305A — I told you hundreds of stories about home; make some more...

Today was a good day. My sleep cycle was not totally screwed, surprisingly enough, and after the RSI hangout (which, after some technical issues, went actually surprisingly well) I managed to sleep all the way to 7:30. I began copying my MIT schedule into Evernote, which was interesting enough, before we left for one of the best breakfasts I’ve had yet. (In fact, across a lifetime, this ranks probably in the top ten, if not the top five.) From there, we went to visit some relatives (a great-aunt and uncle) in the hospital (thankfully, they are fine and almost fully recovered), which was interesting enough. For example, observing the English translations of Chinese portions of the hospital led to quite a few discoveries, such as the fact that the ‘ICU’ is also called the ‘ICU’ here in China. The conversation had was also quite interesting for a variety of reasons, as it moved from AI to the Cultural Revolution to the days when everybody was “young” to academics to One Belt One Road. Eventually, we left the hospital and returned home.

I fell asleep on the drive back, but thankfully didn’t nap when I got home. Instead, I stayed up and worked on a variety of things, including scheduling and re-scheduling. At some point, we also got an afternoon snack in the form of somelocal sweets, which were excellent. I kept getting inexorable urges to write, yet I found very little to actually write about. Nothing seemed significant enough to formally catch my attention, and I staved off some of the draw by finally submitting my advising application, where I ranked Concourse first and then four advising seminars which drew me in. The application involved a question justifying one's choices, and I managed to make a convincing enough case for me to actually rank Concourse first that it settled, for now, my fears and indecision. I guess we'll find out the results soon enough (or maybe not, I think it comes out in August?), and in the meantime I'll fill my time trying to figure out other questions, like how RSI is going to go, or if I can pull off a triple major without trying to kill myself, etc.

After some TV, dinner time arrived, and we went to yet another amazing restaurant. Today was just a really good day for food I guess, and when we got home we went on a walk to the same area of town as the mall from two days ago, and saw a large variety of people and things, from rollerblading troupes to musical fountains. Eventually, it was time to return home, watch a little bit of TV, feel bad about Federer’s loss to Nadal in the semifinal of the French Open, and write this blog.

I’ve forgone my “traditional” book reports because of a lack of time and interesting things to say, but What If It's Us and Rich People Problems both gave me significant food for thought that has been digesting over time. Obviously, there was the question of content, insofar as both novels presented some form of representation for me, the former being LGBTQ+ and the latter being Asian(-American). For me, however, the question which seemed more pressing to me was that of endings. Both stories ended happily, to be sure. Unfortunately, however, they didn't end in the best-case scenario (since nothing in reality ever does)—the happy ever after solution, which for some reason made me feel more anxious than it probably should have. That’s not to say I only enjoy books with a happy ever after kind of ending—the novella I’ve been “working on” since November of 2017 ends in the most tragic of ways, and I appreciate it because it makes you feel something. Maybe it’s just this specific anxiety caused by differences between reality and ideal which drives me to be a vague kind of perfectionist, although I often give up early anyways. Maybe it is just a certain kind of naivete. In any case, I am unsure of myself.

I am reminded of a recent event which I normally wouldn't talk about, if it weren't for the fact that I'm currently far from home and will be for a long time, and for the fact that this blog does not attract significant readership (and almost definitely not the one I'm concerned about). The last day at robotics (post 297A), the one and only cute-but-straight boy told me he was sad I was going, and my heart ached, knowing I would be missing something which is not possible to achieve or get back. That kind of dull ache is what fills my soul now. I miss home, but there are only two weeks left to look forwards to at the end of this long travel. I miss RSI, but we’re in a different dorm and I’m playing a different role where perhaps I am less free to be 100% me. I am here in China, and I love it more than I thought I would (partly because I was sure I would be missing home and RSI, and I am), but right now I want to just get on to the next thing, with real Wi-Fi and a bunch of new kiddos to be responsible for. Heartache. What a word.

In a vaguely similar vein, I've been thinking about robotics a lot—looking at bus numbers, which include 868 (Carmel TechHounds) and 662 (Rocky Mountain Robotics). Today's visit to the plaza involved lots of mediocre song and dance which reminded me of all the dumb FRC shenanigans I’ve participated in over a while. I miss it, and I’ll be back soon, but it will never be the same. God. I’ve been listening to a lot of older people talk about how time flies at their age. If I can’t even let go of anything now, what will I be going through then? Only time will tell.

In other news, why are tennis ball-boys almost always so cute and/or hot? Seems unfair.

Tomorrow, another amazing breakfast, and then who knows what else? Swimming, maybe? We’ll see what happens.