It was an unprecedented cold winter. The wind was not as subtle as previous years, and its chill, ruthless and indiscriminate. We sought warmth with our destination in mind—Gulang Island.
Gulang or 鼓浪, translates as “the tides that sound of drums.” Just like those thunderous tides, memories from seven years ago began to flood my mind. A familiar breeze brushed through the leaves, and vivid childhood memories returned while browsing the small shops and streets. Special desserts and gifts were carefully displayed behind their delicately decorated doors, waiting for curious children or young couples to take them home.
Although this time it was different, as those lovely shops listed in a tourist guidebook seven years ago had disappeared due to a local economic setback. Private boutiques hadn’t survived, being replaced by uniform chain stores. I was told that this is what happens to many tourist cities. My family returned to the main island, hoping to find the missing uniqueness.
At the intersection in front of where we lived was a shop that sold coconuts. Nothing about the shop itself was special besides the postcards that lined its wooden shelves. While the shopkeeper fetched our coconuts, I stared at these postcards in a daze. The last postcard I had received was from an old friend attending university in the northwest, but while it took mere hours for her to arrive in the southeast, it took several days for the postcard to arrive. Juice from the coconuts tasted sweet.
We passed a young man selling fried sea oysters, and he chatted easily with every guest even as he routinely wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Wishing you a happy journey,” he said as he handed us the oysters.
As the sun rays shone even brighter, we cycled to the beach to watch the waves and the rocks greet each other, meeting another family who enjoyed taking photos with their pet dog. Sounds of children laughing and dog bells ringing against the tides blended into cheerful music.
We continued cycling until sunset, returning to the dim coconut shop. Again, I looked at the postcards on the shelf. I had sent one to the northwest, which now felt like worlds away. "When the card arrives, you will be home."
Section Editor: Emily Gonzales
Section: Travel & Culture
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