Twinkle Twinkle Little Lights Bookstore
In a small, independently owned bookstore near the fancy Hilton, classical music plays, twinkling as softly as the lights strewn from the exposed ceiling above me. An air conditioning unit whooshes quite loudly nearby, sounding like the wind at the top of the Andes mountains that I used to climb in Ecuador. Aside from these sounds, and the large trucks rushing down the street outside the door, the bookstore is quiet. Seated at eclectic desks, men and women work around me: reading, writing, and scrolling on their phones.
When I am in need of a feeling of home, of books, of good tea and coffee, of a centered space, I come to what I have coined Twinkle Twinkle Little Lights Bookstore. It is a place that folds you in, envelopes you in its sea of Ernest Hemingway, Michael Crichton, Bill Bryson, Tom Clancy, Jodi Picoult, Agatha Christie, and Jane Austen. It is the Just Right Goldilocks nook where when I walk in, any internal disorder I feel is somehow pacified by the external disorder of the messy bookshelves. I can read, and write, and think, and work in peace at Twinkle Twinkle Little Lights Bookstore.
I have lived for five years in Shekou, a comfortable bubble of Shenzhen, and somehow it was only within the last few months that I discovered the little store. As an expat who has established a routine for a sense of safety and sanity, I have missed many little gems hidden in plain sight. It has been in co-teaching a 9th and 10th grade elective course at Shekou International School, alongside my friend and colleague Eddie Bruce, that I have stepped off my well-trodden daily paths to learn more about my host community.
In March, a small group of our Into the 'kou students learned of the bookstore and decided to interview the owner and learn more about his story.
As I watched my students engage with Yangcong, the owner, I appreciated his easy demeanor and his soft expressions. He seemed a bit self-conscious to be on camera, and there was a sweetness to this shyness.
As we were leaving the bookshop at the end of the interview, I smiled and did my best to use the little Mandarin I have acquired to say, "I will be back this weekend."
Over the following weeks, Yangcong, his loving partner Dong Dong, and I took to one another, and so it was that one day I received an invitation to join the two for lunch at the bookstore.
Prior to the lunch, we had shared few words. In lieu of them, we had shared smiles and warm and open vibrations. It was in this everyday space with Yangcong and Dong Dong, over a meal of vegetables, pork, and rice, that I felt a beautiful intimacy between us.
As we lunched, Dong Dong and I picked up conversation as Yangcong was keen to listen on. I learned that Yangcong opened the book store six years ago, hoping that he might invite more people to escape the lure of our devices and engage with the stories from near and far, written by contemporary and canonical, and well-known and lesser-
After running the store essentially on his own for several years, Yangcong's path crossed with Dong Dong's in what I want to believe was a moment of serendipity. At the time she was working a high-powered, stressful job, though one approved of by her family. As Dong Dong and I spoke about societal and familial pressures, she reflected, “For me, I can only stick to my pace." While she spoke in a soft and matter-of-fact tone, I could also appreciate that the decision to stick to her own pace was likely not an easy one.
As Dong Dong now helps to run the bookstore, she also finds bits of time to study ancient Chinese history and philosophy. "We think things have changed, but they haven't," she says, gazing at me momentarily, then turning her eyes towards the shelves of books to her left. I am not entirely certain of all of the reflections wrapped up for her in these words, but I imagine she finds both comfort and frustration in the way that overtime, much of human nature and culture is wont to stay the same.
In deciding to break with her original path, to follow her own heart, rather than the desires that her family had for her, Dong Dong notes that she lost one kind of freedom to gain another. She works every day as the responsibilities of the bookstore are divided between she and Yangcong, thus her free time has been diminished. At the same time, she has found more peace in her current life than in her former.
While Yangcong has been observing, and listening, and then slowly moving about to clear our dishes, he offers a few words now: “You may not have physical freedom, but you can always be free at heart.”
These words strike me in a particular way today as I have become increasingly restless in the face of Covid-era restricted travel. So I sit a bit longer with Yangcong's wisdom. I contemplate the freedom I have to love, to live vicariously through books, to laugh, to run, to connect with new souls, and to sip the fine green tea in front of me today.
Namaste, Yangong and Dong Dong. The light in me bows to and honors the light in both of you.