The Place That Made Me

There’s something about Beijing that lingers on your skin, like the scent of roasted sweet potatoes and candied hawthorn sticks lining the winter streets. It’s not just where I grew up—it’s the third-party mediator in every love story I’ve lived, either gently nudging me toward connection or practically sabotaging me with its sheer moodiness. Cities, after all, are like relationships: some are wild and fleeting, others steady and supportive. And then there’s Beijing—complicated, messy, dazzling. The kind of lover you never entirely figure out, but whose mark on you is undeniable.

Home Is Where the Dumpling Argument Happens

Beijing didn’t just raise me; it micromanaged me. The city thrums with the twin pulses of tradition and ambition, perpetually caught between ancient hutongs and glassy high-rises vying for dominance. If Beijing were a relationship, it’s the “Are we East or West?” existential crisis I’ve been navigating in every romantic entanglement.

Take my first serious relationship in university. Wen was as steady as the city’s Ring Roads—dependable, predictable, and a little too middle-lane for my restless soul. We’d spend weekends on long walks through the Summer Palace, feeding koi fish and debating existential topics like the proper ratio of vinegar to soy sauce for xiaolongbao dipping. (Spoiler: there is no universal answer, and said debate ended with me dipping alone.)

Looking back, our breakup wasn’t so much about him or me but about where we were: a city deeply rooted in its history but also frenetically rushing forward. He adored my family’s traditional tea ceremonies, folding himself neatly into the rhythm of tradition. I, on the other hand, was consumed by the thrill of my upcoming exchange program in New York, my escapist mind already soaring above the smoggy cityscape. It was the kind of fissure that Beijing specializes in: subtle, quiet, almost polite until it isn’t.

Beijing Tempered My Love Life Like Its Weather

Let’s talk about the weather, because, like everything in Beijing, it’s extreme. Summers are sticky and relentless, while winters pierce straight to the bone. I jokingly tell people that my Beijing relationships have all followed the seasons—overheated and frenzied, or frosty and distant, with a brief Spring fling here and there.

Take one torrid July. I met Alex, an artist from Shanghai whose floppy hat was somehow more fashionable than functional in Beijing’s record-breaking humidity. We clicked somewhere between a Mao Livehouse gig and a spontaneous exchange of our favorite Li Bai translations. But when the September breeze cooled the city, our spark fizzled. (His wanderlust didn’t quite jive with my “Beijing forever” state of mind.)

The thing is, Beijing makes you work for everything—the relationships are no exception. Anyone who’s ever tried to hold hands while cycling through a sandstorm-level dose of spring smog knows this intimate truth. It might not seem worth it, but there’s a masochistic beauty in fighting through the grit, celebrating moments when clarity breaks through.

The Hutongs Always Know

If you’ve ever wandered through Beijing’s maze of narrow alleys—the hutongs—you know they feel alive, almost conspiratorial in their silences and surprises. Hutongs are where I’ve had my most serendipitous moments and my most bewildering revelations about love.

Take the time I literally got lost in the labyrinthine alleys near Dongcheng district. I was texting a guy—I’ll call him Eric—after we’d met at, of all places, one of those kitschy “traditional” tea houses designed for tourists. He seemed different from the aggressively fast-paced, “Let’s hit this trendy bar in Sanlitun” types. I’d just fired off a flirty “What’s your Spice Girls karaoke go-to?” when I smacked into a weather-worn hutong door.

A little old lady popped out at just the right moment—not to help me, but to scold me for leaning on her doorframe with weary, lovesick energy. She told me, in a grumbling Beijing accent, that if I wasn’t looking up, I’d miss everything that mattered. I nervously laughed, not yet realizing her street philosophy was better than anything Eric could offer. (Side note: Eric responded “Who are the Spice Girls?” and my crush was instantly extinguished.)

The hutongs taught me a lot about how to navigate love: take your time, pay attention to the small things, and, when in doubt, carry better shoes because cobblestone isn’t forgiving.

A City of Contradictions and Connection

Beijing isn’t easy. Its maddening traffic, questionable air quality, and any-year-now promises of springtime can leave you yearning for escape. But it also demands something rare from you: presence.

In love, as in life, we often fantasize about greener pastures (or cleaner air, in this case). But living in this city has taught me the importance of finding beauty in the in-between moments. A random noodle shop date where you slurp side by side in comfortable silence. Strolling under the lantern-strung trees at Beihai Park, even if the lake is polluted from last year’s dragon boat festival.

There are no perfect partners and no perfect places. We set ourselves up for heartbreak when we demand perfection. What Beijing gave me instead was acceptance: of flawed people, flawed spaces, and the possibility of love, even when both are born out of chaos.

Beijing Romance Survival Tips (For Anyone Passing Through)

  1. Let Go of Glamour: Yes, we know, Instagram was made for those Forbidden City shots. But romance here thrives in less photogenic moments—sharing a sweaty taxi during rush hour or debating which vendor makes the best jianbing (correct answer: the one closest to where you’re standing).

  2. Adapt to the Breeze: Relationships in Beijing, much like its wind patterns, seem predictably unpredictable. People come and go, timing is rarely on your side, and yet—some staying power surprises you. Roll with it.

  3. Breathe (When Possible): Smoggy days can cloud even the best moods and make your relationship feel like its own version of an air-quality crisis. Find clarity by checking in with what really matters. (Also, buy that electric air purifier—it’s as important as therapy here.)

  4. Cherish Street Wisdom: Whether it’s unsolicited advice from a hutong granny or a candid chat with a taxi driver, remember this city speaks in riddles. Listen carefully—you might stumble upon the best dating advice of your life.

Conclusion: A Love Letter to Impatience, Chaos, and Nostalgia

They say you never forget your first love, but they should add that you never forget the place that taught you how to love—even when it’s as chaotic as Beijing. This city made me impatient, made me nostalgic, made me cling, drove me away, and pulled me back in with the force of ten million bicycles pedaling home at dusk. It taught me that moments of intimacy don’t have to be pristine to be meaningful, and that, for better or worse, a city is sometimes the most unpredictable relationship of all.

If Beijing taught me anything, it’s this: love is messy and imperfect. But if you’re paying attention—really paying attention—it’s worth every hazy, loud, dumpling-filled moment.