It has been eight months since I moved back to China. This move is the most incomplete and the least rational. I left an entire apartment filled with all my books, Cds, twenty something cameras and memories around the marble chimney, which can never be washed away by the drizzling rains of Paris. Here, I have 250 square meters in a new established artist village outside Beijing called Black Bridge, yet, I am not sure what to bring in…I keep buying plants, it might however take an entire forest to fill the place. Of course I have all the time to pick and choose, and in my suitcase I still have a return ticket to my Paris apartment.
Some people enjoy choices in life but I am one of those who should never been given any choices. I hated choosing dishes for lunch at boarding school and often had whatever appeared on the top of the blackboard; I hated choosing majors in University and eventually went to a school, which did not have majors; I didn’t know where to find a real job and ended up working for a company started with letter “A”. I once loved two boys but did not want to choose, one of them became dad today (no one told me but I know) and the other would not forgive me, my only way of getting news from him is to google his name.
The choice of city or not choosing a city of residence would probably lead to less dramatic consequences, but somehow my heart tells me that I am crossing the border, this time with no return!
