At 19:23 p.m., the airplane landed in Shanghai Pudong International Airport. Waking up from a blurred dream, I reached into my backpack to make sure that I had all the essentials for my life in China: passport, phone, money, and a mask.

My hand reached the cold credit card, and then the soft fabric with the exhaust valve. A wave of mixed comfort and misery rose in my heart. Finally, I was there, my beloved country, a country now under the reign of smog.
 
Walking out of the airport, I put on my mask and joined the crowds of faceless people. With the fog carpeting the air, the whole city seemed to be hidden behind a layer of shade, even the moon looked unbelievably distant. Wasn’t it ironic? I thought. I would probably call the scenery romantic if it wasn’t poisonous.

I jumped into my parents’ car. After I took off the mask, the car’s engine roared. The air was stuffy, and nobody dared to open the window. Outside our small metallic vehicle, I watched as familiar architectures zipped behind; all the big advertisements flashed before my eyes. Countless cars and yellow streetlights chased each other, playing the city’s game without stopping.

This was where I came from. There was no mistake. This was the place I had always missed, always loved, and always dreamt of returning to, although there was now smog waiting to take me down.
 
I lost track of when factories and businesses became overwhelming in China. Heavy industry, metal smelters and coal-fired power plants prevailed, quickly developing the country’s economics and at the same time, emitting tons of carbon, metals, gases, and soot.

As early as in November 2010, an environment report conducted by China’s environmental protection ministry had already showed that around a third of the 113 surveyed cities failed to meet national air standards.

Recently, a World Bank study showed that six years later, among the China’s 560 million city dwellers, only one percent got to breathe air considered safe according to European Union standards.

Air pollution is a serious fight for the whole population; it is the fact we all should have realized from a long time ago.
 
Around the age of twelve, I first noticed the increasing number of people wearing masks. As an ignorant middle schooler studying in a Chinese public school. I waited for those rare foggy days with secret excitement, hoping for an extra day off from school.

Then, a boy died.

It was a boy from the northern part of China, a middle school student just like me. Five seconds before he collapsed, he was running with his classmates on the playground, smiling and thinking about what to have for lunch. Five seconds later, he fell to the ground, lifeless, leaving behind unrecoverable broken hearts.
Smog was the murderer, said the professionals.
 
It shook my heart, my ignorance, and my selfish heart.
It shook society’s heart.
 
More and more people began wearing masks. From my memories of that time, subway stations were what I remembered the most. Bright lights shone on the ground. People were always hurried, carried heavy bags, checked emails and phones. Almost all the faces were covered, only two eyes, two dull eyes were bare, looking at emptiness.

It felt strange, depressing, and we were anxious. I remember standing there, watching the crowds rush towards me. I was overwhelmed with colors, white, black, and sometimes grey; those were the colors of the masks, of hospitals and illness, of horror and grief.
I remembered, then…I got used to it.
 
Smog.
Smog.
Smog.
 
Four years after I have become this high school student worrying about college applications in a foreign country, far away from home. Every day I enjoy the clear sky and clean air, and walk around with no thoughts about wearing a mask to cover my face.

But when I come back again to where I belong, when I once again live in a place where all my surroundings are blurred in white, how could I ever again persuade myself to get used to it?
 
A few days before I arrived in China, the history from four years ago was repeated.
On November 29th, 2016, a middle school student from Langfang, Hebei Province felt unwell after rising, and afterwards collapsed while exercising in outdoor areas. Although the boy was immediately sent to the hospital by an ambulance, his eyes never opened again.

His parents found the accident too hard to believe; their 14-year-old son had never had any serious health problems before. “He just caught a cold,” said his mother, who seemed to have little strength to support herself.
On November 29th, the air population in Langfang City was between 201 and 300 range, marked by the color purple. According to the Air Quality Index (AQI) Basics, this level is pollution is marked “very unhealthy” and means “Health alert: everyone may experience more serious health effects.”
 
How can I ever get used to it?
How can anyone ever just get used to it?
Shouldn’t we be trying to solve it? Shouldn’t we be trying and trying until it is solved?

Oh, China, my China, my beloved China.
Standing under your sky, I feel so powerless, so useless, and so helpless.
What can I do now, besides put on my mask?
What can I do now, besides write down how much I love you, how miserable you make me, and how guilty I am for not knowing how to make you better?
If only you could tell me, I would be the happiest person.

I’m waiting, China, waiting for the day when I once again see your beauty. When that day comes, I’ll cry on your shoulder just like a child. But before that, I’ll save my tears and go out into the world, searching for a way to cure you.