Strange Hatred, and an Even Stranger Kindness

[Series: The Great Escape to Great Britain] Vol. 4
Strange Hatred, and an Even Stranger Kindness

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The Vaccine Lasted Exactly One Week

“I’m good now. I think I can endure the lockdown in London for quite a while.”

Standing atop the cliffs of Seven Sisters, we had made that declaration like characters in a coming-of-age drama. But as they say, humans are creatures of oblivion. The expiration date of the ‘vaccine for the soul’ provided by that majestic nature was exactly one week.

As the tedious quarantine life resumed its loop, my dormant wanderlust began to stir once more. Just when the itch to move became unbearable, a message arrived. It was from a junior from my university—a friend I had met by chance while chasing the Northern Lights in Iceland.

“Come visit Bath! I’m heading back to Korea soon. It’s so peaceful and beautiful here!”

It was a final invitation from a bond forged through sleepless nights in the arctic cold. Moreover, the temptation of Bath—supposedly much quieter and safer than London—was impossible to resist. We shouted, “Okay, just one last time!” and packed our bags. This time, we gathered friends from the neighboring guesthouse to join the party. After all, people travel to find people. Amidst this global emergency, I found myself creating a new “normal” where one journey birthed another. At that moment, I had no idea that an incident was waiting to summon the nightmares of a decade ago.

“Go back home, Chinese!”

Bath: a city of Roman ruins and a historic sanctuary for healing. The cityscape upon arrival was antique and composed. The streets, usually teeming with tourists, were quiet—living up to Bath’s reputation as a city of rest.

Sticking to the golden rule that “first we eat, then we do everything else”, we headed to the familiar burger joint, Five Guys. Since dining in was prohibited, we placed our order to-go and waited on the street outside. That was when it happened.

An elderly woman, heavily intoxicated, staggered toward us. Whether it was alcohol or drugs, her eyes were vacant and unfocused. She scanned the six of us, and her face suddenly contorted into a mask of rage. She pointed a finger directly at us and began to scream.

“Hey! Go back to your home, f**ing Chinese! You spread the virus!”

My heart plummeted. In an instant, I was summoned not to the Bath of 2020, but to the London of 2009. I saw visions of the B&B host who used me as a punching bag for his anger, and the people on the train who covered their noses the moment they saw me. I remembered the shop clerks who treated me like I was invisible.

‘Ah, so the UK hasn’t changed after all.’

Shame and fear anchored me to the spot. I stood frozen, unable to find words. She approached us menacingly, shouting right into our faces.

Knights with Burgers

Just as she was about to shove us, two sturdy British men stopped in their tracks. Without a second thought, they stepped in between us and the drunk woman, shielding us with their bodies.

The sight was almost comical: in one hand, they each held a freshly packed Five Guys paper bag. Keeping their precious burgers safe behind them, they used their frames to gently but firmly push her away. Their voices were low, yet resolute.

“Stop it. That is very rude.”
“That is racism. Leave them alone.”

As the woman lunged again, shrieking, they stood their ground like a massive fortress. Behind the wall of their backs, we held our breath. Eventually, overwhelmed by their quiet authority, the woman staggered backward and disappeared into the distance, muttering curses.

“She is in the wrong”

Once the air had cleared, the two men turned back to us. We shrank back slightly, half-expecting to be scolded ourselves, but one of them spoke with a gentle, reassuring tone.

“Are you okay?”
“Don’t mind her, she’s in the wrong. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Don’t let it ruin your meal. Enjoy your burgers.”

With a cool nod, they hurried on their way—likely anxious to get home and eat before their burgers went cold.

Stranger, and Stranger

I stared blankly at their retreating backs. In 2009, on those cold streets where no one stood by my side, I was always alone, always in retreat, forever looking for a way out. For ten years, the UK was the embodiment of Fear and The Unfamiliar.

But today, ten years later, strangers fought for me. They did so with burgers in hand, yet with such grace and dignity. What they blocked was not just a drunkard. They shielded me from the victim mentality, the trauma, that had been buried deep within my heart for a decade.

“Bro, are you okay?”

At my friends’ worried questions, I finally snapped out of my daze and let out a small chuckle. I held the burger bag, my heart still racing but slowly settling. We looked at each other and shared an awkward smile. The burgers were still warm, and I could feel something equally warm rising slowly within me. A ten-year-old wound was beginning to heal. A wound inflicted by a stranger was finally being closed—by another stranger.

(End of Vol. 4)