Now a one-line cruel joke for people in my neck of the woods: “Don’t provoke your husband or your friend.”
It’s been an excruciatingly horrible time for people in Daxing, Beijing for the past several weeks, where my wife and I moved into an apartment we bought last summer as our first home. One (November 23, 2009), two (December 28, 2009), and three (December 31, 2009) gruesome murders had happened in less than 40 days. These murders are alarmingly common in two aspects: the suspects are extremely closely associated with the victims and whole families were eliminated.
My old neighborhood
My new neighborhood
It’s been over a month since I moved to this new two-bedroom apartment in Daxing on July 19, one day before the Olympic traffic restriction sets in. I’d worried about whether removers could drive their van to my neighborhood if the restriction bit. It’s just two blocks away from the Bird’s Nest, which faces the Water Cube across a street. Too close to the Olympic center to be overlooked in the traffic control. So my wife and I planned a removal date to beat the restriction.
Taken on a picnic in the 1990s
when my wife and I attended an elementary school
in Heilongjiang province, China.
This was the photo we had taken right before our graduation from the elementary school in 1990. As you can see, the clothes of my wife and I were the same as those in the photo of the picnic. My wife and I are seen in this photo squatting on both ends of the first row. The one in yellow and the one in gray (is it?). 
Permanent link to this post (89 words, 3 images, estimated 21 secs reading time)
My wife with a portrait of Dr. Sun Yat-sen, first provisional president* of the Republic of China, in the background. (Oct. 3, 2006)
This is me with the Beijing Olympics mascots in the background. (Oct. 3, 2006)
With no specific plans for the National Day holiday, my wife and I made a foray to the Tian’anmen Square at night on Oct. 3, the third day of China’s weeklong holiday.
I always seem to associate a song or several songs with a period of my life in which I listen to them a lot.
Time is racing ahead. I can’t stop it. Neither can anyone else. Nostalgia.
When I listen to songs such as Le Jour s’est Lev, one of the three incomprehensible French songs I got in exchange for three songs by Luo Dayou with a Frenchman, it never fails to reminds me of those days at Brightsun in Harbin, when I just began to learn of the Internet as a new guy at the company with the brand-new status of being an employee after years of being an English student.
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