Ode to my Flying Pigeon

If there is one thing I miss about Shanghai, it’s the bicycle culture. But, that wasn’t always the case.

When I first considered buying a bicycle in Shanghai, I was very apprehensive about the prospect of actually riding it in the streets - to and from work/school - for a number of reasons. First, I had not been on a bicycle in many years and with my luck, I would probably be that rare case of someone who actually forgot how to ride a bicycle. Second, it is my belief that there are no real traffic laws or guidelines in China, and in that world, might is right and bicycles are last on the totem pole of things with wheels on the road (and of note, pedestrians are dead last if we consider the bigger pecking order). Let's face it, it was challenging enough just crossing the streets in town (must look four ways!), but to navigate the roads on a bicycle seemed nutty.

After some careful deliberation (i.e. I’ll buy it and maybe ride it once in a while.) and self-encouragement (how hard can it be? entire families and even senior citizens are cruising around on bicycles.), I bit the bullet. For less than 600RMB (approx. $80USD at the time), I was the owner of a shiny new purple Flying Pigeon – a classic bicycle made in China. I customized it with brown handlebars and a brown seat, which gave the bike a retro look and feel. I then added the biggest utility basket the shop had in stock to the front of my bike, a bell to the handlebar and a utility rack above the rear tire. The only thing I did not purchase was a helmet because it didn’t seem necessary - nor cool - as none of the locals wore helmets.

I adored my new bike, but I had a first challenge on my hands…riding it home! I stalled for a while and walked with the bike halfway down the street before I worked up the nerve to hop on and ride it alongside speeding cars and buses - and against opposing traffic. I was relieved to realize that I hadn’t forgotten how to ride a bicycle, but quite honestly, I was nervous about my ability to steer the bicycle all the way home in the dark. After a few stop-and-go’s, I started to get a feel for it (all the while gripping the handlebars for dear life) and successfully rode home in one piece. When the feeling came back to my arms and derrière, I thought to myself…that was really fun. I then rode it to work the next day (roughly eight miles roundtrip) and felt a new sense of accomplishment and courage. J

By the third day, I was loving my new ride and wanted to ride it everywhere I could. I was riding quite fast at that point and was taking on mopeds and larger wheels in the bicycle lane. I felt unstoppable! And I felt like I was a small part of the bicycle legacy that was so prominent in Shanghai. I was honoring a tradition that was so deeply rooted in the cultural history of China and on a more minor note, I was defying rush hour traffic and the struggle to find a cab.

During my last days in Shanghai, I made it a point to ride my bike as much as I could despite the chilling cold of winter. On my last ride, a light snow began to fall and I felt so happy and nostalgic to ride aimlessly in the streets of old Shanghai. Amidst all the ups and downs of my last year in Shanghai, my Flying Pigeon was a steady companion and a reliable friend. She has since retired in Shanghai, but with some luck, she may find herself on the road again in the urban jungle that is New York City.

On the road

I've always loved traveling, but I never quite understood the lure of backpacking - until now. My brother started his backpacking adventure more than two years ago, and for a greater part of my New York winter, I've been on the road with him. I've backpacked one other time in southern England, and even though my backpack is outdated and rather small, I took it out once again and decided to be spontaneous. We don't have travel guides, maps, or an itinerary. We go where the wind takes us (and sometimes, where the chicken buses will take us) and adjust our route along the way. It's one of the most liberating experiences.

Backpacking is a lot of fun, but it's not for everyone. Journeys can be long, uncomfortable and exhausting. (My longest trip thus far has been a 16-hour bus ride in Guatemala.) Accommodations are often sparse and basic. Hot showers are not guaranteed, and en-suite bathrooms are considered a luxury. (Good thing we are in the tropics now.) You might find yourself sharing a dormitory with perfect strangers and sometimes, there are travelers with questionable personal hygiene. If you can overlook these small discomforts, then backpacking is definitely do-able and such a humbling experience.

For many young people, I think backpacking is almost a rite of passage. They've just finished university, quit a miserable job, have downtime before starting a job, or just want to see as much of the world as possible before they resign themselves to a more settled lifestyle. Everyone's story and timeline is different and equally interesting. Everyone is on a personal journey. And for many people that I've met (including my brother), there is no return ticket home because being able to travel indefinitely is both their purpose and their journey.

I think when I look back on this time, I'll feel grateful to have had the opportunity to travel and see so much on a shoestring. I'll cherish the experiences, adventures and friends I've encountered along the way. I'll miss the company that I kept, and the special friends that began to feel like my traveling family. I'll remember my daredevil climb up a waterfall on a rope and my miraculous fall. I'll think about my brother and the trip we shared. And I'll always be in awe of how small the world can be and how big the journey becomes when we greet the road before us with an open mind and a positive outlook.

(My guest blog post, as featured on my brother's travel blog.)

7,418 miles

7,418 miles. That’s the distance between the two lives I have lived.

Two years ago, I embarked on an adventure with one man and two dogs. We took whatever we could fit in our suitcases and left the rest to chance. What we lacked in resources, we made up for in hope. It was supposed to be the beginning of wonderful things and an extraordinary life together.

When I think back to that time, I remember the love story that sparked it all. It began like a scene out of a romantic comedy. The middle was a wild journey that unfolded before our eyes. And the ending – well, we simply did not prevail. Not all love stories have a happy ending. Some end like mine did – beautifully tragic.

I chose to save my heart and my dreams for another day. And yet, I left a piece of my heart out there. I don’t know if it will ever return. Sometimes I think it may travel forever in the wind, but I’m ok with that. I’m still here and I choose to prevail. Life continues to unfold. Happiness continues to find me. And I know my story has yet to be written.

It’s 14,836 miles there and back. I know because that’s the distance my heart has traveled.

Love Affair

An innocent glance your way
Drawn to the charm of your gaze
The different angles of bliss
And the soothing warmth of light
From your eyes, from your lips
Truth stretching from cheek to cheek
A glimpse folding into minutes
Minutes melting into moments
Of laughter and mirth past
Etched in memory and untouched by time
Settling as specks of magical dust
Fallen on my heart content
Stealing peeks at your grace-
Ever constant, ever changing-
Realizing once and again
The light you have shone upon me
Is the look of love and devotion
Freely sought, freely given.

January 2002

Homecoming – Chapter 1

It was a reverse pilgrimage of sorts. In 2010, I went from being a Chinese-American woman living in New York City to being an American-Chinese woman living in Shanghai – or at least that’s how my local acquaintances labeled me…more American than Chinese. It was a culture shock and an identity shock all at once. I’m ethnically Chinese. My parents, grandparents and ancestors hail from China. I was even born in China. Cantonese was the first language I spoke (albeit poorly over the years). But to every other Chinese person that I met in China, I apparently embodied the identity, attitude and panache of an American girl. I was an insider by blood, but an outsider by upbringing. It was a strange sense of belonging to this place – my motherland – and yet, not connecting to the fibers of the place – the people.

In my first weeks there, I was like a fish out of water – not because the place was so foreign to me, but because I couldn’t speak the local language (Mandarin) and for that, I was ridiculed and even looked down upon by some locals. They were in utter disbelief that I looked and claimed to be Chinese and yet, I couldn’t speak “our” language. I had not experienced this kind of small-minded discrimination in a long, long time, and I was shocked that it was being handed to me so quickly and thoughtlessly by people who didn’t know anything about me. In a city of nearly 20 million people, I often felt lonely and misunderstood. I was neither special because I had chosen to return to China, nor was I invisible because I dressed and carried myself differently than the crowd.

I wanted to be accepted into their world and their local culture, but at the same time, I wanted them to accept that I could still respect my individual beliefs and celebrate them as much as the new ones I was adopting. My default explanation in Mandarin (which I memorized in the beginning) was to say that I was an “overseas Chinese,” so the locals would know that I was Chinese, but I was not raised in this place like they had been. This explanation worked for some people as it satisfied their curiosity. For others, they couldn’t connect the dots – and their stubbornness was too great – so I offered up my last resort explanation (also memorized): “I’m Korean.”

To be continued....

Love Undone

All that was left was a crumpled ten dollar bill and a greasy paper bag. There wasn’t even the stench of bad take-out in the apartment and yet, I was sick to the core. I wish we hadn’t stayed in last night. Why didn’t we go to Julia’s housewarming? She was only my closest friend in the world and he knew that. He knew all too well that she was one of the few girlfriends I had left but he didn’t care. He claimed that she was jealous of our relationship; he reasoned that she was out to ruin what we had worked so hard to achieve – nearly two years of overcoming petty arguments and celebrating dating bliss.

On our fifth date, Ben told me he was starting to fall for me. He was sincere, intelligent, ambitious, and funny. He loved to talk and even more so, he always seemed interested in what I had to say. Even when he didn’t agree with me on a certain issue, he would merely silence me with a kiss and tell me how cute I was for speaking my mind. And I believed him. I believed everything he told me because I was falling for him too.

I believed in him and our love. I think he believed in me too but somewhere down the road, he stopped respecting me. Maybe I shouldn’t have passed on the job promotion in Boston, but I knew his last long-distance relationship had failed miserably. Or maybe it was my dropping my night class, but I had good intentions – I wanted to have more time to spend with him. I justified all these acts and more by convincing myself that our love was more important, that he was more important. But I sensed that he wasn’t satisfied with my gestures of love, so I tried harder.

After one year of serious dating, we, or rather he decided that we should move in together. I had just graduated from college, so I thought it was a practical idea…after all, I needed to find an apartment anyway. Three days after graduation, I packed up all of my belongings and despite the lack of support from my parents, I moved in with Ben. At first, living together turned out to be a great idea and a wonderful experience. I loved waking up every morning with him beside me. I made dinner on weeknights and Ben would bring home flowers for the apartment almost everyday. He said the flowers could remind me of him in his absence and I told myself I loved him even more than I had imagined.

I loved him. I still love him. But that wasn’t enough, I realize now. Last night, for the first time that I can remember, Ben didn’t want to talk. We ate our meal in complete silence and after he finished, he instinctively walked over to the window. He said our view of the city was magnificent and that he was amazed by how much movement and change occurred right outside of our window. He said watching everything outside reminded him of his ambition – he wanted to start his own company, buy a condo in the city, and travel more. Ben always shared his dreams with me – they were ours – but tonight, he spoke of his future as if he had already moved on without me. He turned back towards the window and his gaze froze on the night sky as though he were silently mourning something he had lost or was wishing he were out there looking for something he hadn’t yet found. From the reflection in the glass, I saw the face of love for the last time. I whispered his name but he merely lowered his eyes. If he had seen the anguish on my face, he wouldn’t have walked out the door. Perhaps he wasn’t looking hard enough. Or perhaps he chose not to look back.

Next week would have been our two-year anniversary. He hated planning our nights out, so I made reservations for us at his favorite restaurant. I bought a new dress and I even splurged on an absurdly expensive stereo system for him. God, what cruel irony this is that I’m sitting here listening to part two of his gift – a CD I made of fifteen love songs that remind me of us. What does Brian McKnight know about our love anyway? Romance died a long time ago and to think about it, so did I.

(my original submission for a short story contest, October 2000)

when the storm comes

When the storm comes,
I'll close the shutters
And light a candle.
I'll prepare to disconnect
From the outside world,
As I slowly retreat
To my inner fortress.

Before the waves hit,
I'll stand my ground
And brace for impact.
I'll reach for anchors
Should any float by,
Amidst the cluttered souls
Of our collective strife.

As the rains fall,
I'll take familiar shelter
And watch through windowpanes.
I'll embrace the chaos
And the struggles within,
While weathering the storm
And its every uncertainty.