Bald in Beijing (Part I)

It seems I’ve come full circle, I recognize, soaking in my parent’s hot tub. The setting sun, birds chirping, the woosh of cars passing by on a nearby street. It’s as though I never left and I can’t decide if that’s good or bad.

I’ve been home for over two weeks and in that time, I’ve made little progress in re-starting my life. I’m back at my desk job for the summer, saving up so I can finish my last two terms of university. But, beyond that, I’ve been taking my readjustment quite leisurely. It is only now, after three or four attempts over the last month, that I feel I can finally write a concluding post. Whether it happens to be temporary or permanent conclusion will remain to be seen, but I need this closure at the least. Because I will never finish otherwise, I’m splitting this story up into however many posts it takes for me to get to the end.

So, where to begin? A flashback to another life is without question. Only the little sprouts of hair on my head confirm that this story actually happened to me.

***

On my trip to Beijing, I wrote every day. I made that promise to myself. My last exam was on June 5^th and I allowed a few days to pack and say goodbyes. It was June 10^th when I finally crossed the border into Mainland China, leaving Macau for the last time... but not without a hitch.

My Chinese visa was for two entries of seven days each. I had used one and was saving the other for this final trip. Unfortunately, it happened to have been expired by a week. For the next few hours, I rushed around, following my (justifiably) annoyed girlfriend. What better way to spend the little time we had left together filling out paperwork?

Thankfully, we made it across into Zhuhai with time to spare.  We sat at a booth in KFC – her still with a hint of disapproval at my carelessness – or, the carelessness of whoever this bald man was in front of her. I couldn’t blame her. It was out of character. And, as for the hair, I still scared myself whenever I passed reflective surfaces.

I did it a week earlier, but the idea had been with me since perhaps the beginning of my travels. A German friend did the hard part, or rather, the most psychologically difficult part. Holding off tears and a goofy grin, I shaved off the rest. Why do it at all? There are too many answers, none of which are satisfying. Perhaps the best I can offer is that vision which I carried with me for a year: me, bald-headed and with nothing but a rucksack, roaming the quiet depths of uninhabited Chinese territory. Unfortunately, budgetary constraints required that I not return to Macau and so, I lugged my suitcase of souvenirs along with me. My dream became a shimmer of what it once was – only the remaining glean of my bald head.

Nearing four in the afternoon, we got up to walk to the bus station. My first trip was a three hour bus ride to the airport in Guangzhou, but it was here that I had to leave my girlfriend. I wondered if she would cry in front of me. She wouldn’t do that would she? That would about kill me. We said our brief goodbyes, each refusing to acknowledge the situation, and I managed to get it all out before my eyes became misty. I felt the curtains of the scene closing in on me – the gravity building up in my heart as I walked away... and then I tripped up the steps of the bus.