Remembering Changchun
I live in Toronto now, an exile from my home. I was born in Changchun, a city in Northeastern China. Years ago, I had to flee, so now I draw the city I love from the memories in my heart. This is my visual history of the city.
The cultural center of the city is literally called the Cultural Center. The public square that spreads its wings out from the main building is second in size only to Tiananmen.
In the middle of the square is a statue of a naked man with his arms and eyes looking up — apparently unaware of how eternally modest all of us Northeasterners are. I laughed every time I looked at that naked man and embarrassed my mom, which only made me laugh more.
Another Iconic building in everyone’s life is the “new train station” as we called it. This is where every great adventure begins if you live in Changchun. For many of us who don’t live there anymore, this is the last building we saw, the final image of our home.
I always enjoyed the old tram though. I can still hear those rusty railcars jostling through the streets whenever I walk around a city at night.
When I grew up, everyone rode bikes. There were fields of bike racks outside every school and workplace. Even in the deep winter, you would see the hardened people of my parents’ generation pedaling their way through snow.
It got cold fast in Changchun, and being an industrial city, we didn’t have much agriculture. Our main vegetable was cabbage. Before the freeze each year, we’d harvest cabbages and ferment them to keep through the winter. I remember having cabbage wars with the other kids right as winter set in.
My fondest memories have always been in winter. Fresh snow and the cold air on my face. Playing in the snow is so simple. We’d share a sled, see how many of us could pile on, making up games as we went along.
Of course, winter was hard too. We’d keep the wood stove lit all day. That’s where we’d warm our cabbage and huddle up when the wind would howl outside.
The highlight of every winter is the Chinese new year celebration. The lion dancers always seemed magical to me. The way they move to the hypnotizing drums — it didn’t seem possible that it was just two guys under papier-mache.
We didn’t have much, but we could make a game out of anything.
Lanterns and candy vendors filled the city squares in the lead up to the Lantern Festival at the end of our New Year celebrations.
Oh, and the popcorn makers on the street. That’s what my childhood tastes like. That’s the taste of adolescent freedom, of having a few coins in my pocket and feeling rich because I could buy all the popcorn I could eat.
The corn wasn’t the only thing popping though. How could you ring in the new year without little gangs of kids setting off firecrackers on every corner.
But the most important thing about winter in Changchun, if you ask me, is that we never stop dreaming of spring. That’s where the city got its name, in fact. Literally translated, Chang Chun means “eternal spring,” and we take the meaning to heart, even on the coldest days.
