Shanghai Immortal

It's been almost four months since we left Shanghai, yet questions continue to pelt my thoughts like painful showers of hail, unexpectedly surfacing in a random springtime storm. Why are we Stateside again? Why were we uprooted from our home, our life and our friends, without choice? Why are we in this hot place, where winter never comes but fall taunts with false promises that peep quietly around the edge of a distant corner yet never materialize? Why is making friends so painful and hard. Will I ever really find a satisfying rhythm to my life here in Tampa?

Take warning, there will be no glorious moments at the end of this post. No epiphanies of gratitude will frost the edges of my lamentations.

I miss the bustling city, the dirty sidewalks filled with dark haired Asians, the faces of whom I never thought would haunt my waking dreams. I ache for the smells of bread being fried in a cauldron-like container of hot oil, set upon a propane fire. If only I could just walk across the street, greet my favorite fruit vendor with a smile and a receive her traditional greeting of "Have you eaten today?" I want to peruse the selection of greens, smell the tomatoes for freshness, bargain with the vegetable man over his overpriced mushrooms. I want to take a special trip down the canal side street, even though it's not really on my way home, just so that I can go through another vegetable market where they sell my favorite frosting-less Chinese version of cupcakes, which are baked in a dutch oven heated by charcoal. In that market all the vendors, dressed in their many layers of dirty coats, leggings and gloves with the fingertips cut off, would stare at my white face. They would all whisper about the 'outside person', ie, foreigner, that is in their market. I'd smile, ask them in Mandarin what the price is for their spinach, and enjoy the look of shock as they realized that this foreigner not only speaks a little Mandarin, but savors each tone, each inflection which gives meaning to the words that are spoken.

Strawberries aren't in season right now. If I were in China, I'd yearn for a big plump strawberry (because they aren't available in the off season) hand chosen from various baskets to ensure I was getting the very best berries for my RMB. I'd watch the lady dump my chosen basket into a plastic bag. She'd set it on her scale and tell me the price, rounding down to make me feel like I was getting a good deal. Now I just go to Publix, choose the best looking plastic box of strawberries, no matter the season. I won't have a say in the price, and the berries although always available won't taste nearly as sweet and some sort of satisfaction will be lost in the impersonal process of putting them in my cart as I amble down the aisles of the overstocked grocery store, living in the land of plentiful.

I miss my housekeeper. Plain and simply, I loved her help around the house. I loved the freedom of no dishes, no laundry and a break from cooking dinner whenever I pleased. However, to be even more bluntly honest, I miss her companionship. Ying began working in our home when neither she or I spoke even a word of each other's native tongue. Over the course of two years, we learned to communicate. She taught me to speak Chinese, to understand more than just the words, but also the people, the culture and the way of life. She became my closest friend in Shanghai. I find immense satisfaction and joy in serving my family again. My offerings of manual labor fill a void in my soul and bring fulfillment to my life that was undeniably missing while Ying shouldered my burden for two years. I ache for Ying to walk through my front door, smiling and eager to see me.

I miss my Shanghai Branch family. Being an 'outside person' in a city of 18 million Chinese could render you feeling quite helpless and alone, if not for the genuine love and tenderness shown by the members of the Shanghai Branch of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. We arrived in Shanghai on a Monday and our first week was so scary and overwhelming. It was such a relief to attend church for the first time the following Sunday. We were welcomed with an exuberance that I have never before experienced. We were invited to dinner, invited for play dates, invited for lunch, invited for just about any sort of social occasion that you can imagine.

Holidays in Shanghai were never a lonely event. Thanksgiving was full of love, laughter and people. The Butters family would invite 50 of their favorite people into their home to share turkey, mashed potatoes and all the traditional dishes, simultaneously sharing their love and friendship. I don't think Thanksgiving will ever be the same for us.

I miss the thrill of searching out a rumored 'Western' restaurant where you hope that just once, the food will be right. Of course, it never tasted like the food at home, but for some crazy reason just exploring the city and chasing down that shadow of a hope was always exciting and fun.

I miss the seafood department at the grocery store, where one could buy anything from live shrimp to live bullfrogs or turtles. Picking out the choicest cut of meat or piece of chicken with your bare hands and 10 of your closest (or not so close) fellow Shanghai residents was always high on the list of exciting things to do on a Saturday. Just in case you're in the neighborhood, NEVER go to Carrefour (the local version of Walmart) on a Saturday. I'd rather have my toes run over by a scooter than go shopping anywhere in Shanghai on a Saturday.

I'm still aching for the sights, smells and sounds of my favorite city. I'm still longing for a crowded subway ride, or eating dinner at a restaurant with my winter coat still on because they don't turn the heat on in the winter. I'm still yearning for a nice long conversation in Mandarin.... hungry for a piece of Chinese bread with salt and chives. I'm still dreaming of a trip to the Science and Technology Museum's subway station, where you can find the city's best fake market.

Shanghai will forever linger in my heart. Somehow it's etched into my soul and has changed me. I think I feel much like someone who has lost a dear friend to death. I know I must move on, I know I must let the ache and anger over leaving go, but somehow am afraid that if i do, I'll forget the city that I loved so much. How do you move on without forgetting? Does the memory of friends and treasured experiences become less important, less vivid or less monumental if you move past the pain and allow it to settle into a mellow warmth in your heart? I'm not sure and I'm terrified to find out.