The People's blog. 05.15.10
"Hilary went to her death because she couldn't think of anything to say"- Belle&Sebastian

As I sit here typing, I am multi-tasking. Anyone who knows me, even a little bit, knows I am not a multi-tasker. It certainly takes some split-mindedness to deal with me personally, but I have never been one to saddle more than one thought at a time, at least not without unduly anger. I have only shotgun thoughts these days – it is hard for me to trust any line of logic I draw.
Thus, I find myself again in middle of Asia. Geographically, I am not in Asia's center, albeit a bit more Northern than Vietnam this go around. There sits in Hong Kong, in the mainland-side district of Kowloon, a tiny flat no more than 20 square feet. My accommodations are not the most grand, but I do not need a lot of space or many amenities either. There is an AC and a bed and tenuous WI-FI. Other than the shoddy internets, I do not mind the place a bit.

Walking through Hong Kong is like walking through a movie (pardon me for the bland example but it is true). HK's gigantic buildings glow, sending out laser beams, a constant aerial lightshow, and when you round street corners or ascend the many escalators, those awkwardly shaped buildings and structures seem to move about you in a dizzying pattern. Even though I have a beginner's understanding of Mandarin, no one comes right out to speak it. They instead chatter in Cantonese or Hindi, or a myriad of other foreign tongues. I was surprised by the number of Indian immigrants in the city. They tool about the street corners and work the many cash exchange kiosks. I spoke with an Algerian man named Carlos tonight. Other than Arabic, he speaks a bit of French, Mandarin, the local dialect, and more English. It was nice to make an acquaintance again. I am so terribly used to talking with anybody and everybody.

My stay in HK thus far has caused a bit of wilt in me. My debit card refuses to lend me the money I so determined to provide for my elongated stay in China. Instead, I find myself running ragged and parched through left-handed blockades, cars, people, foreigners, and general aimless wandering. Those at home, a few with whom I have thankfully been able to make contact, have provided me with nothing less than complete trust in my abilities to survive here. Truly, I have not felt myself since before I undertook this journey. I could not sleep the preceding night but I could hear my heart rapidly beating, I could feel anxiety and anger encroaching my every thought.

Still, I have accomplished a number of tasks, those which I was afraid I would fail. I procured a pleasant hostel, a couple of great food places, determined how to exchange money, and bought a train ticket to Shanghai. Moreso, I was able to traverse HK (Kowloon) fairly well on foot and by MTK (the metro). The worst of it, however, is that my debit card will not work properly. Scarcely does a vendor accept credit card and so I am relegated to exchange only the money I brought with me to survive. I had to use every bit of my carrying money (that little which my paranoia will allow me to have at hand) in purchasing a train ticket. In reality, the clerk was forced to haggle in my favor because I literally did not have enough money for the quoted price. I was left at a seemingly far and away train station to make my home.

Of course, even in the most dire straits, I find my mind wandering about like a kid in a toy shop. My mind was more like a pre-teen, adolescent, t'ween (whatever they call them) for, though my throat was dry and my belly growling, though I was lost in this monster of a city, relatively penniless, who am I but gawking at the local fair. At least most of them speak broken English in HK, such was not the case in Nam. Ask Card about my terrific exploits, or lack thereof.
At any rate, this beginning has not been the most optimistic. I will be in China for another 3 months and I will survive and like it. The pre-departure meetings foretold of a certain down-swing in my emotional state and attitude. I hope I am experiencing what is normal in that regard and not something more terrible and inherent within myself. I never wanted anyone's help growing up and I loathe "stealing" another's ideas. I am so stubborn. There are times, I would rather fail miserably than take advice which I did not think of first. "Failing" here means something I am not entirely welcome to admit.