I have to put my pajamas in one of my packs, put my laptop in my daybag, see what else I can steal for gifts, grab my bags and go. Go home.
Home, where my bed awaits, my dollar is not as strong, you can’t haggle prices, women don’t spit on the streets, you can’t cross a street anywhere and walk through speeding traffic. Where I can’t hop in a taxi and get where I am going for $1.20. Or in a bus for 65 cents.
I am going to miss this culture, where the people are a different type of polite, and though at first they seem rude, they are nicer than at home. I am going to miss waking up and eating strange things like fresh meat packages, baconian, fried greens, and noodles. I am going to miss serving myself out of the dish with my chopsticks that I put in my mouth.
I am going to miss China.
When this day starts over again, I am going to have to get my tires changed, order a head gasket kit, and eat all the meals I already ate.
But, home is home. And I am going home.