Sunshine Boys and Happiness Girls

My students have a weekly “English Journal” assignment.  They talk in English for an hour, then write a few sentences down about their conversation.  The lower level students tend to talk about the same things every week: what they ate, what sports they played, and how much they love their friends.  The higher level student might talk about goals and aspirations, politics, philosophy, or describe their perspective on life values.  (Reading these journals also makes me realize what a poor language student I was in high school.  My journals must have been torturous to read.)  This first unit has been all about descriptions of nouns (person place or thing, for those of you who haven’t taken English in a while).  I really enjoyed the ‘Describing People’ week.  I spent the first half of class teaching vocab: tall, short, fat, skinny, blonde, brunette, curly, wavy...  We played games for the second half of class, describing various pictures and guessing who was who.  I figured that if I was going to look at the same people all week, I might as well look at people I liked…so I printed out pictures of a variety of people, and put up a few of my favorites!  It was so funny to hear my Chinese students’ perception of different people in my world, and it was even funnier to hear their gasps of astonishment when I told them, ‘This is my dad, this is my best friend, this is my boss…’ and they realized they had been talking freely about people I cared about!

I started noticing trends in the descriptions throughout the week as I listened in class, and read about the ideal man/woman in their English Journals.  My take-away Chinglish phrases of the week were “I am a happiness girl,” and “He is my sunshine boy.”  Happiness girls and sunshine boys – what a darling image.

Couples watching in China is fascinating.  The most striking (and initially disconcerting) feature of Chinese couples: they match.  Not their faces – their clothes.  Then I started noticing that female friends also wore matching outfits.  At first I thought they were work uniforms, but oh no.  From the panda sweatshirt down to the buckled shoes, they match to a T.  (Ok, boys and girls wear different shoes, but the rest of the outfit will match.)  In fact, many items are sold as sets.  When I was shopping for a watch (a necessary purchase when you have a stinky phone) there were several that were sold as his/hers matching sets.  I asked a Chinese student if it was a sign of a deeply committed relationship.  She said, “No, we just buy it.  He will buy it for you.”  Then there’s the purse holding.  In China, a boyfriend will carry his girlfriend’s purse for her.  There’s nothing un-masculine about it; he’s taking care of his lady.  I HAVE heard of cases where a boyfriend will carry his own matching purse.   ….yeah, I think that crosses a line.

At first, my American vision saw this as bizarre and vaguely creepy.  However, the more I see it, the more it strikes me as incredibly sweet.  I can’t begin to describe how stressful the dating process is in America.  Does he/she like me?  If I tell her, will it be too strong/nonchalant/needy/cold/vague/demanding/blah blah blah blah… There’s a void where dating protocol should be (unless you court, which creates immediate and intense expectations), leading to a whole lot of vagueness, misunderstandings, and a lack of willingness for either person to simply stand up and say, “Hey.  I like you. Do you want to go out?”  When I look at Chinese couples, I see people who are clearly telling the world,

“I like THIS ONE.  I want to be with them.  I like being associated with them.  I want us to be similar.  I want us to belong to each other.  I will invest my hard-earned kuai into building a connection with this person so that everyone can see without a shadow of a doubt that I love them.”

There is something to be said for that.

There are many things about my dearest friends that I would love to emulate, but we strive to be different and unique.  We consider it a confidence to tell a person, ‘I want to be like you.’  Why is that?  The process of Chinese wooing is pretty amazing; flowers, presents, fireworks just to make a girl to smile…of course girls see their men as ‘sunshine boys!’ 

I was talking about this with a friend the other day, and she asked me if I was going to match with a boyfriend someday.  HECK NO!  But I do have my eye on an awesome watch set…  I’m an American girl.  I don’t expect a man to carry my purse, and I kinda really don’t want him to wear the same outfit as me.  Something about it just doesn’t scream “MASCULINE.”  But I would gladly trade in the vague haze of interest for a straightforward statement.  Coming from the right person, that alone would make me a happiness girl.     

**It is also interesting to note that yang (as in yin-yang) is a masculine feng-shui element associated with the color white, metal, the sun, and warmth.  I believe that a ‘sunshine boy’ is a way of describing a truly masculine, warm, man.

Duck in the coop

Right now I’m sitting in a hammock on the roof of my apartment building.  The air has gradually grown thick over the past four days, air, pollution, and humidity vying for the same space.  Now it’s raining, thick, heavy, lazy drops, pinging on the tin roof-top covering the area where we hang our clothes to dry.  Clothes, cloth, cloths – I’ve explained the difference between those words five times in the last two days to about 135 students.  My hammock isn’t the driest place, but as long as my computer is safe, I’m not going to miss out on the quietest outdoors experience I’ve had in weeks.  I love listening to the rain here – the air feels different, but the sound is familiar.

The last couple of weeks have been a little interesting.  I thought culture shock would be a sad feeling, or an intolerant perspective, or a nagging whininess because a person expects everything to be the same as home is.  It’s more like being the only duck in a coop full of chickens.  Everyone has feathers and wings just like you, but somehow you keep expecting to find a pond somewhere.  Culture shock isn’t the longing for the pond – it’s the expectation of finding one.

Sometimes the contrast of cultures is little; you sneeze, I say, “Bless you.”  WHY?  Old world superstition.  What an awkward thing to explain to a student.  Sometimes the contrast is blatant.  Babies don’t wear diapers, so their pants are split open until they’re two or three.  You learn to avoid all puddles.

The hardest thing for me is the noise – constant, blaring, haranguing noise.  The Chinese express everything with BIG sound.  Happiness, anger, grief, motivation = noise!  They also mark every notable event with firecrackers: relationships, births, deaths, building dedications, street performances, weddings, or maybe just because it’s Tuesday!  I’m learning to enjoy these outbursts of sound at remarkable decibels because it is a joyous expression.  It’s been years since anyone has called me ‘quiet,’ but even with my training in projection, some of my student still can’t hear me.  I really think their hearing is already damaged!  Add to the list of necessary China gear: earplugs.

At the same time, the clash of worlds is kind of wonderful.  I missed dinner last night (for choir practice, obviously) so I trekked out to the food district across the street from the university.  Food carts were pulled out along the side of the road, with meat kabobs or fried bread or giant biscuit sandwiches, long tables filled with a million different noodles, marinating snails, sliced lotus, or boiled dumplings.  Everything is vivid, or it would be if it weren’t covered in a fine layer of dust.  Red chipped paint on the carts, yellow and green advertisements high on both sides of the brightly lit alleyway.  People lounge at long tables on each side of the streets, kind of like a community food court outside.  I walked through last night, pretty hungry, but wanting something new.  Between my white face, broken Chinese, and awesome pantomime, I bought cold marinated noodles with just the right amount of spice while locals pretended like they weren’t taking pictures of me with their smart phones.  It was a good night to be out there, the night sky and tantalizing smells – then I laughed as I realized I was trudging around an alley in some of my best clothes! 

That’s culture shock phase #2 – growing accustomed to something, then realizing how absurd it would seem in a different context.  It’s high-sensory living, amazingly enjoyable and energy consuming.  I find I need a lot more sleep.

The air is still dense, but cooler now.  I feel like fall is one step closer.  I wish I had cinnamon – it would complete my perfect bowl of oatmeal!  But as I sit in my hammock on the other side of the laundry, dreaming of perfect fall oatmeal, I’m also taking in the view; a pagoda and the replica of a Russian castle, both illuminated with brightly colored Christmas lights.  Quack!

CSL and Coffee

Today I headed to the coffee shop at the end of a quiet weekend to escape final lesson planning in my bedroom.  I bought something baked that tasted amazing (no, I don't know what it was called - I'm illiterate now, remember?), ordered a latte and headed upstairs.  It's interesting; even hot drinks are served with straws.

Anyways.  I worked on my computer, sipped my latte, and watched as the baker piped icing onto cake after cake, smoothing it down, edging it with shredded coconut, and swirling designs on the top.  Then I watched an animated conversation between a man at the counter (the boss maybe?) and one of the bakers.  My ears still struggle to decipher Chinese, but it was pretty obvious this woman was deaf.  I watched as they talked, laughed, and signed back and forth.  I find this process interesting any time I see it, but it was particularly interesting to watch it associated with another language.  It made me wonder: if ASL is American Sign Language, then are they using....CSL, or Chinese Sign Language?  Does China and America use similar hand signs for the deaf?

I have no idea, but when I went over to take a picture of the cake, I did my best to sign to her that it looked beautiful.  Chinese people are usually pleased whenever I attempt to speak some hackneyed Chinese, but she about jumped out of her skin when I tried to sign!  (Thank you, Switched at Birth and Adam Molatore for giving me the most basic handful of signs!  Oh gosh....that pun REALLY wasn't intended, but so appropriate...)  It was such a cool moment.  We swapped pictures and smiles and went back to our duties.

In other news, many of the people who drive mopeds wear full-faced flat visors.  Sometimes the visors have an iridescent sheen that reminds me of a fly.  I've decided they look like Boba Fett. 

Just like Riding a bike

Hello all,

So I FINALLY began posting - hooray!  Sorry it took me so long to get up and running.  Sometimes life here feels like one endless meeting.  As you can see by my sudden blast of posts, I've been writing, but my computer doesn't want to upload pictures.  My perfectionist complex set in, but as a friend reminded me, there is this little 'edit' button that I can use later to add pictures. =)

There is so much to see and do here.  I rented bikes with the guy down the hall the other day, and we rode all over our little city, exploring back alleys, climbing on abandoned trains, and taking pictures of the light falling just so through the branches of unfamiliar trees.

Ironically, the phrase "just like riding a bike" usually refers to picking up an old skill as easily as you pick up riding a bike again. I was awkwardly made aware that it has been years since I've ridden a bike.  On one hand, I forgot how much I enjoy bike riding.  On the other hand I yelled a couple of impolite things as I ducked and swerved unsteadily through traffic on a two-wheeled contraption that was no longer familiar.  In my defense, the kickstand kept falling down and half of the brake lines were cut.  I will be much more particular about the bike I select next time.  There was something so liberating and wonderful about spending 15 cents and two hours wandering around a strange city.  It felt exotic and ridiculously normal at the same time.  It was fabulous.

The first coffee shop in china!!

I have been in China for 3 ½ weeks, and for the first time I finally feel like I’m sitting in a coffee shop!  It’s a glorious little place on the far side of Two-head Statue square.  (Guess what the statue looks like?  You all are so smart!)  It has the right quiet ambiance, with plants all over the place.  There are white table tops with wood-colored accents, and quiet music playing.

If you’re imagining a 70’s-ish Bond lounge, you’ve got it about right.

This place may sound a little unnoticeable…unless you compare it to the rest of China.  China is LOUD.  Horns, music, cellphone ringing, and the talking volume of the average person is twenty decibels louder than ANY American.  Next time you hear an angry Chinese person, know that they’re not really mad – probably just talking about the weather or children.  Even cellphone rings are impossibly loud.  Of course, if your phone rang at an American volume, you would never hear it in the cacophony that is Xinzheng.  Quiet has been a much-sought-after but seldom-found thing here.  But in this little corner I’ve found a place to just sit a while.

You see, other places to eat are more like restaurants; they’re for visiting.  LOUD visiting.  And you don’t linger in those places.  Also, when Chinese people do linger, they don’t sit.  They squat.  I am not skilled enough to do the Chinese squat.  It may sound a little ridiculous, but I watched a toddler learn how to squat today.  Just like walking, squatting takes some practice before you can do it well.

A random girl just walked up and took a picture with me.  Oh my vanity!  You see, it’s not always flattering.  Usually I think, “Right now?  I am NOT the loveliest of people right now,” especially because I know the picture will be sent around to all of their friends to show off the foreigner they “met.”  I will say this about it though – the Chinese have guts.  Others try to be subtle and take videos of us ‘laowai’ (good –ole foreigner) with their smart phones as we walk by.

You know, for my whole life I’ve just been ‘a white girl from the burbs.’  But HERE…. I am the schizz.  The exotic woman with the giant blue eyes.  It’s so strange.  Sometimes it makes me laugh, especially if people do things like walk into walls or crash their bikes.  Other times I think, ‘I’m eating a piece of bread.  WHY are you watching me?’  It’s very strange to look someone in the eye and wave at them, and have them not realize that you’re talking to them.  On my way to the coffee shop I passed a group of old men jamming on traditional instruments.  I would have loved to stop and listen, but two of them were staring at me dumbfounded (without missing a beat), and to stop would have been awkward….

Other awesome things about this coffee shop: it smells right, and it’s clean.  From what I see, nothing is broken and it smells like coffee and bread.  This is different from most places.  For instance, the noodle place smells like noodles, soup, and whatever just got dumped outside.  That’s kind of the standard here – life kinda smells like whatever got thrown out.   Trash pickup/dumping is irregular, and small children don’t wear diapers – they take care of their business outside.  (WHAT?! That’s gross, you say.  Right?  From the Chinese perspective: ‘WHAT?!  You wrap your child up so they’re stuck in their filth?  Then you wipe it off with your hands??  That’s vile and disgusting.’  Think about it – no diaper waste, no washing cloth diapers, no wipes, powder, diaper-rash, Desitin….)  This makes for  quite an aromatic after-dinner walk.  I invited some “culture students” over to my apartment last night.  The first thing they said was, “Wow, I like the smell in here!”

WIN.

Back to coffee…

I was a little concerned as I watched the shots die, but this is actually the best coffee I’ve had since landing in China.  I think this may have become my go-and-sit place.  If you think having a ‘go-and-sit place’ is silly, try moving to another country and spending hours doing computer work…in your room.  Lame.  But THIS place….it reminds me of Rachel and Anne.  And there’s another win!

Losing My Words

Words have always meant a great deal to me.  I was a voracious reader as a child. I read Gone With the Wind, Roots, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, and Mere Christianity before I even entered high school.  An insightful phrase or witticism is delightful to my ears and mind.

Words have meaning and power – when coming from the right person.  A million words from one person may mean little, but a few from the right person can mean so many things.

At the moment I don’t feel like I’m doing justice to a topic I care so much about.  Then again, that IS the point of this post.  In China, I have no words.  Yes, I can say ‘hello’ and ‘thank you.’   (Chinese feels funny in my mouth, even more strange than German.  What I wouldn’t give for a diction coach!)  I’m learning my numbers and how to point at something in a store and say ‘this one.’  But these are not words of eloquence; these are words of function.  It’s a crippling feeling to have so many words, but none of the right ones.  Sometimes people will work with you to communicate, and sometimes they don’t.  It made me feel dumb at first, and then I learned a minimum amount of words necessary to go shopping or buy food.

I got a few surprises as a result of my loss of words.  First of all, I get to be an introvert and an extrovert at the same time. (Would that be a bi-trovert?)  I can walk out in a crowd of people by myself (sorry mom, it happens) and still be completely alone.  I pantomime if I want or need to, but few people actually try to talk to me unless they know a little English.  I will say that about the Chinese people – they are so hospitable that even if they only know 4-5 words of English, they will use them to try to connect with a stranger.  But in general, people leave me alone.

In America I enjoy people-watching, especially during the holidays. (We’re an intriguing bunch during that carefree season.)  When I’m out and about in China, I’ve noticed that I sometimes avoid eye-contact, or looking at people’s faces.  Somehow, the fact that I can’t talk to people leads me to avoid connecting with them too directly.  I realized this just a few days ago, and it’s not my favorite self-development so far.  My goal is to remind myself to truly see people, even if I fear that I can’t connect with them well.  And of course to collect more and more of the right words.

Cicadas, Part I

The first time I went outside during the day I was greeted by waves of harsh, grating sound.  I thought, "This has got to be the WORST PA sound test that I've ever heard.  Why couldn't they pick something more pleasant?"  It was a strange PA test though, because the sound would fade in and out, and echo at irregular intervals all over campus.  It sounded like someone's memory being erased in a sci-fi movie, or a giant rainstick on steroids magnified through a microphone.  The sound was loud, consuming, and distracting, but no one seemed to notice it.  After several hours, I finally asked someone, "What IS that sound?"  The woman jumped and smiled - I got the feeling that she had forgotten how foreign the sound seemed at first.  Then she told me:

CICADAS.

A Bug.  A reasonably large bug, but really?  That level of sound was excessive!  It's smaller than the breadth of your palm, but the output of sound is phenomenal.  I looked it up on youtube to give you an idea of what it sounds like, but the recordings don't give a true scale of the overall VOLUME of sound.  It was deafening.  I had arrived in the dry season, when cicadas thrive.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0DOWm9IBGoY

I was at Waka one day looking at the jade work in the jewelry counters.  I love the color green and beautiful things - the variety and craftsmanship of jade ornaments is so interesting!  I was looking at various carvings and saw one that looked....just like a bug.  The idea of wearing an insect pennant wasn't innately appealing to me, so I asked my Chinese host about it.  She told me it was a cicada, but I still couldn't see why you'd want to wear a cicada.  Then she told me that many animals are symbols.  Cicadas are a seasonal insect.  During the dry season, they multiply and command the world's attention with their song, but as soon as the rains begin, they fade away.  To the Chinese, a cicada symbolizes biding time.  You may be silent now, but in time, the world will hear your song.  I found the concept quietly reassuring.  Maybe a quiet season in a person's life isn't due to their lack or inability.  Maybe it just isn't their season to sing.  But with it comes the promise your time will come.  Conversely, it also teaches your time will also go.  I like the idea of embracing the season you're in - you won't be there forever.

My First Chinese Words

Hello everyone!!

I have made it to China safe and sound, and I've been running ever since.  It must be a universal truth: no matter where you're from, or where you are, if you're a teacher, you spend a lot of time sitting in meetings.  A LOT of time.  But maybe I should back up a couple of steps.

I drove up to Seattle with my parents on Sunday morning.  We attempted (and failed) to buy a phone along the way, and arrived in time for Seattle traffic and a picnic on the beach with extended family.  The next morning I had a nice quiet breakfast with family before driving to the airport.  I was full of bravado about how much luggage I would have to carry, mainly because I hadn't actually lifted it before.  When I actually boarded the plane, the stewardess graciously offered to put my bag in the overhead compartment, but it took BOTH of us to heft it up there.

The plane ride was phenomenal!  The airline overbooked the economy section, so they changed my ticket to business class.  I don't know if I've ever experienced anything quite so luxurious.  My seat fully reclined, and I could adjust it in 6 different directions.  I had my own screen where I could watch unlimited TV and movies, check the status of the flight, listen to music or play games.  But the best part was the FOOD.  They served two 5-course meals on fresh white linens and full cutlery.  There were delicate canapes tied with steamed scallions, chilled slices of lobster with fruit salsa, soup, salad, and noodles with an array of pickled vegetables for the main course.  When I finally decided to sleep, I asked for a blanket.  Whenever I've flown before, "blanket" usually refers to a small piece of fleece.  Oh no, not on Hainan airlines.  My "blanket" was a large, white, heavy quilt embroidered with golden thread, which was spread over me by a young steward.  If you think I'm joking right now, I promise - this is the absolute truth.  The whole journey felt more like a luxurious vacation than a trans-pacific flight.  Everyone fell asleep early, but it hadn't occurred to me to take any sleeping pills.  Instead I spent the quiet time journaling, listening to the travel playlists that my friends gave me, and contemplating the idea that I was chasing the sun across the globe.

We finally landed in Beijing, and the sun continued on into sunset.  I wrestled with my massive amount of luggage and smiled back at the pitying looks I received from fellow travelers.  I finally found a trolley for my bags (I love those things!) and walked through customs.  [FYI: Customs in China looks like a door.  You walk through it, and it's over.]  The customs doors swung open and there - perfectly framed in the doorway, was my very first view of China: Starbucks

After ordering a giant iced mocha, I found the shuttle and we drove off down the road....and we kept driving and driving. At this point, I was REALLY hoping that I got on the right bus!  Maybe 10 minutes later, we arrived at the terminal and I was blown away by the view of terminal #3.  I was told later that it was built in time for the Olympics.  Absolutely beautiful.

After 2 hours of delay, I boarded a plane to Zhengzhou and feel asleep three times before the plane even started to taxi down the runway.  It was about then that a Chinese mother decided to adopt me.  We touched down in Zhengzhou, and I had to heft my luggage for one FINAL trip through the airport.  My new Chinese-mother tried to offer help, but I was so sleepy and tired that she finally quit using words, took my massive stack of books and shoved them in her purse, and grabbed a handle of my over-stuffed carry-on.  She helped me find a trolley for my bags (gosh I love airport trolleys!!) and then called her daughter who spoke English to try to help me find a ride to my university.  I was so grateful for her!  Luckily I found my ride pretty easily, and before long we were headed off to the school.

I was struck by the fact that the entirety of my travel-time was filled with gratitude.  The first word I learned in Chinese wasn't 'yes,' or 'no,' or even 'hello.'  The first word I learned is the one I most frequently use: xiè xiè, or 'thank you.'  What an amazing thing, to have my first impression of a place be one of gratitude.

In the weeks following my arrival, I've relived that impression over and over.  The Chinese people are the epitome of gracious hosts, always looking out for the feelings and comfort of the newcomer.  What an amazing place to be!

Port-land that I love

Today has been full of experiences that remind me why I love Portland. After weeks of grey drizzle and torrential downpours, the sun decided to make a glorious appearance on the 4th of July.

Around 11 o'clock, Blake picked me up for lunch at La Provence, a charming French bistro with lovely decor and tantalizing food. I had the best - and only - Monte Cristo I've ever eaten, and the coffee...well, I was impressed.

Now I'm walking along the waterfront, where street dancers are competing with jazz guitars for the crowd's attention. A bright red ferry is chugging down the river on the left, and on the right an awesome young couple will write you original poetry on request. I snapped a pic of them in all their Portland-y glory and we bonded over my Powell's Literature nalgene.

It might be a holiday, but the petition boys are hard at work, registering people to vote and trying to legalize marijuana. The colors are brilliant: the colors of people, clothes, tatts, trees, bikes.


I think one of the things that I love most about my town is that anything goes. No really - ANYTHING goes. A girl just walked by with an old street bike and a skirt that looked like a British tourist's favorite rayon-wonder. She had black retro glasses and a white/neon yellow helmet with a ginormous pink felt and feather flower on top. The 8-inch tatt on her arm was of an antique silver serving utensil. The nutty thing about it - she didn't stick out. And here I stand, the preppy-dressy girl and we are both totally at ease.

Basically, Portland teaches us that awkwardness is for LOSERS.

But really- our reaction to our surroundings is based on the perspective we chose. And today I choose to embrace it ALL.