Urumqi free essay sample

I tug at my grandmother’s hand gently as we push through the crowds of the morning market in Urumqi. The vendors’ cries hover at a certain pitch, blending with the aroma of fresh dim sum and spicy meat. I steer her toward my most anticipated destination—the naan stand. â€Å"One yuan for two! Cheap naan!† Naan is a local specialty: flat, baked bread popular among Uyghurs, the largest ethnic minority of Xinjiang in Northwest China. Delicious plain or combined with spiced mutton, it is a staple for even the Chinese immigrants who live here. The Uyghur vendor bags four from the stacked naan on the stand and hands them to me. I hug the still-warm bread to my chest and smile. We begin walking home at a steady pace; grandmother’s bound feet fail to hinder her strength. The street is thick with people. Someone steps on my foot, and I jump. We will write a custom essay sample on Urumqi or any similar topic specifically for you Do Not WasteYour Time HIRE WRITER Only 13.90 / page But I am used to this lack of personal space. We pass the skyscrapers. To my left, a building with hollow windows and missing bricks is still under construction. My friends and I, starved for adventure, climbed it a couple weeks ago, forgetting parents’ warnings. The city was our playground then, and we were drawn by our overactive imaginations to its towering promise. Standing on top of the building, I inhaled the stale air and saw my city stretched out before me. I loved it passionately, for its noise—the noise of open-air markets, frustrated traffic, and the children’s delighted screams as we pretended to be explorers and conquerors†¦it was then that I was again filled with a reoccurring desire to write of the crooked building’s hidden beauty. I longed to tell the world of the richness of life that I observed daily. On my right, I can make out outlines of the elderly stretching and doing taichi at the park. I imitate the group of Uyghur girls dancing to middle-eastern music and flipping their braids. Urumqi is a city of contradictions. The Uyghur and the Chinese live on a delicate balance, with the two cultures overlapping and crossing each other’s thin boundaries. I grow up oblivious to the politics of the Chinese struggle for power in Xinjiang. I know only that I love walking home from school in knee-deep snow and hearing Turkish accordions play in the distance. I love finding that the Uyghur kids had the same rules for â€Å"Hide and Seek.† One more block, and we enter the courtyard. It is already peppered with people milling about, chatting. The grandfather next door plays Chinese checkers with his daughter, and I join the cluster of onlookers and clamour to participate in the next round. I tear off a piece of the naan and pass the rest around to old and young hands. We are a family, sharing without hesitation. The adults speak of the homelands they left behind for Xinjiang, a land with a name that translates to â€Å"New Frontier.† In coming here, they have forged a new culture of Uyghur and Han traditions among neighbours who leave their doors open and chat under grapevine canopies while sipping tea. I am a part of that fusion of cultures, a child of pioneers. And when I leave behind a continent, I will always carry with me the richness of our differences and the courage of understanding them.