The Beijing Gas Theory

Usually this blog is all German, but this is something I wanted to share with all Beijing Expats… And please don’t be offended. I’m one of you… But I just needed to puke this out…

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Why Beijings Expats are Drowning in Gas

One of the most frequently asked questions from those back home is about the smog in Beijing. But little do they know that the smog is only one part of a much bigger problem for the common expat living in this city. Now, I’m not talking about the locals, the millions of „Beijing Ren“ that are too hard to figure out beyond some all too superficial prejudices, which in the end reveal nothing about them anyway. I’m also not speaking of the corporate expats who come on an internal transfer from their company back home, earning huge amounts of money while living in an huge luxurious apartment, all expenses paid.

Not only the sky in Beijing is full of Gas.

I’m talking about those who are here without any clear goals or direction whatsoever. Those who have resisted any kind of cultural assimilation, besides of course a few words of taxi or restaurant Chinese. Those who came here for one of two reasons: either because they are searching for something: their success and fortune, a new experience, adventure or their inner selves… or because they are running away from something: a too clearly defined path, stagnation, a failed relationship or some other problems. Most come here looking for an answer. Nearly all appear to forget the initial question.

Sometimes you get lost. But most of the time you are lost.

But you can’t blame them. It’s hard to find an answer in a city where everything is in transition. Aside from the Forbidden City, a few temples, museums and the ring roads, this city is all about change. New modern housing compounds arise out of nothing, old hutongs turn into construction sites before they transform into green islands of „nature“. And this all within a few weeks, though tall trees might suggest these parks have been here forever.

And the people around you are no different, as they come and go from this city and each other’s lives. Finding „friends“ here is easy. Finding FRIENDS, near impossible. As the facade of the city constantly reinvents its face with enormous speed, it’s pace is overshadowed by the coming and going of the laowais, united by their common fate: walking around deaf and dumb and illiterate.

Though maybe they wouldn’t even share a cigarette under different circumstances, here they flock and band together. They are dependent on each other, as there is nobody else who can understand their pain. Their tough jobs with almost impossible challenges, the waitress that served them the wrong food and then couldn’t understand their complaints, that bloody cab driver that dares not to understand the almost correct pronunciation of their destination. Yes they need each other, because their mouths needs ears to dump their hard collected trash on to.

Hold on to your friends. They could all be gone tomorrow.

They depend on each other to survive, spending long hours together in meetings, restaurants, bars and clubs. At the same time they can’t depend on each other because ones future and stability is as gaseous as the smog or the face of the city. Any given person could be gone tomorrow, either because they decided this city is too tough too deal with or because their time here was snatched from their hands through lack of a visa. And even if they are here tomorrow, who knows what will happen after the Olympics. Yeah the Olympics, not even three weeks in duration, but yet acting as the pivotal turning points for millions of lives.

It’s hard not to get lost, while surrounded by nothing solid. Nothing real. Constant changes. Perpetual transience. Still everybody seems to try hard to clutch on something or somebody they hope to get some kind of orientation from.

For some it’s working an 80 hour week. Yet despite their constant complaints, it provides them with a reason to live amid the mess of their so-called lives. They become self-sacrificing martyrs. Thinking that by giving everything they have to their job, they make other people dependent on them, never quite realizing that it only makes them depend on their jobs, because they don’t have anything else.

Not only a workplace, but often the living room. Sometimes even a bedroom.

For others it’s their new “best friends” they have met two weeks ago, with whom they share so much in common. As outsiders, without understanding the language or the culture of their hosts, hey have a tough life. All they are looking for is something that gives them a sense of normalcy and quality of life.

Sometimes it’s even more than just friendship. Meeting a person that inflates their lowered self-esteem by bestowing upon them something descending from something akin to love, it’s easy to neglect the fact you don’t even speak the same language. Both struggle awkwardly to share their emotions in basic English. If they are lucky, at least one of them can communicate in his mother tounge. So lets not get to the fact that they lack common dreams and goals, not for the distant future, but sometimes even for the coming 6 months.

So what do you do if you wander around without anything solid to stick to or when you have the realization that you’re sticking to something unreal? You try to turn yourself into gas to ease the pain. Intoxication is the answer to all questions never asked. If you can’t afford to go out 5 or 6 times a week because your 80 hours of work won’t allow it, you had better make sure your body gets its entire weeks worth of substance intake on the weekend. Why take care of your „temple“ when you’re living in a city that is rumored to poison you with 70 cigarettes a day by breathing the air only?

Most Beijings expats don't know much Chinese, but they sure know how to party.

So you’d better bring your A-game on the weekend. Drinking as much as possible, while pumping everything that enables you to turn your Friday night into a 16 hour experience.  Yes you might loose the Saturday to your hangover, but you’ll probably be fit enough to start over Saturday night. And if you’re not? Don’t worry there is nothing that you’re Red-Bull-Vodka, your pills or powder can’t fix. Life is one big party with so many great friends who are having as much fun as you, everyone jumping around the dance floor blowing hot air into an oversized gas bubble almost equivalent in size to that of their superficiality. Kiss right. Kiss left. We are all walking on the same thin white line.

Yet nobody is to blame, because nobody knows a better way to deal with it all. Of course it would be lovely to spend the days of the weekend at nice historical sites, in parks or even get out of the city for a glimpse of the natural landscapes. But you would be the only one, as all the others are hung over in their beds or on their sofas, trying to detox before they can retox again. Spending their few hours of free time surfing the web and trying hard to leave a lasting footprint with their prolific Facebook profile.

Facebook, the epitome and epicenter of Beijing expat life. Everything that happens in an expat’s life happens in Facebook. Sometimes even first. Meeting new so-called friends. Chatting about life, weather and nothing. Talking behind the backs of your friends. Meaningless hugs and kisses. Relationships and “no longer in relationships”. Complaints about life, work, visa and smog. Invitations to a party. Warming up for a party. Parties. Feeling hangover from a party. You can even send a drink to your friends – unfortunately minus the intoxication. Talking loud, saying nothing.

The Race is on.

The phone or skype calls home very don’t really help. On the one hand it’s the feeling of being misunderstood, which can be worse than not sharing your problem in the first place. On the other it’s being confronted with questions you would rather not deal with. And last but not least it’s a constant reminder of why you came here in the first place. Your homeland might be more solid and stable, yet it always reeks of stagnation. If Beijing is gas, your homeland is stone. You don’t really feel like going back. You are too afraid it might depress you or drive you back to Beijing.

Are we all doomed? Or is there a way out? Looking around you will find a few fellow expats who appear to be doing better than the others. Their secret to success? Learning to communicate in Chinese. Being able to chat with waitresses and cab drivers. Not feeling deaf, nor numb and thereby less lost. But learning the language is an undertaking people always think about twice, especially when they don’t know how long they really want to stay. Their time here in Beijing varying from 4 weeks to 4 years, yet lived on an almost day by day basis. And the language seems to be too tough to learn if you’re not going to stay long enough reap the rewards.

Maybe the karma some are talking of, is not the one from facebook.

So, we are all doomed. If it wasn’t for a rumor that is floating around underground expat communities; the only true solution, the only thing that could give you stability in this gaseous world, the only thing that will stick by you through thick and thin, that won’t desert your side when the going gets tough. You. Your inner strength. Instead of running away or looking around, looking inside. Maybe it’s not the easiest solution. Maybe it’s just a rumor. I think I haven’t heard about it on Facebook.

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