The sheep’s head I bought for my boyfriend has now been boiled with herbs for two hours. Yan Lei holds one of its eyeballs between his chopsticks. ‘You want?’ He pops it in his mouth, chews on it for awhile then we have an argument about me doing music again.
It goes like this:
Yan Lei: Doing music is like going to the bookies and betting on a horse.
Me: You can’t compare music to gambling.
Yan Lei: You gamble your life and hope something happen. You don’t know if you win or lose.
Me: I’m not doing it for a result. I like music. It’s what I used to do… it’s just you’ve never known me as anything else but someone who runs your fucking martial art’s business.
His mouth is full of sheep’s brain when I accuse him of having a farmer’s mind. In the West, I tell him, we make money from ideas, not work.
After the argument, we have a kung fu fight.