Rootlessness is a terrifying term to even just think about for one second. Whenever it puzzles me I barely manage to comfort myself that at least I belong to Chongqing, a city where I was born and raise up, of prominent personalities that flow in my blood and I feel proud of.
I wrote an essay about identity and hometown last year. I can still recall that was an improvisational piece when I was stuck in an emotional spiral. My emotion finally got released by writing about my hometown because back then I still believed deep down that I belong to there.
I went on a short trip to Chongqing this April after 2 years away, and got hit by strong sense of estrangement. Lots of changes have taken place: the expanded train lines, the newly construction near my place, increasing mandarin speaking people. I was desperate to catch puzzle I could find to connect with the image from my memory. The harder I tried, however, the more disappointment I got. The journey of disconnection came to its climax when I ended up with hospitalization due to spiciness overdose (relatively speaking, it never happened to me in the past with same spiciness dosage).
I feel I lost my hometown after that trip.
I’ve developed deep bond with three cities, Chongqing, Shanghai, Hong Kong, three pretty characteristic places. I’m not ready to talk about Shanghai yet. When speaking of Shanghai, I have to deal with my university from which I’m still traumatized.
Let’s talk about Hong Kong then. I build emotional attachment with her bit by bit during the past two years. Lots of my personal improvements coming up, the let go of obsession, the ease of mental friction, the brilliant friends I met, and the unforgettable relationship I experienced, all of these, just so beautifully happen right here, in HK.
Nevertheless, I still consider myself as an outsider living here, politically speaking (politic in a broad sense). The tension is subtle yet intriguing. This city, once politically proactive, provides ground on which I can touch taboo less fearfully, yet I’m triggered at easily and have to consciously become political apathy to heal my trauma. It takes me six months to get over post trauma period from white paper protest.
I adopt many habits and prospectives in HK, but still have very limited conversation with nearby. I’m almost blind to what’s going on in this city since my main media consumption still goes to so-called simplified Chinese world.
I am diaspora speaking my mother tongue worrying about my motherland which is the root causes of my most pain.
L once told me, the life we build belongs to us. This inspires me a lot.
Home, or sense of belonging, doesn’t necessarily have to be a geographical location on the map, or it never was, but a life we get to build. At end of the day, only the memories and experiences that I create within this place that really matter. I might not actively be engaged in the political participation as local people be, but I know how breathtaking the sunset at K Town can be.
Many memories flash back when I stroll around the city, some bitter, some sweet. All other things fading away, those beautiful encounters remain, imprinted in the physical space, awaiting for me to uncover in the future. The sacred bond between me and city is thus cast, which will be a part of me and stay with me forever.
(I hope this is not just another comfort when belonging to Chongqing is not a natural thing to me.