From now on, please call me Miss Chance.
"Mr. Chance" was a gardener for a old rich man, he took great care of the garden which nobody really care to admire.  He grew up in the house and never ever stepped outside the gate.   He does not exist in the world outside.
Then the old gentleman died.  The only person who knew who Chance was is now gone, forever.   He does not exist even within the walls now.
 
That’s when the bazzar and fantastic journey of Mr.Chance begins:
       Thanks to an minor car accident, he was introduced to one of the most powerful and influencial man in U.S.–who, incidently, was also a old sick man like Chance’s former employer.  He told him about his garden.
       Then he met the President, impressed him with his knowlege on gardens.
       Then he met the Americans, talking to them on TVs about gardens.
       Then the wife of the old powerful dude fall in love with him, after his "garden speech".
He won their hearts easily with his garden metophor—only he was really talking about garden, the only thing he knew and worked on for his whole life.
 
I am experiencing the same "otherness" Chance experienced from the moment he stepped into the world outside.   Call it cultural shock or whatever, I am half enjoying and half hating it. 
Imagin, a tall latte after a long night of sleepless.  That’s what it is, literally.
I am observing everything around me, but somehow have no interest or desire of breaking in.  They are more fake than movies.  And worse, I cannot ditch them.  They are everywhere, I am WITHIN them.  There is no escape–how can a soul ditch its body without death?
 
So, please call me Miss Chance from now on.  I am still thinking of my garden while the world outside is going insanely fast.  Where are we heading to, anyway? 
 
 
 
  
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