I know none of you are reading this blog anymore. I was never writing it for you, anyway! Hehe. But if I had quit after I got back to the States, this perfectly good blog would have been left hanging, incomplete. What a pity! (as they say in Chinglish!) I tend to have trouble with endings, you know, especially with things that were good. But this blog was about my life in China, and since returning to the homeland (still "home"?) my life has had no resemblance to my China-life, and anyway I think it is a cozy, balanced little blog. So it needs an ending.
Something special is happening, though, which will make it easier to stamp a see-through ending on this experience. It is easier because now it's not totally over. My relationship with China is not finished, how it probably would have been if this had not happened. I am going to keep doing my Rosetta Stone, and keep eating with chopsticks, and keep questioning my fashion choices (is this skirt too long? shoes too flat?). I'm going to hear Chinese spoken over the phone nearly every day, and fantasize about a summertime trip to Dalian, and use my Chinese cookbook. China will continue to exist in my world and influence my thoughts and decisions in a way it wouldn't have without him. This feels so comforting. The part I dislike about endings, I guess, is the knowledge that the thing will never be back in your life. Things will never be how they were in Zhuhai, this year, but China is not going to disappear and become just this memory. I will eat egg tarts again. I will see his parents again. I will sit on stools in dirty restaurants and throw sunflower seed shells on the ground. I will smell vegetable markets and buy cutesy cheap electronics from underground malls. Oh really? you say. Well, yeah. And especially since I'm writing it here - yeah. It's like this year was a beginning to a longer experience, rather than the entire experience. Thinking that way makes it easier for me to leave it and move on to what I have to do right now, and for the next three years. Seems like there is less mourning necessary, this way. And mourning is so darn draining.
When I left, Luke and I said that we would keep in touch, talk on skype, and see how we felt. Actually, Luke would have wholeheartedly committed to me with no looking back, and I kept emphasizing the "see how we feel" thing. I knew that my life there was so different than it would be here, and that I would soon be moving to a new city, starting a totally new program, and he would be moving to a country he's never been to, living a life he can't even imagine. I thought we needed to leave room for our feelings to change drastically. He's still got a few weeks before he begins his adventure, but I feel like I now know him well enough to know that he is not going to freak out and bail. When I left, I was feeling love for him but also uncertainty. As soon as I got to the States, we started talking on skype twice a day, every day. I felt shitty to be in Binghamton, and his webcam wasn't working, and we were figuring out how to interact via internet, and I was getting frustrated. One night, about a week in, I got emotional and stayed up all night writing this email to him, because I couldn't say it all over the phone and needed him to understand that I didn't feel just peachy about everything. Here is the email, so we're all on the same page here:
Sweetie,
I don't want to be crying on the phone with you and making you all concerned unnecessarily, but I just keep thinking about all these things and for some reason don't feel completely comfortable talking to you about them. I feel like I'm trying so hard but having trouble connecting with you over the phone and I don't want to spend six months feeling disconnected from you. If we are meant to be in this relationship we should be able to connect through any means. I shouldn't have to be staring at your face to understand what you're feeling. And I need to be asked how I'm feeling sometimes, maybe. I need to feel like you care about how I feel and how I feel about you. It's not enough to tell me that you love me, which I know. I need you to be concerned that I love you, too. I do love you. But I don't think we should be satisfied just getting through the next six months. We haven't been together very long and we need to use these months to feel like we're a couple rather than just people who had this crazy passionate thing at the end of a year. This time can't be wasted time in terms of this relationship if you want it to be a special relationship.
Sorry about all this English. You're practicing for IELTS reading, right?
I haven't been able to stop analyzing our situation in my head. I just want to relax and see where this goes and let things happen but I have doubts and I feel like instead of letting me talk about them or think about them you are just encouraging me to squash them and forget about them. That is what I did with this African guy - squashed doubts I had about the relationship - and it ended in a lot of confusion and hurt. I'm not just gonna shove my feelings inside and forget about them until I become bitter, or something. And I am not going to spend years with someone who is not great for me. We have to be great for each other, Luke. You have to be a positive influence on my life. What I mean is, when I thought this was just a short affair, I didn't care what doubts or reservations I squashed. But if this is going to be a long-term thing, we can't just pretend that problems don't exist. If there are issues we have to deal with them differently than we would if this was month-long affair. yes? It's easy to fantasize about seeing each other at Christmas time and forget about the reality, which is that we need to be partners if we are going to be lovers. We can't proceed like ...I don't know what. Just, I want to feel emotionally connected to you and right now I feel like I'm hanging on by a thread. I understand that there is a slight language barrier and that you don't say much in general, and we are still sort of foreign to each other, but we are not gonna be able to touch each other physically for a long time, and wouldn't it be nice to feel like we are touching each other, somehow, in the mean time? I'm not saying it's your job to fix it. I don't know what to tell you to do. Maybe I just want you to be open to listening to what I'm thinking. Just because you don't have thoughts you are aware of enough to share with me, doesn't mean I don't have any either. (Sorry, that was a complicated sentence, but...mei ban fa.) We can't just have phone sex and fool around for six months. You have to want to understand me. I want to understand you so badly. I want so badly to hear what is in your head. Maybe you don't know and that's why you can't tell me. Or maybe you know but you can't find the words to express it. But I know how to express my thoughts and I want you to want to know me better than you do now. I am complicated and have complicated thoughts and I feel things deeply and think about things hard, and if you can't participate with me in that, then you at least need to appreciate it. When we are having sex and when you are drunk and talking to me, I feel like I can see into you a little bit. Sometimes when we are showering together. Sometimes when you say sweet things to me and I know you mean them. Sometimes when we played the piano together. Can't we learn how to recreate that in other situations, too?
Gosh! So sorry for this. I've just not been able to stop thinking about these things. And I've had a lot of time in the past week and a half to think. I don't want to be analyzing this, like this, so early. I know we have so much time and so much opportunity to learn about each other and grow into each other. And we had so little time as a couple, in real life - (as opposed to virtual life). I know I just need to chill but it's hard to do that when there is a serious situation about to occur, if we let it. You realize that if we stay together for the next six months, you will come see me and we'll have a great time together, right? And then we'll stay together for the following six months. And then if we do that, you might as well move to the States and live with me. And then if we do that, we'll probably stay together for the following two years, while I'm getting my Master's. Then if we do that, you're 28 years old and fuck, let's just get married - it's time. Right? And then if we do that, why not wait two years and have a baby? It'll be smart and cute and bilingual. And then we have a life and future and family together. And I hate to be worrying about marriage and shit. There is a lot of time before either of us actually needs to be worrying about grown-up things like that. But if we let our lives build up momentum together, it will be hard to stop the momentum, especially since we are at marrying age. And I don't mean this necessarily has to happen! I just mean, staying together for the next six months is a serious decision, and we shouldn't treat it like just something we don't have to think about.
I hope I'm not freaking you out. It's still me. Just me, talking a lot. Cuddle monster. Cuddle for a sec.
I was talking to my friend Kevin, today, about this new love interest he has. He was talking about the guy (gay) like they both felt this instant connection, and had all these random similarities, and felt like they'd known each other their whole lives. And it was making me feel bad, like, jeez, shouldn't it just be easy? Shouldn't a relationship with someone be effortless? Shouldn't everyone be tear-free in the first month? And shouldn't you only consider having a long-distance relationship with someone who you felt immediately bonded with? Someone who felt like your soul mate immediately? Well, yeah, maybe. But...maybe not. I want to try this with you because we have had such a special relationship already and because we love each other. But maybe I just want you to hear and try to understand my doubts.
Also something that consistently disappoints me is that I feel like you treat me like I'm a totally average person. I understand that you are not one to throw compliments around, which is fine, but I feel sometimes like you honestly don't see my positive characteristics. I'm not average. I happen to be smart and organized and motivated and talented at a lot of things. I'm caring and I get along with many different kinds of people and I'm flexible and positive. I am brave and hardworking and good at dealing with stressful situations and I generally succeed at things I do. I think creatively and I do things thoroughly and I'm calm and I make people happy. I am a good host and a good lover and a good present wrapper and I'll be a good wife. I am not simply cute and kind. I could list a hundred positive qualities you have, and a hundred reasons I like you, and a hundred reasons it's a good idea for me to be with you. So when you don't seem to acknowledge or even notice these same things about me, it makes me feel unappreciated. It doesn't matter if you tell me all the time. I don't need to be told all the time. It just matters if you know, and so far I haven't really seen evidence that you know.
Well, damnit. 3:45. I can't stay up late like this cuz I get hungry! Beef noodles. I swear I thought about you every time I saw a stick of butter this week. But...fail. Just read this thoroughly before you respond, OK? Google suggests I include Amy, Oswald, and Ralph in this email. Think I should? lol.
I love you and I miss you - honestly, like, I feel it in my heart that I miss you. I miss China, too, but it's not me getting confused between you and China. I miss you separately from missing China - and I'm yours. Your baby.
Love,
Little chubby duck
I feel a little bad putting this letter up on the internet. But it's my blog. And you're not reading it anyway, are you? I think this is important.
Anyway I was half expecting him to react badly to this. I mean I was hoping he wouldn't but I thought he might. Actually he responded by saying and doing everything that a perfect boy in a perfect world would say and do in this situation. Like, I couldn't have even imagined a more productive and healthy response. It made me feel so much better. So we talked about the issues I brought up in the email. Like actually had discussions about them. And then, in the past three weeks, the issues have slowly disappeared. It's not just that I've forgotten about them or accepted them. It's like, the uncertainty I was feeling in the first week actually started going away. I think about him constantly, and I get butterflies when I look at pictures of us together, and our skype conversations are never long enough, and I feel more and more sure every day.
I know this is so crazy! And I know I fooled you all, and myself, with the African guy. But this is totally different and I feel totally different about it. So it sucks to be without him here, in this scary new city. But not really, because I know we need to do it. I feel like if we can make it for the next five months until Christmas break, and then another five months after that, we'll feel like the relationship is worth it. We'll feel like we're worth it, to each other. I guess a lot of people don't make it through ten months of long-distance separation. But I think we can. And if we do, he'll have a masters degree and I'll have done a ton of dirty work on harp that I needed to do. We both need this year of separation to get our lives in a condition for them to fit together, maybe. You can laugh in my face if I'm wrong.
And so, it's time. I'm sure I'll have to do all these P.S. posts with things I forgot to say. Maybe some pictures. I guess I didn't write much about what I feel like I've learned from this whole thing. Like what I've gained from living in China for a year. I don't know if I'd be able to articulate those things. I feel like I've gained everything. I feel like I can do anything, after doing that. When I was 16, my dad sat down on my bed with me and told me to think about how much I had learned from the age of 11 to 16. This seemed like an enormous amount. Then he said, I know you won't believe me, but from the now until you're 21, you're going to learn as much, and maybe even more, than that. Have I already talked about this on my blog, actually? I think about it a lot. Anyway at the time that seemed just ridiculous. And then when I was 21, I realized he was totally right. I learned so much when I went away to college, and lived in Vienna. He didn't warn me about post-21 learning, but I feel like in just this one year of being in China, I learned that same amount again. Five years-worth of understanding. I don't know what, exactly. And it's probably OK if I don't have any more growth spurts like that for a while. It's exhausting, you know. I'm proud of this blog. And I'm proud that I ended up having a great year. The decision to go was tentative. I was very unsure, all along. I thought, maybe I'll hate it, and come back feeling unfulfilled. I did hate it, at times. But I feel proud that I went into it being unsure and hesitant, and made it great anyway. I feel proud that I can say that I don't regret it.
Actually I haven't thought about it as much as I am right now. (Sorry, extended ending...) When I got back, my life just fell into familiar rhythms, and I haven't even wanted to sit down and analyze my feelings about the whole thing. A week ago, I thought about one of my students, and realized I hadn't thought about my freshman students at all since I'd been back. Things are just so completely different here that it's been easy to forget that I've been gone for a year. Or denial, maybe. Coping mechanism.
OK! So. Thanks, if you are someone who encouraged me to keep a blog, before I went. And thanks, if you are someone who read along and commented, or thought about me. During the tough times it was important for me to think about all the people at home thinking about me. It feels so good for things to be documented like this, and not just in some homemade-looking scrapbook that will get dusty and thrown out eventually. I took this opportunity because I wanted to do something crazy, and challenging, and have adventures. Then I called the blog "Zoe's Adventures in China." And then I went, and had adventures. I think if I'd called it, "Zoe's pleasant happenings in the PRC" or even "Zoe's interesting life in China," things would not have been nearly so fun.
So...this is gonna hurt. But if I could do that, I can do this, right?
Byebye, blog.
Love,
Zoe
Monday, July 25, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
China Gets Real Part 5
So we had a lovely, pleasant week together in Luke's hometown. We did some sightseeing, some strolling, some shopping (I am now the proud owner of shoes that look like they'd be worn by an Asian porn star during the day), lots of riding on buses, and a ton of eating. We were going to take the train back to Guangzhou, because we had flown to Lanzhou, but for some reason we couldn't get tickets for the day I had originally thought we would leave so I was stressing about having time to tie up my loose ends in Zhuhai. But I knew Luke would help me pack, and I had finished my grades one morning at Luke's house, so Sunday night we headed to the train station for our 36-hour journey.
That wasn't a typo. Thirty-six hours on a train. That's what I thought, too, but then a funny thing happened during that train ride - I had a blast. With Mama Li's motherly help, we had stocked up on instant noodle bowls, nuts, drinks, chocolate bars, popcorn, etc. and I had about 70 little hearts still to crochet for my students. I was also pretty sleep deprived at this point, and judging by how well I'd slept on previous trains, I knew I'd appreciate the two nights on the bottom bunk. So we showered at Luke's house, put on pajamas, had a teary goodbye with Mom, and prepared to get dirty. The bottom bunks are enjoyable, I find, because you can use the little table by the window, and put your stuff under the bed, and hop over to your partner's bunk, and cuddle a little, and snack all day, and lie around with nothing to do. The first night I slept fabulously, as expected. In the morning we woke up and lounged around, and I went back to sleep for a few hours sometime in the middle of the day. I never really knew what time it was, you know. At some point a family got on with a 5-year-old spoiled brat-type boy, whom Luke entertained with magic tricks and boy play. Miraculously, no crowd of wide-eyed Chinese people gathered around us, so I was able to crochet and stare out the window in peace. The second night, Luke and I stayed up after the lights went out, drinking beer and making out. The next morning we woke up at 7 or 8, when folks start to get chatty, finished our food, washed up, and prepared to brave the Guangzhou humidity. Actually I think I could have stayed on that train for another day. Dirty, but happy!
When we got back to campus, we had a little disturbing run-in with Cheikh, who was waiting for me at the bus stop. That was traumatizing. But then I set to work packing ten months of life into three suitcases, wading through the monsoon-like weather, returning the piano, saying goodbye to a million people, having a goodbye party with my freshman students, returning keys and getting deposit money, and making Guangzhou hotel reservations, which all needed to be accomplished in 48 hours. This was stressful, to say the least. But Luke was a good helper. I ended up not doing things I thought I would have done at the end. I didn't take pictures of things I saw every day. I didn't go to the teaching building and take mental pictures of the classrooms I taught in. I didn't go say goodbye to the ladies in the bakery and eat a final egg tart. I didn't go downtown to my favorite restaurants. I didn't have long weepy goodbyes with even people I was closest to. Maybe it was better that way, rushed. I guess it would have been even more upsetting if I'd had time to linger.
So Thursday afternoon Luke and I trudged through the four inches of water in the streets, with many suitcases, to get back to Guangzhou for my Friday morning flight. Luke's dad was meeting us there, to see me off at the airport, despite my efforts to dissuade this. He just wanted to, I guess. I had to fight off Cheikh all the way to the bus stop, telling him over and over that no, he couldn't go to the airport with me. But we got there, met dad, still raining, hungry, long way to the hotel by the airport, sore muscles, etc. etc. That was a really long day. We were planning on leaving the hotel at 5am to get to the airport on time, so Luke and I stayed up instead of sleeping for like 3 hours. This was really sad, obviously. Not just like, sad in my head, but actually really sad, in my chest. And then we got to the airport and it felt worse. And then Luke and his dad walked me to the security section, and we hugged and kissed and cried, and then I turned around and walked away, and it felt worse.
Whenever I feel afraid, I hold my head erect, and whistle a happy tune so no one will suspect I'm afraid...
That wasn't a typo. Thirty-six hours on a train. That's what I thought, too, but then a funny thing happened during that train ride - I had a blast. With Mama Li's motherly help, we had stocked up on instant noodle bowls, nuts, drinks, chocolate bars, popcorn, etc. and I had about 70 little hearts still to crochet for my students. I was also pretty sleep deprived at this point, and judging by how well I'd slept on previous trains, I knew I'd appreciate the two nights on the bottom bunk. So we showered at Luke's house, put on pajamas, had a teary goodbye with Mom, and prepared to get dirty. The bottom bunks are enjoyable, I find, because you can use the little table by the window, and put your stuff under the bed, and hop over to your partner's bunk, and cuddle a little, and snack all day, and lie around with nothing to do. The first night I slept fabulously, as expected. In the morning we woke up and lounged around, and I went back to sleep for a few hours sometime in the middle of the day. I never really knew what time it was, you know. At some point a family got on with a 5-year-old spoiled brat-type boy, whom Luke entertained with magic tricks and boy play. Miraculously, no crowd of wide-eyed Chinese people gathered around us, so I was able to crochet and stare out the window in peace. The second night, Luke and I stayed up after the lights went out, drinking beer and making out. The next morning we woke up at 7 or 8, when folks start to get chatty, finished our food, washed up, and prepared to brave the Guangzhou humidity. Actually I think I could have stayed on that train for another day. Dirty, but happy!
When we got back to campus, we had a little disturbing run-in with Cheikh, who was waiting for me at the bus stop. That was traumatizing. But then I set to work packing ten months of life into three suitcases, wading through the monsoon-like weather, returning the piano, saying goodbye to a million people, having a goodbye party with my freshman students, returning keys and getting deposit money, and making Guangzhou hotel reservations, which all needed to be accomplished in 48 hours. This was stressful, to say the least. But Luke was a good helper. I ended up not doing things I thought I would have done at the end. I didn't take pictures of things I saw every day. I didn't go to the teaching building and take mental pictures of the classrooms I taught in. I didn't go say goodbye to the ladies in the bakery and eat a final egg tart. I didn't go downtown to my favorite restaurants. I didn't have long weepy goodbyes with even people I was closest to. Maybe it was better that way, rushed. I guess it would have been even more upsetting if I'd had time to linger.
So Thursday afternoon Luke and I trudged through the four inches of water in the streets, with many suitcases, to get back to Guangzhou for my Friday morning flight. Luke's dad was meeting us there, to see me off at the airport, despite my efforts to dissuade this. He just wanted to, I guess. I had to fight off Cheikh all the way to the bus stop, telling him over and over that no, he couldn't go to the airport with me. But we got there, met dad, still raining, hungry, long way to the hotel by the airport, sore muscles, etc. etc. That was a really long day. We were planning on leaving the hotel at 5am to get to the airport on time, so Luke and I stayed up instead of sleeping for like 3 hours. This was really sad, obviously. Not just like, sad in my head, but actually really sad, in my chest. And then we got to the airport and it felt worse. And then Luke and his dad walked me to the security section, and we hugged and kissed and cried, and then I turned around and walked away, and it felt worse.
Whenever I feel afraid, I hold my head erect, and whistle a happy tune so no one will suspect I'm afraid...
China Gets Real Part 4
My experience of the city was nice, too. Mostly we ate. Actually I miss Chinese food right now more than I think I ever missed Western food when I was in China. Chinese food is superior. That’s just how it is. A list of things I ingested while in Lanzhou includes but is not limited to:
- A bowl of the famous Lanzhou beef noodles, which Luke had mentioned probably twice a day, every day, for at least two weeks before we arrived. They have Lanzhou style beef noodles at most Muslim restaurants, even in Zhuhai, but Luke says that it’s way better in Lanzhou because they use some secret ingredient. And I’ve gotta say, it was delicious. I could imagine eating this for lunch every day for a while and not getting sick of it. And I didn’t even get any on my shirt.
- Lamb hotpot at a nice restaurant. They gave us a bowl of peanutty sauce and small dishes of various spices – crushed garlic, green onion, powdered tofu??, weird smelling stuff – to mix into the peanut sauce. So then the food (lamb slices, leafy green vegetables, lots of tofu, stringy mushrooms, floppy rice noodle things) would go into the hotpot, then into the sauce. Then into your mouth.
- “Western style barbecue” (HAHA) at this restaurant that was confused about whether its décor was supposed to be German beer garden, or Elvis. There was a buffet with all sorts of faux Western salads, squirmy-looking Chinese things, and fake-tasting cakes. Then girls in aprons and came around to your table with huge skewers of roasted meat. Festive.
- Dumplings at Luke’s family’s apartment. Standard but delicious.
- Lamb stew at the same place. They were going to make this to begin with, but Mama Li told them that Americans don’t eat soup in the summer when it’s hot (which I had told her, because it’s true, but not knowing she would use it to manipulate other people’s dinner plans). After I cleared up the confusion – this is true, but I’m in China now, and I will in fact eat anything – they made it the second night. Luke is a lamb-eating monster and was so happy about this meal. It was delicious but the apartment was already hot, and the soup is hot, and then you eat it and become hotter, and then after everyone’s finished they sit around fanning and wiping their faces and complaining about how hot it is, so…yeah. I mean, that’s why we don’t eat soup in summer.
- Dinner at home made by Mama. Rice, cucumbers and eggs, something else I can’t remember, and one of my all-time favorite Chinese dishes: fatty cubed pork in a clay pot with some sauce. How’s that for a title? I don’t know what it’s really called. It’s like bacon, but not as crispy, and in convenient bite-sized cubes, half of which are fat, and smothered in a delicious sauce. LOVE.
- Various snacks at a market by Luke’s home. Thick squishy noodles with a spicy sauce, Muslim style lamb kabobs (which I got on my shirt, and my hair…), some hamburger-y sandwich thing, this disgusting fermented wheat soup thing, spicy squid on a stick, and the like. Luke was out to find some guts but failed on this particular day. Instead he got some stinky tofu for himself – I tried a piece the size of a pea and thought it was…stinky.
- This interesting tea at a café in a park. It was a huge mug with dates, rocks of sugar, flowers, and dragon’s eye I think? that all sat in the mug as you drank the tea. A tea “party”!
- Hotpot with Mama at a different restaurant. Same awesome peanut sauce, but this time with lotus root and meatballs in addition to the leafy veggies, many varieties of mushrooms, and wide jiggly noodles. Oh, and fake Tang-like orange juice to drink.
- More lamb kabobs, and some yummy flatbread, at a cheapie place one night after Luke and I spent hours alone (together) at a bar. In China there is always somewhere to get a good snack. None of this 24-hour convenience store chips-and-a-coke bullshit. If you’re walking home drunk at 1 AM and you need some food, you always know there’s gonna be a guy with a grill waiting to provide you with a meal that costs about $2 and 3 minutes. If there are tables, they’ll be dirty, and if there are seats, they’ll be stools, and if there are napkins, they’ll be on a roll, and you sit down clumsily, not minding about who can see up your skirt and how droopy your eyes look, and eat meat off a stick while your partner has another beer, and bicker about who has to eat the last one, and toss the sticks on the table and take a flatbread to go, and put your arm around your guy as you amble home, lazy hips swinging in unison, down littered back roads that feel safe.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
China Gets Real part 3
Lanzhou is the capital of Gansu province, in the northwest of the country. In those parts, the population is thinned out a bit and even though it's the capital, there's none of the cosmopolitan, booming feel that some of the East Coast cities have. It is relatively nearby to Xi'an, where I'd been in February with Dad, so I expected it to sort of feel like that. But it smelled and looked much different than Xi'an had. Xi'an smelled like incense and meat and felt like history, and Lanzhou smelled like dusty buses and felt like...family. Luke says the whole province and all the people in it are overwhelmingly tacky, hehe, because it's so inland. He says he doesn't like it - I think he prefers his other hometown of Dalian - but I can tell he appreciates parts of it, and was anxious to show me everything he cares about. The scenery on the drive from the airport to Luke's house reminded me of Arizona. It was sandy and mountainous - shocking, coming from the muggy jungle city of Guangzhou. It was so dry that I had to keep stuff on my lips at all times and felt thirsty constantly. The dryness felt so good to me, though. There were markedly more Muslim people than I'm used to seeing, more wide faces with high cheekbones, but it didn't feel like a Muslim place rather than a Chinese place. It was still just a Chinese city, downtown areas with KFCs and blaring advertisements, people clamoring onto rickety buses, restaurants with waitresses wearing their hair done in buns and bows. The city wouldn't be very attractive for a normal tourist, unless you were trying to get to the real West to Urumqi or Kashgar and needed a stepping stone.
But I wasn't there to be a normal tourist!
I was there to spend a week with a real Chinese boy and his real apartment and real family. Is it cliche to emphasize the realness of this situation? Yes perhaps. But does that make it less cool? ^^
I had met Luke's mom once, briefly, in a dining hall at the beginning of the second semester, before I had any idea this would happen with Luke. She had come to make Luke stay at school, after he decided he wanted to leave the program. I don't remember what I was wearing or what I said or what she said or anything. But when we landed at the airport, she gave me a big hug and held my hand as we walked to the car. Luke whispered, Damn, isn't my mom hot?! I agreed that she was. She is tall and solid-looking, but not broad, and with slim little shoulders, and the slight chubbiness that Luke has. She always tied her hair back in a barrette and would wear stilettos with flattering, put-together outfits that made me feel like a hippie American mess. And she even sauntered a little - a mannerism I'd seen so rarely in China.
Their home was on the fourth (fifth?) floor of an apartment building in a huge complex of apartment buildings. Seems that this is really the only option in a Chinese city. I couldn't believe that his mom would go up and down those stairs every day, but I guess that's why they're not obese. When we walked in the door I was surprised by how small the place was - minuscule, by Americans' spoiled standards. It was adorable in a way that I wasn't expecting; flowered wallpaper, frilly things on tablecloths, pink and yellow stuffed elephants in the living room, red cabinets in the kitchen and a big blown-up picture of Luke as the chubbiest baby ever photoshopped into a beach scene. That description sounds like it would be tacky, but it wasn't tacky. It was like, feminine and a little retro, with some silliness thrown in. Oh, and SUPER CLEAN. Like the cleanest space you've ever seen. And I saw why Luke didn't mind sleeping on flowered sheets at school - the decor of his room paid no attention to the male inhabitant and included pink cartoon pillow cases, a lace throw over the piano, and kiddie stuffed animals everywhere. When I bring this up with Luke, he totally doesn't understand my problem with the situation.
I can't believe you sleep on girly sheets and pillowcases.
So? These aren't girly.
You must just not care about what your room looks like.
Of course I care! I care about how things look!
There is a purple elephant sitting on your piano.
But I LIKE purple elephants!
We just have a totally different sense of aesthetics. But I think I can appreciate the Chinese viewpoint.
The front door opened into a small room that acted as entryway and dining room. Off this was the small and tubless bathroom, kitchen, living room with a long couch, TV, and chaise, mom's room with a balcony for the laundry, and Luke's room with a big whole-wall window. There's no reason three people (when Luke was growing up his dad lived there, too) need any more space than that, but it would certainly be hard to find privacy in that apartment. I mean, if I'm at my mom's house and there's a phone call for her, I have to call down into the basement, up into the bedrooms, out the front door, and out the side door to the back yard before I find her. In that space all you'd need is your normal speaking voice. I don't know why I'm obsessing over this. It's just, I think most Americans couldn't even imagine raising a family in a "house" so small. Americans with one baby move into new houses all the time because "there just isn't enough space" in the old one - "we're just outgrowing it." Why does this disgust me?
Whatever, anyway the minute I got in Mama Li went into mother-host mode. Wash your hands and feet. Here are your slippers. What can I get you to drink? Make yourself at home. Put all your things in Luke's room. Hang your clothes in his wardrobe so they don't wrinkle. Feel free to use my vanity mirror.
She made us breakfast every morning - homemade bread from a pink breadmaker, ham slices, a fried egg, and warm milk with sugar (so comforting! I told her that was exactly what my mom would make me for breakfast) - and kept stealing my clothes from Luke's room and washing them, and made the bed every morning, and bought our return tickets for us, and fussed with my appearance for me, and complained when we got home too late, drunk, and was the mommiest mom I could imagine. But at the same time, she was totally relaxed and cool about this foreign person in her house. She was so warm to me, and worried about what I would and wouldn't want to eat, and made efforts to engage me in conversation, and asked me to call her Mama instead of the usual "Auntie," and told me repeatedly how I should return to Lanzhou, and treated me like...normal. Like, she took me in and treated me fabulously without even checking for strength of character or politeness or anything. She didn't even give me a few days to prove myself as worthy before she started treating me like family. She told Luke that he and I could sleep together in his room, which was unexpected. And then the first night, when we were getting ready for bed, Luke was in the dining room and came into the bedroom looking baffled, and said, "Ma just told me that she wants us to shower together. She says I have to take care of you in the shower." LOL. So she was obviously cool with the modern relationship that her precious son is having with this god-knows-who American girl. I don't know why I assumed she would be traditional or stodgy or something. But my parents would be uncomfortable with me showering with a boyfriend in their house! So, the home situation was overall pleasant and reassuring. I was almost embarrassed by how comfortable I felt, actually. Mama Li hung around in her housedress, occasionally sitting on the floor, Luke talked loudly on his cell phone wearing only teddy bear-themed pajama pants, I wore one of Mama's nighties after she became concerned that the one I brought wasn't airy enough, and every night after Mom went to bed, Luke and I tired ourselves out, quietly, in the bed he had slept in his whole life.
We also spent two nights in a row eating at the apartment where his aunt, uncle, and cousin lived. The first night, grandma was there, too. I LOVED this grannie. She reminded me of my Grandma Tilley, Nina, but maybe any really old, fuzzy-haired, squeaky-voiced nice grannie would. We were introduced and I said, "Ni hao, nai nai," and she was excited, naturally, and we sat on the couch together trying to chat for a while. Oh, you understand Chinese! Hey everybody, this girl understands Chinese! Just a little, grandma. Ooooohh! Heeehehehe how great!
These family members were totally cool and normal, too. They sat around making dumplings, drinking tea, chatting about me in front of me. I don't know what they would talk about if I wasn't there to provide so many topics of conversation! I could participate sometimes but mostly just tried to listen and enlisted cousin "Jake," who wasn't yet sick of translating, to help me out sometimes. Their apartment was bigger and more modern than Luke's, with sparser decor and a little rooftop garden.
These evenings were pleasant also but as I reminded Luke later, good thing I'm pretty self-sufficient and have the confidence to handle myself in such situations with NO HELP FROM YOU! Normally when you bring a friend to a family gathering, even when that friend speaks the same language as the family, you're supposed to sit nearby and hold the friend's hand and facilitate conversation, you know? You're not really babying me much, you know?
He has fun babying me in other situations, but I guess here he could sense that I didn't need it and with his family being so warm, why would I? So, with all that said about the surprising ease with with I fit into these situations, the whole thing was still really freakin' tough. It's like experiencing a whole new level of feeling left out, to sit in a room full of people talking about American eating habits but not quite be able to follow the details. It's a whole new level of stress, to have someone look at you and ask a question, that you know you would understand if they'd only repeat it much more slowly. Or to catch on that the topic has moved to American universities and have something to contribute but miss the chance to do so while you're trying to formulate a grammatically feasible sentence in your head. Or to be expected to take the first taste of a dish that comes to the table and know that your chopstick skills are not up to handling that thing. Or to strain and strain and try to listen in slow motion, try to hear every syllable, only to lose focus for an instant, and therefore lose the point of the whole thing. Or to understand every single word in a sentence except for the most important one, and therefore be unable to respond. Or to get tired of listening, eventually, and ask your translating partner what has been said, to which he replies, Oh, nothing, she just said to work hard. Or to be brought to a bar to hang out with "a friend," only to find three male friends, who want to drink and smoke and play quiz-the-foreigner, only you yourself are not expected to drink or smoke, and you eventually feel too drained to fuck with the language thing, and have to feel guilty about obnoxiously relying on Luke to translate simple things. Or to hear something not so nice being said about you or your country, and have to decide whether to feign obliviousness or speak up and take the chance that you've misunderstood. Meet-the-parents-meets-homestay-culture-shock.
Luke gets it in the sense that he knows how difficult it is to express oneself in a foreign language. But he doesn't get actually how much of my energy went into making that week a success. Those people loved me, which is partly because they are warm and kind, but partly because I am capable and thoughtful and strong. A less secure person would have buckled under that shit. I suppose I don't need his acknowledgment of this if I have my own. He would acknowledge it if I didn't make a good impression, though. Haha. You're welcome, sweetie.
But I wasn't there to be a normal tourist!
I was there to spend a week with a real Chinese boy and his real apartment and real family. Is it cliche to emphasize the realness of this situation? Yes perhaps. But does that make it less cool? ^^
I had met Luke's mom once, briefly, in a dining hall at the beginning of the second semester, before I had any idea this would happen with Luke. She had come to make Luke stay at school, after he decided he wanted to leave the program. I don't remember what I was wearing or what I said or what she said or anything. But when we landed at the airport, she gave me a big hug and held my hand as we walked to the car. Luke whispered, Damn, isn't my mom hot?! I agreed that she was. She is tall and solid-looking, but not broad, and with slim little shoulders, and the slight chubbiness that Luke has. She always tied her hair back in a barrette and would wear stilettos with flattering, put-together outfits that made me feel like a hippie American mess. And she even sauntered a little - a mannerism I'd seen so rarely in China.
Their home was on the fourth (fifth?) floor of an apartment building in a huge complex of apartment buildings. Seems that this is really the only option in a Chinese city. I couldn't believe that his mom would go up and down those stairs every day, but I guess that's why they're not obese. When we walked in the door I was surprised by how small the place was - minuscule, by Americans' spoiled standards. It was adorable in a way that I wasn't expecting; flowered wallpaper, frilly things on tablecloths, pink and yellow stuffed elephants in the living room, red cabinets in the kitchen and a big blown-up picture of Luke as the chubbiest baby ever photoshopped into a beach scene. That description sounds like it would be tacky, but it wasn't tacky. It was like, feminine and a little retro, with some silliness thrown in. Oh, and SUPER CLEAN. Like the cleanest space you've ever seen. And I saw why Luke didn't mind sleeping on flowered sheets at school - the decor of his room paid no attention to the male inhabitant and included pink cartoon pillow cases, a lace throw over the piano, and kiddie stuffed animals everywhere. When I bring this up with Luke, he totally doesn't understand my problem with the situation.
I can't believe you sleep on girly sheets and pillowcases.
So? These aren't girly.
You must just not care about what your room looks like.
Of course I care! I care about how things look!
There is a purple elephant sitting on your piano.
But I LIKE purple elephants!
We just have a totally different sense of aesthetics. But I think I can appreciate the Chinese viewpoint.
The front door opened into a small room that acted as entryway and dining room. Off this was the small and tubless bathroom, kitchen, living room with a long couch, TV, and chaise, mom's room with a balcony for the laundry, and Luke's room with a big whole-wall window. There's no reason three people (when Luke was growing up his dad lived there, too) need any more space than that, but it would certainly be hard to find privacy in that apartment. I mean, if I'm at my mom's house and there's a phone call for her, I have to call down into the basement, up into the bedrooms, out the front door, and out the side door to the back yard before I find her. In that space all you'd need is your normal speaking voice. I don't know why I'm obsessing over this. It's just, I think most Americans couldn't even imagine raising a family in a "house" so small. Americans with one baby move into new houses all the time because "there just isn't enough space" in the old one - "we're just outgrowing it." Why does this disgust me?
Whatever, anyway the minute I got in Mama Li went into mother-host mode. Wash your hands and feet. Here are your slippers. What can I get you to drink? Make yourself at home. Put all your things in Luke's room. Hang your clothes in his wardrobe so they don't wrinkle. Feel free to use my vanity mirror.
She made us breakfast every morning - homemade bread from a pink breadmaker, ham slices, a fried egg, and warm milk with sugar (so comforting! I told her that was exactly what my mom would make me for breakfast) - and kept stealing my clothes from Luke's room and washing them, and made the bed every morning, and bought our return tickets for us, and fussed with my appearance for me, and complained when we got home too late, drunk, and was the mommiest mom I could imagine. But at the same time, she was totally relaxed and cool about this foreign person in her house. She was so warm to me, and worried about what I would and wouldn't want to eat, and made efforts to engage me in conversation, and asked me to call her Mama instead of the usual "Auntie," and told me repeatedly how I should return to Lanzhou, and treated me like...normal. Like, she took me in and treated me fabulously without even checking for strength of character or politeness or anything. She didn't even give me a few days to prove myself as worthy before she started treating me like family. She told Luke that he and I could sleep together in his room, which was unexpected. And then the first night, when we were getting ready for bed, Luke was in the dining room and came into the bedroom looking baffled, and said, "Ma just told me that she wants us to shower together. She says I have to take care of you in the shower." LOL. So she was obviously cool with the modern relationship that her precious son is having with this god-knows-who American girl. I don't know why I assumed she would be traditional or stodgy or something. But my parents would be uncomfortable with me showering with a boyfriend in their house! So, the home situation was overall pleasant and reassuring. I was almost embarrassed by how comfortable I felt, actually. Mama Li hung around in her housedress, occasionally sitting on the floor, Luke talked loudly on his cell phone wearing only teddy bear-themed pajama pants, I wore one of Mama's nighties after she became concerned that the one I brought wasn't airy enough, and every night after Mom went to bed, Luke and I tired ourselves out, quietly, in the bed he had slept in his whole life.
We also spent two nights in a row eating at the apartment where his aunt, uncle, and cousin lived. The first night, grandma was there, too. I LOVED this grannie. She reminded me of my Grandma Tilley, Nina, but maybe any really old, fuzzy-haired, squeaky-voiced nice grannie would. We were introduced and I said, "Ni hao, nai nai," and she was excited, naturally, and we sat on the couch together trying to chat for a while. Oh, you understand Chinese! Hey everybody, this girl understands Chinese! Just a little, grandma. Ooooohh! Heeehehehe how great!
These family members were totally cool and normal, too. They sat around making dumplings, drinking tea, chatting about me in front of me. I don't know what they would talk about if I wasn't there to provide so many topics of conversation! I could participate sometimes but mostly just tried to listen and enlisted cousin "Jake," who wasn't yet sick of translating, to help me out sometimes. Their apartment was bigger and more modern than Luke's, with sparser decor and a little rooftop garden.
These evenings were pleasant also but as I reminded Luke later, good thing I'm pretty self-sufficient and have the confidence to handle myself in such situations with NO HELP FROM YOU! Normally when you bring a friend to a family gathering, even when that friend speaks the same language as the family, you're supposed to sit nearby and hold the friend's hand and facilitate conversation, you know? You're not really babying me much, you know?
He has fun babying me in other situations, but I guess here he could sense that I didn't need it and with his family being so warm, why would I? So, with all that said about the surprising ease with with I fit into these situations, the whole thing was still really freakin' tough. It's like experiencing a whole new level of feeling left out, to sit in a room full of people talking about American eating habits but not quite be able to follow the details. It's a whole new level of stress, to have someone look at you and ask a question, that you know you would understand if they'd only repeat it much more slowly. Or to catch on that the topic has moved to American universities and have something to contribute but miss the chance to do so while you're trying to formulate a grammatically feasible sentence in your head. Or to be expected to take the first taste of a dish that comes to the table and know that your chopstick skills are not up to handling that thing. Or to strain and strain and try to listen in slow motion, try to hear every syllable, only to lose focus for an instant, and therefore lose the point of the whole thing. Or to understand every single word in a sentence except for the most important one, and therefore be unable to respond. Or to get tired of listening, eventually, and ask your translating partner what has been said, to which he replies, Oh, nothing, she just said to work hard. Or to be brought to a bar to hang out with "a friend," only to find three male friends, who want to drink and smoke and play quiz-the-foreigner, only you yourself are not expected to drink or smoke, and you eventually feel too drained to fuck with the language thing, and have to feel guilty about obnoxiously relying on Luke to translate simple things. Or to hear something not so nice being said about you or your country, and have to decide whether to feign obliviousness or speak up and take the chance that you've misunderstood. Meet-the-parents-meets-homestay-culture-shock.
Luke gets it in the sense that he knows how difficult it is to express oneself in a foreign language. But he doesn't get actually how much of my energy went into making that week a success. Those people loved me, which is partly because they are warm and kind, but partly because I am capable and thoughtful and strong. A less secure person would have buckled under that shit. I suppose I don't need his acknowledgment of this if I have my own. He would acknowledge it if I didn't make a good impression, though. Haha. You're welcome, sweetie.
Monday, July 11, 2011
China Gets Real part 2
It has been about three weeks since this all has happened so I'll probably have to abbreviate things. Sawwy :( But the moral would be the same as it would have been right after it happened. Or...huh. Maybe not. Well anyway:
So the dad seemed normal and nice and dadish but I could definitely see how he could be controlling and intense, like Luke says. Really the only problem the two of us encountered was that he was not able to adapt his speaking style to my listening needs. I sort of count on Chinese speakers to understand my limited vocabulary comprehension, and total non-comprehension at anything faster than a snail's pace, and adjust how they speak to me. Students and people who have studied language usually get this, but sometimes you get a cab driver or manicurist who understands, too, which leads to satisfying basic conversations. But for whatever reason, Mr. Li totally did not get it and I had to rely on Luke to translate nearly everything. And Luke was not too happy about that, either. But I figured the dad doesn't expect a 23-year-old girlfriend to be too vocal or participatory, anyway, so I just tried to sit pretty and be polite, you know. Not that I like feeling like a wet mop with nothing to say, of course, but it's surprising how much of someone's personality shows even without the ability to blabber.
The goal of the weekend was seeing this Beijing opera performance, which I was so excited about. It wasn't a big production in a theater or anything - just a group of late middle-aged folks who get together every Saturday at this elementary school classroom to sing. It was great, though. There was a hired band, with all kind of interesting instruments, and hot tea for the audience members, and occasional dancing and hollering. So we just sat on the side waiting for Mr. Li's turn to sing, and I took some videos with my camera, and Luke explained some basics about the genre. I don't know if you've heard Beijing opera, but it is really strange and I totally love it. Especially in that little room, with sound bouncing off every wall, it's this huge racket. There are always these funny breaks for loud gong banging, and the vocal style is often screechy and nasally, and all these instrumentalists playing with what seems to me like total abandon. It's, like, raucous. Even after sitting there for hours, I can't wrap my brain around the rhythm or melody or structure or anything about it. I just can't find the patterns or organization. Luke says Chinese people feel that way, too. I'd like to study it and see if I could make sense of it. But anyway, maybe because I couldn't make sense of it, I had no way of analyzing anything so I just freakin enjoyed every second. It sounded satisfying to me.
So that was fun. When it was time to leave, it was monsooning outside so we had to do all these crazy things to get to our next destination. Actually the weather was gross in Shenzhen for most of the weekend and we spent a lot of time huddled under umbrellas, lugging suitcases through mud, walking to bus stops, trying and failing to hail cabs, etc. It made me feel good to know that Chinese people have to do that frustrating getting around shit, too.
Sunday morning Mr. Li took us to the hospital where he works and suggested I have a check-up full body x-ray, for free. C*)%!!L+^^>X??? I had to fight pretty hard to get out of that one. He has a room on the grounds of the hospital - like employee housing - and since he's a doctor and all, I expected it would be at least decent. But it was like the grossest most pathetic excuse for a room I've seen. I expect workers living in Tangjia to have rooms like that. But a 67-year-old doctor in Shenzhen? Whatever. I dunno. Chinese people like to suffer.
So, the weekend was full of lots of free meals, only slight awkwardness between Mr. Li and I, and a lot of time spent observing interactions between Luke and his dad and straining to understand what was being said. I did get some shrimp guts on a white shirt at one meal, but...could have been worse. Luke held my hand a lot in front of his dad, which surprised me, and Mr. Li booked one hotel room for Luke and I, which really surprised me. During one conversation I did manage to have with him, he asked me a lot about graduate programs in the US, and getting visas to go to the US, and how Luke and I were going to keep in contact, and then said that he was worried about us. I was like...??? You're worried about us? What? This was before I was really thinking of us staying together after I left. Like I was so confused about why Luke's dad would be worried about us. Even Luke's dad had this idea of Luke and I being together before I had formulated the idea! I don't know if Luke had been talking to him about it or if he just assumed that we'd try to stay together. When we left, Mr. Li kissed me on the forehead and looked genuinely sad to see us go. Poor old guy in Shenzhen, ickiest stickiest place ever, with no family in town and only child going abroad for a year.
Afterward I kept prying for information out of Luke, who wouldn't give me anything more than, "Relax. He likes you and thinks you're cute." "Cute" seems to carry a lot more importance in China/Chinese than it does by our standards, so I guess that's all I can ask for.
Then it was back to Zhuhai to pack and prepare for our trip to Lanzhou. By this point it sucked to be in Zhuhai with Luke because we felt like we were having to sneak around and avoid walking places together, especially when we were both carrying luggage. I was so paranoid that one of the adults in my apartment building, or one of the gossipy stuck-up Americans, was going to give us trouble. It made me feel bad, in my head, to think that people were talking about us, and the teacher-student thing, and the situation with C, but...I didn't actually feel bad. Actually I felt great and excited about my last - and most authentic! - adventure.
So the dad seemed normal and nice and dadish but I could definitely see how he could be controlling and intense, like Luke says. Really the only problem the two of us encountered was that he was not able to adapt his speaking style to my listening needs. I sort of count on Chinese speakers to understand my limited vocabulary comprehension, and total non-comprehension at anything faster than a snail's pace, and adjust how they speak to me. Students and people who have studied language usually get this, but sometimes you get a cab driver or manicurist who understands, too, which leads to satisfying basic conversations. But for whatever reason, Mr. Li totally did not get it and I had to rely on Luke to translate nearly everything. And Luke was not too happy about that, either. But I figured the dad doesn't expect a 23-year-old girlfriend to be too vocal or participatory, anyway, so I just tried to sit pretty and be polite, you know. Not that I like feeling like a wet mop with nothing to say, of course, but it's surprising how much of someone's personality shows even without the ability to blabber.
The goal of the weekend was seeing this Beijing opera performance, which I was so excited about. It wasn't a big production in a theater or anything - just a group of late middle-aged folks who get together every Saturday at this elementary school classroom to sing. It was great, though. There was a hired band, with all kind of interesting instruments, and hot tea for the audience members, and occasional dancing and hollering. So we just sat on the side waiting for Mr. Li's turn to sing, and I took some videos with my camera, and Luke explained some basics about the genre. I don't know if you've heard Beijing opera, but it is really strange and I totally love it. Especially in that little room, with sound bouncing off every wall, it's this huge racket. There are always these funny breaks for loud gong banging, and the vocal style is often screechy and nasally, and all these instrumentalists playing with what seems to me like total abandon. It's, like, raucous. Even after sitting there for hours, I can't wrap my brain around the rhythm or melody or structure or anything about it. I just can't find the patterns or organization. Luke says Chinese people feel that way, too. I'd like to study it and see if I could make sense of it. But anyway, maybe because I couldn't make sense of it, I had no way of analyzing anything so I just freakin enjoyed every second. It sounded satisfying to me.
So that was fun. When it was time to leave, it was monsooning outside so we had to do all these crazy things to get to our next destination. Actually the weather was gross in Shenzhen for most of the weekend and we spent a lot of time huddled under umbrellas, lugging suitcases through mud, walking to bus stops, trying and failing to hail cabs, etc. It made me feel good to know that Chinese people have to do that frustrating getting around shit, too.
Sunday morning Mr. Li took us to the hospital where he works and suggested I have a check-up full body x-ray, for free. C*)%!!L+^^>X??? I had to fight pretty hard to get out of that one. He has a room on the grounds of the hospital - like employee housing - and since he's a doctor and all, I expected it would be at least decent. But it was like the grossest most pathetic excuse for a room I've seen. I expect workers living in Tangjia to have rooms like that. But a 67-year-old doctor in Shenzhen? Whatever. I dunno. Chinese people like to suffer.
So, the weekend was full of lots of free meals, only slight awkwardness between Mr. Li and I, and a lot of time spent observing interactions between Luke and his dad and straining to understand what was being said. I did get some shrimp guts on a white shirt at one meal, but...could have been worse. Luke held my hand a lot in front of his dad, which surprised me, and Mr. Li booked one hotel room for Luke and I, which really surprised me. During one conversation I did manage to have with him, he asked me a lot about graduate programs in the US, and getting visas to go to the US, and how Luke and I were going to keep in contact, and then said that he was worried about us. I was like...??? You're worried about us? What? This was before I was really thinking of us staying together after I left. Like I was so confused about why Luke's dad would be worried about us. Even Luke's dad had this idea of Luke and I being together before I had formulated the idea! I don't know if Luke had been talking to him about it or if he just assumed that we'd try to stay together. When we left, Mr. Li kissed me on the forehead and looked genuinely sad to see us go. Poor old guy in Shenzhen, ickiest stickiest place ever, with no family in town and only child going abroad for a year.
Afterward I kept prying for information out of Luke, who wouldn't give me anything more than, "Relax. He likes you and thinks you're cute." "Cute" seems to carry a lot more importance in China/Chinese than it does by our standards, so I guess that's all I can ask for.
Then it was back to Zhuhai to pack and prepare for our trip to Lanzhou. By this point it sucked to be in Zhuhai with Luke because we felt like we were having to sneak around and avoid walking places together, especially when we were both carrying luggage. I was so paranoid that one of the adults in my apartment building, or one of the gossipy stuck-up Americans, was going to give us trouble. It made me feel bad, in my head, to think that people were talking about us, and the teacher-student thing, and the situation with C, but...I didn't actually feel bad. Actually I felt great and excited about my last - and most authentic! - adventure.
China Gets Real
So I meant to finish this post as soon as possible after it happened, but it just didn't work out that way. When I got back to Zhuhai from Lanzhou, I had two days to do a million things, and then I was traveling for an entire day, and then I was confused and tired, and then I had to make a trip down to Baltimore and have fifty meetings, and then I had to pack and unpack countless boxes and suitcases and whatever in preparation for moving to Baltimore. Anyway, I still want to write the post, even though my perspective is different now that I'm in Binghamton sleeping in that freaking uncomfortable bed I've slept in my whole life. Maybe nobody is even reading this now that you suspect I've returned, but I wouldn't want to leave a perfectly good blog hanging without an ending. Here is what I managed to do before my brain switched out of China mode:
I’m on the plane home. I didn’t wear a watch and this lame airplane doesn’t have those personal computer screens that track your progress like I’m used to, but my computer says the time is Friday 6:32 PM, which must be China time, so if that’s true I’ve been on the plane for six hours and probably slept about 3 of those. When I got back to Zhuhai earlier this week, I only had two days to tie everything up, so Tuesday night I slept about 4 hours and Wednesday night about 5. Then Thursday was the longest day freakin ever, and last night I didn’t sleep, since I had to leave for the airport at 5 AM. The moral of this is I’ve had about 12 hours of sleep in the past, like, 72 hours, so you need to take this into consideration while analyzing my writing.
One night a few months ago, when I was still dating C, Luke had to go to Guangzhou to take an IELTS. The night before his test he was staying in a friend’s dormitory and called me after a few beers. We ended up on the phone for hours, and sometime during the conversation he invited me to visit Lanzhou, his hometown. My response was something about, oh how sweet, you know I’d love to, but of course there’s no way I could possibly do that, how would I explain that to everyone? And I honestly thought it wouldn’t happen. I might have fantasized about it once and then tried not to hope for it. But Luke’s brainwave energy must be a match for mine, because I think he has been able to guide the direction of this relationship without me even realizing what’s going on until it’s already happening. Did that make sense? Like, during another one of those long phone calls when Luke had drunk enough beer to make him forget about the English impediment – or the emotional impediment, maybe both – he said something like, Zoe, we are going to date. This sounded shocking and impossible to me, and I said,
No, we aren’t. We can’t. I can’t.
I know, I know you can’t. But…you will.
No…I know this is getting messy, but, I can’t.
You can’t, but you will.
Typed out like that, his words sound demanding or overconfident, but spoken with this desperate, pleading tone he adopts when he wants to convey something meaningful, they sounded alluring. And then we went to Lanzhou, and then he asked if he could introduce me as his girlfriend and I agreed, and then we had conversations about staying together and him coming to the States during the Winter holiday, and then we had a lovely, devastating parting at the airport. Maybe he has just been able to see this situation more clearly than me, or maybe his creative powers have been pushing for this while mine were still tied up in Cheikh, or maybe we’ve both gone temporarily nuts and will snap back into reality when I hit ground in the States and he hits uncertainty in England.
But I have a feeling this isn’t a fluke, or a fling.
But I was confused about C for a long time so I could be confused about this, too.
I really have no idea.
In any case the adventure of all adventures began on a Saturday in Shenzhen.
Time out. So of course I couldn’t get my charger to function properly on the plane and my computer died, so now I’m home at the lake house, lying on this fuzzy animal fur blanket thing, which is the most comfortable thing I’ve touched in ten months. Time in.
I knew this whole meeting-the-parents thing would be stressful, obviously, and I kept asking Luke for advice on what I should wear, do, say, etc. But he didn’t understand why I was anxious and just kept saying not to worry about it. He doesn’t understand that I have no idea what oldish Chinese parents expect out of a new American girlfriend. I have no context for knowing what is appropriate behavior. So on the bus over I sang my little fear-eraser song in my head and tried to tell myself I looked pretty and was capable of being charming and sweet and interesting and imagined myself meeting the guy without falling down the stairs or spilling stuff on my shirt. We met the dad at a metro stop and he said “How do you do,” and that was about the extent of his English. He is 67 but looked great, with a full head of black hair and lots of energy. I made sure to compliment his hair multiple times. He seemed normal and friendly and dadish but
(to be continued...)
Thursday, June 9, 2011
A Birthday Story in Pictures
CAN YOU HANDLE IT?!
Chinese birthday cake. It tastes even more gross than it looks, actually. But appreciated, nonetheless.
With my students at our usual restaurant to celebrate on birthday's eve.
Birthday cake eaten with chopsticks. It just seems so wrong.
So cute
On my birthday, Luke took me to a hotpot restaurant for lunch. (This is a hotpot - there's a electric hotplate underneath, built into the table.) The restaurant was like the Chinese version of Olive garden, with kids running around and tacky/tasteful decor. Adorable.
So you tell the waitress if you want your hotpot all spicy, all non-spicy, or half and half. Then you go over to the buffet area and pick out your raw food and bring it to your table.
 |
| Strange floppy gooey rice things, and gelatinous green eggs with oozey sticky yolks. I'm so confused about how they get the eggs to do that. It must be a magical process. |
Then Luke said, "You wanna try some brain?" Now, I know that Chinese people like to eat meats that seem weird to me on a regular basis, but I totally thought he was kidding. But...nope. Pig's brain. At Olive Garden.
And the brain after being cooked in the hotpot. I tried a piece like the size of a pea and thought it had a disgusting texture and taste. Then half an hour later I tried again, for kicks, and it didn't seem any better.
And pig's blood, solidified, of course.
I like to think I eat adventurously on a daily basis, as it is sort of unavoidable unless I cooked for myself every meal of every day. But I suppose there's only so much adventure that can happen when you can't read a menu and there's nobody to suggest the weird things and you're not exactly sure where to go to get what. Eating with Luke is like a whole different level of food adventure.
 |
| And then Allison and Mary made me a carrot cake! |
 |
| So it was a good birthday. I got lots of gifts, including a beautiful porcelain bookmark and nice beaded bracelets and two Chinese cakes. Cheikh also came to Zhuhai just to give me the gifts he had bought me, and we had a nice sappy conversation. He got me this not-quite-my-style but perfectly nice purse, which I had been whining that I needed, and some surprisingly funky earrings and a ring. And he slipped a really cute letter under my door in the morning. It's like the most attentive and considerate he's ever been, go figure. I could have used some strawberry jam and cream cheese crepes, though. And a mommy. |
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Different Kind of Adventure
So, a lot has happened since that last post. Maybe I was feeling the end of things, when I wrote it, or maybe writing it got me thinking, or got my immediate universe thinking, or whatever. Since then, I have broken up with (or attempted to break up with) C and things have - whoops - gone somewhere with my student, Luke.
Since C has been living in Guangzhou for this mysterious job, I have been so frustrated with him. It was getting to the point where everything he said and did pissed me off. And then there was a string of particularly angering happenings that I think just pushed me over the edge. I mean there have always been things about him and about our relationship that are frustrating, obviously. He has always had these personality things that now bother me, and I was just shoving them out of sight for the sake of the relationship. I know that. Maybe I shouldn't have been doing that all along. But I just wanted to have this relationship with him at whatever cost, I guess. And we did. We had it. We took a weekend trip to Xiamen, which was lovely and we managed to get along alright, but the weekend just solidified my feelings about being done with the whole thing.
There are so many factors that go into this. It was like, I am tired of being frustrated and angry and feeling misused. I suppose I have felt like this all along, to some degree, but just forgot about it in order to be with him. But right now I'm tired of doing that and I don't want to anymore. This is unfair to him, obviously, why now? Why, when we only have five weeks left together? Well, why did you move to Guangzhou and leave me to wait for your calls when we only had two months together? I am tired of doing this and if I don't want to anymore then why should I have to? Well, because we've been together for a significant amount of time, don't I owe you some sort of loyalty? Don't I owe you something just because we've had this wonderful time together? Yeah sort of. Also no. Shouldn't it be enough if we ended now? It is enough - what is left unfinished? Five weeks for us to bicker and cry and whine at each other? I don't want to do that. Why should I have to if I don't want to? Because he wants to, so what is the compromise? If he doesn't want to let go yet, which he doesn't, what am I supposed to do? Doesn't he have equal say in this? Maybe but not when he's been so lazy and irresponsible with me. Not when he hasn't done a single thing for me. Not when he doesn't call or text and shows up late and makes excuses for not spending time with me. But if I've allowed this kind of behavior all along, why act out now?
Because now, someone else wants me.
Not that I make a habit of giving myself over to anyone who asks. But I think Luke was a needed catalyst.
When I was telling C we needed to break up, he was arguing that if we end it now, everything goes to zero, we've got nothing to show. But I disagree. I think our eight months or whatever was eight months regardless of what happens now. I wish he would think that, too, and not sound so pathetic.
Anyway as you can tell, it's been messy and difficult and we've still been in contact and I think I need to go to Guangzhou tomorrow to see him. If we could just fade apart gradually, I think that would be best. I'd still love to talk to him on the phone occasionally, and see him a few times before I go, but I can't be with him. I can't deal with his shit anymore. I told him that. I've told him all of this. He is reluctant but it is so complicated, he has no plan, he fell for me harder in the first place, he doesn't see any problem with me being angry or frustrated, that is a non-issue in his book. I'm sad about this. But I'm distracted.
And I feel like there's been a breakthrough. Even though I miss C and I'm worried about him and I'm worried about Luke and I getting in trouble and I'm sad about the end of that relationship, I feel lighter and clearer than I have all year. Like, recently, I have just been soaking this place up. I have been drinking and having too much sex and going to the beach instead of lesson planning and neglecting emails and eating things I wouldn't know how to order myself and it feels awesome.
Luke and I had a good solid three weeks of flirting and secret dates before sleeping together, so I don't feel too guilty about that. I mean I feel guilty, obviously, because I was still dealing with this other relationship and he's my student. I think his classmates suspect, but don't know details yet, as he is accustomed to not giving them too many details about his activities, I think. Mary, Allison, and Sandy know, which means that probably four more of the American teachers do, too. And two Chinese teachers in our building who know me always see us walking in or out together, so maybe they know, too. It's just a matter of the administration not finding out, or not caring, for the next week and a half until after our final exam. I actually think if they found out they wouldn't care, considering he is 25 and in the Huanan program, not a real student, and there is so little time left in the semester. Or maybe they would throw me in jail or kick me out of the country or torture me with stinky tofu. I dunno. Allison was worrying me that class would be awkward, since there are only like 7 students who come. But it hasn't been, and there are only two classes left for it to become awkward. But, it's not like we just slept together once and left it at that. He has basically moved in with me. We've eaten like every meal together for the past two weeks. I don't know which one of us decided that was OK, but it happened, and both of us are rolling with it, so...it's possible we'll get sick of each other in a week and that will be that. Or not. I have no idea.
If it had been like this all year I would have burned out. Actually I would have been fired before I had a chance to burn out. So maybe it was perfect timing.
Leading up to this, he was soooo adorable, so sweet and flattering. This whole thing was probably more exciting when it hadn't actually happened yet, you know. The thrill of the chase. But it is exciting now in a different way. He is so reserved, when he says or does something heartfelt, it hits my heart hard.
He also happens to be fantastic in bed.
SHOCKING, I know.
Actually not so shocking for you because you don't know the other students at this university.
But shocking for all of us.
I think I have a problem overusing physical intimacy to gain other kinds of intimacy. When we started stepping over the line of appropriateness, and I was thinking about how I could possibly justify having this kind of relationship with my student, I was thinking, but it will allow me to feel so much more connected to China. Maybe that technique is fucked up but for me it's true. It works. And I just like getting close to people like that and I'm too wimpy to do it under normal circumstances. I don't even like when people touch me on the shoulder, normally, but if I have to get into bed with someone to stroke his thick Asian hair and notice the silver strands hiding underneath the black, I will.
Sorry, this has gotten raunchy.
But I can't tell you how much I've learned about Chinese people from spending three weeks with him. I don't mean to generalize all Chinese people based on my interactions with him, but... it's hard not to when he feels so Chinese. Having him in the apartment gives the place this old man-ish, authentic-y flavor...I dunno, like the combination of his maleness and his Chinese-ness makes this space feel totally different than it has all along. He fixed our television, which we thought was broken, so we've spent a few evenings sitting in the living room on our bench-couch doing a puzzle and drinking something and watching Chinese TV. Sitting cross-legged on that couch with him, chopsticks in my right hand and a Tsingtao in the other, listening to him laugh at the slapsticky low-budget-looking program on CCTV channel 12, periodically continuing our big-word-sound-alike competition - globalization...stipulation...regulation...mobilization... - makes me feel like a different person. How is it that my experience of myself here is so malleable? So external?
When we watch American movies, which we always do with Chinese and English subtitles, he mutters under his breath words or phrases he doesn't already know.
"You're not going to hurt me. Come on, quick, before I get a hernia!"
"get a hernia..."
He is whip smart and I see him soaking things up as soon as they are presented to him. When I say something I think he isn't familiar with, I watch for signs of comprehension in his face. Unless he really has no idea what I mean, he tries not to show that he doesn't know that word. I watch him shove it into his brain and then two hours later he uses the word in conversation with me.
Have you ever thought about the difference in pronunciation between "full" and "fool"? It seems nearly impossible. I've had Luke say those two words over and over, and I never get tired of hearing him differentiate.
Sometimes he asks for the spelling of a word he doesn't know. I spell it quickly, and then more slowly when he looks frazzled, and he writes it on his hand with an imaginary finger-pen, the same way Chinese people do when they say a word in Chinese that you don't understand and they think you'll understand if they write the character on an imaginary paper stuck to their left hand.
The amount of Chinese I can speak and understand puts me on a different plane with him. With the Korean exchange students, it lets me into the club. I don't have to feel like the stupid American who can't participate in anything un-American. Out in the world, it lets me through doors and windows and crevices that would otherwise be closed. With Luke, it gives our interactions more depth, allows more paths of communication. One night we lied around in my room reciting Chinese poetry. I don't understand what is corny and what is beautiful but I understand the implications of emphasizing certain words in his dramatic retelling. When his friend calls him and he lies about his whereabouts, I can scold him for the weakness of his lie. He has this thick, throaty, sexy northern accent and I always ask him for stories in Chinese. The other night he told one and the first time around I only understood words, no meaning. Then he told me it was the story of the boy who cried wolf. So the second time around, I understood enough to know when to gasp and when to giggle, and we laughed together, with a Chinese accent.
Saturday night we decided to do hotpot in my apartment - a Chinese favorite that I love and will definitely be bringing back to the States - and invited Leon, another student, and Allison sat around with us too. After we ate, and a few beers into the night, Luke's dad called. Luke asked if I wanted to talk to him and since I'd had enough beer to enable free-flowing Chinese, I agreed.
Hello, sir.
Hello! What are you guys doing?
Eating and drinking.
Wow! You speak Chinese so well!
No, no. um...uh...thank you.
How old do you think I am?
Your son tells me that you're -
(Zoe, no! he wants to know how old he SOUNDS)
Oh, oh. I think you're about 55.
Weeeeehwooooo hahaha wrong! I'm 67!
67?! No, impossible.
Blahbityblahblahbaoblahboaibh
Oh, sorry, I didn't understand...
Don't worry about it...
You live in Shenzhen, right?
Yes yes, Shenzhen. Have you been?
Yes, I went on New Year's. Very nice.
Oh! You should alkdjflakjdfhalbahvlhboih
Um...I didn't understand that...
Here I get flustered and hand the phone back to Luke. He says, yeah yeah, great, right? Yeah, her pronunciation is better than some Cantonese people's! A few more minutes of chatting and Luke asks me, Do you like Beijing opera? My dad sings opera every weekend in Shenzhen and he wants to know if you would like to come hear.
So this weekend we're going to Shenzhen to hear Luke's 67-year-old dad sing opera.
Sweet.
Since C has been living in Guangzhou for this mysterious job, I have been so frustrated with him. It was getting to the point where everything he said and did pissed me off. And then there was a string of particularly angering happenings that I think just pushed me over the edge. I mean there have always been things about him and about our relationship that are frustrating, obviously. He has always had these personality things that now bother me, and I was just shoving them out of sight for the sake of the relationship. I know that. Maybe I shouldn't have been doing that all along. But I just wanted to have this relationship with him at whatever cost, I guess. And we did. We had it. We took a weekend trip to Xiamen, which was lovely and we managed to get along alright, but the weekend just solidified my feelings about being done with the whole thing.
There are so many factors that go into this. It was like, I am tired of being frustrated and angry and feeling misused. I suppose I have felt like this all along, to some degree, but just forgot about it in order to be with him. But right now I'm tired of doing that and I don't want to anymore. This is unfair to him, obviously, why now? Why, when we only have five weeks left together? Well, why did you move to Guangzhou and leave me to wait for your calls when we only had two months together? I am tired of doing this and if I don't want to anymore then why should I have to? Well, because we've been together for a significant amount of time, don't I owe you some sort of loyalty? Don't I owe you something just because we've had this wonderful time together? Yeah sort of. Also no. Shouldn't it be enough if we ended now? It is enough - what is left unfinished? Five weeks for us to bicker and cry and whine at each other? I don't want to do that. Why should I have to if I don't want to? Because he wants to, so what is the compromise? If he doesn't want to let go yet, which he doesn't, what am I supposed to do? Doesn't he have equal say in this? Maybe but not when he's been so lazy and irresponsible with me. Not when he hasn't done a single thing for me. Not when he doesn't call or text and shows up late and makes excuses for not spending time with me. But if I've allowed this kind of behavior all along, why act out now?
Because now, someone else wants me.
Not that I make a habit of giving myself over to anyone who asks. But I think Luke was a needed catalyst.
When I was telling C we needed to break up, he was arguing that if we end it now, everything goes to zero, we've got nothing to show. But I disagree. I think our eight months or whatever was eight months regardless of what happens now. I wish he would think that, too, and not sound so pathetic.
Anyway as you can tell, it's been messy and difficult and we've still been in contact and I think I need to go to Guangzhou tomorrow to see him. If we could just fade apart gradually, I think that would be best. I'd still love to talk to him on the phone occasionally, and see him a few times before I go, but I can't be with him. I can't deal with his shit anymore. I told him that. I've told him all of this. He is reluctant but it is so complicated, he has no plan, he fell for me harder in the first place, he doesn't see any problem with me being angry or frustrated, that is a non-issue in his book. I'm sad about this. But I'm distracted.
And I feel like there's been a breakthrough. Even though I miss C and I'm worried about him and I'm worried about Luke and I getting in trouble and I'm sad about the end of that relationship, I feel lighter and clearer than I have all year. Like, recently, I have just been soaking this place up. I have been drinking and having too much sex and going to the beach instead of lesson planning and neglecting emails and eating things I wouldn't know how to order myself and it feels awesome.
Luke and I had a good solid three weeks of flirting and secret dates before sleeping together, so I don't feel too guilty about that. I mean I feel guilty, obviously, because I was still dealing with this other relationship and he's my student. I think his classmates suspect, but don't know details yet, as he is accustomed to not giving them too many details about his activities, I think. Mary, Allison, and Sandy know, which means that probably four more of the American teachers do, too. And two Chinese teachers in our building who know me always see us walking in or out together, so maybe they know, too. It's just a matter of the administration not finding out, or not caring, for the next week and a half until after our final exam. I actually think if they found out they wouldn't care, considering he is 25 and in the Huanan program, not a real student, and there is so little time left in the semester. Or maybe they would throw me in jail or kick me out of the country or torture me with stinky tofu. I dunno. Allison was worrying me that class would be awkward, since there are only like 7 students who come. But it hasn't been, and there are only two classes left for it to become awkward. But, it's not like we just slept together once and left it at that. He has basically moved in with me. We've eaten like every meal together for the past two weeks. I don't know which one of us decided that was OK, but it happened, and both of us are rolling with it, so...it's possible we'll get sick of each other in a week and that will be that. Or not. I have no idea.
If it had been like this all year I would have burned out. Actually I would have been fired before I had a chance to burn out. So maybe it was perfect timing.
Leading up to this, he was soooo adorable, so sweet and flattering. This whole thing was probably more exciting when it hadn't actually happened yet, you know. The thrill of the chase. But it is exciting now in a different way. He is so reserved, when he says or does something heartfelt, it hits my heart hard.
He also happens to be fantastic in bed.
SHOCKING, I know.
Actually not so shocking for you because you don't know the other students at this university.
But shocking for all of us.
I think I have a problem overusing physical intimacy to gain other kinds of intimacy. When we started stepping over the line of appropriateness, and I was thinking about how I could possibly justify having this kind of relationship with my student, I was thinking, but it will allow me to feel so much more connected to China. Maybe that technique is fucked up but for me it's true. It works. And I just like getting close to people like that and I'm too wimpy to do it under normal circumstances. I don't even like when people touch me on the shoulder, normally, but if I have to get into bed with someone to stroke his thick Asian hair and notice the silver strands hiding underneath the black, I will.
Sorry, this has gotten raunchy.
But I can't tell you how much I've learned about Chinese people from spending three weeks with him. I don't mean to generalize all Chinese people based on my interactions with him, but... it's hard not to when he feels so Chinese. Having him in the apartment gives the place this old man-ish, authentic-y flavor...I dunno, like the combination of his maleness and his Chinese-ness makes this space feel totally different than it has all along. He fixed our television, which we thought was broken, so we've spent a few evenings sitting in the living room on our bench-couch doing a puzzle and drinking something and watching Chinese TV. Sitting cross-legged on that couch with him, chopsticks in my right hand and a Tsingtao in the other, listening to him laugh at the slapsticky low-budget-looking program on CCTV channel 12, periodically continuing our big-word-sound-alike competition - globalization...stipulation...regulation...mobilization... - makes me feel like a different person. How is it that my experience of myself here is so malleable? So external?
When we watch American movies, which we always do with Chinese and English subtitles, he mutters under his breath words or phrases he doesn't already know.
"You're not going to hurt me. Come on, quick, before I get a hernia!"
"get a hernia..."
He is whip smart and I see him soaking things up as soon as they are presented to him. When I say something I think he isn't familiar with, I watch for signs of comprehension in his face. Unless he really has no idea what I mean, he tries not to show that he doesn't know that word. I watch him shove it into his brain and then two hours later he uses the word in conversation with me.
Have you ever thought about the difference in pronunciation between "full" and "fool"? It seems nearly impossible. I've had Luke say those two words over and over, and I never get tired of hearing him differentiate.
Sometimes he asks for the spelling of a word he doesn't know. I spell it quickly, and then more slowly when he looks frazzled, and he writes it on his hand with an imaginary finger-pen, the same way Chinese people do when they say a word in Chinese that you don't understand and they think you'll understand if they write the character on an imaginary paper stuck to their left hand.
The amount of Chinese I can speak and understand puts me on a different plane with him. With the Korean exchange students, it lets me into the club. I don't have to feel like the stupid American who can't participate in anything un-American. Out in the world, it lets me through doors and windows and crevices that would otherwise be closed. With Luke, it gives our interactions more depth, allows more paths of communication. One night we lied around in my room reciting Chinese poetry. I don't understand what is corny and what is beautiful but I understand the implications of emphasizing certain words in his dramatic retelling. When his friend calls him and he lies about his whereabouts, I can scold him for the weakness of his lie. He has this thick, throaty, sexy northern accent and I always ask him for stories in Chinese. The other night he told one and the first time around I only understood words, no meaning. Then he told me it was the story of the boy who cried wolf. So the second time around, I understood enough to know when to gasp and when to giggle, and we laughed together, with a Chinese accent.
Saturday night we decided to do hotpot in my apartment - a Chinese favorite that I love and will definitely be bringing back to the States - and invited Leon, another student, and Allison sat around with us too. After we ate, and a few beers into the night, Luke's dad called. Luke asked if I wanted to talk to him and since I'd had enough beer to enable free-flowing Chinese, I agreed.
Hello, sir.
Hello! What are you guys doing?
Eating and drinking.
Wow! You speak Chinese so well!
No, no. um...uh...thank you.
How old do you think I am?
Your son tells me that you're -
(Zoe, no! he wants to know how old he SOUNDS)
Oh, oh. I think you're about 55.
Weeeeehwooooo hahaha wrong! I'm 67!
67?! No, impossible.
Blahbityblahblahbaoblahboaibh
Oh, sorry, I didn't understand...
Don't worry about it...
You live in Shenzhen, right?
Yes yes, Shenzhen. Have you been?
Yes, I went on New Year's. Very nice.
Oh! You should alkdjflakjdfhalbahvlhboih
Um...I didn't understand that...
Here I get flustered and hand the phone back to Luke. He says, yeah yeah, great, right? Yeah, her pronunciation is better than some Cantonese people's! A few more minutes of chatting and Luke asks me, Do you like Beijing opera? My dad sings opera every weekend in Shenzhen and he wants to know if you would like to come hear.
So this weekend we're going to Shenzhen to hear Luke's 67-year-old dad sing opera.
Sweet.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
This morning
I woke up hungover, apartment a mess, huge list of emails to return. I took a shower, ate a mushy banana, and then put on music in my room and felt my happy heart, that I know is still happy under a layer of Chinese grime, pounding happiness like it hasn't in so so long. When that happens it makes me want to pray to something and meditate and call my parents and reminisce and cry. It all comes down to music.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Me Here
http://www.saharazik.com/musique/mauritania/demi-mnt-abba.html
Every Saturday night, Cheikh sleeps over. I don't know quite why it developed this way, but it has been so regular that if he couldn't come for some reason, I would probably sit around not knowing what to do with myself. So every Saturday night, I open the door to C, panting and sweating from the climb up the stairs. He tosses a t-shirt and juice box onto my bed, and takes off his shoes at the most inconvenient spot right in front of my bedroom door. We eat together if I've cooked, then we sit together on my desk chair and watch a youtube video, or read some article he likes, or look at plane ticket prices for our next holiday, or argue about which pictures from my camera I should email to him. Then we put on some non-classical music, roll around, lie around with my teddy bear thighs wrapped around his antelope legs, and shower together. Then he gets back on the computer and reads the news while I do girly hair and skin things. If there is a fight to be had, this is usually when it happens. But they have occurred less and less, consistently since the beginning. Before we get in bed, he puts on Arabic music from this website that has a little girl's voice announcing its name every few minutes. I like to imitate this voice and he laughs and tickles me. We get cuddled up in bed and then ten minutes later have to decide who is going to get up and adjust the volume of the music, or turn up the AC, or close the curtain, or find the chapstick. Then, I lie there looking at the outline of this long, dark man with broad eyelids that make his face look so calm, asleep.
Once a week for the past eight months, I have fallen asleep to the soothing rhythm of this droning, drumming, wailing Mauritanian music. I am the same person who used to lie in my bed that I'd slept in my whole life, press the hour-long button on my alarm, and fall asleep to WSKG classical. And that person was the same person whose mom used to click on cassettes of lullabies before bedtime. I don't even remember being that person.
Saturday night there were mosquitoes harassing us, as has been happening every night lately. We were too lazy to get up and try to kill them, but when in the middle of the night we were still swatting at them above our heads, I sat up to try to do something about it. C has this superstitious theory about white clothing detracting mosquitoes, and he mumbled something about that. I said, I need a mosquito net. He said, get your Mauritanian dress, we'll sleep under it. A few weeks ago he came home from Guangzhou with a gift for me, which was a dress that Mauritanian women wear. It's pretty much just a big, strategically-tied sheet, made out of nice, airy fabric, that goes over your head and around your body a few times. Mine is white with a green geometric print that I don't really like, but how is he supposed to know?, poor guy. I like it all the same, though. I don't have any pictures of myself modeling it yet, because neither of us could figure out how to tie and drape it properly, and I actually can't find any information on the internet about how to do it. I don't know how it's possible that there is no youtube video explaining how to tie Mauritanian clothing. But there isn't.
So I got the thing from my wardrobe, and we threw it over our heads and arms. My computer had also fallen asleep by then, so we lay, unintentionally listening to the bullfrogs croaking in the drains outside and my little unit air conditioner trying its hardest to push out the humidity seeping in through the space under my window/door, breathing in eachother's breath under our gauzy bug shield.
My life here is like this dreamland, alternate reality, caricatured version of a life. Nothing about it is the same as it used to be. Nothing about me, here, feels like the me who I have always been. I think I have never been so different from myself as I am right now. When I get back, will my life snap back into familiarity? Or will I increasingly feel further and further removed from the chubby little girl running around barefoot on Cornell Ave? I guess I remember what she used to feel like. But I don't remember thinking in her brain, I don't remember actually being her.
On the other hand, what's not normal about that situation I just described? There's nothing actually strange about that. But it feel strange to me.
When I go back to the states I'll immediately be able to look back on this time when I was the person I was in China. My life will never ever be like this again. No matter how bitter or frustrated I become with this country by the end, I know I am going to feel seriously painful nostalgia for it, because of the distinctness of the situation. The atmosphere here, the energy that swirls around you at all times, is so particular and unique. So Chinese. No matter how sick I am right now of having to absorb this energy, I know I'll miss it intensely because there will be nothing, anywhere else in the world, that can recreate it.
I have a student, Luke, who has a huge crush on me, and I can't bring myself to discourage it because I enjoy his company. It's not in danger of going anywhere, luckily, because he has the Chinese too-shy-and-inexperienced-to-flirt-properly thing. He is 25 - one of my pre-masters students - and wears vests and jewelry, and smokes, and does magic tricks, and seems like this rebellious free-spirit stuck inside China's oppressiveness. He tells stories about his dad punching him in the face a lot - coming into his primary school, and punching him in the face in front of his classmates to show respect to the teacher. I ask, if you have kids are you going to beat them? He says, noooo no absolutely not, but...I really don't want kids. But once I told my dad that, and he punched me in the face. Anyway, despite the beatings, or maybe because of them? somehow he ended up with the loveliest, most convincing American accent. If you were talking with him, you would notice a lack of contractions (You will not go?), or an over-reliance on certain phrases like "I think that is OK," before you would notice anything wrong with his accent. I know this doesn't sound like anything special for someone looking to study in an English-speaking country, but at this university, even the English teachers have significant Chinese accents. So it feels special to me. Some of the other American teachers and I were talking recently about how we have this problem, which is that is we feel like when we are talking to Chinese people, regardless of their status as student or teacher or administrator, we feel like we are teaching them. Like we can't help but speak to them in this deliberate, accidentally condescending tone. It seems so silly but I honestly thing that I/we must have some subconscious thing with accents, that we just can't get past. Like, a Chinese accent puts up this wall between us and prevents us from interacting normally with people. But I don't have this with Luke. It's partly that I know he will understand 95% of what I say, even when I don't extract from my speech expressions and ambiguous meanings and things that I do normally. But the other part is that his American accent takes down the wall that goes up with other people and makes me feel like maybe I could have normal conversations with him, ones that don't leave me drained, and like I could really get into his brain and understand what he is thinking.
He's still Chinese, so, maybe not.
Usually, C gets up on Sunday mornings and stumbles back to his dorm by 7AM, I think for the sake of morning prayer. I hate not getting to hang out with him in the morning, having to wake up later at 9 or 10 alone. The worst moment of my entire week is when he gets out of bed to leave, and we exchange some sleepy words about calling later that day. In less than two months, I have to say goodbye to him, permanently. Not goodbye until I come back next week, or goodbye until Christmas holiday when I can fly to Mauritania, or even goodbye until I finish having this year-long foreign adventure, or something. Goodbye, like, forever. I have to go to the airport and walk through security with my stuffed lamby and him standing behind, waving, knowing he will most likely never ever see me again. Thanks for being my companion, this life-altering relationship we've had has been great, hope you find a nice Muslim woman and have attractive babies, all I want is for you to be happy, have a fulfilling life, bye. Our ability to be together was particular to this specific time and place, in a way that no other time and place will ever be, so, alright, call me on skype sometimes, OK? Jesus?! If I thought we were right, we would get past all the obstacles. But we're not right. He doesn't make my heart flutter and I don't feel at home with him. I feel in China, with him. We were right here, in China, this year. It's not a waste, at all. It's not a waste of a relationship, or a waste of love, or time, or anything. It's just another experience that I will have to mourn the loss of as it hangs heavy on my heart forever. It's not that you're a bad boyfriend, baby, or that you were unfaithful. Or that I've found another man, or that we've been fighting too much. It's just, our lives would fight. Our lives could not coexist like we have here. You would weigh me down and I would mess you up.
It would be so much easier not to have done this at all. All of it. But I knew that before I came, going in. I knew it would be easier not to go. But if I hadn't come, I wouldn't have spent a Saturday night during the wet season in the south of China cuddling with you under a cotton dress. And where would you be? Maybe already dating someone appropriate and making plans to live together in a mutually suitable location and talking about baby names that both of you could pronounce. Sorry to delay such things. But hell, what's a year, for a lifetime of achingly, maddeningly lovely memories?
Every Saturday night, Cheikh sleeps over. I don't know quite why it developed this way, but it has been so regular that if he couldn't come for some reason, I would probably sit around not knowing what to do with myself. So every Saturday night, I open the door to C, panting and sweating from the climb up the stairs. He tosses a t-shirt and juice box onto my bed, and takes off his shoes at the most inconvenient spot right in front of my bedroom door. We eat together if I've cooked, then we sit together on my desk chair and watch a youtube video, or read some article he likes, or look at plane ticket prices for our next holiday, or argue about which pictures from my camera I should email to him. Then we put on some non-classical music, roll around, lie around with my teddy bear thighs wrapped around his antelope legs, and shower together. Then he gets back on the computer and reads the news while I do girly hair and skin things. If there is a fight to be had, this is usually when it happens. But they have occurred less and less, consistently since the beginning. Before we get in bed, he puts on Arabic music from this website that has a little girl's voice announcing its name every few minutes. I like to imitate this voice and he laughs and tickles me. We get cuddled up in bed and then ten minutes later have to decide who is going to get up and adjust the volume of the music, or turn up the AC, or close the curtain, or find the chapstick. Then, I lie there looking at the outline of this long, dark man with broad eyelids that make his face look so calm, asleep.
Once a week for the past eight months, I have fallen asleep to the soothing rhythm of this droning, drumming, wailing Mauritanian music. I am the same person who used to lie in my bed that I'd slept in my whole life, press the hour-long button on my alarm, and fall asleep to WSKG classical. And that person was the same person whose mom used to click on cassettes of lullabies before bedtime. I don't even remember being that person.
Saturday night there were mosquitoes harassing us, as has been happening every night lately. We were too lazy to get up and try to kill them, but when in the middle of the night we were still swatting at them above our heads, I sat up to try to do something about it. C has this superstitious theory about white clothing detracting mosquitoes, and he mumbled something about that. I said, I need a mosquito net. He said, get your Mauritanian dress, we'll sleep under it. A few weeks ago he came home from Guangzhou with a gift for me, which was a dress that Mauritanian women wear. It's pretty much just a big, strategically-tied sheet, made out of nice, airy fabric, that goes over your head and around your body a few times. Mine is white with a green geometric print that I don't really like, but how is he supposed to know?, poor guy. I like it all the same, though. I don't have any pictures of myself modeling it yet, because neither of us could figure out how to tie and drape it properly, and I actually can't find any information on the internet about how to do it. I don't know how it's possible that there is no youtube video explaining how to tie Mauritanian clothing. But there isn't.
So I got the thing from my wardrobe, and we threw it over our heads and arms. My computer had also fallen asleep by then, so we lay, unintentionally listening to the bullfrogs croaking in the drains outside and my little unit air conditioner trying its hardest to push out the humidity seeping in through the space under my window/door, breathing in eachother's breath under our gauzy bug shield.
My life here is like this dreamland, alternate reality, caricatured version of a life. Nothing about it is the same as it used to be. Nothing about me, here, feels like the me who I have always been. I think I have never been so different from myself as I am right now. When I get back, will my life snap back into familiarity? Or will I increasingly feel further and further removed from the chubby little girl running around barefoot on Cornell Ave? I guess I remember what she used to feel like. But I don't remember thinking in her brain, I don't remember actually being her.
On the other hand, what's not normal about that situation I just described? There's nothing actually strange about that. But it feel strange to me.
When I go back to the states I'll immediately be able to look back on this time when I was the person I was in China. My life will never ever be like this again. No matter how bitter or frustrated I become with this country by the end, I know I am going to feel seriously painful nostalgia for it, because of the distinctness of the situation. The atmosphere here, the energy that swirls around you at all times, is so particular and unique. So Chinese. No matter how sick I am right now of having to absorb this energy, I know I'll miss it intensely because there will be nothing, anywhere else in the world, that can recreate it.
I have a student, Luke, who has a huge crush on me, and I can't bring myself to discourage it because I enjoy his company. It's not in danger of going anywhere, luckily, because he has the Chinese too-shy-and-inexperienced-to-flirt-properly thing. He is 25 - one of my pre-masters students - and wears vests and jewelry, and smokes, and does magic tricks, and seems like this rebellious free-spirit stuck inside China's oppressiveness. He tells stories about his dad punching him in the face a lot - coming into his primary school, and punching him in the face in front of his classmates to show respect to the teacher. I ask, if you have kids are you going to beat them? He says, noooo no absolutely not, but...I really don't want kids. But once I told my dad that, and he punched me in the face. Anyway, despite the beatings, or maybe because of them? somehow he ended up with the loveliest, most convincing American accent. If you were talking with him, you would notice a lack of contractions (You will not go?), or an over-reliance on certain phrases like "I think that is OK," before you would notice anything wrong with his accent. I know this doesn't sound like anything special for someone looking to study in an English-speaking country, but at this university, even the English teachers have significant Chinese accents. So it feels special to me. Some of the other American teachers and I were talking recently about how we have this problem, which is that is we feel like when we are talking to Chinese people, regardless of their status as student or teacher or administrator, we feel like we are teaching them. Like we can't help but speak to them in this deliberate, accidentally condescending tone. It seems so silly but I honestly thing that I/we must have some subconscious thing with accents, that we just can't get past. Like, a Chinese accent puts up this wall between us and prevents us from interacting normally with people. But I don't have this with Luke. It's partly that I know he will understand 95% of what I say, even when I don't extract from my speech expressions and ambiguous meanings and things that I do normally. But the other part is that his American accent takes down the wall that goes up with other people and makes me feel like maybe I could have normal conversations with him, ones that don't leave me drained, and like I could really get into his brain and understand what he is thinking.
He's still Chinese, so, maybe not.
Usually, C gets up on Sunday mornings and stumbles back to his dorm by 7AM, I think for the sake of morning prayer. I hate not getting to hang out with him in the morning, having to wake up later at 9 or 10 alone. The worst moment of my entire week is when he gets out of bed to leave, and we exchange some sleepy words about calling later that day. In less than two months, I have to say goodbye to him, permanently. Not goodbye until I come back next week, or goodbye until Christmas holiday when I can fly to Mauritania, or even goodbye until I finish having this year-long foreign adventure, or something. Goodbye, like, forever. I have to go to the airport and walk through security with my stuffed lamby and him standing behind, waving, knowing he will most likely never ever see me again. Thanks for being my companion, this life-altering relationship we've had has been great, hope you find a nice Muslim woman and have attractive babies, all I want is for you to be happy, have a fulfilling life, bye. Our ability to be together was particular to this specific time and place, in a way that no other time and place will ever be, so, alright, call me on skype sometimes, OK? Jesus?! If I thought we were right, we would get past all the obstacles. But we're not right. He doesn't make my heart flutter and I don't feel at home with him. I feel in China, with him. We were right here, in China, this year. It's not a waste, at all. It's not a waste of a relationship, or a waste of love, or time, or anything. It's just another experience that I will have to mourn the loss of as it hangs heavy on my heart forever. It's not that you're a bad boyfriend, baby, or that you were unfaithful. Or that I've found another man, or that we've been fighting too much. It's just, our lives would fight. Our lives could not coexist like we have here. You would weigh me down and I would mess you up.
It would be so much easier not to have done this at all. All of it. But I knew that before I came, going in. I knew it would be easier not to go. But if I hadn't come, I wouldn't have spent a Saturday night during the wet season in the south of China cuddling with you under a cotton dress. And where would you be? Maybe already dating someone appropriate and making plans to live together in a mutually suitable location and talking about baby names that both of you could pronounce. Sorry to delay such things. But hell, what's a year, for a lifetime of achingly, maddeningly lovely memories?
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
I love my students
Last week's Friday afternoon class with my post-undergrads. I've written Easter-themed limericks to use as a competition/challenge activity. I've already explained the structure of a limerick, the rhythm and rhyme scheme and all. But they end up being harder than I anticipated, and I am talking to one student individually, trying to help him find the answer to one. You should also know that this student is very sweet and happy, bald, has one wonky eye, and when he giggles sort of looks like Buddha. For some reason this impacts the funniness of the situation:
"On Easter it can be quite funny
For children do not receive money.
Instead when they wake,
There isn't a cake,
But chocolate left by a _____."
Student: umm...rabbit?
Me: right, right! like, rabbit! but, another name for 'rabbit'
Student: what? uh...there is another name for 'rabbit'?
Me: yeah and it rhymes with 'funny'. The answer has to rhyme with 'funny' and 'money'.
Student: oh yeah. honey?
Me: right right! 'honey' rhymes with 'funny'. But that's not the answer. 'Honey' can't leave chocolate for children.
Student: oooooh, ok...I got it...COOKIE!
Me: *a moment's attempt to contain laughter* **fail, laugh in student's face**
I think I'll spend more time working on rhymes before I try this activity again.
"On Easter it can be quite funny
For children do not receive money.
Instead when they wake,
There isn't a cake,
But chocolate left by a _____."
Student: umm...rabbit?
Me: right, right! like, rabbit! but, another name for 'rabbit'
Student: what? uh...there is another name for 'rabbit'?
Me: yeah and it rhymes with 'funny'. The answer has to rhyme with 'funny' and 'money'.
Student: oh yeah. honey?
Me: right right! 'honey' rhymes with 'funny'. But that's not the answer. 'Honey' can't leave chocolate for children.
Student: oooooh, ok...I got it...COOKIE!
Me: *a moment's attempt to contain laughter* **fail, laugh in student's face**
I think I'll spend more time working on rhymes before I try this activity again.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Conditioner
Today at a supermarket I bought a bottle of hair conditioner, cuz I was out. Western brands float around occasionally, but 120 yuan for a bottle of familiar stuff is hard to do when the Chinese brands are like 30 yuan. I have been using Loreal (which I would never even consider using in the States), because it's the only thing I've found here meant for curly hair, and I've liked it alright. But my hair has been doing funny things lately, and it's getting hotter, so I thought I needed a change. Anyway I saw this brand displayed with the other Chinese brands but that had English labeling and looked "normal", claiming to be from a Hollywood hairstylist, that was only 45 yuan. So I figured I had found a deal, some random Western brand at Chinese prices. Then I got it home and read the label, which I like to do, expecting standard conditioner-bottle talk, and found this:
George Caroll is an internationally acclaimed Hollywood hairstylist, television personality, entertainment and beauty industry consultant, and award winning beauty product designer. George has been helping the stars and celebrities for years, now its your turn. (no suspiciousness until the missing ' in 'it's'...but then...)
Is Your hair becoming a chemical products factory test it? As the wind, and Latin America, dyeing, hot inevitably damage the hair. you need a more in-depth professional hair care. Coenzyme QIO is the cell respiration and metabolism of the cell activator, is also an important antioxidant and non-specific immune enhancer. it is the growth of cells in the body of natural nutrients, add in the Hair-care products can be quickly and fully absorbed, hair nourishment from the source. Now, you no longer damaged hair for the Conservation of trouble.
So is this really an imported product? Or is it faux?! I feel so deceived!
Regardless, I want you to know that I do not mean to mock this Chinglish. I mean to study and appreciate its unique method of expression.
George Caroll is an internationally acclaimed Hollywood hairstylist, television personality, entertainment and beauty industry consultant, and award winning beauty product designer. George has been helping the stars and celebrities for years, now its your turn. (no suspiciousness until the missing ' in 'it's'...but then...)
Is Your hair becoming a chemical products factory test it? As the wind, and Latin America, dyeing, hot inevitably damage the hair. you need a more in-depth professional hair care. Coenzyme QIO is the cell respiration and metabolism of the cell activator, is also an important antioxidant and non-specific immune enhancer. it is the growth of cells in the body of natural nutrients, add in the Hair-care products can be quickly and fully absorbed, hair nourishment from the source. Now, you no longer damaged hair for the Conservation of trouble.
So is this really an imported product? Or is it faux?! I feel so deceived!
Regardless, I want you to know that I do not mean to mock this Chinglish. I mean to study and appreciate its unique method of expression.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Corolla
I don't know what made me think of it, but I just thought of my little Toyota, and I think it might be the first time it's crossed my mind since I left it. It must be so lonely, sitting on the hill at the lake house collecting spiders and rust! Did I even leave it at the lake house?! I can't remember how I left it! I bet nobody has driven it. What a sad life for a perfectly good car! I feel like I've betrayed it, not even thinking about it, or hoping it's OK. I'm a bad car owner. It will probably break down next time I try to drive it, out of resentment.
Oh yeah, that's how I thought of it - I was thinking, how far away is Xiamen from Guangzhou? And then I thought, I think I know the geography of China better than the US. Like where the cities are and how long it would take via plane or train to get there. And then I thought, well that's because I don't travel so much in the states or need to look at maps all the time and check flight websites and weigh options and do research on worthwhile cities. And then I thought, no, I don't need to do those things, because I have a car in the states that just takes me where I need to go but I don't usually worry about venturing too far out of the northeast. And then I thought...my car!
I can picture it with an Asian-style frowny face, with tilted narrow eyes and flat mouth and maybe wearing a big printed hairbow on its side mirror, and saying, Zuo yi? ni zui jin zai naaaa li? Shen me shi hou hui lai?
Oh yeah, that's how I thought of it - I was thinking, how far away is Xiamen from Guangzhou? And then I thought, I think I know the geography of China better than the US. Like where the cities are and how long it would take via plane or train to get there. And then I thought, well that's because I don't travel so much in the states or need to look at maps all the time and check flight websites and weigh options and do research on worthwhile cities. And then I thought, no, I don't need to do those things, because I have a car in the states that just takes me where I need to go but I don't usually worry about venturing too far out of the northeast. And then I thought...my car!
I can picture it with an Asian-style frowny face, with tilted narrow eyes and flat mouth and maybe wearing a big printed hairbow on its side mirror, and saying, Zuo yi? ni zui jin zai naaaa li? Shen me shi hou hui lai?
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