the first attack would be in wrong and pressed for assault. But then if she made the first move they might back off realising that Isabella was capable of fighting back. Her mothers words made her strong and she silently tried to find fault with the girl facing her but found nothing. It was hard to tell who was more shocked when Isabella punched the queen bitch in the cheek. She hadn’t wanted to break her nose or blacken her eye but to let her know she wasn’t afraid. She stood trembling with her head level on her opponent waiting for what would follow in silent suspense. In a blur of frenzied flying blonde hair and fingernails Isabella’s ponytail was being yanked hard in a scuffle being jeered on by spectators. She freed herself and began running onto the main street begging for someone to help her while being chased and punched in the back by another of the girls while cars passed. Isabella dared not look behind her as she now ran tears streaming down her eyes to the police station. She relayed the story as best she could to the police woman and her mom and spent the rest of the night in her room replaying the scene over and over again thinking if she could have done something differently.
The bullies seemed to be in another world now as she walked through the massive mulit-story shopping centres with her cousins. She felt proud and protected as if she was someone famous with her two bodyguards on either side. They always watched over her and she loved watching them bargain shopkeepers for something pretty she really wanted. Ban hock always translated things she didn’t understand and would clue her in on conversations. She never felt left out. Isabella was enchanted and everywhere they went people would try to talk to her in Chinese and ask her where she was from and tell her she was so pretty especially the women who loved to touch her on the arm as they said it. Isabella beamed wherever she went amazed that she was so adored in Malaysia. She felt like someone important and the more people looked at her she felt more comfortable finding more things in her environment that was beautiful to her.
Her grandmother was the sweetest and tinyest person she ever met. Bustling around the kitchen making herself busy stopping to chat and laugh was the sweetest sound to her ears. Not one word of English passed through her lips but her cuddle said a million words. She was glad to have Isabella as a granddaughter and fussed over her in her own ways ensuring everything was ok. The food was nearly as sweet as she was and tasted simpler without the complexities of over-spicing and brought out the individual tastes of the fresh raw ingredients. Isabella teased her grandmother that she could see numbers on the lo-han fish in the tank. To which she bustled over on shuffling flip-flops to peer into the tank as a speed Isabella never seen her move, Isabella giggled but then regretted it slightly as she saw the disappointment. The lo-han fish are considered very lucky and bring wealth into the house. The fish are sold for ridicious amounts of money sometimes as much as a house if they have a visible number on their scales. The Chinese take their superstitions and luck seriously as Isabella found out watching her auntie preying at the temples shaking long sticks out of a holder to reveal the lucky numbers. Isabella liked lighting up the josticks and kneeling to prey before putting them in a huge cauldron. There was something very spiritual and uplifting about going into a temple that Isabella didn’t understand. She felt a bit of unease like she didn’t really belong there and didn’t understand what budhaism was all about other than budha was a actual Indian prince who found enlightenment. The other prominent figure was the goddess of mercy who was always popular around the preying Chinese folk. Auntie had taken Isabella to a temple where the goddess of mercy was sleeping, it must have been 30 strides across and covered in gold. It was massively impressive and a beautiful sight. At the back of the statue Isabella saw for the first time a wall containing peoples urns of ashes. It seemed rather strange as Isabella read the placks of long names and wondered who they were and why they died. It was a odd train of thoughts she always had in graveyards. The structure of the temple itself was something worth to see for itself, each of the temples she has visited had the same recurring colours and patterns of bright greens, blues, yellows and lots of reds. Incredible arched roofs and tall red pillars. Big grand entrances that allowed plenty of light and air to circulate. Heading out and back into car, she adjusted herself accordingly in the car seat so the vent was blowing cold air onto her face as she pointed to things as they passed and asked what they were excitedly.
