Every time I think about staying in China, I get bitten by a mosquito.

Bring It On, Warholized.

Bring It On, Warholized. At the Power Station of Art this weekend.

I have recently fallen off the face of social media. This was supposed to have made me more enlightened and more free, but I like the discipline of documented reminiscing. I also have a draft sitting on my dashboard that contains three pictures of crackly yet soft-interiored Parisian croissants.

I promise you I’ve been busy (or at the least “busy“). In addition to going to school full-time, I’ve been rushing around the city for 30+ hours/week of various work. I remember when I was traveling through rural Senegal, I’d lost my concept of time = money. That had been a freeing feeling. The languor of a slow hour could crawl by and I would feel no guilt. I waited two hours for a bus and felt no anger, no loss.

That sensation has been surrendered here, but I’ve been compensated by how much more I’ve plugged into the community. I’ve reached beyond my study abroad experience to make connections with people and organizations who are now asking me to stay because they need what I can do for them. So I am gifted with the struggle of  deciding whether to buy my ticket back to lovely San Francisco (oh land of farmers markets and shaded trails and cobalt sea and crispest fog) or to stay here in dashing Shanghai.

And every day I wake up with more mosquito bites.

So itchy.


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