If pressed to describe me in three concise words, most people would probably say “short, nerdy, Asian” -- or, if the person were a little more benevolent, “petite, studious, Asian”. But even with such vast differences in adjectival choice, at the end of the day, I – 宋亚丽; Ya Li Sung; Lili (or some variation thereof) – am about as indistinguishable from the rest of the young female population of China as one can physically get. Because for some strange and screwed up reason, Westerners seem to think that “short”, “nerdy” and “Asian” are all synonymous with one another… so why they continue to use all three to describe me despite the obvious redundancy is still a mystery in itself.

…But I digress.

The point is, the narrator in question is characterised perfectly by almost all the stereotypes attached to her race – starting, of course, with appearance. Standing at a towering height of exactly 156.5 cm, with a 56.5 cm waist and (virtually) non-existent boobs – I might as well have been pressed from a cookie-cutter mould of what God wanted a Chinese girl to be. Toss in the so-dark-you-can’t-actually-see-where-pupil-ends-and-iris-begins brown eyes, the dead straight and effortlessly shiny shoulder-length hair in basic black, the flat face, button-nose and reasonably clear skin… well, I’ve got ‘average’ down to a pat and wouldn’t be at all surprised to be on the receiving end of “…but you all look the same!”. Because truthfully, the only stand-out features I’ve had the luck of being blessed with are the double-lids from my mother’s large, liquid eyes -- so it’s a pity I’m so short-sighted that you can barely see them past the frames of my half-centimetre thick glasses.

Nevertheless, the great irony here is that I’m not hideously ugly. Actually, I’m fairly certain I’m not ugly, full stop. At best, I’m “nice looking” – at worst, I’m just plain. Which means, give or take, everything averages out to a healthy “ordinary” – “ordinary” equalling no fuss, no bother, no problem at all.

...

--Normally.

...

So it was just my luck that Life had to slap me with a best friend (best friend from the cot, in fact) who happened to be the paragon of womanhood, whom beside “pretty” (let alone “ordinary”) doesn’t even stand a chance. Ladies and gentlemen, meet the superhuman superbeauty May-Lynn Lu. The May-Lynn Lu who excretes estrogen like the Trevi Fountain, the May-Lynn Lu who attracts men like flies to honey by just breathing the same air--

“…Lili… Earth to Lili...”

--The May-Lynn Lu who’d probably been trying (and failing) to get my attention for the past five minutes.

...

“Sorry, May.” I automatically say as the present scene and vibrantly busy buzz of a student cafeteria at peak lunchtime hour zone back into focus. My yet untouched mocha has gone slightly cold, but I gulp down a few mouthfuls anyway. “…You were saying?”

“I was saying,” she teased. “That if you and the voice in your head have finished your counselling session for the day, whether you wanted to go into town after class.”

I start to nod, but a quick whizz through my mental calendar stops the obliging movement. “No, by that time there’d be no point.” May-Lynn looks quizzical, so I elaborate. “I don’t finish till six today.”

“Six? But isn’t Psych your last lecture?”

“Nope, not anymore it isn’t. Law tuts have started, and I’m in the 5pm on Wednesdays stream.”

As May-Lynn absentmindedly shook out her dark curtain of wavy hair, I catch from the corner of my eye a random guy at another table glance interestedly in our direction.

May-Lynn, of course, doesn’t seem to notice. “Wait, isn’t it quite late in the year to be starting tutorials?” she asks, as I shrug noncommittally. Suddenly, her expression turns mischievous. “…Well, keep your eyes open and tell me if you have a cute, male, unattached tutor, okay?”

I make a face. “Erm, how about I tell you about the fascinating things I’m sure to learn instead?”

“Uh-uh.” May-Lynn wagged her finger. “That you tell to Amber, remember?”

...

Our laughter lingers long after she and I part ways.