The Good and Beautiful
Jimin Kang, Group 4: Fiction, Chinese International School
nd you,” he said, “are going to write me the best feature to have ever been written about the
Great Wall.”
A menacing pair of eyes loomed closer as the office turned deadly silent.
“
Ever.”
It was a dank, dripping day in January and George Lee was ready to break. After
scrapping his New Year’s resolution a mere week after he had set it - to go three days in the office without some
form of reprimand or another - his life had become yet another banal cycle of getting to work, getting through it,
and simply surviving. Like a defunct and merry-less Ferris Wheel was how his life functioned: over and over
again, spinning the same circles, seeing the same view. And as of lately his view had not been pleasant - not
only was the weather always and continuously dank, cruelly smothering the subtlest of sunshine and dampening
his spirits as well as his coats, his boss continued to bombard him with terrifyingly high expectations and tear-
inducing deadlines. One could not not wonder how George - with his trim black spectacles always perched upon
his shrewd nose - lived through it all with nothing but the regular dosage of cheap cup noodles.
“
And... and when is this due by?” However much he did not want to know, the question had to be
asked. It was a routine gesture, politeness even.
George’s boss paced a few steps before answering his question. George knew, deep inside, it was all an
act of taunting. Inside the mechanics of the boss’s mind, he had already planned out the deadline, the issue
number, the font to be used in the final publication. Although, of course, he dared not show it, the fact that his
boss was deliberately delaying this monotony even went so far as to irritate George.
“
Let’s see...” A wry smile crept upon his boss’s face while George instinctively began to freeze over.
“
How about the the 15th? A week. That’ll be plenty. Yes, the 15th.”
A week? Plenty? George couldn’t help but verbalize his inner protest.
“
But sir! Surely not a week? I’ve never been to the Great Wall, so how am I supposed-”
“
Exactly why,” his boss boomed, “You will be leaving tonight. Five hours. I’ll see you and the perfect
manuscript next week.”
And with those words left resonating within George’s speechless mind, his boss exited the room in a
condescending flurry. Trembling, George slipped the lonely plane ticket into his weather-worn bag. He had five
hours.
George could remember a time when life wasn’t so vapid. When life was more than a fruitless cycle,
when it provided an everyday, inspirational impetus for his writing as opposed to what he now obediently
accepted.
When life had more to offer; when life had offered love.
The fringes of his romantic era hung distant in his mind, palpable yet inscrutable like an early morning
fog. Amongst the fraying of his weary mind it took him a while to remember.
Her name? Jia Li. Good and beautiful. For once a word not lost in translation.
Jia Li was a free-flying spirit; her eyes full of wanderlust. Everyday she would muse over the places
she would travel to, spending hours - even days - losing herself within the leaves of a tattered travel book, its
spine unbound from years of infinite dreaming. To every shiny-eyed request George would say: soon. Soon
would they go discover the world and its myriad of treasures. Soon would they soak up culture like good
atmosphere. Soon would they create memories like Xiao Long Baos, to enjoy, to cherish and to share once the
time came to end their travels. Soon, George had said. Soon.
But soon never came. After scoring a long coveted job as a journalist, the only soon George could see
were the soons of deadlines. With his exhilaration at achieving a long-held dream he began to forget his
promise; and oblivious, unknowing, he stood by and watched as Jia Li’s soon became a never.
He watched as the vitality of Jia Li’s eyes were replaced with an unknown, hardened dislike. At the
mention of ‘soon’ - now an abstract, undefined syllable - her eyes would glaze over and her broken smile would
thin. The Jia Li George had known... was gone.
So it came as no surprise the day he came back from work to find Jia Li standing at his door, defiant.
He hardly had time to comprehend the picture: swollen eyes, swollen suitcase, swollen note. “I’m sorry,” Jia Li
had said. “I guess my soon starts today.”
An empty hug, a courteous kiss. Then Jia Li, his sweetheart, was gone.
That was three years ago. This was now.
“
A