Zach Mills MOVING to a megacity was, to put it mildly, intimidating. I’ve always been drawn to quieter places – the kind where the loudest sound at night might be crickets, not the constant hum of millions of lives. The sheer scale of Shenzhen – the seemingly endless sprawl of buildings reaching for the sky – felt overwhelming at first. I’d read about cities like this, seen them in films, but nothing truly prepares you for the visceral experience of being immersed in such relentless energy. My apartment, thankfully, became a refuge. High above the streets, it offered a surprisingly detached perspective. But even within those walls, the city made its presence known, primarily through sound. It wasn’t the cacophony I’d feared, though. It was more like an unexpected symphony – a constant, layered composition of urban life. The dominant instruments, at least in my neighborhood, are the electric hum of mopeds – a sound so ubiquitous it’s almost become white noise – and the rhythmic clang and thud of construction. That construction is a constant reminder of one of Shenzhen’s defining characteristics: its relentless pace of change. My neighborhood is undergoing what is called “urban renewal.” Buildings that were standing just months ago are now piles of rubble, replaced by the skeletal frames of future high rises. A new metro station is taking shape just a short walk from my building, promising even greater connectivity. It’s a strange feeling to watch a city transform before your eyes, knowing that the landscape you see today will be different tomorrow. Yet, amidst this constant flux, there’s a surprising sense of stability rooted in the human connections I’ve found. My neighborhood, I’ve learned, has a large population from the Chaoshan region of southern China. They are known for their strong sense of community and distinctive dialect. I’m often invited for gongfu tea, which always includes a fascinating conversation about culture or current events. I’ve had countless conversations with people on the street, in the small shops, and at the local market – conversations often facilitated by the remarkable translation technology that’s become so commonplace here. We talk about everything from the differences between our cultures to the best place to buy vegetables. These interactions, however brief, have been a lifeline, grounding me in the present moment and making this vast city feel a little less impersonal. One of the most memorable experiences was being invited to celebrate the Mid-Autumn Festival with a local family. I remember the warm glow of lanterns, the sweet scent of mooncakes, and the shared ritual of lighting incense and offering prayers to the moon. It was a moment of profound connection – a reminder that even in the most modern, technologically advanced cities, ancient traditions and human bonds endure. That’s what I’ve come to appreciate most about Shenzhen: the surprising juxtaposition of the hyper-modern and the deeply traditional, the relentless change and the enduring human spirit. It’s a city that challenges you, overwhelms you, and ultimately, connects you – even if, like me, you prefer the quiet comfort of your own space. The sounds of the city, once a source of anxiety, have become a reminder that I’m part of something larger – a vibrant, ever-evolving tapestry of lives. Even from my perch high above the streets, I’m starting to feel like I belong. (Zach Mills is an editor of Shenzhen Daily and a host for EyeShenzhen videos.) | 