After coming to the United States, she learned that Eric had lied to her about his job and his salary. He wasn't a computer engineer, but a warehouse janitor for a computer company. He made seven dollars instead of seventy dollars per hour. Although disappointed, Yu cheered herself up by thinking, "After all, now I'm able to speak English with a native English speaker every day."

But soon after the marriage, Eric quit his job and stayed at home. Yu had to work two shifts as a waitress in a Chinese restaurant to support them. Even worse, Eric never showed any interest in sleeping with her. Because Yu came to the States on a marriage visa, she swallowed all her pain. In order to get a green card, she had to stay in the marriage for two years.

During the interviews at the Immigration and Naturalization Service, the immigration officer asked the couple questions about their daily life. When he asked if she remembered any mark on her husband's body, she couldn't answer. Her application was rejected, and her hopes were smashed.

Desperate, Yu sought help from the church people, who showed tremendous support. One church member, a lawyer named Mark, thought it was strange that Eric didn't want to sleep with Yu. Mark had a plan for Yu. After implementing the plan, Yu discovered that Eric was impotent. Because of this, she was successful at getting a divorce and received her green card at the same time.

After telling the story, she says to me, "I realized how stupid I was, judging people only by how good their English is. We should be careful what we wish for."

"It seems God redeemed you! Do you ever think of going back to China and returning to your old boyfriend?" I ask, secretly hoping that Yu would end up back with him.

"No. My former husband is impotent. What he needs is Viagra. At least, he could buy it if he had the money. But what my former boyfriend needs is mental Viagra, which you can't buy over the counter."

"But I don't understand why you are so harsh on your boyfriend. He loves you and cares about you," I say.

"You see, not speaking perfect English is another kind of impotency."

On the second week of my vacation in Missouri, I meet a twenty-something boynamed Tom at a party. Tom works as a guard in a federal prison, but he is very smart and talented. He writes crime stories in his spare time. He also believes in Buddhism. The best part about Tom is that he respects women. Every so often, he will cook for me; preparing his own recipes for corn bread and smoked tuna. I love spending time with Tom. We ride horses, play golf, go shooting and fishing together. The dating life is idyllic.

Tom and I often joke that if we had depended on a computer dating service, we'd never have been matched because we are completely different species. Check out our dating bios.

Tom's thumbnail sketch would read: Country boy, Southern Baptist, 6'5", 225 pounds, conservative, Republican, and an ex-army ranger. Voted for George W. Bush; very much in favor of the Iraq war; hates the United Nations and the French; loves the quiet country life, professional wrestling, boxing, and car racing; disapproves of homosexuality and abortion.

And mine: Megacity girl, Asian, 5'2", 110 pounds, liberal, Democrat, and a cosmopolitan journalist. Plans to vote for Hillary Clinton once she runs for president; very much against American invasion in Iraq: believes that the UN Security Council should be used to balance the hawks; enjoys the busy city life of Beijing, Shanghai, New York, and Hong Kong; watches Ally McBeal and Oprah; has gay friends and girlfriends who have had abortions; does not understand professional wrestling in any way, shape, or form.

From political views to occupations, Tom and I share nothing in common. I have never dreamed that I would date a jailer who watches stupid professional wrestling. Normally, on my chart, rednecks barely beat out Neanderthals, and this is the last type of person I like to associate with. But somehow, Tom has been the best date I have ever had. He's a teddy bear – sensitive, attentive, loyal, and protective. He always teaches me things that I don't know, from how to putt to how to bait a hook. Another big plus, he is great in bed. It has been over a year since I have been intimate with anyone, and it's reassuring to find out that there is nothing wrong with me. After being with Tom I can't believe there was actually a time when I had no appetite for sex! I think perhaps I should write to Match-makers.com and tell them that opposites attract. But my girlfriends back in China are all astounded that I am dating a prison guard.

Both Beibei and Lulu call me.

"It's a big loss of face if you come back with a man who works in the prison," Beibei says.

It still saddens me that in China – the "People's Republic" – there is still such an obsession with social class. In the United States, it's so much easier to mingle and socialize with people who would be considered beneath me in the East. But what can I do? I'm a Chinese woman with Chinese parents and Chinese friends. How can I lead a great life without their approval?

Lulu says, "Fishing? Making bread? It sounds so boring. The American suburban life is not for us."

"But Tom is so nice," I say.

"But he is not one of us," Beibei comments. "He's not a yuppie, nor is he international enough for you."

"But Tom is a man of integrity and honor. I've met too many international yuppie jerks from San Francisco to Beijing." I sigh, as the thought of Len once again creeps into my head. My time in the States has made me think of him more often. That's why I have decided not to return to Berkeley this time.

"Now you know why we are still single," Lulu speaks. "We love our lifestyle better than we love love."

What Tom and I have shared is a short fling that doesn't have any future. I know that my friends are right. I can't change my lifestyle for Tom. I leave Missouri for Washington, D.C., to visit my friend Ann, another overeducated single gal.

Ann lives in Dupont Circle and works for the Department of State. We go to the nice restaurants and bars in the neighborhood to hang out. D.C. is a place full of young, single, and politically ambitious professional men. But I am not in the mood to date: I am leaving town soon – too soon to develop any serious relationships. Plus, I feel guilty for leaving Tom.

On the last day in D.C., I take a walk along Pennsylvania Avenue. I'm dressed in baggy clothes. In Lafayette Park behind the White House, I run into six Asian tourists who are sitting on the lawn, smoking and chattering. From the small bags under their arms, the Olympus cameras they carry, the badly fitting suits and ties they wear, and the ever-present cloud of cigarette smoke, it's easy to tell that they're from China. Of course, the fact that they are also speaking Chinese is a bit of a tipoff as well…

In the past few years, Chinese delegations have been a major part of the American tourist scene. They arrive in groups and their expenses are often paid by their companies or work-units as some kind of bonus.

"Hi!" I greet the Chinese tourists warmly.

"Are you Chinese?" asks a man who wears bottle glasses.

"Yes."

"Are you American Chinese?" Another young man asks.

"Yes."

"You don't work for the CIA or the FBI, do you?" A stocky middle-aged man asks. It's difficult to tell whether he is joking or serious.

"Of course not." I laugh.

"We were told that we might be tailed by spies in the United States. We have to be careful about speaking to strangers here." The stocky man is serious.

"Who told you that? I don't believe that bullshit. Where are you from?"