Looking Up
The Sound of Connection
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never shared
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence
My cousin and I were walking through Seattle's largely Chinese International District, the air redolent with the aromas of roast duck and fresh baked bao, when I stopped to take a photo of a broken albeit beautiful window high atop a crumbling landmark.
A tiny woman wearing a mask stopped me, her eyes crinkling with excitement as she pointed, eager to share the history of the building we were gazing at. Her animated gestures made the story come alive before she even uttered a single word.
Once our wonderful history lesson was over she shifted to topics more personal. Her voice immediately softened, a universal human gesture that signaled this story is just for you to hear, creating a safe bubble of connection on that very public street.
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you
She said her name was Heing, and how after an arranged marriage to a man well her senior she arrived in Canada before moving to Seattle.
She spoke no Taiwanese...he no Cantonese.
Her first night in B.C. torrential rains sent her into a panic and she began crying uncontrollably. Her new husband ran to get someone to translate:
"Do not scared of rain. I protect." he scribbled in his bride's native tongue.
Not long after he got someone to translate another message:
"I love you."
Soon they spoke each other's languages, learning English in the mix.
Heing's words and expression revealed their union produced 5 sources of pride - among them doctors and professors, spanning Milan, Switzerland and beyond.
But while her English still bears the patois of her homeland, her heart is firmly here.
"You come to my house tomorrow, yes?" she insisted, pulling out bamboo leaves from her shopping bag. She described the traditional dish she’d wrap inside them and make for us, her hands moving as if already in her kitchen.
Over an hour later, as we reluctantly said our farewells, her eyes welled up.
"You talked to me! You looked at me!" she said.
"You didn't treat me like a foreigner,” adding proudly, “I am American!"
Yet again, both Heing's words and expression made her pride obvious.
Heing's fear of COVID remains, and so the hugs we so desperately wanted to leave her with were respectfully replaced by her preferred elbow bump, before she turned the corner, faded into the crowd, and was gone from our sight.
The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls
That's when I looked up and saw this, on the door of the building we found ourselves standing in front of. Its message striking a deeper chord after our encounter.
"Acknowledge one another," indeed...
With gratitude to Heing, artist Jordan, and the Universe for the gentle reminder.
Because in that moment, I was reminded of how many Heings we pass each day, how many stories remain untold because we forget to look up, to meet a stranger’s eyes, to truly see each other as fellow humans sharing this city…this moment…this life.
This brought a literal tear to my eye... thank you for sharing this beautiful story in your wonderful words.