When a Chinese auntie met the right uncle
We work well together because we enjoy discovering a version of ourselves in each other, and new things and new ways of being
So I began again. Although nine months away from British dating apps had not changed them, something in myself had changed. The algorithms may rely on Photoshop and well-meaning friends who can window-dress bios, I figured, but some of the lonely hearts had to be real if they had friends. I was real, and surely people out there were seeking real persons too.
And 18 months into swiping and sifting, I finally found a Jewish uncle. (To be sure, uncles aren’t exactly a native species in Britain, but that was the point: only someone with the ability to feel a sense of otherness would get my kind of Chinese auntieness.)
We began on Tinder with dad jokes and a mutual recognition of “here we go again” and quickly reached a practical agreement to get some food together, instead of flirting indefinitely.
The first time we met, he thought I was American. One of my accents in London is a Californian twang from watching too many 1990s sitcoms; it allows me not to have to choose which level of posh or East End to align myself with in class inflection-obsessed Britain. Later on, we would joke that he could commendably see past skin colour, but not a cleverly concealed Singlish accent.