Sleepless in Cambridge: Junior Year

I always have trouble falling asleep at the start of the school year, but this time seems different somehow. Maybe it's the novelty of a room suddenly 50% more populated, the piercing whirr of a fan working overtime, or the mid-college crisis, but whatever it is, it's got me back on this futon wondering what the hell I do from here.

Classes seem exciting this year; too soon to call, I know, considering I've been to only one of five so far, but after four go-throughs you just know, it seems. I don't think they'll be as unruly as others predict, but I do intend to bracket more time for schoolwork this year. Running the comp and preparing for retreats will be a time-suck, but I don't foresee an imminent breakdown. There should be little to worry about here, and hopefully I'll have a clearer sense of my thesis at the end of it all.

Being back at school is still a bit jarring- indeed, tonight is an ugly manifestation of this subtle struggle. Life didn't move this fast even in Shanghai, and suddenly there seem to be fewer hours in a day. Perhaps it's just me getting a bit too comfortable here, and besides, more exercise can't hurt. Maybe I just need a little jolt, a bit more pressure, in order to sleep better (or at all). I don't seem to adjust well to new conditions and environments, and this time is no different. However, it's partially my fault because I haven't allowed myself to get into an academic frame of mind yet. As they say, I'm still in "summer mode" and a part of me doesn't want that to change, while the wiser part knows it must, before it's too late.

I'm finding this common room extremely relaxing and calming. Maybe it's the dearth of furniture or the utter abandon of aesthetics- whatever it is, this room is a good place to sit back and enjoy the simpler things. I need open space to think clearly; without this last year, I felt the studying I did in the living room was of a fleeting nature. For now, I can only hope that this isn't the case with A-31.

Being sleepless in Cambridge shouldn't be the primary engine behind this blog, let along being it's only driver. But this collegiate lifestyle makes it hard to do anything aside from one's most crucial obligations- the classes, quizzes, meetings, and emails that make the clock turn here faster than anywhere else on Earth. That said, I should aim for the just, and not the reality, which would mean a stronger commitment to the itinerary of the Struggle Bus.

Top 9 Phrases from HCF 2011

Taking after Mr. Posnanski, I've decided to buck this cliched reliance on the number ten and jock out with a list of the Top Nine* sayings, words, concepts, and states of mind from this past summer. Someone could say something along the lines of: "Hey John, that, like most of your ideas, sounds great, but how can you possibly distinguish between, say, numbers seven and four on a list like this? Though it'll be the dopest thing I read all week, this list could hardly have been empirically derived, right?" To humor such misguided naivete I would retort that only the most scientifically stringent measures have been taken to compile this list. On top of that, I have consulted with Chad "Thunder Thighs" Eason about this over a (very) tense lunch break, and if he's not a reliable expert then, well, can there really be hope for any of us?

*Nine is perfect for a host of baseball-related reasons. First and foremost, it's the number donned by none other than The Splendid Splinter himself: Ted Williams. Teddy Ballgame's career has inspired me beyond description, and just as he penned The Science of Hitting, I hope to one day publish The Science of Making Lists. Besides, it's also Reggie Jackson under the A's, and also some guy named Gordie Howe who was apparently halfway decent on the ice. Nine is also a conveniently manageable number that reduces my original workload by a whopping ten percent, time I could use to continue my subversion of the Chinese government. 


Without further delay:

• 9. "Merp"
• Though the precise meaning of merp remains unclear, it's applicability to all situations social has truly made it an essential feature of the HCF lexicon. Whether you're using it to introduce a random thought (Merp Studies doctoral student Darja Mihailova has posited that herein lies the word's archaic origins) or express a feeling of resigned confusion, there is no shortage of ways to make merp a cornerstone of any cultured person's daily conversational life. 
• 8. "Wu Kuai!"
• Whether you're haggling for a Tory Borch handbag at the fake market or seizing an opportunity to finally beat your mom at Yahtzee- basically anytime you've got to come through in the clutch- nothing gives you the upper-hand quite like exclaiming "Wu Kuai" with authority and gusto. This absurdly low initial price offering will have your foes so flustered they won't know how to handle the rest of the negotiations, especially if the product of interest costs less than 5 RMB to begin with.
• 7. "Makin' those popsicle moves"
• After a wild night of wondering back and forth along Huaihai Road, few things feel quite as good as joining parched tongue to frozen sugar following the purchase of a kuai-and-a-half Transformer's popsicle. But of course, everyone has his or her favorite- some prefer the Fruties McCubies, others the peach-a-paloozas, and the more affluent among us the classic Magnums. Wherever the fancy may lie, the one thing keeping us all together at a popsicle stand at five in the morning during a typhoon are these icy little guys. Note: Not something you should "Wu Kuai" for. 
• 6. "You tryna' go to Yang's?"
• We stumbled into this dungeon of delightful dumplings on our first day, and, as they say, the rest is history. Though I n00bed out in my virginal experience and got those gross ass noodles instead, I have since learned that I should only go to YFD to gorge myself with fatty, dehydrating cubes of fat. Anything else would be a wasted effort and an affront to the mission statement of  Mr. Yang himself. This little eatery is as go-to as Fisher in the fourth as the inquiry of general interest will never be met with a negative response (God forbid). Yang's is a national treasure, but with better actors than Nick Cage and more action.
• 5. 3.40 Suntory
• Costing just a smidgen more than Reeb (which just barely missed the top nine, though historically significant in its own right) and tasting just four smidgens worse than Tsingtao, Suntory is truly the happy medium so coveted by the likes of Aristotle and Siddhartha. This summer will be remembered in large part to the games of pong played on the 19th floor, overlooking Puxi under the stars, to say nothing of the countless road beers that surely contributed to the aforementioned confusion felt along Huaihai Road. And in this instance, the three-forty is as, nay, more important as the Suntory itself. Anything more is an injustice and highway robbery in its most flagrant form, whereas anything less, well, then you're getting decent Beer at Reeb prices. Life could be worse.
• 4. Herpaderp
• Any word that gives rise to the adjective "derpy" belongs in the upper echelons of any (scientifically stringent and totally legitimate) list. Herpaderp has become a part of the Hanting family, like an eighth sibling, in a sorts of sense. But the kind of ugly, annoying little runt of a brother that you swear must have been an M2-conceived mistake. Still, Herpes simplex has provided more fun than a barrel of monkeys, and while the herpaderp may come and go, the friendships forged by snickering at its utterance last a lifetime. 
• 3. "Everyday I'm Shufflin'"
• Although our summer-long commitment to learn this routine bore little fruit, the passion to Shuffle rages on like a pair of hemorrhaging loins. Oftentimes followed with an embarrassing attempt to mimic the techno-synthesized rhythm, LMHCFAO has tarnished the Fair Harvard name in too many public places to count, including subway platforms and Walmarts. Despite spending a good eighth of this trip watching different renditions of the dance on Youtube, I begrudgingly admit that our shuffling abilities are today still mired somewhere between abysmal and halfway horrible. Through all this, we still fist-pump and kinda-shuffle violently whenever the oh-so-cleverly meta "Party Rock Anthem" booms.  
• 2. "Let's just go to M2"
• Like the English Constitution, the reality that we'll probably just end up at M2 has become the unspoken Law of the Land. What day is it, Thursday? Well, I mean, it's not the best (that'd be the weekend nights), and it's not even the best weekday (Wednesday takes that one), but it's an option the only option. Besides, there's no cover charge, so we might as well...! M2 is Homer's Siren in venue form. There's no escaping its seduction unless you strap yourself down to a bar stool and have tequila half-shots syringed into your liver at Mural, and even then you may end up at Hong Kong Plaza "bu yao le-ing" to a flowered child. Hayek should write a sequel entitled "The Road to M2," a book that'll quickly rise to No. 2 on the New York Times bestseller's list, right behind "The Science of Making Lists."
• 1. "Struggle"
• No permutation of English letters better encapsulates the essence of this summer experience than "S-T-R-U-G-G-L-E." It captures the slow, painstaking hardships that have made us who we are, and perhaps even who we hope to become. Whether it's the bodily aches suffered from 14-hour train rides from Beijing (sitting or standing, but really especially standing- dear God...) or hair fungi, crippling ankle infections or being a black speck in a sea of red and yellow, this summer has been one long ride on the Fung Wah Struggle Bus. If I remember one thing from my sophomore year summer internship, it'll be for the moments shared through these struggles: from merps to M2s, there is no shortage of ways in which "The Struggle" has defined HCF Shanghai.

"Mao is a killer"

Though punctuated by long spells of me regurgitating the wonders of Harvard financial aid and the liberal arts education, this job never fails to amaze me. Granted, we were in a private room with friends and an obvious foreigner, but C's candidness will resonate with me for a while. Here is a country where I could be arrested for posting up that mysterious little note, where the starving homeless man* who gave me said note could be taken away for merely talking to me, where the government buries its citizen's bodies along with its embarrassment. You could feel the room cool down from the chill running down everyone's spine, including mine, at that moment. And to think, that wouldn't even be the most breathtaking incident this week.

*One of the most amazing people I'll ever meet. He just wanted to talk to an American, someone he expected to listen to him criticize the Chinese government for its human rights abuses and civilian oppression. Call him old, dirty, poor, or whatever- one thing he sure isn't is senile. A man with nothing to lose, he displayed a bravery and awareness nothing short of inspiring. That bluish moment in Fuzimiao is etched into my memory in the form of that single photograph: that moment of helpless pleading for understanding, something I unfortunately could not offer. He was a rare social warrior in a nation where most everyone else is too scared, ignorant, or defeated to do anything about the rampant injustice around them. Here's to hoping he's safe and still fighting the good fight, out there somewhere.

"We could all be arrested for this conversation." It wouldn't take much, would it, I remember thinking. If just one person here now were a card-carrying member...But as uneasy as I felt then, I can't begin to imagine how people like F and C must feel, to be so disgusted with the CCP that you'd (all things relative) openly criticize not only the government, but also it's patron saint and even the philosophical underpinnings of Chinese society. I knew I'd come here and naturally steer conversations using platitudinous social science jargon- I expected to lead simple discussions about diversity, income distribution, and the works. Never would I imagine that I'd come to Shanghai and spend an afternoon listening to a software developer talk about the need for an Asian Renaissance. Unforgettable. 

A New Course

As we waited for our lunch at the other noodle shop (we were today intrepid travelers, trekking half a block farther north along Pudong for lunch), Liren and I agreed that it was nice that we were active in the daytime on a Sunday. This prompted me to wonder why this was noteworthy at all, sparking the realization that thus far my Sundays in China have been wholly forgettable. At this moment I could not say even three things I’ve accomplished on Sunday here, which is a bit deflating. The reasons for this failure are twofold:

• I’m tired and it’s hot: Or, the circumstantial reason. It’s not that I don’t want to do things on Sunday- I do, definitely. But I always wake up after an abridged morning’s sleep and feel too tired and sweaty to do anything beyond vegetating in the 3-4-7 and saving money by just having lunch-inner. Besides, I tell myself, it’s pushing 38C and humid as balls outside, so any outdoor activity would merely involve me scrambling to any popsicle stand around. So, better to just call it a week and get some nice R&R before it’s back to the ol’ nose-to-the-grindstone lifestyle of Tomorrow.
• I blog weird: Here it gets personal. I said I didn’t want to turn this into a daily log, but I fear I may have erred too far in the opposite direction. If I read this blog again in five years, I would probably hate myself for having such a boring China summer (who the hell spends ten weeks debating [within himself] the merits and demerits of living in a hotel long-term?), but such would not have been the case at all. In truth, I think I’ve really only had one or two wasted days, Sunday or otherwise, this summer. But when I neglect to record my actions with as much fastidiousness as I do my ramblings, it falsely betrays a summer lost to inaction and antisocial behavior. Thus, I hereby resolve to ameliorate this imbalance, beginning with this post. While I wrote last time at an awkward and nonsensical hour, I hope that this post, fueled by the privilege of sleep, can rescue me from sounding like a three star coming-of-age movie.

HKU says goodbye and John stays awake

Saying goodbye to the HKU kids was definitely harder than I thought considering how little time I spent with them. I mean, yes, I did have my moments around the pool table with the boys- James, Ian, Michael, the ever-drifting Charles, and I did go to that Modest-Mousey concert with Stella, Vicki (really should have spent more time with them, I feel bad), and KK. But on the whole, it was a failure to initiate of which I readily admit culpability. But still, that last night at Windows and then the lounge made it seem like we were closer than we probably were.

I hate to be all utilitarian about this kind of thing again, but I can’t help but. Maybe I’m just a regular Benthamite with new people, I don’t know, but China has made me all kinds of socially calculating. This doesn’t apply to the HKU kids in particular, but they make for a good example. For too long a time I saw this relationship as a casual one that wouldn’t stand the test of the Pacific Ocean as barrier. That more than anything probably inhibited my attempt to make our friendship denser. But, as Liren says, there is such a thing as “camp friends,” and who knows- maybe someday I’ll wind up in Hong Kong and suddenly have shattered my naïve cost-benefit analysis to meeting new people. Regardless of what happens in the future, John in Hong Kong or not, I should probably ditch the calculator and be nicer.

Before this post becomes more of the same, I’ll right this ship by delving into a rough outline of the week just passed. Sorry in advance, future reader John and friends, for the sloppy English in what is to follow.

• Monday: Struggles to find minutes for my phone. Helped a really tall (already getting a bit messy) American man, who had just arrived earlier that day, buy an IP card. Freaked out for a second because I thought I’d wasted money on the wrong type of card, but things worked out and realized the Hanting workers are actually incredibly nice and helpful. Cabbed it over to Blue Frog Burgers in Lujiazui for half-off burger day. Caught up with the girls about their Beijing trip and had good laughs about Triwit over a delicious mushroom burger and fries. Went over to Windows Scoreboard for what would be the first of three times this week to see the HKU kids. A good, brown Tsingtao, foosball, and hilarious games of “ah, shenme” later, we were Hanting-bound where we sketched out potential plans for a winter break Hong Kong trip. Final goodbyes with good, new friends and a special goodbye moment with Ian before sleep struggles begin and seemingly never end.
• Tuesday: One of the most tired days of my life, and that is not hyperbolic. Literally went to work, got McDonalds, and vegetated until I fell asleep (with the assistance of sleeping aids for ensured slumber) at 20:30. Got about eleven hours of much-needed sleep, but woke up the next morning with a headache Wednesday: Met up with Cherk afterk werk and had a delightful little food court dinner in Raffle’s City. For some foreign reason, these little eating complexes are amazing in China, serving freshly- cooked dishes on the cheap. After meeting up with Chris, we walked towards M2 to a Western grocery so that Michael could stock up on “quality sources of protein” for his Beijing trip. On our way back, he suggested we all get mangoes. Best decision ever. I don’t even like mangoes, but I peeled this one like a profreshional and wolfed it down like a real champ. Once we got the requisite supplies, we engaged in an unforgettable 28-cup, 9-beer-per-side game of pong befitting of its primetime occupancy. An obnoxious bet and rare surge of talent led to a victory entailing a home-cooked meal from Cherk- as of this writing I am still waiting. Four bros and three sufficiently inebriated Bros packed into a Windows-bound cab where we continued to revel in our pong madness. Chris and I spent a good hour and a half discussing life, Harvard, ambition, and the Right Thing to Do, though I must admit that I did most of the talking. An uninspiring scene at RichBaby directed us toward my one true love in building form. The scene was entirely average, but it was a Type I kind of night for me, so I had a blast. Late night chicken and bell peppers ended the night on a high note. 
• Thursday: I had absolutely no intention of going out. Really. Contrary to popular belief, I actually mean that most of the time. But the chance to do something with the entire Hanting family is one not to be taken lightly. A very clean, classy evening took us to Bar Rouge and back in neat and time-conscious fashion. The view from up top was stunning: a cloudless sky uncovered the tippy-tops of the financial forest in Lujiazui. After sufficiently embarrassing myself with another loss to Jasmine The Unbreakable and a string of camera-whoring, my feet finally won my heart’s attention and let me back home. 
• Friday: I should just lease a room in the Media Markt. Once again, once more fun, and once another time covertly trying to keep us stationed at Windows. Finally met Triwit, who was probably too uncomfortable to be hilariously annoying. At a later date I’ll share my thoughts on this place, but I’ve got to move forward here. We eventually made the move and then attempted the biggest clown car move since Lucy Gelb’s party junior year. RichBaby was fun. And that was it. Very one-dimensional, but oddly refreshing. Ran up about 143RMB in the cab ride home because we were either a) being hustled or b) lost and blind. I remember being very relaxed the entire time though, sitting in the front seat watching for the colors to change. 
• Saturday: We could solve the overcrowded prisons problem by just having social delinquents tour ZhouZhuang during the day, every day. It was absolutely ridiculous. I treated everyone else just as a source of heat and thus avoided all extended social contact for the better hours of the day. When you buy a 1RMB peach popsicle for triple the price, you know you’re fucking with some other shit. ZhouZhuang was beautiful, though, and I’m so happy I went. I’m even happier that I went in an air-conditioned Audi, but who cares for such details? Well, I guess I certainly do. Okay, moving forward. And of course, there’s Ray Wang, who deserves an entire post to himself. The time spent back at the Hanting was invaluable, and I was really happy to have stayed in on a Saturday night. Once again, I slept way too late for my own good, but this time life was good.
• Sunday: Beautiful struggles to wake up, and once I did it was delightfully past noon. Made for YuYuan with Chris and completely ignored all the kitschy junk they try to shove through your wallet. Again, aimless ramblings about life, education, The Other Sex, and different ways to ramble, as we are wont to do. I then hopped on the metro to Xijiahui for KTV with Ivan Jiang and friends in Metro City. Possibly the quickest passing time ever, as three hours flew by with me hardly batting a wink. My rendition of Tong Hua needs work but should be recordable by next season’s end. We had lunch in Cha’s Restaurant, a fantastic Hong Kong-styled café where I indulged in the sounds and smells of home. The pineapple buns stuffed with a block of butter was otherworldly, as was the pork chop with eggy rice. Cultural exchange occurred, as could be expected by now, and we all went home very satisfied with how our days had gone. Back at the Hanting, the “foolproof” plan fell fool to the nastiest creature to have ever walked the Earth. An hour of panicking and failed attempts later, we conquered the beast and triumphantly succeeded in doing our laundry. Video evidence exists for those naysayers incredulous of our heroism.

Good times.

Sleepless in Shanghai: Prospects Dimming for Chance of Sleep

I've never found falling asleep easy. Nights upon nights I've laid in bed struggling to figure out the magic formula to getting good, natural sleep. Especially here in China, where every night I'm struck by the fact that I'm in fucking China, the nights have been tough. But in all these years, I don't think this problem has ever kept me up all night, as it stands to at this point. With the Shanghai sun creeping under the square hole in the wall I lamentably call my window, I know that China is getting ready for just another Tuesday. In a way this helps me get through it all, but I have to first convince myself* that sleep is overrated anyway.** People are gearing up for another day of business and some poor soul is getting ready for a tragically long commute across town. All I have to do is go to the office and pretend to work. Someone else always has it worse. 

*I engage in my fair share of self-delusion, and not just with sleep. 

**I know it's not. But this is exactly what keeps me up at night. 

The worst thing about the lack of sleep is the feeling that I'm losing time off the tail end of my life. This isn't entirely scientific, nor may it even be reasonable, but I feel like sleepless nights must come back to bite you in the ass at some point. Like, you'll lose a few dozen brain cells or your cortisone levels will spike, causing adverse long-term physiological effects on body fat storage, or something. It basically simmers down to this: nothing good has ever come out of this kind of sleeplessness. It's not like I'm averting a nuclear showdown or working a second job to pay the bills. No, I'm just recording my aimless thoughts in the wee hours of the morning, wondering whether this constitutes a first- or second-world problem, what I'm going through.* Whatever it may be, I'm willing to give this sleep thing another try, for the reason put forth in an earlier asterisked aside. The title of this blog has yet to resonate so strongly, for this entire night has just been one long trip aboard the struggle-to-fall-asleep bus. Truly, the worst bus to be on short of the struggle-to-stand-last-Sunday bus. 

*Leaning toward the former as I'm inclined to do, but without the air of entitlement that usually colors such challenges.

Sleepless in Shanghai: A Deluge of Broken Thoughts on Ellen's

I have to wake up in less than three hours. I wish my body would understand that and let me go to bed, but sadly it seems to have other plans tonight. So after a second attempt at reading and an nth attempt at nodding off, I've convinced myself that this is the most valuable thing I can do at this point. Whether that's true seems besides the point.

Being at Ellen's is always strange. As much as I love it for it's international feel and cheap American eats, oftentimes the plasticity of it all gets to me and I feel a little uneasy. Maybe I'm just cynical and refuse to believe that such a place actually has any of the soul it pretends to. Usually at a place like that, I'm in awe of the plethora national pennants as I crane my neck to read every bit of Sharpie scribbled about the walls and ceilings. And that's it. But the more times I go, the more hollow it feels. I feel like I'll look back at Ellen's and see not an Occidental oasis in an ancient Chinese capital city, but just it for what it is: a niche bar playing (and profiting) to the desires of the select expats in Nanjing. The walls, fun as they are at first and fifth glance, will fade into monotonous exclamations of national pride and private romances. The American Top 40 that's always on will make me cringe at the cheesiness of radio hits in the homeland. And the regulars will in a strange way make me a little sad, with omnipresent hat guy and faceless cocktail dress-clad native women emerging as particular paragons of a lifestyle that seems to me more than a bit off-putting.

But then again, all this is a bit dark and making me sound a lot more sad than I actually am at this point in my life. In all honesty, Ellen's is a fun place where I had fun times with fun people, and penultimately that is what I will remember. I don't intend to look back on it as a place where I had deep thoughts about deep issues, but I'd like to record these thoughts now before the gross superficiality of the place glosses over it's more subtle details.

Struggling to find a sentence that captures what these thoughts suggest about the intended aim of this blog as a whole. Continuing to struggle as I realize that I can't comfortably posit any sort of encompassing notion that really ties this into the larger thread of the blog. Realizing that I don't really need to make any grandiose conclusions because this is a blog and Bonnie Talbert isn't going to read this. Memories of arduous yet worthwhile treks to the SOCH flooding into my consciousness as I wince at those hellish trips out to the Harvard hinterlands. Finally content with how this is ending.

Collection of Thoughts in Nanjing- First Week

If all nighttime roads lead to M2, all daytime ones lead to real estate and Harvard. I don’t consider myself particularly ungrateful (but to be fair, as a Generation Y-er, I am speaking in relative terms here), but sessions at work make me realize how appreciative and lucky I should feel for the opportunities available to me. Here I am, typing away on my new HP dv4- by no means a top-of-the-line machine, but far from shabby still- in the king-sized bed of my emperor-sized hotel suite, and every day I hear stories about how it costs upwards of 200,000 yuan for an 80-square foot apartment in Nanjing. How Annie will still be paying off her mortgage loan when her yet-to-be-born child is an adult.  How Robert is a slave to the bank. How no one knows what’s to come or just how much worse this could all get.

How lucky I am.

They don’t say that, of course. But I can feel the sentiment. It’s in the sudden shift in social posturing when people find out you’re American. Never spoken of, but undoubtedly in the air, and you couldn’t miss this nonverbal cue even if it hid behind the feigned aloofness and genuine hospitality of your new local friend.    

I wonder what continues to drive members of the CCC to places like Mazzo and M2 on weekend nights. Their success rate must be close to nil, as I don’t imagine (expat) girls to be looking for this subpopulation of awkward, aging Chinese men. Of course, the CCC isn’t the only collective out there, but it’s probably the most baffling.

                   

What separated Mazzo from M2 was the interpersonality. Maybe that comes with spending over a thousand yuan for a booth, but it still seemed a lot more family friendly than Shanghai clubs. The music was a welcome throwback to the hits of the early 2000s, although I can’t say I didn’t miss my Pitbull and Gaga. The setup was nothing spectacular, but a couple things did stand out. It was less dark and smoky, which led to more exposure (also known as the CCC member’s mortal enemy) and less confidence in the general populace to bust signature moves. It was indeed disappointing, as I had been looking forward to trying out the Spongebob in the public arena for some days now. On the bright side, there was opportunity for a different kind of dancing that had been missing from my life for far too long.

Times like these, I wonder whether my allergy to Chinese mosquito bites (rural and urban, apparently) is enough to keep me away from this country in the long run. If I can’t venture into the countryside without coming back with welts, or even be in a five-star hotel without escaping the buzzing wrath, can I possibly live here comfortably for, say, two years? What about four months?

I don’t really give the idea of living in another country long-term the thought it probably deserves. Too comfortable in the wealth and diversity in Oakland and Cambridge, I’ve never seriously considered the pros of living in, for instance, China at some point in my life. Being in Nanjing, short though the time may have been, I can’t help but think may be a valuable (and cheap) experience at some point in my twenties to stay abroad for a while. True, it may be frustrating not being able to communicate on the same level as I would in America, but this truly is a fascinating country with a lot to offer, if you dig deep enough. Little expat hangouts like Ellen’s could provide the Western respite I’d inevitably crave, and I’d have the chance to indulge my laughably irresponsible hotel-as-home fantasy.

I think I’m most afraid of not having regular access to friends. But to be completely honest, there’s no reason for me to think I’d have such a luxury at any stage in my post-educational life. It’s truly a frightening prospect, being thrust into the real world with few familiar faces to fall back on- could be another reason to stay a career student. I guess I really fool myself into thinking that America is the only option for me- not that that’d necessarily be a bad thing, the U.S. is great. The problem is that I feel like this internship is supposed to open me up to such possibilities, and I’m only doing myself a disservice by being myopic about not just the answers but the questions themselves. Hard to ask the right questions when you only care about leading off every response with “America.”