Santa is Watching You
While I work on the war diary documenting my travels to the Land in the East, like a shameless commercial popping up just as the hero hangs precariously from a cliff hanging precariously from a cliff, I send you this message with great concern. Pay heed to this warning.
But not to worry! Because in these dire times of need, Santa is watching, and will be there for you. Whatever the place, whenever the time, Santa is always watching.
And so I learnt.
When I arrived in China, I was under the assumption that the regime was over. I was, in fact, correct. The first regime was over. The age of Mao is over. The age of Santa is rising.
It should be noted at this point of time that according to our tour guides, the chinese aren't particular about religion. But instead of turning to Dawkins and his il- like, they have chosen a more Samaritan way of life, or more fittingly, a more RPG way of life: always pray at altars, no matter what they might be.
So in other words, they can be likened to a house wife trying out five different brands of detergent, but never really deciding on one in the end.
This means that they will not hesistate to sing of the birth of Christ in the very same room where sticks are burned in front of tablets with dead people's names writen on them. Subsequently, this led to the same five Christmas songs being blasted at me in the hotel corridors and dining areas for five days continuously.
So perhaps the only thing that could send me into a berseker fury after such an ordeal would be the words:
Hey, Listen!
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