Zenti is looking for his wife. Zenti is haunted by memories that aren't his. Zenti has no control over the present but he will never give in. He will write poems until he dies to find her, and himself.
Am I French or Chinese? I wander in my identity questions. I face words from media people with words from the children of the 'second generation', trying to see more clearly. I recall France, my France.
