October, Overseas

 Dear EN502,

    I spent the last two weeks of October in China. The purpose of this trip was to see family -- five cities in twelve days. I used to spend every summer visiting my family, but as I got older and busier, the trips became less and less, and then Covid happened and I haven’t been back.

    In the five years removed from my family and my culture, I didn’t know what to expect from my trip. Once I got back, my friends asked me if I experienced any culture shock, and here is my answer:

    Going back to China was like being fluent in a language I thought I’d forgotten, except it isn’t just the language, it’s everything: crossing the street and dodging bikes, cars, and scooters without fear, pointing to a menu and paying without needing to say a word, thinking to myself, oh, I remember, this is a part of me, it’s always been a part of me. 

    For the first time in five years, I could walk the streets at night without fear, where curious looks were only about my dyed hair, and I ate food and didn't need to explain what it was. For the first time in five years I felt connected to aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents.

    Early in the trip we went to Lanzhou to visit my uncle. After dinner one night, my uncle took us – my mom, sister, and I – out on a walk to see the Yellow River. My uncle told me that when he was a kid in the 70s, only one side of the river was developed; the other side was still farmland, where he'd lived. He used to take the ferry across the river to get into the city. Now, multiple bridges connect the riverbanks, where towering businesses and apartment complexes rise into the sky. I tried to imagine what the Yellow River looked like fifty years ago, but the present-day streetlights, traffic, and vibrant nightlife were hard to ignore.

    Once we crossed the river, my uncle led us to a bustling intersection and stopped. “This was Dad’s land,” he said. 

    My grandfather’s home. I stared at the stoplights as they blinked from green, to yellow, to red. My family history, our land, turned into a four-way stop to make room for more urban development.

    I felt something twist inside my chest. We stood there in silence and watched the cars go by for a long time.

    That tight feeling clawed its way into my throat once we got to Xi’an. This is where my mom grew up and where I spent my summers as a kid: ancient capital of China, Silk Road destination, home of the Terra Cotta Warriors.

    At the train station, we called a taxi. I listened to my mom chatting to the cab driver in the comforting cadence of the Xi’an dialect as we drove.

    In my grandmother's neighborhood, my feet found their way through the courtyard gates, past squat little apartment buildings, up four flights of stairs, and into my grandmother’s home – my home. As my grandmother bustled around making lunch, I wandered through each room, looking, remembering: my little elementary school desk, the teal-colored couch covers, the creaky dining table, and clothes drying on the balcony. Nothing had changed. Everything had changed. My grandfather passed away a few years ago. The rooms looked smaller than I remembered. My grandmother renovated the floors, old cement replaced by smooth hardwood.

    Then I found black and white photos of my family at meaningful stages of life – weddings, vacations, school pictures – and burst into tears.

    I found my mom and stood in front of her with fat tears streaming down my face.

    “Why are you crying?” She asked, rather alarmed.

    “I don’t know,” I wailed.

    Once I calmed down I managed to say, “I see all these things from my childhood. These memories. I don’t know what to do with them.”

    “You feel nostalgic,” my mom suggested.

    “No, feeling nostalgic is happy.”

    “Nostalgia can be sad,” my mom said. “You’re mourning for moments that passed, events you can’t experience again.”

    “Oh,” I said. “Oh.”

    We spent five days in Xi’an, visiting familiar landmarks and exploring new developments. I ate food until I was ready to burst. I read street signs out loud to practice my character recognition. I stopped crying whenever something jogged my memory. When it was time for us to return to the US, I felt calm. I can come back whenever I want to. I’ve reconnected with my family. I’m a part of something bigger than myself, and I finally believe it.

    Growing up in America I’d convinced myself that there was only me and my mother. No other kin, none of my blood. Now, the part of me that always chanted alone, alone, alone when the holidays came around is finally quiet. 

    Going to China felt like letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, like every muscle relaxing. Going to China felt like coming home. 

    So, did I experience any culture shock from being in China?

    No, not at all.

_____________

    I got back from China on the 28th and found Seattle blissfully cool at last -- to answer JC's question, Seattle is not as rainy as the locals had promised (turns out they overexaggerate to deter people from moving here).

    Fall is in full swing, and so is my transition back into reading. I was concerned the bookworm in me died from lack of exposure, symptoms being the grueling years of college and my ever-shortening attention span from social media, but my fears were unfounded as I read 9 books this month:

1. All of the original Percy Jackson and the Olympians
2. Part of The Lost Hero and the Son of Neptune
3. Heartless by Merissa Meyer (the first and only book that’s ever prompted me to write a GoodReads review)
4. The Poppy War by R.F. Kuang
5. Babel by R.F. Kuang

    If anyone is looking for a thoughtful but pretty intense read, I recommend R.F. Kuang's novels.

    I hope you are all well! <3

    With peace and love,

    Hanna

Pictures taken 15 years apart