iChina

I know I’m not the first person who has ever thrown an ‘i’ in front of something in order to make it feel more techy. I may be a bandwagoning stooge, but at least I’m a self-aware bandwagoning stooge.

I realized today my amazing capacity to remove myself from my environment. My experience of China is so far removed from anything Chinese that I’m not sure whether I should laugh or cry. The China that I experience is as dramatic as a love story, as quixotic as an indie film, but only as real as a music video. Every street would run with the rhythm of the Arcade Fire (1), every stone wall be cut with the precision of Ghostland Observatory, every building ascend to the crescendo of Sigur Ros. This is the Beibei of my fashioning, a town that that I, and only I, inhabit. My music gives new meaning to the farmers whose contented routines are transformed to angst-filled toil by Metallica, to the daily commuters whose sleepy bus rides are subsumed by the frenzy of my “Irish Punk Drinking Songs Mix (2).” It is in this way that my iPod scores the very people of Beibei, robbing them of their own meaning and replacing it with my own.

In all honesty, some of the sounds of Beibei could do with replacing. I don’t miss the horn honks and traffic sounds that are muted by my white earbuds. I fear, though, that in my effort to sequester myself away from the cacophony of unmuffler-ed urban living, I might have also thrown out the more peaceful tones of the rural living that I claim to value. I can’t remember how long it has been since I have heard the sound of a hoe turning the soil, even though I see the sight almost daily. Now that I think of it, I kindof miss the hustle of hundreds of people moving and bartering in the same closed space, admittedly not your traditionally pleasant sound, but very typical of the China that I thought I enjoyed but now seem to be ardently avoiding.

The beauty of China comes from its unpredictability, the ever-present potential for something random to happen that transcends any rational expectation. Unfortunately I find myself sacrificing that chaotic potential for a China that is filtered through imitation Ray-bans and scored by an iPod. The ever-present battle between comfort and possibility has taken on a new form. The more self-reliant my gadgetry makes me, the less connected I become with my environment; as the local colors become muted, locations will begin to look the same, sound the same, feel the same, until they might as well be a green-screened photobooth backdrop for all the effect they have on me.

I want to change. I fear I cannot. I can leave my iPod behind, but am I willing to forgo my Skype conversations? No. Am I willing to drop the lines of connection that I am constantly cultivating with those back in the States? No. Am I even strong enough to contemplate building a life that is locally sustainable? I don’t do it with my food, there isn’t a chance that I’ll do it with my friends.

As I’ve traveled around, I’ve built up a network of support that, by necessity, transcends location, that exists and functions irrespective of wherever it is that I happen to be. As such, I move easily, but the list is pretty set, and those that can’t keep up get left behind. I don’t like any of this. Thinking about it makes me feel weak, powerless, and like a bit of a jackass. And yet I am surviving. I’m just not sure at what cost, and to whom.

(1) Stuff White People Like - Indie Music
(2) Great Big Sea, Flogging Molly, Dropkick Murphys