more beijing

Beijing. The smog robs slick new buildings of their shine and me of my health. Beijing covers buildings with bathroom tile. Entire buildings covered in bathroom tile. An abandoned shopping cart next to a pile of pavement rubble in a wide hallway behind a line of shops.

This way to Line 2, this way to Line 13. Masses of Chinese scurry through grimy subway halls like the great Yellow River, rushing, colliding. I am mystified and irritated. Some pre-reform instinct to beat the queue. The trains come every 2 minutes. I walk leisurely, letting the river curve around me. A stout older woman shuffles quickly without straightening her knees to keep her backpack from bouncing. Her thin slippers slip and slide on the dust-slick floor. A teenager with porcupine hair and black earphones in his head overtakes her on the stairs. He leaps two at a time.

They rarely stare on the train. This is Beijing. Foreigners everywhere. Once in a while I catch a curious glance. Gives me an excuse to stare back. I love their eyes. The top eyelid, long and sharp, the bottom one a smooth bend rounded at the inner corner. Tear-shaped incisions in smooth skin. Few Asians have truly unpleasant faces, unlike Europeans. Smooth, chiseled, they age slower. They rarely lack chins, unless fat. But there are too many of them, all black hair and black eyes. They want white skin, big round eyes. Not all, just most.