Seen and unseen

It’s 5 am and the sound of rhythmic sweeping drifts up to my apartment. A rooster crows and the ducks fret as they are loaded for market, and soon, as happens each morning, a man, retching and coughing, will clear his throat. By 6 am the night has given way to morning and my street takes shape.

My street is not a street; it is two courtyards, end to end, mirroring each other and yet distinct. My courtyard is lush with green foliage shaded by frangipannis and palms, broken only by a footpath weaving its way to the entrances of the prosperous apartments. The other, overlooked by my apartment, is hard and barren, essentially a large turning circle inhabited by locals rehoused to make way for our adjoining complex.

My street is in provincial China, yet my perception is firmly Australian. I watch this scene through my Australian eyes. Sometimes the action is familiar, comprehensible. Other times it is strange, exotic and understanding eludes me.

I load the washing machine on the balcony, joined by other women on their balconies, some pounding the washing on stone washboards; a familiar task undertaken an unfamiliar way. These are the grandmas living with married children caring for them and their one grandchild in a family dynamic unknown to me.

I watch the endless card game out in concrete yard, the men enjoying the risk of the bet and the companionship. I search for the women.

I delight at the round red lanterns softly illuminating the balconies of the local inhabitants; one, two, sometimes three, for reasons unknown.

I observe a street cleaning team; women in straw hats bent over brooms, men in suits and boots largely just supervising. I wonder at the division of labour.

I respond eagerly to the young girls that greet me as I walk out through the courtyards; ‘hello’s’ in Chinese and English on both sides but no more is understood.

I watch children leave for school wearing a red scarf as a uniform, and adults ride bikes or scooters, or occasionally drive cars out to work. And I watch them return at midday for a 2 to 3 hour to eat and rest. A break essential to combat the heat of the day, yet I, an outsider burning in the sun, wilting in the humidity, can not make this rhythm part of my day.

I’m mesmerised by a funeral as it plays out. For three days the courtyard is adapted to an open air kitchen and dinning hall, my neighbours gather, taking comfort in each other, and work through the ceremonies. I empathise with the sadness, the joining together and the need for an occasion, but I can’t interpret the rituals.

I’ve watched a temple constructed from the foundations up, the building techniques obvious, but the symbolism, and indeed the motivation, obscure.

But behind the little I can know and that I know I do not understand hides something else; that which I simply can not comprehend. For I, an Australian, am living in a country with an immense history, a rich and strongly embedded culture undergoing massive social change. I can see two courtyards; one a remnant of rural life, the other aspirational, yet I can not explain the division or comprehend the social and economic tension reflected here. I can see my neighbours living out their life, but I, with my Australian eyes can’t read their deep stories.

I see my street clearly, yet I am blind.

Written for 'ABC Pool'.