I put on my Nike+ Fuelband again. On my wrist it feels identical to from one year ago - the black rubber finish I chose deliberately when I first bought it on Taobao lying on the bed of my uncle's countryside shack, and the flashy LED light in the front that serves as a timer, a calorimeter and a pedometer. Every time I boot it up from the long oblivion of my lack of usage, it would show a welcome message in a pixelated white - I have never read the message in its entirety, for the screen only shows a partial text and I would often be distracted by the yellow, green and red lights shining from the top and the bottom. I wore it extensively when I bought it. Even when the weather began to cool, I would keep my short-sleeve on, so the band could always be visible to others. At that time my favorite clothes for it is a red T-shirt with random alphabetical doodles in the front, which was then used by my mom as a rag in the kitchen, for wiping clean the oil on the gas cooker every time she cooks meal for me. Yet I didn't not actually use the Fuelband - after the button click to activate, the phrases shown there are in a dazzlingly large font that reveals the desolated functionalities to any prying eyes. I took more buses with the Fuelband on. There was an afternoon, what date and day of the week it was I cannot remember, when I went downstairs, and eventually took a bus trip to the city center because I felt like wearing a Fuelband would make me more attractive to girls. With my face stern and body straight, I gazed around as if I'm an upper-class guy who has to take the bus and who would definitively not choose to if any other option was present, and occasionally pulled out my not so brand new but exquisitely maintained 64GB iPhone 5s that was sold in Hong Kong and then doubtfully resold in a semi-gray online electronic appliance store in a mainland province - it was the second iPhone 5s I bought, because the first one has a dead pixel I failed to overcome and was stolen as I had chosen the without-insurance option when sending it back to the vendor. The police promised to investigate, and did not reply, and the owner of the package delivery service branch, who had went bankrupt promptly after I sent back the phone, offered me privately, 800 RMB as compensation. And I vowed not to buy any more smartphones until I bought the iPhone 6 Plus in Germany.
The spring has made me more willing to go out. And I started playing basketball again. I played for an hour this afternoon with a Turkish foundation year student named Burk, practicing shooting, complementing of his skill, getting complemented of mine, and went back to go to the Social Entrepreneurship class.
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Stately, I emerge from the shower room, drying myself with the towel on the chair. I was going to restart my laptop and finish the draft of today's non-journal, and non-narration. However instead I find myself standing on the scale - it was a bitterly 56 kilogram - I was once 60 kilogram back in high school, and turned around to lie about the weight. I intoned to my girlfriend, floundering in voice and gesture, that it was a bitterly 57 kilogram, and all of sudden it becomes an acceptable number.
