Greg was on his third plate at Four Seasons Chinese Buffet when he started feeling full.

He probably shouldve laid off those sugar-coated donuts, but damn, theyre good. He doubted

for some reason that such donuts were authentic Chinese food, especially next to the French fries

and popcorn shrimp. But did it matter?

Taking his last bite of General Tso chicken, Greg threw down his napkin like he was

surrendering. He let out a sigh and took a swig from his glass of water. He let out a burp,

anticipated by his friend Dan, seated across from him. Dan rolled his eyes. He liked Greg, but

also thought he could be gross at times.

Why do you take so much food? asked Dan, taking a sip of water.

Its a buffet, said Greg.

Do you not read the signs they post about not wasting food? asked Dan. It was now

Gregs turn to roll his eyes.

Oh, please, he said, letting out another burp.

The waitress came by and thanked the two with a heavy Cantonese accent, laying the bill

on the table.

I can barely understand these Chinese people. Why is English so hard to speak? asked

Greg.

Dan glared at Greg.

Stop, said Dan.

What? Its a valid concern, said Greg.

 Yeah, like you really care about her ability to communicate in English. Please, said

Dan.

You have to speak English if youre gonna live in America. Its a basic fact, said Greg,

shrugging.

Its not though. Were living in what used to be Mexico. Its not that simple, said Dan.

Thats all history, said Greg.

A very accurate observation, replied Dan. But, really, if youre so concerned about

communicating with that girl, why dont you learn some Cantonese? asked Dan.

Greg huffed. Yeah, right. I shouldnt have to speak Cantonese in my own country.

Even though the Cantonese helped build this country?

Fuck off! said Greg, getting up from the table. You can sound like a real prick, you

know?

Dan just laughed. They grabbed the check and paid their bill at the register. Dan was

thankful Greg didnt make any more comments. The two hugged and parted ways. Dan and Greg

had known each other since middle school, so hearing Greg tell him to fuck off was nothing

surprising. Dan liked him anyway.

Greg got in his truck and turned the ignition. The radio came on, and as he shifted the

truck into gear, he paused to listen to what was playing. It was an 80s pop hit. For a moment

Greg couldnt think of the name, but then it came to him: I Think Were Alone Now by

Tiffany. Not Gregs usual style of music. But this sounded different. It was the singing, the

lyrics. It wasnt in English.

 Greg strained to hear the words better, but he couldnt really tell what language it was. It

sounded like Chinese, but he wasnt sure. Why on earth would that song be playing in Chinese?

It certainly wasnt a Chinese station. After listening to it a few seconds longer, Greg shook his

head and flipped the channel. A popular rock song came on, in English thankfully, and with that

Greg put the truck in gear and headed back to class.

After dozing off through two class periods, Greg met up again with Dan. Greg would

take Dan over to his place where they would smoke weed and listen to music. It was their

favorite way to chill out. Dan hopped in Gregs truck and they took off.

Smoke and the pungent aroma of cheese and citrus filled Gregs bedroom as rock music

poured from his surround sound system. It was a meditative space, for all intents and purposes.

Greg was fully and intensely immersed in the guitar solo of Hotel California. Dan just lay

nearby laughing quietly. As the song faded at the end, Greg was about ready to pass out when he

was abruptly awoken by a now-familiar song. He sat up, eyes wide, the haze suddenly gone.

Youve gotta be kidding me, he said.

Dan sat up, too, listening carefully. Sure enough, that familiar 80s pop beat started up,

and much to Dans surprise, it was in Cantonese.

What is this? asked Dan, chuckling.

I heard this on the radio earlier today, I kid you not! said Greg.

Really?
 Im serious, dude. This weird Chinese version was playing on the usual rock station. I

didnt know what to make of it. Do you think it had something to do with eating at that Chinese

buffet?

Dan laughed as he shook his head and pulled out his phone. He opened Shazam and the

app identified the song as Wu ban de wu by Yolinda Yan. Dan showed the screen to Greg.

Yep. Its gotta be Cantonese, said Dan. This Yolinda Yan mustve been a pop singer

in Hong Kong. Honestly, its funny to hear that song in that language.

Funny? It sounds ridiculous, said Greg. Dan rolled his eyes.

Youre just not used to the language.

It sounds weird! said Greg, throwing up his hands.

Dan just shrugged.

All tonal languages sound weird to the English speaker.

I mean, what is she even saying? Tiew tiew tiew sai? What kind of language is that?

Like I said, tonal languages sound weird to us, said Dan. Relax, dude. There are

covers of American songs in all kinds of languages.

I dont know man. People should just speak English, said Greg.

Dan rolled his eyes hard and stood up. Im starving, lets eat something. Chinese?

A couple days had passed and Greg had all but forgotten about the strange Cantonese

transmissions. It was most likely, according to Dan, an instance of Baader-Meinhof Complex, a

pretentious term used to describe that bizarre experience of learning about something new and

then seeing that new thing all over the place. It can happen to anyone. But Dans attempts at

soothing Gregs mind fell to pieces when Greg called Dan one afternoon while the two were on

campus.

Hello? answered Dan.

Dude, I swear I just saw that Chinese chick, said Greg. His voice sounded hushed.

Who? That girl from the buffet?

No! That pop singer, Yolinda or whatever, said Greg.

Oh, Yolinda Yan? Dan laughed.

Yes! I swear I saw her in that same 80s pantsuit, same hairstyle, same look as on that

cover art you pulled up on Shazam. Damn. I know I saw her. After a few seconds of silence,

Greg suddenly whispered, There she is again! I have to follow her. Ill call you later.

Greg hung up and started walking in the direction he saw Yolinda heading. He soon

spotted her going towards the campus library. He quietly followed, entering the library about a

minute behind her. Greg slowly stepped through the lobby and kept his eyes open, concentrating

on the rows of bookshelves up ahead. He thought he saw a bright patch of a suit heading left

down the third row. Quickly catching up, Greg looked down the row to see nothing but a book

lying on the floor. Greg approached and picked it up, staring at the cover: Cantonese For

Beginners. He opened the book and turned to the first chapter. The first phrase taught was: How

are you? ? nei5 hou2 maa3

 Greg dropped the book and backed away. His face had a look of disgust written all over

it. Why the hell were there numbers at the end of each word? What kind of language writes with

numbers? Greg looked around, but he was all by himself. Yolinda was nowhere to be seen, and

he wondered if hed really even seen her. Did she lead me here? After glancing down at the book

once more, Greg turned and walked out of the library.

Dan soon called Greg to find out what had happened.

She went down one of the rows of books and disappeared, said Greg. Dan made a noise

that sounded skeptical. Im serious, bro. She was gone. Except

What? asked Dan.

I picked up a book that had fallen to the floor in that row. It was a beginner Cantonese

book. I dont know if she had left it there for me to find or if it was just a coincidence, said

Greg.

You think Yolinda Yan is trying to get you to study Cantonese? asked Dan.

Greg scoffed, although thats sort of exactly what hed been thinking. Saying it out loud

sounded ridiculous though.

I dont know. I just hope shes gone for good now.

Why? You dont like Cantonese pop stars?

No, I just It gave me the creeps, thats all.

Learning a new language isnt going to kill you, Greg.

I dont need to learn Chinese! This has nothing to do with that!

 Music played softly in the background, familiar yet strange at the same time. The lighting

in the bedroom was dim and warm. Seated in front of a vanity mirror, she carefully picked up her

most luxurious red lipstick. Removing the cap and twisting the stick, she expertly applied the

shade in smooth strokes, her lips soft and plump. A few mists of perfume and a touch-up of blush

and she suddenly turned and stared him in the face, her eyes smoky and dark. Her look shook

him from the inside out and in an instant Greg was awake, torn away from the dream that seemed

to want to hold him captive. She was haunting him in his sleep now.

His nightmares and consequent lack of sleep left Greg tired during the day at school.

Classes seemed to crawl. Greg couldnt decide whether to bring it up with Dan, but he was

definitely starting to feel disturbed in a way he never had before. Nothing like this had ever

happened to him. Was this a ghost haunting him? Was this Baader-Meinhof Complex gone

awry? His own questions sounded both valid and stupid to him and he couldnt decide which

they were. A sense of embarrassment was even beginning to creep up.

On the way home from school a few days later, Greg could see a couple cars ahead a

woman in a red convertible who, at least from behind, looked exactly like 1980s Yolinda Yan.

Greg was sure of it. He dreaded it, but knew that he would have to follow her. It was a terrible,

irresistible itch.

Greg turned right down one street, then left down another, following Yolinda for a mile

or so before her car disappeared down an alley behind a Chinese restaurant Greg had never seen

before. It looked kind of grungy from the outside. He parked his car along the curb opposite the
restaurant, inspecting it. The sign was in crazy characters, as Greg would put it, and it was old

and dirty. He got out of his car, feeling compelled to enter the place. He could see roast ducks

hanging in the window. They had a beautiful golden color and as he got closer he could soon

smell the fat and meat mixed with strange unidentified spices. He opened the door and walked

inside to see an old Chinese man look up at him and smile. Words came out of the mans mouth

in such odd tones, Greg was taken aback. The man knew this white American didnt speak

Cantonese, but that didnt matter to him.

The man laughed and swung his cleaver down on a roasted duck breast, cutting off a

thick slice. He took a fatty piece of duck meat and held it out to Greg on a toothpick. Greg took

the toothpick and ate the duck, which started melting even before it touched his tongue. His

senses lit up like the neon lights of Macau. The fat, the crispy skin; Greg suddenly understood

that not all Chinese food is created equal. He was breaking free from the prison of Panda

Express. Could there be more out there? A dangerous question.

He was exiting Drop on Hollywood Road. The humidity came first, thick upon his face,

and then followed the unfamiliar scent of Hong Kong air. A group of four or five beautiful

Chinese women followed him outside from within the nightclub. The bass beats pounded away

inside as the girls laughed and shouted. He felt a certain longing for companionship tugging from

deep inside. The girls clicked past him in their heels and miniskirts and turned and blew him

kisses, the whole time speaking in Cantonese. He couldnt understand them, but had this sinking

feeling that if he could, he would have the best time of his life. The girls giggled, teasing him

almost, got in their BMW, and drove away, leaving him all by himself.
 Dreams like these were almost worse than the creepy nightmares. Greg would wake up

still feeling that longing and it would sour into frustration.

I know a 60-year-old woman from Vietnam whos learning English for the first time.

Are you as brave as a 60-year-old woman, Greg? Do you have balls as big as she does?

That was Dans version of a pep talk when Greg was complaining about having to take

Spanish the year prior to meet his gen. ed. requirements. Dan had no sympathy for Greg. None. It

pissed Greg off. Dan could be so pretentious.

And it was those words that came to him as he stared at the university library, debating

whether to go in or turn around and forget it. He stepped resolutely towards the library entrance

and entered the quiet halls. He knew exactly where to go and the book was exactly where he had

remembered it. He opened Cantonese For Beginners once more, his hands quivering.

Youre learning Cantonese?

Greg jumped. He turned to see a Chinese girl standing nearby. She smiled.

Sorry, I didnt mean to scare you. I just noticed the book youre holding.

Greg looked down at the book in his hands. Uh, yeah. I guess Im interested in it, he

said.

The girl took a step towards him and turned the pages to the first chapter, the one hed

read before. She pointed to the first phrase and read the Cantonese words slowly out loud.

nei5 hou2 maa3 she said. The numbers are there to signify which tone to use.

Cantonese has six tones.

Greg nodded. It made sense, at least somewhat.

 Anyway, if you ever want help, just let me know. Im always studying in the library,

said the girl, rolling her eyes and smiling. My names Amy, by the way.

Greg, said Greg. He held out his hand. Amy shook it.

Greg left the library, book in hand. Getting back in his truck, he turned the key and on

came the radio. As he drove home, the song came on once more. Greg turned up the volume and

listened.