The Tengri Taghish

Since the grandparents of mine immigrated to Sinkiang from China proper after WWII, my fate has been bonded with the land of magic. I was born and raised in Ürümqi. Thus, I‘ve got such a privilege to explore and enjoy the flourishing culture that the city can possibly provide. Buddhist temples, mosques and orthodox churches are coexisting in the city, harmoniously. The dwellers here speak Uyghur, Kazakh, Mandarin, Tajik, Mongolian, Russian and many other different languages. And the landforms are also as variously as the people who live in here. The snowy peaks of Tengri Tagh (the mountains of heaven) are neighbouring the vast desert of Taklamakan, nurturing the forests of fir that‘s almost identical to Schwarzwald, sheltering the green pastures from southern sandstorms. I‘ve grown up in a multicultural society, however, I was able to travel even further by the benefits of the thriving mass media, which provides the opportunities of the different art forms in Japan or in Scotland, dated in medieval or modern era. I‘ve been surely taking advantage of the cyberspace, through space and time. Even though the blessings I‘ve got, there‘s only one fatal problem that has risen. Exposed in the kaleidoscopic worlds of humanity, I‘m disorientated by their beguiling lights. The identity of mine has faded, along with the meaning of the world that I‘ve been living in. I‘ve travelled a lot, during my college years, having been questioning myself about life. I‘ve gathered them in this collection, trying to draw a sketch of myself, not only as a citizen of central Asia, but a wondering human of my generation, in the time of its own uniqueness. Theodotus Young 1st November 2020 About Author: Theodotus Young Born and brought up in Ürümqi, Xinjiang. 2nd December 1994