第一天 Day 1: Midnight @LAX

Disclaimer: Names aren’t real names, for privacy purposes.

Thank you for joining me this fine Saturday evening (HKT) as I stress-procrastinate my preparations for class this upcoming Monday. As I trudge through my very first lesson plan, complicated by my second-guessing nature, I think I’ll break for a third of an hour to bang out a quick post (note: this sentence is weirdly worded because I could not resist the idea of first-second-third following each other consecutively… in reality, this blog post is probably taking up a better part of the hour). The purpose of this post is mainly to get words out, to kick-off my year abroad with a checkpoint, right at the cusp of a new academic year (T-1day from now).

Anywho, on tonight’s forebrain is the story of the night I left California. A quick recount of when I packed up my comfy Sunny San Diego abode a little over a week ago in pursuit of a quality work and cultural-exchange experience in ye old Hong Kong S.A.R. And by a quick recount I mean I will literally lead this post down multiple dead-end rabbit holes because I am a distracted writer with many feelings. Actually, I mainly wanted to have an excuse to advertise my blog to you (hi friends) so you will never forget me ever because I’m selfish (and homesick). Hook, line, and sinker. You can thank my spotify for the late-90s early-2000s J-rock nostalgia-central playlist, currently looping.

August 21, 2018

Jacket count: 2

I’m not sure if this airline exists. “Online check-in” is a broken link and, in fact, none of the links are working on this site. Plan A is to wing it, show up to LAX, and hope that this airline is miraculously there for physical check-in. Plan B is to wing it, show up to LAX, get stood up by China Eastern, and scramble to buy a ticket to Hong Kong somehow. Luckily, plan A was a go (knowledge courtesy of Raebae: thank you for being on hold with the ghost airline for over 40 minutes in order to retrieve 10 seconds of information while I drove back and forth across the 55 fwy, I miss you so much). My dad walks me to the security checkpoint after I retrieve my boarding pass, reminding me to find old people in the parks to practice Tai Chi with along the way (me, today probably: Yes, dad, I didn’t forget, but let me get situated first).

Below is a picture of my oldest friend: met in 2nd grade ish, did the whole elementary-middle-high school thing, still vaguely in contact through college (she went on a lengthy mission through BYU, dabbled in Alaska for awhile, etc. etc.), but alas one of those get-together-like-nothing-has-changed quality type of pals. She also happens to be the last friend I saw before boarding that plane. I just want to expound on this experience because I think it’s worth remembering.

I’m sure many of you can relate to the feeling of closure. Embarking on a journey that inevitably leads you to say goodbye to people you care about, anxious about the changes that will occur between now and then (then, being some point in which you may or may not return), inspired that feeling for me. Somehow, that weird region between the TSA and the final destination amplifies that feeling, turning minor travel “feels” into a resounding sentiment that “that’s it, there’s no turning back.” My personal theory is that there is something about vaulted ceilings, triple-decker airbuses, and prominent, corporate coffee shops that can make the lone passenger feel small.

That’s why there’s something special about meeting someone in an airport; it paints dulcet tones over the cold terminal greys. Greggy just so happened to be flying out to the Philippines on the very same night, placing us serendipitously in the exact same international terminal at the very same time. It’s funny, because since college we [accidentally] began a tradition of seeing each other only once a year since we were never in the same state. In a time of lacking confidence and imminent chapter-closure, finding a friend among the anonymous masses of grumpy strangers was the best possible thing that I could have hoped for. Finding the friend who has been with me from the very beginning of my adolescent education, was even better. I guess you could say that it was probably the most fitting way to end my time lingering in the comfort zone.

The short 2 hours we spent together provided a trip down memory lane that probably made goodbyes more painful in the end, complete with a self-directed slow-mo run-hug bro-bro scene. We traipsed around LAX, catching up, cracking bad jokes, and goofing off like young spring chickens. She called her mom and I said hello, busting out my underused survival Spanish. I gave her one of the jackets off my back to take with her to the Philippines, because she forgot that planes get cold. I met her traveling companion (“the good roommate”) and gave them a fistful of my favorite Mexican candy (gifted to me as a memento by mi hermana). We savored our youth like the youth do, literally, until the very last possible moment. I really couldn’t think of a better lasting memory to take with me to a new country.

So, really, if you are reading this Greggy: thank you for making my last night in California so heartfelt, meaningful, and memorable! It was nostalgia-central!

Childhood friend, “Greggy,” ft. me rendezvousing for a midnight excursion at the Los Angeles International Airport. I’m the one with the adidas trackpants, in case you were wondering.

August 22, 2018: 6AM, Shanghai (PVG)

Jacket count: 1

I have a 3 hour layover in Shanghai, and my current emergency is finding free airport WIFI so I can check my emails, report my travel update to my point of contact (dubbed “Eddy”), and ensure the survival of my Snapstreak (I’m a millenial, so what). I’m so glad I spent my last 2 undergraduate years learning Mandarin, because I was able to keep up a 30 minute transactional conversation with a pre-paid airport WIFI kiosk lady that consisted of more gesturing and broken sentence phrasing and ultimately led to no monetary exchange when my apps were found incompatible with PRC censorship. Thank you Professor Qin! I slump back towards Gate 22. There is a large flock of Cantonese-speaking school children converging at my gate, and I feel irrationally uncomfortable for wearing a baseball cap backwards.


August 22, 2018: 11:50AM, Hong Kong (HKG)

Jacket count: 0. I don’t know how this happened. But, here is the view of Hong Kong when I landed at 11:50am.

Ah, the land of port. The tall buildings and British-influenced traffic law was truly a sight to behold! I can’t believe that this is the birthland of my favorite director/producer/actor/playwright/entrepreneur, Stephen Chow! I’ve never lived in the urbanscape before, and so far it has been quite the journey. I’m all settled in my lil’ studio, after having mercilessly destroyed the supply of the local IKEA (Eddy’s words, not mine), hydrated appropriately, and did my fair share of obligatory ogling-the-urban-jungle-from-the-safety-and-comfort-of-the-cab. What can I say, I’m a real building fanatic.

In the past week I’ve been familiarizing myself with bus routes, MTR (“what is that?!”- a Californian), currency, and the city, but these are stories for another day. If you are still reading this, then bless up because we are nearing the end of this long-winded blog post. Again, this was the story of how I went from 2 jackets pre-flight, to 0 jackets post-arrival. Right now, the future is about as foggy as the picture depicted. Hopefully, by the time I leave this land, I will be able to provide a picture of clear skies so that I can complete this cheesy anecdote-picture combination. And maybe I can make up for those jackets I left behind. Thank you for reading.

Postscript: Thinking of you all back at home. Thank you all for making my last few months in CA memorable. You know who you are.

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I’m Not a Photographer-

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-or a writer, but follow my random thought train as I journey through the Hong Kong urban jungle for the next year as a vastly inexperienced teaching fellow!

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