Saturday afternoon. Currently sitting in a random cafe having a Bloody Mary. They brought me a taste tester because it was allegedly “spicy.” It is not spicy by my standards, but I also make mine with A LOT of extra hot sauce.

Everywhere in SEA claims their food and drinks are “spicy,” but I have yet to taste anything outrageously spicy by my standards. In my defense, I went to New Orleans and India beforehand, so my spice tolerance is quite high. I have intentionally trained my taste palate to tolerate high levels of spice. Plus, I am a Scorpio, so, I am just naturally spicy on my own.

I am relieved to be drinking the Bloody Mary. I have not had one in many moons. I just needed a little comfort and familiarity, I guess. Something to soothe my rage at my situation.

I had to leave my apartment today. I flipped out this morning over paperwork shit and my host was like, “You need to go get something to eat right now.” She had this look on her face like, “Aren’t you supposed to be a yoga teacher?”

Yes, well, as it turns out, no amount of yoga or spa treatments or therapy or massages or sound baths or any of this dumb New Age crap can prevent Ye Olde Irish Temper from flaring up at random. It is what it is. Maybe all of you are the ones who need to “stop playing the victim” and “just get over it.”

As we say in New York City, “Go fuck ya’self!”

Yeah, it doesn’t sound so great anymore when it’s being shoved in your face, does it? So maybe just shut the fuck up.

Andrew is trying to be helpful. He was like, “Have you ever thought about trying Muay Thai?” and I’m just like, “Have you ever thought about eating a dick?”

He just nods and fixes up the Bloody Mary instead.

Having an imaginary friend is so fun! Maybe I cannot accept my anger for what it is, but I can accept my weird hallucination that keeps appearing no matter what I do to get rid of it. It is what it is.

Lately he has been insisting I call him by his real name. Sometimes I acquiesce, but I still prefer not to. It makes me feel weird and uncomfortable. In my mind, these two people are very separate. Andrew is a fictional character I created in my head. [Real Name] is a real person with a real life and a very real family and I am not here to interfere with that. I thought we understood this. Apparently, we do not. But he won’t go away, so we find ourselves at an impasse yet again.

I lost my temper this morning because I was trying to make travel plans and got really overwhelmed again. I don’t want to do this dumb digital nomad thing. I’m sick of moving around constantly. I just want to live in one place and work one job and just be boring for awhile while I work my ass off and save money. That’s why I chose Hong Kong. But no, I had to be stupid and pick a stupid company full of stupid assholes. Ugh.

Every day the fire within me rages. I want Hong Kong, even if the political situation is shitty and complicated. Yeah, well, at least they have fucking sidewalks and public transportation and 7/11’s on the corner of every block.

Anyway, I have at the very least accepted my permanent state of unhappiness. I had to go to a different coffee place today because the first one didn’t have working Internet and couldn’t get the card machine to work. I don’t have cash and the nearest ATM has a bunch of Google reviews warning people that it skims your card and steals money from your account. Not here for it. So I went to a different place further up the street and found a book on philosophy to read while I waited for my drink.

I did what I always do when I pick up a random book, which is ask it what I need to hear and turn to a random page. Today I turned to the story of The Good Brahmin by Voltaire. In this very short story, Voltaire meets a deeply troubled Brahmin philosopher who teaches him that the price of happiness is ignorance, and it’s not a price he is willing to pay. Voltaire agrees, as do all of his philosopher friends. And so do I. Sure, I could be happy if I was like these people at the yoga shala who insist on burying their heads in the sand and tuning the world out. But I myself cannot do that and I accept that I will forever be unhappy because of it.

*shrugs*

It is what it is.

Anyway, so I was struggling to make plans but it’s raining and flooding everywhere and it’s like… ugh. How the fuck did I end up in this stupid situation? I did everything right. No one expected the fucking South Africans and their crazy racist bullshit! I still get mad about it every day. I try to accept it but I can’t. I didn’t come all the way over here so I could check out of reality and go on a permanent vacation. I came here to work and live and hustle and make those HKD’s. I can’t accept it. I’m angry.

Cue the epic meltdown.

Then a little birdie in my head said, “Why don’t you check your Indonesian visa again?”

So I got on there and found out that, yes, I have in fact been granted my original 60-day visa that I applied for before I came. I still have to leave tomorrow and do a visa run to activate it. Annoying!

I explained this to my host when she asked if I would extend my stay here. She said, “Oh, why don’t you just go to Malaysia for three days and come back? I’ll give you a good deal if you book this place again for a month directly with me. I give you good price. Better than Airbnb.”

So now I’m sitting here thinking about it and I’m like… hmm. This is what I wanted to do to buy myself more time to job hunt and write. I was just operating under the assumption that my visa wasn’t granted because I couldn’t get on the website all week.

Ughhhh but the motorcycle situation is just sooooo annoying to me. I got up and went out for a walk anyway. I hate the walking situation, but I managed to get here without dying, so it’s possible to walk around. It’s just not ideal. None of this is ideal, but oh fucking well. It’s not my fault the Dutch East India Company fucked over Indonesia and that the newly formed post-independence government was a crazy corrupt military junta that went around murdering people en masse.

I’m just overwhelmed right now. This is why I struggle to make choices. I don’t know how to make choices. I have too many choices right now and when I look at all of them lid out in front of me, I’m just like, “Fuck this. I’m going to watch the news.”

I had a dream last night I was doing yoga in India again. Finally, a night without a nightmare. I definitely prefer Indian Yoga. I liked the routine and discipline, even if I was not very good at sticking with it. Bali Yoga is for wannabe fake spiritual gurus who want a permanent vacation from reality. Indians aren’t like that. They’re like, “You can’t escape reality. Embrace the chaos and the chaos will embrace you.”

Definitely going back to India for my 300hr, whenever I get the chance. Not now. But someday. I still love India and Indian people and Indian culture. I would never hold my ex against all billion of them, and I think they would agree. Same reason I’m still cool with Persians. It is what it is.

Meanwhile, in Hong Kong, my Chinese Minder who was assigned to me is reading this like, “I knew it was the fucking white people that scared her off. It’s always the goddamn white people.”

Truth.

I had a weird dream the other night where my iPad came to life and turned into the Chinese Minder in question. They said, “Why did you disappear? You know you can’t just do that in China. You never came back for your HKID, you didn’t pay your phone bill, you just left. It makes no sense. All the information we collected on you prior made it seem like you were excited to be here. Why did you leave? What happened?”

I explained the situation with the South Africans. They nodded understandingly.

“Well,” they said quite reasonably. “If your mind is open to China, then China is open to you. We would like to invite you back to Hong Kong.”

Then they gifted me a Chirkin, straight off the factory line. In case you are not familiar with this term, it describes a Birkin bag that comes direct from the Hermes factory but lacks the brand logo that gets stamped on it abroad. Same materials, same quality, significantly lower cost. I was planning to buy one as a reward for myself at the end of the year. I was planning to take an empty suitcase to Shanghai and just go ham on the luxury goods market with my HKD’s.

There’s only one catch, of course. I cannot say that Hong Kong should be “free.” Well, that’s fine. Whatever you want. I’ve learned a lesson or two about white westerners colonizers over here. I’ve realized the question on that one is “Freedom for who?”

Besides, I have too much freedom in life. I need some structure and discipline. That’s why I chose Hong Kong. So, yeah, I’ll be more than happy to shut the fuck up if you give me the job and I’ll teach some of these high-strung jerks some Yin Yoga in return. Someone bring me my Crystal Singing Bowls, stat.

Omg, so embarrassing. I snapped to myself when I wrote that and the waitress came over and asked me if I needed anything. I am fucking mortified. Snapping at the server for service is the rudest thing in my mind. I apologized to her immediately and she just looked at me like I was crazy. Like, “Why wouldn’t you be snapping at me to get my attention?”

Ugh.

Gross.

That just makes me feel gross on a deep spiritual level. Ughhhhhh. Mortifying. I really do hate the engrained levels of servitude towards white people here. It’s not okay.

My Chinese Minder says, “That’s what Hong Kong used to be like for us. Now they can’t treat us like that anymore. That’s why they’re mad. That’s why they all left.”

Fair enough, fam. Teach me whatever you think I have to learn about the world. Just please… don’t make me go back to America yet. I can’t handle the Dump. I can’t do it. I hate him too. That’s why I left.

Hmmm…. Now I have a weird conspiracy theory that my British Guy was some weird plant. He did work in Shenzhen for like ten years. How do I know he’s not actually a Chinese spy? Is that why he tried to melt my brain with his crazy conspiracy theory texts and stopped responding when it didn’t work?

This story gets more bizarre every day. Tell us more, fam. I’m open to it.

Okay, let’s get motivated here. Maybe start by not lounging around a cafe drinking all day. Hmm, yeah, maybe. That would probably be a good start…