my floor to ceiling windows were my favorite thing about my apartment. that, and living in a high-rise with a lovely view.

saturday mornings were spent with a cup of tea and a lounge chair pulled up to the window. i would stare down at the taxis driving back and forth and the ant-sized people walking about, and feel an incredible calm being hundreds of feet above them. i was away from schedules and appointments and things that needed to be done. it was my moment to be still.

and even more, i loved the nights. i would turn out all the lights and pull the curtains wide open and let the light pour in from the buildings across the street. on nights i couldn’t sleep, i’d stare at the flickering amber and blue squares and wonder what was happening in them. young chinese families or single foreign businessmen, i debated. were they happy? in love? searching for something? maybe they watched so much tv because they were lonely. maybe they were just bored.

i know they watched a ton of tv because one night i stared really hard to see what i could make out. tv, tv, tv. some at their computers by the window, like me. a woman watering plants and a couple having a somewhat physical fight. that was frightening. and one guy was standing at his window too, seemingly doing nothing but staring. i felt an odd camaraderie with him.

i went back to bed and drifted in and out of sleep, watching the lights disappear one by one as the hours passed. a handful of them would always remain, though. i suppose that way, i never really had to feel alone.

i’ll miss that.

the whole ride home in the motorcycle rickshaw taxi i wonder to myself how much it’s going to be. 5 or 10? i want to avoid getting ripped off so i don’t ask, but instead pull out all i have, a 20, hoping for change.

he pulls to a stop and helps me open the door. i hand him the bill. “有零钱吗?” he nods wordlessly and gives me a 10, 5, and 1.  i stare at the money for more than a few seconds, feeling a sudden rush of emotion. simultaneously stupid and guilty and grateful and helpless. he looks back at me curiously, not smiling, but kindly. i want to offer him the change but something stops me in that split second. i don’t know. this is awkward. will it offend him?

before i work up the courage to say something, he hops back on his bike and he’s gone.  the paper in my hands is worth nothing compared to the weight in my heart right now.

4 kuai. for waiting in line, for standing in the cold, for being away from home at 11:30pm, for putting his life in danger in that death trap bike of his, for helping me in and out of the taxi, for 20 minutes of his time. for 4 kuai. and i nearly resented him for it.

on my walk home my eyes sting from dust and tears. it’s so unfair. and i don’t even know the first thing about it.

i hate myself sometimes.

be kind to others.

TIC: an acronym foreigners often use in china for every absurd thing for which there is no explanation except… this is china.

i had the most ridiculous experience coming back to beijing from hong kong. it’s going to sound like a rant except, the separation between expectation and reality was so great that it was comical. looking back, that is. i’ve only at two other times in my life had such hilariously awful travel experiences:

1. going to the wrong train station in paris with linda, racing for the other station, and missing the train to switzerland by 47 seconds.
2. getting on the bus going the wrong way in shanghai with carrie, getting dropped off in the last stop–a dark alley–at 1am, and begging the drivers to take us back to a place with taxis.

so the thing is, for my hong kong trip, i had bought return tickets from guangzhou because they cost maybe 1/4 – 1/3 less than flying directly from hong kong. well, i paid that price and will not do it again.

expectation: train leaves at 4, arrives at 6, go through customs, get a taxi to the airport shuttle stop (5 minutes away) by 7.

reality: train does not leave on time, customs takes 45 minutes, taxi line does not exist outside of one of the biggest railway stations in guangzhou. also, it is raining cats and dogs. a man follows me around while i try to grab a taxi, shouting prices at me. the one taxi driver i find refuses to take me to the airport in the rain, so i bargain hard with the guy following me around, and out of desperation, i concede. (will not disclose how much i paid cause i know my mom is reading this.) man kicks a woman out of the car so i can get in (yes, i felt bad), and we are speeding along like crazy on the highway and i am holding on for dear life, considering calling my dad to tell him to make sure i’m still alive in a couple hours. i make it alive.

expectation: i will be going door to door in a taxi from the airport to my apartment and therefore have left my heavy coats/jackets at home.

reality: i arrive at the start of the biggest snowstorm beijing has seen in 60 years.  there is a line of people 50 deep with no taxis in sight. i run for the last airport shuttle of the night.

expectation: the shuttle will drop me off at a location where it IS possible to catch a taxi.

reality: the shuttle stops in the middle of tiananmen square at 12:30am. chang’an is a deserted ten lane road and i am frozen to the core in -10C weather without a coat. i wait 20 minutes before my dad calls me worriedly, and at this point it dawns on me that this might be the first time he does have reason to worry. i’m almost in (frozen) tears but then a cab pulls up and i am saved. SAVED.

and so i arrived at my apartment around 1:30am, a little poorer, a lot in pain, but immensely thankful that i was simply alive. safe. warm. did i mention that state-mandated central heating is the very best thing about beijing? well, it is.

(i’ll leave the story about the airport express breaking down the next morning while i was picking up becky–for another day.)