Compulsions to write, feeling like Ryan Gosling meme every day.

Sitting on a rented house whose design I somewhat disagree, feelings of emptiness rushed through my brain every single morning.

Pretend to be well, pretend to be rich before my ex-girlfriend, pretend to myself that I am handling the situation calmly, my daily ritual has became to chain-smoke expensive, smuggled Japanese cigarettes everyday. 

When I was 8 or something, a number where I fail to understand the weight of the world, I wanted to be a writer. With the current human condition, I started to lose understanding of this goal. To write is to create a connection among your audiences, but in a world where we are all forced to chuck down shit, I feel I am losing this audience. Perchace it is a Diogenic lifestyle that I long for, but I need to earn bread for my family, for it is still the secular objects that offer people with basic sense of security. The urge to benefit them is unresistable, even though my own somewhat radical ideologies is sacrificed :( I hate human being but they do not. 

Suppose I have a nuclear suitcase in front of me that would wipe out the entire human race on this planet, with a single press of a plastic, colourful button, I would smash that shit with no hesitance. My existence is nothing (a very buddist thought even though I'm not), but there is way too many people in this planet that believe their existence gave them the right to steamroll others, and perhaps there is a reason for them to exist in such quantities. It would seem that the pride that we hold in our own species is inherited. I just don't see the point to it. To me, the idea of having to end my suffering with one single tactile click is worth considering. Yes, I have received kindness and had a childhood, but no, the world is too cruel for kind people. In a somewhat darwinism reality, holding conscience to your prey is not the way to survive. But if you want to survive in the first place, you cannot be simultaneously enlightened, or morally elevated, or even consider any forms of sophiscation. 

This is only one of such things that I don't understand about the world, my race (as human being, but you can argue that I too don't understand chinese), and there are so many of them. 

L'Étranger

(consider this as a trigger warning. This post contains some material that may be not suitable for children including but not limited to: substance use, vulgar language, dark humour, themes of mental health, discrimination or prejudice. Viewer discretion is highly advised. )

So I was kicked back to China, in the city of Shenzhen after being absolutely traumatised by the shït I witness on a daily basis. I am having major Canada withdrawl symptoms. On the second day down the aeroplane, I stepped on dog (or human?) shit on Chinese streets in Shenzhen. For all the record I can recall, surrounded by its voracious mobs, this city has bought me nothing but failure. I moved to Guangzhou.  

I have always thought myself as a foreigner. un étranger, in the language I have newely acquired. Although I need to point out that, this is not the first time I have read L'Étranger by Albert Camus. I am more at ease when I don't hang out with my own kinsmen but that is between you and me. IF there is anything the Chinese is good at, it is to assume that you are at the same level of shittiness with them, and if they found out you are not, they will strive to reduce your sanity to that same level, if not worse. They seem to believe that you *ought* to believe certain doctrines, certain paths of life where you fetishize an apartment, a public servant job, communism with chinese characteristics, bubble tea, big fucking TV that only boardcast state station called CCTV, gastronomy without menu comprehension, and, preferrably beat your child with belt when they express any dissent when they want to fuck up the system. Therefore, drinking out in a bar like a real cowboy where nobody really gives a shit about you is exactly the experience I was looking for. A fresh new start. And if the list have scared you even to the most minor degree, congratulations, you are un étranger.

A friend told me that immigration is in the shitter in canada right now, so it may be a blessing in disguise that I did not choose to immediately stay in Vancouver. Some guy online has precisely described this action as Geopolitical arbitrage, whereby you live in a cheaper place with increased cash in your pocket, or mental health. :]

I have not yet gave up on my plans to own a maison in Canada where I can smoke cigarettes on a conservatory, chilling with plants, admiring the iron art and stars, et cetera. I wanted to be the professional foreigner. But this depends on my ability to pass a certain French language test. 

If by act of miracle, I should came out victorious, I may stand a chance to return to that god forsaken land november 2025. So I have enrolled myself in a week-day french class in an heriotic search to boost my rubbish french..