Staff Illustrator/Chau Anh Nguyen
“Zik si ni lei hoi, ngo jit cing mei goi…”
I was listening to Jacky Cheung’s “Still Think You’re the Best” after I broke up with my boyfriend two years ago. That used to be our favorite song, though we never cared to figure out the meaning of the lyrics because they were written in Cantonese. The day we broke up, I was so upset that I couldn’t do anything else, so I searched up the meaning of the lyrics: “even if you leave, I’ll still think you’re the best.” Associating my ex-boyfriend with such cheesy lyrics made me feel disgusted, considering I loved him so much that I would listen to such cliché songs with him. Back then, I simply could not face the fact that I loved my ex-boyfriend in spite of the awful things he did.
Haunted by the beauty of past memories and the antipathy toward them, I couldn’t help but put that song on repeat. It brought me the sight of a sunny spring where everything felt lighter and more spontaneous. When I first got to know my boyfriend, I told him that my favorite singer was Jacky Cheung.
“Oh! I know him,” he said excitedly. “My favorite song of his is ‘Still Think You’re the Best.’”
I didn’t think that was a good song at first but decided to listen to it because I liked him; before I knew it, it became our song.
Our song walked us through an entire summer. We would listen to this song together with the same pair of earphones when we were navigating our way through the overwhelming crowd in City Center, laughing at how people walking in the opposite direction would look back and stare confusedly at our joyful faces. We promised to listen to this song when we waited for each other on every date. I’d always watch him walk out of the subway and steadily walk toward me, embracing me tightly, the song gently playing in my head as a thematic backdrop. We snuck up to the abandoned cupboard on the highest level of our high school building just to break the rules and use our smartphones to listen to the song.
I never bothered to figure out its meaning, not even once. I was just touched by the magical feeling the syllables “zik si nei lei hoi” gave me; they were light, beautifully energizing, just like how I felt about our relationship back then.
I never reflected on how much I liked him when we were in a relationship. I was always busy going places with him, unlocking new adventures and exerting my most passionate anticipations, filled with energy. He was so interested in the prose I wrote that he insisted on accompanying me to an English competition I dared not sign up for. He would grab my hand and walk around the least-used staircases on campus to avoid teachers from spotting us. He gave me the first hug after winning the volleyball match. We would climb up eight stories to the most beautiful spot on campus to watch the sunset. There were always splendid sunsets on our campus, so resplendent that I imagined those sunsets were confined only within our campus and our relationship. I ponder now why I had so much faith and imagination, how we had so much sunlight, and how we loved so easily and fearlessly.
My boyfriend and I broke up for a very ordinary reason: he liked someone else. The breakup helped me see a lot of things I didn’t like about him. I was so angry initially, in disbelief that I put up with his flaws. When people asked me what my ex-boyfriend did, I would talk at length about the traces showing he didn’t love me as much: times when he ignored my messages, moments when he wasn’t paying attention to my words, possible suspicions that he was seeing other people.
Then, there was a long silence: being locked down at home for three months, entering college, not being able to go back because of COVID-19 and thus saying goodbye to all my friends back home. College is a new place where everyone is busy with their own schedules. Living far away from my parents, I have fewer people who remind me to express my feelings constantly. As days slip by, I have become less excited about opportunities, sincerity and most importantly, love.
The other day, Spotify recommended “Still Think You’re the Best” to me. I still pressed the play button unconsciously. Scraps of my past relationship slipped into my mind, and although I tried hard to refuse them from diverting me from my coursework, they continued to swarm in, and I finally caved. In my absent-minded moments, I reviewed the memory scraps carefully and tried to grab at the same strands of energy I felt so often in our relationship. I felt so strange yet so gratified, knowing that I used to have that kind of infinite love throughout the relationship.
I still think of the relationship sometimes, but as months go by, I shockingly find that I struggle to remember my ex-boyfriend’s face clearly. What’s left of the relationship is only the memory of being completely sincere and passionate about someone I loved. My present awareness of the candidness, strength and fearlessness I used to have constantly supports me. It reminds me that I have not always been so aloof and awkward at opening up, that I have the energy to connect with others deep inside and that such hope should never completely fade away.
“Zik si ni lei hoi, ngo jit cing mei goi…” I can now finally remember the lyrics “even if you leave, I still think you’re the best” without feeling disgusted. Time washes away layers of our memory just like a river erodes its banks, changing the river’s course but leaving behind the little stones that can accumulate into new pacts of land. “Even if you leave,” I guess I am still grateful and empowered for the feelings I had and will have for love.
Amiee Zhao (24Ox) is from Shanghai, China.
Amiee Zhao is from Shanghai, China. At the Wheel, she is Emory Life editor and a writer for multiple sections. Outside of the Wheel, she enjoys traveling and reading non-fiction. She is also involved in OxBroadway and Autism Advocacy Organization.
