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.

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.

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.

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.

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"

"It's the Black Lung, Pop"

Laundry dried, but not put away.  Bed warmer left on all day.  Schedule cleared.  Constant streaming of absurd 90's sitcoms on Netflix.  Inauguration of the cozy Christmas socks my sister sent last year.  Toilet and toilet-side bucket disinfected more times in 24 hours than in the normal course of the entire year.  There can be only one reasonable explanation for all of this - illness.

Ok, so it's not the black lung.  It's more likely some kind of violent stomach bug.  Seriously though, if this thing were a convicted felon, the warden would totally place him in solitary for the duration of his sentence.  Hopefully my immune system's already on that.  For now, I'm fighting just to swallow a little liquid every couple of hours.  Honestly, I am a bit concerned about becoming too dehydrated because our town's not exactly known for its stellar medical care or facilities.

Frankly, the only thing I'd know how to explain to a doctor here would be that I don't feel comfortable (to put it mildly), I have pain (yep, just in general), that I have NOT caught a cold, and that my "cough" has...stuff.  A lot of stuff.  (You're welcome.)  Yet another reason I need to buckle down on my language studies, eh.

This summer I did my best to prepare by basically packing a corner Walgreens worth of goods from the states, but even the pretty, pink Pepto tablets refuse to stay where Procter & Gamble intended.  In the last two hours, I have successfully ingested about 1 oz of gatorade (thanks for that foresight, Dad!) and 1 ginger chew (pilfered from my dear roommate).  Strangely enough, the thing I've missed the most is having a bathtub that I could curl up next to and cool my forehead against while laying on the tiled floor.  Well, that and feeling normal, though the two hardly go hand in hand.

All that to say, if any of you are reading this and would like to ask for a little healthfulness and protection from our Father, it would not go unappreciated!  Likewise, I hope you are healthy and happy to the fullest.

My Favorite Things (Teaching Edition)

Ok.  Moving to a country/culture that is easily a 180 degree turn from your original can be quite enlightening, in any number of ways.  One thing that living here has helped bring to mind would be all the favorite things I maybe didn't even know I loved so much.  You know, you never know what you have 'til it's gone, and all that rot.

Well, it has also helped me develop new favorites.  Two such new additions have to do with teaching.  The first would be the quirky ways students express their affection, namely the bizarre pick of gifts. Whether it's a faceless wooden figurine, a golden and personally engraved bookmark of Chairman Mao, or Christmas apples, they seem to know no end of generosity.  Perhaps the strangest yet:

Thanks be to Bob for checking to see if this little fella had been properly gutted and then...um...handling it.

The second would be the journal assignments from my students.  Actually, in all fairness, this is a double-edged sword.  Ever tried to grade 5 entries apiece for 500+ students in a week?  "Oy!" is about all that can sum that up.  However, some of them are so precious, revealing, emotional, or downright sweet that it is altogether worth it.

Of course, I see my fair share of brown-nosers  - "I will always do my best to improve my spoken English!" or "Ms. Lin is a beautiful and responsible teacher."  (That's when I know they're really concerned about their grades!)  But some of them take the ambitious opportunity to teach this waiguoren about their own culture or practices.  And, even more precious, are those who truly open up and allow me a small glimpse into their lives, lives in a culture that typically shies away from expressing emotion.  To be so implicitly trusted pulls at my heart.  Every. Single. Time.

Creatures of the Night...and Day

Every biosphere (or is it ecosphere?) has its natural inhabitants and ours is no different.  The difference lies in the type of inhabitants in our new home.  The first bit of time we spent here was used to battle roaches of the gargantuan variety.  After finding bleach, raid, and some type of plug-in device, they have no longer been an issue.  I wish we could say the same for the rest of our little friends.

The mosquitoes almost seem more intent on making up for lost time now that the weather has cooled down enough that simply moving about doesn't seem like too arduous a task.  It's inevitable with the humidity here that a few of those guys and some wee gnats will make it into our home on a regular basis.  Though a bit of a nuisance, they are nothing compared to some of the other beasts we have encountered.

Some of them, like this goat, are cute enough at a safe distance.

A mouse or two has been found directly outside our apartment door...usually by the community, outdoor cat.  It's not unusual for us to either leave or return to speckles of blood trailing up the building's tiled stairway.  However, some of the creatures are a little more intimidating.

And yet, that guy - pincers and all - has nothing on what we have now termed the "cookie spiders."  Arianne first found one in her room and it was HUGE.  It earned the name cookie spider simply by being the size of a...well...cookie.  Her bravery was unrivaled.  Naturally, I contributed to the cause of ousting the beast by jumping around and screaming loudly enough to alert all neighbors within a 3 mile radius.

Our teammates (with the exception of one lady who had found a cookie spider in her kitchen) refused to believe us when we told of its massive size.  A few weeks in, one made its way into my room.  Thankfully, one of the guys was nearby and quickly returned it to its Maker.  That particular one was dubbed an "oreo spider" because it was significantly smaller than the monster that had graced Arianne's room.

Considering our relatively frequent encounters and my time being spent increasingly away from the other teachers (such as on their TL days), I decided to make an effort to be braver.  When I saw a normal-sized spider near my door, I quickly grabbed a flip flop, held my breath, and ever-so-swiftly smashed the ever-lovin' daylights out of him.  I patted myself on the back and went on my way.  Later that day, well into the night, actually, we went to our favorite tea stand after an especially grueling day and saw the Grandma's Great Spatula of Cookie Spiders (GGSCS).

Now, he may not look like much, just chillin' on the meter box (or whatever that is), but I can assure you he was Quite. Large.  As in, this Texas girl has seen tarantulas smaller than that guy.  I'm pretty sure the normal-sized spider I killed earlier that day must have been his son or something because he looked outraged - see the beady, red glint in his eye?  He wanted blood.  I'm sure of it. (Shudder.)

As you can see, David's no small fella himself, and the GGSCS looks more than ready to take on his over-sized flip flop.  We quickly and strategically devised a plan - Arianne would grab the camera from our apartment, David would smash him, Alice had the backup can of raid should David miss, and I was making sure the light on the landing (motion-sensor slap-pad thingy)  would not go out.

Thankfully the plan, as well as the GGSCS, was flawlessly executed.

Foreigner(s)!

Wai Guo Ren!  It's a phrase we hear no less than half a dozen times a day.  Sometimes muttered, sometimes with shock, sometimes shouted, sometimes with humor, and sometimes with mere observation.  The literal translation of the term (outside country person/people) is somewhat reminiscent of Jewish tradition where you're either Jew or Gentile, nothing in between.  Here, you're either an insider or outsider, a Chinese or a foreigner.  Now, that's not to say that the culture denigrates foreigners in any way.  Chinese hospitality is certainly well-known and celebrated for a reason. However, it is becoming increasingly clear, especially the longer we stay, that our differences are well noted and observed.

When I posted the pictures of our apartment, I joked about the eyes on our patio door (above), saying that we really didn't need any additional reminders about how very watched we are.  Sometimes we are watched with care - such as the student Friday who was concerned we weren't familiar with how to cross the street and that the stop lights might be different here than they are in America.  Sometimes it is with curiosity - such as the sweet elderly couple at the street market that tried to chit chat in the local dialect, or the drunk on the bus last night who made it oh so clear that he felt our Mandarin needs severe improvement.  However, the observation is seldom without comment.

Seemingly everywhere we go, we (unintentionally) cause a bit of a ruckus.  If I go to the department store to purchase a cell phone, or the market to buy eggs, my broken Mandarin causes a host of individuals to gather around out of a sense of personal confidence that they will suddenly be the magic gateway to clear communication.  If we go to the local mall to find bedding, the bored shopkeepers follow from store to store actively discussing amongst themselves what they think we might best like to purchase, only to have all their conjectures turned completely inside out when all we find (and purchase) is one measly pillow cover.

So, it came as little surprise that the students filled us in on the latest foreigner scoop at their first opportunity, which happened to be last Thursday night at English Corner.  It soon came to be known that we are no longer the only foreigners in town...in fact, a massive total of FIVE German individuals exists at a nearby university campus.  The town is all abuzz with the news.  What did, however, come as a surprise was that we actually ran into two of said German individuals last Friday at the gym.  Apparently, the gym is the unofficial hub for the Western foreigners here in our fair city.

In my experience, having similar pigmentation has never been reason enough to strike up a conversation, or even more so, a friendship.  However, the student accompanying us saw no reason as to why it shouldn't be.  So, with wide eyes she promptly informed me - in the presence of the two guys - that we "should talk!"  Thankfully, they were as baffled and amused at her reaction to the situation as I was and lighthearted conversation followed.  At the student's insistence, we made plans to meet up at another time.  In fact, a group of our foreign teachers at this campus met with them for dinner last night.  I must say, it was my first experience of going to hot pot where there were not any Chinese people with me.  In China, no less.  Who knows what might happen if the Swedish ever come to town.