For the first half of my life, I lived in a small village-town in Taishan, China. The tallest architectures (houses) were about three stories high. The houses were mostly made of hardened clay or stone, with one house next to another separated by a small alley. The streets where cars drove by were wide but it was rare to see a car; the most common transportations used were bicycles and motorcycles. I was always surrounded by trees, grass, rivers, fields, birds, insects, and familiar faces. At night, the moon and the stars illuminated the sky, painting a river of sparkling gems. As you could probably tell, I did not live in an urban village. Most of my neighbors were farmers and had some sort of field for rice plantation. My family, however, did not own any field, but my cousins who lived about a five minute walk away from my home did. So in the spring season I helped them with planting rice seedlings. It was fun even though the day was long.
Back then, I loved exploring. Whenever I was free during the weekends, I would stroll and wander off by myself and usually end up in an unfamiliar village. I didn’t panic; I knew I could easy return home by retracing the path I took to get there. I was rather pleased to discover a new area. It was a small treasure that I found, a piece of tender memory that I would cherish in my heart; that was all the satisfaction that I had wanted. The serene yet never unfulfilled days would forever be a memory.
By: Ralph Daily
At the age of nine, I immigrated with my mother and younger brother from a very rural village to the most urbanized city in the world – New York City. The trees whistling and birds chirping were gone, readily replaced by the loud car honking and people chattering. Whenever I went out for a walk, the city’s skyscrapers seemed to confine me as the open spaces needed to observe sceneries of far distances vanished. There was nothing amusing to see other than rows and rows of tall buildings built in a similar fashion, blocking out the beauties of nature and the exquisite sky. Even the brilliant stars were no longer visible at night as they were blurred by the thick clouds. Rather than exploring the city, I remained in my apartment whenever I had leisure time after school and during the weekends. The peaceful sanctuary that was my village disappeared, along with my friends, relatives and a place to call home. Those things could be regained and rebuild, but they would never be same as they once were.
Somewhere in my heart, I still longed to return to the undisturbed life that I had in China, knowing fully that it would not be realized.
Gen,
This is a poignant piece –so moving. Your childhood in China so vivid. Your love of the landscape, so passionate!
The contrast between urban city landscape and village life in China is very detailed, and i loved your pictures for this post.
That was so beautifully written! I could feel the nostalgic tone in your description of your hometown and its comparison to NYC. I have to wonder though, is there a possibility that your surroundings seemed so much more open, free, and peaceful because you were a child? There is no doubt that New York is a conglomerate of gray man-made elements, but maybe the source of our outlook has to do with the idealized image of home. Childhood, regardless of its quality, is always a highlight in the memories of the past. I suppose everything seemed to have been so much sweeter and brighter because it occurred within the first years of your life.
I love the landscape descriptions– you must have loved your hometown so much. I believe that contrasting with the urban life here in New York, your childhood memory is precious for you. I had never lived in such a peaceful place before, so although I can kind of understand your feelings, for me it is a little abstract. Even so, as soon as I finished reading your piece, the first thought came to my mind was– maybe I should try to separate myself from this busy city someday.