Attentive Silence and Ripe Figs

This moment I'm sitting in is a good one.  I put in a full, good day of work, and I now sit in one of my favorite, shabby little coffee shops near the Ross Island Bridge.  SE Grind is always full of people, mostly students with laptops, late night coffee, sweatpants, and curly hair so luscious it could make you cry.  This is a moment of stirring yerbe matte tea in a white ceramic cup with an old spoon, a moment of cold noses and warm hats, gentle sounds and bright lights, strange art and familiar strangers.

It's a moment set aside to pause, appreciate the warm teacup in my hands, and contemplate the year unfolding in front of me.

Never in my lifetime have I run short of ideas.  Ironically, too many ideas and interests have a way of stilling forward motion.  Sylvia Plath captured it perfectly in The Bell Jar:

"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.  From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked.  One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South American, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and apack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out.  I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose.  I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."

It's been pretty discouraging, especially because God's only recent input has been a teasing, 'Do not pass Go, do not collect $200.'*  That made me balk for a bit - was God telling me that I need to stay in America for 2 years? 10 years? Forever?  I've wrestled and wondered, trying to avoid worry, to narrow down options and plans.  And all the while, God has been so quiiiiiiiiiiet....

This weekend I crossed paths with family friend I've never met before, a lovely woman, who has apparently been following my writing over the past couple of years.  As we talked, I felt God's attention.  It wasn't a directive, a correction, or a divine pity for my frustration.  It was more like God broke the silences and said, 'Uh-huh, I'm listening.'  The acknowledgement was like a deep breath of cold, fresh air. For the past year, I've felt frustrated and isolated by God's silence.  It's only in this moment that I realize the best listeners don't say anything.  I've had a lot to say.

I intended to take this post in another direction, but I think this is where I'm supposed to leave it - sometimes God is silent because He's intently listening to you.  It isn't the silence of abandonment, it's a gift of gentleness.

"You have given me the shield of your salvation,

and your right hand supported me,

and your gentleness made me great."

Psalm 18:35 (ESV)

The deepest loves I've ever known were nourished with a soft vulnerability, the byproduct of consistent gentleness.  It builds up the muchness of a person, the substance, the essence.  This kind of gentleness isn't inspired by pity, but intimacy.  I've shared the closeness of silence with my dearest of friends, but never before with my God.  A new discovery within my oldest relationship.  Remarkable.

*Apparently God cheats at Monopoly.

Fall 2014 Update

Autumn is the best season for starting new things.  I’ve always loved this season best – it has the best food, most comfortable clothes, the prettiest variety of colors.  New school supplies were always a highlight growing up.  Even now I have a high appreciation for a fresh notebook with supple paper and a pen that glides smoothly.  For the first time in a long time, I find myself drawn back to writing, seduced by the autumn atmosphere in my home country for the first time in three years.

I must admit that my return to the United States hasn’t gone completely according to plan.  Though I have full-time work, I’m not in a classroom, which is saddening.  I’m a teacher in a salesperson’s clothes….but luckily they’re very nice clothes.  My wardrobe is looking much better now that I’ve landed a management position at Chico’s.  It was timely change considering that I’ve lost over 30 lbs since June.  (So fun!)  It’s also a strange change – only once in my adult life have I been this fit.  I’m finding all kinds of angles and edges to my body that I’ve never had before.  Losing my fat cushion reveals that I’m more of a klutz than I realized.  I find bruises all over from countertops and tables that are harder than they used to be.

My dating life got a bit of a jumpstart this summer.  I decided that after two years in China, my social circles had dwindled and I wanted to meet people.  After a few weeks of emailing on match.com, I had a whirlwind of dates like I’ve never experienced before.  I quickly learned marathon dating was NOT MY STYLE, so I put the kibosh on that and started scheduling more coffee dates with old friends.

This has also been the summer of weddings.  One summer I remember attending seven weddings.  SEVEN.  This summer there were only three, but they were significant family weddings filled with high highs, low lows, countless carbs, and many happy tears.  They’ve left me with a stack of pictures, memories, and a new sister!

I’m reveling in autumn, family, smooshy sweaters, and clothes off the rack with long enough sleeves.  I’m drinking in the fresh air, smooth coffee, and the sound of rain.  I literally got tears of joy the other day over a croissant that croissant-ed to perfection.  It’s been good to be back.

And yet.

It’s strange that I’m not boarding a plane.  I miss being around people who considering relocating a normal part of life.  I miss my Chinese friends, and I keep thinking I see people from my apartment complex everywhere.   I miss cold street noodles, cheap supermarkets, sanrenche (3 wheeled bikes), and CRAZY DRIVERS.  Mostly I mix expatriats, people committed to living as an ethnic and cultural ‘other’ because it’s worth it.  It’s hard, tiring, fascinating, humbling, and quite possibly one of the most rewarding things a person can do.  I miss meeting that kind of person.  Part of me was afraid that I’d lose that part of myself, the learner, the risk taker, the I’ll-figure-out-whatever-happens-because-it’s-completely-beyond-my-control side of me.  I talked with my neighbor about it as I prepared to leave China.  He just said, “Naaaah.  You’ve got it in your blood now, living overseas.  You’ll go again.”  It was a comfort to me then, and even now as I try to assimilate.

American culture is tough.  Productivity is expected at every moment.  A person’s emotional dynamics are much more varied, vivid, and projected, which is fun, but exhausting.  The pace of life has been the hardest to adapt to, and driving is less fun than it used to be.

And then there’s this:

I’m tired of hearing people complain about non-English speakers.  Leaving one’s home country and acclimating to life elsewhere is mind-boggling, challenging, adventurous, and extremely challenging.  Not speaking a language is not a mental deficiency or being deliberately obtuse.  It’s also not something that can be remedied with a few months of hard work.  On the contrary, not speaking the local language demands that a person constantly use practical problem-solving skills and creative deductions every single hour of every single day.  Complaining about people who don’t speak English in America shows complete ignorance about the challenges they overcome every day.  It’s also pretty selfish.  English is the trade language of our era.  It’s common for people to learn it as a secondary language.  However, it’s not moral failing if they don’t.  Come on ‘muricans.  Don’t be such a bunch of whiners.  Learn a language.

That’s one of the goals I’m choosing for myself before I move on again.  I expect to be in America for a while, but I know my international work isn’t over yet.  I spent two years in China.  China was good to me, and I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything!  I fully expect to work overseas again, though I doubt China is the destination.

But now, now I prepare.  My feet are happily planted here for the nonce, but my vision looks outward with hope.

This Is My Life

Beetles.  Scorpions. Locusts.  Centipedes.  Frogs.  Sheep testicles.

This may sound like a line-up of Fear-Factor challenges, but it was actually the MENU of dinner last weekend!  The university hosted a faculty trip to Kaifeng, which is known locally for a great night market and good food.  Apparently "good food" actually means mind-blowing I-can't-believe-people-eat-this type food.  I wandered around gajillion food stalls and watched hundreds of snacks get boiled, fried, pounded, seasoned and served.

I limited myself to new encounters only, looking for new stories to

tell....and wow, did I find a few!  Insects definitely have a crunchy factor, but the taste was actually pretty good - fried, crunchy, spicy - really not so bad as long as you could get over the fact that you were eating wings.  My favorite were the beetles.  The centipede proved challenging when one of my friend's got a leg stuck in his teeth.  It took him almost a full minute to disentangle it.  You know that terrible mental image you just got of the dangling bug?  I got to witness that firsthand.

The biggest challenge for most was the sheep testicles.  Frankly, we

aren't sure if it was sheep or goat, but we ARE sure which organ it was.  Carefully sliced, scored, chopped, boiled, then stir-fried in delicious ways, but even the food vendor was surprised to see a blue-eyed white chick order it.  We passed it around the table, challenging each other to try a bite.  As it turns out, the real challenge was chewing it...and chewing, and chewing, and chewing....

I've been terrible about updating my blog lately - my sincerest apologies - but I just HAD to tell the world about this little adventure!

Bible Blitz

New Year's resolutions are a good thing.  Somehow, mine tend to solidify a week or so after New Year's, which kind of defeats the purpose.  A new year, a new start....unless of course, you're a little late.  Luckily for me, there is not one, but TWO New Year's Days in China: January 1st, and January 31st (this year).*  By the time we got to the second New Year's Eve, my list was ready.

My little house dressed up for New Year's

As usual, one of the items to make the list is 'Read the Bible regularly.  Teaching has taught me the value of clearly defined goals.  Knowing my propensity and love for intense projects and extremes, I came up with a plan I've affectionately dubbed, "The Bible Blitz."  In the month of February, I'll attempt to read the entire Bible, roughly 300+ chapters per week.

Disclaimer

This is not a good way to study the Bible.  It's important to take time to reflect, ponder and pray as you read.  My long-term goal is to build Bible-reading into a habitual part of my day.  I don't suggest reading this quickly.

Bible reading (like so much of life) is like coffee.  The sweetest, richest, most caffeinated coffee is cold brew, which soaks for a loooooong time.  French press is hot, and full bodies, and brews about 7-8 minutes.  The coffee is ground finer and finer for each method of brewing, until you reach the espresso stage.  It takes 13-20 seconds to pull two shots of espresso, the caffeinated equivalent of a cup of coffee.  Similarly, the richest and most rewarding way to study the Bible is when you take your time.  Sucking down several large mugs of espresso every day is a terrible way to live!  But a bit won't hurt.  One month of blitzing through giant cups of Biblical espresso.  Yes.  This is what's happening.

The Bible I brought to China was a translation recommended to me by one of my favorite professors, The New Jerusalem Bible.  This is my first time reading some of the apocrypha!**  As a protestant, I've been raised with a Bible that has 36 books in the Old Testament, and 27 books in the New Testament.  These new additions pose a few problems.

1. It messes up the books-of-the-Bible song I learned when I was 7.  I sing this song in my mind every time I look something up!  This also makes it difficult to know their relative position within the published text.
2. The books of the Bible aren't in chronological order.  Unless it's explicitly stated, I may not be able to place where in history the story is taking place, which is huge drawback.
3. I've been taught to doubt the authenticity of the apocrypha.  I will need to weigh this teaching carefully, or it may color my ability to accept the text well.  It's amazing how many church fathers debated the veracity of different portions of scripture.  Luther even doubted the canonicity of the Gospels!
4. I've never been taught what I "should learn" from these scriptures.  Frankly, I find this a little exciting!  For the first time, I'm coming to the Bible as an adult without preconceptions or memories of sermons, good and bad.  I get to experience what new Christians think and feel, and draw my own conclusions. (Which I will verify in March once I have time to research.)  It's going to be great!

I created a reading schedule based roughly on theme, chronology, and breaking up the books I find monotonous.***  The apocryphal books were scattered at random, a wild card or two for each week.  The plan ended up looking like this.

The first picture shows my weekly reading goals. The second pictures delineates exactly how many chapters I should read each day.  As per most Bible-reading plans, I decided to divvy up Psalms and Proverbs to get a little poetic goodness every day.

February will be a month of reading, praying, preparing for this semester and the upcoming transition coming this fall.  I am entirely aware that I'm likely to fail at this massive reading binge.  But even if I fail, I'll still be spending hours in the Bible.  I don't see a loss.



*My brother wished me a "Happy fake New Year's" that morning, which made me laugh!  Chinese New Year is based on the lunar calendar, which I have a hard time wrapping my mind around.  Instead of being based on the earth's rotation around the sun, it's based on the moon's rotation around the earth. It doesn't align with the solar calendar, so it's hard for me to figure out.  Luckily there are cell phones apps for that kind of thing.  Take a look at this Lunar Calendar Description and this Moon Phase Calendar.
**Take the time to follow this link!
***All scripture is valuable.  Not all of it is interesting.  Look into your heart.  You know this is true.  If you disagree, you must have not read the entire pentateuch.

The Birds of St Sophia

I'm currently sitting in Haerbin China, sipping a Chestnut macchiato in Starbucks, looking out the window.  The sky is clear and blue, with sunlight glinting off the curved copper domes topping Russian buildings.  My toes are painfully numb, while my hands are swelling with the sudden heat of this delectable macchiato.  I hope for the sake of Americans everywhere that chestnut flavoring is not limited to Chinese consumers.  I try to savor it slowly while my toes come back to life.  Hordes of Chinese traipse up and down Center street, while buses trundle under thin metals arches that span the road lined with spindly, naked trees.  As I wandered the city taking pictures yesterday, I noticed that I passed over buildings and monuments in favor of the winter trees.  I have always found leafless trees impossibly beautiful, their exposed skeletons lacing in a myriad of intricate patterns, the structure and strength of the tree refusing to die in the cold.  In a bare tree, willpower and hope are enmeshed.  Outside this window, I see a giant ice sculpture next to a Russian bakery. This American coffee shop is next to my favorite clothes-store in Asia, which is Japanese.  The street is lined with Chinese restaurants and culminates in a town square featuring beautiful St. Sophia, an old brick church topped with dark green domes sprouting golden crosses.  An old Chinese woman sells bags of corn for the birds - I can almost hear her say 'tuppence a bag.'  At her whistle, a flock of white doves take wing, swirling around the spires perfectly synchronized.  My toes are warm enough to feel now.  There are few moments in life as delightful as this!

The K-Train

The Kattle Train.  The Krap Train.

The faces of my fellow laowai filled with the Spirit of K-trains past. "Ugh, full of farmers who don't read signs." "They'll smoke on board." "It's full of Chinese." "You'll stand the whole way." "The toilets overflow."  Then they asked "Hard-sleeper or soft sleeper?"  "Hard-seat," I said.  The stunned, blank silence told me everything I needed to know: I had scheduled the Train of Doom.*

I had no problem maintaining my enthusiasm despite their grimacing smiles, but I began mentally preparing myself.  I imagined a wood paneled interior with unpadded wood seats, propping my feet up on my backpack for thirty hours** as a round, middle aged man named Li yells over the din to his family sitting on the other side of the car. I brainstormed (as always) ways to avoid interacting with public sewage, and reminded myself that nothing can be as gross as wading through 3/4" of human ka-ka at a Xi'an rest stop. I was a little worried that I might need to stand for several hours, but reasoned that the purchase of standing room must be a thing of the past.

I was a bit surprised at some of the comments people made.  The train will be full of Chinese? No joke Sherlock, WE LIVE IN CHINA.  And why complain about farmers? City-folk are definitely more comfortable around foreigners, but country-folk can be really friendly!  I gave several committal, "Oh, hmmm..." kind of responses, and got even more excited for whatever adventure I was about to encounter.

I finished packing at 1am (which is incredibly early for me) and stayed up until 3am, trying to iron out the perfect color scheme for a new blog.***  I was very proud to check every single thing off my list. Laundry folded. Check. Fridge emptied.  Check.  Apartment clean, swept, bleach poured in the toilet bowl.  Check, check, CHECK!  Could anyone be more accomplished than I?  I topped of preparation perfection with a leisurely breakfast with friends and posed for a picture with my very full backpack.****

Navigating a bus or train station is always easier than I anticipate.  Once upon a time, the idea of finding a platform without knowing the local language ranged from daunting to frightening.  If you ever find yourself lost in a terminal where no one speaks English, this is what you do:

          1. Show your ticket to someone in uniform

          2. Walk toward where they point

          3. If you have not reached your desired destination, repeat steps 1 & 2

After that, switch into lemming mode and follow your fellow passengers.  That's it.  No panic necessary.  China has brought out my inner lemming, so I wasn't nervous about finding my train. However, this is my first solo international trip, so I cut myself extra time. Plenty of time. Too much time.  TWO HOURS of extra time.  But there are worse things.

I rounded the corner resolutely optimistic, ready to take on my shabby, crazy train adventure.  I was greeted with row upon row of happy little red and yellow striped trains slowly pulling in and out of the station as neatly coiffed conductors with long blue coats and sharp hats helped milling people find the correct car.  I wanted to take a picture, but didn't want to break the traffic flow as I lemminged my way to my car.

I did not share a small seat with Li.  My seat mates were Lacy and her boyfriend.*****  Lacy had remarkably good English, and she acted as my unofficial interpreter during the trip.   In the past 8 hours, I've exchanged travel photos with Lacy, bought and consumed long kon, and played "Mafia" using a weird mix of Chinese and English.

[For those familiar with the game, when it was MY turn to be the killer, and they accused me, my defense went something like this, "Just because I'm a foreigner, it doesn't mean that I'm a murderer." They laughed so hard, especially when they found out I WAS guilty,]

Other highlights included an ugly fist-fight about 5-6 rows in front of me, an aspiring admirer who tried to give me fruit, and re my seat mates how to play Egyptian Ratscrew.  Our remarkable deck of cards had three makeshift cards made out of an envelope. The game got so loud and involved that we drew a small crowd of spectators as we steamed up the windows. 

11:40PM

Lily is sleeping on her boyfriend, her head covered with a coat like a bird that's been put to sleep for the night.  He has a red horse stuffed animal under his arm, probably a gift for someone back home.  It IS the year of the horse, after all.  A man in front of me is peeling an apple with a penknife.  Considering the amount of natural cushion I have, this seat is remarkably hard.

12:30AM

I'm growing perturbed about the loud TV show people are playing, but I think Uncle is fixing it. I might I love him.  It's starting to get cold.  I wonder if I'll wake up to snow...

I did NOT wake up to snow, but I did watch a hot pink sun rise a set out opposite sides of the train that day.  The K-train was not at all as terrible as people made it out to be.  However, sitting for 32 hours is surprisingly painful.  I really lucked out with my seat mates: 3 recent college graduates, and 4 middleaged people.  I was seated away from the wall, which made sleeping impossible.  The older people had an unofficial rotation going on, swapping seats so others could take a turn leaning against the wall, or putting their head on the table.  Somewhere in the haze after midnight and before dawn, i got put into that rotation by the grace of God and the good hearts of the Chinese people.

By the end of the trip, I felt very Chinese. I had encountered every major, common cultural clash and didnt really feel fazed.  Squatty-potties on the train, questions about age and marital status, being stared at (literally) for hours by people who had no intention of talking to me, questions about how much I spent on things,****** giving and receiving food to and from strangers, getting photos taken, an impressing people with my mad chopstick skills.  My Chinese cellphone always gets me points for being in-the-know too.  Sometimes I feel like a celebrity in one of those articles you see in tabloids: They drink coffee like us! They buy toilet paper like us! They take their kids to the park like us!  This trip was one of those times.  With help from Lacy, I chatted with the older people. They seemed tentative at first, but by the time we got to Haerbin, they approved of me.*******

My taxi driver was a bit of a stinker, and my hotel room is...worthy of its own blog post, but 12 hours of sleep fixed the world.  My ToD experience, while quite memorable, wasn't nearly as awful as I anticipated.  I'm thankful I didn't manage to lose that last 10lbs - goodness knows I needed it to survive the hard seat! 

Stay tuned for more adventures....

*Train of Doom hereafter referred to as ToD.

** This part of my nightmare was inspired by my real-life story of traveling the length of Thailand curled up in the fetal position for 13 hours on a bus with no shocks that blasted bad rave music through the dead of night with an interior lit by neon purple lights.  True story.

***I have an excellent sense of priorities.

**** For the record, I did NOT overpack. Temperatures in Haerbin have been ranging from -30 to -9 C. Warm clothes are excessively fluffy

*****That's not entirely accurate. Her name was Lacey Li....but you get my point.

******Specifically my boots, which I was REALLY proud of! I shopped all ocer two cities to find goosnow boots made out of leather and wool that were waterproof, cheap, and large enough to fit my feet. This is surprisingly difficult to do, and I ended up with a pair of man-ish, yet comfortable boots for around $38 USD. Two men around my Dad's age were checking them out, so I unzipped the side to show them the lining. One guy felt the wool, and they asked the price. When I told them, they nodded in approval of my great shopping skills, and told me they were good quality. WIN!

*******You know a Chinese person has accepted you if they pat you on the arm or shoulder, or if they give you something to eat.

A Rough, Blessed Week

This week has been really hard.  I've been plagued with feelings of isolation, ineffectiveness, and heartbreak.*

And yet - 

• I've been the recipient of unsolicited encouragement emails from friends back home.
• Two of my Chinese friend have gone FAR out of their way to explain to me - at great length - exactly how I've impacted their lives.
• I threw out my pain into an anonymous FB-group I love. (DFTBA)  After a couple of hours I had some truly insightful and kind words of encouragement from strangers in Glasgow, Florida, Ohio, Norway, and Australia.

I feel incredibly blessed that God has responded to each struggle this week in such direct, specific ways. It's like finding a buoy in open water when I'm exhausted.  Isn't that wonderful?

A few kind, insightful words from a stranger on the internet that I turned into a sign for my wall.

*Finals are also looming, so grading, preparation, and skyrocketing stress are all working to tie my shoulders in knots.

What I'm Listening To

It's time to bring out the Christmas music, which for me, includes Sting's Christmas album.  Yes, Sting has a Christmas album, and yes, I love it!  This isn't really a Christmas song, but it's definitely winter music.  It has the right feeling for me right now.

"The Snow It Melts The Soonest"

Oh, the snow it melts the soonest when the winds begin to sing,

And the corn it ripens fastest when the frost is settling in,

And when a woman tells me my face she'll soon forget,

Before we'll part, I'll wage a croon, she's fain to follow't yet.

Oh, the snow it melts the soonest when the winds begin to sing,

And the swallow skims without a thought as long as it is spring;

But when spring goes, and winter blows, my lassie you'll be fain,

For all your pride, to follow me across the stormy main.

Oh, the snow it melts the soonest when the winds begin to sing,

And the bee that flew when summer shone, in winter cannot sting;

I've seen a woman's anger melt betwixt the night and morn,

Oh it's surely not a harder thing to tame a woman's scorn.

Oh, never say me farewell here, no farewell I'll receive,

And you shall set me to the stile and kiss and take your leave;

I'll stay until the curlew calls and the martlet takes his wing,

Oh, the snow it melts the soonest when the winds begin to sing.

Day 27: Threads

The month of November has been illuminating on a number of levels.  God has been spinning new threads of thought in constantly in my mind, each of different color, texture and weight.  Often, God teaches me by planting a stubborn question in my mind, or an idea, or by giving me a heightened awareness about a particular topic.*  I start to see or hear that topic everywhere, in music, in meetings, in scripture, in my friends' brain ramblings.  Usually the theme of focus is distinct and singular, one per season, maybe two if God's doing something crazy.  This month has been different.  God's been teaching and motivating me in several different areas that seem independent of each other, and try as I might I can't quite see how all the threads weave together.  It's like playing dot-to-dot without the numbers.

These are a few of the themes that have been growing in my lately:

• Specifically Designed for a Purpose (Original, right?)
• Doing "Single" Well
• Singles in the Church
• Brazil
• Hands-Off
• The Virgin Mary: Blessed and Limited

Many of these topics have intentionally misleading titles, as I intend to describe each one individually and in depth.  Oh, I can just feel the anticipation rising!  Some of these ideas are linked, but like I said earlier, others seem removed or disconnected.  Expect to see more ponderings on that in the upcoming weeks.

*I'm probably not alone in that. =)

Most Terrifying Moment in China

WARNING: THIS POST IS NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART OR WEAK OF STOMACH

Over the last year, I've had the opportunity to be in and out of Chinese hospitals multiple times, sometimes as the patient, and sometimes as the friend/PR specialist.  My experience has taught me that NOTHING illuminates the differences between cultures like hospitalization, but that is a subject for a different post.  The most pertinent differences are these:

1. Americans don't go to the hospital unless they're absolutely falling apart.  They try to solve the problem on their own via over-the counter drugs.  A Chinese person will go to the hospital for an IV drip if they have a cold.  Even if the illness is mild, they'll ask a doctor what to do.  I've heard several Chinese doctors say that Americans are weak, fragile people, probably because they rarely see an American who is mildly sick.*
2. American doctors explain procedures and medicines before doing or giving them to you.  Chinese doctors expect you to trust their advice without many questions (like ingredients or side effects).  Lower level doctors (there's a ranking system here) are easily offended if you ask too many questions.
3. Because Americans only go to hospitals when they're really sick, doctors are gentle, testing pain tolerance by degrees.  I have seen multiple Chinese doctors quickly and firmly jab or poke a sore/infected/aching friend right after the person said, 'It hurts here.'

Though my experience IN a Chinese hospital has often been unpleasant, the treatment is amazingly effective and incredibly fast.  So when I started having trouble last week, I thought, "Well, try it the Chinese way and go to the hospital before it gets really bad."

[SPOILER ALERT - Involves pus]

I've alway had issues with my feet.  It's one of my loveliest nuances.  When I was about 10, I started having trouble with my toenails.  My nurse mother and older sister went to task, and I learned how to soak my feet in scalding hot salt water, "As hot as you can stand it," my mom would say.  There's this thing that comes over my mom and my sister when someone has something that needs to be poked, plucked, popped, scraped, or (heaven forbid) lanced.  An impenetrable resolve settles in their face, and you know that no matter how much you avoid, plead, or flee, they will find you, the light of a single flame glinting in their eye as they sterilize The Needle of Astonishing Pain.

The problem with feet is that you stand on them every day.  It took quite a while to heal and learn hygiene habit necessary for my picky feet.  The pain was excruciating, even more so when it was time to clean and treat them.  It was all I could do to refrain from kicking my mother in the face as she "released the pressure" in my infected toes and pus poured out.**  I struggled to wrap my mind around how my mother could cause me so much pain, so she explained it to me.

"Emily, if you don't take care of it now, the nail will grow into the skin and I won't be able to fix it.  We'll have to take you to the doctor, and do you know what he'll do?  He'll cut the skin here, slice through the nail and pull it out.  Do you want to have surgery and have the doctor cut through your sore toe?"

Typically, that speech was enough for me to plunge my foot in the scalding hot salt water or to let her finding lancing (shudder) and bandaging my foot.

Dearest mother, I took these lessons deep into my heart.  Apparently.

My feet have been picky for the past few weeks.  I pampered them for a while, then finally gave myself a saltwater pedicure, as hot as I could stand it.  Then the pus made its debut, no lancing required.  I wasn't sure if Neosporin was the answer to my toe-woes, and I have very little of it, so I decided to put on my Chinese hat and go to the doctor before it got bad.

The next day I called Nelly, a dearly beloved friend who was one of my students last year.  She's a nursing student, so I knew I could count on her not to be squeamish.  We trudged on down to the clinic on campus in search of a miracle Chinese toe-salve, while I reassured her that it was a small pain, and my feet weren't in danger of falling off.  After a ten minute wait, I got to bare my stinky feet in front of about 15 people so I could should the doctor exactly where the pus was coming out.***  Instead of giving me medicine, the doctor decided to pull me aside to a private room so he could clean and bandage them himself.

He was a confident, unassuming man, and Nelly trusted him, so I had no problem as he glazed my big toes with long streams of iodine.  I was chatting pleasantly with Nelly when the doctor turned around and pressed the blade of a short pair of scissors against the swollen skin of my infected toe. I jumped back immediately as all my childhood memories flooding back.  'Do you know what he'll do?  He'll cut the skin here, slice through the nail and pull it out...'

The doctor looked surprised, pointed, said something and tried again.  Knowing that Chinese doctors tend to work swiftly and painfully, I whirled around to Nelly pointed at the threatening blades and said "Why this??" in my very best, most direct Chinglish.  She said, "The doctor says it's okay."

It's okay?  WHAT is okay?  There's no extra skin to trim!  Do I get something for pain?  Americans may be "weak" but pain killers are reasonable right now.  I wasn't ready for this!  I do not approve, nope nope, this is not okay, this is NOT okay, THIS IS NOT OKAY!!

Nelly:  "He says he has to cut it."

Me:  "The nail?"

Nelly:  "Um, that part."

Me:  "The skin, or the other part?"

Nelly:  "He needs to cut it.  It will be okay."

At that point, I had zero assurance that the man in front of me would not indeed clip the offending flesh off the end of my toe.  Fear coursed through each vein as he buried the cold metal into the aching flesh and sliced off -- my toenail.

Every muscle in my body relaxed as I collapsed on top of my knee.  Then I noticed the twinkle in the doctor's eye, but he was far too professional to laugh at the crazy foreigner who had a panic attack at the sight of toenail clippers.  I, however, had no problem laughing at my own absurdity, as I explained to Nelly how my mother used to tell me that the doctor would cut out my toenail.  When she translated what I said, the doctor smiled and spoke one sentence.

Me:  "What did he say?"

Nelly:  "He said, 'Your mother is a nurse.'"

Yes.  Yes she is.

I have had a lot of adventure in Asia.  I've been lost on the streets of Bangkok until midnight.  I've slid down the side of a mountain, grabbing onto tree roots as my feet flip out over the side of a cliff.  I've had to swim 45 minutes against a current to travel only 100 feet to a dock.  I've been followed by strangers for several blocks.  But hands down, no questions asked, beyond a shadow of a doubt I can say with 100% certainty that the MOST TERRIFYING experience I've ever had in Asia was getting my toenails clipped.

*Conversely, the Americans tend to think that Chinese people go to the hospital too easily.  That makes Americans sound cold, but in real life, well, it's hard not to roll your eyes when a girl limps to the clinic propped up by two friends because she has cramps.

**Why my sister opted into this hot action, I will never know.

***Nothing teaches humility like Chinese hospitals.