with a place that no longer exists?
2000
I lived in a community called WangGaErCun ‘王隘二村’ for over 12 years.
Over the last 15 years, I moved repeatedly, almost forgetting about this place.
A recent podcast mentioning Lu Xun’s Hometown ‘故乡’, unexpectedly brought it back to me.
“我所记得的故乡全不如此。我的故乡好得多了。
但要我记起他的美丽，说出他的佳处来，却又没有影像，没有言辞了。”
LX wrote of returning to manage family affairs, only to find his hometown unrecognizable.
What does it look like now? On a whim, I searched “王隘二村” on a map.
The label still existed, but the satellite view revealed only a vast parking lot.
A parking lot!? The quintessential NON-PLACE.
I traced the map and scrolled through historical street views.
Hidden memories flooded in, and with them, mixed feelings.
ANGER? At gentrification, modernization, or city planning?
I couldn’t claim that. I was the one who left, chasing a “better” life.
GRIEF? Not quite. This place, too, was moving toward its own “better” on a grander scale.
FEAR? Maybe—knowing some memories, tied to that exact place,
are now lost forever, along with all traces of me.
With these mixed feelings, I began to wonder.
What is our relationship to a place that no longer exists?
How do we preserve memories when the physical world vanishes faster than we can hold them?
What makes a place meaningful? By definition, it's a 'non-place' - yet it still means a lot to me.
Over the last 15 years, I moved repeatedly, almost forgetting about this place.
A recent podcast mentioning Lu Xun’s Hometown ‘故乡’, unexpectedly brought it back to me.
“我所记得的故乡全不如此。我的故乡好得多了。
但要我记起他的美丽，说出他的佳处来，却又没有影像，没有言辞了。”
LX wrote of returning to manage family affairs, only to find his hometown unrecognizable.
What does it look like now? On a whim, I searched “王隘二村” on a map.
The label still existed, but the satellite view revealed only a vast parking lot.
A parking lot!? The quintessential NON-PLACE.
I traced the map and scrolled through historical street views.
Hidden memories flooded in, and with them, mixed feelings.
ANGER? At gentrification, modernization, or city planning?
I couldn’t claim that. I was the one who left, chasing a “better” life.
GRIEF? Not quite. This place, too, was moving toward its own “better” on a grander scale.
FEAR? Maybe—knowing some memories, tied to that exact place,
are now lost forever, along with all traces of me.
With these mixed feelings, I began to wonder.
What is our relationship to a place that no longer exists?
How do we preserve memories when the physical world vanishes faster than we can hold them?
What makes a place meaningful? By definition, it's a 'non-place' - yet it still means a lot to me.