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The Beijing Marathon was supposed to start at Tiananmen Square and finish at finish at the National Stadium near the new Olympic park. But planning being what it is here, they overlooked that the national congress was meeting this week and had to re-arrange the route to both start and end at the National Stadium. Well, end there all except for the half marathon which I was entered in. My first challenge was to find the starting line. The sign at the entrance pointed left, so I went left. And left, and left, and left. I found the 5K starting line with loads of runners waiting. I went through and around them only to find the 10K starting line a few hundred yards ahead. I was starting to get desperate. I tried to go around the 10K starting line only to be stopped by a guard. Two japanese men also wanted past. The guard held is ground. We tried to explain we needed to be at the other starting line, to let us past. Out race jerseys and numbers indicated either full or half marathon. The guard did not understand nor did he wish to understand. A few more of us stranded marathoners gathered and with a push forced our way past the now two guards and to the marathon starting line. The race had just started so we joined, it was 8:15am. ...

Her brother has a friend who is opening a beauty saloon in the Asian Park section of Beijing, so she packed her bags – really just one – and left our family this morning. The beauty saloon represented a better opportunity and the chance to learn a skill that she can use when she returns to her hometown in a year or two. At least this is her plan. Everyone plans to be here a year or two. ...

I’m sitting on our bed watching the 2007 baseball playoff highlights. This is the first time I’ve watched baseball highlights in Beijing since I lived here. At least baseball highlights in English. And of American baseball, not Japanese baseball highlights shown during NHKs English news broadcast. The highlights come over the computer, on this new service called Joost, through a deal with MLB. It’s the only thing on Joost worth viewing. ...

I’m sitting in the back of a vintage Volvo, wearing my oversized gray hoodie with the hood down. We are heading towards downtown portland, to some chick restaurant for people too cool to be chick. My childhood friend is driving, his caucasian wife if in the passenger seat. he’s asking me how my parents are, but instead of describing how they are I describe what it was like for me to spend the previous weekend with my parents. Always answer the more interesting question, I heard once, and in most cases I am more interested in myself. ...

It’s National Holiday week in China and we are driving in the outskirts of Beijing. The sky seems clear, the air seems fresh, but it is hard to tell once you’ve been in Beijing a while. Yihang, my mother in law, sits in the passenger seat. Yang and the kids are in the back. Yihang grows excited, which doesn’t typically takes much but in this case is justified. She recognizes the area we are in and says she has spent some time here. Turns out, as an intellectual, she was sent here during the cultural revolution for re-education. But she doesn’t describe it this way. Just that she came here, to the farms, and worked with the managers of the farms. If she bears a grudge or resentment of being taken away from her two small children (who were also sent away) and husband, she does not reveal it. ...

She did not expect this. She was having lunch with an old classmate when the classmate’s husband called. “Oh, you are close by, why don’t you join us for lunch?” her friend said. She thought great, now she had to share lunch with the foreign husband of her classmate. For sure, he would be one of those laowai so full of himself for no good reason at all. Probably old as sin too. And she would need to speak some English, those damn laowai’s could be very talkative. ...

Learning Chinese is hard but sometimes you learn a new word instantly. We had just finished lunch at a farm north of Beijing (think really fresh food) and heard that there is a horse riding area near. So so we ask a parking attendant if he knows where. I shouldn’t say we, but Yang, since I never speak and even less so in Chinese even though I do know how to say “horses, where?” in Chinese. The problem is, with my tone deaf pronunciation my “horses, where?” might be interpreted as “mother, where?” or “asshole, where?” to which the reply might be “america” or “i’m looking at him”. ...

After much soul searching and years of denial, I must admit it. I am obsessive. And truth be told I am happier when I have something to obsess on. And I feel lonely when I am not obsessed with anything. Or anyone. Fortunately for me, these days my obsession is not with anyone. This can change of course as the strangest things tend to attract me. Women who remind me of her. Or her. Or her. Or women who remind me of what me is like. But that is all in my past. Right? These days, my two main obsessions are: Hoodies: I have an entire closet row of hoodies. My requirement is they need to be slightly oversized, not decorated in any way, and have zipper. Colors come and go but I tend to prefer blue. Headphones: I have headphones to exercise with, headphones to walk with, headphones for the subway, still different headphones the walk between my car and my office, the same set for the walk between my car and my apartment, and finally the headphones for the plane. Oh, yeah, also the headphones for listening to music while I work. And I’ve been thinking I am a few pairs of headphones short. No, one should not confuse obsession with compulsion. I am propelled to work, but not obsessive with it. Or am I? There are many things I am not obsessed with, such as learning Chinese, or anything language for that matter. ...

She comes to me in my dreams. I have these dreams maybe once a week; they make a strong impression on my waking hours maybe once a month. They increase in frequency in times of stress or travel which these days is a frequent companion. In my dreams, until the other night, I never see her. I feel her, sense she is near. In a restaurant, in the booth directly behind me. On the freeway, in the car I’m about to pass. In the subway station, in the subway car I’m about to step onto. At airport, about to come out of the restroom. In my house, about to come to bed. When I sense her, I force myself awake. Afraid to face what I would face. My fate. I’m not sure exactly what it would be. Or at least I wasn’t sure until the other night. I used to think I would face her anger. Her severe and un-relinquishing anger. Or worse, her disappoint of finding me a fraud. Or even worse, her pity as one pity’s a child who doesn’t know his place. The other night, however, when I really saw her for the first time, it was something different. I was walking down a small alleyway, it seemed like Rome. People were rushing past. I sensed her. I wanted to wake up, was about to, when something propelled me forward. And then she came into the clear. Just to my right, walking towards me, she appeared. Large black rim glasses. She looked, well normal. She looked healthy without being too healthy. She looked happy but overly so. She was neither angry nor disappointment in me. She just seemed like she should be. How she should have been. Time seemed to stop. We didn’t acknowledge each other but didn’t look away either. Then time moved again and she was gone. I awoke, shaken, but not knowing what to make of it. They say we are all the people in our dreams. After all, there is not one else inside or my head. Is there? ...

He knew from the moment they met that she was his, would always be his. It was the way she said he was “the one”, the one she was waiting for her entire life and had almost given up on ever finding. He told her that she was also “the one” and that in fact he had given up on finding that special person. The last bit, at least was true, for he didn’t believe in “the one” any more. Not after multiple “ones” had passed through his life. So it was with that small lie that his guilt rested. He knew he wasn’t being completely honest with her about the basis of their relationship — the “big love” as they called it — but he felt he was being as honest as he could be. After all, if not a great love, she was good enough. A good apple compared to the rest. He recognized he had won in this relationship, she would follow him anywhere, do anything, compromise her virtue and dignity for him. He was careful never to abuse this power, be he knew he had it and from time to time indulged. As time passed, his self awareness of this power receded and it just became the status quo. He wanted to move to the city, so they moved, to a nice two bedroom flat near the wharf. He poured his energy into his career, his travels, his flirtations. She took a job that allowed her to be available for him. To make dinner on the nights he came home, to watch the movies he liked, to give him space when he needed a boys night out. She cut her hair short short, when he was into that, then long long when he liked to pull. She would match her outfits to his, telling herself that he just didn’t have a sense of style. He would travel a lot, staying away on weekends in order to visit friends in remote cities, leaving her with the kids and the TV. She did a good job taking care of the house and making sure the kids were raised the right way. He did a good job at taking care of himself. One day his boss asked him fly somewhere unexpectedly, so he stopped home to pick up his overnight bag, which she always maintained for him. There was no one home when he got there, a bit unexpected since it was the Oprah hour and his wife did like that show. He grabbed his bag and rushed to the street to call a cab. He then saw his wife, sitting in a café, having coffee with a mutual friend. She looked really happy and relaxed. He didn’t think much of it, and went on his way. When he returned home the next day, he asked her how long she’s been having lunch with the friend. Her face went from relaxed to tense, her mind racing, trying to decide what lie to tell. She decided not to hide, that they’ve been having lunch “for a while” and are “really good friends”. The husband found this surprising; it wasn’t like her to hide anything from him. He joked with her, “really good friends, eh” with the innuendo just hanging there. They often played the innuendo game when she said “well, more than friends” he was totally, completely, 100% caught off guard. He sat down. She told him the whole truth, as much as he could bear hearing anyway. When she was done, he was left staring blankly forward, too much in shock to even cry. But what about “the big love” he said, that he was “the one”. What happened? She told him that when they met, she was obsessed with him, couldn’t get enough of him. That she mistook that for love and once she realized it, it was too late. She was addicted to the obsession and would, and did, everything for him. More than anything she wanted the obsession to stop, so that she could stop. Then one day, almost magically, she realized this obsession was gone, that she got herself back. She learned to indulge herself and take care of herself. The marriage, to her, was now one of convenience, something to provide the kids with a stable family, enable her to only have to work part time, provide her with a nice retirement and medical benefits. “So you love this guy”, the husband asked. She said no, that he’s just a guy, they have fun together in ways he wouldn’t understand. She wasn’t bored with him yet, but was getting there and then it would be time to make a new friend. ...