In my new world, the humid hot air carries smells my Western nose can’t precisely identify. Spicy, salty, oily maybe—but definitely not coffee or anything buttery.
In my new world, it’s so hot that even I occasionally need air conditioning and a cold drink, but nothing is burning. At least, I don’t think so. And the last typhoon missed us.
In my new world, I leave the apartment without a wallet. All I need is my phone to pay with Wēixìn or Zhīfùbǎo, take the subway, and hopefully find my way with Bǎidù.
In my new world, one-way streets, red lights and sidewalks are merely a suggestion, and it pays to look both ways because these damn electric motorbikes take you by surprise, including on stairs. Yes, stairs. Ask the Chinese how they do it, but they ride down pedestrian overpass stairs as needed. They also pile up as many people as possible on motorbikes—newborns and elderly included.
In my new world, tourists are from Iran and Russia. Whatever is going on behind the Great Wall is happening in the other world, the one you’re reading these words from, maybe. This is why you don’t have flights to Pyongyang, see.
In my new world, people carry an umbrella when the sky is blue, sip on giant cups of flavoured tea all day long, and are willing to cross the city for the best roast duck, but they have anything else delivered, including more duck and milk tea.
In my new world, people don’t really wear jeans but wear light cotton clothes or full traditional Hanfu-inspired outfits from different historical periods just because—goth twist optional.
In my new world, people stare at me a bit, maybe. I stare too, just hopefully more discreetly. Most often, we smile if our eyes accidentally meet.
Because after all, even if our worlds look different, we’re just the same people who work, sleep, love and live fascinating yet mundane lives.
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