Languid

When J described me in Beijing she used the term, languid. This word, just simply the way it feels in my mouth, rolling off my tongue, articulates how relaxed I feel here.

Languid.



In China, I feel flexible. I like the grim. The city's always under construction, always in change. I like the people, breaking all the rules, ironically somehow free in their expressions, very open to us, the foreigners trying desperately to say anything in Mandarin. I like not fretting so much about every penny I spend.

China and Japan are very different from one another. The contrast feels almost intrusive. Japan is an isolated island, developed, rich with tradition, boiling in tradition. China, on the other had, is a massive land. From Beijing, it's boundaries seem so distant, travel time immense, and the change vast.

In Japan, I loved the sereneness, the quietness, the generosity of the people, the saturated etiquette, the gardens, and the onsens. I loved the onsens. (And I love my friends there, which definitely can not be left out!)

But China, china feels so light and pliable. Permeable in comparison. As the dust from the Gobi Desert, and the dirt from construction whirl into the smog, change is literally visible and breathable. Japan in impeccably clean. China doesn't hid its turbulence. It feels absolutely real to me. Like it's flaws are on the outside. I don't feel I can make as many mistakes here. I like that.