HOLD ON TIGHT

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT And when we were children, staying at the archduke's, My cousin's, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. ~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot Tuesday, October 30, 2007 remembering shandong i miss yantai very much, i realise. i was so happy in yantai, surrounded by children. i think they liked me. a chinese song came on, and it reminds me of those nights i would stay up at in the quiet school, sitting outside my room, feeling the cold coastal breeze against my skin and wet-washed hair my hands against the iron grilles, swatting at the mosquitoes. the cooks next door would be getting ready to sleep, maybe playing poker barefoot, sometimes they'd come to talk to me, because to them, who conceptualised the world outside on a binary of the homeland and the other, i was interesting, neither a chinese, neither anything, really. on weekends, i would be scared, i would feel something around the school when the children had left for home. it was the heart of summer, but nights would be cold. i'd climb over the gate every night from the ride back from the coast where i gave tuition. it's a funny experience hugging chinese people, because they always find it inappropriate. i hugged my friends in yantai when i left--and they were so awkward. i wonder if the children remember me. i didn't say goodbye to andrew, i remember, he was rushed up the train by the conducted, the only brit guy amidst the dirty peasants and yantai people, and i was worried, because he would be on his own for the next 20 hours, without chinese to help him. he looked out of the window. i guess this is it, he shouted from the train, this is a fucking strange way to leave, he shouted from the train. i know, i said, look after your money. no one understood our accents. the last i heard of him is that he's found a guy to be his partner, and the last thing he said to me was that i had sized him up in a statement in a way no one else did. i hope he is happy. i feel beijing had abandoned me, in someway. it was a betrayal of sorts, when i returned to beijing. the city was different. sometimes i wonder who was guilty of the betrayal. i'm applying for an internship in beijing for the summer, im not sure if i will get it. if i do get it, i want to return to shandong again. somehow i know that i will find myself plunged into another betrayal, that i am simply putting myself into another place where i will feel heartbreak. living abroad makes you realise that leaving is not difficult, the self is not constant. yantai, beijing, shanghai, new york, singapore. leaving every city is always akin to a kind of betrayal, how can you expect it not to betray you? posted by dawn # 7:54 PM Comments: Post a Comment << Home		[publishing] Publishers Weekly . Dystel & Goderich . New York Center for Independent Publishing . Association of American University Presses . Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators [people] clarisse . nurul . aunty zarina (ummi's bakery) . jeremy . pak . cyril . softblow . karen & kenny (booksactually) . eric . joel . [other loves] digitaljournalist . ballet dictionary . poetshouse . urbanwordnyc [me] dawn, singapore, new york city, ithaca. [yesterday] in the supermarket poem raspberry the art of books changing days i'm supposed to be writing a paper for modern danc... song fond The view from outside the house [archives] January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT

And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

remembering shandong

i miss yantai very much, i realise. i was so happy in yantai, surrounded by children. i think they liked me. a chinese song came on, and it reminds me of those nights i would stay up at in the quiet school, sitting outside my room, feeling the cold coastal breeze against my skin and wet-washed hair my hands against the iron grilles, swatting at the mosquitoes. the cooks next door would be getting ready to sleep, maybe playing poker barefoot, sometimes they'd come to talk to me, because to them, who conceptualised the world outside on a binary of the homeland and the other, i was interesting, neither a chinese, neither anything, really. on weekends, i would be scared, i would feel something around the school when the children had left for home. it was the heart of summer, but nights would be cold. i'd climb over the gate every night from the ride back from the coast where i gave tuition. it's a funny experience hugging chinese people, because they always find it inappropriate. i hugged my friends in yantai when i left--and they were so awkward. i wonder if the children remember me. i didn't say goodbye to andrew, i remember, he was rushed up the train by the conducted, the only brit guy amidst the dirty peasants and yantai people, and i was worried, because he would be on his own for the next 20 hours, without chinese to help him. he looked out of the window. i guess this is it, he shouted from the train, this is a fucking strange way to leave, he shouted from the train. i know, i said, look after your money. no one understood our accents. the last i heard of him is that he's found a guy to be his partner, and the last thing he said to me was that i had sized him up in a statement in a way no one else did. i hope he is happy.

i feel beijing had abandoned me, in someway. it was a betrayal of sorts, when i returned to beijing. the city was different. sometimes i wonder who was guilty of the betrayal. i'm applying for an internship in beijing for the summer, im not sure if i will get it. if i do get it, i want to return to shandong again. somehow i know that i will find myself plunged into another betrayal, that i am simply putting myself into another place where i will feel heartbreak.

living abroad makes you realise that leaving is not difficult, the self is not constant. yantai, beijing, shanghai, new york, singapore. leaving every city is always akin to a kind of betrayal, how can you expect it not to betray you?

posted by dawn # 7:54 PM

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