One year post China...

Sometimes I sit back and marvel at this past year. All that's happened to me, all I've done.  

Other times, I scratch my head and wonder where the time went.  

I wonder at wasted time, too. That's it?  What have I managed to accomplish?

Still other times, I think China was all a dream. 

And sometimes I just want to run screaming from this past year in near terror, really hoping and wishing I never have to live through some of what I went through ever again.

Okay, maybe that last point is me being a little dramatic.  Dial that back about 50 .... okay, 75%, and that's probably much more accurate.

It's been a good year, but a tough year.

People sometimes ask me if I miss China. That's a complex question to answer.  As a rule, I'm pretty good at putting things behind me and moving on.  Call it compartmentalizing, if you will.  So I don't miss things too much.

But every once in a while, there's a little something that gives me a bit of a twinge.  It usually doesn't last long, but it's a reminder.  A reminder that I wasn't always here.  A reminder of back there.  A reminder of when "here" was "there" and "there" was "here". 

It's a picture on Facebook.  It's a visit from friends. It's having the opportunity to use "mafan" and "bu hao" like I used to.  It's going to Pacific Mall. It's using chopsticks. It's hearing stories about what is happening in China.  It's seeing pictures of kids that are growing up waaay too fast. 

So yes, I miss China. Somtimes.

At other times, I think of how I felt when I got off the plane in Toronto a year ago. I was ...

Relieved.

I enjoyed my time in China.  I loved many things about it.  I learned lots about myself, others, teaching, God and many more things.

But I was relieved to be back in Canada.  

I could read again.  I could eavesdrop on others' conversations without popping a vein in my forehead. Price tags told me exactly what a product was worth; I didn't have to nervously and haltingly try to talk down an overly greedy store owner who saw dollar signs all over my white skin.  I knew what to expect in terms of cultural norms. The air was clean. There was grass all over the place. Drivers were more predictable. Everyone didn't look the same. I wasn't being constantly hounded by the paparazzi.  I didn't have to fight for a spot in a line or rush to my assigned seat on the train.  Fireworks were no longer going off 24/7 outside of my apartment.  I didn't have to put up with people who thought that invading my personal space and yelling at my face would help me understand them better. Car horns weren't constantly blaring.

I could go to church and worship freely.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Repeat.

Relief.  

But despite the relief, something here is missing.

The prices here are astronomical.  I no longer have a cleaning lady.  I have to pay my own rent. Friends are now - at best - within driving distance rather than walking, and - at worst - an airplane ride away. I can no longer laugh in delight at sights like donkey carts sharing the road with cars.  No more weekend adventures to see new places.  The food isn't as good - or as cheap.  I no longer have summers off. I rarely get to use chopsticks. The pace of life is faster here. 

Inhale.

Exhale.

Sigh.