One Day & Chopsticks

It’s raining.  We enjoyed our last sun set in Hohhot last night.  A bright flame of light through the emptied and deflated clouds peeking between grey wet buildings.  No sunset tonight.  Too busy packing.  My bed is half covered with the few things I will take with me this month.  In the corner is a small duffel with extra clothes and important papers that will meet me in Hong Kong.  A pile has been constructed next to the door, consisting of our beautiful plants, an electric guitar, my tool box :(, books, DVDs, and a small glass tank containing one turtle.  I don’t think he knows he’s going yet.  He’s watching me type this email.  I don’t know how to tell him it’s over.

The kitchen is full of food we didn’t finish, pots that are dusty, and a slew of empty bottles and packages and dishes.  My energy to clean up is somewhere between five and zero.  My Tsingtao doesn’t seem to be helping.  There are plenty of things to pack, if I were moving across town.  But at this rate, I’m not taking anything unless it’s important.  I’m not taking a lot.  Including my bow staff.

I opened my chopstick drawer and cleaned it out.  I was hoping to impress Kira with this one.  My collection of used chopsticks over the last five months.  While not inclusive, I’d guess it’s about eighty percent of what I’ve consumed.  I’m proud of that and thankful I had someone to tell me to monitor myself after handing me a beautiful and unique pair of hand made sticks.

I’d like to think this is an emotional moment for me, but really I just feel like I’ve got to make check out by noon.  My attachment, aside from my friends, who will easily stay in touch, seems generally minimal.  I’m excited to be getting along.  We’ll see y’all on the flip side.

REMEMBER! if you want a post card you’ll need to let me know.  I’m shipping my computer tomorrow.  Communication will now be via 网吧 until I arrive in Hong Kong.  Peace!