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Toothpaste
There are two things that are more important than toothpaste at the moment. Two classes of things, if you will. The first are Academic in nature; mostly grading, and writing syllabuses. Those of the second class, a somewhat more densely populated group, pertain to Leaving.
I don’t really have much to say about my experience in China that I wouldn’t prefer to say in person. Over the course of the year I’ve realized a lot of things. I’m of the opinion it’s easier to convince someone you’re not unreasonably biased on a subject in person, for instance. Most of my woes have more to do with the city in which I now reside, rather than the country as a whole, and obviously with my perennial readiness for petty hatred.
On the other hand, I’m not relieved to be making my exit from this hemisphere simply because I spent too much whining petulantly at overblown annoyances. I suspect the details of my time here will eke out bit by bit, over a pint of beer that will not be guaranteed to give me a headache in the morning, or a lunch salad that does not provoke nervous joking about pesticides.
I can’t imagine toothpaste kicking-off too many of those conversations, although apparently Chinese toothpaste is killing plenty of people. It’s not often one has talkative company while brushing their teeth, and I mostly have good things to say about the toothpaste here. Bamboo Salt-flavor has been a surprisingly pleasant experience.
It will all be set aside for the next couple of weeks, however, in favor of errands pressing and pointless: assuring my collection of DVDs enters the country un-fined, sifting through piles of paper I will most assuredly throw out in their entirety—stuff, things. In short, whatever it is I need to do to close off my ties to the place, followed by whatever it is I need to do to facilitate my leaving it for at least five years.
In five years I expect those changes that are so blatantly taking place around me, even in this backwater, will have articulated themselves to such an extent as might make a return trip worthwhile. They could easily not, of course. Not to Dongying, at least. And of course, a hoe five-years heavy might not be enough to furrow China’s five-thousand-year-old fields.
(ff-ff-ffh-coughcough)
In the meantime, I’m sure oral hygiene products and pet food won’t be the last of the PRC’s crop of lethal exports. I’m excited to know what sort of terminal illnesses I may have contracted during my time here, and to what incidents I may otherwise add some perspective.
In a word, never give up, fight for your belief, strive for a brighter future.
My brighter future holds bluer skies, more lethargic mosquitoes, and a box with three cases of DVDs that will not be included on the “package contents” label. A fourteen-hour plane ride, half as long a drive north, and hopefully that same box a week or two later.
I face this future with trepidation. An acquaintance of mine, whose inconsiderable wit and talent are often over appreciated, not least by herself, said this feeling we were all suffering from (she left this morning) had to do with change. Or, I suppose, Change. Unfortunately she may even be right.
What does one do with a ruminant appreciation of vowel sounds? I suppose whatever one does with what may be their casual contribution towards insight on the world toothpaste market. Which, at this point, so late after the story’s broken, doesn’t amount to much.
All the same, my mind has settled in the past two weeks on at least one point, and for that I am thankful:
Bamboo Salt-flavor is both good and, I do hope, non-lethal.