Weightless
For so long, China has been my hope, that green yonder to which I cast my eyes in times of despair. “Someday,” I would also say to myself, “someday I will return, and once again feel that fullness, that perfect happiness I felt for the three short months I lived there.” And yet, as time passed, I grew up, and I realized that no matter how much I believed China would make me happy, in reality happiness is only an internal condition that is little affected by one’s place of residence. I’m glad I realized that before I came back here, I think it has saved me a perilous emotional plunge of disappointment and confusion.
I have known for a long while that eventually, the euphoria of living here would diminish, and in time, in time, my emotions would settle to their usual pate. I feel this happening these recent days, and I feel myself dipping into my first low in the cycle of cultural adjustment.
Living in Beijing is everything I imagined and more. Most specifically, I am beautiful and exotic here, even in this international city of cities. That is what I have longed for my entire life. And yet, days pass, day after day, and beauty begins to lose meaning. So am I beautiful. So what? What effect has it upon my existence, my ability to experience and give true love, my ability to connect with my family and friends, my ability to rise above the dailiness of life? None whatsoever. I keep expecting the next wondering look, the next admiring eye, the next pleasing comment to save me, somehow; and yet, it never does. I’m still this person, this same person I have been my whole life. I still have the same faults, the same virtues, the same history, the same talents. I hung so much hope on the beauty I would suddenly gain my coming here. But now, I find all is being slowly stripped away. Not taken away - but that which I used to cling to has lost its weight, and now I am floating, weightless and directionless, in this seemingly meaningless world. I have lost my gravity and now forward movement is not only impossible, but also meaningless.
I wonder who I am, what my talents are, if “helping humanity” can give life meaning, and if so, can it give my life meaning? But this heart, this heart of mine, which once was so soft and giving, has become so paralyzed. Will it remain that way? Or was it just soft on the surface? I don’t think it was ever genuinely philanthropic. I just wanted it to be, wished it to be, believed that it was - but truly, I have always been a selfish creature. But still, I have this desire, even though it feels so false to me. I want to help the world. I don’t want to just live a small life, doing only the normal life things, loving only my family and close friends. But I only want to want to, I don’t actually want to, and moreover I have no clue how I want to help.
That’s not true. I do know. I want to contribute to world peace, somehow. But I feel more and more incompetent, and incapable of becoming competent. Living in this foreign culture, where simple daily tasks are far far beyond my ability, does little to encourage me in my self-confidence.
But today, I heard this small voice. “You have this dream. It is a real dream. It is worth following, and you are worth following it.” Someday, my heart will be open, it will be soft and caring, I will re-learn, or learn for the first time, to think of others, to view myself as part of the whole, and to lay aside fear.
I have a new beginning, and all choices are open to me. I am engulfed in fear, and that is my one and only obstacle. All others are imagined.
-Bethany Allen