I'm asleep, I'm sure of it, and this has to be a dream. The realization gets through my mind slowly and wearily, gasping for validity in spite of my sureness. Read more…

"There's so much inside us that can't be erased. It's our blueprint of who we are. Our past, present and future." Read more…

I'm holding this piece of small device we call a cellphone in my hand. Actually, I'm hanging to it for dear life even though I feel a profound hatred for it. The only thing that stops me from throwing it against the wall is the fact that my wife lives in it. Yes, it's true. My wife is so tiny that she fits in my phone, living her life away without me. What a world we live in!    Read more…

I know the subject of this blog doesn't relate to Chinese dating, online dating and/or international relationships, and I need to apologize for that. However, I couldn't hold myself back from writing this article for a personal reason. There is a blogger on CLM, whom I'm going to name later in the article if you bear with me, who, like a parrot, keeps repeating his preferred words of nonsense in almost everything he writes about as of late. And what really pisses me off is that he does this condescendingly, calling us, ordinary people, CLM members, and bloggers, sheeple. Well, he's flat out wrong. Read more…

On my last day in China, in appreciation of my help in the gym, Mandy invited us for dinner at the restaurant she worked at. After two weeks of dieting, my wife was exuberant. Not just because she could eat anything, but because the place was so fancy.  Read more…

The Shouting Boy

So I turned to my wife and asked, “Did you hear that shout?”

“What shout?” she asked, sleepy-eyed.

It was Sunday morning in Shenzhen. The streets were quiet, nearly without traffic, cars and pedestrians alike. My wife and I were already up and on our way to the gym. I was very much jet-lagged and about to convince myself that the airplane engines were somehow still roaring in my ears, when there it was again—a bawl. This time, it got my wife's attention as well. Read more…

Visiting China always cracks something open inside me. If I want to describe this thing, I close my eyes, and it will appear as a hotel room that has just been put back into operation after being unused for a long while. Its door and windows are wide open to air the place out. Furniture is dusted off, floors swept. After the final once-over, the room is ready to do the only thing it's supposed to do: accommodate fresh memories. Read more…

This is half a chapter from a story that a brilliant Chinese woman and I wrote. It's a love story between a white man and a Chinese woman. However, it's just too long to post it on CLM. Something 80,000 words. The Chinese version is going to be available to read on a Chinese website when the translation is done. Read more…

From the kitchen, the woman went to the hallway. After checking her dress in the mirror there, she quickly ran her fingers through her hair one more time, then opened the door. In the doorway, a young man stood, slightly out of breath after climbing six flight of stairs. In his hands, he held a potted cactus, the size of a soccer ball. He looked to be in his early twenties. Sweat covered his face, and a lock of hairs stuck to his forehead. His gray T-shirt was soaked through, leaving dark spots around his armpits and on his chest. His chinos, loose-fitting, were cut at knee hight. His bony legs ended up in a pair of battered running shoes. He had abnormally large feet. If hard times were to sneak upon him and in the lack of a job, he could have easily tried out for an elite swimming team. With his lean body and those huge flippers of his, he could have even made it to the Olympics. Looking somewhat startled, the young man apologized for being late with the delivery. Then, as if in need to say more, he opened his mouth but, in the next second, quickly swallowed the words and looked behind him. One of the woman's neighbors, an elderly man with a walking stick, was getting down the stairs. Read more…

With her arms crossed over her chest, the woman held the comforter as if trying to shield herself against whoever it was in the dark. Despite the insufficient protection the blanket provided, it actually stopped her from screaming out in fear. A little while later, though, when something grazed her forehead, she almost cried out. The only reason for staying silent was that the touch was soft and came with a scent that surprised and muted her. The smell was of orchids; she was able to identify it right away. Someone was touching her forehead, face, and hands with the velvety petals of the flowers. Read more…