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stitches. It was surrounded by the rainbow of a fading bruise which disappeared under her hair, vivid greens and yellows clearly visible in the unnatural glare of the fluorescent light. Her other eye was bright and clear, no sign of trauma in the contrast between the white and the pale brown of the iris but no sign of animation either. Her good eye looked as dead as her bruised one. Her mouth was a fixed line, thin and unfriendly. She tried the smile that she’d shown Ekachai – it made no attempt to conspire with her eyes, to make her look genuinely pleased or happy. Running the tap, she bent and splashed her face with lukewarm water as though she could wash away what she’d seen in the mirror.
    ‘Kai,’ she whispered to her reflection before returning to the sanctuary of her bed and digging out the journal. She felt slightly more relaxed and ready to learn a little more about herself. If she was going to have a visitor it would be useful to have some experiences to talk about that didn’t involve this room.
    After a day of rather tedious sounding jobs around Beijing she was struck by a humorous entry and found herself drawn back into the world of another self, another Kai, who wasn’t Kai at all.
     

 
    September 14th – Beijing
    Back on the tourist trail (or is that trial?) today. I decided to head for the south of the city to visit the Temple of Heaven which is ‘the most perfect example of Ming architecture’ according to my guidebook. I contemplated taking a taxi but it seemed like a bit of a cop out. There’s something about being in a car that separates you from the place you are in. It’s sanitised and safe and easy; there’s something not quite real about it. I’d expected to want something safe and easy but I actually feel surprisingly confident today. There’s a sense of peace somewhere within me which makes me certain that this trip was the right thing to do. Sadly, I couldn’t work out the bus routes from my map so I had to walk.
    The heat seems to be getting more intense which is a bit of a surprise as we’re heading into autumn. It makes walking anywhere quite a slow process. I suppose it’s no bad thing to be slowed down though. Life at home is all about getting things done and getting to places quickly so as not to waste time. Now I’ve got all the time in the world I don’t mind wasting a bit. (If walking the streets of Beijing is a waste.) After all, it’s my time. It’s a good feeling after three years of wondering if I had any rights at all to realise that I am in control of my own life and what I choose to do with it is entirely in my own hands. When I think about this time I’m taking to get my head back together I picture an hourglass with the sand flowing through it at a soothing rate and the hands holding the hourglass are mine. God, I’m getting carried away. I promised myself I wouldn’t use this journal to spout purple prose in some pretentious travel-writing manner.
    Anyway, back to the narrative! I walked straight into the baking hot sun for nearly an hour before reaching the outer wall surrounding the grounds of the temple. As luck would have it I’d hit the boundary at a point between two of the four entrances and had to walk for another fifteen minutes in one of the overcrowded bicycle lanes before I reached a gate. It turned out to be worth the walk though as it was a really peaceful spot in one of the busiest parts of the city. The park surrounding the Temple of Heaven had plenty of places to sit in the shade and watch this small part of the world go by. I saw my first old man in a Mao suit sitting on a bench with his Little Red Book in the breast pocket of his jacket. He seemed to be dozing judging by the unattractive ribbon of drool sparkling on his chin. I found myself intensely curious about him and what he thought about modern China but sadly there was no way I could speak to him – the chances of him knowing English were very slim and there’s no way I