July/August 2017

I had heard that boarding a train was like entering a whole new world Gusts of wind whipped around the platform, a welcome appearance for the impatient passengers dripping with sweat on this sweltering Beijing summer afternoon. Off in the distance, two whistles blew, piercing the air with their tremulous shrill, ushering in a series of booming clang clang clangs. Eagerly, I gripped my blue suitcase ever so tightly. Sweat in my palms practically melted into the silver luggage handle. Just a few moments before we would board the train… a couple of seconds now… a mere split-second… CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! Puffs of smoke from the train funnel rose and drifted in the breeze, and the locomotive stopped still on the tracks, its red hue dimming in its countless journeys. The crimson gleam remained though. A train attendant clad in a dark navy-blue suit and beaming pearly whites unlocked the train entrance. A cluster of voices suddenly bubbled up as everyone clamored to board the train, yearning to escape the burning heat. Only one young woman stayed behind to wave tearfully at her family, yelling a last minute I promise to write! and I’ll miss you! Her parents nodded, ready to let her go as the young woman vanished within the clamoring crowd. I had heard that boarding a train was like entering a whole new world. That it would be an exciting, thrilling adventure. That sometimes you met all kinds of people who could change your life, or become a lifelong friend. It seemed that the world inside this train was bursting with people to be met, things to be seen… People also said that riding trains was the best way to immerse yourself in Chinese culture, as Chinese people routinely traveled by train, and that was just my goal as my family and I boarded the train that would take us on a cross-country route, leading from northern Beijing to the southern China harbors. We were bound for the final stop on the train route: Shenzhen, a mega-metropolis in China famed for being the Silicon Valley of China, for its contemporary architecture and modern, youthful culture. We’d come to visit my uncle who lived there. I had heard amazing tales of Shenzhen from my parents, and I dreamed of the urban adventures I would get to experience. Inside the train, I leaped across the passenger corridors, bursting with curiosity at the unfamiliar newness of it all. I paused to stop and inspect the cogs of an enticing gadget. Or how the window curtains were royal blue and fringed with golden yellow, with phoenix figures imprinted on the fabric… I was so thrilled to be on a real-life train, on a world away from home! Suddenly, my mom called me over. Instantly, I rushed—no, skipped—over to our compartment. This would be our home for the next twenty-two hours. Triple bunk beds were built on either side. Mom and I snagged the bottom bunks—rejoice!—while my cousin got the middle bunk above. Bottom bunk was almost always the best spot, because beside it was an oval-shaped window that gave a view of outside. Underneath was a sterile white table ideal for eating. And the best part was that I could freely amble in and out of the compartment. No having to climb down and fret about accidentally squashing someone’s toes! As we furnished our surroundings, I took out my travel satchel and a pink-and-purple dog-shaped pillow. Our bunkmates soon came in and settled down. They promptly began to doze off. The train would start off shortly. Suddenly, a flurry of voices began to rise. Poking my head out to see the commotion, I heard some people having a heated debate. A woman with high heels sharp enough to stab someone chatted in animated Chinese with her friend, a carefree spirit in her smile. A frail, elderly man with a head full of gray hair, dashed with specks of white, persevered to keep his balance as he walked and took out a pocket-sized leather-bound photo album and lovingly stared at a tiny, grainy, sepia photograph before placing it back. A pair of parents warned their child QUIT climbing on the suitcases or else… A teenager crunched on some chips as she listened to the blasting music in her earphones. She swayed to a rhythm I couldn’t make out, completely immune to the activity rushing around her. An auburn-haired man glued to his cellphone muttered to himself in a foreign tongue, urgently tapping the screen for a response, a ghostly halo framing his features. A young mother with a tied-up bun nestled in her arms a whining and wailing infant. Trailing behind her was her daughter, pulling her mom’s orange blouse, craving attention. Not far behind was the children’s dad, huffing and puffing as he heaved the massive luggage. They settled in the compartment next to us, the baby screaming louder. I wondered about the tales of these people, what sort of lives they had to tell. TWEEEEEEEET! The shrill whistle abruptly sounded, and off the train lurched, giving a violent jolt and leading me to hop into the safe covers of my bed. Grabbing a book, I began to read. Suddenly, nearly three chapters in, I felt someone staring at me. Intently. And for a long time. Maybe it was my sixth sense creeping in. I could hear a pitter patter of footsteps. Then a pause. Who could it be? Looking up, I found a pair of deep black eyes staring at me! Oh! Those eyes belonged to that little girl with the wailing infant sibling! They were thoughtful, glassy eyes, like marbles, rolling around the small room and studying the compartment, my dozing bunkmates, and, most importantly, me. Then she hid behind the wall separating the train compartments. She peeked again. And again! This game of peek-a-boo went on for several minutes, with each stolen glance becoming increasingly longer and more confident. Black bangs framing her chubby face, radiating total