EXT: The City of Hong Kong, lit up by night.

[Cut to shot of Betsey doing an elaborate, Bollywood-style musical number along the harbor to the tune of “Kowloon Hong Kong” by Rebecca Pan]

Hellooooooo world!!!!!

Here I am!

Behold, the return of Betsey Horton, Writer Extraordinaire, back in action and ready to take the world by storm! All I need is to find the perfect cane/umbrella/sword combo that expresses my personality and I will be set to go!

Had a very productive day today in spite of the struggle. I was specifically given advice by another expat who has lived here for a year NOT to go to IKEA on a Sunday. Of course I didn’t listen to them. I was wrong. I was wrong! I was the one who made the mistake today. I accept full responsibility for my terrible choice.

Here’s the thing: even though I am American, I have only ever been to an IKEA one other time in my life. It was the one in Potomac Mills and I was 18. So, like, literally 18 years ago, which is an absolutely horrifying thought to even consider, btw.

Anyway, I really didn’t even understand what I was even signing up for when I walked into this store. All I can tell you is that I felt like a rat in a maze desperately trying to find the cheese. I don’t know how else to explain this. It’s not like a Target or Walmart where you can just go straight down to the specific aisles to find what you need. Once you’re in the maze, you have to continue down the path you’re on. There’s no other way out. Meanwhile, everything you need is featured in the demo, but you can’t just pick it up and take it with you. It’s like I could see the cheese, and I kept reaching for the cheese, but it wasn’t real cheese. It was fake every single time. I had to walk through two levels of this insane maze before I could actually physically touch the objects I required. It was a nightmare.

It was more stressful than India, and that’s saying a lot. In India, you just gotta embrace the chaos head-on and find your peace. This is how you learn to dodge the cows, right? But this shit? No. This was crazy. I felt like the fucking Minotaur. Like what the fuck even is this and why can’t I get the fuck out? Am I going to die here? All I need is one corkscrew. It’s not like I’m asking for much. Or am I? I don’t even know anymore. Do I just live here now? No wonder so many people are taking naps in these beds and sitting in these chairs. They’re lost in the Labyrinth looking for their cheese!

It was so stressful, I had to grab an emotional support stuffed animal from the bin halfway through the store. Of course, I chose the Golden Retriever puppy and immediately named him Andrew. I brought him home, dressed him up in a little scarf, and now he’s a real boy!

It’s just like… wow. One trip to IKEA was so stressful that I regressed so far back as to project my emotional support fictional character onto a stuffed animal. And here I thought I left those manuscripts behind. Nope! I feel like I already knew deep down in my soul that I would never truly escape Andrew, but now I know for sure. There I was, caught in public in my most vulnerable moment, and the first thing I reached out to for safety was my emotional support Andrew. Le sigh! It is what it is.

I literally almost had a full-blown anxiety attack. It was that intense of an experience for me. I never, ever thought I would miss Walmart, ever, but wow, yeah, as it turns out, I definitely miss Walmart. I can’t even believe I’m writing that right now. It feels like the scene in Gossip Girl where Blair Waldorf binges the pie at her lowest point and looks up at her distorted reflection in the stainless steel refrigerator after she’s finished the entire platter in one sitting. Look at me. Look at what a monster I am. Who am I? What have I become?

This was definitely the most challenging experience I’ve had in Hong Kong so far. I thought the SIM card thing was difficult, but I was wrong. I was a different person then. That was before I went to IKEA on a Sunday afternoon. Let’s just say the lesson was learned, the lesson was learned. It is what it is.

Ugh, even writing about that experience was triggering enough to give me flashbacks. So stressful. Somehow my roommate talked me down from a full-blown panic attack. No idea how she did that, but shoutout to her. She is awesome.

Fast forward to the end of the maze, when I finally reached the checkout counter. I couldn’t find the entrance to the next mini maze and I was about ready to freak out at this point. Luckily, right at that moment, I looked up and saw an Indian family who were all staring at me in that way that they do. It reminded me to stop, take a deep breath, clear my mind, and carefully examine my surroundings. Needless to say, I spent my time waiting in line doing a few pranayama exercises to lower my stress levels. I have no idea how I would be alive if I had never gone to India. Seriously, I just… can’t explain why it brings me so much peace, but it does. Shoutout to the great nation of India for existing in general. Please know I don’t hold that jerk who dumped me against you.

By the end of it all, I achieved my very simple goal of purchasing a corkscrew and some cheap wine glasses for the apartment so the next Fresh Off the Boat Westerner who lives in this apartment doesn’t have to endure whatever the fuck I just survived. I also got a towel, new sheets, and a fancy pillow for side-sleepers who have neck and back problems. Again, shoutout to India for introducing me to the concept of a “Pillow Menu.” I had no idea such luxuries existed in the world. Clearly I haven’t been taking care of myself or treating myself very well, otherwise I would already know things like this existed in the world.

*takes deep breath*

So I went through all of that and much to my surprise, my total came to significantly less money than I would spent in the U.S. because I don’t have to pay for the absurd tariffs that got Dumped on us for no reason whatsoever. Fuck that shit.

Also got some work clothes, which was great because I only brought dresses specifically designed to make me look good sitting in fabulous lounge in Dubai. Not exactly ideal for teaching children at school, right? Right. So, again, went shopping, got better quality clothes for less than I would pay in the States, and now I don’t have to worry about anything else for some time.

Oh my god, writing all of this down is so stressful. Today was so stressful! Ugh. Clearly I was the Minotaur in a previous life. Why else would being trapped in a Maze like IKEA be so triggering and anxiety- inducing?

Time for a snack break.

Speaking of snack breaks, I thought I was an open-minded person when it came to food, but it turns out I’m not. I’m just not. Like, I cannot do the blood and guts and random body parts. It just feels so barbaric to me. I literally just can’t even. Also, the Seaspiracy is still fucking with me big time. I just can’t even with the seafood. When I look at it, all I can see is an active genocidal war campaign on our oceans and it just makes me feel sick to my stomach. Not for me, not for me. I’m not close-minded at all to other cultures. I just know the blood, guts, and body parts are not for me. They’re just not for me! It doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the culture. I’m just figuring out that maybe I’m more of a vegetarian than I initially thought. What’s wrong with that?

For now, I’m good with my snack trays. I just made one that has hummus, avocado, cheese, crackers, cashews, and cranberries. Okay, I admit there’s some deli-style chicken slices there, but like… it’s western deli style. It’s not a fucking foot. I can’t handle the feet, okay? I just can’t. I can’t do it. It just freaks me the fuck out. Like, that’s a foot. It’s not for me. Do you, live your life, like what you like, enjoy what you enjoy, but I can honestly say I now understand the meaning of concepts like Kosher and Halal. I’m on that vibe. It is what it is.

I can’t unsee the animal cruelty. I just can’t. It is what it is. It is what it is.

ANYWAY, yeah, so between the IKEA and the chicken foot pig blood soup, I had a difficult day off. I wish I could say I will have a real break tomorrow, but I have to run around taking care of my last administrative duties. Gotta get the ID, gotta get the bank account. It will get done. These are the two things I’m the least worried about, honestly, but still.

I just gotta get through this last bit and I will reward myself with the Brazilian Festival tomorrow night. Yaaasss Queen! I’m trying to get a group together to go, but groups are generally unreliable and I’m not missing out on Carnival because other people are lazy. I’ve been celebrating Carnival alone in my house for years. I need to be out in the streets dancing and singing and living my best Brazilian life. It’s here for another week so I will continue inviting people to join on a later day, but I’m definitely going tomorrow night so I can dance and blow off some of this stress I’ve been accumulating. Clearly I need it!

Anyway, I’m going to go eat my snacks and doomscroll reddit because I hate this fucking asshole Reality TV Host that’s dragging us into a war no one wants when our own people don’t have access to affordable healthcare or education. Gross. It’s gross! All of it is gross. I don’t want to have to answer for any of it anymore.

Have a good night, ya’ll.