Back

So I ended up going to Sanya. China's Hawaii. Long story.

I'm back. And going crazy.

They call it counter-culture shock I guess, but I didn't expect it to hit so soon.

Right now, It's 525 AM.

I remember getting off the plane 12 hours ago and being shocked by how freely people spoke English. And not the clean, accented English that I've grown accustomed to, but real English.

I was looking around, and I had the familiar feeling that I didn't fit in. Not like I felt in China. In China, not fitting in was how I fit in. I was a foreigner. But back in the States, I don't have any kind of leeway for mistakes, people don't wonder who I am.

I also began to pick up on subtleties that I haven't yet learned how to read in China. Like, I knew the guy at the airport hated his job as he leaned up against a pole and directed us on with a roll of the eyes. Or maybe it's just that people are more rude in the States. Or more honest. In Japan everyone who is working bows their head to you. In China, people, knowing you have money, will follow down streets complimenting you into buying their product.

I waited for soooo long to pick up my baggage from the carousel. Hong Kong and Tokyo were model airports. Chicago, Boston not so much.

I hate to sound critical, but I am.

But when I got out of Logan, I found what makes home so great. Two of my friends had come to pick me and my family up. It's amazing how easily you can slide back into friendship with people you haven't seen in 6 months. I wonder why I'm so lucky as to have friends that would waste their time picking us up and dropping us off. Or have friends who take me to the DMV to get my license. Or friends in China who I'm waiting to meet again. Why am I so lucky as to have friends that send me emails even after I forgot to write back? I must of been very good in another life.

The Curse

I remember waking up every morning in 3rd grade and my first thought being, "I wonder if the Celtics won last night?" At that point in my life we didn't have cable, so I couldn't watch any Celtic home games just the away games on UPN and even then I wasn't usually allowed to stay up to watch them. So every morning I'd wake up and take a superstitious walk downstairs to the kitchen making sure to hit each step just right. I'd sit down at the kitchen table, yank out the Boston Globe sports section, and take a peek.

That year was their worst year in history I believe, 15-67. Their coach was ML Carr, starting center was Eric Montross, power forward was Dino Radja he led the team in scoring, small forward was Rick Fox (although it might have also been Eric Williams I think), shooting guard was usually Dee Brown, and the starting point was David Wesley. That was the team. It was before the antics of Antoine Walker, before Paul Pierce hogging the ball, before KG and Ray Allen made being a Celts fan cool again.

Yet, I also wonder if my undying faith in the Celtics was also related to their drought. The last championship the Celtics won was in 1986, the year I was born. I used to believe that I was going to be the savior for this historic team. They'd get continually farther away from their glorious past until David Wang brought them back towards the light. But now I'm wondering if perhaps it was the opposite. I was what brought the curse upon the Celts. In '87 they made it to the championship game again, but lost to the Lakers. And after that there was one anomalous appearance in the Eastern Championship, and a lot of painful playoff-less years. And now, I'm here in Beijing, and when I'm in the States I spend most of my time in LA (who took a turn for the worst after my arrival I might include), and those Celts are incredible. 19-2 and undefeated at home! I remember hating Jordan and the Bulls for having that kind of record.

So I wonder, am I the curse? Did my faith in the 15-62 team encourage that kind of performance? And upon my leave, the Celtics took their chance to regain glory? Aiya, I probably shouldn't go back after Beijing. But what a year to live in Boston. Red Sox have already won their championship, and the Celts and Pats are on their way. The last time things were like this was a long time ago, 1986.

the other abroad experience

Last night I went out to $7 all-you-can-eat/all-you-can-drink sushi. I'll say right now that it was a great deal. It wasn't only sushi and beer, but also deep-fried chicken, edamame, salad, etc. etc. etc. and it was all made to order, none of that bacteria-filled hot plate bullshit. But that's all unimportant, you'll find that surprisingly good value (when measured with the American dollar) is everywhere you go in China, 到处可见。

What IS important is who I was eating with and how much fun it was. (Now before I continue, I'd like to first state for the record that I like ACC, I think it's the best study abroad language program in the world, and that I've had a delightful, albeit painful, experience there.) After accepting an invitation from a friend at ACC to hike all the way across town to meet up with her college friend at Qinghua University, I found myself sitting down with about 20 strangers at one of those Japanese tables where they make you take off your shoes and there's paper walls surrounding you should you ever have the urge to start taking notes or something. Surrounding the table were what I imagine are a group of your more typical study abroad students doing what the more typical study experience might encompass.

There were a bunch of Australian-Chinese, a British-Chinese girl, a hilarious dude from the Netherlands, a Bible-toting Tennessee-er, some Japanese girls, Korean girls, my ACC friend and her friend, and me. To be honest we were all strangers, it's just these Qinghua students had had a semester to get used to it. Everyone was just so goddamn curious, happy, and fun. I'm never good at describing reality, so I'll just say that I found myself laughing more than I have for the past six months in Beijing as the Australian/British-Chinese all made fun of the the guy from Tennessee and the Dutch guy because "white people would never dare to suck a fish head." I nearly doubled over when the Dutch guy began to describe some food saying that it was like "an angel pissing in your mouth." (Apparently a direct translation from Dutch.) Then I did double over when a couple Australian guys began betting on whether or not the Tennessee guy could catch a piece of chicken with his chopsticks. And somewhere between the smiles and laughs, I managed to have some really interesting conversations with the Australian girl, my friend's friend, and the Dutch guy.

I know I didn't describe that right. The ability escapes me and I apologize. I have never been one for telling stories, the gene is probably absent in my family line. But the point I want to make is that, I regret not being able to have this kind of study abroad experience. The kind where you CAN speak english, but you still are meeting amazing people from around the world. Maybe I just like Australian accents too much or something, but I think I missed out on a lot by not being able to meet the motley groups students that many study abroad programs entail.

Concerning our future.

We're all gonna die.

bookin'

me and my teacher, fang dong, at a water park

So I'm reading a book.

Always have been jealous of those who perpetually have a book that they're in the midst of reading. Those who faithfully chip away at a daunting list of "Books to read" which grows at a geometric rate. (I know it as the Inverse-Malthusian Theory).

At first I thought it was just cool. I remember some girls once talking about how "cute" (the sexy "cute" not the emasculating demeaning one) it was that one of my friends always had a book popping out of his back pocket as he walked through our high school corridors. But, I couldn't even find the self-discipline to carry a book around as an accessory much less open the thing.

It's not that I don't like reading, it's just that I'm guilty of... oh what's that sin again? ... Gluttony, that's right. I'm guilty of gluttony. If I'm gonna eat, then why not eat till a little past full. Sleeping? Take that extra hour(s). Reading? Devour the book in an hour. I don't pace myself, can't stand it. It's not that I continually am transgressing, however I am prone to the sin known as gluttony I suppose.

The problem is, I read s l o w l y

Thus, I need I a lot of time to gluttonize a book. I need a good three days of concentration to gulp it all down. It's not like watching a Full House marathon where time is measured out for ya. You allot the time for yourself. So I gluttonize the time and the book.

And I don't like being a sinner. In fact, knowing that I'm prone to gluttony, I overcompensate by making spartan like goals and schedules for myself. My 2nd semester of college, I rose as the bell struck 6 in the morn' to go jogging simply because I was killing the demon within me. So, with books, I'd love to read my eyes out, but it's just too wasteful. I consuming too much time is dangerous. In fact, I'm willing to bet large quantities of time is the number one cause of death amongst 99% of all species, and we still have no cure! (The 1% probably being the incredible number of domesticated livestock who die by the proverbial "blade" as opposed to nature's clock.) So I'm not the well-read scholar who scans pages with a glance of the fingers and throws the book into the pile labeled "Memorized." (But I do tuck I a small pedigreed paperback in alongside my wallet from time to time.)

So I'm reading a book now. Wish I had time to do it more. But then again I also wish I had more time to sleep, more time to think, and more time to have more time too, so where does that leave me.

In other news, I'm procrastinating even when I have nothing to do. At least that's how I feel. Not healthy, David. Not healthy.

OK. A question that's been on my mind for quite a long time now: Are we all born with different energy levels?

I'd say this question arose from its latency about the time I went to Pomona. After the first semester of college adrenaline wore off, I found myself taking naps, procrastinating, and just generally feeling tired. But then I began to notice that there were these people, and they just don't stop. I mean it's not just that they'd pull all nighters, but they'd be happy the next day too. There was even this one girl (and I have noticed without any real statistic data keeping that the majority of the supercharged people have been female) who stayed up 72 hours straight and smiled the whole time!

So what is it?

I find it interesting that these Energizer Bunnies seem more prevalent amongst the college students than they did in high school. Is this one of those correlations of success along with IQ, economic status, and all that other stuff? It'd make sense, right?

But more importantly how do they do it? If I'm tired, I can't work, I can't think, I'm useless, I'm unhappy, etc. Are they simply just better at putting their fatigue in the backs of their minds? Or have they trained their minds to be stronger? Or were they born with it?

And were those great people, those people we all like to look up to for their accomplishments, amazing thoughts, and contributions to society, did they have an endless supply of spinach too?

You always gotta write something when something is done

4th year students and teachers

So I graduated from ACC. I got a nice diploma with my Chinese and English names on it to prove the hell that I went through. But despite getting up at 6 AM every morning, despite studying thousands of Chinese characters, despite it all, I already miss the ACC life. There's something reassuring in knowing what your're doing, why you're doing it, and where it's taking you. But now all those short but big questions are creeping back out and their shadows are once again obscuring clarity. Already.

Thoreau wrote, "Simplify. Simplify. Simplify!... Simplicity of life and elevation of purpose."

I write, "Elevate your life by simplifying your purpose."

I have a friend who before I left told me, "I hope you change a lot while you're abroad." At the time I feigned being offended. (Who likes being told that they need to change?) But in my heart I agreed. I hoped I would change too.

So here I am. I'm picturing myself stepping off the plane- the plane that just took me miles from the six months I spent in Beijing. I step off wearing my black, Italian-style, fitted suit, leather shoes, a black dress shirt, no tie, sunglasses, and a look of confidence. My head's shaved like my little brother's. Maybe even a little smirk because I know that I've got a tattoo on my upper back that nobody can see.

But what is change?

Change is a noticeable difference between two points in time. But I'm beginning to believe that we've all got this core that is unchangeable. Or maybe I'm just not capable of changing it. Sure I've changed, I have more knowledge and less hair, more languages and less words, more friends and less time for them all, more experiences. But then again it's always like that. Do we ever change or are we always in the constant progression of life?

We come and go. It must all look so random from the bird's eye view. We meet to part and part to meet.