Half In Half Out: Shanghai

I have been feeling lonely for twenty or so years now. Ever since that afternoon when what’s-her-name refused to play with me and instead played with a group of others. So I just squatted under a tree scribbled on the dirt while sobbing to myself.

It was cool to be a loner in junor high. The black hand-me-down sweatshirt from my gangster cousin makes it even cooler. Two other girls thought it cool too. So the three of us were together all the time to be lonely. Usually hanging out in the construction sites and school warehouse, best if at night. High school ended that sweet lonesomeness, for I somehow ended in the city’s best high school with the highest score. It was something all was proud of, except when the first day of the school, what’s-her-name came out of no-where and said, ” we went to the same kindergarden. Our beds were next to each other. I kicked you all the time then. I heard your entrance score is the highest, I think soon it won’t be the case anymore. ” I don’t remember what I said to that. I only remember she wore a large pink dress with large white frills. But that did started a long disastrous three years of everyone feeling glorified for beat me in the academic score. I spent my age 15 to 18 desperately scramble to keep my territory while pretending I didn’t care - “Look at the violence inherent in the system! …”

I felt lonely when I was in America, culture shock stuff, also have difficulty identify with my fellow countryman. I feel lonely now when I come back: reverse culture shock stuff, also have difficulty identify with my fellow countryman, and with my fellow expatriates.

Sometimes I turn on my charm. Organize a trip, host a party, go to an event, food and drink, pleasant smile, caring chitchat. Rarely the conversation goes beyond the basic what one does and what one has, one somehow unconsciously judging others and being judged by others. But the need to be social is compelling: what are people talking about these days, we mustn’t look like people of solitude in other people’s eyes. So one is afraid to be the first ones to leave, and afraid to see people leaving the party. I found more and more I am glad to see such things over, and feeling anxious to see one coming on the calendar. Real precious time seems to be at home watching a movie, and go to a coffee shop doing nothing.

I envy those who have friends. I envy that they can call up someone and go shopping together. I envy those who “went to a bar last night with some friends”. I envy those who have their weekend scheduled weeks ahead and didn’t have to scratch hair Saturday at eleven o’clock at what to do this weekend. I envy those who were told by friends where all the promotions are and the little agent they have that can help to find anything through insider tips, I envy those who have tons of friends on their MSN and who have little flashing bars calling them at work. Yeah, to be able to like many and to be liked by many is a enviable thing. And not being able to do that, makes me feel lonely.

This morning A wrote back. He thanked my “cogent analysis”. And told me about John Mcphee, Kurt Vonnegut and William Faulkner whose writing sometimes ” takes a timeline or a chart to figure out what’s going on”. I was made smile by that description. And I was thoroughly touched - A workes long hours. As I was smiling and touched to tears at the same time, I remembered the conversation with W, under the shanghai’s neon skyline on our terrace, that instilled confirmation to our old-fashioned belief and idealistic hope; I remembered the letters from P, the first thing in the morning, that were so correct that sends me into deep pain for weeks and come out stronger and clearer. I remembered the calls came from the west coast, saying ” I must talk to you. If I don’t, I will burst.” The call from east coast, telling me, ” I am pregnant again. ” The snail mails that list reasons of me being great when I feel so little of my self, the ski training program for my nine months old son, the friend who came and who told says “never go ballistic”Then there is the words that says, ” that leading a good life is possible, that being a good person is possible, … , that truth can exist alongside beauty.”. Words that says “It exists in other people’s mouth, in other people’s contexts, serving other people’s intentions: it is from there that one must take the word, and make it one’s own.”

At that moment, I saw, something I hadn’t seen for so long, that I am not lonely. I have all over the world the treasure of friendship, the very best that outlasts time, space, occupation and wealth.

A lot of time life seems a big taggle of worry to me. It starts from the basic mandane subject of clothes, food, job, house, transportation, to the higher-level subject in persistant pursuit of a true identity and eternal happiness. After I got a husband, such worries are doubled. After we got a baby, such worries are octopouled. For I have become a parent, and I worry about our parents, old now.

Outside my tiny world, the big world seems to have made itself a even bigger taggle of worries to itself. Everyday the headlines in New York Times are how many people died in Iraq. Sometimes, it is how many people died in Isreal. Sometimes in the other part of the world. There are worries on global warming and oil price, there are worries from the housing market, subprime credit market, medical insurance, drug safety, food safety, toy safety, divorce, scam… The local newspaper of course cover the 17th people’s representative meeting, but what people really enjoy are the “Nanny Kidnapped Baby!”, “Fire on top of the tallest building in Asia!”, “Paris embrassed herself, Again!”. People say all they want is happiness. But in reality, people seem to enjoy sufferings, others of course, but maybe even their own.

For me, worry have become a habit, something like brushing teeth in the morning. A subconscious things-to-worry list, aside from things-to-do list, have to be there in the back of my mind everyday. A few days ago, I suddenly noticed I was not worried about anything. I felt uneasy, I felt out of sorts about myself, as if I am not important enough, and I couldn’t find my self-worth.

 This morning, I noticed D is shorter. Oh, poor D, he worked too hard and he has shrinked into an old man. I exclamed:” What did you do to yourself? Why are you shorter? My head used to be on your shoulder, why is it on your eye level now? ”

“You are wearing slippers, and I am not.”

I kicked off my slippers. He pulled me in front of him and we stood up straight, face to face.

My head is indeed still at his shoulder level, my forehead the same level as his lips.

He took the opportunity and kissed my forhead, “See, it has always been here. Always.”

I felt heat coming to my eyes, and I hear that poem in my ears: ”They say happiness is not fair,  I don’t dare…”

He looked up at me, staring, quietly but intensely, studying my eyes, my nose, pondering, as if I am his whole world.

I noticed him, smiled and said,” why are you looking at me this way?”

He gave me a little smile. Little red lips. A hint of shyness. But kept looking, with such admiration.

Baby  cannot talk yet. But I think I heard him telling me, you are beautiful.