Typing on a broken macbook...

A mosquito bites
Planting bud which then blossoms
burning red petals.

Okay, so maybe a Japanese haiku isn’t the most appropriate thing to put as my first post in staunch anti-japonesa China.
But I can’t stop obsessing over my mosquito bites.
For the first weeks, trapped in the rural village of my dad’s side of the family where oxen and foul run free outside my window, I had literally locked myself in the sanctuary of my parent’s marital room with the AC turned as low as it could possibly go, completely paranoid that I would be invaded by the devil’s flying, buzzing, blood-sucking minions. The few times I left the room, I would first strap on the masks my mom provided in case of an outbreak of swine flu and armor myself with insect repellent abundant in deepwoods deet. I’m almost certain there’s enough poison in my system now to kill a small pig, and certainly enough to hopefully kill any straying strands of swine flu floating about.
HBA has already been penetrated by the virus, a welcoming gift from a Yalie residing down the hall for me who had the expected fortune of sitting next to a carrier on the ride here. As a result, the Chinese government came in Haz- Mat suits to take him away and to also quarantine five of my unfortunate classmates. Needless to say, they were stone cold PISSED. However, the potential crisis of them shutting down our entire program has been adverted, though I can’t say that being sent back to the states would be a totally unwelcome consequence at the moment.
I suppose the resident tyrant and pimp of the Harvard Chinese Department had warned us, “HBA no fun. You no sleep. You no eat. You no learn culture. You learn chinese. Chinese, chinese, and only chinese.” But come on, I didn’t think that he was actually serious. Blame me for romanticizing college summers abroad, but expected a minimal amount of work and more time to create a set of Beijing adventures with my tongxuemen. Instead, I live a life of Chinese, Chinese, and more chinese, 24/7. I don’t think I’ve ever resented being chinese more in my life.
I didn’t think it would actually be that rough of a transition to a world where I could only express myself in a native and foreign language. If I can survive a summer speaking practically only Cantonese at home, how rough would it be to slightly tweak my tones for mandarin? Answer—very, very, difficult. It’s in my very nature to talk, completely deprived of my honed tool known as the English language, I’m stumbling to pull together words that get nowhere close to what I really want to say, to the point where I’m keeping my mouth shut sometimes just to avoid the hassle. And it sucks. The point had passed when the novelty of summer camp had worn off and everyone around me were walking, bitter stress cases.
I suppose the bright side to the depressing mode of living is that those that suffer together bond together. After surviving our first week, we at least emerged intact if not completely whole, and gave ourselves up to a weekend of sleep and partying and club hopping to turn memories of the bygone week into a more bearable haze. Thank god for all the freedoms that come with being 18 in China! =]
And so sets a cycle of work and of forgetting work that will likely sadly define the next eight weeks here. If I survive, I’ll be sure to bring back cheap poorly manufactured, sweatshop-produced souvenirs for everyone.

Takeoff...

It's 1:46am and the parental units are mad as hell I didn't start packing earlier. Seeing as how San Jose is maybe the farthest she's trekked from our apartment since... well, the last decade or so, it's actually a wonder she's not even more hyped up. Right now, I'm looking at two heavy pieces of luggage, one which technically isn't even mine and is currently five pounds over the limit. I am the carrier of goodwill gifts for the rest of the family, and I really don't understand why I need to be burdened with a gazillion pounds of fruit-rollups and hershey's kisses for a bunch of kids that don't even like me that much and only know how to exploit me for sugar.

So here's a rundown of my trip Itinerary:

Friday, June 5th
10am--Depart home, make it to the airport by 10:40.
10:45am-- check in
11:00am-- finish checking in, brood at airport wondering why we're this early.
12:00pm-- enter gate, say my goodbyes.
12:10pm-- take a seat, sit in boredom for the next two hours.
1:15pm-- board plane, Cathay Pacific SFO to HK
1:55pm-- Takeoff!

Saturday/Sunday? June 6th
7:55pm-- Welcome to Hong Kong!
10:00pm-- Exit Hong Kong, welcome to China! Hello Shenzhen!
1:00am-- Hello Guangdong, welcome home! Kinda... sorta... it's Dad's home... by association, my home.

June 6th to June 12th--
Sit around bored, read, sleep, constantly brought to the nearest steakhouse (I don't even like red meat that much!) because all Americans like steak, cry my eyes out when they try to kill the chicken in the yard for dinner, name said chicken Clucky, freak out when Clucky flies into the living room as we're having dinner, have a near mental breakdown when I realize the plumbing still doesn't work, act crazy paranoid over the SARS carrying mosquitoes and wear jeans wherever I am, breathe in deet from insect repellent over the week because I'm paranoid about mosquitoes and develop a nasty cough, starve to near death if it wasn't for my stash of junk food which I can only pull out late at night when the kids are all asleep less they take it from me and leave me starving, nearly die from internet and Facebook deprivation.

June 12th--
Sometime in the morning-- Goodbye Guangdong, HELLO BEIJING!!!!!!!

So if you lost the message, I'm likely going to be without internet for the next week and a half or so... updates when I'm back up and running!