Euphoria.

Life in China in one sentence: pee on the subway. 

I'd like to thank one of my best male friends for abandoning me tonight. Otherwise I wouldn't be sitting here writing this fabulous blog post. To be fair, he didn't really abandon me – we didn't exactly have plans per se, but I sort of thought that we were going to get drunk on rum together and play Nintendo Wii in his room. But then he got a text from this girl he's seeing (read: having unrestrained sexual relations with) and apparently there was a potential titti-fuck in prospect for tonight, so he headed off to Wudaokou. I don't blame him. Not that a potential titti-fuck would do it for me, as I'm not one for tits, but if we were talking about, let's say, a potential mutual I'll-eat-yours-if-you-eat-mine session, I'd ditch him any day. More titti-fucks and mutual banana-eating sessions for the people, I say. 

So, Sweden won the Eurovision. For some reason – me being gay, that is – Sweden's victory got me really excited. I've always loved the Eurovision Song Contest (henceforth: the ESC). I mean: how can you not? All the countries of Europe (apparently Azerbaijan is now a part of Europe) get together and compete in something you can't really compete in: music. And it's all political, even though everybody pretends that it's not. And it's really gay. And Gayness is something that you can compete in, and there's nothing gayer than the the ESC. In fact, I would even go so far as to call the ESC the epitome of gayness. The glitter, the glamour, the dresses. This apparently annoyed one of my favourite countries: Iran. It annoyed Iran to the extent that they recalled their Baku-ambassador. Why? Because Azerbaijan was hosting a "gay parade" that was "insulting religious saints". Oh Iran. Oh irksome Iran. When are you going to get the fuck over yourself? If I believed in God and heaven and all of that, I would go to Iran, dress up in drag, stack a bunch of Korans on top of each other and then have gay sex on top of the stack. I would then make sure that I got stoned to death, and in my martyrdom I would shine some light upon how fucked up Iran's LGBT-politics and governmental policies are. Then I would arise on the third day and slap the Ayatollah across his ugly-ass face with 25cm dildo. Hmm, sweetie? How do you like that? He'd probably enjoy it. Unfortunately, I don't believe in God and thus I'm not really prepared to get stoned to death solely for making a point. Getting stoned I don't mind, though. 

The other day aforementioned guy and I were on the subway. He was telling me all about the tits of this girl. How soft they were. I was like: really? Mmm. Hmm? Is that so? Try to fake interest. Try to fake interest. Try to fake interest. Oh, he's a cutie. The things I would do to him... And when I had had enough of his tit-talk, I switched the subject and started talking about something that I can't really recall now. Probably cocks or something. Asian cocks? That's right! I was, in extension, talking about Asian cock. I was actually telling him about this guy I met a week ago who seemed really nice at first, but then turned out to be quite – how should I put it? – fucking crazy. I talked to him for about half an hour on Saturday night, then I got a text the day afterwards, saying that I was his destiny and that faith had brought us togayther. Then, half an hour later he sent me another text saying he had hit his head and that he needed me to get him a job. Ehrm. Sure. I'll get you a job. NOT. And then it happened. In the middle of me telling my friend about this guy, this freakish uh-uh-I-don't-give-pee-about-anything mother picked up her two-year-old, pulled his pants down and fucking let him pee on the floor of the fucking train, while she was holding him. Gorgeous. "OH NO, HE'S PEEING ON THE FLOOR!" I shouted to to my friend. When he was done, the mother just picked him up again and wiped his little brother (that's how you say penis Chinese) off with a tissue as if it was to most natural thing in the world. Both my friend and I were like: WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED? And then the pee started running. The people sitting next to the mother had obviously noticed what had just come to pass, but the people a bit further down the car had not. As a result, they got pee all over their shoes and their bags. I just couldn't fucking believe it. And neither could the other people on the train, so they did what Chinese people usually do when they get angry at somebody: they started shouting. "FUCK YOUR MOTHER!" "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, DIRTY CUNT!?" The curse-words hailed. Feeling a bit embarrassed – or so one would hope, at least – the mother picked up one a piece of tissue and threw it on top of the pee. As if that was going to make things better; the pee was already all over the place! And the smell. God. As much as I love China, sometimes I feel like it's nothing but a mysophiliacs (somebody who finds dirt, soiled underwear, feces or vomit sexually arousing) wet dream. Ugh.

Life in China isn't all about babies peeing on the subway, though. A week ago, I organised a class get-together and I made sure to invite our new teacher. Mainly because he's an amazing teacher and a really interesting person. But also because he's hot. And has big hands. And we all know what they say about boys with big hands: they need big gloves. He's more than just a pair of big hands though; he's fucking fabulous. He's this middle-aged guy who's completely devoted to what he does. He loves teaching and he's such a good teacher. And he is hot. So hot. I would sleep with him in a flash – even if it didn't improve my grades. Ehrm. Anyway, we went to this Korean restaurant in Wudaokou and ordered some beer and a couple of bottles of Soju. After a couple of shots, the topic of love came up and out I came. As one does. Everybody was completely fine with me being gay though, which made me feel a bit shitty about thinking that they wouldn't be fine with it. (I tend to judge and underestimate people sometimes. Read: always). What's more, I wasn't the only homo in the group; amongst us there was also, lo and behold, a lesbian. So she also came out (and stole my thunder. Fucking scissoring bitch!). Jokes aside, she's amazing. I love her. And we're going to a gay homo bus party togayther on Saturgay. Naturally, we then started discussing LGBT-rights and LGBT-issues in China. In Chinese. And my classmates were all quite open-minded people. Them being open-minded in combination with the effects of alcohol, I felt very connected to them all. There's no races! We're all people! All you need is love! Those kind of emotions. Then two of the girls got absolutely wasted and fell asleep at the table. AKWARD. In lieu of other options, we all appointed Luite to the official deal-with-these-drunk-bitches person, and he took them home. And that's when we should have ended the night, but drunk, froward little miss Reimer-Nilsson hadn't had enough to drink, she decided. So she convinced everybody that karaoke was the way forward. In the end, only four of us – Luite, a Japanese girl, the teacher and I – went to karaoke and it was the lamest karaoke session every. The Japanese girl didn't want to drink and insisted on only singing Japanese songs; Luite sang rap-songs none of us were familiar with; I tried to sing ABBA, but was too drunk to read the on-screen lyrics; and the teacher didn't understand the remote – which was all in Japanese – and thus became tired. Epic fail. So we left the karaoke with the awkward feeling that we had dragged our heart-broken teacher along to a karaoke-session he didn't really want to go to (I'd love to write more about how I know that the teacher is heart-broken, but out of respect, I remain taciturn). Well, shit happens.

As you can infer, life in China goes on, even though it'll soon be coming to an end. It's titti-fucks and pee, mixed with Euphoria and karaoke. It's all I ever hoped it would be. And as the end draws near, I get more and more emotional. More crazy. More me.

Stay tuned for more updates on my love-life, my escapades and achievements.
Cheers!