As I see it, life is really about choices. It's not so easy to control the circumstances that confront us, but our reactions to them are more or less our own.

No matter what takes place throughout the course of my day, I generally have two options on how to proceed with my evening:

Option A: Remain in my CBD apartment, where I'll no doubt suckle a longneck of Tsingtao from a rubber nipple, smoke half a pack of Zhong Nan Hais, and contemplate the oppressive weight of my personal troubles in my pajamas with "Love Will Tear Us Apart" on repeat; or

Option B: Put on some lipstick and go dancing.

Being a tireless proponent of the "fake it 'til you make it" school of reasoning, I usually go for the latter. I'm pushing thirty these days, so I try not to waste too much time wallowing in resentment, worry, regret, or self-pity. After all, I live in Beijing, the most dynamic city in the world. Things can't be all that bad, can they?

My delusions of optimism were taking me pretty far up until the last couple of months.

Recently, it appears that the general mood of my beloved second hometown has taken a dramatic spiral downward. Up until the month of March, I could count on one hand the number of bombastically unpleasant incidents of conflict or chaos I had witnessed in all of my time as a regular nightlife denizen, but since then, I've either been involved in, heard about, or seen enough trouble to make my head spin.

There have been fistfights. There have been incidents of men getting just a little too physical for comfort on women they were hitting on. There have been clubgoers getting so angry at the horror of paying door cover that they created scenes. There have been nasty arguments between people who previously had the temperamental equivalent of angel food cake. There have been tears, and high-pitched screams, and drunken moments so shameful that their perpetrators repressed them.

Even a casual look at the comments on the City Weekend Online reader's forum shows a recent surge in the vitriol. I understand that stellar customer service isn't generally the reason to become a patron of any business here in Beijing, but I have a lot of difficulty believing that any establishment is nearly as bad as so many readers claim, with recriminations that the staff or management are maliciously fraudulent a*holes, or that the hangover after a full night of drinking could never have been caused by too much indulgence, but rather, from the fake alcohol.

Beijing is the first city I have ever loved. Because it is true love that I feel for this place, it is visceral and almost incomprehensible. The pollution, the traffic, the inconvenience, the urban sprawl, the terrible weather: all just collateral damage. When we're in love, we have this almost unreal ability to look past the flaws of our beloved.

From the collective angst over visas, the rising cost of everything from groceries to basic services, the wildly proliferating construction, to the price gouging of rents, it's all been enough to frustrate any of us. But, to be sure, there's no reason to make it worse by getting so angry that we can't enjoy a quiet drink after work, a nice meal at a restaurant, or a fun night listening to music at a club.

We can look at the glass half-empty, or we can look at it half-full. If you'd prefer to do the former, just remember that there are people who are trying to do their jobs at bars and clubs and restaurants, and that when you shove the bouncer, insult the waiter, or even lose your temper at a friend, it makes it a hell of a lot worse for all the rest of us who are just trying to keep some sort of positive spirit. After all, we're all on the same boat here.