A Canadian in Beijing: “Made In China” Electronics

I am exhausted. I have just spent an afternoon – yes, a whole afternoon – electronics shopping here in Beijing. Now, that does not mean what you think it means. I am not talking about going from store to store and price comparing or from mall to mall to seek out the “right” brands. No, this was in the same place for the entire time and consisted of much chatting, visiting, standing around and generally not shopping. According to my friend Traci, this was shopping “Chinese style.”

For all of my many gear geek friends, the opportunity to be in an electronics market where anything you possibly want is a fraction of the price would have been like being in a giant toy store. I can see their eyes light up at this idea and can picture them running around like children on sugar at a Boxing Day Sale at Toys R Us.

I just wanted a working camera. When my friend asked me what I wanted the camera to do, I said “take pictures!” He looked at me like I was kidding.

I wasn’t.

You see, many things are cheaper here in China. I’ve already talked about the cheaper clothes and food and services (like massage or manicures), but I haven’t yet mentioned anything about electronics. Since much of this equipment is actually “made in China,” it is a fraction of the price here compared to buying it in Canada. As I am heading home in just two weeks, I figured I’d better stock up.

My friend Rui came to the rescue again. He is Chinese and a Beijing resident and he offered to take me a nearby electronics market, which looked like a giant mall without walls. Escalators and huge signs and enormous, shiny, mirrored columns divided the stalls, but the merchandise was generally identical in each. The trick is in the bargaining and herein lies my weak point. I can bargain but I don’t know how much it’s “supposed” to be or what is actually a “good deal” here. For expensive items, I was worried about getting ripped off for simply being non-Chinese. So, as soon as I even mentioned that I needed some items, Rui refused to let me even consider going without him.

It turns out that he loves this stuff.

Like my friend Daisy, Rui is a natural at bargaining. Or, perhaps he’s just experienced for having lived in China is whole life. Whatever the reason, he’s good. What’s more, he has contacts everywhere and this electronics market was no exception. In typical “guanxi” fashion, his friend who works in one of these stalls is someone who he has done “favours” for in the past (I’ve no idea what!) and so calling on this friend now was right in-line with the give and take of this cultural phenomenon.

Rui is a Virgo. Need I say more? He wanted to very thoroughly price shop before he went to his friend for “advice.” We started the shopping marathon upstairs in this market in the slightly more ritzy shopping area by checking the “listed” prices of digital cameras. Since mine broke last week, this was my most expensive purchase and so the most important one to consider. Rui explained that listed prices are about one-third higher than they “need to be.” I was rather lax about it considering they’re still half as much money here than they are back home, but he was determined to be the shopping champion and I now understood that I had signed up for this tournament by seeking his assistance. And, hey, I’m not complaining. It was wonderful of him to help me save some money.

After this price shopping research mission, we went downstairs to where is friend worked, in the belly of this electronics monster store’s warehouse. When we arrived, we were ushered behind the counter and offered stools to sit on. Rui chatted and caught up with his friend while simultaneously playing a video game and passing around cold drinks. As usual, the presence of a strange “Canadian girl” was the subject of much curiosity, but they were all really nice to me and complimented my Chinese in typical polite fashion.

The conversation made its way around to what we were doing there, eventually, but not right away, of course, which would have been rude (he explained later). In fact, it was about fifteen minutes before the topic even arose and I was trying not to look as bored and agitated as I was feeling. (I mean, I’m really not into video games!)

I was weary, to tell you the truth. It was a hot day and this was a crowded market. I’m used to going into a store, buying an item and then leaving. This elaborate exchange was unexpected and I had to talk myself into sitting back and observing this process as part of my cultural learning rather than wanting to just leave and forget all about this mission altogether. I sat back and listened. When shopping here in China, there’s obviously no hurry. I mentally re-arranged my schedule for the day and got on for the ride.

Shopping is not a task; it’s a social process.

Eventually, a woman arrived with some cameras under her arm. I’m not sure where she came from, but she had been called by Rui’s friend. True to his word, the discount was extreme – about two-thirds off of what we’d seen upstairs just as he’d said – and she showed us two models. They weren’t exactly what I was looking for and so she left and returned again, this time with my desired model as well as another brand that she began to try to talk me into buying.

Rui explained to me in English that this was a common ploy: try to talk the buyer into something else because there is a greater profit margin on the other item and the discount is too low on the item the shopper desires. When I still wanted the same one after her sales pitch, she upped her price by fifty kuai saying there’s no way they could sell it to me for the price originally offered.

I was shocked. Usually discounts stay discounts, but now it was going backwards?

In English again, I asked Rui what was going on. He explained that this was her way of trying to block our purchase and that she probably wasn’t going to go down to the original price. I decided to just pay the extra fifty kuai and buy the one I wanted.

[Here in this market, English was the language that we were speaking as it allowed us the privacy to comment on what was happening without being understood by the vendors. I know it’s not safe to make that assumption, but it seemed to be working in our favour.]

Another thing to consider here is the different between “real” items and “knock off” items. Since this is the place where these things are made, it’s also where products are manufactured to “look like” the real thing. Rui’s friend demonstrated the difference between a real USB memory stick and a knock off one. When he held them up the only difference I could see was that the plastic casing was a little thicker on the knock off version. He explained, though, that the 2gig space on the knock off one was really just about 1gig, whereas the real ones had the full amount of space on them.

When it came to the camera, Rui insisted it be in the original box, sealed and dated by the manufacturer. He sent the woman back for a brand new box and I would never have thought of that. In Canada, the stores all carry new items (or so I imagined!) and they always come in their boxes. Had he not been there, I probably would have been sold a knock off.

In the end, this camera cost me the equivalent of $160 Canadian and I’m thrilled to no longer have to borrow a camera (though, thanks Dave for loaning me yours!) I still have no idea which stall this woman worked at or why we never went to her! I also left the market with some USB memory sticks, two USB hubs and all of the appropriate cabling and memory cards that I needed. I probably saved over $100 Canadian on all of my items thanks to Rui’s connections and bargaining. That doesn’t even count the savings that I automatically experience by buying these items here instead of at home. So, no complaints.

It took over four hours.

(I’m just sayin’…)

I was looking for some other items too, but going back again makes my bones tired. Maybe the next time I’m in Beijing.

I suppose if I want to expand my electronics inventory here in China, I’d better learn how to play some video games!

A Canadian in Beijing: Lost in the Market and Laughing

With a rickety gate marking one of the main entrances, the market spills out on both sides. There are stalls of all shapes and sizes featuring all kinds of items whose colours cascade down tiered bins and flowing displays. All of the visual action splashes into my senses. The different smells from each stall curl into each other in comfort as we pass through and into the heart of the market.

I am taking it all in.

We are caught in the current of the Sunday shopping crowd and we move slowly through the stalls examining the wide variety of items for sale. I have a moment of feeling like we blend in well (despite the fact that I’m obviously a “waiguoren” or foreigner.) Well, perhaps we don’t exactly blend in considering I look so different and we’re speaking English together, but shopping with David, my Chinese-Canadian friend, makes it a little easier than shopping with a bunch of other non-Chinese folks. People are curious about us but kind and open. Before long, we are having lots of conversations about where we’re from and why we’re here. I don’t see any other foreigners in this market except for us.


Maybe it’s because the market is tucked away in a western Haidian area where tourists rarely go. This is the kind of market that I love the most. It’s slightly dirty with rinds and pits and lychee skins all over the sidewalks from snacking shoppers. There are stalls that look like hovels and/or temporary residences. Kids with dirty faces, bare bottoms and round open eyes are playing with dried nuts from a dried food stand. Vendors are taking naps everywhere in the thirty-two degree heat. (In fact, is there something about garlic that makes people sleepy?!)

Strung everywhere are tarps for shade. Because they are strung up by the individual stalls, they are all different colours as though we’re at a summer campsite where space is extremely limited forcing all the tents to intertwine. Some of these tarps hang a bit low and graze the tops of our heads as we pass. Sometimes we even need to duck.

David complained about the dangling ropes from the tarps reminding him of dangling spiders and I stopped to consider such an image before photographing the offending twine. These ties sometimes catch your head as you pass and if you haven’t noticed them, then it is a slightly creepy feeling, I agreed. Although I’m not arachnophobic, I probably wouldn’t appreciate a bunch of spiders in my hair! We steered around them after that, laughing each time.

Dave and I first discovered this market on the way to The Summer Palace a few weeks ago. At that time, we glanced in at the entrance but couldn’t tell what kind of market it was but agreed to return and investigate. Besides, we were headed for history. Today, we were on a market mission.

Mission successful. This is my favourite marketplace so far.

In this market (whose name I still don’t know), there are fruits and vegetables, breads, steamed buns, oils and nut butters, meat, fish, household supplies, clothing, tea, dried foods of all kinds, antiques, you name it. In fact, I couldn’t quite identify this market as anything but a “general market” if I tried. I could buy lingerie, hoses, brooms, tea, jewelry, fruit and fresh bread while also stocking up on my plumbing supplies if I so desired! It’s amazing.

Row after row of stalls kept making our bags heavier as we purchased dried foods to send home, mangosteens, lychees, and this nut butter that is sort of a combination between peanut butter and tahini. The one cloth shopping bag I brought wasn’t enough for our spontaneous purchases that were now spilling out of additional plastic bags.

Then, we found ourselves at a teashop.

I have been into tea this week, as you know, and I had already bought some chrysanthemum flowers for tea at a different stall – a flavour I truly love here and haven’t seen back home in its raw state. But, the woman at this tea stall was extremely warm and gracious. She spoke Chinese clearly and slowly and we soon found ourselves seated on stools inside the shop and accepting her offer to let us sample various kinds of teas.

She started with a type of tea that looks like a ball. When put into the water, it opened up into the flower that it is and is extremely beautiful. She said that one cup of this tea in a local downtown restaurant or tea house (like the one I went to this week) is about 160 kuai (very expensive by Chinese standards) and Dave confirmed her story. She made one cup of this tea for us and it was a beautiful flavour to top off the beautiful presentation. I watched it opening like a little kid staring into an aquarium. After tasting it too, I knew I had to have a few of these incredible bulbs to bring home for a special (tea) occasion! 40 kuai got me about 8 of them… and that’s pricey but sure beats the cost of tea in the tourist districts.

Of course, that was not all. She began to make us another pot of tea and each time heated the water perfectly, warmed the cups, measured the tea with precision and handled all of the tea tools like the pro that she was. A cup of “pu-er” tea was next on the list and we sipped and exclaimed as she described the properties and why this tea was good for you and when to drink it, etc.

An hour later, we were still in this little tea stall and we had sampled about ten different flavours of tea and had become quite chummy with the shopkeeper and several other customers. She would have kept pouring, too, had I not felt suddenly that we should buy our many items and get heading back home. In fact, I’m not sure the tea would have stopped flowing had we not stood up to leave, protesting yet another flavour she was pulling from the shelf. I laughed out loud at the feeling like I was going to float away!

We all laughed.

Dave bought a lot. In fact, he is the perfect guy to shop with because he is easily convinced to buy more when it’s cheaper to do so and vendors love him! He came away with several different flavours of tea as well as some “feng mi” or honey. (The honey here has a different flavour – it’s sweeter!) I also bought two metal travel mugs for a mere twenty-five kuai each (around $3 Canadian) that come with a built-in infuser. Those will be a welcome addition to our travelling supplies.

We left the stall in great spirits and with bellies sloshing, filled with tea of all kinds. I wondered if all of those medicinal properties combined together would cancel each other out, but if our moods were any indication of tea’s effects then I’d say that it’s all positive!

Losing oneself in a tea stall nestled deep in an authentic Chinese market in an outer district of Beijing feels like a luxurious weekend pastime. I smiled at my life. “Look at me!” I thought, “I’ve tucked myself into this corner of Beijing and it is just my size.”

Then, I popped a lychee into my mouth and let the sweetness roll around in my smile.

A Canadian in Beijing: Laoshe Cha Guan (Laoshe Teahouse)

Tea is important in China. It has been part of China’s cultural legacy for centuries. Even the word “tea” originally comes from the word “te” in Fuzhou Hua (the Chinese dialect in Fuzhou Province). In Mandarin, the word for tea is “cha” ??? (same character) and many other languages also use this pronunciation.

Tea has so much significance here and is used for so much, not just to fill a cup so that one can sip warm liquid. For example, various teas are used in Chinese medicine, tea is used in cooking to flavour foods, tea is used in washing and bathing, tea is used to help with skin abrasions or to help your puffy eyes when you’re underslept or hungover, i.e. steeped green tea leaves pressed onto the black circles under your eyes and then wait awhile. Dried used tea leaves have also traditionally been used to fill children’s pillows and is believed to be good for their developing minds. This is only some of what I learned about tea this week. (Yes, school can be helpful!)

So, it was perfect timing for an invitation from my new friend Rain to go out for a cup of tea together (??????????????????? “Do you want to go out for tea?” is more regularly asked here than “Do you want to have a coffee?”). I figured we were going to a local (random) café and I was simply looking forward to getting to know a new friend and scanning the menu for the various kinds of tea that I learned about in my lessons.

What I didn’t realize was that she had tickets to the most famous and historically significant teahouse in Beijing: Lao She Cha Guan ???????????.

Lao She was a famous Chinese author who was born in Beijing (then called Peking). He wrote many plays and novels throughout the course of his life, one of which was called “Teahouse” or “Chaguan 茶馆” in 1956. It was about the ups and downs of the people’s lives in China throughout the turbulent changes between 1898 and 1945 and has been dramatized many times by the Beijing People’s Theatre.

What truly interests me about Lao She is his political affiliation. He was a radical, it seems, and wrote work that was critical of decadence and political corruption and championed national resistance. At the time of Communist control, he was safely stowed in the United States but was forced to return in 1949.

I learned that between 1949 and 1966, Lao She wrote several plays and was “put to use” by the hierarchy but that his work during this period was never critically acclaimed. He “gave every indication of being a loyal support of the Peking government, but his egregious form of flattery, so exaggerated in its denunciation of the state’s enemies, may have been a form of oblique satire.” (source)

(Well, of course it was.)

When the Cultural Revolution began in 1966, people like Lao She – public figures with loud, politically critical and/or influential voices with any history of dissent – were doomed.

He committed suicide in September of 1966.

(Hello again, Shannon.)

So, when I walked up to this building and saw all the connections to my life, I had to pause a moment to take it all in once again. There are simply no coincidences are there? No, I don’t think so.

The place was packed and Rain had already reserved tickets for the tearoom which included a full performance in traditional Chinese style. As she was negotiating for a table and settling the tickets, I watched tourist after tourist pose beside the bust of Lao She for a photo. We were then ushered into the tearoom and seated at a large table that was already occupied by two other women. Historically, teahouses were the places that people would come and sip their various teas, make new friends and take in the arts.

This current building, while newly constructed as the first teahouse in Beijing after the reform period (I believe it was built in 1989), has a full performance room with large round tables at which people sit with strangers eating sweet “xiao chi” (snacks) and sipping bottomless cups of traditional Chinese tea.

The stage is at one end and the performances were fantastic. The show began with a tribute to the upcoming Olympics and how the five Olympic Ring colours can be equated to the five traditional kinds of tea in China. Furthermore, there was a short Chinese opera (Beijing style), a magician, the traditional “xiang sheng” performance which is a Chinese comedic conversational exchange also known as “cross-talk comedy” (Da Shan is a famous Canadian performer here in China as his Chinese is impeccable and he is an expert in this performance style), some martial arts dances by various energetic young boys, etc. I can’t identify all of the traditional performance styles but it was all very enjoyable.

My favourite performance was called kouji 口技. It was a performance that featured two elderly men who used their mouths to make sound effects. The main part of their show was a full conversation in bird calls filled with emphatic gesturing and miming. The audience loved it. They finished their performance doing impressions of various forms of transportation like airplanes, trains and automobiles. They were a brilliant team.

(Hey, quick aside: what was that American movie from the 80’s called that was all about cops – maybe Police Academy? — where there was an actor who could make all of these amazing sounds with his mouth and he would often just speak in sounds rather than words? This is what that performance made me think of.)

I laughed and applauded even when I didn’t fully understand the meaning of these performances. The facial expressions on the faces of the performers were enough to make me laugh. This style and variety of performance is totally conducive to having no Chinese language skills. Many of the performances were wordless and easily entertained the many non-Chinese speakers in attendance.

After the concert, we took a stroll through the reconstructed traditional Chinese tea house which has been built inside the building – sort of like a building within a building. There was a false courtyard and a woman playing the guzheng and several little nooks and crannies in which to sip tea and take it all in as if we were back in time by a hundred years. I was not permitted to take photos inside this teahouse replica, however, and so I cannot show you what it looked like. All I can tell you is that it was peaceful and lovely and felt a bit like a living museum.

When we left, we zigzagged around the vendors outside wanting us to buy souvenirs and/or ride in their rickshaws and emerged quietly onto the sidewalk into the cool summer air. It had been raining slightly while we were inside and the damp freshness in the city cooled the skin my face and inspired me to breathe deeply.

This has been a reflective week filled with fortuitous timing and fated experiences.

Everything happens for a reason.

In Chinese, there is a beautiful word that sums up my recent time here: yuanfen 缘分. This compound (as it consists of two characters) means “destiny, fate, purpose, predestined lot” all rolled into two lyrical syllables.

Yes, China, I believe in yuanfen 缘分.

You make it impossible not to!

A Canadian in Beijing: Fine Dining at Din Tai Fung

Sometimes you have to see what all the fuss is about. This restaurant, “Din Tai Fung,” is touted as being one of the “top ten restaurants in the world” and if people are saying that about it then I figure it had better be good. Of course, it could just have a good reputation or good “guanxi” with the New York Times (where the quote is from, 1993). Either way, there was only one way to find out.

When my school mates told me they were heading down to have dinner there and invited me along, I figured it would be the only chance I’d have to check it out. Quite honestly, I don’t really do “fine dining” here in Beijing… or, should I say ever. In fact, I’m more the type that likes to buy bits and pieces at markets and cobble it together to form a delicious meal for pennies a plate. I like cheap and back alley restaurants. I don’t mind the broken down interior if the taste is superb. In fact, the seedier the environment, often the better the food. At least, that’s what I’ve found.

So, when I arrived at this restaurant with my friends and stepped onto the plush carpeting of the gorgeous lobby, was greeted in English and then ushered upstairs into the dining room like it was a theatre event, I knew it was going to be expensive. I just hoped the taste would match the price.

The place was truly beautiful. Pristine, in fact. The bathrooms were all automated and the walls were lined with full length mirrors at all angles. My friend Daisy pointed out that “women like to see what they look like” and I laughed. I suppose everyone likes the option to see themselves from all angles once in awhile (regardless of gender).

There was also a kid’s playroom equipped with brightly coloured toys, comfy couches and activities for them to busy themselves with while parents enjoy their meal. No supervision in there, however, so I suppose it was only for slightly older kids who could be checked in on once in awhile.

The dining room was brightly lit and was more than half-filled with foreign (non-Chinese) faces. My friend Dave had been here before and so he was assigned the job of ordering food. That’s always a little dangerous with Dave as he tends to order too much – way too much – and in this restaurant, everything was priced so high that I couldn’t imagine both the food and the money waste if he ordered more than we could eat. By the look on the face of the waiter as he left our table with order in hand, I could only assume that we were going to have a feast.

And, I was right.

Dishes kept coming. This places specializes in steamed bread dumplings, or baozi. I eat them everyday for breakfast – 4 for 2 kuai – and these came in steam baskets at about 4 for 30 kuai, or fifteen times what I am familiar with paying here. They were tasty, however, and I promised myself I would stop calculating the cost of my meal and just enjoy the flavours. After all, if you think in Canadian dollars, those four baozi were about a dollar a piece, which is hardly much back home.

Eventually, we couldn’t eat anymore and Dave was able to head off the waiter and cancel the remaining three dishes that were on their way. Thankfully! We were all ready to roll away. We had eaten so much that we were starting to look like baozi!

I went downstairs and got some pictures of the open kitchen as well. They’ve positioned the windows so that people can peer in and watch these boazi (and jiaozi etc.) being made fresh by the chefs there. The windows were, of course, steamed up by the steam and so the only place you could actually see inside was through the open window at one end. I found this ironic and I smiled to myself. The chef looking out the window smiled back and motioned that I could get closer if I wanted. I practically leaned into the kitchen to get this shot, much to the amusement of the other chefs.

The lobby was also glittering with awards. This restaurant is all over the world and it has been honoured everywhere, it seems. Beijing is no exception.

In the end, I enjoyed my meal (lots of vegetarian options were available) and just handed over the $130 kuai which represented my portion of a bill that came to over $700 kuai. In Canadian dollars, that’s an average night out (and currently converts to only $18). In Beijing, that was extravagant.

I prefer the streaming baozi fresh from the dusty marketplace down the road from my school, but the experience was worth the expense. I recommend it to anyone breezing through Beijing without the time to seek out the perfect market stall for the perfect snack.

Besides, the menu was in both Chinese and perfect English.

We could easily have been in New York.

(But don’t even get me started about eating in U.S. dollars!)

A Canadian in Beijing: Shannon’s Wings

Today is the one-year anniversary of my friend’s death. One year ago today my friend committed suicide and I had never before lost a loved one to the concept of choice. It was shocking, to say the least, and I struggled hard to work through the meanings, the messages, the learning, the processing, the feelings. And, that work is never truly over.

She took to the sky and her wings were hers to exercise, I know. But, we all miss her. We only have the feathers she left behind and a lot of unanswered questions. The word of the year has been: acceptance.

Here I am in Beijing – so far from my little country town (where she died) and Montreal (where she lived) – and yet it feels like Shannon is just next door, living across the hall. As it happens with significant things in our lives, when the time of year comes around again that marks the passing of time since that event, everything seems to be a reminder of her as though she’s really close by. Thoughts themselves seem to manifest outside of my mind into the so-called randomness of life. That is how it has been for me these past few days. Shannon has been in everything my eyes have lingered on; she has been in every conversation that has sparked my interest; she’s even in my lessons at school.

We learned the word for suicide yesterday and it came up again today: Zi Sha 自杀 . Seeing as Bejing is twelve hours ahead of Montreal at the moment, I felt that was fitting. Both days full of reminders to mark one day back home.

I also had a great chat with an artist yesterday about the concept of breathing, cross-species communication, flight. All of these topics were in Shannon’s art and as I chatted with this artist in Chinese in a dimly lit café over cold beers, I felt as though I could have been chatting to her in English on a dimly lit country porch over red wine. Same vibe. Same style of conversation. Language, country, gender irrelevant.

This week began with a visit to a bird sanctuary, as well, which also symbolizes my friend. She loved birds and drew them regularly. She collected feathers and repeatedly photographed, carved and painted a dead sparrow that she found that had apparently frozen to death. It lay frozen in time and it captured her interest in a really special, poignant way. This image has now become symbolic of her life, her yearning for release, her curiosity about the other side.

The bird sanctuary was an accidental discovery. My friend and I stumbled on it while walking around and exploring the countryside. For just 6 kuai a person (with our student cards – less than $1 Canadian), we were able to stroll through the park and visit all the birds. But, nothing is an accident, really. The timing of this discovery was right in line with the significance of this time – a commemoration of my friend.

I took copious pictures of birds from all over the world, not just China. So many colours and shapes and sizes. I was amazed by the diversity of birds in this small sanctuary. Put a sparrow next to an ostrich and it seems uncanny that they’re both birds (Just look at those ostrich feet!) Put a turkey next to a flamingo and it’s hard to see how they’re from the same species! But, they’re all beautiful in their own way… (be nice to the turkeys, now!)

There were these super large birds whose Chinese name I have forgotten. (Does anyone know what they’re called in English?) They were the most interesting to me because they appear to be so animated with their large eyes, their slouched and hobbled walk. (The opening shot on this blog is of this bird and below is its full body.) It reminds me a kid’s cartoon whose name I have also forgotten, or the way judges in court are often depicted with their hunched shoulders, spectacled eyes and long gowns resembling black feathers. The fact that they’re so big also made it possible to read expression in their eyes, which is something you can’t normally do with birds. I told them (silently) that I was sorry that they were trapped in there. They looked at me with disgust. We were both helpless in that moment.

I walked away from their large cage feeling a rush of wanting to release them all – every bird in the park – and let them take to the sky. I know it’s not responsible. After all, look at the effect of starlings on North America just because of one man’s desire to have all the birds of England in Central Park? But, the urge to release a winged creature is something that just rushes up in me when I see a bird in a cage. I want to use my opposable thumbs to help them return to the wide open spaces above it all…

And, of course, along the exit pathway there was a full wall that showed birds that have already gone extinct and when. Many of these extinctions are a result of development, pollution, hunting, and of course a lack of human foresight that led to thoughtless decisions or loss of habitat. It struck me that perhaps it is possible that some of these birds simply went away. Maybe they just didn’t feel like staying in this world in the way that it was and has become. They left.

It’s possible. Anything’s possible.

Shannon’s date of extinction was June 12th, 2006. For me, her face was on that wall too. I miss her.

I miss you.