Over here, we call Chinese food "food"

Once again, not really.

The title of this entry comes from a similarly titled blog I had on Xanga (remember that shit?) wherein I bitched and moaned about a place I called home and was living in of my own volition.

Try as hard as I did to avoid such an outcome, my blog inevitably became a jumble of cliched cultural epiphanies that congregated into a linear mess of "self-discovery" and all the nonsense that comes with such a heavy-handed unifying theme. In other words, my blog devolved into a statistic, the requisite "foreigner teaching English in China" blog wherein the same pictures of the Great Wall, Forbidden City, and toothless Chinese man selling street food served as visual reference for the exploits of "meeting new interesting people!!!!11" and "learning the language (OMG SO HARD)." Cookie cutter shit, although it's understandable.

Fast forward about a year or so later after said blog, there's no traces of mystique or cultural preponderance because the mystique is long gone. Beijing has become a place that, like LA, or maybe even Orange County, is simply a place for someone to live. And for me, that's a good thing. Viewing one's surroundings through rose-tinted glasses can only get you so far; after that, you have to face the reality of your situation. For me, the reality of the situation is that I'm now 25, no longer a college graduate, and a few years behind on my projected career path. No self-discovery, none of that actualization of the self bullshit here. Just hardcore career-planning and the like.

In gaming-related nonsense, I found a forum on The Beijinger's website. It appears a few of the forum posters are into games, with even a minuature, compacted console flame war to boot.

In non-gaming related nonsense, how fucking antisocial and scared of making new acquaintances are the people on my floor? I get the whole "immersing yourself in a strange land" thing. It's very romantic. Now get over yourselves.

Ah yes, one more thing. Pictures of my apartment:

The bedroom, where the magic happens. By magic, I mean laggy "WoW."

Another view of the bedroom. Note the unmade bed and the trash surreptitiously stuffed to the side of the desk.

The kitchen. As you might've already guessed, the least-visited area of the apartment by a long run.

A view of the family room. Probably the cleanest it'll ever be.

A view from the balcony connected to my room. I live on campus grounds, so it's nice and quiet at night. Although I do somewhat miss the ambient white noise creeping in like my old apartment in Dawang Lu, nothing beats peaceful silence.

Another view from the balcony. Better view of the city, or rather, the Wudaokou area. I can see the girlfriend's office building from here. Makes me feel like Norman Bates. Except the whole, y'know.

The bathroom. Funny thing about Chinese apartments is the lack of an actual shower, which means the entire ground gets soaking wet. Doesn't mean I won't sing, though.

So yeah, the return to China continues on. Stay tuned for posts detailing why I absolutely fucking loathe the Chinese language and the cultural impact of the Backstreet Boys on Chinese youth.