Brave in Beijing
I can’t begin to tell the world how many beautiful and soulful humans I met in the two days I’ve been in Beijing. Yes, I did arrive with a tiny chunky prejudice fed by early-life memories, the tone of news articles and the sheer limitations of our binary world views. So far, I visited four neighbourhoods in this colossal twenty-one-million-resident city and I haven’t registered any other white expat. The treatment I received everywhere has been heart-touching. In spite of the language, cultural, political and infrastructural barriers (or maybe because of them) the human connection has been triumphant, life-affirming. There is something precious about communicating with our eyes and smiles. We cannot care less about political beliefs, sexuality or intellectual tastes. The message is the connection. I can’t begin to tell the world how many humans caressed me with their eyes, waitresses mothered me with gleeful smiles, cabbies befriended me with apologetic, childlike grimaces. And we u