A SELF-ANALYSIS OF COMFORT

It rains in Beijing. Take a look out my brother’s apartment window.



In the States, I have bonded with the characters breathing in the works of Camus, Dostoevsky, Ellison, and Sartre. Across the years, we all became intimate, long term friends, sharing perceptions of our respective realities. But, now, spending many hours alone, fully immersed in a culture where I'm unable to speak to communicate or listen to comprehend, adrift at a permanent distance from concrete familiarity, restricted to primal exchanges, I connect to the characters of Camus et al. on a new level from a new angle.

For well over one week now, I’ve been bouncing around Beijing, brushing against the exposed underbelly of the eclectic culture. The streets eats holes into the soles of my shoes. When alone, I find comfort at a distance, exploring the city on my brother’s bicycle, buried under the endless movement, united with the endless movement. I find minimal comfort in brief, successful interactions that produce shared smiles. Most of my social interactions are limited to the trading of paper money for quick sustenance. 3 RMB for four boiled eggs. 4 RMB for yogurt and tea. 9 RMB for a collection of bananas. 11 RMB for some spicy noodles and beef. 14 RMB for twenty-four pork dumplings. All these exchanges are surface level exchanges with no depth. Generic connections.


When he’s not working, and can act as my intermediary, I find comfort in socializing with my brother and his wide network. He points to new doors he’s explored or wants to explore and we explore them together. He acts as a useful crutch and compass. When available, I find comfort in my brother’s lady friend, AILEEN, a local that speaks fluent Chinese and English. She graciously acts as a guiding voice, illuminating the beautiful unknown, making the inaccessible accessible. Translating. Storytelling. Touring.

Also, lately, I’ve found great comfort in the Temple of the Earth, a 500 year old park celebrating nature. I’ve visited several times. The park has become MY FORTRESS OF SOLACE. The word beautiful is polluted by uninspired overuse. The Temple of the Earth, however, is a genuine expression of natural, tangible beauty. It exists, literally and symbolically, in a bubble, a lush contrast to the city, a reprieve from the claustrophobic and dust flooded hub of endless movement. The Temple of the Earth is an escape for me, and, by all appearances, an escape for the locals. Across the park, people can be seen playing chess, observing chess matches, playing cards, observing card games, practicing instruments, flying kites, working out, socializing, reading, sleeping, and even playing some seriously intense croquet.


I go to the park to breathe untainted air and to relish the quiet. The above photograph was taken by Aileen on my first visit to the park. The park is a fifteen minute bike ride from my brother’s apartment, approximately.