A Little Long

In Their Eyes

Any girl who grew up in the 1990's should easily recognize this game:

I remember eagerly hoping for the most anticipated moment when my older sister(s) would (finally!) allow me to intrude on any given sleepover and be the fourth player in the game.  For me, the youngest of three girls, that was the ultimate acceptance into a world of secrets and giggles I was usually left to experience only in my imagination.  I vividly remember one of the questions that asked which celebrity the player most resembles, thereby introducing the ever-so-popular notion of celebrity dopplegangers to me.  Once, when that question came to me, I remember anxiously waiting to hear who the other girls would compare me to.  My knowledge of pop culture then, much like now, was so...progressive that I did not know any of the people they mentioned.  Considering the internet (ie google image) wasn't really a thing yet, I lost the rare opportunity to learn how others see me.  That opportunity has since been redeemed, for better or worse, on more than one occasion just this past week.

I was recently invited to give a guest lecture at a neighboring university.  The organizer of the event asked me to send in a picture for the posters he wanted to set up around campus, but I was unable to do so in time due to connectivity issues.  "No problem!" I was assured - he'd taken the matter into his own hands and searched the internet for a picture that he believed looked like me.  Apparently this is how he saw me:

Perhaps his search was "hospital staff ID photo"?

Of course, it didn't bother me much that the photo was a little, well...off, considering that the title/topic of my presentation was slightly off as well.  I was slotted to discuss "The American Revolution: Birth of a Nation" even though the introduction was set up as:

Revolution for the South, perhaps.  I daresay no new nation was born.

I was able to clear up the presentation misunderstanding pretty quickly, but interestingly enough, none of the 150 attendees even seemed to notice that I was not the person in the picture.  I am occasionally told that all of us foreigners look alike, after all.

The night after my guest presentation, I ran into a former student of mine and she excitedly told me about a movie she recently watched.  She asked if I'd ever seen "She's the Man."  It's one of my go-to, feel-good movies, so I thought we'd have a great conversation about the quotable lines and whatnot.  She, however, had other points of discussion in mind, like insisting that I resemble Amanda Bynes.  I don't think there could have been any better comedic timing, considering the strange happenings of the day before.  I told her I didn't see it, but thought it was very kind of her to think so.  She went so far as to send me this picture after she got home:

"What do you think? Don't you think she look[s] like you?"

I'm not really sure what was going through either of their minds when they decided these photos suited me, but I am so glad for the reminder that my identity is not wrapped up in how other people see me or my appearance.  Getting a good laugh hasn't been so bad, either.

Well, that escalated quickly.

A Following

I felt like this message was following me (much like the mysterious "she" is always doing with the "tide of fashion") because I found it in a couple of my different classrooms throughout the week.

This one's for you, Grandma

My grandmother has always been one of my favorite people.  I could easily go on about how the best meals I've eaten have been cooked by her, the best clothes I've worn have been made by her, and the best life lessons I've learned have been taught by her (in addition to my amazing parents, of course!).  However, in order to avoid sounding too cliche or trite, I'll try to save publicly expressing my feelings about my amazing grandma for another post - one that will hopefully do more to communicate all the reasons she's so incredible.

But seriously.  Look at her.  She's totally incredible.

One special memory I share with her, though, is how she gets "homesick."  To her homesick is never about a place - it's about people.  For example, she tells the story of her first time moving away from home as a young, teenaged woman and how she felt so homesick for her Mother and Dad.  Later, when her children left for college or career, she was homesick for them although, technically, they were the ones away from home.  So, I knew exactly what she meant the first time I called from China and she said she was homesick for me - I had the same feeling.  Since then, Grandma's affectionately reminded me that when I'm homesick for her, I can picture where she's at, but she has no idea what my place looks like.  I (ashamedly) kept putting off taking pictures of the apartment (after all the changes/improvements that have been made - originals of the apt from last year can be found here) because I feel like there's always still so much more I want to do.

Well, I finally realized that there will always be projects and it's not really fair to keep my poor grandma in the dark because of that.  Especially considering that today is her 92nd birthday.  (Happy Birthday!)  So, this post of me cheesily acting out daily life in pictures is for her - I figure she, of all people, has already seen me at my cheesiest.

Every morning when I wake up, I look at the trees outside my window and try to guess what kind of weather the day will hold.

Our bathroom may be a little small, but it gets the job done!

Of course I need to include a picture of making my bed so that my parents and grandma can all see that their years of hard work paid off.

When I spend a little time reading and reflecting before beginning my day, things just seem to go a little smoother.

Depending on the weather, I might grab a jacket, scarf, or umbrella before heading off to class.

I try to use creative methods to help my students better understand whatever topic is at hand.

After my morning classes, I might grab lunch with some friends or colleagues. 

If I have free time after lunch, I might go for a walk or practice my Chinese.

On Tuesday nights, I cook for the other foreign teachers and whatever friends happen to join us for dinner.

Our table's a little small for everyone to gather around, but we call it cozy and make it happen.

If my evening's free of paperwork or meetings, I might work on a special project, like knitting squares for a blanket.

Before I know it, it's time to give thanks for all the blessings in my life and crawl back into bed.

Do you ever feel homesick for anyone, either because you've moved away or they have?  At the risk of sounding like the blog version of Delilah, leave a comment if there's someone you'd like to share about.

Ant Killers

Ok, so after my marginally depressing post yesterday, I thought it'd be a good idea to reflect on things that keep me sane - a list of ant killers, if you will.  Here goes!

~The milk tea stand just outside the front gate of our campus with its limitless variety of flavor choices
~The awesome friends who run the milk tea stand and not only share their watermelon, but let me test my hand at things like lemon cake
~Looking at a sign in Chinese and realizing I understand it (!)
~The amazing group of people I get to share life with
~Receiving any kind of communication from friends in other places - encouraging notes, ridiculous articles, mundane details of life anywhere else (it's easy to forget when your day-to-day looks so different), phone calls (even in the middle of the night because math is hard and the time difference wasn't factored in)
~Sending and receiving text messages in Chinese - like a boss!
~Funnel cakes
~Setting aside time to reflect and study
~A weekly coffee shop trip
~Students who take the time to ask insightful questions or offer an encouraging word
~Knowing that I'll be able to catch up with those I've been missing in just a couple short months
~Blinglish shirts

And a great, big one*
~Going to meet with the Vice Dean about a couple of cheating students only to find out they've already thrown themselves at his mercy and been dealt with accordingly.

*I couldn't bring myself to call it an "elephant killer" - they're just such noble creatures.  Obviously I am biased against ants.

I Could Use a Little Sunshine

I once heard someone say that it's not the (symbolic) elephants that cause overseas workers to leave the field and return home, but the ants.  An elephant, as massive as it can be, usually seems temporary - it comes, does its thing/gets dealt with, and moves on.  A constant stream of ants, on the other hand?  Not so much.  Quite the persistent little buggers!  On a less symbolic note, I've always considered elephants much cuter than ants anyhow.

This week I've found myself trying to sort out my own ants vs. elephants.  After all, one's better equipped to handle a situation if the nature of it is understood first, no?  True to the analogy, I've come up with quite a few more ants on my list than elephants - things that independently shouldn't be such a big deal, but have acquired a knack for wearing me down nonetheless.

Ants:
~Lack of consistent internet connection
     ~Lack of communication with family/friends/support network in the states
~Finally having a good enough connection, only to hear of tough times for loved ones
     ~Feeling guilty about being so far away while they have hard times
~Dreary, dreary weather (It almost seems wrong having this on my list because of the higher than usual allotment of vitamin D for the area this year, not to mention the ways I came better prepared to counteract the dreariness, but motherofpearl if the sunshine doesn't make a huge difference!)
~Unsolicited advice on everything including what to eat and how to dress for the weather ("It's so changeable!" "Yeah? Well, I'm an adult!")
~Learning not to take the constant stream of cultural differences personally
~Language study (It took me quite a while to (grudgingly) categorize this as an ant instead of an elephant - this language is hard, y'all.)
~ Loud noises - anytime, anywhere (Sometimes this one sounds like elephants...)

Elephants:
~Meeting with the school administration to discuss severe cases of cheating (Wish me luck!)
~Thinking cheating is an elephant and then finding out about truly heartbreaking situations that some students are involved in and feeling completely lost about how to guide them

How do you find yourself reacting when facing your own ants/elephants?  Gaining a better understanding of the problem - what can be changed/what can't be seems to help me, and remembering to count my blessings when the problems feel overwhelming.  I'd love to hear what works (or doesn't!) for y'all.

Best of Both Worlds

My students, even the ones from "tiny" villages in the countryside, can't help but express complete disbelief in the fact that my hometown has a population of roughly 14,000 (if school's in session and everyone else has come to town to visit their grandmas).  When I tell them the nearest city's about 100 km away with a population of less than 200,000, their minds practically explode before my very eyes.  Even the children of farmers cannot imagine so much empty land, much less the kids who grew up in the city of 30 million just up the river.  In their minds, there's absolutely no question that I grew up in the countryside.  Considering Mom wouldn't let us spend our lazy summer days wandering the rugged canyons located just behind the next block over (because of rumored rattlesnake dens and the occasional coyote), I'm inclined to agree.

When I first moved to the DFW area all those years ago, I remember being a little nervous about the increase of traffic and not being able to see each and every star, each and every night.  I couldn't have loved living in a place more, though.  The diversity, the opportunities, the convenience, the liveliness - I felt like I was made for the city.  Never before had I had the option of knocking out my grocery shopping at 3 in the morning if I just couldn't sleep.  After years of loving that location, it came as no surprise to me here - an hour (at least) from any major city - that I thrive in metropolitan areas, even when it's hard.  Last weekend, it was a little hard.

Arianne and I met up with a friend who recently moved to the city before I was scheduled to tutor my lone middle school student.  They decided to catch a movie while I headed off to the subway station.  Almost as soon as we parted ways, my shoe broke.  Of all the places a shoe can break and render one semi-barefoot, this was terribly far from my top choice.  I was in a crazy expensive shopping district (seemingly high end, yet just the week before we saw a parent-accompanied child pick a corner and pee in it).  I guess what I'm saying is, there are a lot of reasons why going barefoot here was just not a great option; however, I didn't think I could afford any of the shoes in the immediate vicinity.

I saw a pharmacy 20 steps away and hobbled over, trying to make the best use of my broken shoe.  I asked for anything they had that could aid the situation and was met with blank stares.  No tape or glue or adhesive of any kind - mostly just cosmetics and creams.  I found some floss, purchased it, and determined to rig the shoe back together somehow.  Success!  Until about 8 steps later.  New shoes moved from being one possible, if less desirable, option to an immediate necessity.  Thankfully, there was an H&M nearby (though "nearby" quickly becomes "a land far, far away" when hobbling through a crowded mall on a broken shoe and gathering bizarre (even moreso than usual!) glances from curious onlookers) and I scored a pair of flip flops at a price I'd never be willing to pay under more reasonable circumstances.

Donning my new shoes, I quickly made my way across the city and found out no trains would be heading back to my town at a convenient time, meaning I'd have to find a car for Arianne and I after meeting up with my student.  The meeting went (much, much) longer than anticipated and poor Ari was stranded at the train station McDonalds for quite some time, waiting for my return.  We found a car, but it was already close to 11 pm and they needed to find a couple other passengers before they were willing to make the drive back to our town.  Nothing beats standing outside an empty bus station late at night with people quizzing you in the local dialect.  We finally made it home sometime around 12:30 am or so.  Somehow, throughout all the random little frustrations, I couldn't help but find myself chuckling in wonder at the realization that I still actually enjoyed being in the city.  Despite whatever situation was faced.  (Disclaimer: It may have helped that Arianne had picked up a pizza to bring home for the next day.)

That being said, I also can't deny that a good part of me is still a country girl at heart.  On those all too rare, clear-skyed nights, my teammates jokingly call me "camp counselor" as I excitedly point out whatever stars peek down through the clouds above and enjoy breathing just a little bit deeper.  I know at times in my life I've passionately advocated for one extreme or the other (city life/country life), but I think I've finally reached a place that I just appreciate both.

You might live in China if...(2nd Edition!)

~you honestly find yourself thinking, "What an enjoyable ride!" because your taxi only has an overacted movie playing on the dash, the latest ballads coming from the radio, and one incessantly ringing cell phone simultaneously vying for your ears' attention.

~on a trip to the nearby(ish) city of 30 million people, with the intent of seeking out western food, you still only see a total of maybe 10 other wai guo ren.

~while on a bus or sharing a cab, the driver excitedly tells every other passenger he picks up/drops off the life story he's already pulled from you.  (She's American! She's a teacher!  She's lived here two years!)

~you find yourself teaching your weekday classes on a weekend to "make up" for the holiday in the coming week.

~finding a seat on the subway and riding it for an hour feels like a mini vacation.

~you feel perfectly safe, as a single woman, walking up to a group of sketchy looking fellas late at night to ask if any of them drive to your city.  In fact, you know this is probably the best way home as well as the safest and most organized after the trains stop running.

~you realize that the long hours of studying Chinese characters have finally paid off because you recognize every single one in a phrase...but you still have no idea what it's actually trying to communicate.

~you no longer think twice when a driver boldly barrels up the wrong side of the street and have utmost confidence that either he or the oncoming truck will avert the seemingly inevitable impact.

~you still curse the stairs of death after an added year of "acclimating" to them.

~sometimes dinner just doesn't taste right because there isn't enough numbing pepper in it.

~deciding between taking advantage of the rare sunshine outside or the rare internet connection inside feels like an overwhelming choice, and almost a moral dilemma.

~your day off is decidedly more busy with students popping over or organizing projects than your regular working schedule.

~you feel like you could live here a million years and still not understand some everyday occurrences. 

An Accidental Date

"What exactly is an accidental date?" you may find yourself asking.  "And just how does it happen?"

Just a few short hours ago, I may have very well asked the same innocent questions.  Now I can only mourn the loss of such wide-eyed innocence.

Here's how it all went down.  Every Saturday I head into the city to tutor a middle school student.  This Saturday was a little different because there's a holiday next week.  Here, that translates into "making up" the classes over the weekend.  And, apparently, having an uncooperative American brain that screams, "But NO - weekends are sacred, people, SACRED!!!" is of no help in finding the motivation to wake up extra early on a Saturday/Sunday and face a roomful of students.  So, after wrapping up a day full of Saturday classes I hurriedly jumped in a cab to even more hurriedly jump on a train to the city.  I texted my student on the way to see if they wanted to meet me at the train station, as usual, or if I should just get a cab to their place.  Whoops - turns out she also had make up classes and wouldn't have time for tutoring at all this weekend.

Not being one to waste a trip to the city, I headed for the subway and planned the best use of my time.  Pizza, obviously.  Unwilling to settle for Chinese style Pizza Hut knowing there's a Papa John's in a far off district, and a commitment-free night ahead to track it down, I set off with great expectations and visions of garlic butter sauce dancing in my head.

After reaching the subway stop, I was excited to find the name of the plaza I was looking for on the exit sign - how fortuitous!  I could almost taste the melted cheese.  I immediately recognized the tell-tale Starbucks and set out directly across from it, sure I'd be mentally chanting "Better ingredients, better pizza!" in no time at all.  I walked around the plaza.  I walked through the plaza.  I walked above it and below it.  Growing perplexed, I decided to enlist the help of the locals.  A few seemed to have never heard of pizza in their lives (poor dears), but one uniformed guy called his colleague over and basically instructed him to personally guide me to a pizza restaurant on his way off work.  Excellent! Or so I thought.

We walked around the plaza.  We walked through the plaza.  We did not, however, walk above it or below it.  He finally told me he knew a great hamburger restaurant.  Fine.

While we were walking, he asked typical questions like where I'm from and what my salary is (yeah, that one barely even causes my eyebrow to raise anymore).  He also ventured into somewhat newer territory by asking the places I'd like to travel in China.  He boldly led me across a traffic-ridden street and verbally incited me to have faith in his protective ability.  How ke qi, I thought.

At the restaurant, he wanted to know if I'd eat there or have it to go.  Trying to find a way out and thinking he still had to return to work, I said I'd probably just eat there (I still wanted the ever elusive pizza, darnit!).  He then declared he also wanted to eat there.  Lovely.  I ordered and he insisted on paying.  When the food came, he regaled me with stories of his expensive watch and his hopes to one day travel to America.  Cool.  As I picked at the strange, little chicken strips, he then asked if all Americans are bigger than all Chinese people while complaining that I wasn't eating enough.  Charming.  Upon finishing his snack, he belched appreciatively and politely offered me a cigarette.  No thanks, bro.

Being in an unfamiliar district, I'd asked earlier if he also knew a place that I could catch a car back to my city since it'd be too late for any trains or busses to be running.  Naturally, after dinner he offered to show me the way.  Oy.  As we walked, he drew pretty close a few times - not hard to do in the land of a billion plus, so I tried not to think anything of it.  Until his gesticulating hand unceremoniously grazed areas that I prefer left ungrazed during such encounters.  Ahem.

A few days earlier, while walking with a local colleague of mine, we discussed humorous aspects of directly translating some phrases between Chinese and English.  One such phrase that came up was "chicken breast" - while a benign cut/order of meat in English, it sounds pretty...unsettling in Mandarin.  In Chinese, the proper description of the meat would translate more like "chicken chest."  Considering the more vulgar Mandarin option is not a word I typically use in daily conversation, I was surprised to hear him utter it while accompanying it with a more prolonged, um, graze.  Not ok.  So not ok.  A 5RMB order of chicken strips (less than $1 USD) is never worth that.  In any country.

So, yeah.  Worst (and hopefully only). Accidental. Date. Ever.

The Day the Earth was Shaking

This past week has been full of eventful news the world over, it seems.  On Friday night I was chatting with a friend of mine that grew up near Boston.  She quickly reassured me that her friends and family were all safe, even those who'd been at the marathon.  Considering a mutual friend of ours just recently relocated to Waco - near the small town of West - she admonished me before I was (unintentionally) disconnected with a sweet, "You be careful, you hear me??"  I had (and still have!) every intention of honoring that request.  I did not, however, expect it to be challenged quite so soon.

Saturday morning, my alarm went off at 6:30, as usual.  I turned it off and drifted back to sleep, as usual.  (I think it's now official that despite all my hopes, jet lag failed - yet again - to make me a morning person.)  Some time later I grew a little perplexed at the construction going on outside my window.  Wait, not outside my window, perhaps on my porch....or...in my bed.  What?!  In my dreary state of semi-consciousness, I slowly realized that construction, early morning calisthenics, the upstairs neighbors chopping their vegetables, or any of the normal things here that might disturb my restful slumber could not possibly be responsible for the jostling my bed was undergoing.  A single word flashed through my head, "earthquake."

Not fully trusting my-not-quite-cognitive-self's conclusion, I decided to seek out my roommate's opinion on the matter in order to determine if we were, indeed, experiencing our first earthquake here.  I opened my bedroom door and saw her standing directly across from me, excitedly bracing herself in her own bedroom doorframe.  "Isn't this what you're supposed to do in an earthquake?" she queried.  I still couldn't form complete thoughts, but flashes of other things danced across my mind - Japan, tsunami, earthquake - hadn't that been what proved so deadly a couple of years ago, that everyone calmly walked outside to protect themselves from potential debris/collapsing structures only to be caught off guard by the approaching waves?  "I don't think it will help if the building falls in on us," I replied.  Right.

She headed to the front door and noticed several of the aunties rushing down the stairs with babies in their arms, confirming that going outside would be our best course of action, while I quickly grabbed jackets to make our pajamas more...presentable.  Good thing, too - most of the others we joined outside were also in their sleepwear, but a few early risers were raring to go, namely, one lady with an elaborate updo, shiny leggings, and dangerously high heels.

We checked to make sure the other foreign teachers were safe (some opted not to even get out of bed) and all waited out in the parking lot until everyone seemed to reach the consensus it was safe to return inside.  As news of the day's events unfolded, we learned that the magnitude was estimated to be 7.0 and we were (fortunately) a few hundred kilometers from the epicenter.  Sadly, current estimates are that about 200 have lost their lives to this disaster, and more than 11,000 are injured.  Last I heard, aftershocks are still happening and even the lives of some emergency personnel have been lost due to continuing hazardous conditions.  For many in our area, it's been a tragic reminder of the 2008 earthquake that claimed nearly 90,000 lives.

I believe the foundations already established for Boston survivors and the fact that officials in West had to turn away help and supplies because they were offered more than could be used is an indication of how Americans, at least in general, have a tradition of being generous when lending a hand to those experiencing disaster.  It makes my heart swell for the people who truly live out the idea of being "blessed to be a blessing."  Sunday afternoon, a group of us decided to try and get our students involved, even in some small way, in offering relief to their neighbors suffering in just the next province over.  We're still not entirely sure how all the details will be coordinated yet, but already I've been touched by the eagerness of my students, some who don't have much themselves, to provide a new toothbrush or a pair of socks to those currently experiencing a greater need.

I know there are terrible things that are happening in so many places, and so many people that are badly  hurting.  Yet, I can't help but be encouraged by the love outpoured by/to perfect strangers in the face of so much pain.

How Fortuitous

The way the education system works here is really quite different from that of the United States.  For example, students are assigned a class group that will share all of their classes together for all four years of university.  Therefore, the school creates each schedule and informs the respective class group (and teachers) what it will be.  When I received my schedule at the beginning of this semester, I noticed an unprecedented anomaly - a late Wednesday night class.  

This time slot provided a few obstacles, namely that my students find it terribly difficult to listen to and concentrate on an all-English lecture after a full day of classes.  I tried to work within the system to have the schedule revised, but (due to the different methods) it was all to no avail.  So, after the discouraging meetings and then informing my disappointed students, I set out to make the best of our Wednesday night situation.  

When I first arrived at the (5th floor) classroom, I realized my USB (with the lecture's accompanying PowerPoint) had fallen out of my bag.  After offering a quick word of thanks that I'm in the habit of allotting a good bit of extra time before each class, I hurriedly ran back down all the stairs and rushed back to my apartment to either find the missing flash drive or grab a replacement.  I quickly (you weren't there...you can't prove otherwise) returned up the five flights of stairs and greeted my class.

Somewhere around the second or third slide of the lecture, several of my students pointed to the screen behind me while offering up a lamented "No, no."  Considering the topic at hand included discrimination, I wisely surmised that they were (finally! after all this time) so moved by both my lecture and my inspired teaching that they simply could not keep silent in their seats any longer.  Indeed, I was fully in my element, passionately motivating the next generation to advocate for the oppressed and less fortunate around the world.  Their pointing only grew more emphatic.

I turned around.  

Oh.  The screen had gone blank.

I tried to restart the equipment a few more times and was as successful in that as I was in changing the schedule.  After the final round of discouragement, we finally opted to change to another classroom, which involved (of course) checking with the key steward to find which room might be available and checking out the new key.  Upon entering the new classroom, this is what awaited us on the board:

"Make the best/most of"

I'm still left with just this one question: How did they know?!

In my Daily Life

In my experience, language learners tend to absorb the patterns and pronunciations they find themselves surrounded by - perhaps explaining why my Texas drawl grows noticeably thicker each time I talk to my Grandma on the phone or take a visit to the panhandle.  Living here has proved no different, in some regards.  We all had a good laugh when a student said "As the going says, ..." but now I have to deliberately consider the accurate way to say the phrase Each. And. Every. Time.

Another example lies in the nation just north of my  home country (no, I'm not talking about Oklahoma).  After a student's mispronunciation, Arianne got in the habit of playfully calling the country by the name "Canadia."  Now I can't even begin to count how many times I've been in the middle of a lecture and have had to stop myself mid sentence to ensure proper pronunciation of the word.  Shameful.

However, perhaps my favorite linguistic adjustment is one that belongs primarily to Arianne.  The phrase that most grated on her nerves after moving here was "in my daily life."  She vehemently declared that we do not use such a phrase and adamantly advocated for her students to eliminate it from their vocabulary.  She was able to successfully fight off the urge to utter those words aloud for quite some time, up until they became an inseparable part of, well, her daily life.

So, I thought I'd use this post as a celebration of things that have become a part of my daily life.

Character practice and repetition.  (For those that can read Chinese - please don't judge me!)

Far from our normal daily weather, our campus really is quite lovely in the sunshine.

It's entirely common (and I'd say even expected, judging by those that brought their own stools) to encounter a costumed and choreographed dance routine while on a stroll through town.

The groups even provide their own music and sound system.

Passersby come and go at will to look on whatever may be happening, while you can see that the older generation of men still commonly dress in the style of clothing that was characteristic of New China. 

Food cart outside the train - contains goodies like instant noodles and spicy tofu.

Precious little boy trying to figure out why this aunty looks so different.

On the back of a motorcycle taxi, just cruising up the sidewalk.

Typical train station - everyone going every which way, all at once.

View from my favorite tea stand....wait...those aren't usually there!

Expecting the unexpected -
a man and his bulls just going for a walk outside our university.

Part of the beauty of living in another culture, for me, means not only finding the differences compared to how I grew up, but finding the ones worth appreciating.

And the Answer is...

Uh, E. All of the above.  Obviously, right?

Oh, the City Life

I've gotta say, I love my job and I love the people I get to work with and all the ways we share life.  And yet, it took moving to a country of more than a billion people to irrefutably confirm that I decidedly lean more towards the introvert side of any kind of -vert scale.  So, as much as I love my students, my team, and even the cute little aunties at the supermarket, sometimes living here is just plain hard - you know, in the being-totally-overwhelmed sense of the word.  I have a friend who lives in a nearby country who may have put it best when he said that the culture basically "stampedes" us.

I've learned that in order to keep any semblance of sanity, sometimes it's necessary for me to just get away and have a little alone time.  Thankfully, working on a university schedule affords many such opportunities.  This week, for example, is Tomb Sweeping Day and so I was able to sneak off to a nearby-ish city for a couple of days before meeting up with a few of the other foreign teachers to check out a glacier park.  (Seriously.  Checking out glaciers.  In China.  How is this my life?!)  It's crazy how refreshing it is just to eat an omelet, drink non-instant coffee, and overhear English conversations in Irish, American, British, and even Polish accents.  I spent the whole afternoon yesterday on a comfortable sofa with a fresh cup of coffee, studying my Chinese characters in peace - pure bliss.  Last night I was able to talk to a handful of people back home that I hadn't been able to connect with due to a poor connection.  Few things are better (or more homesick-inducing) that hearing the voices of the ones I love.

On a different note, many times waiguoren choose not to acknowledge each other in China, like some kind of unspoken rule that this Texas girl just hasn't quite figured out yet.  However, when we're on our own and in a western business/setting, somehow it seems to make us more susceptible to speaking to each other.  It's always interesting to see the different personalities and hear their stories.  Whether it's a couple from Europe taking a four month holiday to travel the world or an organizer of an Ethiopian benefit concert wrapping up some real estate deals, I'm always fascinated to hear what could have brought them here.  With the (extremely odd/rare) exception of the random Frenchman who quite literally showed up on my doorstep last year, this kind of thing only ever happens on a trip into the city.  Sometimes just a reminder of international diversity is all I need to feel reenergized enough to dive back into the life of my city and appreciate the unique culture it has to offer.

A Colorful Box, eh?

Such flowery words with such little meaning.

A Little Perspective

Friday is typically my busiest day of the week.  I have a nearly full set of classes that day, which means lecturing to about 240 students over the course of six hours, and I just recently resumed my Mandarin lessons with my (amazing!) tutors.  This past Friday I was also invited out to a nearby-ish campus by some other foreign teachers with the purpose of remembering why this particular Friday is so Good.

After finishing my classes (and the lunch I'd intended to eat four hours earlier), I ran home to grab an overnight bag before setting off to find the bus to their elusive campus.  I wandered around downtown with no luck and finally began asking where to find the stop.  Naturally, each person I asked pointed in a different direction and none of them had ever heard of the other school.  Finally, I approached a group of young women hoping they'd be a little more knowledgeable.  Two of the three were ready to dismiss me then and there, but one immediately responded that she'd ask around and take care of it for me.  Y'all, this girl was legit.  She asked nearly everyone in sight and wouldn't settle for just pointing me on my way.  She had such an unusual calm about her and insisted on seeing me safely to the bus.  Of course, this meant a good 30 minute walk around the city center with multiple stops to ask further directions.

We finally arrived at the (unmarked, of course) stop and confirmed with others standing in line that it was indeed correct.  Homegirl still hung tight, until I tried to give her some cab money to get back to her waiting friends a little quicker.  She sternly scolded me, "I want to be sure you get on this bus safely, but I'll leave if you try to give me money!"  The bus arrived and a mad rush of waiting passengers ensued.  As I joined in the throngs, I looked back through the crowd of people to thank her one last time and she placed her hands together and said something like "I wish you peace."  I was blown away.  I still am.  Although I'd be remiss not to say that people here have indeed gone out of their way to be hospitable or helpful at times, no one has ever come close to that and no one, perhaps with the exception of the trendy Christmas apples, has ever uttered words even remotely close to that to me here.

As I contorted myself into the only empty space left on the overcrowded bus, I tried not to think about how uncomfortable I was balancing my bags and holding onto the bar above me while the seated young men tried to nap.  I tried to ignore the two old men who both seemed to have so much to say to each other all at the same time.  I tried not to hear the blaring music of the two passengers that were convinced their (conflicting styles of) music needed to be appreciated by all present over the din of the bus's own speakers full of white noise.  I tried not to smell the foul waves of rubbish being burnt by the farmers drifting in through the windows, interrupted only by the occasional waft of body odor.  I tried not to think about how the lady next to me was vying for a free massage by intermittently pressing various pressure points along her back into my unfortunate elbow, or how just one wrong swerve could careen us all over the mountainside.

In the face of so much discomfort, I was again struck with the words of my unanticipated guide, "I wish you peace."  Peace.  Isn't that, after all, the entire reason I was going to see my friends in the first place -  to celebrate the One who offers the hope of everlasting peace?  Peace that is freely given to all who accept it - not just for me, but also for the napping students, the chatty old men, and everyone else enduring a discomfort far, far less that what was endured on our behalf.  Peace that brought me a little much-needed perspective, and peace that continues to give me purpose.

Unicorn invasion?

Um...yes, please!

My Knight in Shining Armor

A few of us took a trip into the city this weekend and it went pretty well.  So well that the school was kind enough to arrange a van and driver for us (Mr. Li - my favorite!), instead of leaving us to our own resources to find a way there and back.  So well that we were able to enjoy some chips and guacamole (a total rarity in our parts) before meeting some friends visiting from out of town.  And so well that I finally saw  a shuai ge (handsome guy) that I'm always hearing CQ is so full of...and he was literally in shining armor.

Unfortunately, he did seem a bit too stoic for my taste, though.

Perhaps the tallest, beardliest man I've seen here.

So What You're Saying is...

I'm very fortunate that there's an amazing tea stand directly across from the front gate of our school.  Needless to say, I frequent it often.  Last night, a friend and I were picking up drinks when one of my students showed up.  We chatted for a few minutes until he was ready to leave.

Student: Hao. Wo xian zou le. (translated - Ok, I'm going now.)
Me: Ok.
Student: Wo xian zou le.
Me: Ok.
Student: (a little more emphatically) Wo xian zou le.
Me: Uh...ok then.
Student: (slightly perplexed) Do you know what I am saying?
Me: Yes - ni xian zou le. (You're going now.) But I don't know why you're still here.
Student: Wo xian zou...(finally realizing I had indeed understood his Chinese)...ohhh, bye!

He skipped class yesterday.  Otherwise, he might not have been so quick to assume my inability to communicate.  In class yesterday I mentioned how most people in the US expect everyone (foreigners included) to be able to communicate in English, whereas most Chinese (at least in our area) assume foreigners are unable to communicate in Mandarin.  I mentioned how sometimes I can't help myself when I overhear people talking about me with "Lao wai...ta ting bu dong." ("Ah, a foreigner...she can't understand what she hears.")  Sometimes before I even realize it I've responded with "Ting de dong." ("I do understand.")  At times, that has led to a fun conversation, but I'm pretty sure my student's bashful reaction of running off has been my favorite so far.

The Return of Chalkboard Tuesday

Chalkboard Tuesday is that special time of week when I share something that's been left (typically, presumably, by another teacher) on the chalkboard in the classroom before I have class in that room.  Sometimes it's interesting.  Sometimes it's boring.  Sometimes it's funny.  And sometimes it's just plain perplexing.  Either way, it's a small glimpse into classroom life here.

For when your words need a lil sauce...

Gladiator, CQ Style

Ancient Rome has provided quite a bit of modern western culture's foundation.  Considering the sole topic of one of my classes is western culture, what better way to learn about Ancient Rome than by watching Russell Crowe in action, right?  After spending a few weeks in lecture/discussion, I decided to assign the movie Gladiator and a few discussion questions.  Here are some of the responses:

The corresponding question, "What, if anything, did you find difficult to understand?"

I don't think he was especially concerned with any rules.

The question here was "How did you feel about the ending, and why?"

Own thoughts, indeed.

Ah, yes. Losing one's lover is, of course, a tragedy tantamount with death.

Narcissus, eh?

Sometimes it really is best to talk to the big, scary teacher to find out what you missed.

Perhaps from the student who advised another "It's not important.  Forget it."

Gossip Girl...Gladiator...same same, no?

Identity and Such

In my western culture class this week, our topic has been "Ethnic and National Identity."  Naturally, to introduce the idea of identity, I took a few moments at the beginning of class to talk about standard forms of identity, using my own Texas driver's license and US passport in comparison to the students' government-issued ID cards.  The conversation went a little something like this:

Me:  Ok, so what kind of information is typically listed on an ID card?
Student(s):  Name! ID #!
Me:  Right, ok, what else?
S: Address...
Me:  Yep.  Let's see, and here's "height."
S:  Birthday!
Me: Good, good.  Hair color...eye color...
S:  (blank stares)
Me:  Uhh...hair color and eye color...right?
S:  (blank stares)
Me: (just nearly on the verge of a realization) Um, ok.  Quick question...do your ID cards have your hair or eye color?
S:  (confused looks, shaking heads)...no....
Me: Ah.  Ok. (seeing an unexpected opportunity for further learning) Let's work this out.  What is the natural hair color of nearly every Chinese person?
S: Black!
Me:  And what is the natural eye color of nearly every Chinese person?
S:  Brown!
Me: Ok, what is the natural hair color of nearly every American person?
S:  Yellow! (seeing my reaction) Uh, bu* bu bu bu, uhhh blonde! (looking at my hair color) Bubububu...brown!
Me:  Hmm.  Well, what is the natural eye color for nearly every American person?
S:  Blue!
Me:  (walking to the front row of students, pulling off my glasses) What color are my eyes?
S:  Brown?
Me: Close - they're actually hazel.  Sometimes brown, sometimes green, sometimes both.
S: Wha-???  You can change your eyes?!
Me: No, it's not really like I can - I mean, it's not a superpower or anything. (closing my eyes and pretending to concentrate) "Green, green, GREEN!"
S:  (still somewhat perplexed)
Me: Ok, let's see.  What color is Ms. Patty's hair...you'd better not say yellow!
S: Uhh, blonde.
Me: Yes, and her eyes?
S: Blue.

I went through the same questions about a few of the other American teachers here, showcasing how we each have different hair/eye color combinations and perhaps that's why our IDs request such seemingly superfluous information.  I just love it when their minds casually creak open just a bit more, just enough to allow old stereotypes to shut down while new ideas form!


*Mandarin for "no"

A Few Shout Outs (or "Why I Love Texas")

When I first got back to Texas for the winter break, I (thankfully) headed up to the panhandle with my parents to spend some time with them and my grandparents instead of just opting for a larger chunk of time at the end of the trip.  I had also planned to return for a few days right before flying back out.


However, when my granddad passed, I knew I needed to be by my grandma's side as soon as possible, even though I wasn't sure if I'd be able to change my tickets.  As I prepared to call the airline, my expectations were pretty low, but when I explained the situation to the agent she not only expressed her condolences, but also began the process of getting me on an earlier flight.  We were disconnected in the process, and I got a different agent when I called back.  I explained the situation and what the other agent had been in the process of doing.  After some further discussion, checking with her supervisor, and confirming the funeral home, she was able to do an even exchange for the ticket and get me back to my family sooner.  Even though it was only a difference of a day and a half, that time was so precious to me.  Thank you, American Airlines.

Everything in west Texas is pretty spread out - there's just a lot of land and so it can take a while to get just about anywhere.  Because of that, my family decided to stay at a Hereford hotel to make the funeral arrangements a little easier.  The hotel truly went above and beyond to ensure we were all taken care of, including making every effort to make my 90+ year old grandmother as comfortable as possible, not necessarily a task to be undertaken lightly.  Although I don't believe I'll need to return anytime soon, I'd certainly encourage anyone visiting Hereford and needing accommodations to book a room there.  Thank you, Holiday Inn Express.

My dad was asked to do a slideshow for the service and was having a little trouble with it.  Since I arrived early, I decided it was a project I could take over in order to give him one less thing to worry about.  Well, the incompatibility issues between mac/pc/different operating systems/etc made a "simple" project quite a bit more complicated than it really should have been.  Not only that, but the system at the funeral home didn't have the cord that could make it all possible, either.  So, Dad and I decided to check out the only place within about a 60 mile radius that might have what we needed - the local RadioShack/hardware store.  (Yep - two-in-one...that's west Texas style.)  The poor guy was swamped, but still bending over backward to try and help us with every potential option...unfortunately, none were viable.  We swung over to Walmart, just in case, then back to RadioShack because a combination of cables would work, providing they had the second one that Walmart still lacked.  They didn't.  However, he did take the time to walk me through the process of using a different program altogether to burn (rip?) the slideshow to a DVD.  It took a little longer, but worked out much better than I expected.   All because someone took the time to offer true customer service, even knowing it wouldn't earn a sale.  Thank you, RadioShack.

I know it sounds cheesy, but I really have missed that "small town service with a smile."  It was nice to be reintroduced.  Thank you, Texas.

A Tale of Two Heroes

As I prepared to return to Texas for the long winter break, my mind was filled with thoughts of catching up on everything I'd been missing, everything from favorite foods to favorite friends and, of course, time with family.  Far from my mind was the thought of attending any funerals and although it saddens me, I'm also grateful not to add that to the list of things I've missed while overseas.

Last week, as I joined thousands of others for the memorial service of a man who willingly sacrificed so much for his country and fellow warriors, I felt privileged to have the opportunity to pay tribute to his memory, even just by attending, so that his family might further glimpse the impact of his life and feel the support of others mourning their loss.  As I listened to those closest to him talk about the way he lived his life, the depth of his faith, his love for others, and his commitment to family, I couldn't help but think of another man.  A man who shared the same values, though perhaps it looked a bit different.

As I heard about how the young man had time and again placed himself in danger to protect his comrades from enemy fire, I thought of another war, a much earlier one in a much different time, where another brave man also placed himself in danger to protect those he fought alongside.  In my mind I saw him, about seventy years ago, as he climbed out onto the bomb that was still stuck in the plane's belly because it had failed to release over enemy territory.  I remembered the story of how his efforts, rife with selfless risk, allowed his crew to land safely back in England, thereby allowing them all to complete other missions as the war drew on...a story I'd never even heard until about a year ago when his mind was no longer able to keep his most haunting memories of war at bay.  I remember how he told me that wars don't ever really end, but they send you home all the same.  In that moment I saw how his war, so carefully hidden for so many years, had indeed continued on for so long even after victory had been proclaimed in the streets.

But the fact that he acted bravely in the face of danger or that he was able to do so well while battling such dark memories weren't what, in my opinion, made this man a true hero.  No, like the one mentioned above, it was more - it was in the way he lived his life, the depth of his faith, his love for others, and his commitment to family.  Most of all, I remember a man who was patient enough to take a restless little girl with him fishing (knowing full well that meant he wouldn't catch anything!) or to check the ag fields for pests, a man who put great stock in academic achievements, a man who promoted generosity by ensuring I never let an offering plate pass me by without tossing in at least a dime and a nickel, a man who laughed whenever he had the chance, and a man who loved his family so fiercely that at times it was even almost intimidating.  I am so proud that I was able to call this man "Granddad" and I can't help but look forward to the day when he'll lead me through the heavenly gardens, put on his boyish grin, and proudly tell me there haven't been any of those dadburned aphids since he arrived.

'merica!

Ok, so I've got a few hundred pictures, stories, and memories to sort through regarding the past 2 months or so without a solid internet connection.  It should be fun to try and put it all into nice, easily digestible, digital bites.  Until then, I'm just reveling in the fact that I'm back in a place where I can understand every question posed by the lady in the seat next to me on the plane, easily run to the store to pick up an outfit when my luggage doesn't turn up at the same place I do, and be offered so many delightful options for dinner that it's difficult to choose...all in the warm embrace of sweet friends and family.  Lovely.