inherownwrite

[inherownwrite]

Dearest (Wong) Family

Greetings from Guangzhou! I’m nearing the end of a nearly 5 week trip where I’ve spent a lot of time exploring the south and west of China.  There’s been plenty of stories, but I felt that one of my most recent experiences deserved a family-wide update: Visiting Yeye’s village in Taishan.

Disclaimer: I’ve learned a lot in the past few days, and I’m still digesting the experience .. so apologies if anything still sounds a bit muddled! And yes, this is going to be a long one….

I’ve always known that Yeye came from Taishan - and recited as much in a matter-of-fact tone if anyone ever questioned my ancestry - but I had no idea what I was getting into when I embarked on this leg of my trip.  A few weeks back, I asked my Dad to chase down the name of Yeye’s village name through old contacts from the Wong’s Association.  He scribbled it onto paper, snapped a photo and sent it to me via Whatsapp.  I hired a translator for a couple days and hopped onto a bus, with my fingers crossed.  This is what I learned:

Yeye comes from coastal province in the south of China, Guangdong.  The nearest major city is Guangzhou, a sprawling and sweaty metropolis of nearly ten million people.  Taishan, the area which Yeye hails from, is a much smaller 'township' boasting roughly one million inhabitants. Fun fact: It’s apparently also the world's "number one hometown of overseas Chinese".  It is said that at least half of American-Chinese come from Taishan.  

Apparently people have been leaving Taishan for years.  Its number one export = people.  And you can see the positive benefits of money being sent back to family members left behind: There’s a long “pedestrian street” with plenty of clothing boutiques and restaurants, roads are relatively clean (by China standards) and there seems to be a lot of thriving local businesses.  Local attractions include a nearby hot springs, a beach, and their local dish - an “eel clay pot rice” which I tried.  (Verdict: Not as good as Japanese-style teriyaki eel rice.  But goes down well with beer.)

Side note: Growing up, my Dad always teased my Mom for the supposed harsh tones of the 'Panyue accent’ (a different district my Mom’s side is from)… But I'm sorry Dad, Taishan-see is practically unintellgible.  This is partially due to the fact that Taishan is rather isolated by mountains and rivers.  When I was greeted by the local clansmen of the Wong Association in Taishan City Centre, I could not understand a single word.  

Smiles and nods would have to do as they gave me the grand tour of their office.  I saw Yeye's name on a donation plaque for one of their various projects, and a glimpse into the wider network that Yeye so faithfully gave his time and energy to.

When we set out for the village that afternoon, I wasn't quite sure what to expect.  Dad mentioned that it was “probably still quite rural”, which almost made it sound romantic (at least in a backpacker’s mindset). The truth is that the village is quite rundown.  We “off roaded” for a while through a field to get to his village, as access is not particularly visible from the main road.  

The village (“Gao Long”) is nearly 150 years old.  Though most of the communal buildings were rebuilt in the last 20 years. But you can hardly tell the age after the pollution and the climate sets in. Buildings 700 years old look nearly in the same condition as buildings that were built in the last 10.  

At its peak, the village had as many as 300 people, who all descended from the same ancestral family (a man with two sons). Many people married off with folk from other towns.  Mama and Yeye had an arranged marriage. And like many young people in their early twenties, they left the village (for Hong Kong) during the late 1940s due to civil unrest and political tensions.

It was a sweltering Sunday afternoon.  Any villagers I came across, I gave a scoop of candy to (which I was instructed to buy before our visit).  It felt a bit funny distributing candy to (mostly) elders who had little to no teeth left, but I figured it was more of a symbolic gesture than anything else.  Everyone seemed really sweet and appreciative that I popped by.  I think I met about 15 people that afternoon.  

In every Chinese village, there is an Ancestral Hall that is built to host the tablets which symbolize the community’s founding family.  However, many of these were destroyed during China’s Cultural Revolution.  Unfortunately, Yeye’s village did not escape this fate.  The hall was eventually rebuilt, but was damaged by a typhoon.  It is now a storage.

The village homes were all generally quite dilapidated. Yeye’s mother was our oldest surviving relative in the village.  She lived in a house along with another family (not related to us by blood) who still inhabit it today.  They can’t remember when she passed away.

I also saw various properties that Yeye’s father had purchased in the village (three, at one point, I was told).  But most are just plots of land that are overgrown with shrubbery.

I was told many stories by the village elder, who was one of the last people to know Yeye personally. Even though they were nearly 8 years apart, he had memories of Yeye taking him fishing at the nearby pond when they were much younger.  When I asked how he remembered Yeye, he described him as “a very honest and pure man”, who was very different from his older brother.  

Yeye had 3 other brothers. Two died young, and were married off in “ghost weddings” to other’s daughters who also died young, as per Chinese tradition/superstition.

He showed me the village “Jook Po”, which is basically a book that documents every village’s descendants and family trees.  I belong to the 33rd generation.  The names have not been updated since Yeye’s generation.  I texted my Dad to send me the names of his siblings to be included ** (See note at bottom of page)

I came back the following morning to pay my respects to the village ancestors, as well as Yeye’s mother.  

All three plots I visited required a bit of hiking through some exceptionally thorny underbrush.  I felt family in spirit as I crossed the hillside to our final destination, where Yeye's mother was laid to rest. The last time he was here (apparently in the early 90s?) he spent a lot of time at her site.  

It truly was one of the highlights of my trip and really ‘hit home’ in all the right ways.  I can only say I wish you were all there with me.  

I’ll be back in Vancouver for Edwin’s wedding, and hoping to catch up with as many of you as possible then.  Sending a hug from Guangzhou for now..  

Devon

** I have the address of the village elder and plan on sending photos and any updated names for the Jook Po.  If you’re interested, please write your Chinese name and snap a photo/email me in the next couple weeks to be included.

[inherownwrite]

Sunburnt in Dali

Yesterday I decided to be adventurous and rented a cheap city bike and headed towards Erhai Lake.  I was scheduled to meet a friend of a friend for lunch in Xizhou, about a 30 minute drive north (by car).  

An hour tops, I figured.

Three hours later, I’d snapped about 100 photos and was well on my way to being sunburnt :/  Apparently the path along the lake is the extremely scenic route.  But who can argue with this?

I can’t tell you how many times I had to stop and squeal to myself “OHHHMMYYYGAAWWWD THIS IS SO PRETTY” *click click

After the second hour I regretted not renting a scooter.  If there was ever a time to learn on a smooth, paved road.. this would have been it.  Oh well.  I figured it was about time I work up a bit of sweat.  My beer consumption has gone up considerably since I’ve been in China (aka daily).

I met up with some former Prince-in-Asia fellows in Xizhou for a couple beers and a round of Settlers before making my way back to Dali.  So, basically a standard Sunday.

It was a nice break from the constant bustle of travel.  In the past 7 days I’ve stayed in 4 different cities.  After I left Guilin, I had a quick stopover in Guangzhou to meet an aunt who happened to be traveling through.  

Not gonna lie, it was kind of nice to upgrade my accommodations for a couple nights.

(Me just casually trip planning in my suite. Watching Channel NewsAsia of course)

I had a fun night wandering around with Iris, a girl who I’d originally planned to hire as my translator for my family research project.  While we’ll no longer be working together, we hit it off as friends and had a great night out drinking “white wine” in Haizhu district.  

The neighbourhood was actually real cool.  Bustling, but completely residential with a handful of artsy coffee shops/lounges sprinkled throughout.  What I loved, though, is that nothing felt trendy.  Pre-hipster.

After Guangzhou I made my way to Xi’an.  As my airport shuttle pulled closer to the city walls, I felt all the feelings.

There was something about “China’s Athens” that really struck home for me.  I mean, I think I can almost describe the feeling as an actual “homecoming” of sorts.  

It's funny.  For the first time I am starting to feel like I’m ready to embrace my Chinese identity as strongly as my Canadian.  

The statues are as impressive in person as they are in photos.  The scale of the pits are astonishing.

I met some lovely Italian cousins that were traveling over from Beijing.  We hit it off and spent the rest of the evening wandering the night markets, until we hit that inevitable craving for a late night drink.

What an ordeal it was trying to locate a bar in Xi’an! We walked in circles thanks to poor GPS accuracy on our phones.  Silvia thought to tap into local knowledge and started speaking in Chinese to a moto-cab driver (She’s finishing her Masters in Chinese Language Studies) and nearly blew his mind.  He literally could not stop himself from staring at me as she negotiated our fare “to the nearest bar”, as if he thought his mind was playing tricks on him.  It was actually kind of hilarious (though a common scenario when you generally look  ‘local’ everywhere you go .. in Asia, anyway).

He took us to a neon lit nightclub in the middle of a quiet street.  And as we walked down those three flights of sticky stairs down, down down... I was almost certain we were going to stumble into the loneliest KTV bar with a sad man singing karaoke to himself.  

Instead, we got this:

It was a campy spectacle with a cast of fabulous transgender wome,n and their uber fit, male admirers.  Yay!!

There seemed to be some domestic tourists taking in the show as well.

So that was Xi’an.  On my final afternoon I failed to do the one thing I said I would do in Xi’an (Bike ride the city walls) because I didn’t have enough cash on me for the deposit.  So I did the next best thing I could think of: Get a $2 haircut.

I’m full of good ideas.  And trust.

I didn’t have much time in Kunming except to do a photowalk around the neighbourhood I was staying in.  I had an overnight train to catch.

However I did have (another one of my good ideas) a massage.  Okay, had I stopped to think for a second what neighbourhood I was walking around in (i.e. very industrial) then I probably would have said to myself, “Wait Devon, this doesn’t look like the right kind of neighbourhood for a good massage…” But no, me and my impulses… Massage, you are my kryptonite.

I ended up at a shop where the girls seemed almost a bit too friendly to greet me.  I figured it was just a slow afternoon and they were happy to have any customers at all… But we chatted away in my broken Chinese. I told them where I was from, they asked me about my family, I pointed out that my masseuse was wearing really high heels.  Come on, Devon.

Anyways, I walked out with a little less stress in my upper back and more money that I cared to part with… but hey, the girls and I had a great time getting to know each other.  We even did a photoshoot at the end, which they posted on their WeChat.

So that was Kunming.  The train ride to Dali was actually quite enjoyable.  I mean, I slept.  

I’m leaving for Shangri La tomorrow (Yes, real name). But before I go, I wanted to gush that someone very sweet sent me flowers in Dali...

Another story for another day :)

#china #xi'an #dali #bicycleadventures

[inherownwrite]

One week in Guilin

It’s been a week in Guilin and I’ve been completely immersed in my language lessons. I live in a dorm-style bedroom exactly one level above my classroom and wash my fruit in a communal kitchen. What can I say? It’s been kind of fun revisiting the #StudentLife.

(Side note: Phone photos will have to do until I'm reunited with my laptop in Guangzhou and get to clear off my camera)

View from my bed

Lunch is served exactly one floor below

Guilin is full of so much provincial charm, it’s squee-worthy. There’s something almost Parisian/romantic about the city. Trees line all the main roads, with a clear lane for scooters and bicycles to pass. Locals and tourists peoplewatch among the many street-side cafes along the canal. Motorists proudly decorate their scooters with elegant - but practical - embellishments: Rain covers with lace trimmings and cutesy baubles, polka dot hand warmers encasing hand brakes, and so forth. Proletariat pastels are all the rage.

Just another day in Guilin…

This is apparently how you say “I’m sorry” in Guilin

I’ve been soaking up everything that I can with each visit to the corner coffee shop (with two of the friendliest, foreigner-fascinated baristas you’ll ever meet) and bus rides down to the local gym in the city centre.

In local nightclubs, they serve you tomatoes and watermelon with your Budweiser… #stayhydrated

One day, I took the seat closest to the bus captain, riding backwards/facing my fellow commuters, and was struck by a view that perfectly captured the sweet, child-like energy of Guilin: People were simply staring out of their windows (!) Not one head was glued to their handphone. It felt like the living portrait of a Chinese city lost in time, with subtle hues of Old World charm and youthful optimism. Heck, people in Guilin don’t look down. They’re looking forward.

Provincial vibes aside, the city’s natural landscape speaks for itself. Guilin is surrounded by limestone peaks so renown for their beauty that nearly everyone in China you mention the city to will proudly mention that its famous scenery is immortalised on the back of the 20 RMB Bill (about $4 Canadian dollars).

Hiking with the school interns and fellow classmates

For four hours a day, I meet with my teachers Avril, Dayong and Nancy to practice my pinyin, grammar and vocabulary. I’d be lying if I said it was easy. This past week has given me so much more empathy for ESL students. Learning a new language is like asking your brain to do jumping jacks and cartwheels at the same time. I can literally feel my mind expanding with each lesson. My brain actually hurts. But I’m learning more about myself as I go along.

For one, I realise that I retain information best when I have clear visual cues/reminders. All the vocabulary I picked up during my Sunday walk around the city last week I can still remember. Words in the textbook? I’ll be able to visualise whereabouts on the page they were written, but nailing the tone is a whole other issue…

I don’t think many people realise how much they take having a native tongue for granted. The accents we inherit formulate the entire foundation of how we pronounce words, down to the littlest ways we flick our tongues. Not only have I had to train my ear to hear the subtlest difference between making a “j-” and “zh-” sound in Chines pinyin (trust me, it doesn’t look anything like the way it’s spelled in our American English pronunciation), but being able to emulate those sounds is completely unnatural/nonintuitive. It’s tough stuff.

It helps that I’m motivated and that I know that the struggle is an inevitable part of the process. It also helps that one of my teachers reminds me of a childhood piano teacher. Every raised eyebrow sends me right back 20 years… to memories of weekly performances in the living room where I nervously played my heart out in hopes of earning one simple approving nod.

My teachers have told me that they can hear my pinyin drastically improving. I’m actually surprising myself at how I’m now able to infer the general gist of conversations around me (“It’s too late!” “She’s from Canada” “She can’t speak but she can listen” “Have you eaten yet?”). It’s incredible to think that 5 days ago I couldn’t do any of the things that I’m able to do now (though having some previous exposure to Cantonese must help to connect the dots with certain words that sound similar….. Actually, no, screw it. It’s still amazing.)

Learning to say "a little spicy" goes a long way in a foreign place

The weather has been a wet change from Guangzhou. My poor Native shoes are definitely not going to survive the return to Singapore, sadly. I took off for Yangshou this weekend, a nearby resort town about 1.5 hours south of Guilin. Aspirations to bike through rice paddies into remote villages were thwarted by incessant downpours. I’ll chalk it up as training for my upcoming visit to Vancouver.

View from our bamboo raft in rainy Yangshou

One more week in Guilin and then I’ll be off again. I’ll make a quick stop in Guangzhou before heading back to the west to trapeze through Yunnan province. I hear the mountains there are beautiful too.

It’s almost hard to remember where I was five weeks ago (namely sweaty, stressed, suddenly jobless/apartment-less, etc.) but I’m taking these next weeks of travel as an exercise in being completely present.

[inherownwrite]

Tuesday brain flexing.

#chineseness #chineselanguageinstitute #studyabroad #guilin #china

[inherownwrite]

"So why do you want to learn Chinese?"

... It's a question I've been asked a few times since I've pulled into Guilin. But not nearly as many times I've been asked "Why can't you speak Chinese?" everywhere else in the world.

#chineseness #china #Guilin #foreign #perspective #mothertongue #chineselanguageinstitute

[inherownwrite]

A glorious first day in Guilin soaking up vocabulary and rain showers.

[inherownwrite]

Good Morning Guilin

After two hectic days in Guangzhou, I was happy for a change of scenery. Don’t get me wrong - I was in genuine awe of the sheer scale of people in the streets and in the subway. But I was ready for my retreat.

The final hoop was getting through the train system without a lick of English written on the tickets. 27A had to be the seat number, right? Nope. That’s how big the Guangzhou South Railway Station really is. I was leaving from the 27th departure gate.

Now I’ve seen plenty of airport terminals and train stations in my days zipping around Europe as a backpacker, but there was something much more…..monstrous about this train station.

After successfully claiming my pre purchased ticket, I headed to the gates to reach the ‘second floor waiting area’. From there, I boarded likely one of the highest escalators I’ve ever ridden. And then there was another one. I made a joke to myself (as you do when you’re traveling alone) that it felt like we were ‘ascending to the Mother Ship’… But this feeling took a dark turn as we passed wall-to-wall windows of a completely desolate landscape, with exception to an endless pit of construction as far as the eye could see. Welcome to China.

Suddenly the large white beams twisting across the terminal seemed more cavernous than ever. This must have been what Jonah felt to be swallowed by Moby Dick.

Barely a moment to swim in my own thoughts - I was thrusted back again to train station hell (purgatory) surrounded by multiple McDonald’s counters, suspiciously similar Starbucks logos, thousands of disgruntled commuters and frustratingly weak A/C.

I quickly devoured something for ‘dinner’ (that a sober-Me would be ashamed to admit eating) and made my way to inspect one of the colossal departure signs. Yep, 27A.

The ride itself was relatively smooth except for nearly being ousted from my seat by a couple that wanted to sit and hold hands together (hey, leave the Single and Lonely alone! At least a window, anyways.) I managed to get some family research notes organized during the brief, high speed ride to Guilin (2.5 hours) but unfortunately missed all the scenery on the way because the sun had set.

When I arrived, I was greeted by three lovely interns at the Chinese Language Institute who took me out for nearby dumplings. I insisted on finding a bar after ‘because it’s Saturday’ and learned how to say 'bar’, 'tipsy’ and 'tired’ over the course of the night - which, jokes aside, could very well be useful for future scenarios.

This morning, I peeled open my curtains and shouted an expletive when I saw this fantastically tranquil view.

Looking forward to the next adventure.

#guilin #china #guangzhou #chineselanguageinstitute

[inherownwrite]

Hello Old Friend

Arriving at an unfamiliar airport doing the inevitable dance with a shifty, overworked taxi driver trying to maximize his sparse trips at 3 in the morning. $100? No, I’ll pay 30. Fumbling in the dark while strangers sleep. Miming silent apologies with each scrape of my suitcase against the gritty tiles. Peer inside the bathroom for any unwanted night guests before I slip in (wearing flip flops of course). Flashbacks to 5 years prior as a wide eyed backpacker in Europe. Am I getting too old for this? Maybe. Just please, Devon, make sure you didn’t absentmindedly book a hostel without hot water ….

#backpacker #wanderlust #hostel #china

[inherownwrite]

Andddd we're off!!!

#wanderlust #china #homecoming

[inherownwrite]

Who says second chances don't exist?

#chinese #backtobasics

[inherownwrite]

Identity, Home(s) and Past Lives

Five years ago I answered a Craigslist ad and took part in a TV documentary profiling the history and evolution of Chinese clan associations in Vancouver, my hometown.  In the film I played myself: A second-generation Chinese-Canadian “searching for her roots” -which at the time meant taking a few language classes, and making appearances at a handful of community events tied to the Chinese calendar. Looking back, aiming to learn a new language within a TV production timeline was admittedly ambitious.  But the whole experience quite literally put a spotlight on my personal journey to dig deeper into my own identity as a second-generation Chinese-Canadian.    

I’ve always had a personal interest in reconnecting with my Chinese heritage, despite being a “born and raised” Canadian.  But growing up, the closest I’ve ever felt to China was my grandmother’s home-cooking - my mother was also born in Vancouver - and grocery runs to the Chinese grocers.  (By my era, this meant Victoria Drive and not the geographically designated Chinatown further north towards Downtown.  But that’s neither here nor there.)

The truth is that I believe I represent a generation of Chinese diaspora with a very common experience: We understand that our parents/grandparents left China, for various reasons, to start a new life abroad.  More often than not, questions about former lives are met with unsatisfactory, simple responses: “Life was hard”. “There wasn’t much”.  

We are left with a fragmented sense of family history, culture, and in some cases, home.  How often have you been asked “But where are you really from?”.  I’ve always considered Canada the only home I’ve ever known.  But in the thirty countries I’ve travelled to, I’ve found that each stranger’s incessancy to pin my ethnicity and nationality into a neat square never seems to waiver.

Yes, we’re the generation that claims to push the boundaries of what it means to be “global citizens”, or “third culture kids”.  We pride ourselves on having friends from across the globe writing on our Facebook walls, attesting to our ability to blend and create our own unique identities.  We attach ourselves to multiple networks, associating with different cultural groups based on common interests and experiences.  We’re empowered to piece together a sense of individuality with absolutely no limitations of geography.  

But our parents/grandparents had no such luxuries.  Available social networks were dictated by proximity.  Early Chinese settlements had to physically stick together.

Clans, are by definition, a group of people of a common lineage.  Or in a broader sense - a shared ancestral home.  And in strange, new lands, this often meant not only cultural, but economic survival.  It made sense for uprooted communities to seek out one another.  Neighbours became business partners.  

My paternal grandfather, Wong Heaung, was heavily involved with the Wong’s Association in Vancouver since his arrival in the 1960s.  But his involvement went well beyond economic incentives: He remained an active volunteer at the local Chinese school as a school principal, and played his part to keep traditional Chinese culture alive in his new “home” of nearly 40 years.  

I never appreciated the importance of maintaining a strong sense of identity in spite of shifting geography until I made my own move (in the opposite direction) to Asia in 2012. And through a series of recently unexpected incidences, I find myself suddenly inspired and enabled to investigate my own ancestral home (see former post). And while I’ve jokingly called this my “mid-Millennial crisis”, the truth is that I know this chapter has been a long time coming.  

My parents have been supportive, but just as blind as I am when it comes to tackling this intimidatingly broad - yet substantially thin - fabric of my family’s history.  

Today my father emailed me the province, district, and village name of my paternal grandfather’s ancestry, by way of a fellow Clansmen at the Association. It’s a simple, handwritten note with no clear directions or landmarks of what to look out for - perhaps a poetic reminder of the discovery that awaits me on the other side. But my dad seems to think that telling people that I am “Wong Heaung’s granddaughter” will mean something to the local villagers.  And even though my grandfather never returned to his hometown once he left to carve a better life for his family overseas, I’d like to think so too.

#home #canadiansabroad #chineseness #butwhereareyoureallyfrom #taishan #china #kaiping

[inherownwrite]

Battles

”Well, if you don’t hear from me - it’s because I’m battling my soon-to-be unemployment, and then homelessness, living out of a suitcase, and the Chinese Visa Centre....” - the last thing I said to my Dad during our most recent Skype call.... cue nervous laughter.

I thought I'd seen it all in my two years in Manila... extortions, motorbike accidents, provincial hospitals and more police stations than I cared to remember.  But this.... this felt like the battle to end all battles.  Well, to be more specific: it felt like a never-ending series of battles that I surely couldn’t win.

Where do I even begin?

1. Booking an impromptu five week trip to China seemed suddenly absurd. It was a country that some people took months to plan out.  Me? I gave myself a two week window.  The absurdity was only compounded by the fact that I literally “swiped yes” on the ticket purchase while at my desk in a fit of impulse.  Yes, I was counting down the hours that I would no longer be an employee of Company X.  But most people look forward to their first weekend of being unemployed and doing absolutely nothing.  Here I was frantically Google-imaging “Map of China” in one tab, and “Cool places in China” in another.... this already seemed like a recipe brewing for trouble.

2. Tackling a Chinese Visa ain’t no joke.  I suppose I had repressed the memories of what it was like to sit on the other side of a glass window - trying to swallow my frustrations - since I’d left the Philippines. But the good ol Chinese Visa Centre was just like a walk down memory lane.  Let’s just say it certainly doesn’t help when your company name includes the word “media”.

3. A month ago, I was just making plans to sign a new apartment lease.  I thought I had it all figured out: A compact bachelor(ette) pad with a balcony.  It would be the perfect base for a single, career woman who’d earned her stripes/was still eating dinners in bed.  But as curve balls go, within two weeks I’d quit my job on a whim, and was still suddenly facing the NEED TO MOVE OUT date in my Google Calendar.  *insert wide eyed Emoji* ... What the hell just happened? I honestly can’t tell you because I’m still digesting everything in hindsight myself.  But I can tell you what happened next: A white knight dressed as GoGoVan and a new storage facility offering amazing promotional discounts... so basically I went from thinking I’d be excitedly packing my things, and taking on a swanky ($$$) new apartment lease to prove that I was finally  “upgrading my life” ... to suddenly shopping for a modest 36 sq.ft. storage unit.  The name “Extra Space Asia” felt almost poetic.... like the gentle heckling of the Universe... taking a final piss.

4. I had people to host. Or so I thought I’d be. My friend Brandon was flying in the same eve of my big move.  And even if I could legally sleep across the floor my tiny storage unit, physically he (my 6′4 friend) could not.  A month ago, we were making plans to purchase a new sofa bed for his arrival (in my new apartment, which obviously didn’t happen as explained above).  So not only was I suddenly faced with living out of a suitcase, but I genuinely felt like I was letting my friend down for not having his back.  It was his first trip to Asia and I wanted everything to be perfect.

4.  I don’t know.  Maybe it was already a red flag that the sudden idea of fleeing to rural China to study Chinese for 5 hours a day should seem so appealing. Chinese school was a thing of nightmares for most second-generation Canadian kids.  I was half joking when I mentioned to a friend that perhaps it takes a whole series of traumas for you to eventually want to run backwards and think “hey, ya, actually... that wasn’t so bad”.  Admittedly, studying Chinese/embracing my heritage was something I’d always put off.  “I’ll do China one day” I would say, “but it takes so much time to plan”.  It’s been nearly four years that I’ve lived in Asia, and I’ve never stepped foot in China (excluding Hong Kong) with the exception of short layover trips to visit friends in Shanghai.  Now here I was sitting with this five week trip  in my lap, and two weeks to pull it all off.

5. I’ve speculated before that the month before my birthday seems to always bring about a series of troubles.  Last year, it was a breakup that didn’t end quite so ceremoniously.  The year before that, I was clawing my way out of the Philippines and desperate to find my way to Singapore.  The year before that? Extorted. Twice in a week. Days before my birthday.  This year: It’s single-handedly packing up my apartment, coordinating a move (into a storage unit), welcoming the arrival of a friend, tying up loose ends at work during my brief stint in advertising, and tackling the Chinese Visa Centre for a third time... all within 72 hours of my 29th birthday.  But if there’s one thing I’ve appreciated with getting older, it’s realizing that things will never get easier.  But your sense of trust that everything will work itself out eventually... grows. #zen

It’s Saturday morning and I need to rip up this apartment.  But I’m going to take a moment and savour this exact moment knowing that this marks the start of a major literal/metaphorical/spiritual upheaval. 

I’ve been calling this my “mid-millennial crisis”, because it felt like the only way to turn an immensely scary, precarious situation into... well... a #yolo.  So, here goes.  Back to basics.

#yolo #china #birthday #zen #millennial #travel #Canadiansabroad #wanderlust #solotravel #soloyolo

[inherownwrite]

Welcome to Alcatraz

[inherownwrite]

You know I would.

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To the farmer's market we go (San Francisco)

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“Without new experiences, something inside of us sleeps. The sleeper must awaken.”

Frank Herbert