The 15-hour flight was a mental haze... I don't even know how it possibly could have ended, sitting still for so long like that... sheesh. Either way. I literally watched a day pass through the plane window. The sun set, the sun rose, and it set again within the flight. And the view was amazing! I flew over plains in Siberia, which inspired me to draw, and Korea, which I couldn't see at the time. The 3-hour flight from Shanghai to Chengdu was nothing. I just studied, then put on some headphones and slept.
I really came to appreciate the plane/airport as a good transition between home and China since everything is bilingual. And everyone was so accomodating of my English - which embarasses me that Americans are so dumb about it - but that will be over *very* soon. Upon stepping out of the airport, no one knew (or chose to speak) a word of English. But I got by (thank God for these print-outs).
What I find ironic is that no matter where you're from, or what you speak (this goes for monoglots specifically), we all think repeating the same word or saying it louder or slower will make us understood (actually, slower could have been helpful earlier). Our own phonetics make so much sense to us, how *couldn't* they make sense to anyone else? Right now, I'm just confused because I don't feel intimidated by the language barrier at all... it's not looming, I just don't get why we BOTH can't understand each other when deep down we all require the same things to sustain ourselves. I'm eager to learn more... still shy about speaking all I know, though. Especially when I can't understand the responses I garner from it. And because I have phlegm. *AHEM* :(
I like your site. Thanks! I wish you well-being in China. Your in a god place. Enjoy. Here is a true story of mine in return.
ReplyDeleteI BROKE THE TABOO WITH A TATTOO
Lisa Nicole Lopes had premonitions about her own death, but she wasn't able to avoid it, despite the early warnings. I feel that I can relate to her, but I dealt with similar suspicions (of my own) differently than she did and I, unlike her, am here to tell you what I did to survive my first encounter with The Reaper.
Lisa Lopes was better known as Left Eye (a nickname that a boyfriend gave her because he said that her left eye was lazy). She was one of three singers in the 80's band TLC. Her premonitions about her own death and subsequent untimely demise are well documented, because Lisa and a crew were filming a documentary in Honduras during the time. Left Eye Lopes spoke on film about her omen, and again after a car that she was riding in had run over and killed a young boy. She lamented that the spirit that killed the boy was actually aiming for her but had missed.
Lopes paid for the little boy's funeral and did what she could to comfort the lost lad's family. Apparently Left Eye was right about the spirit that haunted her, because a month after the boy's death, Lopes died in a car crash (in Honduras). This time she was driving. Lisa was the only one in the vehicle that was wearing a seat-belt, but she died... and everyone else survived.
After hearing a story like this, some would say that it was Lisa's time, and that there wasn't anything that she could do to avoid it. Had I not gone through a similar situation, I might agree. But since I did, I don't.
There was a time when I felt like (my) death was close to me. I ignored the eery feelings for awhile, chocking them up to pessimism, but eventually I faced the strengthening force, first by admitting to my self that it existed. Left Eye got this far, but recognizing spirits isn't rocket science for god's sake. You have to fight shit like this, not freeze like a deer caught in the headlights!
I FOUGHT MY TABOO WITH A TATTOO.
It was 1986 and I was in Davenport, Iowa, when I finally decided to face the Reaper before he faced me. Since the Reaper has no face, I'm speaking figuratively.
I was sitting on a bar stool when a fellow came in asking if anyone wanted to get a tattoo. We chatted, and before too long I was the customer that he was looking for. We left the bar and went to a little garage space that he tattooed out of. The scene was totally unprofessional, as far as tattoo shops go, but since I was a carny (carnival guy) it wasn't anything new to me. I stopped the artist from apologizing for the place and we got down to the business of picking something out to tattoo on me.
There wasn't a lot to choose from, no walls of colorful flash or volumes of designs just a single, thinly filled, loose leaf binder. Having never wanted a skull tattoo, I surprised myself by selecting one with a black rose between it's teeth. "That's the Black Rose Of Death tattoo," the needler told me. "Perfect," I proclaimed! "It's just what I need to fight the reaper. Put it on my left arm where I can keep my eye on him.¨
I believe that the left represents the spiritual side and the right represents the physical side, so my tattoos are placed accordingly. One month later, in Chicago, I was stabbed (in the heart and stomach) to death. The doctor that saved me, said that I have a new birthday and... I still have that tattoo, too.