I am glad that I sold my apartment to a 20 year old Chinese girl, and her boyfriend. Yes, I am glad because this is what I deserve. I who had said, I have no desire for China. China? In the next lifetime, I had said. It was understandable after all; we Iranians have always looked West for orientation. We are westoxicated. we can’t help it.

China had never appealed to me. Made in China was a turn off. And even when I craved Chinese food, after the meal, I would always say, ‘never again, this is my last Chinese meal.” Chinese opera? The stuff of comedy.   In this lifetime, I can do without the Chinese, I had said.

So, this is exactly what I deserve; to give up my home to a Chinese teenager. She and her boyfriend will be happy in my 2 bedroom Midtown Manhattan condo. Well, to be forthcoming and fair, they are doing me a favor; I could no longer afford my home after the divorce on my teacher’s salary. I did manage to keep it as a rental for a while, but then, dealing with the condo board became too complicated and my ex wanted to sell. Still, thinking as a middle class Iranian Jew, that only the morally negligent let go of property, I tried to refinance and buy my ex’s share. I was trying creative financing when the all cash offer of the 20 year old Chinese girl effectively aborted any attempt on my part to be a responsible middle class professional and protect my home.

Of course, I deserve it. I had always said, I do not understand the Chinese, and I would never have to.

In my Modernism class, for example, when a Chinese student showed up to my office, to ask for the meaning of a word I had used in class, “the ineffable”, she had sincere and direct questions: “what is it?” “how do you define it?” “what does it do?” “can you describe it?” I had smugly, replied, that it is that undefinable thing. The thing that is can not be measured, but all important. I had not be very helpful.

Oh, I deserve to lose my house to the Chinese teenage girl. I had said, I will never have to understand what the Chinese are thinking.

As I mentioned, we Iranians have always looked west. When we didn’t talk to the west for 30 years, and had to consume 3^rd rate Chinese products, we could not bear it. The Chinese goods was enough for us to agree to a Nuclear deal with the west. We prefer the western junk.

So you can imagine my moral outrage when the string of Chinese teenagers who came to check out my house as buyers were disappointed and bewildered by the outdated condition of my kitchen appliances. As though they had entered a Dickensian Curiosity Shop, they were incredulous that I did not have a Subzero. Where is it? What is that, a stove?

My broker had warned me, but I thought she was just being hysterical. But no. Subzero is where we are.

So, I decided to make things right. To face reality. Be real, Mahnaz. I told my broker that I wanted to meet the Chinese teenager girl who had made an offer on my apartment. I decided I wanted to know the person who will live in my home. The person who owns the future. It was important to me. I had a distinct desire to talk to her and to give her my blessing.

The broker did not understand: What information do you want? She is 20 and a professional. She has the cash. I have seen it. It is in the U.S. What else do you want to know?

I snapped back. I did not want any information; I wanted to hand my house over personally and meet the future. I wanted the ineffable. I was sure that the Chinese teenager would get it.   What a learning opportunity I thought.   How can miss this opportunity? It is almost worth selling the house for this moment. The meeting will redeem the entire experience for me.

The broker sends more obfuscating emails back. Pimp.

Her resistance works. My ex who was cced on all emails, was now becoming suspicious of my insistence.  “why do you want to meet her?” Are you thinking not to sell?   He was panicking. His seizers were coming back and ended up in the hospital, as I tried to explain: I simply want to meet the future Chinese teenage inhabitants of my house. What for? “It is the condition of redeeming this experience for me.”

Yet, the Ineffable has a price. It scares pimps, agents and middlemen. They like to talk and sell thing. They like to price things. And explain things. Astonishing that they have an explanation for everything.

But hurting the ones you care about is too high a price for even the ineffable.

I will not meet the Chinese teenager who is the future of my house. The lesson is something else entirely.