Three Years After Graduation: A Return to Zhangjiang
“It was the spring of 2007”…
On March 8, 2007, my agonizingly slow master’s生涯 finally came to an end. While the nation celebrated Women’s Day, I passed my thesis defense, ended my “internship,” and bid farewell to Zhangjiang — the holy land in every Shanghai programmer’s heart. Three years have passed in a blink.
Last weekend, my graduate school roommate proposed a reunion party. I couldn’t say no. Despite heavy rain and fog over the Huangpu River, my wife and I drove to Pudong’s Century Park to a classmate’s home. Several years apart, he’d changed enormously. Yuan, who had been fully devoted to academia and wrote excellent papers before pursuing a PhD, is now deputy bureau chief of a Wuxi district, in charge of “Sensing China” IoT projects. And “Brother Chun” (before the Super Girl era made that name refer to someone else entirely) now lives in a high-end community with luxury car and mansion, still passionately writing and sharp as ever.
The party was great. Afterward, Yuan had more drinking engagements in Shanghai (classic public servant style). I drove him to Jinqiao. Suddenly, my wife suggested we visit Zhangjiang. Jinqiao is very close to Zhangjiang, so with a tap on the gas, let’s go.
First stop: Yulanxiangyuan. This one-bedroom apartment was where my wife and I “蜗居” in 2006. We were pioneers there — when we first moved in, there were no buses, nothing but wasteland outside. We relied on unlicensed cabs for commuting. Now it’s much livelier, shops lining the streets, the spicy hot pot vendors and fried food sellers as热情的 as ever. What we didn’t expect: when we walked up to our old apartment 101, there was a big red “double happiness” character on the door. My wife reacted first: “The landlord’s son got married.” Ha. When we rented, the honest local Shanghainese had told us everything. His son wasn’t yet marriage age, they lived together, renting out the place for extra income. When the son married, this first-floor unit would be their retirement home, the big room for the son. No doubt the old couple got “squeezed” down to the first floor. I wanted to knock and chat with the landlord — we never met such a kind landlord again, only ones who looked down on renters. But my wife disagreed, saying it would seem like showing off. So we dropped it. A last wistful look at this 40-square-meter蜗居, silently wishing them happiness in their old age.
Second stop: Zhangjiang Metro Station. The old station completed its mission this month, replaced by a new one. But some things never change. The cries of “Naiwei, Naiwei, Naiwei (Nanhui)” from peddlers near the station are still going strong. The Yuanyuanyuan shop where my wife and I watched the 2006 World Cup has changed hands. The circular plaza near the station is livelier than ever. I couldn’t help thinking about riding my bike all the way from Yulanxiangyuan, carrying my wife to eat at the circular plaza. Her favorite, Guwu Cake Shop, is still there, prices一如既往高. Ever since we had our baby, my wife kept saying she wanted to buy Guwu cake for him. Finally, wish fulfilled. Each small cake costs around 35 yuan. Back then, for a student, spending that much really hurt. My wife bought two, and on my advice bought two more (otherwise the petrol for the 100km round trip wouldn’t be worth it). We spent nearly 150 yuan. When the shop owner learned we drove nearly 50km just to buy cake, they were genuinely touched.
Three years. In three years, my wife and I have changed enormously — a satisfying career, a happy family, a mischievous son, a place to call home… We change, and the world changes too.
Finally, a microblog post: on stinky tofu prices as a window into regional economic development and consumer demographics:
Zhangjiang Metro stinky tofu: 5 yuan/portion (高端白领臭) Anting Town stinky tofu: 2 yuan for 5 pieces (厂妹臭) Tongji Jiading Campus stinky tofu: 1 yuan for 4 pieces (学生臭)