China Chronicles: Assault on the Tactile Senses

Been nearly a year since I last blogged. University jumped on me and I got caught up in the novelties, as well as a few good TV shows, much to the detriment of this blog. But here I am, back from yet another China trip - so what better time to take up the "China Chronicles: Assault on the Senses" posts again? Check out my auditory and visual senses posts from last year if you haven't yet, then see what's changed of my perception of China this second time around. ~

The dirty wind crawls over my skin, weaves between my clothes, catches in my hair. ~ Sweat trickles down my back, adhering my shirt to my skin. ~ My shoes kick up the dust in the construction zone I am walking through, overlaying the rocks around me like a fine layer of powdered sugar. ~ One word pops repeatedly into my mind: shower. ~
Later, I walk through a dimly-lit, crowded shopping centre. I run one hand over cheap fabric, plastic toys and stacks of stationary, while protectively keeping the other over my shoulder bag. ~ "How much?" I ask a store owner, pointing at one of her items. "35." We haggle over the price. I eventually flip through the dog-eared, rough bills to hand her a five and a ten. The packaging of the product is dusty from having been on display for so long. ~ My fingers feel grimy. ~ Shower, whispers my brain. ~ I ask for a bag and am handed a tiny, red one. ~ Swinging it up and down, I walk away, the new owner of an iPhone 5 case for my friend. (It is only later, much to my chagrin, that I learn he owns an iPhone 4. The matte case seems grossly wrong in my hands as I play around with it, twirling it to and fro in a vain attempt to hide my embarrassment.) ~
I head back out. I pull out my cap and don it. ~ It fits snugly over my ears, with bits of hair sticking out at the sides like stray straw. ~ I tuck the strands behind my ears and pull the cap forward. ~ It's a vital need under the bright Tianjin sun, and quirky as well - camouflage-green, with a red star painted in the centre. ~ A lady at the grocery market asks me if I'm joining the army. I hide my snort under an embarrassed smile. ~ She then lights a cigarette right next to her own booth, releasing fumes of smoke in to the air that seem to find purchase all over my clothes. ~ Shower, grumbles my head. ~
Clammy hands. ~ Shower, presses my mental voice. ~ I clutch my cousin's little hand in mine as my head swings left and right, carefully judging the distance and speed of the dozen incoming cars. ~ His hand is limp in mine, his backpack bobbing up and down in rhythm to his footsteps. ~ We cross the wide street and I let go, releasing him to bound ahead. ~ The typical after-school scene. ~ Mondays, he wears his white school uniform - sweater and sweatpants, despite the cloying heat - in honour of the weekly flag raising. Today, he's wearing a yellow pinny indicating he's to act as hall monitor for the week. ~ I smile, then run to catch up. ~
At night, the city cools slightly. My shoes barely graze the ground as I race my cousin around the yard, at times chasing him, and at others being chased by him. ~ We come back huffing and puffing, falling into the chairs in the living room and kicking off our shoes. ~ Shower, my brain tuts disapprovingly. ~ The air conditioning washes over my arms and I rub them as sudden goosebumps pop up. ~ We share some ice cream, then sit down to watch an episode of Friends on my uncle's iPad. ~ The screen is smooth under my fingertips as I select the video, its clean surface smudging as I trace outlines. ~ We settle back against the couch; the bamboo covering digs into my back, but is better than the sticky sofa I'd be sitting on if it wasn't there. ~
I see my other cousin - the tiny infant I have named. ~ Candace. ~ Her skin is unbelievably soft and smooth as I hold her in my arms, marveling at how chubby she is. ~ She stares at me with huge, solemn eyes, then suddenly grins and claps her hands, gurgling happily. ~ A trail of saliva dribbles down her chin and lands on me, pooling. ~ I laugh and hand her to my aunt, running to grab a Kleenex. ~ Shower? asks my inner self hopefully. ~
I head back to my grandparents' in the dark. ~ Entering our apartment, I take a sudden turn away from the elevators and endeavour to take the stairs - all 23 flights of them. ~ By floor 8, I'm huffing and puffing, my hands pushing against the roughly-painted walls and my knees bent under the weight that has suddenly become so much harder to bear. ~ By floor 18, my leaden feet are pulling down on me, the strap of my shoulder bag is strangling me, and the uneven stairs nearly trip me. ~ But I push through, and emerge victorious on the 23^rd floor, leaning into my grandparents' doorbell and nearly getting flattened by the heavy door as it swings outwards. ~
Shower. ~ The chant has reached a crescendo by this point. ~ I rush to grab towel and pajamas. ~ In the bathroom, I gratefully step under the hot water and sigh in relief. ~ I'm not even bothered anymore by the fact that most showers in China aren't partitioned off - that is, they open up onto the entire bathroom, so that the whole room is sprayed with water every time I shower. ~ I take my sweet time, knowing that tomorrow, this whole cycle of tactile squalidness will just start all over again. ~ But for now, my neurons have stopped pestering me and the word shower plays through my mind as softly as a refreshing summer Calgary breeze. ~

Olfaction

How ironic that I'm writing this post with a sadly stuffy nose preventing me from enjoying the refreshing scents of summer. ~ But I haven't forgotten the sweet sensation of delicious smells tickling my nose, so I'll go from there. ~

Scents have always intrigued and enticed me. The sweet perfume of a lady whooshing by me, the rich aroma of coffee in the morning, the musky and vaguely papery odour of the library... Each smell is distinct, yet reminiscent of something just beyond my grasp. ~ When I catch a whiff of a familiar scent, it's like greeting an old, nearly forgotten friend, for smells strike a bright image in my mind that, like a burst of light, does not last, leaving instead a vague impression of itself. ~
Smells add flavour and mood to any setting. ~ Roses for romance, freshly baked bread for homeliness, newly mowed lawn for summer. ~ Perhaps sniffing a particular scent can rush you back to a moment, a jolt into the past. It's certainly happened to me before, and I admit that I've kept scent-souvenirs more than once, though in the end, smells always fade, much to my dismay. ~
A scent is also a very personal belonging. ~ Each individual has his or her own distinct smell that sets him or her apart. More than once, I've fallen in love with a friend's smell. ~ It's just another facet of a person, yet it's distinctly different because it's so very unique and hard to describe, almost like trying to explain colour to someone who was born blind. ~ Maybe that's why people exchange personal belongings - to give a little bit of one's smell away, a token that is fingerprint-like in its particularity. ~
This ties into an interesting bit of knowledge I've stumbled across throughout my various readings. Basically, it boils down to this: humans are attracted to the opposite gender's smell based on compatibility. ~ Indeed, this means that one should thoroughly sniff out one's partner before making any rash decisions. I always knew I could trust my nose. ~
Smell is also an instinct. We naturally trust some smells that convey a sense of security while shying away from others that scream danger to our delicate noses. ~ Non-smokers are repulsed by the odour of smoke, for example, because it is harmful to their lungs. Smokers, on the other hand, crave this scent because it has become their drug. ~ So even the nose adapts. I love the human body's flexibility. ~
Personally, I am particularly sensitive to smells, which can either make me very happy or else induce mild migraines. Perhaps that is why I value olfaction so very much, though secretly, I like to think that it's because my large and rather unsightly nose must have some beneficial function to it. ~

Camp

Camp is an exhausting yet exhilarating experience. ~ Every minute of the day is planned, yet it's different from school. There's more of a feeling of freedom and preciousness, because camp only lasts for a month. I feel like I need to enjoy these few jam-packed days before they're snatched away from me. ~
It's amazing how quickly your perception of someone can change throughout prolonged interaction. There's no time to mull over things that happened or to analyze what people said to you during the day once you're alone in bed, because you've been bombarded with so many images and words that at the end of the day, sleep is the only sane option left. So you begin to formulate opinions on people very quickly, processing events and saving them in the back of the mind, registering another personality trait with a secret smile. ~ All these bits and pieces of information eventually combine to form the picture that pops up when you visualise that person. ~
At camp, you get to know so many people for real... what they're like not only at their best, but also at their worst. Sleep deprivation, a new environment, and challenging projects really bring out what people can usually keep hidden. ~
At camp, everyone gets to know what your bed hair looks like, when you do your laundry, what you're truly passionate about. ~ You make close friends, yet deep down you know that come the end the of camp, you'll have to part ways and break those strong new bonds that you've formed over such a short period of time. ~ Is that knowledge holding me back? Stupid fear. ~
It's cold, a temperature that's beginning to lull me to sleep. The content clacking of the other campers on their keyboards soothes me. Perhaps nap time is due. Signing off! ~

Dandelions

Ah, summer. Finally, days of cold are over! ~ But you know, summer isn't always all it's cut out to be. The bugs come out, and once again the Evil Dandelion Army spreads its minions to conquer every available square inch of dirt. I hear my dad going off to War against them now, carrying weapons of weed-killing and pulling on his old and sweaty Canada cap with determination. And so begins another cycle. I wish you luck, sire! ~ Yet dandelions... why do we call them weeds? Impostors in our gardens, villains on our lawns, pesky disturbers of flower-y peace. Really, they're only doing what all of us are trying to do - get on with their lives and keep their generation going. They're just better at it than we are. Might we just be the tiniest bit jealous, impressed? Awed by their knack for perseverance, for survival? ~ Dandelions were originally brought over from Europe as a source of food, their leaves to be used in scrumptious salads. But without their natural predators, they began to run amok... And everything went downhill from there. Today, here in North America, they're the strongest weed, king of them all. ~ I step outside and pluck a dandelion, already in that state where a simple breeze will send parachuting seeds out into the sky. I take a breath and blow. The sight mesmerises me. They're so resilient. I wish I had the gift nature lent her little "weeds." ~ The last seed disappears from my sight. Good luck, young tadpole. I hope you make your corner of the world brighter with your burst of sunshine. ~