"Gwaai Zai" by Wayne Mok

Gwaai Zai

You call with the news, and I want to say you had it coming. But then you immobilize me by calling me gwaai zai, and all I can think about is the time you ran over in the middle of the night and stroked the back of my head, whispering you’ll be okay, so I remain silent. You say that he is the reason this is all happening, and I wonder if the he is actually me, but I know that the he is really just you. I want to hang up, but then you do it again. Gwaai zai. What should I do? you ask, but I am now six years old, squatting in the kitchen with a bowl over my head waiting for you to take the pair of scissors hanging beside the meat cleaver to cut my hair. I do not know what you should do. You start crying, and I am terrified. The last time you cried you were holding a slipper, chasing me out the front door, threatening to disown me if I came home. Seoi zai, you called me. I want to say I’m sorry but I know I shouldn’t, but I do it anyway and regret it immediately. You let out a long sigh, and I hear generations of Chinese women moaning in labor. I can feel my heart and mind going, and I know they can’t take it much longer. Ma, you’ll be okay, I say. I know that you know I don’t believe those words, but you know that I know it’s what you want to hear. Or at least what someone like me is supposed to say. I can hear you stop crying, and I know those words are coming. Gwaai zai, you say.

Wayne Mok

Wayne Mok is originally from Hong Kong and now lives in Sydney, Australia.

Photo Credit: Staff