Xinran Xue - The promise: love and loss in modern China

Early one morning in February 2012, my husband Toby Eady and I went out for a stroll around Kensington Gardens. The gentle breeze hinted at the approach of spring. The first rays of morning sun danced in the trees, bathing buds still in hibernation. A patch of green on the ground failed to hide its growing presence. The parakeets larked around, greeting their neighbours the crows and the visiting seagulls. The whole scene gave off a most palpable sense of being alive. Toby and I walked in silence, hand in hand, along the narrow path, unable to speak for fear of interrupting the birds peace.

Ive always liked birds. As a child, I would wonder wide-eyed at the various types that visited the fruit trees in the courtyard of my grandmothers house. Some even made their nests up on the high branches. But then the birds disappeared, perhaps because they couldnt bear the human chaos playing out below. It wasnt until the 1980s, when I was working as a journalist in the countryside, that birds once again caught my attention. However, this time they were in peasants cooking pots. (There arent enough food rations. We can only survive by eating whatever we can catch, I was told.)

It is true. You could only find birds in China in cooking ingredients, fairy tales, and those beautiful old paintings.

There is a pond directly in front of Kensington Palace which I like to think of as my own Swan Lake. There, the swans have mingled with the grandsons and -daughters of Queen Victoria for generations, carrying on their respective lines. At night, the royal household holds candlelight feasts for honoured guests from across the world; at dawn, the lake ripples as it welcomes back the swans and other migratory birds. The Chinese say that a persons character is inextricably linked to their local environment. Well, I say a birds is too.

I am ashamed to say that I recognise very few types of birds. Except for swans, mandarin ducks and seagulls, I only know pigeons those birds who seem to be ever-present, and ever looking for love.

That day, we walked along the side of the pond watching the birds stop by for breakfast and a morning shower. Three pigeons caught my attention. One young lady was foraging for food on the bank, followed by two restless young men. She didnt have a moments peace.

Theyre not like us, are they? With pigeons, it always seems to be the men who are nagging, I said to Toby.

Theyre talking about love, said Toby, kissing me on the forehead.

Talking love? You have this saying in English?

In English, we say dating or making love, not talking love. But there are no laws to language only what we express and what we understand. Whats so special about talking love in Chinese?

That last sentence really struck me; I was lost for words.

The past century has seen more upheaval than any other time in the 5,000-year-old history of Chinese civilisation. The ways in which people show love for each other have also changed in the face of war and cultural development. Toby didnt mind my stalling at his first question; he simply moved on to another. We had known each other for more than twenty years, and in that time not only had his questions driven me into the boundless sea of questions on China, but also forced me into the furthest corners of my own knowledge.