I may as well admit it: I'm living at home. I feel kind of like a neutered dog. It's been about a year, and the fading summer breeze is a sometimes harsh reminder of the time that's passed and that deeply desperate sense, that feeling of personal dread that's come and gone, come and gone and that even right now I can't seem to free myself of as it moves like a slow creep throughout me and that sometimes has a voice that says: "See how little you've done, how not far you've come, in one year?"
I think I pointed to the crowd like Maciej Lampe did on draft night one too many times; promises and vows hard for a little porcupine like me with newly formed delusions of grandeur. For better or worse this is my home base: my sister's old room.
I'm not a grand strategist, I'm a grunt who never wanted to be in the army but now recognizes its necessity and how lucky he is. If I'm going to advance, it has to be with my head down, my intentions pure, and a day by day, step by step routine. Right now I'm working on moving out on my own again, but it's hard to do, and not just for the reasons obvious.
- I've never felt so close to my family as I do now. While returning to the proverbial "family womb" has not been the magical balm I originally thought would cure me (hence the still-ruptured feeling I have one year later), my family has been an IMMENSE boon to me and I feel connected to their emotions in a way I wasn't growing up.
- My mom and I have butted heads, but we've also reached an understanding. She's still the one I came to with my emotional problems as a kid. Last Friday I was feeling low after another bitter reminder that D.C. is my hometown but not my home. I came home late and sat across from her, and proceeded to confess to her things I couldn't put into words the many times we'd talked since I'd been back. I told her I felt like I'd been playing catch up for the last decade and then some, and that I'd just only recently realized it was a race not worth running in the first place. She listened to me, and then she took me in her arms like a child.
- While I still feel isolated from the independence that I had and that I wish to have, it has let me be more objective in how I look at my decisions regarding relationships (both romantic and platonic). It's been a lumpy pill to swallow, but I've had to realize just how much of a selfish, ego-driven, self-deluding and self-loathing human being I am. Thing is, I think a ton of people are like this, too. Worse still, a great many of them are unaware, or don't care. I do care, and I now wear my guilt in my eyes. It's not a great way to be, but I think it's who I am: just someone who's real hard on himself. Accepting that, I think I have gained the perspective that it's OK to walk a lonely path with some regrets and some guilt weighing you down. It makes the journey tougher, the oasis sweeter, the lodgings cozier...and above all, if I'm lucky to have companions, I'll love and appreciate them instead of take them for granted.
I'd abandoned this blog in large part because I felt bad about it. It was my China blog, the womb being the motherland that I felt a connection to and had returned to instill in myself a deeper understanding of what it is to be Chinese.
I should not be ashamed that I was defeated by my experience, by my poor choices more so than anything to do with the place or people. I learned a lot, and returned to another womb for a while.
So I return to "Back in the Womb Again", to talk about experiences. I still have China dreams, but there are wonderful people and experiences I've had since I've been back in DC, more to come, and a journey that doesn't stop but comes in steps.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Subways
Riding the WMATA, I suddenly realized I was now fully used to seeing so many 'foreigners' around me.
I thought about what it would be like if everyone besides me was full Chinese. It would be strange. There would be stares. Probably at least 2x-3x more people. Smells.
When I rode the subway in Beijing, and to a lesser extent Shanghai, I wore headphones and searched for empty space to stare into. I needed a certain kind of background music for those long rides. Cold Play and Radio Head and alternative rock.
There wasn't enough room to sit, much less get out a book and read. Yesterday I looked over the shoulder of a WMATA commuter and read his kindle secretly. Not as many PSPs in Washington. One thing I still like to do is ride the subway "hands free". I plant my feet in a kung-fu stance, and tighten my stomach muscles. If I concentrate, I can usually easily stay stable. I let myself imagine, sometimes, that I am one of the few who can do this. Sometimes, I fall into someone and grab them to keep from busting my ass. Then I apologize and look to grasp a handrail.
The conversations were more Washingtonian on the WMATA, while in Shanghai they were about money, and in Beijing they were about the Great Wall. That was a joke, they don't talk about the Great Wall while riding the subway in Beijing. Unless they are tourists. The big difference was, in China, if I wasn't melting into my subway itunes playlist, I was leaning my ear to conversations, trying to discern what they were gossiping about. In Washington, I don't try and eavesdrop on chatter, instead it becomes an effort to tune it out.
The subway in Japan is a different creature altogether. The masses are more orderly than China, but are still masses compared to Washington. Almost no one talks to each other, like well dressed mute babushkas. The outdoor subways are travel amongst beautiful backdrops. I always want to buy a drink or snack when transferring, because I imagine that snacks and drinks taste better in Japan. In reality, they sometimes do taste better, and they sometimes don't. They are always more expensive.
The New York subway is a lot like New York City: powerful, dirty, entertaining just to be in, and a little crazy. It's a very exhausting thing, mostly.
Subways are nice. But I like to drive in my car.
I thought about what it would be like if everyone besides me was full Chinese. It would be strange. There would be stares. Probably at least 2x-3x more people. Smells.
When I rode the subway in Beijing, and to a lesser extent Shanghai, I wore headphones and searched for empty space to stare into. I needed a certain kind of background music for those long rides. Cold Play and Radio Head and alternative rock.
There wasn't enough room to sit, much less get out a book and read. Yesterday I looked over the shoulder of a WMATA commuter and read his kindle secretly. Not as many PSPs in Washington. One thing I still like to do is ride the subway "hands free". I plant my feet in a kung-fu stance, and tighten my stomach muscles. If I concentrate, I can usually easily stay stable. I let myself imagine, sometimes, that I am one of the few who can do this. Sometimes, I fall into someone and grab them to keep from busting my ass. Then I apologize and look to grasp a handrail.
The conversations were more Washingtonian on the WMATA, while in Shanghai they were about money, and in Beijing they were about the Great Wall. That was a joke, they don't talk about the Great Wall while riding the subway in Beijing. Unless they are tourists. The big difference was, in China, if I wasn't melting into my subway itunes playlist, I was leaning my ear to conversations, trying to discern what they were gossiping about. In Washington, I don't try and eavesdrop on chatter, instead it becomes an effort to tune it out.
The subway in Japan is a different creature altogether. The masses are more orderly than China, but are still masses compared to Washington. Almost no one talks to each other, like well dressed mute babushkas. The outdoor subways are travel amongst beautiful backdrops. I always want to buy a drink or snack when transferring, because I imagine that snacks and drinks taste better in Japan. In reality, they sometimes do taste better, and they sometimes don't. They are always more expensive.
The New York subway is a lot like New York City: powerful, dirty, entertaining just to be in, and a little crazy. It's a very exhausting thing, mostly.
Subways are nice. But I like to drive in my car.
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