I'm Ronery

I'm all alone at home, my sister's gone for the holidays.

For let's say, reasons unknown to me, the dining room table is in the living room at the moment, and when I turn off all the lights and open the curtains, I see all the street's christmas lights hanging outside my windows, same level and all. And since the table is right here, I've opened said curtains and I'm writing in the midst of angelic white and a nice warm christmas red glow coming in through my windows. Big windows and a big living room... work anti-clockwise for just one person.

I'm so lonely I'm writing a lonely post. I thought, when I decided to come to Corsica, that I wanted to be alone, stupidly, I thought I wanted to feel lonely, alienated and away from the world. Oh I'm alienated alright, I'm away from the world for sure, but my loneliness has multiplied, and now I have to deal with myself all alone, in the middle of a fucking snowy hill. And it's beautiful, but I'm more lonely than I ever thought I could be.

 Even if I'm surrounded by the tenths. Imagine a doughnut. With a very, very big hole in the middle.

Loneliness is personal, not circumstantial, I know. For some reason I wanted to know what it felt like to feel lonely in a lonely place. Let me tell you O brothers, it's lonely. How dumb was I, you might wonder. Is there an upside to it?

It's made me think of the people I truly love, I think of them all the time, there's barely a handful of them, but I'm missing them every second of my life here. I breathe them. How sad is that? It's disgusting, I look out my window and I see, not 5 meters away, another old fashioned building with iron clad balconies and wooden doors and windows. All lights off except for good ole Christmas sequences hanging off the buildings. Like I said, beautiful. But man, nothing makes you acknowledge apathy like an abandoned building who people refuse to restore. It's either that or a relentless wish to die untouched.

I've often wondered if I'm a city person or a country person. I love Corsica for reasons I can't explain, I feel absolutely complete here, after my life in China. But whilst I'm here, I'm missing China. I'm a city person who misses the country, and a country persons who needs the city. I'm a tragic tragic bad soap opera. I'm the worst expatriate that's ever walked the earth because I'm debating between countries that aren't even my own. I've forgotten my land and I refuse to return 'home'.

My home is where I choose to be. My home is where I can make my bed and flush my toilet. Can I have two homes so absurdly different to each other? Can I love Corse as much as I love China? What is it that is so fucked up inside of me that I can't decide if I want to die alone or if I want to die in between thousands staring at me?

I have to love myself more to answer my own questions. Otherwise I'm enabling my own misery. It's not Corse, it's not Shanghai, it's not Mexico, it's always been me. Have I realised it? Yes. Have I acted upon it? No. Will I ever? Only time will tell. 

Drunk what?

I'm about to take my first drunk shower. I've got class tomorrow morning and my hair is a big mess, I'm sure I won't be able to wake up early enough to take a shower on time, so I'm going to attempt something impossible...

We'll see how it goes...

Shower soundtrack: Anathema - Weather Systems

Moi, Me and Johnny

Me and my weird relationship with Johnny... the skull. You see, he's a beautah, unfortunately, he's far too close to me to be just a simple beautah. I'll describe an example. I was smoking a cigarette just before calling it a night, I lit my nighty night cigarette and was putting the ashes on a regular  glass and put that same glass on the nightstand, it took me two whole sips of my peroquette to realise I had completely spilled my booze all over my bed in order to avoid placing my ashes glass next to my Johnny, who holds a special spot on my nightstand, so yes, I do keep one glass for my booze and one glass for my vice, vice meaning cigarette ashes of course... separately...

I spilled my peroquette (pastis and mint syrup) all over my mattress... just so I could keep cigarette ashes from dusting my beautah Johnny... and now my mattress is fucking soaked.

Wtf, this is Corsica.

A wet mattress is the least of my problems. I'm really starting to question my choice here...

Time for some P

Inner P's, it's what I call it. Or outer, works both ways for the time being.

And me, myself and I try to stuff ourselves full to the brim with P's. 

Attack on Erasmus students in Corsica.

My sister was beaten up last night by a small posse of Corsican high school kids. 

She was walking out of a bar with some friends, admittedly, they were a bit drunk, when they were ambushed by two girls and three guys that were obviously looking for an excuse to fight. Two of our friends, the Venezuelans, were walking ahead by a small distance and my sister and a Spanish friend were behind. So this Corsican girl starts insulting our Venezuelans, in a very degrading way, ordering them to give her a cigarette, and since they didn't smoke, the Corsicans jumped on the guy first and started beating the crap out of him. They pushed away the only other girl and she couldn't stand up again because of a leg injury that was just starting to heal.

When my sister and our other friend turned the corner, they saw the two girls laughing at our friend who was being pinned down by two guys while the third beat him to a pulp. So my sister and our other friend ran to help him out, but they were clocked from behind before they even got there, the Spanish fell to the ground and the girls then proceeded to stamp on his face. With high heels. My sister tried to pull them away but she was smacked hard by one of the guys and pushed against a wall, she stood up a second time since our friend was starting to bleed like a fucking faucet, no wonder, the heel went through his cheek, and one of the girls punched her on the face. She fell down and they started kicking her. 

I'm not sure how it went afterwards, but apparently they managed to stand up and walk away, it seems like the Corsican kids 'finally let them go', and as they were walking away towards the hospital, they could still hear them scream shit like 'Arabs de merde' and so on... 

Let's say it was about 2 am. They got to the hospital, our Venezuelan beaten hard, face unrecognisable, our Spanish friend bleeding out of his eye and mouth, my sister limping with a fat lip and the other girl writhing in pain from her leg. The doctor took one look at them and said 'those of you who are not bleeding, it's not urgent so go home and come back tomorrow at 11 am'. 

By then of course, they had contacted the other Erasmus students at the dorms and they were all at the hospital. The Spanish, the Brits, the Bulgarians, the Americans, the Russians, all 10 of them, most of who speak French perfectly although with an accent, the 'doctor' was unmoved by their pleas and started being a bit rude as well: 'Do-you-understand-the-words-that-are-coming-out-of-my-mouth?' Which of course led to another uproar in the emergency room, but they were just as easily dismissed. When they asked for some ice for our beaten up friend, the doctor laughed and said 'Hahah, ice? This is no ice cream parlour little girl, this is a HOSPITAL'.... 

In a civilised country, the doctor would have called the police because our friends were obviously attacked, they would have had the obligation to take their statements. Not here. They were all sent home, except for our Spanish friend who actually got some stitches on his face. A goddamn hole on his face made with some slut's high heels. The whole bunch of them, my sister included, marched towards the police station, untreated by the doctor, to press charges. It was closed. 

She then came home at about 6 am. I was sound asleep, to my horror, because I sustain, had I been there, it would have taken all 5 of them to bring me down, and I would have at least made sure one of them got their noses punched back into their goddamn skulls. 

So far I don't have any more news, but of course by this morning, everyone in this goddamn town had heard that some of the Erasmus students had been attacked by a group of Corsicans. There's a lot of speculation to whereas they were from the front or not. I'm writing this beforehand to clarify that it wasn't anyone from the front. It was a bunch of idiotic kids, I'm suspecting high as a kite, with grandeur deliriums and no fucking humanity. 

The saddest part here is that probably, their charges won't be taken seriously, and those kids will go unpunished, because Corsicans here make their own laws, and they don't persecute each other, and our friend will have to live with a scar on his face. 

And WHAT THE FUCK with that hospital! Fuck, fuck, seriously FUCK them. 

I'll go to sleep dreaming I was there, and we all started beating that doctor with our mighty fists of justice, bruising every single part of his exposed face, and once we were done say to him: 'Go on, treat your bruises although you're not bleeding, take one single band-aid, I FUCKING DARE YOU'. 

Stu

I went to the mountains today. What a goddamn awesome sight there was. 

Although I did also see a car upside down, nobody was inside, but it had turned on a curve and it was a nasty flip. Kinda creeped me out for the rest of the trip. 

It's snowing in the mountains, hard. Not so much in Corte though, but it is cold as fuck. Makes you wanna eat stew and pastries all day. Satan! Get thee behind me with your stews and pastries! I love them stews and pastries. 

A picture of the mountains on the route Corte - Ajaccio. 

When in doubt, think of Stew. 

Should

I really should stop playing tetris. 

Rainy day in Corte

I met some Corsicans today. 

Well, the hell am I saying, I meet Corsicans everyday, but today pffff, it was the first time I met A Corsican... girl. 

And other than scandalous when drunk, I always thought of Corsican girls as quite shy and introverted. Patriotic, of course, but still a bit timid to say the least. Did I say scandalous when drunk? I meant scandalous when not appearing shy. Hard to read, these girls they are. 

There I was hiding under the rain talking to a Spanish girl from my class, when this tall blonde girl comes over trying to mimic our spanish, the bitch I thought, but then she talked to us in her French and said, dudes, excuse me but I would love to speak in Spanish and so far I can say 'I'm pregnant' and 'I love goats' or something like that. But she could actually speak English, Italian, French and Corsican. She did try to say 'I speak a little Chinese too', but when I said 'Alright, let's speak in Chinese', she backed down. Blame her I do not. 

It's like a speech aid here: 'I speak Chinese'... like saying 'Well, I might not be able to speak my own mother tongue correctly, but I can still go chinchin chun chun chang chang', which I find extremely offensive but well... they're 'french'. Corsicans don't really do that, as far as I can tell. 

But this was the first time I actually met a Corsican who was open to other languages and who could speak them, even if it were just words, I felt genuinely happy. For them, can I say that? I'd been trying to meet TEH real Corsicans, all about Corsica of course, but who'd keep an open mind and who'd be keen on learning from other cultures. It's what I originally thought of Corsicans and until today I hadn't found. 

I would have hated to have been proven wrong. (Grammar ok?)

I did leave them there,  two words after that, since I have better things to, all locked up at the apartment with my candle and my charcoals. Fifty thousand miles from home. Which home? Only time will tell. Though I have to say, China misses me tons. TONS. 

Drifting off again... About that little roof I was hiding under, I left, but I left with a better image of Corsican girls. Not squares. Gorgeous in very physical sense of the word, smart and curious. Extroverted. Outspoken. Patriotic, but in a good way. And I walked away thinking 'If there were more girls like this in the world, with their looks and their island and their height and their exclusiveness and as approachable as this girl was, the rest of us would be out of business in a fortnight.' 

Fortnight, what a funny word.  

Though I bet she didn't have the best taste in music. One has to find the flaws on perfect people, otherwise it's just cruel to oneself. I still gotta say, I found a perfect female specimen and she is Corsican. Ask me her name or address, I've no clue. I knows do not. But damn it if it doesn't make you think about human perfection. Do not get me wrong, I've seen plenty of 'French' women who want to make you retire and open a bakery. But this one, just because she was Corsican, she was towering above the rest. 

Unlike Alizee, damn that vulgar hoe. Yuck. YUCK I said. 

Just FYI, teh Corsican girl, she wasn't wearing 'screw me' shorts. Respect.  

when the Levi breaks

I lefted there some colour in the middle. I'm trying here! The Levee. 

OUch

The sky mocks my scoliosis.

splat

Alright, c'est fini

I did go through some stuffs, especially since the photo kept moving its ass off and all, I made a general  enquete to all the photogenic people I know and got some sweet ass pics out of them, you know, to practise and be pretty and all... just, something to wake up in the morning for...

And if I keep it up I might you know... get somewhere?

Voila le Sebastien

Though when you come to think of it... the world would be a really sad place it if were up to me, visually I mean... people would line up to kill themselves and all. And all. And all. Do I have any vocabulary at all? Or vision? It's all trees and tall people, wtf, Faulty Towers?? 

Can someone please tell me cause I cannot say it and silence is raging

boom

And I guess I'll just be moving on... but if only you would open up your eyes and see... 

ouhh mal leeeighhh

It was the light, it was the angle....

he made no attempt to move... 

And I hate youuu back, stupid hiccupwhoo

Seriously, seriously, I know I always say seriously, but seriously, I fucking hate hiccups, especially  in the fuuucking afternoon, wtf do they want to ruin me??? They're fucking after me... attack me at night, fuckers, like mosquitoes, be decent! I'm an oxygen typewriter by default.

Edit: posted at 8:52 pm? Excuse me, it's almost 6 am. Not even in Mexico, dudes and dudettes, I'm from tah future then, as I always suspected! 

Giving Christmas some serious thought

Everyone talks about how they wanna go back home for Christmas. 

I'd be lying if I didn't say it crossed my mind as well, I thought about going back to Mexico and then I thought about going back to China. 

But now, I'm thinking Europe. I mean what the hell, I'm already here. 

If I were in Mexico right now I'd be dying to go somewhere else, somewhere different and somewhere no one I know has ever been to. 

Or something like that. 

I thought about going to Romania, plane ticket's not that expensive and it's closer than Norway, on the downside, I don't know anyone in Romania... but wouldn't it be awesome to spend Christmas in Transylvania? I mean who the hell does? I'd do it, just because. 

And there's always Moscow. Moscow, Moscow. Mos-cow. Ah. 

Alright, to class. 

Doodle dee

Whoosh

I am the mighty fly slayer.

Yum.

I take it back. He looks like bubblegum. 

Yes yes yes!

I just saw the trailer for IRON MAN 3 wtf I can't wait. I'll have to go to fucking Lyon to catch it in English though, but you gotta do what you gotta do.
And this was just Iron Man, when the trailer for Thor 2 comes out my imaginary water will break.

(Captain America still sucks balls)

Up for the loneliest Christmas ever

And if I go to Norway to see the northern lights for Christmas?

I found a two way flight Paris - Oslo for 130 euros. 

And what if I go?  ... I could totally go.  I'm completely freaked out.

Captain who?

I'm in the train of watching Captain America: The First Avenger and it makes Thor look like Schindler's List. I mean this stuff is ridiculous. And what's the deal with red play-doh head? I have to admit it's an improvement from the actor's real face but really, did they have to make him look like candy? I wanna take a bite off his smooth red chocolatey skull.

Bleh, I might not even finish watching it tonight, I'm afraid I'll feel the urge to write a full review after finishing it and I do have to get up early. So I'm leaving it for tomorrow.

I'm going to chew his red clitorish head and spit it out.

Recent Culinary Exploits

So we had a few of our classmates over for dinner last week, everyone was supposed to bring something to eat or drink. Some brought chips and beers, others brought wine and sausages, a couple of Chinese girls brought dumplings! All was going smooth until one of them arrived with two bags of frozen wild boar meat. 

Wild boar. 

He was all 'Here, this is for you, compliments from my brother in law' (who happens to be this corsican hunter, as I then found out). Apparently, the dinner plans were so improvised that this guy didn't have time to prepare anything, and to avoid arriving empty-handed, he reached out for help to his brother in law who insisted he took a small piece of his most recent catch. Small?

What the hell am I gonna do with 8 pounds of frozen wild boar??

Does it even taste like pork? Like beef? How am I supposed to cook some meat I never tasted before? 

I went online and searched for a couple recipes, they recommend to cook it as a stew, but instead of using wine, with beer, and I know the perfect chestnut beer for it. 

But do I dare?  

It looks so much more advanced than all the stuff I've cooked. I'm still a beginner at this! I mean I'm still afraid of taking things out of the oven by myself. 

I did make a pizza last night. Turned out quite nice actually, although I think I made a mistake with the crust since it didn't roll out that easily, it felt more like kneading clay. But in the end it tasted like a decent pizza. Now I know why all restaurants here serve pizzas, they're fucking easy to make and crazy cheap too. I think I'll be doing some more experimenting with that. Taco pizza, wonder what that would look like... pff, like an anorexic and abnormally long calzone.

Has anyone noticed all pizzas taste the same in France? There is a reason for it, they ALL use the same cheese. I wish I could have used a different one but since it was my first time I didn't want to spend a lot of money on something I'd probably fuck up. I bought it, I did. That same supermarket cheese that they all buy by the ton. Emmental, damn you and your affordable prices. 

Speaking of which, last week I went to the supermarket and bought a giant chicken for 4 euros. I roasted it with jalapeños and garlic as stuffing and it lasted us two whole days. It's such a pity it takes almost two hours to cook because by the time it's done I'm almost done as well with a whole bottle of wine and I'm afraid after that my appetite tends to disappear. 

I wish I had had an oven in China... man I love those things, I'd heat up my coffee in there if I could. 

Alright I now present my pizza. 

A guilty pleasure? Not.

I absolutely love seeing girls cry. Not children though, young adults.
Especially if there is serious howling involved, man that just makes my day. 

Bluu

I don't wanna do anything, anything at all.
I wish I were a lego block.
And yes, with my luck I'd be a blue lego block.

Doom doom doom

Today I came back from school, shut the windows, closed the curtains, lit a candle in the living room and laid on the couch for hours. By the time I got up and opened the curtain it was dark outside.
And after a long hot shower I've every intention of getting back on the couch and watch cartoons.
Is this what they call mild depression?
Bleh, I don't even wanna drink. My fingers are absolutely destroyed too.
I need to find a hobby. Fast. 

Goomonin'?

Now we talk Corse

It occurs to me that I haven't really blogged Corsica at all. I'm learning French at the university in Corte, it's just a university diploma, nothing fancy. I gotta admit I feel like I've really improved fast in the last couple weeks, even though it's been a little less than a month since we started. 

It's just so similar to Spanish in many ways, French I mean, that all the explanations given by the teachers and the books to detail the exact usage of verb tenses are completely useless. I understand its probably not as simple for, say the Chinese students, but in my case, all I have to do is try to think of the way its said in Spanish and voila, there's my explanation.

Of course, my luck, we've got one of the worst grammar teachers I've ever had the misfortune of meeting... are we ready? I'm about to complain big time here. 

Woman gives us a copy of some bad FLE book and reads it out loud. Is it clear? No? Alright I'm going to explain... and she reads it out loud again only louder! 

Say I have a question to ask her, only I can't really phrase it well because beluudhhhduuh I'm a frucking beginner at this, and why not, she interrupts me and begins explaining before I even get to the point of my question, the result: she doesn't really answer any questions, she just goes 'Go on google, do you guys know what google is? Alright well you type w-w-w-.-g-o-o-g-l-e-.-c-o-m and there you search for FLE EXERCICES, it's all really simple!

Yeah right, I paid to have you teach me, not to have you tell me to go home and learn French after school. 

Some of my classmates say this is the French way, she's an old fashioned teacher and blah blah, well to me she just sucks at this, and she says she's been teaching for years, I have a feeling she doesn't really take criticism because if this is the way she's always been then I'm sure there's been loads of students who've told her to change her methods a little bit, unsuccessfully I'm guessing. 

Other than that, I've pretty much been avoiding reality, I feel like I'm watching a movie about learning French in Corsica, really  just watching. Like I see my sister talking to people and I'm eating popcorn. 

Funny things? Corsicans start singing in choir when they're drunk, and they cover their one ear to be in tune and all, it's quite cute actually. I also like the fact that Corte is this little village on a hill and the university is all the way down, so we're walking up and down at least twice a day, I think I'm getting better at this walking uphill thing.

I'm queen of Patheticville. 

Girls are so pretty here pff, with their perfect hair and their perfect skin and their perfectness its all so perfectly discouraging. And their perfect French wahhh that's the worst, I feel like I should just open a bakery and stay in the back room covered in flour, at least ants will be my friends. Aw that sounds sad, I didn't mean it for it to sound like that haha. 

Why do they all have to look like Alizee? Why can't there be a few Colombas? Don't get me wrong, I've met a couple of seriously tough scary looking lesbians but that's really not what I meant! Whatever, I've started to ramble now. Pff.. started?? 

I ride! 

Corsican word of the day: Lingua (Language)

Feeling: Puny

A random thought!

I've been thinking a little about something that has bothered me for quite some time now. 

I think all the unfortunate things that happened to Harry Potter during his time at Hogwarts, for example almost dying for protecting the philosopher's stone, the whole basilisk fiasco with the diary, the death of Sirius, the return of Voldemort etc, all of those things that happened when Dumbledore was still alive could have all been fixed if someone both smart and powerful (Dumbledore himself duh) had used a time turner at the right moment. 

Seriously, he could have just gone back a few hours and settled the mess down. Think about that. 

Let's take one simple example: when Harry comes back from the labyrinth carrying dead Cedric, Dumbledore should have been all 'What happened? When, where and how?' Very simple, the trophy was a portkey, and bam, he time turns to the beginning of the third task and takes the portkey himself, he would have found Pettigrew with the bundle of evil in his arms and mucus maxima bawaam, Pettigrew is tied up and the bundle is put into some sort of jail cradle. End of story. 

Of course that really would have been the end of the whole thing so kinda glad it didn't happen like that. 

I'm bored.

Tonight Corte seems to hate me though

Corti mon amour

I am in love with Corte.
It's a village in the clouds.

Of Corse I'm back.

Well look who's back. 

After that birthday rant of mine I let some weeks pass by and I find it is time now to elaborate on what's been going on. As I didn't mention, I had to fly back to Mexico in order to get my French visa... yes, I know, I got to Corsica with all my bags and ready to set roots before realising I couldn't. Pff. 

So then, I flew the long way cause it was just so improvised that I required assistance from the Captain, who got me this cheap as hell ticket that unfortunately had 4 stops. 

So there began my torture: Corsica - Paris - Doha - Sao Paulo - Santiago de Chile - Mexico. That's three days on a plane! (Four on my way back because I had an 18 hour layover in Sao Paulo)

That was way and back O brothers, I am presently at ORLY airport in Paris waiting for the last last last flight that will bring me back to Mother Corse. 

But I'm getting ahead of myself a little. My time in Mexico: pretty bleh. I was there for a month and a half, and during the first month I almost didn't stand up from the couch. Mexican TV is so good, I watched Law and Order SVU nonstop for days, and then I got a little depressed. The last weeks were better, I went to X. to visit W<3, and I fell in love again with my cats and they with me. That was so ridiculously awesome, spending time with them, one of them would curl on my lap regardless of where I was sitting and the other slept under the covers and demanded to be spooned at all times. 

Bad parts of my stay in Mexico: FRENCH CONSULATE DICKHEAD in charge of the visas. What an asshole that man was. If anyone who's ever submitted a visa application at the French consulate in Mexico city reads this, you'll know, you'll remember... that son of a gun whose only purpose in life is to make the people who go there suffer medieval style. He was like one of those 'detective' kind of priests from the Inquisition, only behind his stupid glass window. PLUS they took 3 weeks longer than they should have to process my application! I had to delay my flight back because of them... Oh, I've been to consulates around the world in my time, and none of them, none whatsoever compares to the French one, they make the Chinese consulate look like a candy store, they're pure evil, they are. 

'Do you know they speak mostly Italian in Corse? Why don't you just go to Africa, they speak French there too...' what an assssshooole!! That's what he said to my sister anyways, she was so distressed she wanted to answer back 'Yeah well they speak Spanish in Cuba too, wtf are YOU doing in MY country?!', but fortunately she held back. Little volcano my little sister is. 

Oh yes, my sister is already in Corsica, she's going to school with me. My mother swears we will kill each other, but that, only time will tell. 

Hmm, it'll be about two more hours before I can check-in. Gives us time to make a list! I know someone who LOVES lists with an H. 

Things to do in ORLY:

1. Charge your computer. 

2. Enjoy 15 minutes of free wi-fi. 

3. Walk. 

4. Go to the bathroom (this category shall include activities such as hand washing and bladder relief)

5. Buy bread and coffee. 

6. Smoke in designated areas (or as they call it here: gtfOUT)

7. Pretend you understand the titles of the books at the magazine stores when in fact you're thinking if it would be too obscene to buy that huge bar of Toblerone that's staring at you from the counter. 

8. Buy a huge bar of Toblerone. 

9. Wonder why working French people are always so damn sick of life. 

10. Read a book?

I guess that's about all you can do, doing just the first 9 took me about an hour. Hooray, 3 more to go until check-in and then it's all uphill from then. 

I miss them cats of my life <3

Corsican word of the day: A Muntagnola (the mountain woman, whatever, that was the name of an ice-cream combination I liked and the only thing I could think of)

6 Hours before landing back on Corsica feeling: exhausted. 

Happy Blurthday

I don't know... I might be feeling a little something not so good.

I'm guessing 'confused' might be the right way to put it.

Though I can't really tell. 

Maybe 'confused' is just heads up for something bigger, some sort of shift.

And one might argue, the shift is right there, it's crystal clear, it's not like I need a warning or something; but it somehow feels like that's just the tip of the iceberg. 

I daresay I've been pretty good at 'goodbyes' throughout my little life, I don't understand why I'm so fixated on the word as of late. I've said some pretty big 'goodbyes' in the past months, though outwardly I've meant them more as 'see you laters', I've kind of always known some of them have actually been pretty permanent, which is sad really. 

I'm back home now, or shall I say 'home'? I think I left my un-quoted home somewhere else, somewhere not exactly blurred at the edges. I don't particularly like it here, I feel out of place (though honestly I think it might be that I feel way too much at home and that commonplaceness frightens me; there, how much more honest can you get in parenthesis?) 

Went to the movies today, guess there's little left to say about that. Feels weird even mentioning it but that's basically the least uneventful thing that has happened in the past few days. This is like some sort of limbo-- again all blurred at the edges, would-have-been-idyllic a few months ago.

It's a big letdown knowing that a little over a year ago you think you were the happiest you've ever been. You're almost certain of that. And if time machines existed, you'd be reliving those wonderful days over and over again. Which brings you back to your rational mind, and that son of a bitch is asking you 'why were you so happy then?', to which you know the answer, but are so damn proud to answer yourself. It's easier to be proud, really. I once heard someone say that the happiest people are the ones who refuse to be affected by anything at all. Well, actually a lot of people have said that, but some have the fortune of being more poetic than others. I happen to be terrible at quoting it. 

What sucks the most is knowing that the only reason why you are what you are right now is yourself and the choices you've taken. You could have chosen to 'refuse being affected by anything at all', but knowing so would have made you ultimately miserable. On the other hand, look at me. I know I've made a choice out of reasoning and self-respect. I'm not feeling any happier than the 'would-have' situation. This particular scenario is the most suitable state for a 'martyr' application, one has to be careful with that, when one starts feeling like everything is 'done' to oneself. You start blaming everyone else by thinking that you alone are the victim. This is of extreme importance, I do not want to be sensed as a victim. I don't want to be it. I think I'm sort of safe by knowing that I've chosen this path myself, I've chosen to be consciously miserable. I know why I've chosen not to be 'happy' and ergo that should ultimately lead to my spiritual conformity. 

I'm guessing that's as far as you can go? Once you know that happiness is more a result of emotional abandonment than actual choice? Only complete obliviousness can bring happiness. If you happen to be the slightest bit aware of happiness, you're doomed not to be happy at all. Conformity is as far as you can go, you just have to learn how to live with that. That's as far as I've come in my moments of deep contemplation. Which all happen to be on my birthday, that's why I'm such a bummer to be around this time of the year, there's witnesses. 

And that's exactly why I love all those emotionally challenged freaks that have voluntarily stuck around me. I like my people miserable by choice rather than happy by default.

Mexican word of the day: Tabaco (self-explanatory) 

Feeling: Utterly out of context.

Sad days are upon us.

Brace yourself and hold on to your neck.

Life is Beachy

Alright, new update. This time around we're going to be looking at some of the most popular beaches in the south of Corsica, south-ish. 

Let it be clear, I am not a beach person, on the contrary I'm always hiding from the sun because it fucking hates my guts and last time Milk convinced me to go to Cancun I ended up with some nasty burns on my face and had to go to the hospital. Having said that, I'll continue on with my rants. 

Ah Corsica, Corsica. What a beautiful place to spend the summer it is. Perfect weather, clear waters, sandy beaches, beautiful people; to be perfectly honest here, you could just go ahead and take your chances at any random beach in the south of the island and you'll find yourself in paradise. 

There is very little to criticize. 

But I'll try my best. 

Cannedda (Cannella) 

Location: 6.8 kilometers south of Sari-Solenzara

Milk was extremely excited about going back to Cannedda, apparently it's one of those beaches MADE for children since it's barely a meter deep. That is the one problem I see really, I'm not so keen on swimming alongside a dozen toddlers on floaties, they're whiny and loud and frankly I'm not so sure they take bathroom breaks outside the water. But you gotta give it to the damn beach, water is crystal clear, swim all the way to the deeper parts and you can still see you feet on the ground. And the deeper you go, the more fish you get to see, and the damn fish are friendly too. Best beach to go to if you have kids, hands down. 

Fautea 

Location: 17 kilometers south of Sari-Solenzara

This was actually the second time we went to Fautea, the first being last summer. It was one of Milk's favorites as a kid. See that tower over there? That's Genovese, back when Corsica was part of Genoa, long long time ago. Fautea beach is actually to the left of the tower, that's the main part anyways, its a lot bigger than the little pool on the picture to the right of the tower. But it's this little one that is nice; the sand is much cleaner and there is a lot less people since in order to get there, you're forced to walk some 50 meters through a rough patch of bushes and bugs. Yeah it's pretty, and its clean, and its kind of private, but it fucking stinks. Wish I was joking, apparently there is some sort of sulfuric action going on down there, from what I heard, the rocks around the beach got pissed off at the heat and decided to release their anger into the water, it stinks like rotten eggs. On the other hand, it's nice and warm. 

Palombaggia (photo is ours bitch)

Location: About 5 kilometers south of Portivechju (Porto Vecchio).

So for those who aren't familiar with it, Palombaggia is divided into three beaches, each separated by a riff you can't swim around. Our favorite being the second (middle) part. You enter through Bocca di l'Oru and look everywhere for a big sign that says Palombaggia like a drunk mexican teenager and since there isn't one, you'll drive and drive until you end up back on the highway, then you turn around and drive back to Bocca di l'Oru, ask for directions and drive 3.8 kilometers until Villa Aria di Mare (past the big sign of a hand pointing at a pizza), where you will see a lot of cars parked and a lot of people in their bathing suits walking down the road. Next is the most important part and I cannot stress this enough: park your car and follow them! You do not have to go into a private parking lot, you do not have to continue driving looking for "more people" or "signs of the beach", just park your car on the road and follow the people who know better, you'll end up in the second (middle) part of Palombaggia beach. That's where you'll have a friggin' blast. There is less people than in the larger beaches of course, but the most important thing is there are A LOT of fish because this beach does get deep at some point and it's the best place for some amateur snorkeling. Unfortunately, word goes it does get kind of crowded, especially in July and August, so from here on we will get our asses there at 7 am sharp. This is the most awesomest beach ever, just drive down there with a parasol and a cooler full of beers, you'll spend the entire day there, something I had never done before. Drunk fun. I had Milk dig his first parasol hole ever. 

Rondiara

Location: About 10 kilometers south of Portovechju, next big beach after Santa Gulia

You would think this is the best most awesomest beach ever, wouldn't you? I mean look at that fucking blue. I've been begging Milk to take me to Rondinara for two years now, and last week he finally, finally did. O brothers, was it not worth it. First, it's located in a fucking tricky place, you have to drive over a hill to get there and I get dizzy swimming in the ocean, imagine my suffering. Only available spot to park the car is inside this private parking lot that is not really well thought out I think, just some Corsicans installing a booth and charging 4 euros per car. Mind you, some Corsicans, they looked like tanned Greek statues the beasts. Anyways, long story short, the beach is infested with ants. If you have a boat though, this is the place for you, because the water really is that fucking blue. 

Bunifaziu (honorary mention)

Just felt like I had to mention Bonifacio cause its the best looking part of the whole island, though there are no 'real' beaches unless you have a boat, you can still walk down the less inclined parts of the rocks and go swimming anyways, that's what we did before and I'm insisting we do again. Plus Milk owes me a dinner in Bonifacio, I'll make sure we go back before long. 

Corsican word of the day: Avedecci (Goodbye)

18 Days in Corsica feeling: hungry.

Yes, soupcorse!

Quick update on what's been going on. 

Nothing. We went swimming a couple of times, visited a few abandoned villages and I've been cooking a lot but that's about it. Last night we visited a traditional Corsican family restaurant and all I've got to say is: wtf. Milk had the Corsican menu and I had the seafood one and talk about great value for money, I mean the soup course was huge, you get a giant bowl and I tell you O brothers, I had 5 servings of fish soup until I couldn't eat more and I still didn't finish it. Milk had the soup Corse and the rest of mine. The other highlight was my dessert, cause that was the first time Milk wanted to trade with me, that's how awesome it was, something called Castagnolu, huuuge thing, it was some sort of mousse dripping in some sort of honey but damn it had this lingering taste of alcohol pfff, so not easy to explain so I just took a picture of it, and the soup which I now present to you. 

Next quick update: beaches. Coming soon. (As soon as we get back from them)
Corsican word of the day: Grazzie (Thank you, not so sure actually... this website says its Corsican but I've never heard it before and it just looks plain Italian)

Win-die Day

Corsican word of the day: Va bè, vi ringrazziu (Fine, thanks!)

Day 10 in Corsica feeling: Oily.

Quote of the day: "My dad thinks I have no cervezo!" -Milk

Rugby Day

The sound of cheering woke me up today. No, it wasn't coming from a cheering crowd, or at least not exactly. It was rugby day here in the free world, which meant only one thing: I was not going to have any attention from anyone the whole day, starting from 8 am when Milk began broadcasting matches on the computer. 

And so I asked myself: 'Myself, what are we going to do today?' 

Simply enough, I thought of the blackberry tree on the backyard and the possibility of me baking a pie.

O brothers, I dared. 

Started off quite innocently, looking at people baking pies on youtube, simple recipes, all beginners level, and I thought why not. Wonderful thing about France, they do sell baking stuff at the supermarket (France 1 - China 0). I managed to steal Milk away from the computer long enough to go buy the missing ingredients and a 10 minute blackberry picking quickie. And of course as soon as he climbed down from the tree he was gone, leaving rushed dirty footprints all over the kitchen floor. 

And I slaved away, cutting off the tails of 200 little blackberries, making pastry from scratch (which by the way, was not as scary as I had thought!), making the filling (surprisingly easy) and so on. 

Difficult part was actually rolling the pastry onto the plate, at first I made three little pies which were devoured instantly after, so I was unable to take a picture, but I was very happy at least I managed to get soooome attention from the men (at some point I had them both Milk and Milk Senior sitting opposite me at the kitchen table magnificently ignoring me, as they stared at the laptop screen while I did the most impressive figurines on the pastry after beating it down and rolling it thin to perfection, that would have gotten PRAISES back home, me making pastry). 

But as always, all good things must come to an end and so it happened with my pie baking experience, bottom line: not difficult at all! Though still a little scary. Seriously though, follow the recipe and it can't go wrong. I present to you O brothers, my first pie ever! Blackberry pie! 

Corsican word of the day: Cume stai? (How are you?)

Day 6 in Corsica feeling: Accomplished. 

Corsica, June 2012

I've left China, even though I still haven't got a job or a purpose in life, I can officially say I live in Corsica. Damn, I live in Corsica. The hell.

I had a teary farewell and an uneventful flight (except for the treat of seating first class Shanghai - Doha, Doha - Paris, courtesy of the Captain), finally arriving at M. on Monday night. Haven't been up to much in the past couple days, did some general cleaning on this insanely abandoned house, seriously I'm surprised there were no bats around. Milk of course decided it was indispensable to attend to the garden before even unpacking... which means all those mundane tasks of making the beds, vacuuming the carpets and folding clothes had become mine while he mowed the grass.

I did another flyer for the restaurant where Bi works at, they liked it a lot which means two very important things: 1. They will continue to employ me for future events. 2. They will recommend me to other restaurants in need. And I, as TEH most merciful of lords will of course, oblige.

I present now, the small village of M.
Population: 100.

At least there's internet.

This charming little village shall be our home for the summer, or until we get a job somewhere else in Corsica. In the most awful scenario that we can't find a job for the summer holidays, I will be moving to Corte in September where I will be attending P. P. University, nothing big, just French classes. By then I MUST have gotten myself some kind of job for the school year, and for my sister as well.

Milk will also be job hunting on his own. At this moment I wish the Corsican mafia were a bit more organized than they seem, or at least, that Milk Senior were a celebrated member and could score us some jobs.

Ideally, I would be a bartender and Milk the pizzaiolo of the same little restaurant. Ah, doesn't that sound lovely lovely? I was in such good spirits the first couple days, I had even thought of what I was going to say that would put me ahead of other job applicants:

1. I have two years experience mixing cocktails in Shanghai (drop a big name, they'd be like whoa).
2. I may not speak French yet, though I understand it well and I speak fluent English, Spanish and Chinese (again, whoa).
3. I love Corsica.
4. Most importantly, I'd do it for HALF of what you'd pay ANYONE else as long as the job offers accommodation and meals (I'll also eat HALF of what they serve, kill two birds with one shot).

I even learnt how to say that in French! Unfortunately it's going to take a couple months before I can begin to even conceive French writing, it just looks like drunk spanish on an AZERTY keyboard. No offense, remember I love Corsica.

And this "no cigarette" rule is highly inconvenient... last night I went downstairs at midnight and locked myself in the guest bathroom that happens to be full of those goddamned lizards that move really fast and grow back their tails, remember those? What can you do, when you gotta smoke, you gotta smoke.

Little Mongoliaaaaan!

Day 3 in Corsica: a little bored.
Corsican word of the day: Bonghjornu (Good morning!)

THE WAIT: 3 Hours to go.

HONG KONG: Day 3 (or 4)

Not a very good day so far, though I guess I slept alright since I was woken up by some psycho banging on my door 'CHECK OUT TIME CHECK OUT NOW!', the psycho being of course the evil Indian receptionist from the hostel.

Hong Kong is full of hostile people, immigrants of course, the natives are exceptionally friendly and they all speak Mandarin. Take for instance my current location, a bar/bistro called 'Mes Amis'. The staff I'm guessing, is mostly from South Asian countries, different countries as they all speak in English to each other. The hostess is a humongous BITCH. You can tell by just looking at her, but all doubts are confirmed once she opens her mouth. I mean I arrived early for lunch, right after being kicked out of the hostel, asked if they had wi-fi and one of the waitresses recommended I sat at the back cause of the stronger signal; so I take my seat on a table for 4 in the completely empty restaurant and the bitch comes over and goes: 'You're not having lunch are you? And it's only you? You're gonna have to sit in the corner (table for 1)', then I said I was indeed having lunch here, so she just raised an eyebrow and threw a menu on the table in the corner: 'You're still going to have to sit here'.

She should marry my boss, or at least have an affair with him cause he's already married so then she's just the 'other woman', a role that matches her personality like a glove. I'm sure had I been a middle-aged wealthy Englishman she would have been all sugar.

This little trip to Hong Kong has confirmed my belief in tipping. But not service charge, oh no no that, if possible, is even worse than no tipping at all, FUCK service charge, they just throw things at you and don't give a fuck since their tip is included in your bill already.

Remember the time when waitresses and restaurant staff in general were supposed to be nice? Take for example salespeople on commission, now that's nice. Screw it, I miss Mother Shanghai.

Going to the airport now. I'll be arriving a good 9 hours before my flight but its best to just get the hell out of this cursed city and into safe international lands. Airports, cradles of safety.

AIRPORT WAIT.

Countdown to take off: 6 hours.

I'm taking a blogging break now, again, and I'll be doing some doodling.

Chinese word of the day: THE WAIT. 等待 deng3 dai4

Hong Kong: Day 2

Actually it's day 3, just survived night 2.

Today we will touch upon a rather sensitive subject. Not sure if I should give too many details, ahh sounds enticing doesn't it? Well, for the past couple of months I've had a rather difficult relationship with my boss.

Ah, right. I work, I teach English on weekends, doesn't sound like a real serious job huh? Well it pays really well that's for sure. Like, a lot. And anyways, my boss hates me. Can't really give many details about why he hates me, but it's just quite obvious he does. He ordered to delay may month's salary, I even got paid less than I was supposed to. He's been taking classes from me as well, oh hell, he sent me a bunch of horrible messages to my phone that last time I had an emergency and cancelled a class one hour before it started. I mean I deserved some kind of punishment for that, but hell, hate mail? Really? That sick, sick man. He actually kneels and bows in front of a gold statue in the school office, when I asked about it O brothers did I whimper, O brothers did I whimper. He prays to the god MONEY. The money god. He bends over in front of the yellow statue of a fat frog and goes 'Oh money-money-money-money-money-money-money', I mean!

Bleh, so I wanna leave, but I can't since I'm moving to another country in June and I need the money for that. It's just 3 months from now, I can't afford to just quit. Not even change companies, since it would take several weeks before they assign me some classes. Besides, I'm terrified of money-god, I fear retribution I do. Force to be reckoned with.

All I can do is avoid him, my boss- not the money-god, like he avoids me (though money-god does seem to avoid me as well), be super nice to my co-workers, which I am, and hope for the best. The kids like me, the parents love me, so just... low profile huh?

Okay, I guess it's time for some high points ofthe past months.

Went to see The Haunted in December, it was quite unexpected, honestly I wasn't and still am not a big fan of the band, I went there cause it was cheap and I had nothing else to do that night. It was a good thing I went because I ran into an unexpected acquaintance, Mr. Mort Productions himself, who I met at a show about 5 years ago, still remembered me and all! Nicest guy, I wonder why he was there, you know, accompanying the band all the way to Shanghai for a concert that was under-promoted if anything. Had a nice talk with him at the bar during the show and afterwards he let Milk and I take a picture with the band, I say 'let us' because the professional pictures were only for people who bought VIP tickets, well he did us that favor, though I still haven't got the picture because I'm a tool who hasn't called him. I did write him a couple of times but his inbox was full, busy man as he is and all.

Anyways after the show we played roadies for a while and went out for a midnight snack with the band, not all of them, one of the twins, thedrummer (who is AWESOME) and the manager, along trotted Mr. Mort, the tour manager and N, who turned out to be a lot more fun and outgoing than she lets people know. Cool thing was Mr. Mort asked me for help, translating for the band and all, I felt so important hah.

Well that was that, a few weeks ago we went to see Lamb of God and Milk and I burned about a thousand RMB each that night. Understandable, since tickets were 450 per person, unheard of! Pff, our own damn fault for not buying the pre-sale tickets. After that we went to INFERNO with my friend K. who I hadn't seen in years.

Then the REAL drinking began, I just remember going 'another pitcher? another pitcher!' over and over until Milk was bent over the bar and K. was probably drunk-texting, they were playing Evil Dead on the TV and I was dumbly staring with my mouth wide open when D. starts moving even faster than usual in small circles discretely going LAMBOFGOD LAMBOFGOD LAMBOFGOD, baby turns around and there, walking into the bar, Lamb of God.

I elbow Milk in the stomach and almost knock over K's glass and I not so vividly remember yelling 'ACT NORMALLY', and probably started whistling. This night shall be henceforth known as 'dumb faces night'. The title is self-explanatory. At some point I was so drunk I can't even remember when I completely forgot the band was there, mind you the bar wasn't all that full. I have vague memories of talking to the band members, staring dumbly (again) at Willie (who I didn't know was Willie until I went through N's pictures and googled the band members' names), then the bass player (whose name turned out to be John Campbell, SO glad I didn't ask him) came over to our side of the bar and started speaking Spanish, about a half hour into the conversation I realized he was a band member, oh my scrambled brains!

A footnote: My sister is a special little girl. She can make people uncomfortable REALLY fast. It all started as a private joke when we were kids, whenever one of us did something dumb like mispronouncing a word or rolling down the car windows when we are an arm's length away from a real wolf, she doe

s this face and goes: DEUUUUH!

Used to freak my father out. Everybody, reall

y. As she developed into a charming young lady she also became fond of the habit of holding entire conversations in what she now calls 'the little Mongolian' dialect. I happen to be fluent and very fond of the little Mongolian dialect, it has the ability to make people laugh INSTANTLY. The little Mongolian dialect has the tendency to resurface when drunk.

Now this little piece of information can possibly explain the following pictures.

That last one is my pride and joy. The picture my offspring and the offspring of my offspring shall know me for. My legacy. And I am clearly going DEUUUUH!

I'd like to take this opportunity to virtually apologize to everyone at INFERNO Bar for those HORRIBLE pictures I took of the staff and friends with the band members. I was trusted with the task and I failed miserably, in my defense, working a strange camera when stupendously drunk is all frolic for the photographer, and all regret for the photographed. A lesson never to be forgotten.

I take my leave from this cavernous bar I'm at. Mostly because I'm afraid of returning to the hostel after dark, even though I'm one block away. It's that damned cursed cockroach-infested curry-smelling hellhole. I'm never eating curry again.

In Hong Kong.

Chinese word of the day: money-god 财神 cai2 shen2

IMPORTANT EDIT: On the 15 minutes it took me to walk back to the hostel someone stole my bank card. Good thing it was completely empty as I had withdrawn it all in the morning, probably had like 39 HKD left and nothing you could do with that really. But still, FUCK.

It's been a while indeed.

Last time I sat down to blog was back when I was writing my thesis wasn't it? Maybe I hadn't even started writing it yet. Now that's a story to tell, a long one though. And everything that's happened since... a LOT of things have happened since!

Me, a liar? Judge by yourself, I'm moving to France in June. HA! Proof that I speak but the troof!

But let's start from the ending just so we can go back to the beginning.

Current location: Hong Kong. Starting this blog entry from the infamous Canadian Hostel in Tsim Sha Tsui. Tiny. Dodgy. With paper-thin walls. I'm also pretty sure i am being filmed. Located in the heart of Chung King Mansions, sounds posh doesn't it? Well, I'm posting this picture to illustrate my situation. Let's call this, the lobby. This charming little Canadian hostel is run by a couple of evil looking Indians, on the 7th floor of Chung King mansions. Yikes.

I'm in the city for, shall we say, business? You see, dollface... I graduated, I hold my very own bachelors degree now. I am officially professionally unemployed. That's where all my problems really started.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Hong Kong, yes. I arrived yesterday (Tuesday) morning with the sole purpose of running to the Commissioner's Office of China's Foreign Ministry in the Hong Kong SAR, more commonly known as Visa Place, to apply for a three months Chinese tourist visa, which would be long enough for me to reach June, at which point we would just move to France, no need for visas anymore. Originally i thought i'd be flying back to Shanghai on Friday, since the normal visa processing time is 4 working days.

But when I saw the hostel I'm staying at... my instincts of survival kicked in... and I ran to the Visa Place and applied for a FLASH SERVICE - Visa processing time: one minute.

Not really though, the fastest I could get was one working day for $740HK, roughly 75 Euros, BUT STILL! I didn't even know it was possible. Well alright, i knew but- I didn't think it would be possible for Mexicans! We're always refused visa-related concessions. That's why I took a return flight for Friday, because I was 100% sure I'd only be allowed to apply for the regular 4 working days service... and now look at me. Can't change my flight because I OF COURSE took the cheapest flight available (nobody is going to do you any favors in the airline if you took the $21USD fare), so I guess I'm trapped in Hong Kong for the next 3 days.

And I plan on doing A LOT of blogging.

By the way, if there are any mexicans out there, wondering if they'd ever be able to go to Hong Kong for a Chinese visa... o brothers, why you can! They didn't even ask me for a return flight or anything. Just filled in a couple of forms, turned in a passport picture of me-self (terrible by the way) and my passport. Nothing else, it was like magic.

When Milk applied for the same visa, he was asked to present the driver's license of the landlord of the person at whose apartment he was supposed to stay. Madness. Well, that's what happens when a country's president goes on saying bad things about CHINA. Go Sarkozy.

I'm at Shakey's Pizza across the street from the hostel now. Honestly, I don't like it that much, I'm just here to piss off Milk who, for whatever reason, LOVES Shakeys. Probably because of the all-you-can-eat we tried in Japan. Well, Milky dearie, I'm having a small Caesar salad, a 7 inch pepperoni pizza and a Coke for 50 RMB.

Proof, you ask?

Alright, change of scenery. Picked up my visa already, its shiny and beautiful. After that I walked around for a bit, I hadn't realized the Visa Place is ON Wan Chai, well I had realized but you know, not really.

As I was walking down the street I came upon a bar that looked strangely familiar. I realized this is the exact same bar Milk and I came to, about two years ago, where I got a black eye from a complete stranger. We were sparring haha, imagine that! I didn't wanna go back in there, so I just turned the corner and I'm having a beer at another bar that Milk and I visited earlier that night. Brings back memories!

Ah, well now let's take advantage of the nice oak table that is far too tall for me and go back in time. Let's go back all the way to December. By then, I had been writing my thesis for a couple of months, the thesis director assigned to me was the dean of the school, for some reason I was excited about that. I thought, he's BOUND to be the best at this. PhD in Literature and all. My subject was 'The influences of Western Literature in the works of Lu Xun', name that my director chose by the way.

Agh, damn it's too painful to remember, cause it was also my fault... I wrote it all in Chinese, I read a THOUSAND books and went to another THOUSAND researchers' works. It was beautiful, it was mine and I was so proud of it. I knew it by heart and all. The day of the thesis presentation... I got raped by the panel of teachers who were grading me. Raped in the ass.

Turns out, I completely overlook the fact that my subject's key word was 'WESTERN LITERATURE', and made the mistake of dedicating one whole third of the thesis to the influence of Nietzsche on Lu Xun. Fuck that, I didn't notice, and of course, that has been one of the dumbest and biggest mistakes of my adult life. My thesis had the wrong format, too many mistakes like that, I even wrote about Marx. It really made no sense at some point. I was blind to all these mistakes.

Their biggest critique was that my thesis lacked DIRECTION, because from what they said, it is the thesis director's duty to make the student aware of such mistakes. All he did was correct my punctuation, which of course, turned out impeccable.

I was one of the 3 students that were asked to rewrite their thesis. The whole thing. Too many quotes, too many sources, not enough personal commentaries. Those were all MY mistakes. I blame the fucker for not caring enough about my thesis, because all of these mistakes he could have seen from the beginning, and just didn't. I went through hell that week, but ultimately, my thesis was completed. The subject changed to 'The influence of Russian Literature of the 19th century in the novels of Lu Xun', and it was so much better this time around. I mean the subject I had originally chosen was HUGE, and by changing it as I did, all I had to do was write and write and write without doing any more research, as I had already read like a hundred books of russian realism, all of which had a direct influence on Lu Xun. It would have been bliss to write this thesis if I had had the months I could have had.

I especially liked Andreyev's 'The Red Laugh'.

So that would have been December, if not for the most expected and cursed day of the year, better known as Christmas Eve. We hosted a small party at our apartment, sort of like we did last year, only this time we decided, for the mental health of the involved, that NOBODY was doing any cooking whatsoever. C. came up with the idea of ordering a Christmas dinner from this catering place, the logistics were simple enough: We all split the cost of the dinner between ourselves, and everybody brings as much alcohol as they can. Fortunately for most of us, we had a little bit of money saved for this occasion, I say mostly ALL of us because BICHA had just returned from Mexico and was broke.

And what was more, she didn't come back alone. She brought along a boyfriend. Whahhh you ask me, well wahahhah I reply. A Boyfriend. And the boyfriend brought along a cousin, and both of them were also broke.

We decided that the ones with moneys (Milk, G, C, R, a couple of guests and I) would take care of the dinner expenses, and BI and her entourage would handle the drinks, she had to work that night but she promised to take the alcohol the day before the party.

And hell, of course she didn't. She went to work that day and turned off her phone. We were all at the apartment, beautiful turkey and canapes and what not, all ready, and not a drop of alcohol in the apartment. What happened was, we all started fighting over it. Fighting about what? Beats me, guess we all had issues, and me, I'm cursed, I told them and nobody believed me. Last year phone broke down and Nikita was never picked up from the train station... it still hurts when I think of it.

We fought that day, we all did. We were yelling at each other murder because we didn't have any alcohol. I had prepared a bit and bought a bottle of Captain Morgan, but that was all we had, so the boys had to go to the store for beers and they were pissed.

Bicha arrived at around 2 am, by then of course we had all stopped fighting but I don't know, I guess there was something left lingering in the air. Unresolved fights. I'm guessing because it only got WORSE in New Years Eve. Hoo, that night though, was too horrible, too over the top dramatic that I'd feel bad posting about it. Let's just say, half of us cried a lot that night. Openly cried like, down the street, inside a club, while climbing 14 flights of stairs. Intense is the word.

All but Milk, who was smart enough to go home early. Smart boy, that one.

Heps... this is long enough for one entry, I'm posting this while I write some more, yah.

Chinese word of the day:

Hong Kong (xiang1gang3)