I am truly frightened. I was procrastinating, tooling around on the internets trying not to think about how I couldn't seem to write ANYTHING today, when I stumbled across a list of various blog sites. Now I thought I knew a lot of blog sites, but this was ridiculous! I mean seriously, what is hi5? Or bebo? This was crazy! But, not as crazy as it gets. Have you heard, oh make believe readers, of a site named Writernia?

Now I've been through a few creative writing workshops because that is what creative writing majors do. We read each other's work, usually while feeling pretty good about our own, and try to offer the best advice we can. Well, not always the best, we don't want a lot of competition out there in the old publishing world, but we offer some basic advice. You think, things like verb tense changes and whatnots. Sometimes, if I'm the one reading your story, you'll find huge red marks that read, "Hell no!" But such plot advice can be rare depending on who is reviewing your work.

Anyway, so I've read peer work in these classes, and usually with a LOT of bemoaning if that particular peer has a history of just awful stories. (Mind you, there are some peers whose work far out does my own! I love and hate to read it because the stories are both very good and way better than my own, hence depressing.) Anyway, this site, Writernia, is a WRITERS blog!!! So guess what, it's filled with peer work!!! And just like in a workshop, while there will be some diamonds, there is a LOT of rough. A lot of rough. Wow! So much rough!

Now, PLEASE don't get me wrong, I don't believe my writing is, well, anything to write home about, but I am a reader. I read just about anything. I LOVE cheesy fantasy novels with knights on horses and wizards and fay folk running about causing a ruckus, love it! I read Stephen King and I read Jane Austin, I read EVERYTHING. I love stories. So, when I say that some of the stories on the blog are horrific and NOT because they are horror stories, you have to understand that I'm saying this from the opinion of an avid devourer of words! It was crazy!

Which naturally means I'll be making several visits to this site to read more stories. Why, you ask? Because I did leave there feeling a little more confident in my amateur work AND in my basic ability to at least know how a story is suppose to work. I've been learning the technical for years now, and it's just nice to know that I've retained a little knowledge. That, and it's a LOT of fun to read some of these stories out loud in a very dramatic Shakespearean act voice. It makes me giggle.

... yes, I am evil.

I just ate a pommelo. It happens to be the largest citrus in the citrus family, ranging from the size of a grape fruit to the size of a basket ball. I did not consume the basket ball variety, but it is now my mission to do so. They were originally found in Malaysia though mine was Sunkist and probably came from California. It's rind is INSANE! And really, if you try to peel this thing, it is more effort than it's worth. If I had been smart and looked it up before I ate it I would have known to eat it more like a grape fruit. If you peel the thing it seems to generate five times the amount of garbage than there was ever fruit to begin with. It was quite the experience.

Oh, so you were probably expecting this to maybe be about Christmas, since that did just past. Well, Christmas was interesting. First off, my Mum and Dad are five hours away, and neither me nor really my little sister Erin own cars that would make it there. Well, actually Erin's car probably could have made it, but it is a Neon and Jason is over six feet, and it's a five hour drive. No, Jason and I rented a car.

Well, it was suppose to be a car, but Enterprise ran out of cars. Actually, I got a call on the 24th, the day I was suppose to pick up my rental car, telling me that Enterprise had no vehicles to rent to me whatsoever. Yes, the car rental place had. no. cars. I thought that was kind of funny. I guess no one turned in the cars on time! Finally, about three-thirty I got a call saying that someone turned in a Dodge Caravan and that they would rent that to me at the same cost as the standard size car I WAS going to rent. So I ended up being the proud renter of a very nice, very comfortable mini van. I think that was the only way four adults were able to survive the five hours in the car! It was a NICE ride!

Why are families so stress filled? I generally like my family. For the most part I think we all get along pretty well. But. Well, you put EVERYONE together in one house for a holiday and I can tell you we all feel a little bit of stress!

For me, mostly, it's my dad. That man stresses me out like no one else! I get along with my Mums great. She, in fact, is probably my second biggest confidant under Jason whose my first. Mums is always the bait that gets me out there. I want see her, and then I remember how much my father just stresses me out!

The bait was doubled this time because my big sister Jenny and my brother-in-law Mark were going to be there. I haven't seen those two in AGES! I really enjoy getting together with them and I really really really missed my nephew! So, with SO much pulling me in, I HAD to suffer the five hour drive Christmas DAY and go up to see my family.

It was a decent time. There are always bumps and hiccups. My dad likes to pick on my Chinese pronunciation, which is ridiculous because I took the language and he merely listened to tapes now and again. That ALWAYS grates on me. Apparently he has gotten it into his head that his pronunciation is better than mine. I keep telling him that I started learning while I was in Sichuan and that my first TA was FROM Chengdu, so my Sichuan accent continued which is why some of my pronunciations are different from his Beijing speaking tape. There is a HUGE difference between southern and northern Chinese pronunciations. The Beijing people like their "r's" what can I say? But yeah, he kind of pushes that. Sometimes, to get on his nerves, I might write a thing or two in Chinese because he can't read it. Take that dad.

There was more, but I'm just going to let it go. Family is family, right? It just means that these big family things are STRESSFUL. And I was very very happy to make it home last night.

I've been reveling in my home all day today. Dancing with Jason, eating a leisurely breakfast, hanging out. I think we are BOTH very relieved to be HOME. Even with the crazy storm that just hit and took away the powers for the last three hours! But that will be a different blog.

(Before I begin I should warn you that there will be some spoilers for the book "The Good Earth." Now this may mean nothing to you, but just in case I wanted to warn you that my rant begins with something from the plot of this book and then moves on into the concepts of beauty in America.)

So, I'm reading "The Good Earth" by Pearl S. Buck, and right now the main character Wang Lung is making me very frustrated. After many years of marriage and six children he has suddenly become tired of his wife, O'lan, and has begun cheating on her with some little painted prostitute.

This makes me very angry! O'Lan has been a very faithful, helpful, caring wife through this whole book, and now Wang Lung is casting her aside for some tramp! And all this because he knows the O'Lan is not "beautiful". What IS beautiful? Can someone tell me, cause really I'm getting confused here.

I've been doing a little bit of research on this particular topic. I wanted to know what aspects do we as humans label as attractive and why. Really, the answers are a little odd. According to some sources I have found it seems to be all about dimensions. And now just one particular measurement. Women don't have to have specific numbers, but it seems that if, when you divide the size of your waist by the size of your hips, you come up with the number .7 then your dimensions are pleasing. (Men, you have to have the number .9.) Apparently such famous figures as Jessica Alba, Marilyn Monroe, and even the Venus de Milo. So what does this mean?

Really, I don't know! I think that with all the research and all the hype about body type, diets, workouts, and what-have-you we are still no where near close to understanding what we as individuals are attracted by someone else. Beauty really SHOULD be in the eye of the beholder, and frankly I don't appreciate anyone trying to set up predetermined mandatory features for the definition of beautiful!

So, yeah, O'Lan may have big feet and a round face, she might be big boned or quiet, but that doesn't mean she isn't beautiful! And if this Wang Lung guy were real I would give him a good slap in the face for his unfaithful behavior and his complete and total thanklessness for this woman who stood by his side through the worst of times. What is that quote? "Thanklessness plagues and dogs hard the heels of affection." Wang Lung should have kept that in mind.

If he were real and not just some made up character.

I really shouldn't get so wrapped up in my books.

There is nothing more surreal for a girl from Chicago than to be driving around in December with the windows open, no coat, and Christmas music playing on the radio. It is downright balmy outside, where did that come from? Not that I'm not thankful, it's been a little too breezy in my apartment, but my body is just not use to this weather-roller-coaster! I need season, real honest-to-goodness seasons, where the weather does typical seasonal things.

Anyway, that isn't what this random thought is about. That was, well, one of many random thoughts I suppose, and a decent opening line. It kind of sets my odd mood I suppose.

This thought was inspired by a conversation with a friend. He mentioned that there was a study having to do with basic human emotions that said there were only four core emotions, anger, fear, surprise, and happiness. He thought it was interesting that there was only one "good" or "positive" emotion. We talked a bit about the implications of that. It was a concept I instinctively questioned. I don't want to believe that we by nature are a pessimistic society. The scientists had to have been depressives themselves.

The one conclusion I could come up with was that the label of "happy" is overused. If the study was preformed with photos (and I have no idea if it was or not) there are many different expressions on the human face that we would call happy. Everything from a smirk to belly-laughing could be simply called happy, but that doesn't mean it's the same emotion involved in both cases. Just like everything else in life, happiness is complex and layered.

This thought lead to another, which my thoughts are wont to do. Why is it we have so many different labels for negative emotions and only a handful for positive emotions? My theory is this, when things are going well we very rarely question what we are feeling. Why question the feeling in your chest while you are laughing with friends or cuddled with a lover, you are in the moment, there experiencing every second of it and focused on the now, you have no time to spare to think about labeling your emotions. It's only when things aren't going well that you mind begins to dwell on how you are feeling. If you are scared or nervous or angry your mind, or at least MY mind, will pick at that feeling like a scab. You'll worry it and scratch it and bother it until you feel better. That doesn't mean we are pessimistic per say, we don't enjoy negative emotions, but it seems that we as humans tend to expect, almost demand, the good days and the positive emotions. We take them for granted as expected instead of realizing that every great day is fleeting and a gift and is meant to be cherished and lived and reveled in to the fullest extent.

I don't know which is better, being a pessimistic society or one that feels entitlement. Though, really, I don't believe you can pigeon whole an entire world. While there are plenty of people who want to follow the herd, there are plenty more who understand the necessity of uniqueness. And while there are plenty of pessimists, there are also the optimists. I know several people who know to relish what they have when they have it, and it's those people I fully intend to surround myself with. Positive emotions, even if there is only one, can be contagious. I hope to infect others with happiness myself.

My apartment is cold. Very cold. This is probably because the window in my apartment are plastic, not glass, and the plastic has various holes in it. Through the many holes in the many windows of my apartment there blows a rather brisk gale that combats any form of air warming device I can find. I did put up that heat saving, crinkly, somewhat annoying plastic stuff made by the duck tape people, but it had to come down. Not only had it been successful with keeping in the heat, it kept in the carbon monoxide too.

Yes, that's right, my CO alarm went off a few days ago! I was sitting here, writing emails, when a loud, ear-piercing beeping erupted behind me. The things that go through you head when you are suddenly confronted by foreign beeps can be bizarre. At first I thought my computer was going to explode. Then I looked outside. (Odd, I know, but the piercing tone of the beep made it sound like it was coming from everywhere at once.) Then I remembered that we had these things called alarms. I knew the smoke alarm didn't work because I tested it. I fill the house from floor to ceiling with smoke while trying to make focaccia bread. The smoke wasn't on purpose, but the extreme lack of beeps made it pretty clear to me that the smoke alarm doesn't work. Anyway, my mind was working well enough to remember this information, which left only one alarm left, the CO detector.

You grow up learning in school what to do in case of a fire, but no one ever instructs you on what to do if your apartment is filling with CO. I like to think of myself as a pretty smart girl. I'm alright. That being said, I still stood in my apartment for about five minutes holding the alarm in my hands and staring at it. Then, I did the one thing I could think of doing. I called my mom. When she didn't answer I called my Carbondale mom, Paula. Paula told me to leave the apartment and call my landlord.

Mr. Landlord. What can I tell you that will capture the epitome of Mr. Landlord? Well, I think you will get a metaphorical taste of Mr. L. as I continue with this narrative. If you took a real taste of Mr. L. he would probably taste like whiskey.

Mr. L. wasn't answering his phone. This, my friends and neighbors, was not a shocking development. I messaged my boyfriend, Jason, to let him know that our cozy little home was a poisonous death trap, but that I was trying to take care it. Jason, knowing me full well, was not at first alarmed. I guess those that know me know that the Becca panic button well labeled and low for easy access to problems of all sizes. Still, this was kind of a major problem.

I hung out at Paula's for awhile until she asked me a rather unusual question.

"So, what did the fire department have to say?"

The fire department? I don't usually speak to the fire department on a daily basis. I suppose they are doing well. Should I be in communication with my local fire department? Does that make a difference some how? Will they respond quicker should there be a fire at my apartment?

How was I suppose to know that the fire department also deals with CO problems? There wasn't a fun little CO dance in kindergartner to explain these things to me. I still know the stop, drop, and roll song, I would have remembered the carbon monoxide song had there been one.

So I called the fire department. (And the Carbondale fire department operator is a very woman. I actually did have a pleasant chat with her and with the non-emergency number lady as well.)

I went back to my apartment to await the arrival of what I figured would be one of those fire department SUVs. What I got was a full firetruck with flashing lights and sound. "This," I thought to myself, "is overkill." Before I could blink I followed eight, yes eight, firemen up the stairs and into my apartment.

Now, I have a little apartment. It feels very big when it's just me and Jason, but you put even one more body in the living room and the whole place shrinks. Picture, if you would, eight firemen in full gear wielding huge CO counters in front of them like tricorders. The apartment shrunk to the size of a playhouse.

I wasn't really sure what to do at that point. All eight guys were nodding their heads and saying things like, "Yep, yep, CO in here alright." "Yep, I got thirty, you got thirty?" "No, mine still says twenty-eight. I'm gonna try the kitchen." "Yep, CO in here too, yep, alright, there is CO."

Meanwhile my head is snapping back and forth among while I listen and ask questions. "Thirty? Is thirty bad? Is the CO coming from the kitchen? Does twenty-eight mean it's going away? Do you think the CO will give up and go home?"

The firemen walked through my house, and then checked out the garage underneath my house where the furnace and the hot water heater live. The CO down there was even less. Eventually most of the guys got back into the firetruck and left. One of the firemen had arrived in the SUV I had been expecting; he stayed and gave me his guess as to what was going on. According to him the CO in the apartment was probably coming from the oven because it isn't vented so there is no other place for it to go. The levels were too high yet, so his suggestion was for me to take all of the plastic off the windows, open them, and get a breeze going to air out the house. After that advice he left.

I did what he said, and by the time Jason got home from work I was able to turn the alarm on without it beeping. We ate out anyway. We're paranoid.

While eating twice-cooked beef at New Kahala Jason got a phone call from Mr. Landlord. (I did leave him a rather panic-sounding voice mail.) Jason told him everything, but Mr. Landlord wanted to check the apartment out himself. Jason told him we were eating but that we'd be home in about thirty minutes. Mr. L. said he would still stop by now and just wait for us there. I made a joke about Mr. L. bringing a fan into our apartment and waving it around as his solution, but Jason pointed out that the joke was a little too close to possible reality with this guy.

When we did get to the apartment we found Mr. L. eyeing the CO alarm with suspicion. He asked us several times if we had checked the batteries. We had, in fact, changed them the week before. He didn't believe us. I told him the fire department guys were out here and their sniffers picked up CO. "They lie. It's a scam," said Mr. L.

I blinked at this for a moment.

"The fire department is lying about carbon monoxide?" I asked.

"Yeah, they just want to make money off you. It's all a lie. Carbon monoxide only comes off your car," said Mr. L.

"The fire department is involved in a carbon monoxide conspiracy?" I asked. (I told you Mr. L. was something else.)

"Yeah, they just want your moneys," he said.

I blinked again, trying to compute all of this.

"But, they wouldn't make money off of CO. It's not like they are selling the detectors," I said.

"No, no they will charge you for showing up here to test it. They want to scare you. Make you call them more so they can charge me for coming out here. CO comes from cars. Did you have these windows open like this? With these windows open and my car runnin outside all sorts of CO is coming in here. If you just keep these windows closed you'll be fine."

I didn't even try here. I just nodded. Mr. L. did bring over a new CO detector which he plugged in by the stove. (Which, by the way, he won't vent and won't replace with an electric, because the fire department lies.) He was hinting at taking away my old CO detector, but that wasn't going to happen with me here. That little guy is working, he stays.

So that, my friends, is why I am typing this blog from underneath the thickest fleece blanket you have ever seen. I suppose I could try to find myself another apartment. But I've already gone and painted this one purple, and orange, and well, enough colors to loose the security deposit. That, and there is no way I'll find another place this cheap. Besides, the fire department would have told me to move if this place was that dangerous, right?

Wow, so it's been awhile since I've posted on here. I guess I've just been too busy with, well, with running around in circles doing my life thing. That, and I have a few different blogs that I also ignore but check more often, so that's been keeping me busy.

So, why am I posting on here now? To calm my nerves! It's the middle of finals week, which always gets to me, plus I applied to a few grad schools and I won't hear back from them until some time in March. This has me biting my nails. Just to add that final touch, my computer has been acting funny. Not funny-ha-ha, funny-not-good-or-funny. It's been turning off randomly. I'll just be sitting here playing some goofy little game to get my mind off things and poof, the computer turns off. The plug is still plugged, all the lights are on, but my computer isn't home. Welcome emotional break down, it's nice to see you again.

Since I seem to lack the moneys, I have to pretend that my computer is fine. I keep hearing, "Don't worry about, Lan Tian, you can't afford to worry." Now really that isn't true. Worry is free! I can afford all the worry my little mind can take, it's new computers I can't afford. Still, I do have tests and things to study for and I suppose I can't do this to the fullest if I sit around and worry.

So I'm going to blog instead. Because that has to be more productive, right? Write out my concerns to the unfaced populous, take the load off my shoulders with a little open whining and hope that maybe eases my mind, that sounds like a good plane, right? Well, good or not, here I am babbling away. Maybe this time should have been used for studying? ... Nah, I think this is better.

I'll try my best to think of something with a little more substance to blog about next time! Not that I think I'm gaining a fan base or anything, but just because the act of creativity is good in and of itself.

Until then, sleep sweet.

I'm giddy. Seriously, completely giddy. Why, you may ask. Well, mostly because it's now 10:40pm and I'm still up. It's that electric, tight, excited feeling in your chest that you used to get as a child when you knew you were staying up way past your bedtime. Exploring the unvisited, unknown, taboo times past the point of your waking hours. Yes, I am a little old to be experiencing that feeling, but it's there, radiating out of my chest and into my arms and legs, and yes I am bouncing a foot as I write this and smiling a big cheesy smile at the world beyond my bedtime. True, this could be caused by the caffeine in the tea I am drinking, or the nicotine in the cigarette (something that didn't enter the equation when I was a child), but I don't think so. I really, honestly believe I am giddy simply because I am awake.

I didn't realize until this moment how strictly I have asserted my waking and sleeping patterns. For many years now I've been working different early morning jobs, or attending early morning classes, and because of that I have acquired the habit of going to bed early so that I can be sharp for the following day. This regime became even more strictly enforced when I started working the baking shift at Melange. Since I had to get up at 3am so that I could eat and get to work by 4am at the latest, I found myself going to bed before the sun and waking in the dark hours that should honestly still be considered night. I did this for several months, both during the semester and then into the summer, living in a waking sleep for the rest of the day because my schedule was so thrown off. Well, my position at Melange has been dissolved, leaving me unemployed and unencumbered with a ridiculous sleeping schedule.

As you can see, I'm now indulging myself!

However, I don't think that is completely the cause of my giddiness this evening. I think I am partly giddy because, yes, I am breaking my own rules and staying up, which is wonderful, and partly because... well... I'm almost at a loss for words! I feel very childlike tonight. Not to be confused with childish, I don't feel like pouting in the corner or laughing at ridiculous slapstick. I feel enchanted with the world. This is probably caused by all of the fantasy I've been reading lately. I feel the world is endless with possibilities, filled with the unknown and unexplored, romantic and magical, bursting with potential and unexplainable wonders. I have to admit I love this feeling!

Mum used to call it being "high off life." Which, I suppose, it is a bit. It's a little piece of childhood that I hope to carry with me for the rest of my life. It's that little piece that the world in all its reality tries to gnaw away at and tear away from you, but I think it's a piece of the human puzzle that is essential to the whole. I think there needs to be wonder in life. There needs to be awe, there needs to be the unexplained and the magical and the amazing. This feeling was what drove me to start writing in the first place. It's something that life almost made me forget for a time, but that never died. It was quieted for a while, but hibernating, not dead.

In a world filled with explanations, hard science, and cold facts, I ventured forth in search of the awing, exhilarating, unexplainable wonder. I wanted to be an adventurer, an explorer. I found that in books, and I still do. I love the travel I experience when I read a good novel, and I really do feel like I've experienced the whole trip when I'm done. I started writing, conducting my own excursions into the unknown. The first stories I wrote were all fantasy or sci fi. I wandered strange lands, spoke with mythological creatures, rescued the captured and forged new paths for future explorers. Writing a story was as exciting for me as reading one. It's funny, but when I started to pursue creative writing as a subject of study I was pushed away from the true reasons I wanted to write.

For two years now, in most (not all) of my fiction writing classes I was strongly deterred from writing what I loved to write. My teachers wanted me to write stories about, well, about the factual, cold, scientific world I was trying to escape from. I was to write stories that smacked of reality and the mundane. And, frankly, because these weren't the stories of my heart I felt that my short stories began to lack soul.

My tutelage, along with a full helping of life in all of its demoralizing glory, helped to quell this childlike feeling of excitement, awe, and wonder that I'm enjoying now. However, I have discovered, if you look hard enough this little piece of childhood can be found. I found it in the joy of the silly little things around me. Like staying up late, or chai with honey and milk, or movie marathons (today it was Rambo!), or really good novels. I beam in the glow of simple pleasures and revel in the happiness they bring.

This has also brought about a little determination in me. I am determined to return to my roots and to seek out my pleasure for exploration in my writing once again. Yes, that's right, you heard me, I'm going back to writing fantasy! I love fantasy, and all the research that goes with it. I have books upon books of world mythologies and I'm not afraid to use them. I hope to maybe bring fantasy back to the basics and explore the beliefs of our ancestors and how they believed things worked in the world of the fay and the fortresses of the gods. If Neil Gaiman can do it, so can I!

Okay, I think my rambling is coming to an end. If anyone has made it this far, thanks for keeping me company on this little journey of discovery! I hope that you too can find that little piece of childhood and delight in something wonderfully simple and maybe stand in awe of something that never needs to be explained!

Goodnight! Sleep sweet one and all, and remember, take time once and awhile to revel in the joys of staying up past bed time! :-) *Huggles all*

I was cursed recently by a fortune cookie. Twice really, since the print looked as though it were printed twice in rapid secession which caused a shadowed look to the words. Bam bam, rapid fire curse casting; two hits, dead on. What was this horrible curse that my unfortunate cookie cast upon me, you may ask? The little, white, two inch piece of paper simple read, "You will live in interesting times."

Interesting times? Is that so bad? If you have to ask that then apparently you have never really lived through interesting times. Think about history. What happens during those interesting moments in history that we tend to remember and study? Usually it's something pretty drastic, like war or massive outbreaks of disease, or act of God type things. Now that doesn't mean that I believe my fortune cookie has now caused some sort of butterfly effect that will create global disaster, but I don't like the omen that my life might be "interesting" in the sense that I've already lived through some pretty "interesting" times and have had experiences that aren't the norm, and now I kind of just want to live and nice quiet little life were there isn't so much emotional upheaval. "Interesting" and emotional upheaval tend to go hand in hand, trust me.

This all leads up to my big question which is what truly IS normal? A nice, normal life; a nice, normal relationship; what is normal? Can you really make it to twenty-six (which is just where I'll be come March) without accumulating piles of emotion baggage? If you start a relationship now is it basically guaranteed that you are both going to be dinged and scared from past relationships and cluttered with doubts and uncertainties that will have to be dealt with? That could taint or corrupt the new life, the new relationship that you are trying to build? Once you live through interesting times is it pretty guaranteed you will continue through interesting times simply because they brand you and create more upheaval?

Why wasn't I hit by the knowledge wand when I became an adult so I could have the answers to all of these questions? I thought adults were suppose to know these things! I am greatly disappointed to discover that it was all an act and that even once you reach "adulthood" you are really just as ignorant about the big issues as when you were a child, only now you can understand that the big issues are WAY more complicated than you can ever imagine and that you have no real hope of every really solving them. Adulthood means you know the hopelessness of your situation and now you just trudge on as best you can, making up your own rules as you go along all the while pretending that you have it together and that you know what you're doing.

I still feel twelve.

I have way too many of these things! Thing being blogs. I completely forgot about this particular one, to tell the truth. Currently, if I write anything on a blog at all, it will usually end up on myspace. Aside from that you can pretty much follow my trail from blogger to xanga and everything in-between. I think I picked this site up because of travelpunk. The only posts on here are about my trip to China that took place two summers ago. (I think it was two?)

The trip to Chengdu, China did turn out to be the biggest adventure of my life. At least, as far as travel is concerned. I spent an entire week in Beijing before flying into Chengdu in the Sichuan province of China. I studied there for five weeks, living in three bedroom apartment with two other students. Actually, my things lived in that apartment and for about four weeks I was pretty much living with a friend in his studio on the twelfth floor of the apartment across the street.

I have a ton of pictures, all of them still unsorted, but all well treasured. I still talk to a handful of people I met. It's funny how you leave a place fully believing that you will stay close with these new friends all your lives, and then two years later you maybe say hi to them via facebook once a month. Ah well, so things go I suppose.

Now I am on to other forms of adventures. The setting is no where near as romantic as China, but I think the relationships are a little more lasting.