Whenever an out of touch friend contacted me and asked how I was doing, I usually replied—I’ve changed little, improved none. Of course, that’s not true; we are changing every second of every day since birth. Some believe we are racing toward death. I believe we are racing toward life. Every moment you live you are more than what you were a moment ago. Like the universe, we are all expanding. What we expand into is what we create. Last year, I expanded into China. It’s been a rip-roaring, dragon-snorting year of bafflement and delight. Bewitching, beguiling, a hot pot of boiling China energy, a jaywalk across the burning coals, clueless, clearheaded, ravenous, relentless. China is like a circus bear walking upright, an unending surprise, a willful contradiction, poker faced, calculating, remaking itself daily. Construction cranes soar while old buildings are pounded into rubble by legions of sledgehammer wielding workers. While there are many cars, buses and trucks, China really moves by beat-up bike carts, pushcarts, moto-trucks, and bicycle, the husband pedaling and the wife riding sidesaddle, everything overloaded, tied down with hope, swerving around potential catastrophes, driving on sidewalks, going against traffic, impervious, oblivious. I have seen four people riding on a motorcycle, a mother and three young children riding the same bike, a motorcycle truck carrying a dumpster’s worth of goods, and a scooter carrying twenty-two, born-to-be-wild white ducks. China’s newspapers are thriving, posted behind Plexiglas panes for public consumption, scraps in the breeze like Jack’s old newspapers of fame blowing forever down Bleecker Street. Kids still roam in school-uniformed packs, trying to summon the courage to say hello to the pale-faced laowai. The rhythms of life seem to be dictated by work and family, the holidays exploding remembrances of ancestors and country. I have observed closely, yet what I know about China could fit in the lung of a sparrow with room left over for it to breathe. I have seen the future and the past in a gesture of familiarity. I have been cursed and spat at, forgiven, aided and abetted, encouraged, transposed. If I wrote a song using every key on the piano it still wouldn’t be enough. I have to invent new ways to tell the tale. I have to evolve as Chine evolves. I have to unravel like a scarecrow and redress myself. I have to sniff the wind for truth with the nose of a hyena. With the humility of a dung beetle. The deftness of a pickpocket. The sure strike of a snake. With the eyes of those who have seen everything and can still smile. Too often people behave like chimpanzees with checkbooks. Be kind, unwind. "Be a lamp, a lifeboat, a ladder . . .” — Rumi It’s been a good year, a great year, a light year. There is a private garbage collection company here that serves businesses. To let them know they are coming, the trucks play songs such as ‘Jingle Bells’ and the ‘Red River Valley.’ It’s a humble and helpful tinny sound, breaking through the afternoon melancholy. I welcome it as a hobo welcomes the sound of an outbound train, a vehicle to condense and free me. I long for the earth unvisited.
2 Comments
Andy Monaco
3/18/2013 07:40:31 am
Nice stuff; good to see you're back in the swing of things.
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Mary
3/18/2013 07:57:33 am
ee, I can't believe it is a year already. I feel like I have learned so much thru your wonderful, descriptive, exuburating, exciting, mind boggling experiences and courage. I so enjoy reading your diaries and seeing the pictures and as Andy says you are the spandex for many (so true) keep expanding so we can with you. We love your stuff all of it. This was a great diary for your year in China love it and you too..Love ya, Mary
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