same as it ever was.

My fascination with both Vietnam and Hong Kong come with some heavy cultural baggage. There would be no Banh Mi if it wasn’t for French assholes with guns. China’s brilliant capitalist experiment also benefited greatly from the expansion of people whose skin is uncannily similar to mine. Contemplating the influences both religion and imperialism have on culture leaves me with the hollow guilt of the questionable conquests of most of our ancestors.

We didn’t violently introduce ourselves and then quietly tiptoe backwards as Jerry did Tom, we herded and isolated and annihilated an entire nation - leaving nothing left to revere or admire but lost white men flocking to sweat lodges and the poorly-named food truck “Off the Rez”. What typically happens is that the borders themselves creep and expand, the constant conflicts of Israel and Palestine, of India and Pakistan, of Russia and anyone on the border of Russia. A slow swallowing, an ebb and flow, the incoming tide of empty bullet casings. We the many nations overtook North America, absolutely.

People move on from the hand they were dealt in the best way they know how, and over time this horror turns and twists into culinary novelty. I’m preparing myself for French bread in Southeast Asia, for Portuguese tapas amidst the Las Vegas of China, the ritual of tea cultures halfway across the world colliding in new and unusual ways. My tantalization masks genuine ignorance, ignorance I need in order to enjoy the worlds I am entering. The older I get the more sensitive I get to the true costs of things, and I lament the softening of suffering until it remains frozen, creamy, served on a stick. But boy do I love ice cream.

This trip is an escape from my escapes, a reprieve from the numb nights that tend to follow frustrating days. If I can’t make a living manifesting my own fiction I can always step aboard a plane and force the kind of living that I would truly die without. I’ve been at the same dayjob nearly 1.5 years now, working under management I don’t respect, trying my damnedest to claw and tear at the fabric this company has wrapped itself in and feeling like a fool for even caring. I’ve taken charge when no one did and have worked hard to inspire the people that need it the most. Sadly the earned influence I’ve gained seems only seems to depress me further - giving me a phantom taste of how great things could be, if only they just fired everyone in charge.

I expected this escape to be another solo trip, full of enlightenment and loneliness. I’m thrilled that a dear friend of mine decided to meet me, which hopefully won’t derail my hopes that I can get back to regular writing. Because drinking.

I’m halfway through this 13.5 hour flight and am already anticipating the late-night Szechuan place Mr. M and I will rendezvous at. Tomorrow we will awake in our closet of a hotel room and head out to a 3pm concert featuring Ladybeard, everyone’s favorite Australian ex-wrestler that dresses like a schoolgirl and sings cookie monster metal. Hong Kong here I come.