He walks past me, doubles back, and approaches with an earnest smile. Black backpack. Black skinny jeans. Black sneakers.
‘Hi! Do you have two minutes? I’m doing some research and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.’
We are kin unmet: brittle black hair, almond-shaped eyes, olive skin that holds scars easily. There is an immediate sense of similarity.
‘What sort of research?’ I ask, tucking my handbag in to my side.
‘I’m doing a theology course.’
It’s not an answer, but more than an answer. He talks about his studies, and I’m listening, but he’s not telling me much. I smile and listen harder.
‘Mind if I pull up a seat? I’ve been walking around all day.’
We sit, knees pointing together, in the foyer of the library. He’s talking about his faith now. I wait for the research to begin. At my elbow is another Chinese girl, playing on her phone. Several feet away, a tall white man huddles over his laptop.
‘I was wondering, where are you at, in your beliefs? Do you believe in God?’
I stare into his crinkled eyes. I’m at the end of my journey; he’s in the middle of his. The question is a bridge through time. I could tell him so much, but it’s impossible in this space. I give him a single word answer.