“Bangladesh,” he answered. I asked where he was from after he told me that he’s been in Sweden for seven years. “I come from the poorest country in the world!” He was proud to say this, and did so several times. Suddenly I noticed how small the man was. Not underweight, but petite and thin-framed. The only reason I noticed is because, earlier today, I read an interview with Japanese designer, Yohji Yamamoto, and he said that his generation of Japanese people are the smallest because food was scarce after the war. They had nothing to eat, and so they were small. “It still makes me angry!” Yamamoto said.
But the guy from Bangladesh was not angry at all. An enormous smile had unrolled across his face, and above it, his eyes were as round and bright as full moons - that bewildered expression in both eyes. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” he asked. “I come from the poorest country in the whole world. The whole world. And now look!” He gazed down at his small body, then gestured toward the window. I looked back to see two young women sitting at a table, a bottle of wine in the center, emptied, their plates had been cleared, the sidewalk was quiet and concrete. Before I could respond, he was laughing, and although his laughter was cheerful for the most part, a thread of derision ran through the middle and carried it on for many seconds. “Listen,” he said finally. “It would be like you going all the way to the moon!”
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