So the countdown has begun to the end of the world. Well, the end of my stay in Shanghai anyway, which as far as I'm concerned is really pretty much the same thing. It's Sunday afternoon on my last weekend here, and I'm really starting to feel emotional about it. On Thursday night I went to a club with James and Sig and I went out with Norman on Friday and Saturday nights, and now that I finally have a bit of time to myself I'm wondering how on earth I'm going to leave these amazing friends that I've made. And I think life is so funny, the way things are constantly changing, the way you have to keep moving forward even though a lot of times you'd rather spend your effort and your energy looking backward. Or better yet, standing still. And every time you have to be separated from someone or your life has to move in a different direction or you find yourself looking at things in a different way it's like the end of the world all over again. And no matter how many times you go through the process, no matter how many times you tell yourself that things have to end so other things can begin, it still hurts a little somewhere deep down inside in that fundamental, central core part of your soul. And the really bloody ironic thing, the thing that makes it so truly confusing, is that the fact that the ending hurts is what makes the entire thing so beautiful to begin with.
On an entirely different and far less somber subject, I've decided to write a book: 101 Ways to Get Killed in China. The concept started out as a joke between myself and James, because he kept injuring himself on his skateboard and I kept nearly losing my life when I tried to cross the street, but it's developed into a sort of a game. Every time one of us comes close to dying we make a mental note of it and add it to the list. And the list, it's getting pretty darn long.
"What are you going to do if you end up with, like, 150 ways?" Norman asked when I told him.
"I don't know," I said. "Change the name of the book, I guess." Whereupon Norman pointed out that 101 sounds far cooler than 150, and we arrived at the conclusion that I most likely will be whittling a great deal of the list down in order to keep it at its 101-item limit.
"Maybe I can lump things together into subcategories," I said. For example, at least five things on the list have something to do with taxis and/or their drivers. Another good ten or so involve being run over by something or someone. A great many have to do with food and natural disasters of the stomach. I might be able to squish some of them together, in a pinch.
The last week here promises to be rather busy, what with saying good-byes and taking final tests and packing and shopping and etc. etc. etc. As much as I'm going to miss Shanghai, I am looking forward to getting home and seeing John and Nate and Amy and all of my friends and my soft mattress again. I'm ready to start school again so I can finally graduate. And I'm looking forward to the clean Seattle air. You know how when you hit twelve or thirteen or so you start going through this phase where you can't remember what it was like to really believe in Santa Claus? I'm starting to feel that way about fresh air. Like, I know at one point I thought it existed, but now I'm beginning to wonder if it wasn't just a product of my own imagination. At any rate, I'm all suited up for my next Armageddon, ready to move on to the next thing and find the blessings in that, too.
Life is such an adventure.
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