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 questions.

A young, tan-coloured cat came to lie on her lap, and she told me of how she took her, and three others, in to give them food, and that they had stayed. 

"They know who loves them, and who does not. They know I love them".

She asked me again if I wanted to try some coffee, and let me sniff the jar. Then she stood up and walked behind the counter, opened another plastic bag of coffee grounds, and emptied a generous portion into a smaller bag to give to me.

"How much?" I asked her.

"Free, free", she told me with a smile, and grabbed a cake from the counter-top to add to the gift. "Banana. Keep in fridge".

I thanked her tremendously, taken aback by her sweetness and such a lovely, spontaneous series of moments.

"Very nice to see you", she said, and smiled as another customer came in to be served.

I walked out of the little shop, my heart full, and smiling.

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