I need to take a step back and remind myself of the tattoo I chose to have permanently inked on the back of my right arm.

My evening hours consisted of poker on my terrace with one of my two best friends from Louisiana. Afterwards we attended a cross-cultural experimental show with another from Australia. A few hours later our group was increased by 2 Canucks and as we dined on Xinjiang food, we discussed the state of the previous Shanghai mayor and Vietnamese medicinal uses of Cobras. Down the street was a post-punk band from Beijing and the night ended up in a Japanese bar. I spoke the local dialect with the taxi driver on my way home.

Broke? Yes I am. My father’s in poor health. China’s a hard place to live in. All of this is justifiable reason to worry – but then again, I re-read the previous paragraph and can’t hate the decisions I’ve made.

The question is what the hell to do with it all.