Sometimes I'm tired of crying, so I laugh instead.

I laugh.

When I think about where I am, who I am – I laugh.

I laugh that kind of laugh that comes out like a bubbling brook from a deep, deep spring
 It starts out like a little trickle then bubbles up and out
That kind of laugh that is heavy, that kind that carries the memory of pain with it
The kind that tastes bittersweet in your heart but taste all the better for it
The kind of laughter that says, “I can’t believe I’m laughing right now but I just can’t help it.”
The type of laughter that comes out gently but strong, oh, so strong
The kind of laughing you do with your heart not your lungs
It rises and falls and leaves you with a knowing smile
A laughter that says, “Oh dear, how on earth did I get here?”
A laughter that whispers, “I remember the hurt.”
A laughter that whispers still, “Somehow it’s okay. I’m okay.”
A laughter that is more like a sigh than a laugh, really
It tells of a colored past – one that was both inside and outside the lines
It speaks of a muffled present
And hints at carefully, hopeful future
The kind of laughter that says, “I’m still alive. My momma was right: I won’t die from hard things.”
A laugh that breathes deeply
A laugh that comes with a few tears too

The kind of laugh that makes me shake my head in disbelief
A laugh that is the beginning of belief
It sets me free a little

The kind of laugh that makes me know that I am alive.

THE bus.

I feel like I can't live in this country without mentioning in my blog at least once the ever baffling, ever frustrating, ever overwhelmed and overwhelming experience of taking THE BUS . And when you are waiting for your bus, it really does feel like you are waiting for THE bus - the one and only bus of your kind because it takes an eternity to appear.
I should have gotten a clue about what my life would look like from here on out from the first time I took the bus home from the office. We had been standing in the cold at the bus stop for some time, when at last the 988 bus came into sight. It arrived and much to my despair even though the windows were foggy on the inside from body heat I could still make out the image of countless bodies and faces pressed up against the glass. The bus was full. And by full I mean jam packed, almost overflowing, mind boggling full. I sighed and said "Well, I guess we'll have to wait for the next one." My local co-worker looked at me confused, "Oh no! We can make it on this one! There is room!" She took a stance that looked like she was going to make a running start for the open bus door that was just a wall of packed to the brim bodies. But then she did that single selfless bus act: she put me in front of her and then made a running start for the bus door. There I found myself being carried toward the bus by a surge of travelers trying to deny the laws of physics and squeeze their way onto the already packed bus. I was caught between the determination of my friend and the wall of bodies that filled the open bus door. It was no use. I was still outside the bus though firmly secured by other people's various extremities to the side of the bus. The bus doors wouldn't close and my friend had not made it on. Then she took a step back and charged forward once more. I leaned with all my body weight in as did she. Some kind soul from within the bus reached out and helped pull us aboard. In a last attempt we squeeze in as a hard as we could into the small open pockets of space under people's arms and in between their legs as the bus doors struggled with all their might to close around the mass of people held within the walls of the green 988 BJ bus. We all held our breath as the doors finally met and the bus drove on. "See," said my friend, "I told you we could fit." Indeed, we did. I couldn't even move my head to look at her to smile back.

And this, this was only the beginning. Little did I know that bus riding in this city would prove to be this much exercise more times than I ever could have hoped. As someone who intensely loves my personal space and often times tenses up when someone sits so close on the couch next to me that their leg brushes mine, riding the bus every day has proved a wild and stretching experience. I am proud to say I have gotten fairly good at turning off my nervous system below my neck - at least I turn it off mentally and ignore the fact that my every body part is being squashed, hugged, and straddled by millions of strangers.

Needless to say, you can imagine my intense delight at fact that my new apartment is walking distance from the office.

And this is just the daily bus. I won't get into traveling via the subway at rush hour or a 12 hour train ride the week before Chinese New Year. Let's not go there. No really, please, don't make me go there.