A well spring of mixed emotions. As our cab went to the airport we sat in silence, and with one exception right before I went through security we passed through the airport in some kind of strange, drifting o.k. kind of feeling. The connection was cut and the silence that had become comfort, and then worry, was now a heavy kind of acceptance without malice but crushing in its lack of anything.
Upon takeoff, I had the distinct feeling I was independent, and after we’d touched down and I’d boarded a bus for the nearest destination close to Xuan Wu district, I felt proud of myself. I looked out the windows at the trees and the blue sky, and if you felt the need to reread that I don’t blame you- my memory of Beijing was a gray and dusty, at best yellow and dusty. My memory of here was a large city on a similar scale to Shanghai but without it’s flair for modernity and color. Taking the historical monuments away from it, I had always looked at Beijing in my mind’s eye as un-beautiful. Riding along the highway with veritable small forests on both sides, I dreamt up a story about a Greek Garden oasis in the post apocalypse and the sister and brother who find refuge there. Surrounded by a thin layer of trees like the Beijing highway, the mansion of marbled floors and stone pillars was home to a venerable benefactor, and the Thor like giant who protected the oasis from the creatures fell and craven on the outskirts. I snapped awake, happily. Already it seemed the landscape of Beijing had a beauty that was almost dream-like.
I was also happy with my interaction with the people I encountered within hours of arriving. I probably tipped my driver, Mr. Mu, a little much, but he was engaging and helpful (the cynic in me screams ‘business opportunist..you moron’) and we chatted in Mandarin about the N1H1 flu, buying guns in the States, and hu tongs full of ancient prostitutes. Every time I asked for directions, even when people didn’t know where or even what I was talking about, I never experienced the kind of haughty indifference sometimes purposefully thrown at you by Shanghainese. In the streets, I saw a man holding his baby and clapping while swaying just a bit on the sidewalk. A moment later his wife came pushing the empty carriage, mimicking him and clapping her hands, and just behind her was the child’s grandmother who really got going swaying her hips and clapping and laughing. Atmosphere is the canvas you walk upon, and feel and breathe and whose texture you feel. It’s always colored by the people; I felt like this was a place more vibrant than where I had come from. I felt like I was starting something.
But now I was alone, in my hotel room. It brought back memories of feeling very hungry in Lian Xing Building at Jiaotong University 2 and a half years ago. On the street I pulled on my hood even though the weather was hot and sunny, headphones in and hands in my pockets weaving through the crowds. I had no one to call, I felt, for reasons of pride, and also because of promises I had to keep. I logged into an internet bar and felt too old for this, and remembered over 3 years ago doing the same thing with giddy joy as a college student in this very city. At that time I’d grinned and said ‘Zao!’ to passing Chinese families in our hotel; while that positive spirit was to an extent rekindled upon my return, it could never be the same.
I’m not the same person, in age nor experience. From soft clay to a tempered reluctance, I’ve been altered by Shanghai and my time abroad. Reluctance to accept people and let them close to me, the friends who I do let close come with an expiration date. The friends I love back home grow farther apart from me with each month. My mentality is wary, guarded, and I wonder if this is pessimism at work or something that comes with age. Perhaps I’ve made the right move.
Or perhaps not. I have always had someone constant in the 2+ years in China. And now, I’ve severed her. No shudders this time. Yes, tears. And we both said ‘I love you’. And the hug lasted like those first ones, and those tight ones, and those ones I thought would occur millions of times and still believe might. And then we said goodbye and walked away.
I’ve changed, she’s changed, we all change. Places change. Eventually, we reach a point where change just hurts too much. I fear in the recesses of gut I will be melancholy and nostalgic forever. An avatar of memory without the focus to live today.
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