Home in China

Shortly after I was born, I was sent to China and returned to the United States when I was five. I'm writing this because I realize that my memories of those days are starting to become cloudy. I often become nostalgic thinking about those times. My mother is from China, and I can tell she misses her motherland very much. It's hard to live in a place where you don't understand the language of others. And when you don't understand their language, life becomes hard to manage. Anyways, going on to the subject of my home in China:

I was very young in China, but I do remember what the streets and people were like. There are many things that I've forgotten, however I have retained some memories because those were some of the happiest days of my life.

I lived with my grandparents on a lifted curb that somewhat represented a cliff. There were no bars for safety if you happened to roll off the edge, and the bottom was a dense forest. The trees down there were green like summer. Our house was made of cement, but instead of windows, we had bars. Behind our house was a hill that also lead to a dense forest. At this point, I sound like I'm describing a prison. It wasn't a prison. On sunny days, the sun would shine in and you could see the rays divided by the metal bars. In the winter, I would know because I was bundled up in thick jackets and layers of pants even though it wasn't very cold. On rainy days, the rain would pour in through the bars and drain away. Life here was simple. In the mornings, the milk lady would come ringing on her bicycle to deliver her batch of milk. I was always afraid that she would fall off the cliff one day and terrible things would happen.

I did a lot of child activities. My grandpa would bend wire into a loop and dip it in dish soap to make bubbles. They were very amusing back then. During the afternoon, I would go with my aunt down to the streets and buy treats from the street vendors. The roads during this time were still made of dirt. Sometimes you couldn't tell where the road ended, and where the shops started. The cooks made their fires from coal shaped like cylinders with holes in them. They would go from an ash black to bright orange and I would want to touch them sometimes because they were so amusing. People here knew each other because this town was built from history. Further into town, there were shops still located in wooden houses lining the streets. Picture a street lined with shops like the ones in an ancient wuxia drama. People would walk around in their pajamas and no one would stare.

On certain streets, there were mango trees. These trees were owned by vendors, but on summer days I would walk by to shake one just to see if a mango would fall down. And if it did, the taste was sweet with a little bit of sour just enough to cringe an eye. Further in, there were acres of rice fields with a path between them that led to my grandma's house. I always went there late in the afternoon. During this time, the sun was crimson and kissing the field. The sky had multiple colors, the air was hot, but the wind was cool. From grandma's window, there was a ginormous hill. On top of that hill were always three figures which I couldn't tell if the were rocks or animals. I would tug at her and point, "look at the sheep on the hill!"

11 years ago, I returned to china for the first time after leaving. I was excited getting off the plane. The airport was small, just like I remembered it to be. My aunt and cousin picked me up and from there we took a taxi all the way home. The view was very different from was I remembered. Many of the small houses were taller now, and the streets looked neater. On the way up to the curve, I noticed the dense forest below was gone. The large piece of land beneath me had no more trees. It was replaced with what looked like a combination of a playground dedicated to the dead. There were very well built tombstones, yet colorful playground accessory. There was also a wall that came up to my shoulders now instead of just a bare cliff. I'm not sure if I liked this kind of protection.  The next morning, the milk lady never came as I eagerly waited for not-grocery-store-milk. I was hoping to hear the ringing of her bicycle to tell me she had dropped the bottles off.

I really wanted to see the streets. There were roads now where you could see very clearly, and the shops had changed. They no longer used coal to heat their stoves.There were many more cars and buses passing through this area than I ever remembered. On certain corners where I though used to be small candy shops, became giant super markets. The rice field however was still the same. The same cool breeze that blew the sweat off your forehead was still there. Grandma's house was still in the same place, but the figures that were always on the hill weren't there now. I wonder if they were actually sheep, or if they were just really rocks.

Somehow, I felt small in this small city that suddenly grew huge. I haven't been back since then, and I am afraid to see the change that could have accumulated over a decade.

Oh, and did I ever mention?

There were more mango trees,

and the fruit tasted like bittersweet nostalgia.