In Struggle and in Light

It was finally my turn. I stepped forward and shook Édouard’s hand. I blushed when our eyes met — as if the moment had arrived too soon, and I hadn’t yet decided who I was going to be in it.

"Bonjour, Je m'appelle Oliver." "Bonjour, Oliver." "Your books resonated deeply with me because I was also raised in a working-class family in a small town in China " As I spoke, he turned his body fully toward me, his hands resting on the desk, listening in the way that makes you want to tell more than you planned to. "Which town did you grow up?" he asked. "Shanwei, a costal city near Hong Kong." I wanted to say Shenzhen, but feared he wouldn't know it. So I said Hong Kong — an internaional name, easier to hold in the mouth.

"My mother left school after elementary, and my father after middle school. I’m the first in my family to attend college. Growing up, I was insulted for being effeminate. It wasn’t until I studied in France and Canada that I realised being gay is not a disadvantage — it can even be a strength." "Yes, definitely." He said, "It sounds like we are the same. Did you study in France? Where?" His eyes widened, his hands folded neatly in his lap. "Toulouse." I said. "I loved it there. The weather in the south is kinder than in the north." "Wow, where do you live now?" "Toronto." That wasn’t true. I moved back to China to work in 2021 and live in Foshan now. But it was easier that way. Toronto needed no explanation. Maybe, too, I wanted him to think I had escaped — that I, like him, had run from the village and the past. "What about you?" I asked. "Do you live in Paris?" "Yes." "I have friends there." "Really? Have you visited?" "No, not yet." I did visit Paris once in 2012, but I thought he asked if I had visited again since then. "You should."

"Do you still feel torn between the values of the world you grew up in and the ones you discovered later in life?" I asked. "Yes. I took a lot of things from the bourgeoisie, but I also like to leave a lot of things. We have the privilege of having two cultures. I find it beautiful." "Your writing style reminds me of Annie Ernaux — the use of memory, direct quotes, plain language, and sociological observation. How has her work influenced yours?" "A lot. She's my very beginning inspiration. In France, you know, she was the only one writing about poverty. When I started, no one else was doing that. She was doing it." I wanted to ask more, to stay in that light, but the line behind me was growing. I told him I didn’t want to take too much of his time. He smiled. “Yeah, yeah, of course. You said your name’s Oliver?” “Yes. My English name. My Chinese name is Pengbo.” I showed him my phone - I'd typed my name and a sentence for him in advance. "It's a beautiful sentence." He said. "Merci beaucoup." "Merci beaucoup. I hope to see you again in Paris." "For sure, Au revoir." "Au revoir."

On the subway home, I opened the book. In his handwriting, slanted and dark, it said: Pour Pengbo, dans la lutte et dans la lumière. I read it again. In struggle and in light. It felt like both a benediction and a reminder — that every escape carries its own kind of return.