I’m almost blinded by the camera lights. There’s no denying they’re all for me. There are other people around me but none of them look like me. I stand out. I always stand out these days. I smile at all of these very excited photographers but it’s almost always out of bemusement than a genuine smile-for-the-camera look. I could never get used to this. If I did I’d be in trouble.

Who am I, you ask? I must be someone important to garner so much attention, right? I’ve achieved something lofty or have a recognised talent maybe? Or I’m one of those flash-in-the-pan, 15-minutes-of-fame people? I’m none of these things.

On a daily basis, I’m treated like some kind of celebrity. I walk down the street where people see me, stop in their tracks and do one of a combination of the following. They all start off by staring intensely at me. I meet their eyes but this doesn’t avert their gaze. Instead, they stare even more deeply. They often look shocked, like an animal caught in headlights.

Once they’ve recovered slightly from the sight of me, they often start to giggle like children. This is the most irritating trait. It’s incessant and piercing. Most point at me, nudging the person beside them who does the same.

Photos are taken if I haven’t already passed them by. The braver ones approach me. Some come to a few inches of my face and continue to stare, saying nothing. Some ask for an autograph and a photo with them. The worst are the ones who catch me unawares and stroke my face or arm like I’m their new pet.

I'm in China. I've been here for about five months. I love it and I hate it and I'll never come back. I'm treated like a celebrity but done nothing to achieve it. A bit like Kim Kardashian without the sex tape and most other things, I suspect. My "talent"' is being white with a smattering of freckles and big (for China) eyes. I'm also tall here. This one I enjoy. Fame never appealed. It appeals a whole lot less now.

I stand in the gravel waiting to get back on my bus. The bus beside me have mostly got their fill of photos of me but continue to push up against the window to get one last look. This country is beautiful in so many ways as are its people. It’s also bloody exhausting. It tests my resolve and patience every day.

I get back on my bus and catch my reflection in the window. I stare at myself, trying to see what they see. This is boring I think to myself. Now, where did I put my book?