The New Tales of Old Shanghai German Swiss International School , Cheng , Edgar – 11
A h , Shanghai . Where else in the world could you possibly find such splendour ?
An elated smile crept across my foster mother ’ s fatigued face , an expression she rarely used nowadays . It mirrored my building excitement , and I gazed out the taxi window , fighting the jet-lag for the sake of seeing a familiar landmark .
It was one of those periods of silence . My stepfather was a … gambling man . He ’ d gambled away the fortune that he ’ d won in the lottery a few years back , and now he was in debt . It is strange for a child to describe their own parent as a ‘ screaming , drunk pig ’ but that ’ s what Du Yue-Sheng does . Me .
That ’ s why we travel here so often .
The taxi screeched to a stop . “ Ma ’ am , your hotel ,” the driver announced in Shanghainese , a language that I was familiar with . “ Thank you .”
The cold polluted air washed over me , a signature feature in China . Many people detested it , but to me , it smelled of belonging .
***
I had always been a drifting sailor .
It ’ s a hard life . My sister was sold into slavery , back when my parents were alive--my mother died of sorrow and my father soon followed , of sickness . And then … the incident . After the accident , I lost my memory and I was passed around the foster web , for countless years . I didn ’ t even know my own age .
I stared nonchalantly out the restaurant window , ignoring the steaming bowl of noodles . Funny how in Mainland China , it ’ s so foggy that when you can ’ t see the sky , it could be afternoon and midnight ? But the paper lanterns hung up on xiao long bao stands were enough to convince that it was dark out .
In Shanghai , it is never quiet . The streets are always blaring streams of movement , pedestrians are bustling , running , arguing . It ’ s … a cacophony .
A raven ’ s squawk , an exchanging of hands . Fingers sneaking the gadget to each other , subtly passing it to the other side .
“ Finally … I can escape this prison .”
“ Du ! Your noodles are getting cold .” Foster-Mom tells me , nodding to the untouched bowl . I snap from the daydream . I call her that because it ’ s true , that ’ s all she is . Another young parent in a long line of young parents who believes that they ’ ll love me forever but will eventually abandon on the streets .
But no matter . I dig into the soupy , spicy goodness , shovelling thick morsels of noodles into my mouth . I pick up a piece of broiled beef and add it to my mouthful . Yum .