003. Poor Shanghai

Shanghai isn’t just one city.  There’s poor Shanghai, rich Shanghai, new Shanghai, old Shanghai, communist Shanghai, and a million other Shanghai(s) that I haven’t discovered yet.

First impression… I never actually believed in overpopulation but Shanghai is certainly making an argument that it exists.  I thought Germany was crowded but I don’t remember ever accidentally touching so many people.

My first couple days have been spent mostly in poor Shanghai.  Certainly, my first hostel wasn’t the image of wonderful Chinese service that I had expected.  I started having suspicions that I was in poor Shanghai when I stepped off the metro into a pile of garbage.  It got stinkier and stinkier all the way to my room.  Source of most of the stink in Shanghai: my 40 year old Chinese roommate, assisted by my 6 other 30 year old Chinese roommates. Not exactly what I expected from an international hostel haha.

I slept with the door open, window open, found a fan and turned it on “very loud,” and turned the window A/C to “very cold.”  I was still woken by new smells the whole night, I didn’t realize how easily smells can wake me.  

In spite of the smells and the fact that they didn’t speak ANY English, they were very nice guys.  They got close enough that I woke up at 1am and they invited me to come to the club with them (had to pass it up in the interest of beating my jetlag).  They were impressed with my not-so-impressive Chinese, laughed and laughed with (and at) me, found me some good food, and stopped smoking in the room when I asked them to.

So when I think about “poor Shanghai,” the spirit of it wasn’t

so poor after all.

002. california

expected highlights

• Banzai bowls 

• Vissla warehouse 

• Cane’s 

• walking through this gate

Unexpected highlights

• charcoal nose strips with grammy and pops 

• Dino chicken nugget sweet and sour chicken 

• much longer than expected bike ride 

• a new bear’s den album 

• my mom's journals

• Grammy counting 6 adult and 77 baby geese

• paper towns

003. Shanghai

001. leaving home

yesterday was the first stage of my month long trip to Asia... leaving.

i listened to a podcast about two criminals that escaped from Alcatraz.  In a previous interview with the convicts they were quoted saying, “escaping is as American as apple pie.”  Porter and I laughed about the idea but it was one of those thoughts that I thought when I go through the carwash.  Carwash thoughts are like shower thoughts where you don’t have to get dressed back up to execute.

so this is me escaping for a while.  and the things I notice on my way out and back again.

002... California

not trying to be cute

this isn't me trying to be artistic.  in fact there's not really a message behind what I want to say.  but here goes.

how I'm feeling:

I feel like I want to be complicated.  and loved.
because being complicated + loved = intriguing.

and being complicated and unloved isn't so bad either.
because being complicated + unloved = misunderstood. 
and I think I'm alright with being misunderstood.

I guess being simple and loved would be ok too.
because being simple + loved = relatable.

but

I'm just scared of being simple... and unloved.
because simple + unloved = unlovable.
and I can't be that.

so it's best to be complicated.  or at least to try to be.  maybe.

ok

am I ok?

or just ok with the things about me that aren't ok?

missed connection

You were sitting in the corner window seat that looks out over the small pond behind the museum of art.  I was in line to order my food with another girl that I had been leading on.  

You were on your computer doing homework or who knows what and I was mad at myself for looking away when you glanced up.  

You looked at your phone to check the time.  I looked at the workers making sandwiches and hoped that they would hurry up.  

You started packing your cute Fjall Raven backpack and looked around like you weren’t sure whether you should return your dishes or if the workers would come pick them up.    I stood in line. 

You stood up and walked out.  I walked to the edge of the balcony and saw you walk down the last few stairs and halfway across the courtyard.  

You stopped and looked up.  I waved and smiled.  You blushed, waved, and smiled back.  

Then I walked back to the line and you walked back to your life.

I sat across from your seat, and put your tray on another table.  You had folded your napkin into a small triangle and put it in your cup.  I wonder what you were thinking about when you did that.  Your plate looked so intentional.  Like you had thought about the way you had eaten, like you had thought about what you left behind. 

And I guess I thought about what you left behind too.  So I ate slowly, enjoying the few moments thinking about our life.  And then I walked back to my life, leaving my napkin folded in a small triangle inside my cup… 

next to your cup.  

patience sucks

Because it’s only really ever called patience when you get what you want in the end.

 Otherwise it’s just called “wishful thinking” or “a broken heart.” 

I guess it’s not patience that sucks. Just unsuccessful patience. Because it could be that a broken heart was a heart that couldn’t love just a little longer.
And it could be that wishful thinking was just one idea short of being a dream come true.

So maybe I'll love just one more day, and maybe I'll have just one more idea, and maybe then I'll wait a while

and hope that heartbreak turns into patience.

ghosts

it's been a while since i've wanted to write.  hmmm... maybe that's a lie, but it's been a while since i've actually done it.

it's been a while of feeling the ghost of creation stir inside of me, wishing that i would let him out and finally write the beautiful thing that i've hid under 5 netflix series, 30 days of skiing, 300 naps, 6 haleys, and a whole lot of me putting on "my best face" and not letting anyone see the 7 ghosts inside of me.

to be honest, i'm not quite sure who i am anymore.  i don't know what happened to me that has made me so uncomfortable around capital letters and lower case emotions.  not all lower case emotions, just the one's that might reveal how just how many ghosts i let harbor in my heart.

now i'm realizing that i sound a bit like a sociopath but i promise that my ghosts aren't the haunting type.  they are actually the friendly type that make me want to write with capital letters and feel with lower case emotions.  in fact, it's not my ghosts, but me that scares me a bit. 

so now that i feel like there's nobody listening and my creation ghost has pushed me to write in my own name again.. i can finally start to let my ghosts out

with capital letters

and lowercase emotions

zane