Finding Tibet – The Lovely Boy
I am saving this entry to the last because this boy truly, truly moved me. This young ten-year-old worked at his family’s Uighur restaurant. On one of our last days in Lhasa, a group of us went to this restaurant for dinner. When we sat down, he served us tea. One cup by the other, he poured the tea with incredible poise – as he himself was not that much taller than the dining table.
We were already impressed, and being the “kid-nnibal” that I am, I asked him some personal questions, such as how old he was, and if I could take a picture with him. He did not want to take a picture, and asked us to go ahead and order.
The “big pot chicken” is a popular dish at the Uighur restaurants in China. It comes in a sweet tomato base with chicken and Uighur hand-pressed noodles, wok-friend. One of us asked, “how big is this small-sized ‘big pot chicken’?” The waiter (an older child) gestured a plate to show us how big this small sized dish was. We thought that was not helpful.
After five minutes of indecision, we decided to go for the small size. That was when the young ten-year-old brought an empty plate up two staircases. “Miss, this is the plate for the small sized big pot chicken.”
I was touched, and tears swelled.
The next day, I brought candies, some chocolates, and some drawing paper and crayons to the restaurant. The two children recognized me. The older child was happy to see me, and thanked me for the gift. But the ten-year-old was a bit shy. He walked away from me when I tried to talk to him. So I told them, make sure you find some time to draw and paint, and enjoy the candies. Before I left, I turned around to look at the ten year old. There was this smile on his face, truly happy, truly sweet.
The last night in Tibet, I lied in bed sleepless and crying. I knew that there were many more children less fortunate than this ten year old. I knew also that there were many more children far more fortunate. He was precocious, and I felt like by giving him candies and crayons I could remind him that somebody thought he was entitled to simple childhood pleasures, of liking sweets, of finding joy in creative talents. I wish he did not have to serve me dinner that night, but that he did, also made me realize how fortunate I was growing up.
It has been over a decade since our visit to Tibet. The boy will have become a young man by now. He would not remember me, for sure, and neither would I recognize him if given the chance to see him again. Yet, as Anthony Bourdain has said, “it is the small acts of kindness that matters.” I shall always remember that both he and I were touched on our chanced meeting in Tibet.
