Half In Half Out: Shanghai

I took out my sewing box after dinner: Mom gave some of Q’s old clothes to O, and one pair of pants are too tight; one button fell off O’s tweed jacket and one for a pair of my pants, then two holes in another pair of nice pants that needs some artful work.

It used to be that I could not sit down on the sofa without O coming over to me and grabing my thumb, “Mommy, play with me.” But these days, he seems more contended playing by himself.

So I sat on the sofa, did my sewing under a lamb. And O crawled around and under me directing his various vehicles, while telling a story involving me and him first on a train, then transferred to a double-decker bus, then a trolley, then a taxi, then back to the train…

“Mommy, have you getting on the bus yet?”

“Yes.”

“Which level are you on, top or bottom?”

“I am on the top, I like to sit high.”

“But the top level (of the double-decker bus) is not air-conditioned, is that OK? ”

“That is fine. It is not too hot today.”

“Have you sat down?”

…

It would have been better, I thought as I sew,  if I had on a pair of reading glasses,  and if I were sewing under the light of a oil lamp, but I conceded to admit that this is a picture-perfect for a moment of mother and son.

上周四去了趟北京，有个非正式的面试。 在国贸CBD那里。 晚上去大学同学那儿住的，同学和表姐家住一个小区， 叫清缘里， 在清河桥附近， 北面， 五环和六环中间。 第二天的飞机是下午一点半的， 正好有时间吃顿早饭， 就约了大鼻子的老罗。 老罗住鼓楼大街附近， 但说好在东直门见面， 他说那里他比较熟悉。

从十几岁就去北京， 回国了后因为工作的原因去的次数更多了， 但是从来都是别人带着走的， 小时候是表哥， 大了是同事和出租车司机。北京的路， 我一点都不熟悉。这其实让我很恼火， 有一次， 急了， 我跟一出租司机商量， 我说我二百块钱， 你拉着我熟悉北京的路和景吧。 记得我们是在园明园出发的， 首先去的是北大和清华， 后来去看鸟巢，还没盖好， 再后来我要去看北京的胡同。中间有经过长安街， 也看到一些有创意的办公楼， 但不知道在哪，其中走到北大和清华中间的那条路上， 我是听说过这里有有意思的咖啡屋的， 然而说拆了， 我就在路边的小饭店请司机又吃了顿午饭。

这次去， 我用了公共交通系统。出了机场门，就是机场大巴， 一号线直通国贸， 车站在国贸中心马路对面。一下车， 有片雪花飘到了我的鼻子上， 我突然意识到， 我又在北方了。真想念啊！

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.

I did a bit sewingwork today. There are some extra fabric from making curtains earlier that I plan to make backdrops for the see-through closet doors. It is one of those tasks in the back of my mind for a long time. And today is the day.

No. 1: The noise of the bicyle break

In Northern China where I biked everywhere since when I was twelve, bicycle breaks are made of two pieces of rubber connected to the handle, via a wire and two ganggan. The rubber pieces are about 2cmx0.5cmx0.5cm in size, located on either side of the back tire, just inch away from the interior of the tire skeleton. When you grab the break at the handle, the rubber fasten on the tire and the bicycle stops.

In shanghai, bicycle breaks use a different mechanism. The break is a round steel box located

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I learned yesterday that Chopin died when he was 39, of pulmonary tubucolosis, after a “turbulent relationship” lasted for ten years.

When I told this to Y, she commented that it seems like many artists died young. I said true. This seems to be typical.

We had this conversation when Chopin was playing. This is part of the early education program for X.

It was a picture perfect homey scene yesterday afternoon. Clean airy cool house, beatiful baby X sat on the floor, satisfied after a good feeding of banana goo, Chopin playing, X listens and stares at the stereo.

I talked about Chopin and his young death with Don later. He tried to determine whether there is a statistical correlation between genius composer and young death. Chopin, died young; Bach, old; Handel, old, Mozart, young; Beethovan, middle aged. He concluded that with these five data points, we have a double-peak curve. It is not true that genius composer died young. I stared at him with amazement. There is really no subject that he couldn’t extrapolate into a large thesis.

The subject of music came out as important after X showed trace of genius at day five by being excalated by Arial’s music.

—–

Shanghai has been sunny, blue and warm straight for a month and a half. The omni-present cool sleeping weather during the night, the right combination of temperature, moisture and sun during the day provide so much comfort, one almost thinks about pardoning Shanghai for the impossible torching long summer…

Something is bothering me these days. And it took me a while to realize that I may be missing America.

That is a strange concept, isn’t it? I am a Chinese. I was born in China, I grew up in China, and although I spent ten years in America. I have never changed my nationality and all along have considered myself a Chinese. And here I am, living working breathing in China soil, poised to settle down, with a home, a husband, and now almost a baby. And I feel homesick.

Am I allowed to miss America? Am I allowed to miss the quiet lab life I spent in Minnesota? My quarky professor who experimented to use the liquid nitrogen to freeze down the corn in his feet? My friendly talktive labmate who tried to persuade me that a particular kind of packing peanut is bio-degradable by stuffing a bunch from the box and eating them? And the African dancing class, the driving in the forest, and the lake-side cabin covered in snow.

Am I allowed to miss the corner of 44th and 9th Ave. in a crisp autumn morning? Am I allowed to miss the purchuto mecerrela with fresh spinach and grilled red pepper? Am I allowed to miss the creativity, the luxury and the humor in the display window on upper fifth Ave? Am I allowed to miss the CBGB night with coworker’s band playing?

Our pasts are romantic. The present pain and suffering are usually over-emphasized as we focus on resolving the issues, overlooking the beautiful, the interesting, the touching aspects that asked for less attention. When that present became the long past, we wake up in small hours of the night, remembering those sweet little things, wishing we’d enjoy it more, wishing we’d cherish it more.

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那起儿， 正在膳趣坐着吃饭，边吃边谈着对虹口那房子内部装修的一些设想，房子比较窄， 要想着怎么把楼梯安排好， 还真有点挑战性哪。

突然地， 没有任何预兆地， 我被一大段记忆占据了， 我好像被带到了另一个地方，人坐&#22312on的对面，魂已经走了。

是一个大大的会议室， 是世界前五名生物技术公司的board room. 屋子的前面， 是放幻灯片的荧屏， 其他三边是U字型的长桌子， U 的开口处朝荧屏。

—–

I woke up to the early hours of the morning. It took a long time for the outside to turn white, for the birds to wake up and sing. And then the street cleaning people are out with the sound of their broom brushing the street, and bicycles riding quietly outside in the valleys of the residential compound.

The city of shanghai feels like in a state of fever these days. The five-nation summit will be on this week and rumors say that the U.S. FBI has warned the shanghai government of a possible terrist attack. Rules are up in certain part of the city for people not to open their windows during those days, not to hang clothes outside to dry. Domestic companies (not the multinationals) also had the people working last weekend to give days off during the week. As a result, we are free from Wednesday till the end of the week and don’t have to go to work until Monday.

Nights are busy. Man, woman, elderly and children are all watching the world cup. TV sets stay in the channel of the world cup’s live broadcasting, at home, in the fruit stands, and grocery stores. Taxi drivers keep the radio on it. There are also advertisement close or remotely related to the cup passing by everywhere. Games are in Germany and people stay up to watch - I heard my upstairs neighbor watching the three o’clock game last night. The game started only a few days ago, and it will last for a month.

I came back Sunday afternoon and weeped hard in D and his shabby old T-shirt. It has been an especially hard trip going back and forth between New York, Boston and Philadelphia. I broke the record of not missing an plane ever, and lost my ipod in the Avis Logan airport Boston. None of that caused any damages since I managed to get everything back. The hard part of the trip is the revelation of the insecurity, the ignorance, the arrogance and the cruelty of people around me. And the sadness of my dispensibleness, helplessness and hopeless inexperience.

“It is all in your brain. Your thoughts are killing you!” Irene said.

I try not to think and I started to watch the game with the rest of the city. Last night, it was Australia and Japan, and I could not make up my mind who I wanted to win. It was Japan at first because one of the big Australian tackled a Japanese guy purposefully. Then the Japanese guy did something of similar malice. So i was not sure anymore. But it was quite amazing to see the Australians got in three goals in the last ten minutes. Wild.

I try not to think. Mom gave me the book of “No. 1 Lady’s Detective Agency” to read. It is about a clever fat Lady who opened a detective agency in Botswana. Easy read but very interesting, and peaceful. I was reluctant to finish it. When I did, I ran out to the bookstore trying to get more books, only to discover that they are light, incoherent and frivilos. And I think I’d read them only for the purpose of investigation study of current Chinese literature.

Now it is six o’clock in the morning June 13th 2006. I am in Shanghai. I am not thinking. I am writing my blog. D is sleeping in the bedroom soundly, but the city is now awoke. Cars and trucks will come out soon and another day of bussling and hussling is coming.

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