I sit on my couch. After a little more than a week at home in New Hampshire, I have arrived back at my apartment in Beijing.
It has been more than 24 hours since leaving Boston. I try to wrap my head around it all as I sip coffee. I haven’t had real sleep in a while now, and my body seems to think I’m crazy.
It’s dark outside now.
When I arrived in the afternoon I could see the pollution rolled out all over the city. The thick, milky coat of coal fumes and fossil fuels stretched out over the tarmac.
This dynamic between Beijing in New Hampshire is slowly driving me insane. Last night, I walked down a road, muttering Chinese to myself. I was inventing a conversation between a man and a woman, using different voice characters.
Remnants of culture shock. Sometimes, it feels more like a cultural schism.
I guess it’s just that most people don’t understand culture shock. Or maybe it’s just that they don’t put the necessary weight behind it’s importance. Like it’s some trivial thing. But that’s just because those people never felt it deep.
I just ordered fried chicken from a Korean restaurant down the street.
Fried chicken is awful for you and people say that you shouldn’t eat it. They say that it rots your core, or something like that. But I can’t help it. I really love the stuff.