asymptotic orange

guide to moving to a new city

evening glow by harald sohlberg

I’ve moved to a new city for the first time in five years after spending the better half of my life convincing myself stability would make me happy. In the moments the city isn’t moving (because it seems this city is always moving), there is a black hole that starts to tug at my legs. If the city stops moving, so will you, it threatens. Funny how things work out; the opposite of the opposite of stability is not the happiness I had hoped for, but an ever-expanding mass of fear. But not all opposites of opposites are equal and maybe it was not stability I craved but inertia.

This entire city is orange, from the roofs to the buses to the metaphors. I think I’m getting swept up in more than just its movement, because the color has started to seep into the crevices of my life, too. The first week of work, I spill a container of soup and now there’s a permanent trail of orange following me every time I stand still. I guess it’s a good thing this city never stops moving.

Waking up early comes easier when the only constant here is change. My new apartment sits on top of a hill, so I get a sliver of the sunrise every morning from between the cracks of the skyscrapers. Sometimes I miss my old city, but I don’t think I’ve seen sunsets so vibrant until now. The morning seems to be the only time the city stops to catch its breath, although if I stay still for too long, I’m scared the city will find other ways to maintain its inertia. Even at the top of my hill, the buildings loom over the skyline, echoing over and over: are you happy?

I want to respond I don’t know, but I don’t think this city likes ambiguity quite as much as it likes orange. Are you happier than before? I don’t know if I was happy before, but if I was, it was only asymptotically so. I’ve come to accept that happiness is not something to be obtained but a wave that comes and goes, yet I still find myself wishing I could brush against it for just a second longer. Maybe something better to chase would be peace, but I don’t know if that’s synonymous with inertia.

Luckily, this city never stops moving so I don’t have to sit with my thoughts for any longer than a few minutes every day. Get up, run four miles by the pier, are you happy?, shower, head to the office, respond to emails that came in overnight, are you happy?, work, work, work, are you happy?, are you happy?, are you happy? I’m scared to check my phone because I don’t know if I’m more afraid of my friends asking if I’m okay or no messages at all. Nothing terrifies me more than kindness these days. Please don’t get so close that I’ll feel it when you leave.

The only day that is quiet is Sunday, so I’ve made it a point to see something new every Sunday. Without fault, though, I find myself back in Chinatown at some point. I wonder if both kinds of inertia can co-exist in the same body. There’s a certain familiarity to knowing if I walk two blocks further out, every word spoken within the pocket neighborhood would be a mystery. Cities feel less lonely once you create secrets within them, although language brushes against the boundaries of qualifying. An asymptotic secret to make this city feel asymptotically home.

I go to a hair salon and ask for juhong and he must’ve heard me as jiuhong because my hair comes out red instead of orange; I tell myself it is asymptotic orange. I say the mistake came from the slight gap between Mandarin and Canto (if I stretch language far enough, I can pretend the two are asymptotic), although the truth is my Chinese has regressed in the years I’ve been away from home. I want to say I miss home, but if I do, it’s only asymptotically.

The sunset feels heavier and lighter against the bright red streak through my hair and I can’t tell how I’m supposed to read the metaphors. The mismatch feels like both a peace offering and a warning: you could belong here, but only asymptotically. I think I’m tired of all these almost-tangents, but the sun has set so the city is moving again and the way it tugs my feet across the patchy roads leaves no room for melancholy. The lights in the distance twinkle like stars. I think I’m happy.

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