Into the World:
The Random Thoughts in My Mind

"Things are different here," the local driver nonchalantly quipped, "the rules that govern the rest of China simply does not work here in Xinjiang." As the driver took a drive in search of hotels in Urumqi, the metropolitan capital of Xinjiang, he began to remark on just how years of terrorist threat changed how locals in the city and the wider region live their daily lives.  After a few hours in China's volatile western reaches, the restrictions can easily be felt.

In some ways, the very concept of time is a social construct.  After all, it is by sheer convention of the centuries past that humans decided that, for instance, 7am means early morning and 7pm means dinner time.  The number could have been entirely something else had those who were in charge of creating standard time notations chose otherwise.  And because humans are so used to the idea of 7am and 7pm means the same thing everywhere, there came to be the idea of time zones.

There is a little village in front of the famed Crescent Lake in the middle of the desert near the city of Dunhuang in Western China.  To take advantage of the convenient location to the famous tourist spot, the villagers have been busy setting up one home stay after another.  By the time the author rolled around in February of 2018, practically every house in the village operates an inn, a restaurant, a tourist-oriented supermarket, or a small tour agency. 

When one crosses a country as large as China by rail, there are many opportunities to interact with locals.  Three days and a couple of thousands of miles bring together many complete strangers in the public space that is the railway system.  In the interactions is commonly and conspicuously missing among the hundreds of railway staff, bunk mates on sleeper carriages, and all the people working and making their living around railway stations.  That is the complete absence of greetings exchanged.

From those who may not know, the author is actually ethnic Mongol on his mother's side.  But as ethnic Mongols from the Chinese Northeast, his mother's family has very little connection to the Mongolian nation and culture.  They have not spoken the Mongolian language for a couple of generations and do not even know their proper Mongol names.  It is better get in touch with that little understood Mongolian heritage that the author decided to show up to Ulaanbaatar and meet with "real" Mongols who can at least superficially tell him what is it like to be really Mongol.

In front of the massive dormitory complex that the author lives in seaside Tokyo , there is a pedestrian crossing that leads to the park connecting the complex with one of the nearest metro stations.  Given that relatively few people uses the pedestrian crossing, it is not automatically activated.  Only by pressing the button on a pole next to the crossing would the streetlight turn green, allowing people to cross.  Without pressing button, the light will remain red forever.  The bright red button is quite visible, located conveniently right next to the curbside below the pedestrian light itself, with a bright yellow box with a human drawing.