Twenty-five year old Canadian girl experiencing life in Beijing, China.
Feeling sorry for myself when I haven’t left the house in 4 days is easy to do.
I’m homesick but I’m not ready to go home yet.
I’ve been thinking a lot today and doing a lot of reflecting and stuff and all of a sudden I just kinda stopped thinking and realized how proud of myself that I am. Up and moving to a foreign country where I didn’t know one other person, sticking it through with all of its many difficulties. I’m just really really fucking proud. I seem to spend so much of my time criticizing and being super hard on myself, when really, I should be so much more aware of how much I’ve accomplished. My entire life, it seems, has revolved around my worries of what others think of me. A constant nagging. This unnessesary anxiety. Such a huge portion of my time and energy and awareness, and for what? For someone else’s approval? For a boost of self esteem? I’m grateful for days like this when things just kind of slow down, words are muted and yet everything around you is so clear. And all at once you just take a step back and truly see yourself from the outside, in.
It’s only after half a bottle of booze that nostalgia can truly be at its finest.
I guess in China, I’m now learning, that some vegetables must be boiled for a minimum of 20 minutes before you can eat them. Probably something to do with the chemicals they use to generate crops as fast as they do. How scary. It was described to me in the relation of cooking meat. A little too late, I might add. I don’t think I have ever been that ill before. And from green beans of all things. Ugh. The filthy squatter toilets of China will be the death of me. For now: crackers, a can of sprite, and all the tummy medicine I can stomach. Sleep is now. Wake me up, never. Ughh.