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The bus hummed through the darkness. I woke up from the close but not intimate warmness, slowly recognising the bright spots outside were not stars.

Victor, the dear friend with whom I came to this country, was apparently bored after his preparation for his drag for tomorrow evening. We just visited his hometown – Kingstown – but he was more eager to come back to his hometown, the capital of the country, White City, where he said he had marvellous friends, happiness, depression, a slow wake up on Sunday with gentle sunshine on the balcony. Not to be selfish to dive back to my sleep, we started chatting, again, many things. A strange feeling slowly crawled to my body, as if this scenario, this trip, had happened before or would happen at this moment when I was still back in my home country. Modern technology and industry have wiped out quite a lot difference across the world. Kingstown reminds me of the city where my village is. It has a great name, ‘Tide Sun’ – I don’t know how to put it in English, but apparently, living beside the sea, people have witnessed the dawn, sun rising on the horizon dying every moving tide red for thousands of years. The common cultural symbol of hope hadn’t turned into reality, and the late 1980s to early 1990s was frozen into the city. Later it was merged into a nearby bigger, more famous costal city and became a district, making that city even bigger. Never in my family history could we say we are from this city, but now we can. That city, Swatow, for a long time in my life, had exemplified the glory of early 1900s commerce and the early 1990s reform and opening, but frozen nonetheless. As much as my family and I are tied to these two cities, we migrated – like my ancestors migrated from the far north to the far south – to another costal city close a renowned international port on the other side of the river, where during my teenage the skyscrapers had grown much faster than my height. Who would have thought years later I migrated to this far west continent, and came to this country which I only heard of once in the 90s when an embassy was bombed by a superpower? Let alone all the people who I’ve never imagined but met and have different relationships.

‘Yeah, it’s strange. But this is life. It’s an adventure.’ Victor said. Cheesy as it may, I had to concede.

Going downhill, a milky way emerged on the horizon, and we were entering White City. More city lights, more traffic, and taller buildings. Kingstown had seven kings crowned, White City had rebuilt from massive bombing. But the difference is more than that. It was hard for me to believe I was in the same country.

We got off the bus near the city centre. The late autumn wind was intimate. So was the city, to my amaze. It looks so much similar to Swatow, and the frozen past gave rise to the warmth of hometown.

We walked through the city to meet Victor’s friends. The cool, young people of White City, finally. Victor and friends were exhilarated. Hugs, smiles, vivid chats, and and some point, tears in the eye. Two month separation for them was like two years.

The night’s plan was clubbing. We at the end decided to go to this famous underground club, ‘Drug Store’, which was a slaughter house some years ago, where in the now dancing pool but once-upon-time slaughter room, there is a painting of ‘Red Jesus’ on top of the door. ‘So is it a drug store that sells drug?’‘No, it isn’t. But you can.’

Slaughter house, Red Jesus, club, drug, young people, midnight. I find them fit well into a post-war city legend. I had problem with clubs: A few years ago in the university I went to the local student club with my friend. I am allergic to alcohol, and quite often I cannot see the point of most electronic music. But I was trying very hard to enjoy myself by mimicing dancing – until I notice this young female student dancing near me, gradually, towards me, in a somewhat seducing way. I was genuinely not interested, and the scene was getting more embarrassing than my dancing, so I had to back out, repeating typical British ‘sorry’. I have never remembered that girl’s face, but to this day I still cannot forget her eye roll.

But I find myself in a position of VICE reporter in this foreign country. 30 minutes later, we were in the corridors with red lighting, and soon in a dark room filled with people, music (or noise produced with skills, if you will), flashing light, smell of sweat, alcohol and cigarette. The music – Hard Techno, I was told – had no melody or harmony, but repetitive beats mostly. Still the other people in the room enjoyed it, and would cheer when the DJ switched from one pattern of beats to another. How should I write if I am really a VICE reporter? First, I wanted to listen to a Beethoven or Mahler’s symphony immediately. Second, I could only wonder why many people in the room could enjoy the repetitive music, if life is already repetitive. But perhaps what attracts them was the simplicity, something they can simply indulge in without caring.

But I was bored. Already I had seen people on drug, dancing like crazy. If there is a time for new experience, this is it. I recalled what some friends said about ‘Ecstasy’, how happy they could get when they tried for the first time, and how they never forget. So I asked Victor about it – after all, we are in a drug store. I had imagined before when, where and why would I ever do drug, when I was young and forced to watch all the horrific anti-drug educational films. But never had I ever imagined that I would really do it. I had not experienced most, nor listened to enough stories, or have most wisdom. Coming to this age, however, I start to believe that there are morality, but many things are amoral. Doing drugs per se can be one of them.

And I was waiting near the male toilet under a red lightbulb. Victor had took my money and disappeared into the crowd. Few minutes ago we were friends talking to each other, now when he showed up again, we pretended we don’t know each other but I got that I should follow him. Still, every first time – particularly some – can be very awkward, and that was it – if one day we would be on a field mission in that way, we could’ve been dead. There then in the compartment, first the powder, later the pill, the rolling, sniffing, swallowing, hiding. Each time it was as if there is a camera at the bottom of my eyes, and a film director in my head. Who would have thought that one day a Chinese person would be taking drugs in this dark toilet on the other side of the world? But there, in the darkness, the human connection and the trust were something very familiar.

Later in the corridor, Victor and I sit and chatted. I was like a child craving for ice cream, but didn’t really feel happy when I got one. The expected ecstasy didn’t come, except I was feeling some pain with my eyes. I couldn’t even stay fully awake as people told me, and was still yawning, hoping to get some nice sleep later. ‘Let your body feel it and don’t count the time,’ Victor told me. Yes, I believe quite often I am always guarding myself to feel something. This was first raised by a lovely lady three years ago in lower Austria, where she asked me, ‘What is blocking you?’ I could only reply ‘I don’t know.’ I recalled the girl that was in the group that night. She’s from America but with an atypical American accent. The group was in a small club as in a warm-up session, and she was dancing. Standing in front her, seeing her naked back, her arms, her curve, I was aroused. And there came the guard.

But this was different. Perhaps it’s my body that cannot respond to drug well, just like I don’t get high from weed. But I felt very conscious, like when I was writing my philosophy master’s thesis from 12 AM onwards in Edinburgh…

So I told Victor that I am happy, not because of the drug, but in the intellectual dialogs with you since the beginning of the journey.

Just like reading other great philosophical dialogues. The performing and the performance of the intelligence, the wit, the wisdom in the discourse, and you and me be part of it – make me happy.

Ans also great music, films, literature, games – the compositions themselves, the beauty, the creativeness, the shining human mind – these all make me happy.

The first time I stood in front of Hagia Sophia and under her great dome, I was absolutely amazed. The same amaze was only felt two years later when I was in the Roman Forum, in front the ruin of Basilica of Maxentius. I was happy.

I also can’t help but think of her. The time I looked for and finally we saw each other in the ceilidh, the dances we had, cooking for her in the morning, watching her when she’s focusing on her things, her smiles and laugh, her lying on my arms, her skins… being recognized, accepted, loved and connected, I was happy.

Being conscious and aware is one way to be lost in reality, and so was I. I told Victor, I couldn’t understand the people here, and how could they find this happy or enjoyable. I was not sure if those people are happy or sad, or if they – or we, are indeed people, or persons, rather than pigs in this particularly space. He told me – as he already did – that many people in this country live a harsh life. They work hard and don’t get paid well, and so clubbing – alcohol, dance, drug – is a good way to get simple relief. Though I was told Drug Store is not a really cheap club in White City. Even in an underground club I can tell classes pervade, and I couldn’t escape even with drugs.

Though I felt my contempt towards such night life, I knew I am no better than the people in front of me in the same red light. They have their struggles and I have mine. We have different happiness, and likely also different unhappiness. We might be all the same locked in this capitalist world, living from one exploitation to another. Our personal pursuits might all just be a result of hubris.

Later a man asked me to take a photo with him. He looked so happy, and he told me with a lovely, drunk smile, ‘This is so good. Everything’s so happy.’ I thought he was on drug, so was he genuinely happy? I don’t know. His smile though I remember so clearly. At the end, it was a fun experience, and I am glad that I had this chance to remind myself of what makes me genuinely happy.

Last modified on 2018-11-17