on a bench, facing the ocean, wave to earth in my ears.
One day, walks no longer bombarded my head with swarms of thoughts, now its just null, just music with no comprehension and the crispness of salty air.
Time at night seems so scarce when work piles and a deprivation of sleep actually affects my concentration in the day. Yet, I still pull myself out of bed for the queer anticipation and curious dread for the annual ritual of meeting the relatives I see once a year. Maybe because it’s been somewhat years since I’ve spent Chinese New Year back home, contrast is bound to be stark. They all look the same to me, I look of utmost difference to them. Although such reactions were mostly within expectations, there was still something entertaining discerning it unfold in front of me, then indulging in the traditionally Chinese mannerisms: a clean sheet of politeness, a certain way of conversation that appeared suitably withdrawn while sounding ever-so jovial and slightly ferverish to share how I’ve been doing, repeating the same few sentences.
Despite pretenses, or you could call it politeness, there was something, some inexplainable homeliness and childhood reminiscence about these mannerisms. Not that this carefulness was particularly enjoyable, but there would certainly be an element of incompletion without it. There were assumptions that I’d become so westernised that all the traditions would seem so foreign to me, yes two years of adsolence seems much longer than it is, yet childhood was much longer, and so my memory was just as clear. Perhaps a little too clear I was envisioning the typical New Year when I was merely seven; I asked Mom if she prepared a qipao for me to donne the occasion. Surprisingly, I hadn’t worn them since I was eleven or twelve, she said.
There was also a difference- some sort of public evaluation, a place where metrics diversified and academics weren’t the only. How presentable you seemed, your familial peace, future aspirations, looks, for those in their twenties to thirties, the objective judgement of their significant other. Suddenly, there’s more emerging, another element for improvement, another element for perfection.
It will probably be half a decade till the next celebrations, or maybe even more than that. I wonder if I’ll still feel the same as I did today, or will time really wash away the culture, and all that will remain are empty shells of awkwardness, where they don’t belong.
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