Queen of Love

“Gossip’s a problem, huh?”

“Oh…” Lisa giggled. “You are really innocent!”

She was soon absorbed into the crowd. Aya remained by the wall, empty wineglass in hand as she struggled to switch her thoughts into a language she better understood.

Fakeness. Passive-aggression. Sucking up. Aya was already tired. While all three of those things existed in their own way back in Japan, she was used to a carefully crafted script she had learned as early as elementary school. This is a place where people brag. She came from a place where people served themselves humble pie for breakfast if it meant everyone else thought them more admirable for it.

And Aya wasn’t like Lisa. She wasn’t looking to leave an old life behind. If anything, Aya was adamant about still having her life in Tokyo, where her job and family were, instead of being completely chewed up by Singapore and the greater Chinese-speaking world.

Why am I even thinking about this right now? She had only been dating Genevieve for a few weeks! Long-distance, no less! Aya was perfectly content with the pace things had been going. Getting to know each other, sharing aspects of their lives with one another, and focusing more on the individualistic delights like sex and doing other fun things together… that’s what Aya wanted to focus on right now. Not how her life might change if she fell in love with Genevieve and had to navigate all of this…

This!

Class. Identity politics. Historical bullshit. Potatoes and bananas, which was the word Aya had learned in America to mean the same thing. She didn’t know those same sentiments could be actually shared within Asia.

She searched for Genevieve in the crowd. There she was, laughing with another woman, the both of them touching each other on the arms and shoulders as they doubled over in delight. Why should such beauty and a charming glow that represented the best of humanity be anything but… love?

Before Aya could answer her own question, she caught sight of someone else near Genevieve. Someone who had been looking over in Aya’s direction for God knew how long.

She certainly stuck out. I mean me. She also meant the blue-haired woman who barely came up to Genevieve’s shoulders but commanded her own corner of the room, like a silent goddess reigning over a population who may or may not still believe in her.

The blue-haired woman sipped her drink before flashing Aya a smile and extracting herself from the room. Her confident gait was something Aya could only aspire to in a place like this.

She had a feeling, though, that she and the blue-haired woman weren’t that much different from each other.