A Day in Kinmen


On the Xiamen-Kinmen International Ferry

Due to the number of responsibilities that I’ve taken on this year, I haven’t had much free time to travel. I’ve pretty much stayed in Shanghai since I came back to mainland China from Tokyo. However, after being shaken up by my last visa run to Hong Kong which resulted in me being held in a small room on the Shenzhen side and interrogated by border agents for thirty minutes, I decided a different route was in order. However, rather than get upset, I decided to make the best of it by having some fun in Xiamen and Kinmen.

After an eight-hour train ride from Hongqiao to Xiamen North, I got to my hostel and passed out right away around 11PM.

The second day, I woke up around 8:30 a.m., then took a taxi to the station which was further away from the hostel than I realized. There weren’t many people at the port so I got through customs pretty quickly. They seemed much nicer and more efficient than the ones in Shenzhen.

When I arrived on the island, I noticed a lively and colorful celebration. Even on such a cloudy day, the locals didn’t stop their outdoor activities.

This is a local Buddhist ceremony, according to a friend from Xiamen.

I exited the arrival hall and saw a car and scooter rental shop across the street. Articles on the internet say you need a driver’s license to rent a scooter, but that’s not true. They simply scanned my passport, accepted a 500 NTD rental fee, and took a cash deposit of 300 RMB which I got back at the end of the day. It was already almost noon by the time the paperwork had been processed so I decided not to bother renting a sim card. The money would be better spent on other things.

Since I had no wifi and therefore, no Google or Baidu maps, the woman behind the counter gave me a paper map. I felt like an old-school adventurer.

I hadn’t driven a scooter in ages. The wind on my face and the open road up ahead helped ease some of my recent worries. However, my bliss soon turned to panic as I’d taken a dirt road to a dead end and met the ire of some aggressive, unleashed rottweilers.

The first place I visited was this tower near Shuitou Port.

I decided to stop at the first tourist attraction on my route; a stone tower that looked like a robot penis. I can’t read traditional Chinese characters so I have no idea about its actual purpose. A series of stone steps lead up to the summit where I could see most of the island, including the harbor and the residential areas to the west.

As a city girl, I rarely get a chance to see livestock so of course, I needed to take a pic of this beautiful cow.

After that, I tried finding somewhere to eat. I drove around for a few more hours before I saw slight signs of civilization. As others have written in Chinese and English, there’s nothing good to eat on the island, especially if you can’t eat meat and don’t like bland food. Fortunately, 7/11 has cold soba noodles, potato chips, and beer; the makings of a quality, nutritious vegan meal.

Two cashiers stood behind the register. They were absolutely fascinated with my hair. I imagine they don’t see many black people or folks with braids. They tried to guess how I washed it. They even practiced the few English phrases they knew such as “hello” and “where are you from”. In the past, this kind of stuff really irritated me but now I find the attention flattering. In Shanghai, a lot of people just ignore me or give me dirty looks so it’s kinda nice to feel special for a change.

If you live in mainland China, it’s a good idea to use any vacation you have abroad to shop for foreign makeup and clothing as the quality will be higher and the price will be much cheaper. Mainland China has incredibly high taxes on all imported products which has led to the creation of an entire industry dedicated to making a profit off of this situation: daigou. Purchasing agents’ fees are still cheaper than the taxes.

This stuff works.

Next, I went a school, a lake, and an old military station.

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Kinmen has a lot of temples and is a great place to go shopping if you live in or around Fujian province. Though there aren’t that many exciting places on the island and the food isn’t good, I’d still recommend it for a day trip or visa run. It’s infinitely cheaper and more relaxed than Hong Kong as long as you spend the night in Xiamen. Renting a scooter is necessary to get around the island so don’t forgo this important step.

I arrived back in Xiamen around 6 p.m. and met with a friend’s friend for dinner. Xiamen locals are friendly and more than willing to show foreigners around. We went out for dinner and clubbing but after hiking and driving a scooter all day, I was too exhausted to stay after midnight.

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I’m looking forward to visiting Xiamen again.

At the Koala Hostel in downtown Xiamen.



Moonlight Struggle

Harking back to the G20 days of late 2016, Moonlight closed again, this time for a much shorter period of time. Following a series of flu-like symptoms accompanied by the unwanted monthly guest, I could barely get out of bed the first few days of this month. My boss kept calling me to work every day, but my efforts to get dressed and put on makeup proved futile. By the second week, the illness had finally subsided enough that basic chores could be accomplished and so I thought myself well enough to return to the daily grind. Unfortunately, my Brazilian friend, Viki, texted me to say that we weren’t allowed at the company for several days due to police checks. I had substantial savings from last month to tide me over for a few weeks, but boredom and aggravation soon got the better of me.

The month of March generally acts as a sort of catch-up game for Chinese and foreigners alike. Because of the spring festival in February, there’s a lengthy stretch of time where work can’t get done even if we wanted to go. Small restaurants empty out, there’s hardly anyone left in Shanghai to go to the KTV, and prices of services ranging from hair salons to taxis double for a period of two weeks to one month. Foreigners living in big cities find this to be an incredibly boring and lonely month, especially if they haven’t got time or money to leave the country for weeks. I’m no exception, so I welcomed March with open arms — hoping that I could finally go back to business as usual.

If you work in a KTV, you generally rely on your stable customers during government meetings which produce police crackdowns, when business gets bad for a while, or any other unexpected problem that could befall a girl. Though I haven’t been back in Shanghai for a long time, I managed to find one such amazing customer who has already helped me a ton from giving me a fixed amount each week to bringing me to nearby small cities for travel.

Yesterday, Da Lee and I went to Ma’an Shan, a small city in Anhui province where he’d grown up before moving to Shanghai twenty years ago to open a series of businesses and become the high-rolling, Benz-driving, boss that he is today. When I witnessed his humble beginnings, a small city with a population no larger than ninety-thousand people, hardly any cars on the road, small shops lining sleepy streets with random cats and dogs roaming about in mixed-species packs, it became apparent that we’d both come a long way from home.

I envy Da Lee in that he has friends he’s known since childhood who aren’t too far away. Not many people liked me when I was a kid and while living in Florida, I was nothing but a constant, giant ball of red-hot anger almost 24/7, locking myself away in my room to play video games and chat on anime forums. I grew up in an interracial family in a small seaside city in Florida filled with giant flying cockroaches and rednecks. Let’s just say that as an educated mixed kid from Chicago, I found it beyond my capabilities to tolerate their stupidity. The oldest friend I have is a girl I met in middle school who lives half a world away and couldn’t be more different from me today. Da Lee and I are the ones who made it out — the restless and the unsatisfied with small town life — feeling that the great, big world outside our childhood holes must be better than what we’d come to know up to that point. Not many people are born with that fire, that curiosity, and that drive inside of them. When I talk to the one friend I have from childhood, I’m reminded that most people’s lives are actually quite boring and that, generally speaking, most people feel unmotivated to change their situations if they’ve got everything they need for daily life or they’ve gotten used to a certain place. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with this. In fact, I think everyone has a role in life. Just like I couldn’t be satisfied living in a small city, chained to a life of menial, low-paid work, some folks find the stress and grind of a metropolis simply overwhelming. I have a great deal of respect for folks who show consistency. The problem is when people, like my childhood friend, complain about how terrible a place is and yet make absolutely no effort to leave because it’s all they’ve ever known. When I explained this to Da Lee, he chalked it up to mental laziness.

Recently, my mood hasn’t been that great because when we were finally allowed to go back to work, the business turned sour and I went three days this week without working despite coming four days in a row. At that point, I decided to call Da Lee and bring Viki to drink with him. The following day, we drove about five hours and chatted the whole way. I’m much more confident in my Chinese than I was before but I’ve still got a lot to learn. At a toll booth, a woman in front of us held up the line because she’d apparently lost her ticket. Da Lee, in an unusually anxious state, began shouting at and scolding the police officer. The officer, calm and smug as most cops in Asia, shrugged him off and went back to pacing in front of the toll booth. His nonchalant attitude angered Da Lee even more as he leaned on the horn and cursed in Mandarin, Shanghainese, and English. After five minutes or so, the lady in front gave in, paid her toll, and we arrived at the restaurant shortly after. Both of us decided to drink away our frustrations into the wee hours of the morning.

Today, I woke up with a pounding headache and a desire to lay in bed all day but I knew this would be a waste. Da Lee suggested going out for a massage to relax our minds and bodies. It was my first time getting a hot stone and cupping massage. When she placed the glass cups atop my back one by one, I winced in pain as the suction scooped the small bits of fat I had on my back into large, maroon, opaque circles. Though Da Lee felt comfortable after his turn, I couldn’t help but think of it as anything but satisfying.

Our last dinner in the tranquil, picturesque town of Ma’an Shan involved a seafood dinner, of course, suited to local taste buds. A dish of lettuce soaked in soy sauce, sprouts and tofu mixed together, and oily, salty fish sat atop the round table. While others ate with enthusiasm, I couldn’t bring myself to chow down more than a couple bites without grimacing each time. Let’s just say Anhui cuisine isn’t suitable for my palate.

As I sit on the train in first class, next to a Japanese salaryman returning to Shanghai, I wonder if I’ll be able to rely on my foreign and Chinese friends to help me find another place to work this time. I will fight to stay in Shanghai. It’s the promise I made to myself when I came back for the 5th or 6th time in late January. There’s no place like Shanghai. There’s no place like home.

Congee Fun

It’s my first time making congee; a type of Chinese porridge made with rice, vegetables, and optionally, meat. Somehow,  I overestimated the amount of rice to stir in and now have enough to feed a small army. Guess this is my breakfast for the next two weeks! 😂

My Life in the New Old World


Fireworks light up the night sky as The Middle Kingdom prepares for Chinese New Year. Shanghai — an Asian megacity consisting of more than 25 million people — is more than half empty.  The only ones who stay behind are the locals and foreigners. 2018 is the Year of the Dog. Small shop owners change their signs to “closed” and the local supermarket checkout lines flood with last-minute shoppers planning to prepare elaborate meals for family and friends over the holidays. My Wechat messages overflow with dog emojis and the phrase gongxi facai nestles into the forefront of my brain.

It has been four months since I came back to China from Japan. I stand on the balcony of my newly rented room, near my old club, thinking about what to do next. The Chinese often utter the word yuanfen or fate to describe encounters like the ones I’ve had over the past few weeks. The beginning of my good fortune occurred as soon as I arrived back in Shanghai where the man who sold me a Chinese ID card almost two years ago picked me up from Shanghai Railway Station.

“It seems you’ve gone in a big circle,” he said while digging into the massive feast they’d ordered for our little table of three, “What do you plan to do next?”

I twirled my chopsticks between the grains of rice. “I’m going to start a business. I’m not sure what and I’m not sure how but in the meantime, I’ll go back to my old job.”

“It’s not good to work in the clubs. It’s bad for your health and no man will take you seriously if you continue on this path,” he mumbled.

“Well, I don’t like teaching little kids and the salary for other types of daytime work is far too low to support myself in Shanghai,” I snapped, “so unless you plan to pay my bills, maybe you should refrain from telling me what to do.”

An awkward silence fell between us as his spiky-haired friend continued to play with his phone. We ate at a snail’s pace yet more and more dishes kept arriving on the table, much to my disgust at the sheer amount of waste. A waitress brought out grilled fish which I thought was the final round. We’d gotten about halfway through before steamed buns arrived. The server turned on her heel.

“Excuse me!” I shouted, “Are there any dishes that haven’t arrived yet?”

She listed off three more. I told her to cancel them right away. Bellies full, we waddled like penguins through the door and went to our respective homes for a long rest.

“Long time no see,” I said to the manager of my old club as his eyes widened. A Ling was and will always be my boy. He’s the most even-tempered of all the managers. He always had a smile on his face. Every day, he wore a white button-up shirt and black slacks. His short, straight black hair gelled up and parted to the side made him look a bit like a character from an old detective drama. He stood at about a foot shorter than me but commanded an aura of confidence and sincerity.

“Long time no see,” he said with the most stoic expression he could muster, “now change your clothes and get to work.”

Hordes of girls rushed around the dressing room to do last-minute makeup, eat snacks, play mobile games, and chat with friends.

On the surface, our club looked like a freshly-dropped dog turd on blacktop pavement in midsummer. Most of the customers rowdy and ill-mannered. This is why many foreign girls don’t want to work there. We were the rejects; the ones who couldn’t get work in those top-level clubs that only want supermodel Russian girls. However, we were the only place in Shanghai that could boast having girls from around the world including Turkey, the U.S., Brazil, Georgia, and Kenya. Also, because our club was so large, we had a healthy mix of first-time and repeat customers alike. Many of our guests were foreigners of Asian descent — Koreans, Japanese, and even Taiwanese. My favorite, of course, were the Taiwanese.

I hadn’t been back for more than a couple of weeks before I managed to snag a repeat customer. The first night felt a bit awkward due to one of my coworkers getting drunk and taking off her heavily-padded black bra in the middle of an almost-empty hotpot restaurant. As we sat in his Mercedes Benz at 2 a.m. listening to 90’s Jpop and waiting for a designated driver while chain-smoking Chungwhas, I realized that this dude could be my spirit animal. At our next appointment, however, he asked me to bring a friend. I didn’t have many foreign friends in Shanghai at that time. There was one South African guy who sold me greens once a few years back who wouldn’t stop trying to get in my pants. As for actual friends of the female and pretty variety, well, we can’t all be so lucky.

Fortunately, my brilliant company WeChat group came in handy. I posted that I needed a girl to eat out with a private customer. Along came Irine, a lady from Turkey who spoke pretty decent Chinese. The air outside was biting cold but she wore a dress with no stockings. She smoked skinny blue Nanjing cigarettes and shivered under the street lights. After shooting the shit for a while, I realized we had quite a bit in common. She was doing a Master’s degree in Shanghai.

“It’s easy for foreigners to get into Chinese universities,” she said.

That’s when I suddenly had a lightbulb moment. If I went to graduate school for an MBA, not only could I have some great networking opportunities that I didn’t take proper advantage of in undergrad but I’d have a student visa that could last for two years. No more visa runs.

After I went home, I started drawing up a proper budget and making plans to enter grad school in the fall. Out of boredom, I played around on TanTan, basically Chinese Tinder, until I found a guy so cool it made my heart sink as soon as I saw him.

He took me to see Wonder. After the movie, he took me to a bar, but we were too early so the tables stood empty. The music also lacked oomph. We played dice games and chatted for a bit before heading off. He didn’t ask me to sleep with him and sent me home in my own taxi when I told him I needed to get up early.

On the second date, we walked around the mall, ate pizza, and chain-smoked. This time we would try a bar closer to the city center. I’d looked up reviews online and decided upon one that looked super underground and exclusive. He paid for our lockers and we entered the red-light tinted scene. On a Friday night, the place looked remarkably empty. After a couple of minutes, he came back to grab my hand.

“Baby, we’re in a gay bar,” he said in the most matter-of-fact way, “let’s go.”

I felt so stupid. The English review said nothing about LGBT venues. Most gay bars have lit-as-hell music and enchanting live shows. However, this one resembled more of a boudoir. As a straight couple, according to him, we attracted several stares from the men who sat on the couches and held hands, smoked hookah and did whatever else.

“You dumbass,” he said with a grin as he wrapped an arm around me, “come on. My friend works at another club not far from here.”

When we got to the new locale, the music embraced me. The dancefloor spilled over with young Chinese people and most of the tables were full. Only one seat remained at the bar.

“Sit down,” he said.

“I’d prefer to sit with you,” I protested.

He shook his head before he walked off to look for another chair.

While he searched for seating, a portly young Chinese man to my right began chatting me up in English. I told him my boyfriend would come back soon but he insisted and kept asking for my WeChat. I mentioned that Kai might be unhappy to no avail.

Kai returned with a barstool and placed it in between us. The man’s phone lit up with his WeChat QR code in full display. I whispered to Kai that I won’t add him and he turned to the man, placed a hand on his shoulder and said in a firm yet gentle voice, “Brother, if you add my girlfriend’s WeChat I might be unhappy.”

The man backed down and turned to his friend with the dice cup in hand. I beamed. This was a man. A real man. A man who spoke gently but got what he desired. Perhaps, they do exist outside of fairytales.

I led him to the dancefloor where we sashayed and shimmied for a bit before my African friend came to deliver some goods, late, as usual. He left the club in a hurry and we went downstairs to hail a taxi back to Minhang. I couldn’t wait for the third date.

Two weeks had passed before I could see him again. This time we met at the same mall, inside an independent bookstore with a coffee shop inside. He’d been reading a Chinese novel and sipping red tea.

“Let’s go,” he said as he got up to take his backpack and coat.

“Wait,” I protested, “does this place have English books?”

He led me to a tiny corner with all the classics that I’d already read in college as an English major. One tattered book with a blue cover suddenly caught my eye: Alice in Wonderland. I picked it up and to my delight, it was a mixed-language book. The original English text appeared on the right pages. The left pages contained a Chinese translation. He saw how enamored I’d become with the little book and offered to buy it for me but insisted on a new copy.

When we took it to the counter, the staff informed us that it was the only copy left. Without missing a beat, he whipped out his phone to pay by WeChat and told me to keep it safe. He suggested that we see a movie. I agreed. An Indian movie, Secret Superstar, had become incredibly popular in China. The movie starred an Indian teen from a small town who loved music yet had to endure the wrath of her abusive father only to beat all the odds by becoming an internet sensation. Unfortunately, there were no English subtitles. The first time I’d seen it in Beijing with my customer a few days prior. The second time, I wanted to see it with Kai. The commercials played on the big screen when he turned to me and said, “I can’t look at you up close because if I see you this closely, I will want you so badly,” He kissed me, “Let’s go.”

We walked out of the theater before the film even started.