I am back! to clarify, I went somewhere! SomewhereS. a month-long sabbatical in hong kong and America (NYC and Nashville).
the trip was exactly what I needed, but I’m sure I’d say that about any holiday I went on. Still, it feels good to actually be back in china again. I’ll make sure to recalibrate my opinions once the vacation high has worn off. But in retrospect, this isn’t how this usually goes. I recall returning after my Christmas holiday and feeling pretty damn low. any other time I’ve come back to china, I’ve had the “I just returned from vacation” depression.
I suppose the conditions of my return are different this time. I’ve come back to a city that I know I’ll be leaving. Which means all the bad associations will also be left behind. Even though I don’t even see the horrible people anymore, the fact that I’m sharing this polluted air with them kills me a little bit daily. Yay for melodrama! And hatred! This badness and a proactive (if delayed) move away from it, more than anything else in my career or my life in recent years, is important. So even if it’s a mere 2-hour-fast-train sidestep to Chengdu, moving there still feels significant, and it’s something that I am demonstrating control over. being in control is important for me. And escaping toxicity, even if it’s been reduced to mere vapors at this point.
On a more positive note…(there’s something I don’t usually say. I’m usually perfectly content wallowing) I came back to people who actually missed my company. Before that I’ve only had jules and rory. This time I was missed by people I’m not even related to! I might go so far as to call them friends! that’s a big step.
Moving to Chengdu means I’m financially stable enough to rent a new apartment. It also means I have the freedom to pick up and leave, without permission from a school or the signing of a contract required to set things in motion. Freedom feels nice. It’s a little daunting, but ultimately an overwhelmingly positive phenomenon.
Moving on…I’ve run the past 4 days. I’m using this verb “run” generously, as I’d say a more accurate statement would be “I’ve struggled. In gym clothes and heat on a treadmill.” planning on going to the gym again tomorrow. Small spurts—I’m just starting. But i’ve always admired how physically fit my dad is. I would like to emulate that. It’s difficult at this point for me to run more than 10 minutes at one time, but I decided I would like to 1) be a more active human. my body is a temple?; 2) have a body that I wouldn’t be ashamed of in a "swimming costume." It feels silly to admit something so “girly” but I don’t really give a shit. I find that motivation is best when it’s a mixture of the superficial and the valid. Also helps when you have nothing else going on in your life. When I’m actually teaching again, I’ll make sure to impart these nuggets o’ wisdom upon my students. Body image issues are eternally and profoundly motivating! Nervous laughter.
So my legs hurt. But I think I might actually continue with this. right now it’s the fact that I have absolutely nothing to do during the day. I could further cultivate some hobbies, but I’d like to actually follow through on something. For some reason, physical exercise seems the most likely? Before the holiday, I was studying for DELTA. now I’m in limbo before the next module starts. So I’ve cooked a lot and gone to the gym a lot. I say “a lot”, but I’ve only been back for a little over a week. I even sketched some shit today, and tuned my guitar. I didn’t play anything, just tuned it. no wonder I never move beyond the few songs I can barely butcher. Probably won’t try to actually paint anything until I get to a place where I plan on staying for a while. Apartment hunting in Chengdu next week. I hope it yields a place that’s cheap and very me. I don’t know what that means exactly, other than “with some help from IKEA, this place could look nicer.” We shall see.
But vacation. Let’s get to that. What got me writing in the first place. I spent a week in hong kong initially. I didn’t really think of this as vacation. I’ve been there a few times before. I did distinctly irresponsible/vacation-esque things, but in my mind I was just there to take my test. So I did. I also partied on a boat, went to the horse races, ate at an amazing restaurant called yardbird, and drank copious amounts of stella artois at a professional rugby match. General summary: Booze was had. And in large quantities. I’ll find out about that pesky little test in a few more weeks. Fingers crossed.
Next stop: NYC. Holy shit. When I initially booked my flight[s] home, I was terrified of going to nyc. I’ve travelled in huge cities all over asia where they don’t speak any English and I can’t understand a lot, but somehow the idea of travelling in NYC, where people sort of have to speak English, was significantly more daunting than traveling in Hong Kong or Seoul or Ho Chi Minh City or Fukuoka. I don’t know why. I think it’s the idea that new york is uber-cool. And maybe I’m not cool enough.
Whether I am, indeed, cool enough, remains to be see, but once I got there I realized it didn’t fucking matter. There was this wonderfully diverse mix of cool people, beautiful people, normal people, international people. it’s hard to explain. And a new Yorker would probably think “oh, isn’t she precious. Trying to pinpoint what it is that makes our city so great.” I’m okay with being precious, and with trying to figure out exactly what it is that made me feel completely at ease. I think it’s probably going from extreme homogeneity to its exact opposite. 7 years in asia has given me a hard, dense outer shell. It’s heavy. It’s difficult to put on and take off. New york helped me disrobe, however un-sexily and temporarily. I would say I still haven’t put the shell back on. That’s a very pleasant unfamiliarity.
Being in new york reminded me of all the times people have asked me (as a foreigner abroad) if I’m “proud” to be an American. Which is sort of a funny notion—to be proud of your nationality. As if I had a choice in the matter. But I was proud to be in new york and to sort of obtusely lay any sort of claim to it, or lay claim to it claiming me, this American city in which I was an American. I wanted to own any tiny chunk—the smells, the sights, the subway, the people, the bustle, the tacky souvenirs, the lump in my throat when I saw the spire on top of 1 world trade center—any bits the city could afford to throw my way. I wanted more.
but back to that question of geographical pride. Nyc is not a geographical pride. It’s a state of mind, and a lifestyle, more than anything as vague as a nationality can so inadequately attempt to sum up. If living in new york is people’s choice, then fuck yeah, they should be proud of it. to want to be a part of something so much larger than yourself, but completely undaunted by all the minutiae such macrocosmic “belonging” requires. Or maybe they are daunted. I just chose not to see it.
Um, yeah. I liked it. a lot. Not all was good. Rain. Rain sucked. And the first hostel I stayed in—the bowery house. I had my own “room.” heh heh. Room. that’s a funny concept. A room shouldn’t be a concept, it should be a fucking room. but I knew what I was getting myself into. Anyway. This “room” was a cubicle, basically. My head touched one wall. My feet touched the other. We all had a shared ceiling. So my box had no individual lid, but it had walls. Like an ice cube tray. this was a very very thin wall that separated me from sir-snores-a lot. He really got some good sleep. Because you could hear every congested breath.
The roof was amazing though. a fantastic view of NOLITA. Besides the roof, there were a couple of notes posted on various dorm rooms that said “…imminently perilous to life.” I’m not kidding. Check my flickr photos. When I checked out, there were 2 notes—imminently perilous to life and a big one that said “vacate” in red letters. Maybe they were bluffing, but probably not worth figuring out. when I swung back through at the end of my trip, I stayed in a different area. Much better.
I should mention sites/areas I visited as a tourist. I was a tourist, and there’s no shame in admitting it.
The Guggenheim (twice), the met, the whitney museum, museum of natural history, high line park, Chelsea district, theater district, times square, little italy, Chinatown, west village, grand central station, statue of liberty/ellis island (just the ferry. Wasn’t re-opened yet), piers near high line, comedy show, battery park. Oddly enough, I didn’t do much night life. walking around all day sort of takes it out of you. But I consider this my introductory, just-scratching-the-surface trip. Night life and good food will happen next time. I thought it was important to get my bearings. That’ll help upon my return. And I will return.
I’m probably forgetting something. But it was just me wandering everywhere on the ridiculously convenient subway system. I spent some time with really good friends, too. It’s nice to see that people from what used to be my “group” are successful humans. Makes me feel successful by association.
After navigating new york (and getting myself to the Newark airport) I felt invincible. Shouldn’t that be how I feel navigating in china? I guess I’m just used to it.
On to Nashville. I’d been there once before. Briefly. I believe it was to go to a matthew ryan concert. I don’t remember much else. Honky tonks? A lot of things different this time around. For starters, I remember more. The point of Nashville for me was not necessarily to be a tourist, but rather to observe and be a part of my sister and her husband’s transition to adult life in America. and of course to bond with my parents. Who are both awesome. and happy. That’s the theme of Nashville. People being happy. it was unsettling. It took a while for me to trust my emotional state. Again with the melodrama. That’s how I roll.
Anyhoo, after 6-7 years in china, re-integrating is no easy feat. But jules, rory and Ramona (the dog) seem to be doing well. and more than that, they have professional jobs with real responsibilities. And they’re just happy. With no hitches. In china, it’s “well, I make a lot of money, but it’s china.” Or “well, I live in china, but the money’s shit.” the happiness is sort of conditional here. concessions must be made daily to gently nudge and coerce oneself toward “happiness.” Here it’s reduced to a wounded, gimpy emotion, but i guess I’ll take it.
Happiness seems to require less effort on their parts. It’s certainly less sarcastic. It requires less rationale and justification. Things are easy again. Things like grocery shopping. Or going out in public without being pointed and stared at. You know, the little things. there are blue skies. Trees. Dog parks. Breakfast. Burgers. soup. Craft beer. live music (small black, holy shit!). gratuitous hospitality and banter with strangers. It’s the most relaxed I’ve felt in a very very long time. And I was happy that I got to see these two deserving people forging ahead sans drama, with a trust of humanity in general. That was/continues to be the damaging thing about china. you’re in a constant state of suspicion. Because adults here behave like either superbly “entitled” or superbly naïve children—foreigners and Chinese alike. And it has nothing to do with age.
Seems like this is long enough. For specific details of what I did, I would direct to my flickr page. pictures tend to be more specific and fact-oriented. All of this is just me entertaining myself and being sentimental, as I am wont to do.
