Six Weeks Left In China

I love Yantai with the part of my heart that’s not full of the love-hate expats have for China. It’s hard to fully love a places in which all travel involves dealing with an Mandarin-speaking Whitmore. Here, I’m a G-rated Paris Hilton. Why Paris? Because I don’t do anything fame-worthy, most people think I dress like a tramp, and they don’t like the priviledge and immorality that I represent, yet everyone takes a picture.

When I first arrived, I noticed a lack of female voices in the China blogoshere, and now I’m starting to understand why. Being a young, single foreign woman in China is like… actually that is the strongest metaphor I can think up. Like waving a red thong at 700 million extremely horny bulls.

I read my friends’ emails and blogs and I really miss things from home. Like literacy. Turkey and swiss on rye bread (the only part of that I can find in China is the mei you. Oh, man, I crack myself up!). Personal space. Brewed coffee. Hygiene. Internet without a proxy. Sit-down toilets. (Would you believe I forgot this one on my original draft, and had to add it in later? I really need to go home!)

But mostly I miss Stick. It’s hard to accept that if Stick weren’t in the picture, I’d take the great terms my school offered me to renew my contract next year. It’s really hard to accept that I’m moving back around the world for some guy.

But next month I am.