A lament about how life really plods

I think I’ve been around for too long now. Both Singapore and Xiamen seem to be places where the people need to GET OUT every once in a while (six months for Singapore, not sure about Xiamen, but I’ve been here continuously for five months now and I’ve been ready to snap for quite some time). Nothing is interesting any more, little things have a tendency of pushing my buttons and I come THIS CLOSE to completely losing it.

I cannot stand it when people are fake-nice to other people because they think they need to be kept on-side. I cannot stand it when pedestrians look surprised and annoyed while I come close to grazing them as they spread themselves out while strolling along the cycle lane. I cannot stand it when people talk, talk, talk about how wonderful something is one month and slag it the next, just because there’s something new in town.

Maybe that’s why sock dolls appeal to me so much. They don’t talk.

Heh, not really. Making a sock doll requires fairly intense concentration for a few hours at a time (mostly so I don’t stab myself to death with a wee, unsterilised needle), and this means I don’t need to think about anything else while I’m making the wee things. Getting upset about businesses who say they support my magazine in words, but when asked to put their money where their mouth is, suddenly have excuses flying out of their arses as to why I need to wait till ‘next time’ — and next time, I need to wait till ‘next time’ — this goes away for a little while. I’m no martyr, but Goddamn it am I stubborn. Things will pay off eventually, but will I be here when it does, or will someone enjoy the fruits of my labour?

Things are so BORING here. If you make it a point to not drink (much) alcohol or spend ridiculous amounts on it, your social life is pretty much fucked. That’s the only evening pastime among foreigners in Xiamen — getting sloshed. Locals get to watch Korean teevee dramas dubbed into Chinese, perverts get to go to KTVs and Handjob Parlours™. Those with families can do family things. But if you’re young and have no children (or pets), there’s nothing else but the pub.

Neil and I are constantly getting on each other’s nerves now. The secret to a great relationship, I’ve noticed, is being able to get out of each other’s hair once in a while. Now we’re both self-employed, we are ALWAYS TOGETHER. So he’s just marched off to Sun Dance Cafe for a snack because he’d been complaining about lunch all afternoon and then said it was too late for lunch (his contention is he never said it was too late) and I’m perfectly happy to sit in the flat all day on the computer and not eat and drink hardly anything until dinner time, a habit honed to perfection in since late-July 2003, when I couldn’t find a decent job because a) I’m not Chinese enough, and b) I’m not foreign enough.

I do have friends here (a few) and I occasionally have a great time. I’m in no way thinking my life SUCKS and WOE IS ME, as I’ve chosen to be here and try to hang on and make the magazine succeed. Sometimes I think there’s nothing worse than being under-appreciated and misunderstood. I know at least one person here has claimed that I’m a no-good thief who’s stolen the magazine from one of the co-founders (no mention is made of the third co-founder who just so happens to be Chinese), I suppose it’s because there’s no way an ethnic Chinese person could have been properly part of the makings of something if there’s a blonde Caucasian involved. I’d like to add a statement right now that turns this paragraph into something chucklingly amusing, but I can’t think of anything.

My main gripe is that nothing here inspires. Nothing here makes me want to say ANYTHING. My life is currently the plainest vanilla you can find. I mean, I get so much joy from prancing around the flat making my sock dolls interact with each other and beat up Neil (the sock dolls beat up Neil). That is what I’ve become. A ten-year old.

I remember what I was like when I was ten, and it is not a place anyone should visit. I was a total pain in the arse who thought being tough was running around threatening people with violence (I know some alleged grown ups in Xiamen who do that in their forties, so maybe I’m not so bad), wore bad glasses, and was a general know-it-all buttcrack.

Buttcracks aside, I need to make my life more interesting in Xiamen without spending money, because I don’t have any. That’s a toughie, huh.

• 14 Oct 2005