Some people think Chinese people are all the same.
I know they’re not.

In my apartment block there is Ms Chueng,
young and beautiful and
still looking for love at 27.

Each morning I see her and
we say ‘hello’.
She asks me about
football and the cold in England.
So I tell her that it has been
cold in England since the 1980’s.

Then on the 15th floor
there is Mr Wang, he lives alone
with two cats and reads Tang poetry.
I lent him a book of poems
by Emily Dickinson a few weeks ago.

Now he is fighting for love with the
teacher who lives above him.

Below me there are the Shan’s,
and their two children.
They have been to America twice.

They talk about trade wars and a
President who twitters all the time.
They think he lives under a floating moon.
I don’t tell them what I think.

So you see Chinese people are not the same.

They are a mind-map of personalities, ideas
and hopes.

Just like me.