I attended an elderly American's funeral with my Japanese friend Taro Yamada in late 2008. He died peacefully in his 90s. His funeral was held in a church in Philadelphia.
Flying out of Shanghai in the summer is a lesson in patience and prayer when seasonal storms play havoc with flight routes.
Facebook has clogged my computer.The machine was always slow. Now it's moribund. It takes so long to open e-mails, I lose the will to live.
I stood in front of an elevator, waiting. Two young girls' eyes darted toward me, I smiled, and the girls exchanged nervous glances.
Chinese is supposed to be my second language, but it was one of my weakest subjects in school.I was so bad that my teachers felt better off if I slept at the back of the class or left early for recess.
I recently bought a bicycle. I don't know why it took me so long. When I lived in Baotou, Inner Mongolia autonomous region, I used my bike not only as a mode of getting from A to B, but also to get to know the city.
As I'm neither a 5-year-old nor a menopausal Disney fanatic, a dubbed Disney mash-up is not the kind of performance I typically attend.
I lay facedown with my ugly mug in a padded oval aperture in the massage table. May, my masseuse had strong, capable hands.
I fit the typical American mold: I'm vain, facetious and mildly obsessed when it comes to matters of appearance.
Monsters aren't just scary. They also reveal a fascinating facet of the Chinese language - that is, the descriptive, rather than terminological, character of its words.
The tunes were stirring. The band was loud. It was martial music and it made me want to get up and go for a march a long one.
I was traveling across the East Coast, and had gorged on my fill of fries, burgers and tacos.