178 Days and Counting

I’ll begin by admitting that, yes, tonight I did sit and count back every day on my calendar between now and February 3rd, 2020 (I counted twice actually, just to make sure). 178 days have passed- almost exactly half of a year- since I moved into this house, since I set up life in this city. 151 days have passed since I first sat down and wrote on this blog about my loneliness here, and about my fears for the spring semester. Interestingly though, the act of counting out each day on a calendar tonight was not significant to me in any way. Earlier this summer I would do the same exact thing every day, but instead of counting backwards through time, I would count forward.

84 days. When I began my countdown, that was how many more days I would have to live here until the new semester would start and I could fly back to China. I faced that number with excitement, eagerly reminding myself every night that I had made it one day closer to returning to life in Shanghai, and hoping that those 84 days would dwindle down to nothing in the blink of an eye. My countdown was supported by my almost obsessive researching of news out of China regarding travel restriction. I read every single daily press conference from China’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs for the month of June. I googled so many things about the potential for foreigners entering china that even now, long since my hope and research has came to an end, simply typing a “T” in my computer’s search bar immediately brings up suggestions of “Travel to China”, “Travel to Shanghai”, or “Chinese Travel Restrictions”.

I think perhaps I always knew that that my countdown was in vain; maybe I always knew that to say at the end of those 84 days I would be back in Shanghai was a farfetched prediction. And now, with the confirmed knowledge that I’ll feel lucky to return to China within the remainder of the year, much less the next 50 or so days, I laugh at myself, and at all of the international community of NYU Shanghai, for being so hopelessly optimistic that this semester we could simply resume life in Shanghai as normal- as it was always meant to be.

Yet the news about this upcoming semester was met by me not with the same tears and fears and frustrations as last semester had been, but was rather met with a numbness, and lack of surprise facing what I must have known deep down inside to be the inevitable outcome. I had feared so much last spring- most notably that I would lose contact with my friends or our school community as we all sat, locked down in our own corners of the world. Yet after 6 moths of facing that fear every day, I find that it no longer impacts me. It still hurts, it’s still a relevant fear to have, but in looking forward to this fall, I know that it is not a fear to dwell on. My best friend, who used to call me at all random hours of the night to vent about her boy problems, her nervousness about moving to a new city, about starting a new job, calls no longer. Not because she doesn’t want to, not because I don’t care, but because she has settled- there’s not much left to tell. Her and her boyfriend are happy, she’s adjusted to her new city, and she enjoys her new job. I don’t feel that I’ve lost our friendship. It just hasn’t grown. And in looking forward to this next semester, I know that, at the very least, the stagnation of my relationships is better than the loss of them.

And as for me? I suppose I’ve settled too. I’ve gotten good at playing cards. I’ve gotten good at shuffling them. I’ve gotten good at navigating the hills and traffic of San Francisco. I’ve gotten good at baking. I’ve gotten good at finding books to read. I’ve gotten good at journaling. I’ve attempted to get good at surfing. I have a job. I’ve joined a fitness center. I’ve gotten good at being okay with being by myself. I wake up every day, drag myself to a gym class, then home for a shower, then off to work, and then I come home, go to bed and repeat the process all over again. On a day off, maybe I take myself out to the beach. This ‘settling’ is not reminiscent of a life I ever wanted to live, but it is consistent, it keeps me and my mind occupied. Sometimes, during a peaceful drive home after a yoga class, or during a busy, stressful night at work, I can forget that this is not where I’m supposed to be. I can forget the life abruptly left in a dorm in Shanghai. And I can appreciate that maybe, after all this time, I am doing just fine.

I’ll admit, I’ve asked myself a few times in this process, “Should I even want to go back to Shanghai? What exactly is it that I’m looking forward to when I return? Am I ready to leave all that I have worked so hard to settle in to here?” I’ve lived here in this city now longer than I ever lived in Shanghai. I’m no longer alone here; there are people I look forward to seeing every day at work or at the gym. The relationships I built with new people last fall semester have now existed longer through Snapchats , Facetime calls, and Wechat messages than they were ever able to in-person. Yet in all the things I’ve gotten good at, and throughout my settling into the routine I’ve tried for months to establish, I feel a sense of longing for the life and the people that I was supposed to be experiencing instead.

This longing comes at night when I look in the mirror as I brush my teeth and realize that yet another day has come to its wasted, pointless end. It comes in the mornings when I wake up and realize that yet another seemingly pointless day has come again. It comes when the name of someone from school appears with a message on my phone screen, and I long to tell them how much I love them, how much I miss them, but feel that this desire is ultimately pointless too. It comes when I realize that through all of my routines, and all of my growth, I still am just ultimately waiting for the day we can return to China.

Back when I was counting down the days until I could return to Shanghai, and wasting every lunch break at work reading the Chinese Government’s international reports, I was also planning on the life to build for myself once I was back in China. I had way too many tabs open on my computer for online stores- shopping carts full of clothes and shoes I wanted to wear, new makeup I wanted to experiment with, or new facial products I wanted to bring back to Shanghai. All of these tabs of course, open next to the tab showing upcoming flights from San Francisco to Shanghai. I had been so excited to treat myself, to come into the fall semester as a New Riley, 9 months separated from the girl that left Shanghai in December, but back and better than ever. These tabs sat open for months, from May all the way to July; I meticulously avoided closing them every single day. Yet as the news came that we wouldn’t be returning to school anytime soon, I realized it was pointless for me to spend money on clothes and shoes and makeup to simply sit at home for another 6 months.What point is there in buying something as simple as a new pair of shoes when you exist to the people you interact with as nothing more than a body on a Zoom screen portrayed from only the shoulders up? And so, the shopping carts eventually closed, along with tab showing me all the flights I could hope to ever take to Shanghai.

My mom has told me recently this is not a good way to live; I can’t continue to cycle through the same 8 shirts I’ve been wearing since February, which at this point are faded and don’t seem to fit anymore. I can’t continue to regard this time in my life as a pointless moment that I am eager to end. Eventually I am going to have to bring myself to a store and buy myself new clothes or shoes or makeup for no reason other than because I want them. Eventually, I am going to have to give myself a reason to lead a fulfilling life that doesn’t center around the life in China I feel I ought to be leading instead. And as much as I hate to admit it, I think that she is right.

I have spent 178 days learning to live with only myself. Now, I want to learn to live for only myself.