This morning, I woke up in Beijing.
Light was streaming through the window, splashing down on the bed, the room, the walls. My face. Squinting at the window, the glowing white blob turned into a dozen puffy, tiny, white clouds floating on a royal blue backdrop. Toward the top of my field of vision, one cloud was transformed into a shadow by the luminous gleam it concealed. That ray of light struck me on my forehead and put me back to sleep.
As my body slumbered, my mind mused: What nice weather this weekend? One of the benefits of living on the 20th floor is that there are no other buildings to block your view. Except in Beijing, most mornings are cast upon a steamy, white, hazy curtain. No clouds, just one big cloud. And no blue. So this morning was exceptional.
Thank the new, post-Olympic policies, I thought to myself. Now, people are prohibited from driving their car one day every week based on their license plate numbers in order to reduce emissions. That, and a lot of other such moves, have noticeably improved the air quality in the capital with more “blue sky” days than the year before. It was 6:45. I had been visited by the Ghost of Beijing Future.
I’m not exactly sure how much time passed before the next visitation. I never actually saw it with my eyes, I only heard it with my ears. The voice of a heavenly host – or army – outside the window. They were singing the Chinese national anthem: “Rise up, rise up, rise up! … the peoples of China … most critical moment … Rise up, rise up, rise up! … March on, march on, march on!” Of course it wasn’t a heavenly host, but about 300 pupils at the elementary school downstairs practicing for the upcoming celebration of the 60th anniversary of the founding of the People’s Republic of China.
Have you ever heard 300 preteens singing an up tempo national anthem? They’ve rehearsed bits and pieces all week, but apparently Saturday morning was when it all came together for them. Their shrill little voices marched in perfect unison into my bedroom, shoving the end of a rifle in my ear. At that very moment, I went from being sprawled out on the bed to being mummified on the mattress. As soon as I realized it was just a bunch of rehearsing kids, I was able to drift back to sleep once again. It was 8:30. I had been visited by the Ghost of Beijing Past.
Afterward, in my sleep, I had a dream that could most closely be compared to Star Wars. Probably all the marching and orchestral arrangement going on outside. Then I was in a theater, watching Star Wars. But there was a whole row between me and the isle. As I was maneuvering my way out, I realized that several of my best friends, my best friends from back home who I haven’t seen for a while, were sitting in the row behind me. We said hi, exchanged high-fives, and I proceeded to the concession stand to pick up a Snickers bar. Just as the movie was about to start, I was stirred yet again by the Ghost of Beijing Present.
Tat tat tat tat tat tat, rarrarr, rarrarr, rarrarr, tat tat tat tat tat …
Renovation in the next-door apartment. Since Monday, we had wondered if they would continue into the weekend, and now we had our answer. At least they waited until 9 so that we could sleep in on Saturday.
In present day Beijing, construction is a permanent exhibition. On both the south and east sides of our building, new high-rises are going up. They begin with massive holes. Then steel skeletons arise from the earth, lifted to the sky by gigantic cranes. Finally, a layer of concrete fleshes out the structures, and a new building is born. Every direction, every neighborhood, every street is under construction, or under renovation, or will be soon.
The Ghost of Beijing Present has the final word in this town. So I got up, out of bed, and starting writing on my blog. The past and future are both so far away. Our understanding of Beijing, and of China, can only be awakened through the sounds of constant change in the perpetual present.
