jurassic parks || 侏罗纪公园

a man, standing alone, studies a large metal cylinder on the ground in front of him. the cylinder tapers down to a single point, on which it spins.

“this is an old beijinger hobby, called tuoluo (陀螺),” my friend tells me. “it’s really hard to do.”

we stand there watching him for awhile, from across the square.

the top begins to wobble. the man draws back an arm, then snaps it forward, flinging forth a long strap of leather. the strap wraps around the cylinder where it narrows towards the bottom, and unwraps just as quickly, making a loud snapping sound. and somehow, the top pulls back into a steady spin.

the parks of beijing are full of these old men and women, who love ancient hobbies that take an incredible amount of skill and patience (labor-intensive and resource-scarce, qualities that define so many aspects of chinese society). others do taichi or play chinese chess or take their birds out for walks in the park.

meanwhile, men and women in blazers contemplate the future of innovation and sustainability, sitting in semicircles and speaking english. meanwhile, young professionals watch TV shows on their phones, sweating under white collared shirts and swaying back and forth on the subway.

along the streets, skyscrapers glare under the sun, and around them, rowdy masses of honking cars ebb and flow. the city has changed from quaint and ancient to bristling and futuristic, almost overnight. but people…people cannot leave their pasts behind. they cannot stop loving what they love, or being good at what they are good at, simply because it no longer makes sense to do so.

so, in places like this, where the sound of traffic comes muffled through the trees and narrow stone pathways…where there is still some time and space for it, pockets of the past continue to exist. where all these grandmas and grandpas, from a forgotten age that still hasn’t made it into the history books, walk around with their hands behind their backs, slowly, wisely, obliviously, like dinosaurs in a concrete jungle.

the man whips the top again, and the sharp snap echoes across the empty square.

—

一个男人单独站着，观察着一个小铁筒。那铁筒地下是一个锥形，筒在尖上转。

“这是个很传统的老北京玩具，” 我朋友告诉我。“叫陀螺…很难的!”

我们从院子另一边望着他。

那陀螺开始摇摆。他胳膊往后拉了一下，然后尽快往前摔了一个长皮绳。那绳子啪一声，不知怎么就把那个陀螺又打正了。

北京的公园充满这些老人家。这一些古老的玩具通常是很简单，可是需要很高的技术，也需要很多的耐心 （中国从来就是：劳力便宜，资源难得)。别的打太极，下棋，或遛鸟。

在此之际，外国人穿着西装讨论“创新”和“可持续性”的问题。在此之际，少年白领在地铁上盯着手机，轻轻微微地一起摇动。

顺着大街，高楼在太阳底下闪烁，像大石头在一个超超乱乱的车海。一瞬间北京从一个古色古香的城市变成了一个快速繁华的大城。可是人呢…人可不能把他们所爱惜，所会做的事情给忘掉，即使这一些一切都没用了。

所以，在这种相当安静的公园，过去的世界还接着存在。在这一种地方，这些从另一时代的爷爷奶奶还背着手满满地走着，像恐龙在一个石村林里。

那男人又啪一声鞭了一次陀螺。