LOUD! Very loud, not just to the ear. Everything, everywhere, it attacks, pierces every atom and fiber of your existence. And all at the same time, makes you feel… nothing, a nobody, like everyone else, ordinary, if not even less so. The city, Qingtian.
Nothing. My mind, blank. For a long while, I remained muted to all things. The sound, the smell, the unnatural warm air flowing by every now and then. Until… I don’t know when or how. It felt familiar.
Things started to trigger my curiosity. The people—where did they all come from? Where are they going? What are they doing? Does everyone know everyone, like in the village? Most don’t look friendly. Most are busy browsing, while others stand yelling or screaming, yet no one seems to mind. Funny, I thought.
The colorful lights caught my eye the most. How do they work? The change in color? Is there water inside? Why do they buzz?
Why are there big words everywhere? Is it a contest?
Where are the trees, the plants, the water?
Then something touched my hand. There I stood, at a big red door. A boy, two years younger, looked at me with a smile. Why does that memory linger? I can always see it. Not the eyes—just the smile. Warm, friendly, kind, and inviting. There were so many good memories of my brother and me. The shenanigans, the stealing, the lying, the joy, the adventures—the innocent memories of childhood.
Not too far away stood a girl, two years older. Busy doing nothing and trying hard to look disinterested. She looked, I remember. Or did she? There were very few memories of my older sister. I couldn’t recall her much. The most vivid memory was when she tried to give me her head lice. She plucked out a living, wriggling lice from her hair and attempted to plant it on my head. It was a joyful memory. The only one I can recall of us playing together.
Then there was Grandpa. A big man, I recalled, with a big smile. He grabbed hold of me, lifted me like I was just air. I might as well have been. Most memories of him were of the amazing food he made, his absences, his mahjong games, and his cigarettes.
Perhaps, a change in environment, however good or bad, does change a person. The new experiences, the new family members, the new setting.
I could no longer see the rising sun. I recalled the lonely mornings, noon, nights. The sitting, the waiting. Like everyone’s busy body in the city—moving, going, doing. Change started to take shape. For a boy of six, I recalled, my life really did start in the city.
I am like everyone else. Everyone is just like me. Here and there, to and fro, back and forth. I am a nobody, and so are they.
I find myself smiling.
