Magic

China is magic.

Magic to me is red lighted lanterns on a dark street, music playing in the square while ladies dance with fans, and children posing with a peace sign in every picture. Magic is walking down a crowded street to find the perfect hole-in-the-wall restaurant, eating things you never thought you'd like, and listening to people argue in another language only to realize they are just having a good time. Magic is pagodas whose walls have seen more years than the oldest person on earth, worn cobblestone walkways, and firecrackers in the middle of the night. Magic is Chinglish (Chinese English) signs, babies in strange clothes and accented hellos from passers-by. Magic is too many stairs, the city at night, and fruit stands side by side.

Magic is China.

Magic.