Ji
Ji, or Jee (which one, I don't know, the spelling of either -if either- I am not sure of). The lovely eighty-eight year old woman whose mouth was completely emptied of any teeth, and who, when she stood up, had to hold her head in one palm, fingers bent backwards, while simultaneously dragging two small, stacked plastic chairs behind her. Despite her fragility -and lack of facial assistance in her mouth-, Ji seemed keen on chatting with me. She offered me some coffee (to which I politely declined), and stumbled gracefully, bent over, towards the stairs at the back of the little shop into which I had entered. I brought over her chairs, and she asked me to sit down on them beside her. Ji told me that her parents were Chinese, but she had been born in Thailand. I couldn't quite make out some of her sentences as she spoke to me, but I listened closely nonetheless. Her English was good, and she seemed to understand me well, although at times repeating some of her earlier q...
