Annie Wang - The People’s Republic of Desire

"There are two choices for Western-educated Chinese who return to China," I say. "You either hold on to what you've learned abroad, applying it to your new life in China to become part of its native-born expatriate community, or you try to hide your Western values and pretend to be native all over again."

"Apparently, Niuniu, you have chosen the latter. But for me, that choice is a step backward. I don't really want to go native," CC replies, as her arms flail ab out in desperation. "For a while, I tried. But I can never forget that, at a beauty salon, some women thought I was the second wife of a Hong Kong man," she adds, as if it was the ultimate insult one could receive.

"What happened?" I ask.

"I told them I was local, but they knew that the clothes I was wearing could only be bought at The Peninsula shopping arcade in Hong Kong. So, they concluded that I could only be a second wife. I guess they must have a lot of experience. From then on, I decided not to hide my Hong Kong roots anymore," CC says with a tone of finality. "I like China, but I don't like to be a Chinese woman living in China. I lost Nick and I don't find Chinese men attractive. We used to make fun of this, but it's not fun anymore. I want to go back to see my online date in London or find a former classmate to get married."

"You feel the urgency to get married?" I ask CC.

"Yes. And you, Niuniu? Don't you want to get married?"

"Yes. Someday, but not now," I say.

"I really would like to have my own family by the time I reach thirty-three."

"So you don't think you can find Mr. Right in China?"

CC sighs. "I don't want a rich guy. All I want is a man I can communicate with. But most men I've met here are so shallow. Those who aren't shallow often become so popular that they don't want to stay faithful. China isn't a paradise for educated women to search for spouses: that's the sad simple truth."

After my failed relationship with Len, I came back to China to return to my Chinese life. I didn't want to fall in love immediately. I have chosen to become a detached observer of other people's lives; my passion has been left in the States. CC's words make me wonder: Do luck and love have anything to do with location? Sometimes it seems as though in certain places, you're luckier than other places. Perhaps, that's why so many Chinese tourist groups take Chinese women to Silicon Valley for matchmaking, Japanese girls spend romantic holidays in Bali, and European tourists escape to Thailand for sexual adventures. But if China is really like CC says, a wasteland for educated women, what about America? Why did I fail there where I had no shortage of admirers and sex partners?

"If you want to go back to England to get married, what about your career here in China?" I ask CC.

"My career in China? Don't you see those job ads? Women over thirty-five are hard put to find jobs here. This is another sad truth. But the saddest fact for me is that my Chinese friends are all becoming CEOs and their companies are going public. Even though many of them are clearly behind the times in terms of fashion and philosophy, they've become part of the superrich, whereas I'm still a PR account manager. I'm not stupid, and I've got a great education, but they have occupied the resources here. If I can only be a member of the middle class, I'd rather be middle-class in Great Britain where my kids don't need to breathe smoggy polluted air every day."

"What about your parents?"

"They'd love to give all of their money to me if I married a Hong Kong man. It's my freedom that they want to buy. I won't sell myself short."

"So you're determined to leave."

CC isn't listening. She's admiring a woman's shoulder bag dangling off the back of a chair a few tables away.

"Niuniu, is that Prada real or fake?"

I say, "You said that it's not a matter of what one wears; it's where one wears it that counts."

"Yes. A real Prada can look fake here in China. But a fake Prada can look real in London. She should be walking in London now."

Listening to CC, I realize that CC really misses England, which is her home. China isn't.

Where is my home? I wonder. Ernest Hemingway says Paris is a movable feast. Can I carry my roots with me? Wherever I go, I make that my home.

To celebrate my birthday, my partner in crime, Beibei, has organized a dinner party at her newly purchased restaurant, China Planet. Beibei wants to turn the place into China 's Planet Hollywood. Her concept is to sell stardom. Her singers will often dine here, as well as bring along other stars. This will help attract ordinary customers who will come hoping to meet celebrities. Beibei is as smart in money as she is dumb in love.

Her unfaithful husband, Chairman Hua, is the first one to show up at the dinner party. I can tell that he comes straight from his lover's flat. Hua sits on the left side of Beibei. On the right side is Beibei's new young lover, Hai, a singer and the latest sensation and heartthrob among the teenage set. The three don't seem to mind the situation at all.

Lulu enters, trailing the seductive scent of Lancôme's Miracle. With her long straight hair, high heels, grace, and elegant style, she oozes sex. With six years of hysteria, three abortions, endless encounter sessions where she discussed philosophy with Beibei and me, shrinks costing thousands, and one fortune-teller, Lulu has finally left Ximu and is standing on her own feet. She is a best-selling author and a disciple of feng shui master Bright Moon.

Other guests include my family friend Weiwei, the knowledgeable slacker who claims to be China's last aristocrat; Lily, the Harvard M.B.A. who doesn't want her Chinese friends to know she had a black lover back in the States; Gigi, my acrobatics coach, whose professor husband left her for a lusty student who needed some "private tutoring"; lawyer Mimi and her model husband, Lee; Yi, the CEO of ChineseSister.com, who cochaired the online forum on Chinese beauty as seen through Western eyes; John, the gay guy from the Jeremy Irons Fan Club; and finally, Master Bright Moon, my colleagues Sean and Hugh, and painter Jia. CC doesn't come. She's back in England now. I miss her.

I arrive with a flourish. With my nails blackened, my lipstick a dark brown shade, and those hideous baggy trousers, I am making a fashion statement. I am the center of attention today.

What a comic life I have been living since coming back to China! My life has been so eventful. I have learned so much, yet so little. I am an insider as well as an outsider. I feel connected, yet isolated. I have changed, yet I remain the same. I have a sense of belonging, but also a sense of alienation.

"When everybody inside China is trying to get out, why do you decide to come back and stay?" Weiwei asks me.

I think for a second. "We Chinese no longer keep our desires hidden; that is what turns me on. I guess it makes bad girls like me feel like a good girl again," I say with a mouthful of chocolate mousse.

The morning after the birthday party, I oversleep and don't go to work. At my courtyard home, the side where CC used to live is now empty. I walk around in the courtyard, and my thoughts jump constantly like the pieces on a chessboard. Those memories of America that I have suppressed for so long, that I have tried to put behind me, suddenly start exploding like firecrackers in my mind. I walk down the alley, my shadow following me.

"I spend every day working with other people's stories, finding stories, listening to stories, writing stories. Why do I suddenly feel so lonely?" I ask myself.

I feel that the storm in my heart is about to break. I'm anxious – and filled with longing.

I want to talk about myself. To whom? I think of my newly discovered bosom buddy.