Just as the weather changes in Beijing, so does my mind.

I am no longer planning to log my tango shoes suitcase and my dog crate to Buenos Aires. Rather, I am migrating to Ibiza. Most probably with a second address in Barcelona.
Why? A man.
Plans have not changed homônumos- or experimental play-wise. I still plan to take a show on tour in 2 years. I still plan to work on a collective writing with avant-garde actors and crew.
In the moments of silence my brain can spare, the direction of my playwriting experiment take shape. I wish to work for 12 months at least, with an actor(s) who is going to carry my character(s) (one assigned to him/her) and make it grow such as his/her own. I envision a role play where I graft my fictive character to a living person, collecting samples from the mutation, using real reaction to situations as guides for my play’s plot.
I know this method of schizophrenic acting must exist. I don’t know of writers who have used it as an external and independent shaping of their character. It is time I do some serious reading on creative writing approach.
Ibiza, here I come...(and the exploration goes on)
Christine Bellerose
Beijing, Aug. 9 2007

One with Nature vs. The Drive

I am back in Beijing for three months. Enough time to save money for a plane ticket to Buenos Aires, to finance for a 4th issue of homônumos, and have a week’s worth of savings to live off of in Argentina.

I am terrified of the move. My boxes, my dog. Homeless, jobless. New people, new language. New culture. New life.

But I want to do it. I have plans for new challenges, and Buenos Aires is the place to be.

For me.

So what is it which drives some people to outdo themselves for the sheer thrill, and drives others to live with a 9-5 job? One might say that having children dampens your quest for adrenaline. Sleepless nights become a curse; changing diapers at 4 am versus dancing tango at 4 am. One wishes to be in bed while the other doesn’t want the night to end. Still, there are those who travel the world on a 12-meter sailboat, homeschooling their children...

A friend recently diagnosed himself as depressive, after he was ditched by his future wife days before the wedding. He says he's suffered from repressed emotions and chronic depression, all ills which he was unaware of for the last 20 years. Now he has to focus on himself and his poor mental health, the realization he was making the wrong choices with the wrong motives. He's awakening his dormant self, the memories of childhood sexual abuse, and the compulsive libido as release mechanism, acupuncture nailing down pent up stress. All of this worries me to a T.

Am I mentally unstable to wish to go where few others have been before (well, many have been, though not the majority)? Couldn't I choose to live on Ibiza Island with a strong gorgeous black Peruvian man whose libido puts mine to shame? Why do I have the urge to throw myself into a world tour, (next challenge, avant-garde theatre), with no money and no previous experience, just for the certitude that this is my new calling? Am I deranged?

What if I am? Shall I put all my plans of surpassing myself by a light-year, behind, and focus on being one with the nature?

"Well," I say, "I’ve been riding my bicycle back from work in the past two days under monsoon rain. Today, at Beichaoyang there was a flash flood in which a few of us got caught, raincoat on wheels and all, peddling through water up to our armpits. And they say Beijing is a dry climate... if nature can so ridiculously overdo things, why not me?!"

Towards new grounds my exploration goes on.
Beijing, 31 July 2007.