Beijing: Memoir, 2007

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Landed average fields, with pavements or vegetation structured in such a way. The willows lined up on the streets, adjoined side by side with the height pole pedestal lighting and continuous electrical poles. Springs leaf buds overwritten by the shiny silvery dew, only supported by the elegance of the wind; swaying lightly over it’s new shoots. Down in the left-opened sandy soil, lying some cigarette butts under the willows, waiting for the scavenger who comes every morning.

City Park flooded by plum flowers and rows of toddler Bao Babs, with hands hanging  loomed as an inverted sticking roots down the earth. Windows disguised by the grey-white mist, where sometimes captured- in frame- moms looks down to the street as they hung the clothes; while also chatting with others on above or lower level. 

Dispersed are the scent of the earth, mixed with a light aroma of rose tea and dark concentrated broth smoke, thick condensed melting fat, and  the delicate aroma of steamed bread. At the end of the wave of these smell, meet the pungent carbide and the newly signed gasoline vapour, stinky putrid  river and sewer dashed niff of final disposal.

A scavenger smoothly moves on the edge of the road with a claw in his right hand and steering wheel in his left, riding a small bike with a cart behind.  Next to him, an old man on the sidewalk wearing trousers made of old sacks, decades- old leather shoes with tangled rope wet with puddles, a long-sleeved blue shirt with dark blue jacket, a cap that facing backwards with earmuff and gloves soggy wet of tonight’s rain. His slant eye tail off even more due to the wrinkles in his forehead and a rarely warm smile;  result of his brief conversation with a tourist at the crossroad.

In front of them, dozens of cars pass every minute; a relaxed or hurry one, public and private vehicles, with locals or tourists inside of them. Wheels and tires passed over the glossy black asphalt, wet by rain and a bit vague in the dust that fell overnight. Standing at many crossroads, large columns holding pedestrian bridges, and its interchange to each pedestal body. 

At the end of the street lined up those who waiting for taxi or buses, waiting to be picked up or for crossing the red light. Some with high boots, long trousers and long-sleeved shirt, jacket or long coat strongly tied to survived the cold. A big book or a folder in the left hand, a handbag or a backpack hanging in the right, completed with a cup of coffee, tea, or even only hot water with hint of puffed white-smoke. Some others dressed in their own style, staring dreamily into different directions, playing with their own wishful thinking that floating and hovering apart from their body.

   

People of all these sizes, types and classes might meet later in the afternoon in a building or another; climbing the same marble staircases, or holding the same metal railings. Stepping on the same elevator, or breathing the same air conditioned atmosphere; while the time keep on strolling, seemed as chasing one another.

Here, people may forever ask; what are they doing today.

Here, the plants may always wonder, how long will that sun survive this time.

Here, the roads and asphalt may ask, when will the rain come again.

Here, the buildings may forever wonder; keep asking and joking one another.

Beijing, 2007