回 — ‘return’ was one of the first Chinese characters that I started practicing when I took up calligraphy during the pandemic. It was not long after that my friend Dr. Andrew McCart, author of Tao Blog, asked me to do some abstract calligraphic art for his next book cover, and we agreed that 回 would be the perfect starting point.
回 — return, turn around, go back
The outer radical 囗 means enclosure. The inner radical 囗 looks the same but in this context means mouth, gate or opening. An opening within an enclosure - is it not a contradiction to have these diametrically opposed radicals combined in one word?
The rules of traditional Chinese calligraphy dictate a strict choreography of strokes. One must execute them left to right, top to bottom. The inner 囗 must be completed before closing the outer 囗 . ↓→↓→↓→↓→, like so. Both squares should be sealed.
In these eight strokes I see: Chinese courtyards, nuclear families, ouroboros, yin-yang, the seasons. Instead of contradiction, I see equilibrium. And when you write the word, you feel equilibrium.
Meditating on return for Andrew’s book cover, I challenged some of these principles. I circled the squares, brushing right to left, down to up; breaking the rules of travel. I left each 囗 unsealed - allowing air to move through. Two concentric squares circled each other - like ensōs, the single hand drawn circles that symbolise enlightenment, voidness, all and nothing. One could argue that squares have no place in meditation nor in nature; although square shapes are necessary for strong foundations, as in the right angles of legs in horse stance or a support beam for a load-bearing wall.
Myth of return
回 — return, turn around, go back.
‘Oh, I love Hong Kong. I lived there for a few years…’
So many people love to tell me how much they love Hong Kong when I tell them where I grew up. Those same people would call themselves ex-expats, without questioning why they weren’t known as immigrants in that city. Cool story, bro, I will utter silently. But don’t for one second mistake your experience of Hong Kong with my experience of Hong Kong. Your memories of Hong Kong have no place in the psycho-geographical map inside my head. You did not have to negotiate anxieties of identity, language and belonging every time you landed in Chek Lap Kok.
In the Chinese community we acknowledge that conversations are opened with ‘Have you eaten yet?’. Well, perhaps that’s more true for older generations, but none of my diasporic peers have ever greeted me like this. There is, however, another topic that seems to enter every casual conversation: ‘When did you last go back?’
Many people like myself have been going ‘back’ all their lives. Even more second or third generation people, born and raised away from their ethnic homeland, curiously also talk about going ‘back’. It’s a verbal reflex that can’t be helped, one that you adopted since your ammas and babbas and ummas and appas and nanay and tatay told you where your roots really are and don’t you forget it.
The conversation is mutually sympathetic - we know that the act of return is not just a jolly holiday. An Odyssey it may not be, but there is a certain heaviness that accompanies the trip - the filial duties to be carried out, the reliving of bittersweet childhood memories, the mental strain of codeswitching - and then the physical heaviness of packing a suitcase full of gifts (as instructed by your parents), and bringing back an even heavier one full of contraband goods.
But there is also a quiet understanding between me and my peers. That no matter how conflicted it is, the Odyssean expedition has rewards. Nourishment of sorts - good food; hot humid weather that we’re genetically wired for, oiling our joints; the groundedness of proximity to your ancestors’ graves; the feeling of being seen yet not seen. I always look forward to the anonymity of being in a global majority, just one face in seven million faces. We all look the same, just not in a racist way.
This year, as parts of Asia eased their strict travel restrictions, I observed so many of my peers finally making their trips back. I saw what it did to them - to us. We returned from the Return, topped up and revitalised. A little more… confident? At ease in ourselves? Melanated skin glowing, South China Sea salt still in our hair, bellies full of rice yet flattened. But the glow fades, the salt washes out. I get bloated in the UK no matter what I eat.
The Return - and the return from the Return - always unsettles me. It asks the question what if… ?
What if: youhadneverleftin1996oryourparentshadneveremigratedanddidntmeeteachotherandyoudneverhavebeenbornorwhatifyouhadfoundaniceboyfromHongKonganddecidedtostaythereorwhatifyoucamebackafteruniandgaveuptheUKforgoodorwhatifyourparentshadgonetoCanadainsteadorSanFranciscolikeyouruncleorAustralialikemanyofyourfriendsorwhatifyourmumhadneverleftMalaysiaandyouneverleftKuchinglikeallyourcousinsandandand…
回 — possibilities open up, inside a closed box
By now, I’ve made enough trips ‘back’ to stop referring to it as going ‘back’. To maintain this psychological border control will wear me down, eventually. I’ve also let go of any notion of homelands, as if they can be defined in four walls and eight strokes. Like the character 回, homeland is a paradox, both closed and open. An exotic island of the mind, never more enticing as when it is unreachable.
We create our own myths about homeland, our own reasons for return. We can choose to invest all our identity into these myths, or we can accept the paradox. That whatever we are returning to is no longer there, was never there.
Return To Forever
“The poetic thought behind [Return To Forever] was that in music and in art in general, when one puts their attention on creativity, what you’re doing is returning to a very natural home ground of yourself, of the spirit, of something that everyone has in common… I’m always trying to communicate from that place and return to it. You get into the survival aspects of your life and you can forget about that easily, so that was like a reminder: return to forever.”
One of my favourite albums is eponymously titled after Chick Corea’s jazz fusion project. I agree with CC; ‘return’ is such a powerful tool for creativity.
Do you incorporate it in your practices?
P.S. I’d love to meet you at my next community event
I’m delighted to have put together this chilled out, family-friendly afternoon in my friend’s beautiful shop. There will be a vegan congee bar, live DJs and ESEA books to read. What more could you ask for?
Great read! I recently returned from a trip to Asia and it was so nice to be somewhere where everyone looked the "same" as me, where the clothes were cut to my height, the foundation shades matched my skin, where the food felt good for my body etc etc and I didn't even go back to China, I was still a foreigner but one that could choose to be an anonymous as long as I kept my mouth shut. It felt like one more layer of safety.
The point about returning to something that’s no longer there hits. I went to my clan village with this nostalgic image of it. it’s definitely moved on😭😭😭