When people asked me why I like China so much, I was at a loss for words. They stared perplexed at me, confused as to why I couldn’t come up with a concrete answer. To be perfectly honest, my life in China is much less comfortable than the one I led in America. Winters in Sichuan were freezing, as I had no central heating. Each day I’d sit beside the one tiny space heater in my apartment and not move for hours. I sat so close to it, and red welts would form on my legs. When I’m sick in China, I don’t visit the doctor. Instead, I brew Chinese medicine — a concoction of herbs, roots and dried orange peels. While effective, the results are slow, and the elixir tastes are comparable to what I’d imagine drinking dirty socks would be like. Beijing, despite being the capital, still lags behind in social infrastructure. The one aspect of society that I haven’t been able to get used to is the spitting. I went to the Beijing Opera house this week and still could not avoid the sound of someone spitting behind me. It’s not my intention to project a negative image of China because I absolutely love this country. But that brings me back to my original question: Why do I love China?
After years of coming up with nothing but muddled responses, I believe I finally have come up with the answer. The answer came to me this Sunday as I was reflecting on the weekend’s events. On Friday, my friend joined a large group of expats for a Halloween subway party in which you hop on the “party subway” and ride it to the club. The party resulted in hundreds of expats dressed in costumes dancing in the subway station to the tunes of my friend’s fiddle. If this were New York, such a party would never be permitted. The following day, the same friend and I went to an acquaintance’s horse ranch for a leisurely morning of riding. Although there were quarter horses and even some ponies, the stable manager brought out a black stallion for us to ride. No horse trainer in America would allow two girls with little experience of riding to mount such a precarious horse. I have discovered, however, that oftentimes logic does not prevail here.
Later that afternoon, we headed to a cultural festivity at Peking University where there is a booth for each country that is represented on campus. Each country comes on the main stage and does a short performance. The festival ends with South Korea’s “Gangnam Style,” and all the countries rush to the stage to dance. Flags are waving, people are smiling, and it is a beautiful sight to see so many countries united together. But then I feel the floor give way from under me and watch in shock as the stage collapses and two hundred people come crashing to the ground. No one was hurt, fortunately, so the event made for quite a laugh. The point that I am trying to make is that living in China is like living in a perpetual state of wonder and disbelief. We are treading on this fine line between insanity and order, and each day, each moment is rich with adventure and excitement. There are no limits, no boundaries to what can happen here. Living in China is like living on the brink of chaos, and this is precisely why I love it.
有人问我为什么这么喜欢中国，我却一时答不上来。他们很困惑地看着我，不懂我为什么不能给出明确的答案。其实坦白来讲，在中国的生活远不如我在美国过的舒服。冬天的四川没有集中供热，所以很冷。我每天都会窝在公寓里的电暖器旁边，几个小时不挪地方。因为跟暖气贴得太近了，腿还会被烤出红印。在中国生病的时候我也不去看医生。我会自己熬中药喝。中药里面有药草，植物的根茎，还有陈皮。虽然见效较慢，但药效还是不错的，即使这种苦涩的怪味儿在我看来很像在喝泡脏袜子的水。即使在北京这个中国的首都，社会的基础建设还是落后的。人们随地吐痰的这种情况到现在我都不能适应。就像这个礼拜我去北京歌剧院，不断的听到身后的人在吐痰的声音。讲这点并不是想要破坏中国的形象，因为我确实非常喜爱这个国家。但问题又回来了：我到底为什么爱中国？
经过几年支支吾吾地答不上来，我觉得现在终于有了答案。就在我这个礼拜天回想自己一周的生活时，我突然开窍了。这个礼拜五，我的朋友参加了一个大型的万圣节地铁派对。上百人穿着各种戏服，在地铁的车厢里跳舞，然后一起乘车去夜店庆祝。如果是在纽约，这样的派对是一定不会被允许的。第二天，我和这个朋友早上一起去了一个熟人的马场去骑马放松。尽管那里有不少的季马和小马驹，但马场的经理居然牵出一匹种马让我们来骑。在美国，没有一个驯马师会允许两个没有经验的女孩来驾驭这么危险的马。然而我发现，这种我已经习以为常了的逻辑在中国却不流行。
同一天下午，我们又去了北京大学举办的一个文化节。校园里布置了很多展台，每个展台代表一个国家。每个国家的代表都会上台做一段简短的表演。文化节的压轴节目是韩国代表表演的“江南Style”，所有国家的代表都冲到台上一起随着音乐跳舞。彩旗飞舞着，人们微笑着。看到这样一个各国团结的景象真好。但突然，我感觉到脚下搭起的舞台塌了，我惊讶地看着两百多人一起掉到了地上。所幸的是没有人受伤，所以这继而成为了大家的一个大笑料。我想要说的是，生活在中国好比生活在一片无限奇妙又未知的土地上。我们游走在疯狂和秩序的两极之间，每一天，每一秒都充满了兴奋和冒险。任何事情都有可能发生。生活在中国就像活在乱世的边缘，这也是我为什么如此爱它的原因。