It is finished. By the time this letter reaches you I will already be on the plane, and the China that I have enjoyed these weeks will be disappearing.
I think that lately I’ve been living out modernity, concentrated. I’ve lived in four countries in the last 12 months, each time with a new job and new friends and a new beginning. It feels a lot like building sandcastles: you put in all this love and effort, and then you watch each time as everything gets washed back into the shore. The funny thing is that you know how it ends even as you begin; you make things waiting to lose them. And yet we still keep at it, again and again. Because what is the alternative? To stay in one place and build one big castle, I suppose. Is that truly, meaningfully more permanent? I don’t know, maybe it is. I do know that I enjoy the building very much, and that the waves could happily take my work right soon if they would kindly let me gaze at it now, just a little while.
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