I wanna burn myself to light up your cigarette.How about this. It starts with a spark, then flares up. A flame grows into a fire. I would shout. I've got not too much shining before I'm out. Only a few seconds you might wanna do it fast. You might wanna do it fast.
stole this from jing
"wait, they don't love you like i love you." There are moments when you realize you're just trying too hard, this is one of those moments. I always find myself in the same situation, different locale, different people, same situation, and so, therefore, this is one of those moments when you realize the consistency lies within yourself, that you are indeed the one, royally fucked in the head, or something like that.
Maybe, I shouldn't have watched Trainspotting. Maybe, there are a lot of things that I shouldn't know. Damaging to young, impressionable, damn damn fragile minds.
What did he say? Something about happiness, oh yes, to live is to happy, and I'm sittin' there sippin' on my milk tea nodding and smiling at him wide-eyed and excited and knowing at the base of my heart that it's easier said than done. What did she say? Something about maturity, and the immaturity of her yesterdays, my todays, and how one day we'll all get over it and realize how stupid we all were, are.
The thing is. I don't think we got over it. I'm not sure we ever will.
I'll tell you what it is though. It is a bit cold, a bit late (early?), a bit disillusioned (very temporary), a bit reassuring (a sign of maturity?), a bit I look forward to tomorrow when I see my uncles and aunts. Because, even if you fall flat on your ass, even if you are aliens on all the planets that you reign, home is home is still home. I wish I could put it in my pocket.
All poetics have been stolen by the Chinese journal.- I have been eating out consecutively, my stomach.... um, protests. I think it's gotten used to daddy's monk diet. - Being around photographers, editors, journalists, filmmakers, people who can string peices of daily life to a DV documentary project, makes me cry. - Being around friends make me cry. - Being makes me cry. - CRY.
There's loads of homework to do. loads of research to do. loads of people need to talk to. loads of (two) resumes need updating fixing. loads of shit to write. loads of internships need to be found. loads of preparation to maybe move to beijing that need to be done. loads more restaurants to go to. loads of movies to watch. loads of books to read. loads of magazines to inhale.
Fucking hell. Busy is great. /jinx
I have no strength left to write. It is simply very tired. Hence, the short static sentences. Life is very great. I love brilliant, ambitious, creative kids. What a world. Thank you. Good night. Elaborate... maybe sometime.
The kids here break my heart--absolutely, wholly, empathetically. I am in love with them as I would be in love with myself--narcissism, idealism, dysfunctionality. I have a thing for three things in a roll, but I'm sick right now so I feel like having a fit instead. I hate the bars because of the smoke that make my eyes spin and my nose run, but I like the way she talks about the crazier things as the ordinary, and for the first time in my life, I felt ordinary in a cluster of the extraordinary. Hello, hello, love, where have you been all my life. Have you been here all this time, and it was just me who's left you? What if I were to say I'm back, would you take me piece by piece, would you excuse my lack of four-character idiomatic expressions, would you love me, could you please. It's been lonely, because it's been lonely.
I guess I've always been under the incorrect assumption that I am one of the few extraordinary weirdos out there, now I think my brand of eccentricity is... haha, get this, distinctively Chinese. I've no common ground with the American emo, indie, artsy, theatre, pothead, hippie kids. This is where I belong. No this is not in my head. Yes I'm racist. Yes when we throw around words like loneliness and jealousy and love and the lack thereof, I knew we were in the same realm of sensitivity. I just don't know why 10 years haven't changed who am I at the root.
I've always sort of assumed the last 10 years were pivotal to my life, but now I know, they're only... I don't know, what were they? A turn... let's get back on the highway now. It's funny that I'm writing in English though. I feel like such a bastard sometimes. I don't want that place. There's nothing wrong with that place. It's just me. We're different blood types, and so when we make babies, it'll get blood cancer. That's all, that's all, neither is at fault, neither here nor there. With that said, New York should be kept, for ROHANNNN ROHANNNN... miss that kid.
I have been reading the much recommended Annie Baby. Ah yes, the author I would have picked up a while ago if it weren't for the juvenile name. If you ever want to understand/be poisoned by the dark side of the Chinese psyche, she's it--all poetry, beauty, rawness, love, and scathing letters.
8:30 in the morning. 8:30 am, and I have been alive for more than an hour already, and I have eaten from the street (again), rode a bike with her in the backseat, said goodbye, listened to my stomach grumble with too much of the street food lately. Rotten tofu yesterday, the good type of rotten tofu very unlike his kiss in dreams. It's a strange type of warning, I say. It's a strange type of warning, you and I. Hooo... and I was going to write, but, Damien Rice's 《９》is absolutely stunning.
Leave me out with the waste This is not what I do It's the wrong kind of place To be thinking of you It's the wrong time For somebody new It's a small crime And I've got no excuse
Is that alright with you? Give my gun away when it's loaded that alright with you? If you don't shoot it how am I supposed to hold it Is that alright with you? Give my gun away when it's loaded Is that alright with you? with you.
Leave me out with the waste This is not what I do It's the wrong kind of place To be cheating on you It's the wrong time but she's pulling me through It's a small crime And I've got no excuse
Is that alright with you? Give my gun away when it's loaded Is that alright with you? If you don't shoot it how am I supposed to hold it Is that alright with you? Give my gun away when it's loaded Is that alright Is that alright with you?
Is that alright? Is that alright? Is that alright with you? Is that alright? Is that alright? Is that alright with you?
No...
Hey so, I give it 15 years, give or take, before China becomes the gorilla (panda?) sized nation of cool. There's a few reasons for this. 1. America will always be the harbinger, but it lacks an "indigenuous cool." America will never be cool. All the cool Americans are not Americans. Plus, O'Hara Intl airport sucks beer bellies. 2. Russia is so cool it's cold, plus there's not enough folks. 3. There's nobody else left in the world with 1.3 billion minds and way too much competition. Japan can blow up on coolness and it's still just an island. Hong Kong... well, Hong Kong's not a country, and they use traditional characters and have Fad for last names so... ^_~ Erm, sorry, that was slightly uncalled for mainland pride.
Media development in the mainland is staggering though. Even if the dramas suck more and more (I blame this on the art and makeup department, all right, and the script, but not Shu Qi, definitely not Shu Qi...) the documentaries, magazines, and other media outlets (that doesn't include really annoying top models, top singers, top anchors contests shows, but those are annoying anywhere I suppose) with no more than two years on them, are just stunning in how they've grown in just a year. Now this doesn't mean they're brilliant, this doesn't mean there isn't a lot of imitation, but originality and creativity can and do blossom from imitation when appealing to a different market, different set of minds. So I've high hopes for the media here. As for censorship, hmm, that is a chapter of a problem, but in our present concern of arts, music, movies, basically, selective materialism, we should be okay.
Rice (www.riceage.com) magazine, among a couple pretty others caught my eye for two reasons. 1) For its discernible, impeccably East Asian art/design hipster feel. 2) For just how young it is. Working at Theme has taught me that starting a magazine in the States is a matter of stakes, is a huge investment, is something you don't really make money off of, is seeing a lot of money disappearing... and not coming back. So is the case for a lot of these new magazines in China. Rice is started by a couple recent college grads from the ever 前卫 Guangzhou. Now, I'm sure that individually they are all pretty well off, but it baffles me on how they could support the mag, but I suppose what is their weakness is also their greatest strength - youth, ideals, ain't nuttin' to be afraid of. Hee.
On the East Asian feel and sensibilities, I may be biased on this, but I honestly feel like Asians are the most vain folks on the planet, stuck in this mentality of superiority/inferiority complex. Asian fashion breathe both tradition and the loudly modern, and like the streets of Harajuku and Hong Kong, fashion, vanity, to be sure, is not a matter of have you got it, but whether you have it in yellow or red, better yet, the new color is coral, are you caught up. Asian fashion is louder, flashier, and more complicated than its American (simple, loose, comfy) and European (sophisticated, high fashion) counterparts, and I think, this aesthetic bleeds in its art world as well. The prevalence of Manhua/Manga/Japanese anime is existent (slightly annoyingly) in too many art forms. Cuteness is overrated, and dreamy is a mindset, all of this contribute to a certain tone of "naivete." I think that's what Rice reminds me of, an unabashed celebration of youth and "naivete." US magazines tend to have a tilt-your-head professional feel to them, but a lot of the mainland magazines literally scream "written and made by your peers." Who are talented, no doubt, there's never been a lack of talent in China for the last 5000 years (as always, who to follow and what ideal to follow is the problem).
Which was why... I had a semi-anxiety attack yesterday on "what the hell am I doing here?" Not because I don't love it, it is precisely because I love this place, and have consciously made a decision that, that's it, I'm staying here, did the problem arise. The competition here really is fierce. It's a type of fierce that I didn't feel in New York. It's a tangible fierce in which you're not only fighting talent, fighting to stand out, but you're fighting the logistics. You're fighting the fact for everything you can do, there's probably countless number of people who can do it as well, better even. The game here then, is not only do you have to be good, you've got to push, you've got to learn about how human relationships here work, because it's a beautiful and complicate mess, you've got to let yourself stand out. Same in New York, I just never actually worked up to the level of competition, to actually feel the competition, I think. But despite rumours, I do think New York is a benign place. I think China, well, China is colder.
Especially these past few days without heating. 冷的让人发抖, 冷的在家穿手套,冷的想死了算了。Got emails from Lacey and Haley: P.S. That free bread was the shit!!! and definitely one of the best-cant-remember-which-year
Dear Minako, Can I please drop out of school? I think we should do it. Today I saw a set of Chinese chess sitting on a table, lit by the orange street lamps. They glowed cinematically - the harsh strokes of SOLDIER, the curves of HORSE, reds and greens illuminated like some movie set in Shanghai a century ago. Then my iPod cues in 陈升's 鱼说,and I swear I almost broke down, tears and all, Minako! Tears and tears and memory and future and what's left what's left if not here, Minako?
But I don't know if I've earned it. Thing is, I don't think I've earned it. Thing is, I hate being the "return-from-abroad-spoiled-rich-girl." I hate it because I know that's what I am. I know I haven't clawed my way through elementary, middle school, high school exams. I know I haven't suffered from not being able to find a job that so many undergrads face. I know I wasn't born in the rural villages where that 680yuan I just spent on a gym/yoga/hip-hop class can buy so many meals and education for so many. Am I guilty? No, I just feel like I haven't earn it, that's all.
Because it's weird, to be on the lower middle class for ten straight years in America, to be on free lunch, no insurance, to roam one apartment after another, to earn your own scholarship and your own education, to suffer through it, and to earn it, it's dignifying. Then suddenly, you find yourself catapulted to the upper class here on your parents' money and legacy, and you think, what are you without them, what can you do, what are you worth?
Which is why, I need to find a job. Guiming asked me today, how much are you spending a month? And I pause, and I tell him honestly that I have no idea, but it's probably a scary number, especially because they all come from father. Now sure I have my reasons for lavishness. By being in China I'm saving a shitload of money I would otherwise spend on living on Granville, Ohio. My school is giving me money to be in China. But it's still... wrong, very very wrong somehow. Which is why, we're gonna find a job, between school, and the gym, and the writing, and the boy.
As for the jobs, there are many and very few options.
Option #1: Teach English Pros: Pays so very well Pros: Not tiring at all Cons: I don't want to speak English, at all Conclusion: Not gonna happen, unless it's to teach for friends.
Option #2: The dishes, waitress, store clerk, cafe type Pros: Dig dirty and deep to the "real" China? Cons: Tiring. Pay not well. Cons: I WILL SUCK AT IT. Conclusion: I actually really want to get a regular manual job, but I don't think I'm good enough... such a klutz, and these would want long hours... and Guiming actually scoffed and said, "you don't know how tiring those jobs are."
Option #3: Not gonna say... hahaha. I just got a number and called today and got an interview. No jinx! It may be that this wouldn't work out at all, but if it does... that would be nice.
BUT I FORGOT. I HAVE TO GO TO THAT INTERNSHIP.... SHITEEEE. Where be time. Where be time?
I asked Ayae the other day (she just got back from studying in the UK) whether she liked the USA or UK better, and she replied: Japan. Hahahaha... that's Asians for ya.
我拼命吸气,但只有一点空气吸进身体，那空气似乎并不是通过口腔和鼻孔,而是从胸前的一个小孔中流出来的。我的腰麻木得不能动弹，心脏一阵阵绞痛，太阳穴的血管膨胀着，无规则地怦怦乱跳。闭上眼睛，我觉得整个身体在被温存的爱抚，又像涂在汉堡包上的奶酪一样正在融化。我的体内分裂成级冷的部分和带有热量的部分， 它们回旋着，像试管中的水和油块。 村上龙《近似无限透明的蓝色》 Finished October 11-22
"摇滚、吸毒、群居、暴力、飞车、堕落的青春" (sex, drugs, violence, rock n' roll, misspent youth etc.) is somehow appropriate motifs for the moment. Don't ask and I won't tell, not that there is anything to tell, actually. It's a matter of state of mind, rather. Not that there is anything going on there, either. Sometimes I think I need to stop being infatuated/attracted to the shifty characters in life. I'm not sure they are actually more interesting. Living like this can be tiring though. Life becomes a collection of notes and notices. Lately, I feel like every conversation is a research point, like I wish people would just hand me the abridged version of their life and interests on a effing facebook profile or something. But I'm not actually whining... I'm actually, pretty productive, pretty happy, pretty in love, not really on the last bit, I don't think, but it's fun to say, not fun to regret, so let's cut that in half.
My hairdresser called this time instead of text msg to remind me to get my hair treated. Ring tone scared me nine in the morning cuz nobody calls cells in this country unless it's an emergency. "Qing Qing, why are you always forgetting? What are you doing today?" So far he's blown me off twice to sit down and chat because he's works thirteen hours a day and six days a week, either that or he actually doesn't love me, but I honestly think he is busy, and I honestly need his story, just because... I don't know, youth, hippies, skateboarders, hip-hop, lifestyle, art, hairdressers somehow go well together. He's great. I'll just make him write an autobio while "playing with my hair."
Hey... wasn't this a book review?
Oh, dear Minako, happy birthday, btw.
Reading Almost Transparent Blue is like driving with some reckless, miserable, drunken kid. Every other chapter you endure a 70 mph car crash, only to discover, miserably, that you are still alive, as alive as the fly on the pineapple in the sink. I didn't know half of the drug terms because they were in Chinese, but the early scene of heroine injection is about the closest acquaintance I will ever be with heavy drugs. It's a dirty dirty book. I'm not sure I liked it. I did like the shock factor, the type of visceral, caught off guard, he did fuckin' what, mouth hanging open shock values that have made me grown as a person, methinks. It's the type of experience that you wonder about, like yesterday when Wengang Ge cursed from the bottom of the floor to the top, throwing his coat with so much force and fury against the wall. When quiet people go berzerk, you wonder... you just wonder... Except it made me wonder what it must be like to live in an abusive home, how one must grow numb. Anyway, men are scary, can be, I wouldn't one screaming or hurting me ever, that is all.
Reading Almost Transparent Blue isn't always as raucous as rock music though. The book is interluded with mute, ambiguous scenes of the narrator with Lily. I once said books are driven by characters, this is true in most places, and it's true here. The problem with ATB is, I couldn't sympathize with any of the kids, however many there are. Six? Seven? But maybe Murakami was going for a blurred youth nameless faces type of effect, but I didn't like the narrator.
It's hard to write a narrator based on yourself, I suppose. No matter how hard one tries, the danger of narcissism always slips in. Murakami Ryu's Ryu is a cloudy narrator. He's more narrator than 1st person storyteller, and though that makes him more distant, less biased, somehow it makes it all the worse because it makes his persona seems cold, distant, lost. And we know coming of age (or never coming of age, for that matter), or lost is what he is, but it's frustrating because the other characters unwittingly surround him, reflects off of him, and the reader too, is dancing around him, wishing he would wake up, Ryu, wake up, do something, don't just stand there, do something, Ryu.
There was one scene that was classic Japanese manga/cinema. One of the kids, after beating up his girlfriend viciously, slits his wrist. "Now you know how I feel about you," he says to her. To which she replies, "Toshiyama, we're going out to eat. It's noon already and nobody's eaten yet. If you want to die, go die alone, go outside and go die alone, don't bring trouble for Ryu." Insert deadpan Japanese girl voice.
Hmmm... but I don't remember her name, don't care for her name, maybe that is okay.
Hmm... well, moral of the story, know your limits. ;)
10.1 - 10.7 的狂 Life's so prettay i dun even miss anything.
a sea of red and army green
three greats: zhang chu, xie tian xiao's sudden appearance playing backup guitar (FAINT)... and zhang chu's hippie guitarist
old school
new school?
情侣
there it is!
well, it is the BEER and rock festival... early in the mornin'
caffeine
古琴大师
too hot
look, it's ge you with dreads....
i love these two. they are very benign looking...
look at that boy... just look at him. damn.
buyi~!
my autographed copy of XTX's I Don'T LOVE YOU rawwrrrr
by sasha
girl rocker...
...and funniest picture ever...
Okay, the upside, my Chinese is certainly getting better. The downside, my English is certainly getting worse. Like um, writing in English is actually hard now. This has to be the hardest entry I've ever written. Christ. Understandable. But. Too fast too fast. 草样年华II by 孙睿 Finished September 21-26
过去，我们大学生是大熊猫。 现在，成了被遗弃的接头野猫。
I gave myself a limit of two weeks a book, which means. After plucking a couple of never-heard-of bestsellers with nice covers and anecdotes at the local book store, I've arrived at the junction of being a book wiser, a few Chinese characters richer, and a stomach full of fury. It might seem like having finished a book a week and two days before the set two week limit is a testament to the quality of the book. It actually means having thoughts of "okay, that's it, I'm not reading this shit" after every chapter, but I've made some sort of a mental vow to finish every book I start here. But with all its bestselling and grabber - "a classic novel read by over 10,000,000 college students," 《草样年华 》falls not only short, but flat on its face, so flat if it ain't flat enough I want to punch the author's face flat myself for wasting trees, ink, and not to mention, my time. But it's not the time I'm worried about at this moment. Time I've got. It's the sheer amount of unhappiness and LACK of escapism this book provides.
Then again, contemporary Chinese lit, if nothing else, is always a slap in the face.
But this book lacks the spirit and soul of Lu Xun. It lacks the bones - a theme, a message, a point, and all that is fine, just fine, except satire only goes so far before wit become sour and then dour, and I swear I've never hated more a protagonist, a supporting cast, and the one with the guiding hand - the author.
Why the hate? Worse yet, why the apathy turned to hate because I'm so entirely apathetic toward the well-being of every individual in the book (and this, ladies and gents, is how you know a novel fails, complete and utter apathy). Well, the bits and the pieces of the book are all promising. It starts out sharp as we meet the narrator, or rather, the narrator's mind. It's a brilliant bird view introduction that glides through the social and economic changes of China from the observations of a recent college grad. He dips in the soulless, capitalist markets of new China, makes sarcastic comments, talks about the ills of getting into and going to grad school, makes scathing comments, reflects on his roommates in college, expatiates on his ex-girlfriend... makes more world weary remarks. The beginning was nothing if not sharp, and if it were reduced to an essay just then, all would have been okay, I would still have hope for twenty-somethings writing books in China. Unfortunately, the book ended when the expository is finished and the story began.
I think that's the main problem with this popular genre of fiction (愤世嫉俗？ A mix of world weary youth disillusion / black humor? A most unfortunate execution wrought from coming of age syndromes?) written by the doomed after-80ies generation. The book ends when the story begins. They should all just write articles with sharp commentary, instead of dragging it on and on for 250 pages and sagging the minds of their readers. Or maybe, twenty-something year olds just don't have enough stories.
What is the story? Well, there is no story, no good story, no salvageable story. If we try to pinpoint a linear story. It's a recent college grad from an mediocre university still very much in love with his ex-girlfriend who is in France got hit on by some random chick who knew him when he was in a band in college and they went out on the ground that if his ex-girlfriend in France came back he would be back with her and then goodie she did come back and he went back with her but the new girlfriend won't give him up and tries to break the old relationship, but that didn't work, but in the end the protagonist and his girlfriend broke up anyway for miscellaneous, stupid reasons.
The most memorable parts of the book are not any twists in the plot or ANY, and I repeat ANY OF THE CHARACTERS. In fact, all the characters are smart but trying, jaded and bloated, and very very annoying. The most memorable parts of the book are when the narrator reflects on a nut or a bolt of the college experience, but even those are overshadowed by the tinge of cynicism that drowns any credibility he has.
But honestly, even writing about this book makes me unhappy.
Next up, Murakami's After Dark is already translated into Chinese. It is considerably more difficult. Why do I feel like a 汉奸？
Last time saying this, but I would give anything for an imagination, anything to pick up an interesting news bit, a bizarre murder case, and be able to weave, elaborate, embellish it into a coherent story with characters and denouements. but I can't, and I envy those who can, as i try to make a story deadline (next Friday is it? bang bang). The tragedy of nonfiction is also that, due to my poor social skills to anything not handed to me, I am lacking in the department of human interaction. That is, i've had plenty of interaction with nurses and doctors in the last two weeks, but alas... other than maybe a paragraph on just how Chinese Chinese hospitals are, i can't see a redeeming point. Unless i do some social-critique type of essay... then I've plenty of material, but I'm afraid Gao Xingjian beat me to it. i must be too Westernized if I'm thinking like Gao too, all respect, but unfortunately no one respects him here, but then the fact that I don't like (but respect) Chinese literature in the past 100 years doesn't bode well for that. so instead, i bought Kafka on the Shore in Chinese instead, along with three other contemporary contemporary Chinese novels that looks of interest, and here is my philosophy, if you've no stories pelting in your direction, then enter the world of fiction. Diminutive homework from my classes help this, and so I'm setting myself with a rigorous self-study schedule that includes writing many characters and finishing novels in two weeks and churning out stories no many how painful it is. whether I succeed or not is a matter of perseverance, but by god, I'm a New Yorker, and that's the end of it.
qing qing: Do you think I should get my hair done with poofy dreadlocks like hers?Hairdresser #1 (blowing dry my hair): Will your old man let you?! qing qing: Sure! Why not. Hey, hey (yelling to Guiming, my hairdresser), what do you think about me getting a hair bomb dread lock style? Guiming: Uh, yeah, sure, maybe when you graduate. (dismissive)
My hairdresser envisions that I grow out my hair, above-waist length, straight and shining black. He's hip and somehow paternal. He's probably between 27-32. We could never date because he says I'd be too independent for him. Well, maybe it's just we can't marry because he says he has to be the man of the house. I once dated somebody who said "of course I'm dating you so we can get married someday. I mean, isn't that the point?" and I was stunned to death.
The stereotype of the southern Chinese man - dark, short, not good-looking, industrious, and spoils his wife. Today must have been the 50th time that I've seen a boy with a girl on the back of his bicycle, and I wondered, just a little, if I could be like that, ever. I ride my bike like it's the end of the world, looking like a 小子(punkass boy). I'm close to getting to ride it with no hands. I believe I wear heels only to curb whatever wants to break out of me.
Hairdresser #1 today says I'm lucky. I think I see it in the eyes of a lot of people after they learn I lived in America for the past 10 years. But he... he didn't really care for green cards. He shrugged about America, and says,
"you're lucky you can go to school. A lot of people can't afford to go to school these days." "Do you mean college?" "No, I mean all of it." "In cities or rural areas?" "I mean everywhere."
And for a moment, when our eyes bumped in the mirror, I wondered if he wondered that I wondered if he didn't get to go to school as a kid. Their eyes make me feel spoiled sometimes. Here, in the land of haves and havenots, where fake brands sell across the street from 3000yuan Levi jeans. I'm the kid pampered by mum and dad. I have a laptop and speakers. I... I don't know. Social classes suck. I don't want to feel like I belong in the upper-middle strata. Is that stupid?
One of the guys at the hair place who never does anybody's hair, but like, say, today, he ordered somebody to do somebody's hair, and he opened the locker with my bags in it when nobody else could... I think he's the boss. I am fairly very attracted to his face. He's not good-looking, no no. Rather, he always looks somewhat miserable, agitated, half-hearted. His eyes would scan the place in intervals, but never resting, like he wants to go somewhere but he's perpetually shut in this box. I'll give him an age between 30-35, to be kind, and yet, yet yet yet, along with the great sorrow that aging may wrought upon us, his chin curves gently, and his eyes are soft dole black stones. In another day and age and different circumstance, he can probably pass for a introverted intellectual, poems by candlelight and candlelight by mood, but today he is impatient, today he is waiting for something to happen. That's when I catch his eyes, looking at him looking at me looking away.
Actually, I think the new Timberlake album is fly. If it was 2:30 songs instead of 4:30 ones. If it didn't vomit JT had the hottest producers and beatmixers working for him. But hey... apparently collaboration is in. I dig it.
别动! 你已经被祝福包围,马上放下烦恼,向快乐投降,你所有的忧愁,将被全部没收,并判你幸福一百年,流放到开心岛, 由好运监督执行. Cutest text message I've ever gotten. Hei hei. Let me take back some harsh words and say... I've had a really good class today, learned a lot. Chinese college education might be okay, just don't take classes with international kids, poor babies.
Facebook is really starting to creep me out.
Finding a good man is hard.
I live on the sixth floor of the six story building, so when the wind is whistling the wind is really howling like a beast. I'm made of air cuz I'm airy and I'm oblivious to everything unless you wave it in front of me, and so I love wind, but this wind is wind-packed with dust and makes my eyes kinda weary. But I am home on a short interlude before I am off to Lei Lei's. Much has happened, this updating everyday thing won't work, but I am committed to thorough factual updates lest I forget. So... What's happened?
- I spent a ding-load of money at a beauty salon, accidentally. Chinese saleswomen are truly impressive. You go in for a massage on your mother's card and comes out with a year's membership. Fu.....cuk.
- Mind how you pick your hairdresser, because in my experience, they are the it people to get you on-board, which is primarily the reason why I abandoned Bing Bing for a new place near Carrefour. Bing Bing was good for some fringe underground rock n' roll scene in China, and I reckon I can call him up no prob, but I need a younger crowd cuz I'm vain like that. So settled on chance at some hair solon called Beauty Workshop, typically hip crowd of young hairdressers and stylish mirrors. Made friends with the one with the nice designer glasses and hot hot tattoo. Oohhh, superficiality, how I love thee. I am at the moment, very always willing. heheh.
- Spent the afternoon with Xin. She's never had Starbucks, so brought a frapuccino in all is 32yuan glory (fuck when did Chinese people get so rich? This is RIDICULOUS, what kind of drink can be 32yuan in China?) for her. She is sweet as before. What a darling.
- Classes in general. Chinese universities need help. Some classes here are absolutely weak. Took a class on literary theory and the professor mumbled on and on about how we need literature. Well, no shit Sherlock, hence we are paying tuition to listen to you drone. Moving on. Somehow this came to involve diagrams that makes no sense whatsoever. Okay, now I'm just mean. It's not that bad actually, especially what with all the Korean international students buzzing in the back in Korean, Gucci, and Anycall. /sarcasm
- Speaking of which, the Gucci song amuses me
Some guys dress their own way Some guys look all the same Some guys just look OK The Gucci man looks hotter every day
... [Chorus] Girls screaming Gucci Oh my God, it's the Gucci guy-he's a heartthrob! If you like what you're seeing Wave your arms - Gucci Shook the States plus Milan The G is fo Gucci And not for game If you're not wearing Gucci You're one of the same Gotta stay calm, hear me out Gucci - that's what the world is all about
and what a world, what a world it is
- Lei Lei can dance. I'm waiting to go clubbing with her, my little baby all grown up.
- The Forbidden City is being sued at the moment, by a tourist who thought it wasn't fair that there was no labeling of what parts of the palace was under renovation.
- The media/paparazzi is under fire for sneaking pictures of one of the TWINS (Hong Kong pop group) while she was changing backstage at concert. There's no law protecting either side (aside from the "moral law"). The government is debating where to draw the line for media freedom. Kinda ironic. Heheheh.
- The tofu here is Amaaazing, as are cucumbers, when eaten raw
- The Monkey King is pretty much on 24/7
- My foot is asleep sleep sleep
- Some Chinese men can be leechy pansies
- I'm sorry, God. I know this is stupid. I miss Olive.
- I am hotter. HAHAHAHA... urm. 自恋.
- Getting rid of my tonsils. Chinese herbal medicine is very very bitter.
- Overall, I am really quite happy, despite being semi-friendless (despite getting new phone numbers somehow everyday), despite can't breathe and impending sickness, despite worrying about the "state of China," despite annoyed that I lost my notebook goddammit. There are problems here, and that makes it all the more worth being here.
Attempting the impossible and the ridiculous, I plan on keeping a diary of some sort here--like, hopefully, a 70% stats, 30% commentary type of journalistic/reflective endeavor, while writing some, writing... urgh, fiction. Anyway, re-cap on the last three days. Beijing, China - Day 1 (082806)
- Plane delayed for a day in Chicago - Stayed at hotel, met people - Got to Beijing around 11 - Got to Tianjin around 1:30 due to getting lost - Slept from 15:00-3:00
I know where mama got her temper when third Auntie opened her mouth and yelled. The first day in Beijing is gray. It's gray like the newly built buildings, sleek and modern and flashing with giant, vertical red banners that scream how so and so real estate company is making your home and community a garden of a paradise to live in. Every apartment complex here is compared to Babylonian gardens. They might have a chance, if they are able to pierce the thick wall of cloud pollutants more paradise lost than regained. It's so gray the trees look like they did in 1995, matte gray, gray through a memory filter. We were driving and we kept getting lost and honked at. There's a few stray bicyclists looking out of the era. There's a taxi drive taking a piss off the side of the road.
We're driving and we kept getting lost. Tough it out, cookie.
I'm afraid my hypochondriac tendencies are, if we could adequately borrow the terror alert system, at a red. It's a bit on the scary side. I would like it to stop so that I can resume to be the foolhardy, gullible, idealistic girl that I am.
Beijing is somehow ugly and unfamiliar looking like a game not worth saving on Sim City.
There's towering condos everywhere, and everywhere billboards and banners shout mercilessly.
Me? I just don't wanna die. Hahaha.
There was a car accident on the way back. It flipped to its side and scattered packages of letters over two lanes. The driver's walking around without a shirt on. He's got his shirt pressed to the side of his head, where blood oozed and trickled out. I kept on wishing the police car we're chasing in front of us would give us a ticket, because we sure was going at insane speeds swiveling from car to car enough to make me wish the seatbelt in the back of the car would actually work.
It's just, I don't wanna die.
Tianjin, China - Day 2 (082906)
- Chatted from 3:00-6:00 on QQ - Went to Grandma's @ noon - Went to hospital in the afternoon for that tonsil problem - Got shot twice - Shopped @ Carrefour, massive 20:00 lines
Today I got shot (by a needle). I fainted for about 10 seconds to gray haze -heart sped up, ears imploded, eyes to zombie death, a group of nurses ushered around me and led me to bed, "Are you okay? Are you okay? Tell us what's wrong, what do you feel? Can you hear with your ear? shi bu shi er ming la?" To which I moan in confusion, "er ming shi shen me yi si?" Death I wantednto say, before I regained conscious in my fingers and gripped them strong against the bedpost--death. 10 seconds later I was okay, but all the doctors think I've lost my head. "Zen me bu zhi dao er ming shen me yi si?" What does she mean she doesn't know what er ming means?
Oh, she just got back from America. She lived there for 10 years. Auntie explains. Oh, guai bu de. (Oh, no wonder) One doctor quips. "Zhang de zhen nai ren-er ne!" She is very cute! Another nurse quips. "Shi ah, hen jun ah," and another adds.
And I almost fainted again.
Tianjin, China - Day 3 (083006)
- Went to Western medicine hospital - Went to visit brother - Went to Chinese medicine hospital - Went to Carrefour again to buy more junk - Fell asleep from 17:00-21:30 again...
I love this place two to three o'clock in the afternoon--when the cars are wearier and roads breezier and I'm crisscrossing traffic like a fish in a stream, slice and dicing my way around.
There's this one little kid that made my day. He was going upstream, on a red light, curving between taxis and bikes. He's on a skateboard. He makes an ollie. He's a shrimp of a little thing disappearing into the crowd.