Slowly, the sun fades in-between the Pacific's edge where the horizon ends, its grip lets go to the end of day. The lights of a bridge turn on, illuminating into a majestic glow which places an exclamation of hope to inevitable darkness.

Like an orchestra, the metropolis sitting against the edge of the estuary combusts into a symphony of small lights upon the blanketing caress of a night swallowing slowly everything in its path. The sight reassures that life goes on even when the the warmth of light is absent from the senses.

From afar, each moving headlight rhythmically mimics the motions of a mechanical system of arteries fused into an opened chest of a concrete robot whose gaze is set to the overcast of clouds above.

Looking deeper into one of the thousand moving lights on Interstate 280, is a red, two door Civic. By all standards it is the perfect fuel efficient, commuter car for frugal University students.

Inside, the cassette stereo plays the Phil Collins' song, "In the Air Tonight." Without stopping, the song mixes into Tupac's "Rearview Mirror."

Abruptly, the tune ends as Daniel parks inside a garage on the outskirts of San Francisco's Chinatown.

A brief walk leads Daniel and Eu El into a nearby restaurant, where a lively atmosphere of customers are surrounded with the aroma of freshly steamed dumplings and roasted pork.

With each passing second, measured by the ticking hand of a dusty wall clock, a continuous chatter of Mandarin brings Daniel back to the comforting feel of Taipei's nightlife.

However, El sits with his back hunched. He feels out of place as his newly highlighted hair breaks the traditional, natural black style that his parents are accustomed to. However, without his realization, El draws more attention of nearby diners with his favorite sweater, a blue ESPIRIT sweater meant for girls.

"El," Daniel, suppresses his laughter from across the table. "Before I ask, I want to tell you..."

Struggling to grasp a single steamed shrimp dumpling with chopsticks, El glances back at Daniel, who skillfully snatches his dumpling as it falls mid-air almost splashing into the small plate of soy sauce below.

"Out of all the Asians I met, you're the only one who has the worst chopstick skills. Not to mention," Daniel continues, "you're the only guy in the human race who carries a picture of *Andrew Ridgeley in his wallet."

"Why wouldn't I carry a picture of Andrew Ridgeley? Imagine where the world would be without him?"

"Seriously, El. Andrew Ridgeley himself wouldn't carry an old picture like that. Other than his driver's license, he wouldn't be found dead with that picture."

El gradually becomes irritated. He defends his perception of normalcy with an unexpected fact that could only be known in the thoughts of a child who grew up in the eighties.

"If it wasn't for Andrew Ridgeley, 'Last Christmas' would never had been written, and the world would had succumbed to the replay of cheesy Christmas songs."

Daniel laughs louder, "That song is almost as old as eight-track players."

A sour note subtly plays in their conversation.

"I find that equally insulting as comparing me to a fortune cookie," El confesses.

"Insulting?!" Daniel looks confused. "Dude, I just finished translating how to cut your hair into a style from 1982, to a non-English speaking Chinese barber! THAT was embarrassing!"

"That picture came in handy, didn't it?! She had no clue how to EXACTLY highlight my bangs the way Andrew Ridgeley would without my picture."

"Of course she wouldn't have known. Nowadays, barbers aren't supposed to cut hairstyles from FIFTEEN years ago! You should have told me beforehand you had that picture. I sounded stupid translating something that CAN'T be explained in Mandarin!"

"It was fourteen years. Not fifteen," El corrects, oblivious to Daniel's embarrassment.

"Anyways, it was interesting to hear you describe how to highlight hair in the style of band member from WHAM! while speaking Chinese. It sounded like a whining grandmother singing a rap song," El adds, giving up on the chopsticks.

El finds a fork. In one motion, he stabs into two shrimp dumplings at the same time.

"El! Slow down!" Daniel shouts loud enough to turn a few customer heads their direction. "These aren't chicken nuggets, okay?"

Using chopsticks, Daniel effortlessly steals one of the dumpling from El's fork as if to mock his lack of skill. "Anyways, embrace it, El. It's your destiny. You are THE 'Fortune Cookie.'"

"Why do say that?"

Daniel's question seems to be presented with the intention to deliver a subtle insult toward El and his unique background.

El continues, "What does that even mean?"

"Where do you think fortune cookies come from, El?"

"They're from Panda Express," El confidently answers.

Daniel loses his patience. "There's no mistake. You ARE American as the fortune cookie!"