28/03/09

Its the final days, im going to Hong Kong on Tuesday. I am so scared. And welling up with excitement. I guess this is something like a suicide note, not because im going to kill myself, but because my gap year is about to disappear, in a blink. I have a return ticket from Hong Kong on the 25th June, but if i get a job in the three months until then, ill probably stay on and spend the summer in China, volunteering as an english teacher in Guilin, Yangshuo. Otherwise, I will come home, and depending on the success of my application, work as a 'roaming' fundraiser in England. Either way I would like to go back to Russia, from mid August- mid September (LSE doesnt start til Sep 27th). And then... London.

Of course I shouldnt think about the future when there is already such a trial at hand. Humidity that will make my hair fro. A country and culture I belong to but am such a mutant in. A grandfather who thinks Im too tall to ever get married. Family I dont know and probably cant communicate with. Apartments the size of my kitchen- sleeping familes of six, and myself and mother on a matress, on the floor. And this time I dont have that happy mask of childhood oblivion to hide behind, or my brother and sister.

Im more nervous of Hong Kong then Russia, in less of a fatal way, but in more of a slow agonising humiliation of it all way. I suppose its all about the Russian optimism, and living for the moment, that I miss. But im excited, I cant wait for the heat, and the city bustle, and the oppurtunities. And theres a certain smell, that i have never smelt anywhere else, and cant associate with anything else; a clean sort of womanly, powdery fragrance that reminds me of people that are together. Of my beautiful aunty.

And a very small, barely articulate part of me cant wait to go home. To where I was a superstar in the neighbourhood. To where its too hot to even walk a pace of the sports court, and not just hot but clammy and humid. To Hello Kitty shops everywhere, and that chinese flare for invention that gives everything a face; even toasters. To real glass lifts that zoom up and down more then one floor. To mango trees and police men that drive around on motorbikes. Where the police are prestigious and not 'peelers'. To my mum being in her element. To people playing basketball at night, and groups of elderly practising their dance together in the morning. To open restaurants with old men slurping noodles in the street. To buses that are too hot to even sit down in. To damp, neverending markets with soggy cardboard covered floors and fish and fruit and someone shouting. To incense and lines of shoes outside the door. To the wonder of city lights at night time over a harbour. To life that was an open door, and not a cliff edge. To where I dont have to be maybe brazilian, or portugese, or hawian, or spanish, but just half chinese. I cant wait. But im so scared.