Mr. Fu

Waiting on my bike for cars to pass, I oppose the proper flow of traffic, simply because to agree with it would take me away from my home.

At last the cars pass slowly; ‘new hands’ slower than old hands, as they methodically and awkwardly navigate first around a ‘No Parking’ sign and then me and another opposer on bicycle, too. The sign is propped up adjacent to a full set of parked cars.

Last to wait for, in our attempt to pass, is an army-green colored canvas-covered traxi - the local adult-size version of a tricycle, which acts as a taxi.

Instead of passing, he slows and opens his flimsy hinge of a door and grabs the plastic yellow sign. He folds it flat and tucks it inside his cabin.

He mutters under his breath and audibly informs us that he’s going to do away with the sign, as if we had asked.

Had he arrived on-duty just to do so? Or was he simply stealing the sign with only a two biker witness?

The fellow behind me and I chuckled at his brash, if rational, manner, and I peddled away now that the jam had disappeared.

mr. fu

I imagine the essence of this very situation, and perhaps more so, a character just like him:

A Mr. Fu, the kind of man who takes matters by the horns and wrangles them by hand - be it orderly or ad hoc. Be it justly or unlawfully.

He is the kind of man who silently opposes the government, staging action that leaps when there is the slightest loss of command.

He express his opinions not with words, for many a worthy word are lost to fool ears.

He is deceivingly patient. But let there be no doubt, he will act. And he acts without regret. Regret is a foolish thing to hold onto, he says. Regrets should be lost with the wind as the weather changes on a whim. To hang onto regret is to wear your winter clothes in the spring, for sake of not wasting them.

This Mr. Fu is a man that people respect -no matter if they disagree or support him. Either way, he is too quick for anyone to comment.

A complaint registered with Mr. Fu is lost to ears wizened, for he knows that foolish words are but the sound of rustling leaves, the wind having already left.

Mr. Fu smiles with his eyes, and without need of words, he speaks only when words are necessary. It is in this way that he usually has the last word.

Others dare not speak after him, else to offer thorns when a rose has just bloomed.

Mr. Fu is alone in his actions, his thoughts, but never lacking for others drawing near.

Note: Access to Blogger is still blocked within China. Without access to a much appreciated VPN (proxy), I would be unable to publish to my blog from within mainland China. Thus, I am blessed and grateful to be sharing.