Category: Notes and Confessions
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I’ll See Myself Out: Notes on Stuff, Self, Place and Ridiculously Sudden Life Transitions
I moved most unexpectedly a few months ago, just after my life imploded in Bali. It’s taken me over two months to get all of my things from the old flat. Bit by bit, bag by bag, by taxi and by metro, I’ve hauled my life from the cozy, familiar inner sanctum of the…
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I’ll See Myself Out: Notes on Being a Tired Hermit With Possibly Unrealistic Expectations
I’ve got approximately two months left in Shanghai. After over four years in this city, most of which were spent trying to feel like it was home and trying to convince myself that I was in the right place, doing the right thing, I’m now suddenly feeling small and unexpected pangs of pre-emptive…
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I’ll See Myself Out: Attempting Shanghai Nightlife (for Burnt Out Recluses)
So I’m leaving Shanghai. Sometime in June, I’ll be handing in my Foreign Expert’s Certificate (actually a booklet, just to muddle matters) and sorting through my accumulated detritus to ship things home or to redistribute them amongst the neighbourhood rag-and-bone dudes. [Random note: Modern day tricycle-riding rag-n-bone pickers in Shanghai mainly seem to deal in…
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Radio Silence: How to Write Publicly When All of Your Journeys are Private
I’m a surprisingly private person. I’ve only started realizing that recently. This may come as news to you, given that I’m blurting this out in a decidedly public medium and have blurted out all sorts of revealing bits and pieces about myself over the past three years that this blog has been alive, and in…
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What The Hell Am I Doing Here: Notes on End of Year Work Festivities in Shanghai
It’s Saturday and I’m at work. I’ve been here since, oh, 8 o’clock this morning and at the rate things are piling up, I doubt I’ll ever leave. Teaching on Saturdays is a new thing, something that was explicitly written into my contract as something that just wouldn’t be done. Not that contracts mean…
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Notes on Not Running Away Again: Dealing Sensibly With a Shanghai Winter
It was some time midway through my London years that I found myself huddled in a phone box outside the Lords Cricket Grounds, surrounded on three sides by layers of postcards of hot, horny, available women who wanted to do dirty things to me. It was December, or maybe January. It was freezing outside my…
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You look very terrible, Miss Mary: Unsolicited Advice for the Laowai
I’m still sick. Not sick like last week when I was horizontal and feverish, with my nasal cavity draining like Victoria Falls. No, this week I’m exhausted from working all weekend, sleeping terribly, and breathing in the disconcertingly opaque and smokey air all morning. According to the US consulate’s air quality reading, this afternoon we…
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Dear Language, I Guess I’m Just Not That Into You: Notes on Being the Worst Student Ever
I’ve got a cold and I’m cranky. With my hot, cotton-wool stuffed head expanding outward through my eye sockets and nasal cavity, and my sad little lips fever burnt and ever so slightly frowny, I’m coasting on barely 3 hours of restless sleep. I thought I ought to make that clear before I keep writing.…
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The Grass is Always Less Hazardous on the Other Side: I’m Cheating on China in my Head Again
For the second Monday in a row, Shanghai’s air has been deemed unfit for human consumption. Yesterday was declared hazardous, but I was in Nanjing, breathing in their particular combination of hazy chemicals. Maybe it was the kids I was testing, or maybe it was the air, but I came away from that weekend…
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Shanghai is trying to kill me: The self-care edition
About 5 years ago, during my last year in Istanbul, I was living in a lovely old flat in Osmanbey, a neighbourhood at that time populated by old man bars, Armenians, artsy types who couldn’t afford to live in Beyoglu, and very small scale industry. The building next door, above the plumbing and wiring shop,…
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Who Needs A Comfort Zone Anyway? Building Character Abroad: The Employment Edition
Back when I lived and worked in Canada, employers generally expected me to be qualified for my job. They wanted the certification from year-long+ accredited courses, plus, say five years of verifiable, solidly referenced on the job experience. This was difficult when I was 19, as I’d only been working a few years at utterly…
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What’s my Age Again? 11 Notes on Age and Decontextualization of Travel and Expattery
In a few weeks, I’ll be on the wrong side of my mid-30s. You know, the over the hill and halfway down the other side end. The one with the great big pile of Sisyphean boulders stacked carelessly at the bottom. The unfashionable end. The one traditionally lacking in glitter and shiny things. The end…