When I was at university, I went to where Laura (a year above me) usually sat, to drag her off to tea (she studied all hours and never ate lunch, nibbling carrots instead at her library space). An Oriental chap was sitting with her so he was invited to join us.
He’d spoken to Laura because he was surprised that a white girl was reading a Chinese classic (紅樓夢 / Dream of The Red Chamber / Story of The Stone, published 1792).
He turned out to be from Singapore, so the focus switched to him and me.
He said he was actually on study leave to Sussex University but came to my library (School of Oriental and African Studies, SOAS) because of its reputation for its collection of Japanese books. So, he wasn’t even from SOAS, which is another small-world fact.
He said he usually lived in Japan and had been there for a while. Which university in Japan, I asked. Tōhoku 東北, he said. Ah, I said, my uncle went to Tōhoku in the 60s on a scholarship for a year — might he know him.
I gave his name: Tay Mui Kwang. Man said, “If Tay Mui Kwang is your uncle, then what is Chng Nguan Kim to you?” I said, “Oh, Tay Mui Kwang is actually my mum’s cousin. Chng Nguan Kim is my mother’s brother, therefore a more direct uncle.” Man said, “Well, Chng Nguan Kim’s wife and my wife are sisters.” I said, “Ah, so your wife is Aunty Hiang! I’d heard about the two of you since a child: you and Aunty Hiang being perpetual students, going for one degree after another in Japan, staying on and on for years and years.”
Now, what are the odds of meeting someone I’d heard about since the late 50s, then meeting him in London in 1979, and through Laura too, therefore indirectly, therefore could’ve missed him if I’d not gone to get Laura to go for tea at that moment... He wasn't even based at SOAS but Sussex, and only came up to London to use our library.
(London, 1979)
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