I’m sorry to do this, but, for the love of all that is KIND and GOOD, please STOP STARING AT ME! Why do you stare DIRECTLY into my eyes, is there something on my face? What? Why are you looking at my feet? They’re flip flops. DON’T LOOK AT ME ANYMORE! *pant*pant*
Things are going OK. I walked to a different part of town today (different part of city, I guess, as Shanghai has some 18 million people, there’s nothing “town” about it) and it was a busy street full of fruit stalls and old men shuffling along in pajamas. I was wearing a skirt and was obviously the most curious being to appear on said street in a decade, for all the grunts and startled looks at my shoes, head, boobs, hair, etc.. I think fair westerners who really love living in Asian cities must enjoy the attention. For all the enjoyment I get out of the fascinating culture, interesting food, crazy metropolitan-ness, glimpses of local life and history; it’s not worth the awful standing out and stares and whispered comments as I pass. I am always on display; a walking mannequin for everybody’s perusal.
It’s only been a month and a half, folks. Wish me luck.
The good thing is that I am easily distracted and easily calmed by things like the mocha that was soon in front of me, a very delicious one. It’s a small bit of comfort, though expensive (at $4 for a small single), and worth the money as it truly does make me feel better. So does shopping, a hug from Jesse, the sun coming out, a smile from a fellow pedestrian (not the gross kind of smile), a cute dog frolicking…any number of things make up for the small inconvenience of feeling like a freak.