Not So Bad

The jittering of the seat and the rumbling of the runway invites me once again to a familiar place. The nostalgic burning sensation of the sun hitting my skin was not one I especially wanted to be reminded of, though the scent of tall dusty buildings and bustling vehicles made me feel at ease. The fluctuating cries of the cicadas directed me homewards to a small and dusty sauna of an apartment. Settling into the suffocating room, a cold AC unit provided some comfort on the solar heated furniture. The first two mornings consisted of being nagged at and pushed by my brother to go outside and explore before the sun had even half risen. It was to be another tiring day; staring at the backs of many people, being lectured about not straying too far away and not going off by myself. A petite and vulnerable child was an easy target for the tall masses of towers (dripping with sweat) to shove to the side or be swept away like a jellyfish by a rogue wave. Being pulled into a mysterious vintage shop the oddly familiar tune repeated itself through my ears as I explored the dark corners of the shop, occasionally I would discover a great treasure like an old music box or a frilly cloth parasol (which I didn't get to buy).

A soft nudge from my mother before the sun had even risen at all signalled the start of an exhausting day up in the mountains. Me and my brother were sent on an errand to buy our great-grandmother's favourite drinks and snacks, whereas my parents set off to buy complicated bundles of joss paper money, paper ornaments and paper clothes. It was a unique bag full of interesting things, which I foolishly offered to carry. A combination of red and green mini-buses and a taxi escorted me to the beginning of a long trek. The throbbing in my legs was accompanied by the stinging of insecticide in my eyes and fatigue due to the bulky rucksack. Eventually, we managed to reach our destination. She sat, still as a statue, with a great view over the sea, the giant buddha across the channel and over the whole mountain. After a quick rest we were back at work, I sweeped the dead, fallen leaves to the side and gave great-grandmother a short bath. Trusted with a lighter and a bundle of incense, I set them aflame, waving the bundle side to side to put out the flame and the incense was ready to be stuck around the perimeter and by great-grandmother. One of my most loved features of incense (despite it's latching scent) was its ability to ward off pesky mosquitoes. I poured great-grandmother, her adored bottled cola (most definitely not Pepsi) into a small porcelain cup and also another cup of "米酒" (rice wine). Joss paper lay at the bottom of the fire pit and a match was flicked in, as the flames grew, the rest of the paper offering were placed to rest in the fire. The acrid smell of smoke and incense hung around the humid air and followed me home.

Dinner was a traumatic, yet pleasant time. Sitting at an enormous table in a "大排檔" was strange. A selection of young and old employees, cladded in stained aprons, rushed around with plated meals or unwashed dishes, while I scanned through a loaded menu with faded symbols that were hard to read. As I was deciphering the menu, the table had already ordered and decided what they wanted to eat, which left me lost for words as they asked me what I wanted.. Although meant to be a bustling and a happy gathering of people that we hardly get to see, it generally made me feel isolated in the herd of adults at the table and lack of children my age. The meals we got to eat pretty much canceled out the negativity surrounding meal times though. A much nicer dinner (for me anyway) was walking through streets and streets of food stalls. Everything I could think of, plus more, was there for me to try til I was full. Freshly opened coconuts, dim sum(a traditional bitesize chinese dish), all kinds of roasted meats, bubble teas, infusions, unique sweets and desserts. It was an endless street of colour, fun and food. My only regret was not being able to spend more time there.

I also remember fearfully hanging off the seat of a bicycle, while on the road to go see a friend. Staring down at the road speeding past, including the giant, seemingly bottomless drains, made it a terrifying experience. Arriving in a forest, within the big city, was a huge surprise. Birds were chirping, frogs were croaking and the cicada cried. I slumped by the river, vacantly gazing at the swirling red, gold and silver of the bright fish, hoping someone would come to collect me or talk to me. Strolling down the river and feeding the fish at night was a rare occurrence that I wished for every time I visited. Something about observing the dancing fireflies, and finding shameplant, was amusing to me. It was enjoyable, unlike being cooped up inside. The natural air, which contrasted greatly with the buzzing urban metropolis, as well as the scent of longan trees and star fruit made this area almost like an oasis in the middle of the concrete and steel desert. As I picked yummy fruit and took in the fresh air, my mother agreed that this was the finest area of the city.

A wave of dread hit me a few days before we had to leave. I had yet again not done everything I had wanted to do, and had brushed off the many times when I could. The empty feeling as I rolled my suitcase along the bumpy, ridged paths to the bus stop was truly unimaginable. Waving goodbye to my distant relatives at a crowded airport terminal with a dejected smile only made it worse. Fumbling around with a boarding pass to obtain several minutes of unneeded WiFi was just an automatic process which I did to try and pass the time on the long wait before the even longer flight. Sitting down in an uncomfortable metallic seat and constantly picking up my phone and placing it down to check the time, was something I did out of complete boredom and despair. By the time I was shuffling around in the cramped aircraft I was worn out and prepared to fall into a deep slumber.

The jittering of the seat and the rumbling of the runway welcomed me back to the feeling of flying in a large, economy class aeroplane cabin. The icy cold wind of the AC blasted away the last of the humid heat as we began to ascend. Long, wide and empty roads passed as I got further from home and closer to another. The usual noise of stores shouting and vehicles bumping along the road was gone, and all that was left behind was the quiet buzzing of the plane's engines. Lazing around in front of the radiator and eating the snacks I had carefully selected for my hand luggage allowed me to reflect on my trip, and I realised that this East Asian pearl of a city was not so bad afterall. And then I began to smile to myself. It was just another year till I'm back again, to relive the amazing experience again.