I need to learn, again, how to walk

I got my driving license two years ago right before went to UK. After two years, now I am back to China, I don’t think I can drive properly without my parent sitting right next to me and telling me how to do. My hometown is a relatively small city, where traffic is still alright. But I can’t still deal with that- too many cars at the street. Plus, those small and not quite sturdy electric bicycles sometimes come out of nowhere and get on the primary car route, which gives me a chill.
I was even scared of walking at the street on my own during the first few days I got back. Walking at the street here requires another set of skills, it seems. Can’t be too polite. Maybe even have to take a little more courage, or else you can’t get across the street for very long time during rush hours. Again, need to watch for those small electric bicycles, like ghosts- come from everywhere, unbeatable- without the need of observing traffic rules and regulation. Plus, should be aware of those people getting too close to you. Thief. Streets, bus, metro, even in your own private cars, should be aware of someone suddenly comes close to you.
But how can I really stop someone getting close to me in public? It is China. Crowded street is all we should expect and know. So my parents strategy is- don’t wear pretty clothes don’t buy designer bags don’t even buy luxury cars. Don’t show off. Stay low key. So bad people won’t lay eyes on you.
I have to get familiar all those tips and rules again before I wander around my hometown on my own. So after getting back for two weeks, I finally went out for a walk for the first time in the evening.
I like walking around the city. Walking at the street is one of the best way to mingle with the people, I suppose. When I was still in Newcastle, I love to have a walk around for an hour every day. I like how all the buildings and houses are not that tall at all, so it feels like I can look further and enjoy a better view while I walk. I can always catch the sight of the sky without really looking up. I love a walk during weekdays, when the town is start to get quite after 6 pm. Most shops are closed and most people are staying home during weekdays. At first when I went to Newcastle, I needed to get used to how early quietness lays down to this city, then I started to enjoy such serenity. I also enjoy a walk during weekends, when the city centre is on fire. All the dressed up people and all the people dress up not to the weather was quite a shock for me at first. And then all this become quite a view to me and to the city of Newcastle.
Then now all of these seem to be gone. I walk around my hometown. Buildings are getting taller and taller. The tall buildings make the road cramped, which I have never felt this way before, strangely. I can’t see anything beyond those tall buildings alongside the road, which maybe good for me to concentrate on the traffic, even when I walk on the sidewalk. The ghost of small electric bicycles still haunts me on the sidewalk. But walking in my hometown is not all that unpleasant. I still do enjoy a bit busy side of life. When the night falls down to this relative small city, life is still lively here. Shops are open until quite late and people can still enjoy the pleasant of shopping in the evening.
Honk. Sorry, I guess I am stuck in my own thinking a little bit too much. I must be get in a way of some electronic bicycles. I should pay more attention to the traffic. Honk- how can I nearly forgot its existence after two years in UK. Honk gives me a startle, maybe that is how it works. But it is indeed everywhere. It brings the cramped road a little bit more chaos. You can say life is more lively here, as everything is busier. And I just wait patiently until all the cars pass so I can across the street without being startled again. Alas, I don’t mean to sound negative here, but I just need to learn how to walk in my city again.

FeelIng bROwn…heAvenly hOney/CaRAmeL

brown skin

For years in primary school, the ‘skin colour’ crayon bothered me endlessly.I have never made a drawing of myself. Or whenever I did, I never gave my skin any colour. I drew it in stark black outlines on a white piece of paper, large eyes coated with black eyelashes. My skin colour most certainly wasn’t that pink toned white of the ‘skin colour’ crayon, I could tensely finger the brown one, but I couldn’t openly acknowledge I had dark skin, because i knew my friends would only reiterate it. The dark skin on my hands that I constantly hid, sometimes turning my hand palm-up to reveal the lighter shade of skin. In a thriving market of Fair and Lovelys my skin colour was a constant bother as a child. I grew up and out of being bothered about my dark skin however, and I never could draw anyway, so out went the offensive packs of crayons. For years together I hadn’t felt the brown on my skin until it brushed against a sea of whites.

How do you feel the brown on your skin burning like it’s been caught aflame? You’ll see it in the blue eyes against white skin on a bus driver who will take a closer look at your bus pass, the lady at the supermarket who will look into your wallet as you fumble with foreign currency, the flight attendant who will look through you when you ask for help. Sometimes you don’t just feel the brown, but you feel your dark hair pressing into your scalp, you feel brown eyes struggling to lock into blue ones,you feel every dark shadow and pimple and freckle, even your clothes lugged across a continent forcing you to be aware of your difference. When was the last time I felt brown? I felt brown when a girl in college said I looked pretty, my immediate shrug of dismissal made her compassionately tell me that I shouldn’t feel ugly simply because I was dark. It was possible for me to look beautiful even with my skin colour. It was easy for me to dismiss the girl then, her pettiness was just that, petty and parochial, a girl from a small town who didn’t know any better. A few big words in free-flowing English was all I needed to satisfy my own petty vengefulness. But when you are conditioned into believing in the superiority of the White race(wait, White skin) you feel remarkably small when the brown burns into you. My comfortable upbringing, excessive lifestyle, and anything else that made me feel confident and secure back home didn’t matter to those blue eyes. To them, I was something out of the covers of a Nat Geo magazine, both pitied and feared and disliked for my brown skin and foreign features. I wasn’t how people looked like, I was how the poor people from war-torn countries, littered with beggars, famine and hunger, people who didn’t speak English and were grateful to be in their country of plenty looked like.

Did the lady at the supermarket make her kids finish the food on their plates that evening telling them how the brown girl at the store fumbled about with a small bag of groceries and a nearly empty wallet? Racism is prevalent in more than just violence and exclusion and a denial of rights and opportunities, it is in the ‘gaze’, the gaze that burns your skin colour into your flesh. It is in the pity, the benevolence and the innate suspiciousness of the ‘gaze.’