right now

I am in a hostel in beijing, whoring the wifi connection.
A lot has happened in the past weeks.
I promise an update soon.
But let me just whore the free wifi for now.

Spling. Trains. Dalian. Samuel L Jackson's Schlong and some other things.

April 19
Friday
2 pm Beijing Time

TRAINS

I am comfortably seated on a hard seat en route to the coastal city of Dalian. I'm traveling with one of my Chinese buddies, Qiu Min and we're going to Dalian to see our friend Dalton, who currently works there. Two hours ago, I was sitting by the exit window beside the trash bag, while being ashed by passenger smokers {couldn't blame them because Qiu Min and I were at the smoking section of the train which was also the trash section which is also the exit way. Meh}. It was a good thing that me and my Chinese friend were able to find an empty seat during the last stop, or else we would be spending the next eight hours sitting beside cigarette butts, ashes, and the trash bag, oh yeah, not to mention spit {Somebody spat like half a foot away from me two hours ago and I was thankful enough that it didn't ricochet in my direction}

SPLING

Didn't I mention it was spring already? Aaaaahh spling. Just saying it makes me get a boner. My shitsville of a city is so beautiful during springtime. It becomes some place else, almost surreal. Almost like one of the scenes in Kurosawa's Dreams. Greens, blossoms, warm weather, skirts, shirtless dudes. Priceless. People in these areas, both expat and local, start to shed off their winter duds come spring time. You get to see more skin and they start to become more pleasant in your eyes. Even I look more pleasant in springtime methinks.

RUNNING

I've been running lately. It's warm, so I run. Speaking of running, I have this recurring dream that I am running naked in some rice field or wheat field or corn field or something. Weird. It's hardly erotic I think. I mean, imagine yerself, running in your birthday duds with all that flora and fauna getting in contact with yer lil Omar. Talk about chafing yer balls.

RICE FIELD

My train is passing a rice field now. It's one big rice field. I remember the time when I was 17 and I was in the middle of a rice field and under a mango tree . Damn, I was a tweener and horny.

INSTANT NOODLES

I haven't eaten instant noodles/two minute noodles/fanbianmian in months. I only ate some on the train. Maaaaaaaaan it's so good. Thank God for the late Momofuku Ando {the dude who invented instant noodles and I have an entry about him}and for MSG! Mr. Ando, you da man!

DALIAN
12 hours, 3 different kinds of seafood and two and a half cups of instant noodles and a can of beer later...

I just came out fresh from the shower feeling really bloated after eating all that seafood and ramen noodles and I am almost ready for bed. I am billeted in this nice hotel/apartelle room with Qiu Min and Dalton, our host. The hotel {I forgot the name} is somewhat of an apartelle and some people actually time share it or something. Dalton tells Qiu Min and I that his family has a VIP card so we get some discount. He also told us that he heard some moans here and there when he checked our room before he fetched us at the train station. The three of us think that this hotel is a place where good things happen outside of marriage. Sweet.

Our room is sort of like a studio place with two beds, a kitchenette, a shower and toilet, fridge, microwave, mini washer, cable and airconditioning. Pretty nice, like a bachelor's pad. No internet which is a bummer. I still need to do some work and I asked my Chinese friend Dalton if I could get a modem or maybe I could just go to a cafe. He said, “We'll see.” I hope he does see because my boss is gonna kill me.

SAMUEL L. JACKSON'S SHLONG

A while ago, during dinner and cigarette break, Dalton, Qiu Min, and I were watching some cop movie that starred Kevin Spacey and Samuel L. Jackson. Then Qiu Min asked me if I know or have any black friends. I told them yes. Then Dalton asked me if black guys have big dicks. I was like, erm I really dunno dudes. I was tempted to tell them that if I ever do sleep with one I'd be sure to tell them if this popular belief in among Chinese about black men having big shlongs is true. The two were silent and stared back at the tv screen while the movie focused on the wounded Samuel L. Jackson lying on a stretcher in an ambulance while the camera focuses on his police badge which was conveniently placed o

n his crotch. Well, his left pant leg or whatever.

FLIP FLOPS
8 hours later...

I woke up this morning with this odd sensation that I am in somebody else's bed. I am. I open my eyes and stretched in bed and scratched my nuts. I got off of bed and went to the terrace and a view of Dalian greets me. Nice weather. Still a bit chilly but the weather report says that it was gonna be sunny today so I'm optimistic. I showered and debated if I was gonna wear shorts and flip flops. Dalton and Qiu Min found it funny that I should wear shorts and flip flops. The hell should I know that it was still gonna be cold in Dalian during this time of year. I mean, I live further up north and it was like Miami already. 30 degrees Celsius. The highest temperature in Dalian was 21. I actually did know, but I was stubborn and still took my shorts and flip flops {which I borrowed from my friend Davin}. The two of them told me to wear something warmer, like a jacket and a pair of jeans. I had jeans but I didn't bring my jacket. I decided to wear denims and flipflops and brought my back pack along with Consuelo {my laptop} and my shorts. I told myself “Fuck this, I didn't borrow these flops and brought along me shorts for nothing! I'm gonna be wearing them even if I freeze to death!”

THE HAIR IN OUR SWEET AND SOUR PORK
1 hour later

The three of us are seated in a Chinese restaurant which Dalton and Qiu Min tell me, is a fairly popular restaurant all over China. It even has several branches in Dalian. I think we were the first customers for the day because when we entered they were still cleaning the toilets and some of the staff still had sleep on their faces. We got ourselves a table ordered. We waited for quite a bit. We did small talk that mostly consisted of what was on the docket for the day. Dalton was taking us to this theme park which was OK by me though I would've just preferred to chill on the beach and drink bear and smoke fags and sleep. But Dalton said that it still wasn't good to swim around this time of year, so I relented. So there we were waiting for our brunch that consisted of some nasty looking mutton soup, eggplants, and sweet and sour pork and three bowls of rice. When it came we ate. Then Dalton noticed something. HAIR. I dunno if it's human hair but there's hair, on our sweet and sour pork. He calls the waiter. The waiter denies it was hair. It was prolly some remnant of some chemical reaction between the vinegar and the pork fat and the spices and shit but it wasn't hair. Dalton asked if he could talk to the manager. The waiter said something that I didn't understand, but it was quite clear to me that we weren't gonna be able to talk with the manager. Dalton asked the waiter what they were going to do about it. The waiter said he didn't know. Dalton said “You better do something about it”, in a firm but polite voice. The waiter excused himself. The three of us looked at the hair and then at each other. I placed the haired sweet and sour pork on a tissue put it aside just in case the jury wanted evidence. Since the waiter's would most likely not do anything about it, we concurred that we eat the wretched sweet and sour pork. So we ate. I focused on the pineapples and the bell peppers.

We did get a discount however. Like a dollar fifty. Meh.

THE BEACH. THE OCEAN THEME PARK WITH CLOWNS THAT ROCK AND ROLL, AND WITH A CHICKEN AND A CONDOM FOR MASCOTS
2 hours later

After the sweet and sour pork. I asked Dalton and Qiu Min if I could have an hour at the coffee shop so I could finish up some work. We found a coffee shop with adequately priced coffee and awesome Internet connection. After that we headed up for the Lover's Lane in Dalian which is basically a nicely manicured road on a hill where most newly weds drive their cars for pictures and shit. We were not the only ones walking, there were a good number of tourists and locals trying to enjoy the nice warm weather. We took some pictures along the way. I saw a castle along the way which turned out to be Dalian's Shell Museum. It looked so out of place and it looked like it popped out from a Brother's Grim fairy tale. Then I saw the beach. I asked Dalton and Qiu Min if we could stop by for a while. Dalton said yes, but for a while {he's a take charge kinda guy}. So we did. I finally got to wear me shorts! Booya. The entrance was 2 yuan which was ok. There was quite a crowd there too. I wanted to swim but the water was freeeeeeezing. Three of us did try to soak our feet a coupla times or more but it was freeeeeeezing. Meh. I wish that my city was by the bay. Well, at least I get to wear shorts in Dalian. And flip flops too.

Speaking of flip flops. They're killing me. Davin warned me that they hurt his feet when he wears them. Stupid me didn't listen because I thought they looked so hot in my feet {they do} and decided to borrow them from Davin. My feet look hot but they started complaining after two hours with the motherfuckers. What sucks was that I had to wear them for the whole day since I left my shoes at our hotel room.

3 hours later
The flipflops are still killin my feet. But at least I look hot in them.

We're in the Ocean Theme Park. The tickets were $27 US {which I find too expensive. Meh, I'm Asian so sue me}. It's pretty OK tho. It has shitloads of giant aquariums/aquatic museums, dolphin shows {no Orca's just flippers}, park rides {which you still had to pay for despite of the $27 ticket!}, and other attractions like a bird sanctuary and bungee jumping {which you also had to pay. I wanted to do it but I didn't bring enough money with me... Sucks being poor on holidays! I wonder if there's a Do-It-Yourself Bungee kit?}.

I didn't bother watching the dolphin show because I saw dolphin shows on TV already. So I just wandered around the aquariums while Dalton and Qiu Min and the rest of the park goers were watching flipper do the hula. I just realized that it really feels good to be the only person in an aquatic museum. I feel some sort of connection with the belugas, the sharks, the walruses, the sea turtles, the sea lions and the polar bears who are inside a Plexiglas cage. Or maybe it's just me. I took my time in the aquariums. Then the show finished so I had to meet up with Dalton and Qiu Min.

The theme park has cute staff members tho which is a plus. I just love men that smell of fish. Erm, forget that I said that. I mean it.

DONUTS
4 hours later

The three of us found this place that sell donuts. It turned out to be the same coffee shop chain that I went to this morning. The donuts we're nothing miraculous but they were close to home. I came in my pants eating two caramel glazed donuts. I was in an orgasmic daze while the three of us were walking towards the market where Qiu Min was supposed to buy his starfish {don't ask me why}. They could tell I came in my pants. Donuts.

BULGOGI - GOD'S GIFT TO KOREANS
2 hours later

The three of us met up with Dalton's girlfriend, Scarlet. I gave her the name Scarlet because she wanted an English name and her Chinese name meant “deep red”. She had been using the name “Scarlet” for almost two years but with the wrong spelling thus the wrong pronunciation. SCOWLLEN , which was really kilometers away from Scarlet. But whatever. I'm in China.

Bulgogi. Is. God's. Gift. To. Korean-kind.

And to me.

I love Bulgogi.

Bulgogi rocks.

I had a hard on while eating it.

I'm having a hard on just writing about it.

SEA URCHINS. INSTANT NOODLES, YET AGAIN
12 hours later

I Have consumed my 5^th instant noodle. And I seriously think I should be off of it for a while. I dunno how much MSG my body could handle. Dalton made Qiu Min and I eat sea urchins. Raw. Like a sea urchin cut in the middle with its innards showing and its spikes still movin. Trying to summon my inner macho man {Village People style yo}. I poured vinegar on the sea urchin and scooped up the yellow slimy substance that I was supposed to eat. It wasn't bad. Though I would've liked it cooked. I washed my mouth with instant noodle soup. I can still taste the slime. I think I need to drink mouthwash. Or vodka. I think I'm gonna go vegetarian for a coupla days or so.

TRAINS. MY GAYDAR UPGRADE

5 hours later.

I'm on the train. A sleeper train, thank God. I'm finishing up this blog entry. Qiu Min is sleeping. I'll be arriving in Changchun at 4.30 in the morning. Then I go straight to work.

I just finished texting a friend of mine in Changchun. Turns out that my gaydar is fucked up. I don't know who's gay and who's not not unless they have rainbow flags and an NBC logo on their foreheads. I seriously need an upgrade. Looong Story and I'm waay to knackered to write, meh. That's another blog entry.

CHILLIMANJARO.... Weather. Holidays. and My Friend Stu the Stripper.

I'm naming this blog entry Chillimanjaro. I dunno how I came up with the word, but I like it. It kinda sounds like Mt. Kilimanjaro and chill. A mountain of chill. Booya. I'm in chillimanjaro mode right now. Omar is chilling like a leftover tv dinner in yer mom's fridge.

I just love wireless by the way. I'm writing this blog entry in my bathroom. Wendy is in the living room watching some movie. She prolly thinks I'm jerkin off to porn.

The weather in my part of the Noodle Kingdom has been super freaky recently. Like yesterday it was nice and sunny. But when I went to work today it was 2 degrees! 2 degrees!!!!!!! Global warming yo.

The May Holidays are a comin' and I'm planning to go to Beijing to meet { }. I'm sorta psyched. Well, ok, I'm super psyched. { } and I are planning to go to Yunnan Province for a few days. I've been there many summers ago but { } hasn't and he wanted to see the fabled Shangri-la and the Old Town of Lijiang. I'm also going to meet my Chinese friends in Dalian next Friday. I need the sea breeze and warmer weather so I decided to spend next weekend in Dalian. I'm planning to blog in these two places so you will see pictures. I guess I'm bringing Consuelo {my laptop} with me, then.

So much for that.

On to the jucier bits of this blog entry.

I have a friend named Stu {which is not his real name of course as he currently works for an organization of high esteem } who is currently in dire need of extra cash because his current employer is not paying his proletariat ass on time. So, Stu being the creative American of Semitic decent he is, decided to take matters in his own hands. He did what any able-bodied American would do in times of recession - he sought part time work. As he was sending out his CV to various whatnots and shitnots, Stu met my other friend Lily who happened to know of a certain job offer only available this Saturday night. Yep, a one time only job offer of sorts. Should he accept, Stu will be paid 1,000 yuan ( approximately $142) this Saturday night. The only catch is that he has to dance naked to the tune of stripper songs in some Russian bachelorette party. Like I said, Stu being American did it the American way, he booya'd himself and started practicing his moves to various tunes that ranged from Cher to Erasure. Of course, his ever supportive friends from the Noodle Kingdom {Me, Wendy, Lily and Skye} became his guinea pigs. We gave him some pointers, like which songs to pick and what to wear. Among his friends, Lily was the only one who has not experienced being in a strip club {which is ironic since she was the one who got Stu the gig - which technically makes her the pimp. Booya}. I've been in a strip club once... ok twice. OK three times {I'm gonna burn in hell!}. Wendy and Skye have seen a strip show once. Stu has been in a girly bar sucky sucky suck suck one too many. OK, we're basically corrupting Lily here, but hey, she was drunk and she was getting 20 percent commission.

We finally coaxed Stu to perform for us {we were bored and tired of Chinese TV, so yeah } so he went into the kitchen to practice. Then to the bathroom where there was a big mirror. Then to the kitchen yet again. After 40 minutes and like 10 attempts of getting through the second stanza of Peaches' Fuck the Pain Away, Stu finally managed to dance to the whole song.

The verdict.

First, let me say that it was surreal. Who da thunk that one of my friends would actually strip for cash? Good thing I don't have a moral compass. Anyways, the verdict. It wasn't bad actually. He needed practice but his performance wasn't terrible either. Although there was the bit when he almost knocked his Mac during his routine. I was hoping Stu would fart during the performance because it would have been hilarious to actually hear a stripper fart. We did give him one advice though. Well, Wendy and i did. It was all in the hips. Like hips don't lie, yo.

I received a text message while I was typing this entry. Stu got the job. So he's shopping for a thong tomorrow.

Sadly, this is not Stu my readers. I needed a picture of a stripper so I googled one. If this were Stu, I'd be paying him ten dollars for a lapdance {whutcanisayi'mcheap}

I reckon he's pretty excited. I told him to practice and make his friends proud and shit like that.
I'm proud of Stu here for taking matters on his own hands and grabbing it by the balls and all that crap. I seriously doubt he's doing this for the money though { although he does need some extra cash }. I think its more like he's doing this because for the thrill of checking it off his To Do List.

Questions. {** are my answers}

• Would you have the balls {or the ovaries} to do what Stu did?**I would've, honestly. Lily asked my why I wasn't doing it. I said the customers were girls. Now, if the customers were 80 something farts that have trust funds that could adopt 69 Malawi children, then I'd definitely do it!
• Would you strip tease for money or for thrills? ** Both. Meh. I'm greedy.
• Which three songs would you pick for your number? ** BAT OUT OF HELL BY MEATLOAF. 20TH CENTURY BOY {PLACEBO VERSION}. GOOD OLD FASHIONED LOVER BOY BY QUEEN
  

An Open Letter to the Universe

Dear Ms./Mr./Mrs./ {whatever} Universe,

This is the second time that I write a letter addressed to you. The first one was out of innocence, I suppose. Call it juvenile but it was sincere. Now, I find myself writing to you again, inside my kitchen, sitting in front of my laptop while my friends are watching "Gilmore Girls" in the living room {talk about setting the scene... and yes, I think they need intervention... and maybe so do I}.

Why, you ask, am I writing to you for the second time?

Boredom, I suppose?
Instinct?
Solitude?

I really don't know.

I am sure of one thing though. I am writing to you now, not to lament or even to ask for anything in return or any favors or random blessings that you might want to bestow upon me or whatnot. Perhaps I am writing to you because writing is the only thing that grounds me. It keeps me sane. I am shivering as I type the words. I am on my second pack now. I'd like to cry but I can't afford it. Like I told you before, I've never cried genuine tears. Although right now, I wish that I could. I'd give anything to shed raw, unabashed, unfiltered, tears. Salty tears.

You probably have figured it out, Ms./Mr./Mrs./ {whatever} Universe, that your lovechild is not so hot right now. Sad would be the operative word. I wouldn't go as far as existential or ennui or whatever the fuck people call it these days, so I'll stick to plain and simple sad. Yes Universe, your brown child is as sad. Probably sadder than Al Gore was when he lost Florida. And this brown child is waiting for the fucking Nobel Peace Prize that would never come. Salty tears is what he needs right now. Somehow, his brain cells tells him that he shouldn't be expecting any salty tears.

I have always been open to you Ms./Mr./Mrs./ {whatever} Universe. You know everything there is to know about me. You know my addictions, my frustrations, my joys, my desires, my passions. You know what goes inside my cesspit of a head. You know my thoughts. You know about the unwritten stories that I have yet to write and those unsummoned words that I have yet to conjure. I am an open casket to you. You could be my perfect lover but then again, you are the cosmos. And one basic law of nature is that I can never fuck the cosmos. Even fuck it in a good way. Somehow I could never get that through my thick head.

I am an open casket to you Universe.

But to the Other, I am not.

And that has always been my strength and my downfall. I am hidden {yet aren't all your children are?}.

I have always been asked questions about anything that would give them a clue or even a subtle hint about who I really am. I always try to avoid these questions by answering them with some off handed remark or an answer that would at least satisfy their curiosity at some level and yet not reveal anything at all. Call me a cock tease, Universe, but that's the way I was built, I guess {or did you make me that way?}. I guess that's the way I learn to cope with things. That's how I survived. You taught me that, didn't you? I have lived most of my adult life without having to depend on anybody and I take pride on this despite of. I am my own island like you are your own Universe. Like Grandpa Whitman said, "I celebrate myself." You taught me how to celebrate myself. And I thank you for that.

And I have been celebrating myself throughout my adult life. Until you gave me a proposition - a proposition that I couldn't resist - that I can celebrate myself with another. I knew what agreeing with your proposition entailed. After all, you didn't make me stupid. I acquiesced. Here I am. Writing this second letter to you.

One thing that I have realized though, that it is hard to celebrate oneself with another when you have learned to do it all alone for a long time. You didn't tell me that part {then again, why should you}. Why am I sad Ms./Mr./Mrs./ {whatever} Universe? Because I have come to the conclusion that nobody outside of my body can really know me except You. And that fucking hurts. That realization hit my psychic groin like a ton of psychic bricks. The funny thing is that I realized, a long time ago, that I can never fully know somebody because of what the corporeal and the non corporeal entailed. Long ago I realized that I can only have glimpses of the Other in front of me because that's what I can only do. I am contingent. Bound by space, time and the circumstances of my own body. I just never thought it applied vice-versa. Then it hit me. To the Other, I too, am an Other.

And the joke's on me.

You have always been the good teacher. Granted, that I did not necessarily approve of your methods but who am I to question the cosmos? Still I appreciate the education. And I am thanking you for it {probably the reason why I'm writing this}.

You taught me that Living is never easy. Living alone is hard. But I learned that living with the Other is difficult. Glimpses, Universe. Glimpses. These contingent meanings that flood me from all over is what you taught me to desire. So I celebrate{d} the glimpses. I did not settle {and still refuse to settle or think of it as such} for them because those in fact were the only way I understand and appreciate and even love the Other and for the Other to understand and appreciate and love me. It is not is not easy to celebrate these glimpses, especially when you know that they are all you can celebrate and all you can desire. But I celebrate them still even at the risk of me not being celebrated at all by the Other.

You taught me another important lesson though. The lesson of hope.

I can always hope that the glimpses would turn to minute revelations. I can always hope that these elusive glimpses of me and of the Other will become mysteries unfolding. I can always hope that these glimpses will explode to become a cosmos within. Minute revelations are after all, a universe in itself.

Again I ask myself why I write this to you, Universe. I still don't know. If I knew the answer then I probably wouldn't be writing this in the first place. This may not make sense to anybody who reads this but I know it makes sense to you. And to me.

I can only hope right now Ms./Mr./Mrs./ {whatever} Universe. By far, that's the most important lesson you have taught me. Not love, but hope. Because there can never be love without hope. So resolute is that hope that a universe unfolds within a glimpse.

I remain your child,

rufusOmar Bartleby

Omar's Shitty Post { like this is the only one yeah }

So here I am, in Beijing once again, in a coffee shop drinking an atrociously expensive coffee {$4.00 for a cuppa is waaaaay expensivo... ok I'm a cheapskate}. I guess I'm PAYING FOR THE FREE WIRELESS SO I SHOULD NOT COMPLAIN. I'm thinking of something to write right now. Think........ Thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiink........... OK. I guess this would be my shitty post for now.

Ok people, let's talk about shit. How's my shit? Well, I noticed that recently in my daily bowel movements, my shit floats. I guess that's good eh? I read somewhere that if yer shit floats on water it means that yer healthy but if its denser than water then yer in bad shape. So I guess I am in good shape. World! Read this! MY SHIT FLOATS! BOOYA TO THAT!

Okay, enough of my shit. So I'm kinda bored right now. I'm waiting for 9 pm so I could meet up with some friends that I met here in Beijing. Oh yeah, one of my friends in my city is having an operation right now. Nothing major, but still, when you go under the knife, YOU GO UNDER THE KNIFE.

I'm tired

Much has been talked about the recent violence that has happened {and some say still happening, although we will never know} out West of this Noodle Kingdom. I am not writing this entry to make a political commentary or any sort of analysis on the situation at hand, for one main reason - I am tired. I have no excuse and I will make no excuses whatsoever. I am just tired. There will be no rants. If you want to see or hear any, I am sure that there would be a plethora of sites who will be doing that job.

I still think that life is beautiful.

Humanity, on the other hand, is ugly.

A day with Omar {or the one where he gets locked in his own apartment and then bbuys a new microwave}

Wendy & Omar's Apartment
1:30 pm, Beijing time

I woke up at around 9 something {although I set the alarm at 8 something} to find out that I was drooling on my pillow {note to self: change sheets and pillow cases}. I lay prostrate on my bed for a while, thinking about the mysteries of my life and all that crap and why, at 29, I still find myself drooling on my pillow on some mornings. I count one to 69 just to motivate myself and at 68 I was out of my bed stepping on the clothes that I shed last night. For a guy who cleans his floor 10 times a day, I am very lazy when it comes to clothing {I do laundry fastidiously but I just can't seem to force myself to fold shredded clothing}. I squint my eyes and scratch my chest and felt the nicotine patch on my right breast, then I remember that I was quitting cigarettes. And then I also remembered that I smoked six fags {or 8} last yesterday. So much for quitting. OK, I need to lessen my nicotine intake if I still want to reach my forties. I say my personal mantra in my head.

"QUIT THE ORAL FIXATIONS MOFO. BE. AGGRESSIVE. BE. BE. AGGRESSIVE-RESSIVE..."

I go out of my room to find the apartment empty. Wendy has already gone out to work. I have work at 2 pm. I go to the bathroom. I peed. I flushed. I put down the toilet seat {Wendy's an old fashioned girl, so yeah}. I look at the clock and it's almost ten. I stand in the middle of the living room for a while to think.................... I'm a slow thinker in the mornings.............. Breakfast. Fridge, I open and looked at its contents for a second or two and I see soda, beer, fruits, Wendy's leftover mac and cheese. I get Wendy's mac and cheese and nuked it. I eat in silence. I washed the mac and cheese with salted Pepsi with lemon and 3 ice cubes. That hit the spot. Think............. Music. Headphones. Flags. So I did.

A Gordon Lightfoot Remix plays {I've been stuck with Studio 54 since yesterday}. I put on my headphones and held my flags in both hands and danced in my PJ's .

An hour or two passes, feeling exhausted, sweating and panting I decide to take a shower.

Shower. It's like like showering in the Enterprise's Transportation Room. It's enclosed and really small but it keeps the steam and heat inside. I miss my bathtub. I got out and get dressed, psyching myself for work. I still have two hours till work time. I check my email. I noticed that Wendy left an open pack of cigarettes beside the PC, she must have been in a hurry I guess. Should I smoke it? Or shouldn't I? I shouldn't smoke while I'm wearing a patch. Then again I'm not wearing one at the moment. I smoke. I finished the 3 sticks. I looked at my watch and it said 1 pm. I should go to work. I get my coat and keys and opened the door. It doesn't open. I tried again. Still no go. I'm locked. Wendy must've thought that I have left already. Our apartment door is one complicated door. Two keyholes that you have to turn in the opposite direction to open and to close. You can't open the door from the inside once it's locked from the outside.

I'm trapped. In my own apartment. Till 7 pm.

Should I call Wendy? Should I call work?

I called work. I told them the situation and told them that my flatmate was somewhere in West China volunteering for the Peace Corps for the whole week and that the land lady was not going to be back till late afternoon. It's almost believable.

I could use a cigarette right now. But I've already put on a fresh nicotine patch. And there's not a stick left in Wendy's pack.

I stand in the middle of the living room and decided to think ... {I think faster in the afternoons}. What does someone do in a mild crisis like this? I guess there is nothing left to do but react in the most rational way as possible.

Clean.

Wendy and Omar's Apartment
Almost 3 pm, Beijing time

I'm cleaning in my underwear, a ritual that I haven't done ever since I moved in with Wendy. I just realized how I missed cleaning in my plaid boxers. I am more comfortable doing it it "almost naked" and I clean in the flat in all abandonment, with so much gusto and with such resolve like some Nazi sanitation inspector is going to visit my apartment the next day. Funky music techno shit plays in the background. I'm thinking of flagging again but I need to clean. I'm also doing my laundry.

Wendy's cat, Taibshie, eyes me suspiciously thinking that I might fuck something up. He keeps hissing at the mop like it's his nemesis or something. I try to pet him but he attempts to scratch me. We used to be very close. I dunno what happened. Perhaps he thinks I am taking Wendy away from him.

I was trying to clean the microwave and I broke the glass plate that you place over the pivot thing. My mind says a mental 'oops'. The cat looks at me with a somewhat shit eating grin on his face. He looks satisfied with himself. We look at each other for I don't know how long, standing our ground, motionless, as if we were two subjects in a National Geographic documentary. I am not going to lose this battle. He may have won the microwave, but he will not win this staring contest. The cat is just by the kitchen door and I am beside the sink holding the broken microwave plate in my plaid boxers. I don't blink. Neither does the cat. I can hear David Attenborough speaking in the background in his National Geographic voice :

"Two lions face each other,silent and motionless, eyeing each other with such calculation. The seasoned lion {me} doesn't flinch as the young and aggressive lion {the cat} eyes him with a silent vehemence. A defining moment for these two creatures for they both know that in this jungle, there is only one lord. "

A lone gazelle sprints away in the background. Still we don't move. I gave him a low snarl, almost inaudible. He hears. He gives up. He motions away to Wendy's room. National Geographic wins an Emmy. I look at the broken microwave plate and I am thinking of two things... I am thinking of what to do in this situation and I am also thinking if I should be scratching my nuts right now.

I go for the former. I make a mental note.

{notes to self: Once I get out of the flat, buy two things - 1) a microwave glass plate and 2) cat poison, if there ever is one}

Then I scratch my nuts.

I'm royally screwed. I honestly could use a cigarette right now. Jeff Buckley sings in my player. He soothes me.

Wendy and Omar's Apartment
4 pm, Beijing time

I'm getting tired of gum. Why is it that gum isn't as addictive as cigarettes? I like the fresh breath feeling and all but poisonous substances invading my lungs seems to be a better alternative right now. I tried calling a friend to help me open the apartment but I got no answer. I'll try calling him again. We were supposed to meet later anyways, after I got off from work. Maybe I could even buy that microwave plate in time for Wendy to even notice. I realize that for the modern man who lives in the city, life without a microwave, is like eating ramen noodles without MSG. Wendy's prolly gonna freak a little. Wyclef Jean sings Gunpowder. Somehow, I am not comforted.

Wendy and Omar's Apartment
4:45 pm, Beijing time

I just finished doing yoga. Some yoga music is playing right now in my audio player. I'm waiting for my friend to come to my place so I could throw him the keys from my living room window so he could open my god damn apartment door.

Wendy and Omar's Apartment
5:30 pm, Beijing time

My friend arrives. I throw the keys outside the window. It took us 40 minutes to open the god damn door. Once its opened I grabbed my keys and my wallet and went to the nearest appliance store to buy that microwave platter.

Appliance Store
6 pm, Beijing time

I talk to the saleslady and she said that they don't sell microwave platters and then she gave me the service center number to call which was royally not in service. I tried my luck in another appliance store and they said the same thing and gave me the same number. In the end, I gave and bought myself a new microwave. I went back to our apartment to find Wendy's there. She has this weird look on her face when she see's me carrying a big box that says microwave. She goes to the kitchen to check the microwave and I follow and told her the whole thing, even the part about me being locked in the apartment. She smiles. She said I didn't have to do that since we could have still used the microwave. I told her it was her birthday present. I know, it's lame but I felt guilty. Tomorrow I'd prolly have buyer's remorse. Meh. I think I'd make a good husband someday.

Muslim Restaurant, Downtown {5 blocks from my apartment building}
7 pm, Beijing time

I eat with my friends {the one who helped me open my apartment door}. I told them about the microwave and we eat. I drink my beer, they drink their Pepsi then somebody calls out my name from the other table. It's Eve {pronounced as ehv since she's French Canadian}, early twenties, nice skin, nice eyes, petite, not too fat not too thin, just enough. She's cute and always smiling. I met her in a restaurant yesterday while meeting up with friends. She's quite easy going and I find her sexy. If I were straight I'd be in to her. We do small talk which was actually quite sincere considering that most talks are never sincere. I ask her number when she leaves with her friends. Sometimes, when I meet girls like Eve, I wish I were straight. I said goodbye to my friends and leave the restaurant. I chucked the headphones in my ear and I listened to the Coffee and Cigarettes Soundtrack and walked back to my apartment. I put the hood and decided to follow my shadow. He's in front of me and then he makes a turn. I follow. I'd like to smoke now. Suddenly I feel sexy. Must be the song.

The Confessions of an Insom{a}niac XIX - reflections on the middle kingdom

chinese new year

The Chinese Lunar New Year has always fascinated me. I guess its because of the fact that it is a non Western tradition that is truly Asian. Moreover, I guess its also at the fact that I am not Chinese myself. Although I am Asian {which is a highly debatable term to describe myself, because some people of esteemed opinions apparently don't think a person of my origins is not Asian and some would prefer me to be called a Pacific Islander or Malay or whatever geo-politically correct term for what a Filipino is}, I do not celebrate the Chinese Lunar New Year. I grew up with Advent, Christmas, Lent, Easter, All Souls Day and all those Western and Christian Festivals that in reality were not my own to begin with. I guess that's why I have this affinity with the Chinese Lunar New Year or the Spring Festival, as the Chinese would call it, that even though it is not my own festival, it is in fact the closest thing that I could get to being Asian. Truth be told, Chinese New Years used to be as foreign to me as China itself. The only Chinese I knew was sweet and sour pork at the local take out in Manila. But that all changed when I came to China six years ago.

a kind of culture awe

I could still remember the minute I got off a China Southern Airline flight bound to Changchun. After leaving the Urbania that was Hong Kong, a bustling urban metropolis that challenged even New York and London in its cosmopolitanism, I had high hopes for the city that I was going to be working in. I was sure that it was not going to be as grand and as sophisticated as Hong Kong or even Manila, but I had high hopes still. I told myself that as long as there was a 40 story building then I would be fine. So I got out of the plane tired and a bit groggy from the flight. Then I saw Changchun with my own two eyes. Well, I saw the airport which was actually actually a runway with two old buildings and yes a control tower. It used to be an airstrip for the Chinese Air Force. Very spartan. A company representative, a Chinese woman who looked like a middle school student welcomed me to China and she then told me that we were going to eat dumplings {which I did not know what on earth they were back then} then shanghaied me to the van that was waiting for us. On the way to the dumpling restaurant I looked out the car window and started to feel a bit queasy about my decision in moving to China. The buildings were all similar - brick type, with sort of big numbers on the front that looked like factory buildings during the Industrial revolution {I later learned that the area where the former airport was situated was actually near the car factory}. I saw a donkey pulling a cart filled with hay and a Chinese family. I saw tuk tuks that looked like cars but they were tuk tuks. I saw bicycles, quite a number of them {I later learned that bicycle use had actually decreased in recent years prior to my arrival}. I got scared. All the things that my sister from California were telling me about China on the phone the week before I was about to leave were all coming back to me like a flash flood. Human Rights, Tibet, Tienanmen, Communism. Was this culture shock? That was the question that I asked myself back then while I was in that van going to the dumpling restaurant. Years later, I realized that it wasn't culture shock but a kind of culture awe. It was something different, the China that I inhabited. It was not Hong Kong, or Manila or Tokyo or New York or London or San Francisco. It simply was Changchun, a cold and and Kafkaesque city in the North East that is ironically called The City of Eternal Spring.

{Things have changed though. My city has a new airport. There are taller buildings. Residential complexes are popping up like mushrooms. Things are getting expensive. More and more Chinese people are earning more money. Crime has risen. English has become a designer language for middle class parents who want their children to learn and speak it like a"native" speaker. Changchun is very different from the Changchun that I saw for the first time when I stepped out of that plane 6 years ago.}

the fall of the sweet & sour pork & the rise of the mighty dumpling

The traditional Chinese food during the Spring Festival are dumplings. They are so because their roundness signify family reunion. In northern China on New Years Eve, families usually spend the whole day together making dumplings for the New Year Dinner Table. They make it literally from scratch, the flour for the dough, the meat, the vegetables are all prepared by hand. The dumpling I dare say, is the quintessential symbol of China for many reasons that are both shallow and deep. Suffice to say, my first dumpling experience was not as what I expected it to be. That day after the airport, they took me to the dumpling restaurant, the best one in town. I didn't like it. It was Chinese food yes, but it sure wasn't sweet and sour pork. I realized that Chinese food didn't appeal to me. It tasted, well, ordinary. A few months later when I sort of settled in, I kept asking my Chinese friends if they had sweet and sour pork with pineapple chunks and bell peppers. Of course they had none. I resorted to eating instant noodles for almost a month {they were cheap and they reminded me of home} until I got tired and resorted to eating the local food. I eventually got used to the saltiness and the oiliness of Chinese food. When that happened, my waist grew from size 30 to size 34. I wasn't happy about that part. It took me two years to actually appreciate the mighty dumpling and Chinese food. After that, I never ate sweet and sour pork whenever I go back to Manila. I guess it wasn't "Chinese" enough for me.

the laowai & the white man's hernia

Expatriates or any foreigner traveling around China are fondly called by the locals as laowai which literally translates to "foreign devil". I often ask my Chinese friends and even some expats who have been around since the Peking Man about the etymology of the word. Most of them told me that it actually originated from the Chinese's antipathy towards the Japanese during the Second World War which was then transfered to the Imperialist Americans during the Cold War which finally boiled down to any foreigner of any nationality that is not Chinese. Laowai, the foreign devil. If you ask me, I think all foreigners deserve to be called as such. Before you throw anything vile or rotten at my personal space, let me explain why. I am a laowai myself, and to be honest, I'm proud to be called as such. Other expats get annoyed and even furuious at the fact that they are called laowai. Most of them say its like being called a nigger, a kyke, a dago, a pollack etc. One expat, in his drunken stupor, even had the audacity to say that its a derogatory term for the white man. I'm just glad {and I'm sure that his companions were too} that one of the English speaking waiters spat on his drink before he served it to him. My two cents on this is that the ones who are annoyed at being called such are just annoyed at the fact that there is a term for them. Yeah you can call them chinks and dog eaters and such but never ever call us white folk laowai. This may sound a bit anti white bread, but its not really. I have white friends, really good friends. But my years spent living in a foreign country, around Chinese and foreigners led me to a realization that the white man has in fact this sense of ascendancy that is implicit in their language both spoken and unspoken. Most do not know it, the ones who do, live in it and celebrate it. It's nothing saying bad against the white folk. It's something that is factual, like non white folks {like many Chinese for example} have an implicit sense of humility when come in contact with the white folk for the first time. I did too. But then I woke up and realized that they actually are no different. Yeah, many would say that they rule the world, but I beg to differ. It's just like saying sweet and sour pork is Chinese food. White man's once superior balls has become an hernia with problems that auto gestates for generations of white man's {and by default, the rest of the world's} children to suffer. It took me a while to realize that they are no different, my white friends. They're just, well white, for the lack of a better word.

Going back to laowai, I think the word has a lot more meaning under the skin apparent. I think it signifies the love and hate relationship of China with world. The Noodle Kingdom, as I fondly call China is both a very complicated and simple society. Love and affection, spirituality and belief, Yes and No have different meanings and concepts and weltanschungs in The Noodle Kingdom. It is just not that simple yet it is also as simple as that. I know that I may seem confusing, but I guess you have to be able to spend time and be open to China's horizon's to say something as senseless as this. It may sound arrogant for many people, but I can say for a fact that I have had my share of China. It may not be the whole truth but then again, it is true. I maybe asserting myself a bit too much here, but then again I'm not white and I need the affirmation, so sue me.

The word laowai meant different things for me throughout the years. I have been called laowai so many times that I lost count. The one thing that I always found interesting was that after they call me laowai, they always mistook my nationality. I have been mistaken for a Japanese, Korean, Indian, Malaysian, Singaporean, Hong Konger {by heavens it is an indelible part of China!}, Xinjiangren {which is another by heavens!} French, American, Canadian, African {which is not even a country} but never a Filipino. Never a Filipino. I don't know if I would be hurt or worried or annoyed or what but it was saying something to me. Somehow, they were telling me that I am not what I am or what I was supposed to be. I am Filipino and I am Asian, but somehow, I am not Filipino and I am not Asian. I am them but I am also neither of them. I wouldn't call myself Western either. If I am neither all these things yet I feel that I am at the same time, then what am I exactly?

I found an appropriate term for this condition - removed. I have words to describe my the aggregate of my skin color, blood type, language that I was born to speak, gestures, dietary habits etc, but I am removed from that word. I guess that's the reason why I find a special affinity with the word laowai. It's a term that is removed from its original meaning. It's something on its own. It's both archaic and novel at the same time. I am a laowai and as long as I am in China, I will be one.

the lifer (?)

A lifer is a word that many expats call people who have been in the Noodle Kingdom for a number of years. A lifer for some, is a title of honor, but for others a bane. Some expats would call me a lifer, a pseudo local who knows the best prices and the best bargains and the best places, but I beg to differ. In all honesty, the average backpacker probably bargains better than I do and probably knows better places. There were/are others who had/have been here longer than I am, I would call some of them lifers, who have eagerly adapted and assimilated to the language and culture, who have made a family and a life for themselves in The Noodle Kingdom and have definitely become a local with the quote-unquote. China has become their home.

Still there are others, who have been here for a good number of years and but have never really been successful in the osmosis. I am hypothesizing here. Perhaps, they were not just that willing. Or perhaps they were already way too late for osmosis. Or perhaps they can never be weaned. Or perhaps it's just natural selection. I don't know. But what I do know is this. I belong to the latter. I do not consider myself as a lifer {for now, that is}. I can speak the language at a great extent, but I can never communicate deep thoughts, I can barely read, I don't have the patience to study Chinese writing, and I don't see myself here in ten years. Perhaps I am a glorified tourist, but I do not wish to think so. "Passing through" is just too harsh a word for me and it doesn't give justice to whatever it is I am doing here. I'd like to think that I am in transit, a person in pilgrimage. I will leave the Noodle Kingdom someday and I will carry with me, fond memories.

my love affair with the noodle kingdom

I am in love with China. I love it enough even to defend it from people who fault the country and the society for the sake of a 15 minute pub spotlight or just to ejaculate their gray matter in some random "foreign" party chit chat hoola. It is unfair especially if you realize that the person spouting those words has only been in China for barely 6 months and yet that person knows China like they have read the last 10 year profile on China like they have a yearly subscription on The Economist. It is unfair and I don't take it lightly. Yes I do believe in the Socratic method and the midwifery shit, but in some cases it doesn't work. If it doesn't work, I feed them a good dose of Chinese dumplings. China, like any other nation, it is constantly trying to define itself. It may boast of a 5,000 year history but it is still learning from its mistakes like many other younger nations and societies that are learning from theirs. I always get the impression that many people outside China and outside the field of economics and politics underestimate China's influence and reach and many Chinese citizens overestimate themselves as a society and as a people. The funny thing is, China is just like any other society - it has an economy and a government, it has a language, it constantly defines itself and it is unique. There's really nothing new here except the fact that it's China's 15 minutes. 15 minutes is 15 minutes. China, at the moment, is Paris Hilton and let China have it. In many ways, they deserve the 15 minutes. The West has been way overexposed and to be honest its bordering on stale to an overrated soap opera that has been running for 20 years. Being in love with a society doesn't mean that I don't find anything wrong with it. I find a good number of things wrong with it like I find a good number of things wrong with [ insert any, I mean ANY country here]. The point is, when you love something, you hope for its best and you do what you can do to help.

I guess, China kind of grew on me. Like what this German teacher once told me, "It grows on you, like a fungus." True enough, it does.

creatures of the night

I've always found Urbania to be beautiful in the nighttime and she is at her most beautiful in the late hours when the streets are almost empty of people and all that remains are the shadows of the day, lingering on street corners and dark alley ways, celebrating the darkness. The uncollected trash wakes and sort of moves with the play of neon lights and lampposts. Everything seems to be in a stasis, in a sombre and dreamlike wakefulness that puts you to sleep. Dark and resplendent. Urbania.

I couldn't sleep last night, so I decided to follow my shadow. I walked and walked the streets and thought about the day's accomplishments, which mostly was sitting in front of my computer the whole day trying to beat a looming deadline. Things have been really hard for me lately. Good hard, but still hard nonetheless. But I am hopeful because I could always hope.

When I went outside, Urbania greets me with a cold whiff of the coal smoke from the chimneys that keep the city warm in these areas. Urbania breathes and hums in a quiet cadence. I can feel it under my feet. I can hear it between my ears. She is between sleep and wakefulness.

The cold is inviting, so I walk. And walked. While walking, I tried to close my eyes. Trying to pretend that I was blind, I follow the blind footpath laid in the sidewalks, feeling it with my shoe-clad feet. Unsuccessful at my attempts to be blind, I open my eyes to find an old man on a tall bicycle looking at me while he was passing by. He had that look that kind of says that he wanted to know more about me. We matched gazes for a second or two. And in those two seconds, we acknowledged each other's presence, becoming friends, brothers, father and son, forming a bond that nobody could break. For two seconds we recognized and celebrated each other's tangent spaces. Two seconds. Then he was gone. He and I, like the remnants of the humanity that populated these streets in daylight are brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, mothers and fathers occupying the spaces where the darkness and the somber neon light meet. Creatures of the night.

New Flat. Sleeping with my laptop. Hackin and smokin.

I moved to my new place downtown about two days ago and I am starting to settle in nicely. I've just finished cleaning the floor (right after the cleaning lady left) for the 8th time. Incense is burning and candles are lit all across the living room while I type this long overdue blog entry. I'm so new age right now that I reek of essential oils and tofu. Oh yeah, I also have a roommate. Y'all know Wendy. She's not here right now, but she's prolly coming home pretty soon from work. I hope she doesn't freak out when she sees the floor. I did tell her about my cleaning habits. To tell you the truth, I'm a little scared about this arrangement. This is the first time that I'll be living with someone. I'm just glad that we're not havin sex so that relieves me of the pressure. Wendy's a total fruitfly and I'm a total nut. This living arrangement is only gonna be temporary as both of us don't want to be caught in this city coming 2009. She wants to go to Australia and I want, well, to marry the prince of Qatar (so lets cross our fingers and pubes hoping that might happen).

We did get into an understanding though {at least we're trying to, I think}. Like I can walk around in my boxers and she can vege out in front of the tv with her foam thing. We are allowed to fart in the apartment and nobody would laugh at the one who farted unless its waaaaaaaaaaaay too funny a fart. We can smoke but we have to smoke on the balcony {we're both trying to quit}. I can clean the floor as long as I want. She do reiki and flag. We cannot masturbate in the living room {so much for my coffee table fantasies}. We can listen to music of our choice. We can bring visitors over. We can come and go as we please as long as the other knows the comings and goings. So far so good. We'll have problems I'm sure but I'm sticking with the positive. I need this to be a positive experience for me so yeah. I'll post some photos of my new place when we are both done with the redecorating.

I've been workin a whole lot lately. For the past few weeks (except for the last coupla days) I have been sleeping very late and what's worse is that I have been sleeping with my laptop beside me {my sex life in a nutshell. kidding*}. Coming Saturday, my ass is back to work so I am so going to enjoy my days off.

I've been sick lately and I've been coughin like a madman since yesterday. I know, it's prolly the smoking and I should quit it. I am actually. If only I could find some nicotine patches here. I actually asked a friend to buy some for me in Hong Kong. I'm hopin he could find some. I seriously SERIOUSLY need to stop smoking forever... like forever... FOREVERRRRRRR! {ever... ver... ver... er...}.

This is one lousy post I know. gimme a break, I haven't written a post in a very long time and I should write more.

Bye for now. I'll post more thought provoking shit next time. Cheers.

ps.
I'm curious.
If you were me, what should I post?

Music Playing In My Head

I've singing this song in my head since last week {and dancing to it too}. It's from the film coffee and cigarettes. I need to see that film. So bad.

New Years. Eggs Benedict. Beijing.

I never thought 2007 would end, but it did. I am thankful and relieved that I was able to come out of it unscathed (I may have a couple of bruises here and there but hey, I’m still one piece). I celebrated the New Year in Beijing working and playing. Wendy, my future roommate, came with me to Beijing. She wanted to spend the new years dancing to good music (which we did). Where else could you find good dance music but a gay club? So we went to a gay club called Destination {mudidi in Chinese}. Destination is a popular gay dance and lounge club in Beijing. Gay locals and expats in Beijing call the place Desperation yet they still go there {I guess a lot are going desperate these days}. Wendy enjoyed herself thoroughly, but her only complaint was that nobody was hitting on her and guys were hitting on me. I actually felt good that people were hitting on me. I mean, I’ve been in Freezeville so long and I was already wondering if I had bad breath or body odor or something. People kept glancing and touching and groping, and well let’s just say a lot of people are going desperate these days. So desperate Wendy and I stayed in the gay bar till 3-ish am then I finally told her I had enough so we went looking for a straight bar that played “funky house” so guys could hit on her. True enough we found a straight bar that said out front that it played funky house. It didn’t it was like the music that Freezeville usually plays in its bars. Gay clubs really play the best music. The only consolation for Wendy was three guys started hitting on her. The only consolation for me was that there was a couch where I could actually lie down and rest my eyes. When I got tired of sleeping and Wendy got tired of being hit on, we decided to go and look for a place to eat. An American guy tagged along not actually knowing that I was with Wendy. The guy had an I NEED TO GET LAID IT’S NEW YEARS AND I’M ALREADY TURNING 25 IN A COUPLE OF MONTHS AND I NEED SOMETHING IN MY LIFE THAT WOULD ACTUALLY PASS FOR THE GREAT LEAP FORWARD SO MAYBE RANDOM SEX WOULD DO IT look on his face. Wendy was thinking about eggs benedict and he was thinking about her mammary glands. The poor guy paid for the taxi to go to this 24 hour brit pub that served good greasy meals and when we got a table, he pretended to phone his friend and left. Wendy didn’t care. She wanted her eggs benedict and by god she was gonna have it. She later told me that the guy was rude. He was sorta. Still, I hope he got laid that morning. He’s not my type mind you, I kind of feel for the guy. If you could’ve seen his face. He had that I NEED TO GET LAID IT’S NEW YEARS AND I’M ALREADY TURNING 25 IN A COUPLE OF MONTHS AND I NEED SOMETHING IN MY LIFE THAT WOULD ACTUALLY PASS FOR THE GREAT LEAP FORWARD SO MAYBE RANDOM SEX WOULD DO IT look and it was just too depressing to look at. Or maybe it was just that he had too much chemicals in his system. Well, there’s always the Chinese New Years.

By the way, eggs benedict just tastes heaven. I have to learn how to make those bastards.

Beijing is just a different city. It is a world on its own. Without the Chinese characters, it barely looks like the Beijing I saw when I first came to China. It’s like every time I visit Beijing, there’s always something new. And it’s kind of scary sometimes. I was going to my client one morning and I didn’t want to be late so I took a quick shower, left Wendy in our hotel room and took a cab to the designated place for the meeting. It was an unusually clear day for Beijing that morning and I was wondering if the green measures that the Chinese government is implementing in Beijing are finally paying off. I tried my best not to take out my digital camera and take pictures because I figured that I was far too sinofied to be taking pictures in a taxi cab. As I was nearing the Central Business District, I saw the new and almost finished CCTV Tower. Grotesque was the word that came to my mind when I saw the monolith looming over the Central Business District. It was mesmerizing for a split second then it became another thing for me. I’d prolly begin to appreciate it after a few decades or so. In its defense there are other buildings that are far uglier. And besides, the Eiffel Tower got the same treatment from assholes like me in its early years. Meh.

Beijing is a beautiful city. It’s ugly too. But then again, like what my boss said, all cities are like that. One thing that I noticed in Beijing is that people have clear cut spaces that they occupy. Especially expatriates. I was in that pub with Wendy eating her eggs benedict (I ordered burger and fries and I was still hungry) and I was discreetly observing people around. Almost all the patrons that time were foreigners. I could actually tell which ones were fresh from a China Southern Airline flight and which ones were just passing through and which ones who’ve been in China for a long time. Don’t ask me how but I feel it, and most of the time I’m right. It’s with the look. The way they dress. The way they talk and carry themselves. It’s with the way they order food. It’s many things actually. Then there was this guy that sat beside our table. It was clear that he’s been in Beijing (or China) for quite a while now. North American. Early forties. Eating his pizza while consuming half a bottle of vodka with tonic on the side. I made a mental note on how he responded to Wendy. Wendy was just so happy and giddy that she found eggs benedict, and mostly drunk, I guess. I didn’t stop her because I knew she was having way too much fun and she was pretty much harmless. She wanted to make small talk with the guy while we were both waiting for our food to arrive. The guy’s reply was both curt and condescending which Wendy, in her half drunken stupor, noticed. I just smoked my Marlboro’s and continued observing people. I focused my eyes on the Brazilian party on the other table. They were clearly enjoying themselves, probably students studying Chinese. The food arrived. We ate Wendy and I, the man ate his pizza and drank his vodka. Wendy was muttering something while she was on mid bite. She wanted to make more small talk with the prick {her words} just to piss him off but she held her tongue. We enjoyed our food and talked and ate and talked and ate and smoked. It was clear to the guy that we were out-of-towners and I could actually hear what he was thinking – “Tourists. Why don’t you just finish taking pictures and get on the next train to bumfuckwhereeveritisyouwork”, I could almost hear the words. And I bet my brown ass Wendy could hear it in her head too. Then again I didn’t care. It was the first day of 2008 and I was eating my friend’s eggs benedict and smoking Marlboro’s and drinking iced lemon tea. I looked around the room and apparently, all the others had that same afterglow look on their faces. Well, except the guy beside us. In fact, he was the only one eating without a companion. Which was, in a way, kind of sad. He reminded me of the guy who wanted to have sex with Wendy. That guy had the look of I WANT SEX EVEN A BLOWJOB WOULD DO written all over his face, but the guy beside our table had another kind of look. A look that said, LEAVE ME ALONE AND LET ME EAT MY FUCKING FOOD AND DRINK MY FUCKING VODKA YOU FUCKING TOURISTS. I actually felt something for the guy. I mean, I’m not attracted to him or anything but it’s just that my Ms. South Carolina gets over my normal self sometimes and I want to make the world a better place and eradicate illiteracy in South Africa and the betterment of Asia in general, thank you world peace, bow, wave, smile and pose. Ms. South Carolina or not, the guy needed a hug or a pat on the back. I wanted to hug him and tell him that it was all going to be alright. That life, in all it’s vicissitudes was actually beautiful and awesome and worth living.

So did I do it? Did I go all Leo Buscaglia on the guy and sang kumbaya in his face? Fuck hell no! What would you expect from a guy with a two minute attention span?! And besides, I was way too focused on the eggs benedicts. Let him think we are fucking tourists {well, we basically were}. He got up and left. I finished Wendy’s eggs benedict and drank some of her coke and lit a fag. And I looked at Wendy and told her “Happy New Year”. She did the same. I looked at her breasts; those mounds of flesh that those three men in the straight bar {that played fake funky house music!) were all pining for. They were indeed beautiful. And I dare say that they were very happy at that moment.

New Year

It’s almost 10.40 pm here in Beijing and I am typing this blog entry on my hard sleeper bed on a train bound to my city. I spent my Christmas and New Year here in the big city. Except for that one night on the 31^st of December, I didn’t do much celebrating. I was never a fan of the holidays anyway. I came to Beijing to work and meet a friend that was leaving China for good. I am tired, really tired but I honestly feel good, like I am high in some drug or somewhat.

The train is starting to move at a slow pace, slowly gaining momentum as the neon signs slowly become less and less intelligible. A woman in her fifties sits on my bed beside me and she is looking at the words that I am typing. As if understanding that I was actually writing about her, she stands and climbs to her bed. I can’t see the neon signs now. I think this is going to be a good year.