Jetlagged

Travelling to China every summer from the United States gets you accustomed to jet lag. The insatiable desire to just close your eyes and rest your head for a bit, a lethargy that envelopes your body like a constricting veil. After a while, the effects are just routine, and for me, an enjoyable routine. Now, I’m not saying that I enjoy being zombie-esque during my days, I doubt anyone enjoys watching time tick by as you desperately seek the energy to just go outside, yet there are unique moments that you only have when you’re in China and you’re jetlagged beyond belief. 

I’m very content as my consciousness slowly floats upwards, away from the tantalizing depths of deep sleep and ephemeral dreams. The soreness of my legs and the aftereffects of motion sickness are only unpleasant memories now. With my body revitalized, I open my eyes to the dimly lit surroundings. It’s raining. The soft pitter-patter of raindrops are a requiem for my hopes of playing soccer outside. Because the condo is small, I was forced to sleep on the couch in the living room. I didn’t mind. The condo normally filled with a cacophony of shouts and laughter is now a silent, tranquil place. Even the clock seemed to respect the silence, whose ticking is completely muffled for some odd reason. I wipe my eyes and take a clearer glance at said clock. It’s 2 in the morning. I send a sad prayer for my sleep schedule. For the next 5 minutes I lay there, different parts of me engaging in an intense debate. Do I try to sleep a bit more, or do I try to find something to alleviate my boredom. The proactive side of me, the side deeply influenced by my circadian rhythms decides with the latter.

I quietly get out from underneath my slim summer blankets and stand up on the cool wooden floors. Carefully placing bare foot after bare foot, I navigate the living room floor with finesse, avoiding the multitude of spots that always creak. It’s only after I leave China that I realize I remembered all those spots from the antecedent nights when I raided the pantry as my grandparents slept. 

I soon arrive at the terrace windows. Intricate tangles of vines block most of the view, but through the openings I’m greeted by the neighboring apartment complexes. The buildings look massive. Their bland gray walls extend towards the cloudy sky. The indomitable masses of concrete permeated by small windows, some lit, some dim. Those that were lit told unique stories about the hundreds of families that were concentrated in this small area. Some windows revealed unkempt kitchens, signs of hectic cooks. One window revealed a piano adorned with glittering medals, signs of a precocious child. Other windows revealed arrays of potted plants, signs of nature lovers that got stuck in an urban machine.   

Maybe it’s the soft rhythm of the raindrops, but I lean on the terrace window, eyes in a daze staring intently at the streetlamps outside, my mind somewhere far away. Soon, dawn comes with the calls of the sparrows. Small slivers of sunlight spear through the clouds and  imbue the small gardens below with life. The puddles on the ground shimmer slightly. The smog in the sky has been cleared by the rain.

I grew up here, within this small condo in China that’s filled with antiques and weird decorations. A small condo that still had etchings of my height near the kitchen. Each etching marked another year flown by, and I could see the sudden gaps as I hit different growth spurts. This place is where I memorized the multiplication table when I was younger, while grandfather played minesweeper on his computer. This place is where I was force fed, as my grandmother admonished me for picking out vegetables. And I soon realize, to my own surprise, that, while I live across the great pacific, while I call a suburban house in America “home”, my heart never left this small condo. 

And even though grandpa uses the AC way too much, even though I’m standing on the cold tile floor, I feel a deep warmth that slowly courses through my body. A warmth built with wonder, nostalgia, and enveloped with love. I never knew jet lag could make me feel so content.