新年终于要来了。感觉从回来后，生活就一直是乱糟糟的，到不是哪不好，其实见了很多朋友，挺愉快的，只是过去的一个多月，一边打一个兼职的工，一边参加很多工作面试，再加上每天通勤的时间，就感觉一直在东跑西颠、停不下来。

过了新年，生活终于要步入正轨，虽然还有很多事要做， 离安定下来还很远，但总算生活要规律起来了，半年之内可能也会有家的感觉了。

回 来后，和高中的几个同学活动了几次。很奇怪地感觉到，有些同学，真的变的不多。总是觉得国内的朋友，经常会因为结婚生子而疏远。生活环境不一样了，关心的 事情也就不一样了。相反在美国的朋友，一般不会有这种情况，也许是因为夫妻相对独立，也许是因为很多时候，和夫妻二人都是好友。

这次回国，发现能和几个朋友象高中时那样简简单单的相处，还是很开心的。

继 续多愁善感，就要讲到在纽约州的一个朋友，最近她生活里有了很大的变化，我一直在担心她。今晚在家庭聚会后一个人坐在这里上网，忽然接到她的电话，真是一 个惊喜。话筒里传来的声音依然那么亲切，感觉她状态不错。她亲切的问我，你什么时候来美国看我啊？ 我想想6个月内，是没机会了。就盼着她回北京，好好接待一下。：）

人和人的机缘那么巧妙，很好的朋友，一旦各奔东西，就不知道什么时候还 能再见；也有些人，本以为永远不会再联系，却阴差阳错，又走到一起。今天上午还收到一个从美国回上海探亲的朋友的电话。已经多年没有通过电话了，可是意外 的收到电话后，依然可以互相自然地询问对方情况，好像时间、地域的隔离都没有什么。
... ...

多愁善感，就到这里吧。如果再写下去，一定会有人认为我神经错乱，或者认为写文章的人不是我。

Merry Christmas. I'm amazed how many people celebrate Christmas in Beijing -- at least the commercial aspect of it. Everybody seems to be out having dinner or shopping or going to a concert. Even the subway stations have Christmas music on. Beijing is full of surprises.

Getting to know myself. I am slowly getting used to how things run here. Sometimes I watch myself reacting to things I'm not used to, things that I should be familiar with as a Chinese but things that are so foreign to me because I've been away for so long. I watch myself going through various stages of reversed cultural shocks. I feel like, more than anything, I'm learning a lot about myself through this whole experience. ...

Pollution. Beijing's air is so polluted, so polluted that I don't even want to know what's in it. One morning in the first week after I got back, I looked out the window and decided to take an umbrella with me as I left the apartment -- the sky looked so dirty that I thought it was going to rain. Little did I know it was just the pollution, not dark clouds. It never rained that day, and I ended up forgetting my umbrella in a cab.

That was one of my worst days in Beijing -- I lost an umbrella, had a bad job interview and even missed my subway stop on my way back. All of these were compounded by watching, for days, people struggle in this city, the lost identities and personalities, the tiredness and wariness. I still remember text messaging my sister saying "I hate Beijing,"  while not fully believing what I had just said -- after all, I always LOVED moving to a new city and adjusting and taking on the challenges. I had always thought that if I moved back to China, Beijing and Shanghai were the only cities I could live in.

"You'll get used to it, and time will teach you to love Beijing," my sister wrote back, always being one of the most patient and kindest person I know.

She's right.

Today, I'm sitting here thinking how much more comfortable I am with Beijing than I was just a month ago. I'm thinking how much I look forward to the future, to the start of a new life: a new job, a new home, friends, family, city life...

I know it'll take me a long time to feel at home here. But I'm on my way.

I heard somewhere that there are four stages of cultural shock: the honeymoon stage, when everything is new and interesting; the horror stage, when people begins to criticize the new country and the way things are; the humor stage, where people reflect and laugh at their own mistakes in the earlier stages; and the home stage, when people begin to feel at home and enjoy living in that country.

If reversed cultural shocks were to follow those four stages at all, somehow I missed the first stage and may have got straight to the second. The things that annoy me the most: people smoking everywhere and anywhere, and the way people line up.

I don't really care if someone smokes. What bothers me is in this country, they could be lighting up anywhere and any time -- in the restaurant (unless you go to a posh one, of course), in the conference room, in the coffee shop. Where's the Lung Cancer Society or the Beijingers Against Smoking? The smokers don't even care if there's a child sitting next to them. They don't get the signal when people start coughing. They just light up.

And lining up. The other day, in a public restroom I was waiting in line, when a woman walked straight in front of us.

"Get in line," the woman in front of me and I said at the same time, showing annoyance in our tone.

"I AM waiting in line," the "queue jumper" shot back. "I'm waiting in THIS line -- for THIS stall."

"There's only ONE line," I said. The woman in front of me and I looked at each other, rolling our eyes and shaking our heads.

We knew we were fighting a losing battle. This is how people line up here. At the subway station, most people line up, but someone always starts a separate line (and be the first in THAT line, of course) as the train approaches the station. At the ATM, I asked an older woman to wait in line, only to be told "I come to the bank every day. I know how this works." At the receptionist's desk, you wait to ask a question, when someone comes up from behind and starts asking questions, as if you were not there.

Who's consulting the government on the 2008 Olympics? What will be better for Beijing's image than to give nonsmokers a cleaner environment and everyone who comes to the city more orderly lines?

But then on second thought, maybe I should stop my secret and wimpy campaign on these things and just try to get used to the way things are here. Don't they say only the fittest (most adaptable) will survive?

The train was approaching a stop and all of a sudden a young woman on the train started waving at the window. Ten seconds later, a young man came on, walked over to her, took over her backpack and held her hands. They smiled at each other and started asking each other about their day at work -- they were a happy couple. Obviously, both were working in the city on the same subway line, and they coordinated their time to be on the same train.

I've seen a few couples do the same thing. Today, a guy got on the train at Dongdan and two stops later, a woman came on. He stood up and she sat down in his seat. There weren't many words exchanged, and they quickly buried their heads in the newspapers they were reading. But you could tell they were a couple, content to be taking the train together at this moment. They went through the next 12 stops together, getting off one stop before me.

How nice it would be for people in love to get off work and go home together. It probably feels the same for couples who car pool to and from work, but somehow sharing the subway rides seems more meaningful -- the rides are often long, dull and uncomfortable after a day's hard work, and it just seems sweet to have company on this never-ending journey.

I started looking around to see if there were other couples in my cart. One woman nestled her head against her husband or boyfriend's shoulder, and seemed to have comfortably fallen asleep. The guy sat still (probably not to wake her), his only movement being his eyes blinking from time to time. Another couple was sharing a set of earphones. One had an earphone in her left ear, the other had one in his right ear, and the iPod was in the woman's pocket. What a way to stay connected. :)

As for the rest of us, those who were traveling by themselves, many were playing with their cellphones (Thank God nobody was talking on the phone. Several years ago, it seemed everybody did that all the time in public.) Some were dosing off. A few was reading the newspaper. One woman was holding the phone to her ear without talking at all. I wonder if she was listening to a song or the monologue of her friend, spouse or parents. ...

And, there were those who were working: the guy who's carrying a huge backpack full of the day's newspapers and another large bag so heavy that it pulled his right shoulder way lower than his left, the middle-aged woman who had a stack of maps (1 yuan for each), the young woman who tapped you on the arm lightly to get you to look at the arts and craft made by her. If you shook your head, she would tap you again, this time to show you a card that says, in effect, "I'm a person with disability. I made this. Please buy this." And there were the beggars. Some worked in pairs, others worked on their own. They usually has some physical defect and would sing into a mic they carried with them.

Technically, the government doesn't allow selling stuff or begging on the subway. But the people are always there. It costs 2 yuan (less than 30 cents) to go anywhere on the subway, no matter how many lines you switch and how long the distance is (It's part of the government's efforts to increase people's usage of public transportation). So the sellers and beggars would get on from one end of a train, work their way through to the other end, hop off and go to another train or switch to another line. I've never seen any passenger open his or her wallet for any of the above.

But somehow, they survive. And they work these routes -- day in and day out.

It was 9 a.m. on the subway going into the city, and the crowd had obviously subsided after rush hour. I looked around, and everybody's face had this non-emotion. Some people looked a little wary; and some, just indifferent. I decided to keep myself entertained by burying my head in a book about Alaska.

A small child started crying for some reason, and to calm him down, his mother used her cell phone to play some music. It was a popular duet, and in no time, a few other passengers started humming along with the chorus. I was amazed and looked up from my book -- my experience on the subway during my first month back in Beijing tells me that people riding the subway are not in the mood for anything. Now they are doing sing-alongs? Surprisingly, everyone's face seemed to have lightened up a little bit.

The train came to a stop. People got off, people got on. The boy stopped crying. The mother turned off her cell-phone music. Most riders' faces turned back to their original state of non-emotion.

I've been back a month now. Like a child, I absorbed things happening around me in this city that's new and foreign to me; I tried to understand everything and get used to everything, and tried to let people understand me. I have had a relatively relaxed time so far, but have spent a significant amount of time on the subway because where I'm staying is far from the city center. It usually takes me 1.5 hour one-way to get into the city, especially if I were to go into the business districts. The subway experience has turned from exhausting and annoying to interesting and even fascinating. If I ever decide to write a book, I thought to myself, it'll probably be about the Beijing subway and the people who ride it every day. Who are these people? What are their stories? Where are they going? I always wondered.

I love subways -- in any city, Beijing, New York, Washington, D.C., Hong Kong ... anywhere. They are so fast, so convenient and so easy to navigate. But the thing is, riding the subway in a city like Beijing can be tiring, especially if you need to travel for a long distance during rush hours. Take Line 5 (which is not underground but is a part of the subway system) for example, daily ridership reached 390,000 within three weeks of the line's opening on Oct. 7. In the first 17 days of its operation, 7 million people rode it. The daily ridership for the entire subway system in the city is about 1.5 million people, according to Beijing Subway.

That means during rush hours, the trains are packed. You are in there like sardines. That means sometimes, you can't get on the train because it's so packed -- there's not room for even one extra person. That means sometimes, you stand the entire way -- for 40 minutes, an hours or however long you are on there.

How could the subways not be packed? Beijing's population has exceeded 17.4 million, a municipal official said this month. That's bigger than the population in 90 percent of the states in the U.S. A lot of the people live far from the city center or from where their jobs are, and a daily commute of one hour (one-way) to work is not unusual. It's even considered decent by many.

Whenever I ride the subway during the evening rush hours, I see faces that are tired, dejected, annoyed, or indifferent at best. All my friends in Beijing ask me when I'm going to get a car. I say I'm in no rush. Even if I get a car someday, I'll try to use the subway as much as possible and drive as little as possible -- I know it's even worse out there in the streets. The traffic is horrible.

So I try to make my subway rides less painful. I've decided to save a book I really enjoy reading just for the subway rides (when it's not too crowded). Now I'm through 150 pages, and sometimes don't even want to get off at my stop, not wanting to close the book. Sometimes, I put on my iPod and turn on the happiest music I have.

And maybe some day, I'll play a nice song out loud, too -- just for my fellow subway riders.

My friend JP is celebrating her 24th birthday -- in Laos.

She's been there about six months, and it sounds like she's having an amazing time. The girl from Changsha went to college in Minnesota, and after graduation, got a one-year appointment as a part-time English teacher in Laos. To most Chinese students who've studied in the United States, this is probably unthinkable. Who wouldn't want to stay in the United States, most people would say, and even worse, who would want to go to such an underdeveloped country like Laos.

That's not how JP thinks. Adventurous in nature, JP decided upon graduation that she's not just going to follow the money; she's going to follow her passions, she's going to see the world.

And what an amazing experience she had. Through reading her blog, I feel like I could not only follow her to see new places and meet new people, but also watch her mature as a young woman. Also, her writing has improved so much.

In the next six months, JP will finish her appointment in Laos and figure out her "next step." Good luck, JP, with whichever path you choose. And happy birthday!

yy出差了，我还真有点寂寞的感觉。虽然我最近也东跑西颠，没闲着；虽然即使她在北京， 我们的通话也会以她经常出差的老公的出现而告终。“我老公回来了，我不跟你说了，” yy 总是说。 （有一次，她居然说，“我要去给我老公做饭去了，不和你说了。“ 我诧异，”你家不是天天有阿姨吗？“  ”对呀，“她说，”但饭都凉了，我也得那微波炉热热啊。“）

我和yy是从小一起长大的，这么多年了，大部分那么久远的朋友都或者失去了联系，或者各自变得很多，没话说了，倒是在美国一些朋友，更能相互理解一些。和yy 这样还能一起无所不谈，还嘎嘎大笑，实在是很难得。

现在回到了北京，能和yy在一个城市，感觉好像多了一个sibling. :)