It's early in the morning (for me at least), and I am heading out of People's Park subway station to go teach, about to climb the stairs and emerge into the chilly Shanghai winter (yeah, according to traditional Chinese science, the solstice marks the middle of winter, not the beginning, which I think is pretty damn smart).
There are always a few old men standing at the foot of the stairs. One is always carrying a newspaper and a bag and looking expectingly, for what, I have no idea. He's not holding Christian fundamentalist magazines. Perhaps he is a middleman for the Shanghai mafia. I don't think I will find this out anytime soon, so I like to think every time I pass him, it's like a getting a whiff of the mystery of life.
This morning, before I see mafia man, I hear a kid in his early 20s strumming his guitar and singing. I wish I had time to stand there and listen to him. It makes me happy to see him here, bringing a bit of art into the crowds of Shanghai people walking out to start their day of money-making. Perhaps he'll never become the spokesman for Nokia phones like those other big Chinese popstars, but his music and song is heartfelt.
You know, you can't really walk out and protest the government in this country. And even in the States, that "freest" of countries, there are things that need to be said that only art can express fully, purely. What things are there in my heart today that I need to express fully and purely?
With thanks to that brave disheveled Chinese kid and his guitar, I move on, up the stairs into People's Park, to do a little moneymaking, just like everyone else.
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