Note: Background images in December 2002 and January 2003 journal entries are selected from Frances Ku's collection of her original watercolours.
He came up to me hesitatingly.
"You remind me of a Japanese pianist who once played in Rome," he said.
Encouraged by my smile, he invited me to share a bottle of Italian wine.
I thanked him and said that I'll talk to him during my break as I must continue.
He followed me to the restaurant and asked if he could sit with me while I ate. After introducing himself briefly, he asked me where I came from.
It's the usual formalities. Why do I have an American accent? Where do I live? How long have I been here?
"You have a sexy way of eating," he said.
"You're such a charmer," I said.
"Please, come to my room."
"No, I'm sorry. I have to go home."
"Please, it's just this one night. I might never come back to this place again."
"No, I don't do that."
The more I said no, the more he persisted. He scribbled his room number on a piece of paper and gave it to me. I pushed it back without even looking at it.
"I will wait for you," he said finally.
What is this? Did I encourage him? Is he a man in heat? I'm not even attracted to him. It's just polite conversation. Had I been ten years younger, I might have been unable to say no, fearing that I would make him feel rejected. But now, I could care less.
The way to a woman's heart is not through persistence and insistence. And it's certainly not a way to a pianist's heart to wait for a call. The way to a pianist's heart is to sit and listen to her music. And the way to a woman's heart? Dream on, Romeo!
16 December 2002 Monday
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