'Lonely Bikes' Beijing – A reflection in stillness

There are nine million bicycles in Beijing, or so the song goes. 

But sometimes, it feels like the loneliest number is one. One bicycle. One soul. One quiet moment in a city that never seems to stop moving.

I started noticing them – bikes left by themselves, leaning against old grey brick walls in hutong, resting in the shadow of glowing skyscrapers, or chilling under the Beijing summer rains, like they had nowhere urgent to be. Just taking a break. They looked almost human in their solitude. Forgotten, almost... Or simply, resting.

And in those quiet images, something began to shift inside me.

Being a foreigner in Beijing can feel like living in parentheses. You're here, but not entirely of here. The language, the rhythms, the coded unspoken rules – they orbit around you, just close enough to touch but never quite land. It's easy to feel unmoored. Easy to wonder, "Am I the only one standing still while everyone else flies past?"

But there's another way to look at it.

Loneliness and solitude aren't the same thing.
One is a lack.
The other is a choice.

In those solitary walks to work on quiet mornings, I started to listen. To the stillness of my walks to work that asked nothing of me but presence. To the soft thrum of the city waking up, to the sounds of life around me – jianbing vendors clattering metal pots, the shuffle of bikes, the cheerful music coming from the speakers of a delivery driver crisscrossing the city even before the first rays of sun hit the asphalt. Melodic flow of the Mandarin chatter. And to my own thoughts, the ones I usually drowned out with noise or rushed to edit.

That's when I realized: solitude can be a soft kind of power. It gives you space to grow, to recalibrate, to catch up with yourself. You realize you're just quietly growing roots in your own way, at your own speed. Some of that growth is invisible, a little painful at times – but it's where real change occurs. And Beijing is the perfect start.

These bikes aren't alone... They're resting. Maybe they're exactly where they need to be.

So when I spot one of those quiet bikes leaning into the wall or basking under Beijing's hot and humid sunlight, I smile. I see myself.

Because maybe being alone in a foreign city is a mirror.
And maybe the most beautiful things start there.

*This article marks the beginning of China, Soft Focus – a slow journalism series that offers textured, human-centered glimpses into everyday life across China through measured pace and intimate detail, beyond the hard news headlines.