“Don’t let the weight of the world get you down. Don’t let the sky be a nightmare.” Benjamin, Jan 2016
The academic year ended in May, it’s a big challenge to clear out the locker and take home all my paintings, silkscreen prints, sculpture, and working tools.
There is a bigger challenge than that: to move home.
One and a half years ago I settled down in Middle Village in Queens when I first arrived in New York. My room was on the third floor of a townhouse, cheap rent, and spacious. I shared the kitchen and bathroom with my landlords, a married middle-aged Chinese couple, and two other female roommates. I talked with the husband sometimes, but the wife always looked angry and uninterested in conversation. It wasn’t a friendly living environment so I basically locked myself in my room most of the time. The lease lasted for half a year and once it ended I moved out.
Last August I was in Macau. When I returned to NY in September, I stayed at a friend’s place and had to find a room fast. Rent in NY is typically around 800 USD to 1500 USD, but my budget was 500 USD. Chen Wai heard that I was looking for a room and referred me to two of her friends, Frank and Dai Liang. They were renting a townhouse on Putnam Avenue in Brooklyn and there was a tiny room they would only charge 450 USD for. It was so tiny it could only fit a single bed and a bookshelf. However, the kitchen and the sitting room were quite spacious. There was also a backyard, basement, and four bathrooms. Even though my bedroom was much smaller than the one I had in Queens, living in Bushwick felt more lively; not to mention that it’s totally a bad idea to live with your landlord.
Frank and Dai both majored in graphic design at SVA. Frank is from Sichuan and has a bachelor degree in Japanese Studies from Wuhan University. After working for a while, he applied for a graphic design undergraduate program in NY. He always wears a headband for his slightly long hair and has been sitting in front of his computer too much, it has begun to take a toll on his otherwise fit body. At the age of 26, he is considered the “old man” in the group. Dai is from Xinjiang, 22 and has a body type and attitude as that of Lai from Wong Kar Wai’s movie “Happy Together.” Frank and Dai have totally different types of faces, but the way they laugh is similar. It is a hearty laugh, like a child, innocent with a touch of naughty.
Their friends come to our place to party. Chen Wai is one of them. She studies interior design, is from Chaozhou and can speak Cantonese, though not with a very accurate accent. She has been on a diet from the first day I met her; but still, she looks a bit chubby. Her eyes arch when she smiles. We all know each other because of her, maybe because she is such a warm person. Another friend Wan is from Beijing but grew up in Canton. He talks like an old time poet, each word climbs out slowly and gently from his mouth, and the last word, always sounds slightly longer and flattened. Lyn is also from Beijing, and talks fast as if in a race. Sometimes I can’t keep up. Zhangkai is from Hangzhou, he and Masa (Japanese) have their band practice in our basement. They all study Fine Arts so I sometimes see them in our Fine Arts Building. Yiyi is from Suzhou, she majors in Graphic Design, which keeps her up all night and leaves dark circles on her girlish face. Biao shares the same major, he has become half his size after one academic year.
Soon after I moved in they came over for hot pot to celebrate the Mid-Autumn Festival. That was the first time I met all of them. They have known each other for about three years and they are all around 22. When they realized that I was 29, Wan was shocked, saying I was even older than his oldest sister. Some were embarrassed by what he said, some laughed. I told them, one day you all would find out that a 29-year-old body can actually contain a child-like mind.
After that, we had a few more hot pot parties. Sometimes we play Majong, other times we dance when we are all tipsy.
The neighbourhood is filled with African Americans and Latin Americans. I often hear the black people calling each other “Nigga, nigga”. For us, it would be rude to use that word. There are quite a few Mexican food carts near the train station and sometimes Myrtle Ave holds a Latin Market at weekends. But that’s it. There isn’t much going on in the neighbourhood. There is nothing close to the hipster Williamsburg, or the new trendy parts of Bushwick.
Because the rent was raised, Frank and Dai decided not to continue renting the townhouse. It was also time to pack my luggage home for summer in Macau, packing all my belongings into cardboard boxes. The home hunting mission will be repeated in September. Where can I build my bird nest with my small budget? Will I still have them as my roommates? A movable home is like not having a real home.
Perhaps, that’s what made Hemingway nostalgic about his twenties in Paris. Only when he looked back, did he understand the reason behind all the starving, staying poor, and confidence of youth. All those people he had encountered; they all meant something.
