So, I've hit the wall. I am so desperate for non-chinese food at the moment! I'm sick of rice and noodles, noodles and rice. It doesn't matter where you go, that's basically what your choices boil down to.
Sure, you can change what's going with the rice or noodles, but that doesn't change the fact that everything's beginning to taste the same.
What I wouldn't give for a pasta dish, or some grilled fish and a salad - and this from the girl who ordinarily won't eat salad.
Beginning to think that I won't make it to November, and my Hong Kong weekend. I don't even care that compared to China, where you can get a meal for 10 rmb or under, I'll have to pay a minimum of 80 hkd.
Ah, to have the choice of greek, italian, thai, mexican and everything in between.
I know that I should be grateful that I can afford to eat, when there's so many homeless people scrounging in the bins, but I just can't stop my craving for anything not Chinese!
Poverty in China is everywhere you look. But it’s funny what hits home sometimes. Having been here for over 8 months now, it’s not that I don’t notice the homeless people looking through bins, or see as many as 20 people living in a one room apartment, I guess it’s just that I tune it out.
Today though, as I was walking down the street, I was struck, watching two girls racing along and giggling, red plastic bags flying behind them. I guess I should be happy that they’re so industrious, and were able to make kites from something that was laying around. Instead I felt sad though.
I’m sure that comes from originally being from the western world. They didn’t seem to mind that they didn’t have a fancy kite, with ribbons flying from it. They were just happy to be playing during the week’s break from school.
Maybe it is them who have it right – making do with what they’ve got and just enjoying the moment, rather than striving to be what everyone else expects from you.
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