The morning of January 9th, I woke up really early... at like 3:15am or something. I went into the bathroom so I could turn on the light and continue reading _The Life of Pi_ without waking up Howie. At one point, I had this totally poignant moment where I started thinking about the fact that I'm the daughter of Indian immigrants, wife of a Euro-mutt, sitting in a hotel room in Beijing, reading a book about an Indian boy written by a Canadian dude who was born in Spain and has lived all over the world. It was a pretty cool moment at the time... sadly, the weight of it has been lost a little since I'm delayed in the writing of this. It was nifty, though.
