哼哼。
(I am a Chinese and I use ai to translate my words, because I don't know how to say my thought elegantly without using my mother language.)
Alas, since I’ve already drawn it, let me explain why I find the young gay couple in The Tower of Babel so pure and beautiful. It’s because nothing truly happens between them—everything ends before it even begins. Only death can validate their feelings.
My personal interpretation is that, for the most part, Robin only ever feels happiest and most at ease when he’s with Ramiz. They can snack, tell jokes, do homework together, or Robin can even lie on Ramiz’s shoulder and cry. He comes to understand what these emotions really are only twice, and both times are tied to death. The first time is when Ramiz is shot dead by Letty. After rushing over and repeatedly confirming that Ramiz is truly gone, this timid and gentle young man fully realizes his own fury: “Our three years of friendship mean nothing—how dare you kill him? I’ll tear you apart with my bare hands.” The second time is during the flashback before Robin sacrifices himself. He returns to the day he first entered Oxford, to the days when he and Ramiz sat on the golden lawn, eating and chatting. Then, as if guided by a higher power, he suddenly realizes in the prelude to death: “That was when I was falling in love.”
Ramiz expresses his emotions very subtly. I wonder if this is because he’s Muslim—though I checked and found that anti-LGBTQ+ sentiment among Muslims emerged later. Regardless, just like how Ramiz refuses to drink alcohol, he might have thought such feelings were unspoken and inexpressible. Ramiz was probably the first to realize his own emotions, yet as a combative debater, he fell uncharacteristically silent.
When Robin asks him, “Why did you reject Letty?”, his reply—“Don’t you know why?”—is a line that’s both gentle yet despairing. After that, he never mentions the matter again. When Robin is sad and standing on the deck, letting the wind blow over him, Ramiz goes over to talk to him. When Robin breaks down on the overpass in his hometown of Guangzhou, Ramiz walks with him. That’s all—there’s nothing more, and there can never be anything more.
The reason Lady Letty can never win Ramiz’s heart is largely because, no matter how much she humbles herself to consider the feelings of a colonial international student, she still chooses not to hear what he most wants to say. All her empathy is just superficial. But someone else does understand. So racial issues can be both the cause and an excuse. Someone as sharp as Ramiz can thus refuse without discussing likes or dislikes: “I’m sorry, but a brown man and a white woman can’t be together—I’m afraid I’d get beaten to death on the street.” Then he can go back to the corner to find Robin. Even if they do nothing, even if there’s nothing they can do, they just stand side by side, watching the people spinning on the dance floor, letting light and shadow flicker across their faces. These are golden moments—each second worth a lifetime.
