Here is my blog post for the asking

Americans are good at being everybody's friend.  They want to talk to you, even if you're a complete stranger. From the waitress bringing their steak, to the cashier at the grocery store, they will always ask, "How are you?"  I love this about Americans.  We want to be friendly to everyone we meet.  What I never realized before I left, was that it often only goes ¼ inch deep.  I can talk to a stranger for 10 minutes about the movie that came out last week or the crazy weather we've been having, but I'd better not start to tell them about about the year I've had.  The look on their face turns to fear if they think they'll have to emotionally invest.  Keep it casual folks!

I just came from a place where you don't smile at people you don't know.  You don't stand politely back and let them go ahead of you--you shove them out of the way and jam your elbows into ribs in an effort to give yourself the 30 second advantage.  The difference is, when you break past those barriers and get to know someone, you go straight to the heart.  Once someone becomes your friend, they are there for life--whether you like it or not.  It is not a casual thing.  Soon they're coming over uninvited, eating your food, asking you all kinds of personal questions you never wanted to answer, and borrowing your things.  They are no longer your friends, they are your family and it's forever.  I love the deepness, and the closeness those relationships contain despite the lack of personal space or privacy.

It came as a shock to me that the American way seems so foreign.  I grew up in this land.  I should know how it works.  Yet I was annoyed and surprised as people asked, "How are you?" as they walked past without pausing to hear the answer.  I am used to my friends coming over without calling, when I'm in the middle of eating dinner, plopping down on my couch, and not leaving. They spend 6 hours finding out how I am, instead of 3 seconds.  They know all my quirks, from my habit of using hyperbole in every sentence to my crazy need to be better than everyone else at speaking Chinese.  They know that "How are you?" can't be answered simply.   It can't be boiled down to 2 words.

Great relationships take time to build.  So though I reminisce about the deep friendships I left behind, I need to keep in mind the fact that it was almost a full year before those friendships were born.  But like Tom Petty said, "The waiting is the hardest part."

"How poor are they that have not patience!

What wound did ever heal but by degrees?"

William Shakespeare

我讨厌这个问题

Everyone asks The Question, but in an expectant way.  Like they know what your answer is going to be before you give it.

They don't really know.

It's finding yourself in the middle of the grocery store staring at 1400 different kinds of Earl Grey tea feeling like you've just won the lottery and then somebody called you to tell you that your great uncle's wife also left you a fortune.  All you can think about is the irony of wanting just one tiny thing for so long and suddenly having more than you could ever need.

It's being captured by the kind of sunset that makes you pull over to the side of the road, roll your window down, and gape.  You decide to quit your job and paint so you'll never again forget that the sky can have color.

It's pushing a button to clean your dishes instead of bending over the abnormally short sink for what seemed like half your day.

It's feeling like you're on the outside of an inside joke.  Everyone gets it but you.

It's the sheer bliss of eating Mexican food whenever you want.

It's talking to somebody you've known your entire life and realizing they don't really know you at all.

It's feeling like a stranger when you are surrounded by old friends.  You aren't sure if you're one of them or an alien.

It's knowing that the people you love still love you no matter how much you've changed.

It's a Friday night in a coffee shop, that doesn't feel complete without people around you speaking Chinese.

It's a jumble of feelings fighting for priority inside you, and not knowing which one is real.

It's cursing every time you have to fill up your gas tank, because you no longer have the option of putting a coin in a slot and taking the bus downtown.

It's the welcome truth that people are people no matter where you go.  Some are sweet, some are annoying.  Some smell bad and some always know how to make you smile.  That doesn't change when you leave the hemisphere you grew up in.

No one realizes how beautiful it is to travel until he comes home and rests his head on his old, familiar pillow.
-Lin Yutang

假的眼睛

I opened my eyes to a pink dawn today.  Yesterday it was a blinding yellow.  Each time morning comes it looks a little bit different.  I was throwing away my old contact lenses today, and replacing them with new when I thought about all that these lenses have seen.  It hasn't been a remarkable length of time since I first bonded with this particular pair of synthetic eyes but they've experienced so much.  I probably remember less than 10% of the wonders they captured and funneled into the sensors inside my head—then I threw them away.

These contacts were the first object to receive the light rays when I saw my sister for the first time in a year.  They flooded with tears when we summited Mount Antero together, as we thought about the day, 3 years earlier, when we'd stood on top with our brother.  They watched as clouds hovered, and gathered, and threatened to wipe us off the earth with their fury.  They wondered at the rainbow that completely encircled the sun like a halo.  They were still and silent as a herd of 23 mountain goats passed in front of them on the wisp of a trail overlooking our camp.

The most remarkable change in my eyesight comes--not from a new pair of contacts, but from the paradigm shift from behind.  These contacts didn't aid directly in that change, but they were witness to the constantly evolving that takes place in determining my perspective.  Every day I discover that something that I thought was black or white is actually grey.  I learn that from someone else's point of view, my way looks terribly wrong.  I learn that my eyes can make mistakes, and that things aren't always as clear as they seem.

Soon my contacts will be in a landfill somewhere, no longer enabling me to see.  But the changes that have taken place while they were with me will remain, and I'll remember what I learned with their help.  I can close my eyes and recall the exact color of terror the sky turned as the wind whipped a storm out of nothing high in Colorado.  I'll remember the sunlight on the note we left for Clifford as I folded it and put it in the register on top of 14,269 feet of rock and dirt.  I'll know that there is beauty on this earth and it's there for a reason.

Good and bad, I define these terms
Quite clear, no doubt, somehow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I'm younger than that now.

-Bob Dylan

新的工作！

I was thinking today, about what my life would be like if money actually grew on trees.  To begin with I'd buy a lot of those seeds and save them up in case there was a famine and all the money trees died.  Then everybody would come to me to rescue them and I'd be the money-tree-seed empress.  Of course I'd sell them at an inflated—but not outrageous price and everybody would thank me for being so generous and I'd be known all over as a philanthropist.

I would also live in a different country every year and not have to wish that my student loans would pay themselves while I was away.  I'd learn the language of the country I was in and then promptly forget it the next time I moved and start on a new one.  I would try a new career with each new country until I found one that I loved with all my heart because I wouldn't have to worry about being able to eat while I figure out what I really want to do with my life.  I wouldn't feel any of the pressure that comes with finding a career because if I got tired of my work I could just quit.  The relief from the burden of commitment would make me feel so immensely free that I'd probably hug everyone I met just for the joy of life.

I would never feel the fear that comes with not knowing where your next meal is going to come from.  I would read every book I could possibly think of and some others besides, because I wouldn't have to fill my free time with earning a living.

I would also never discover that I actually love a job I thought I was going to hate, because I wouldn't have been forced to take it to make ends meet.  I would miss out on the fun of creating culinary wonders from leftovers in the fridge.  I would never have felt the excitement I get when I find clothes at Goodwill for $2.  Being able to read whenever I wanted might rob me of the satisfaction of a stolen hour alone with a book.  It would cease to be a rare treasure and become the norm.

While I can't say that I actually am glad money doesn't grow on trees, I have to admit I'm finding out that the things in life that seem like curses are not always.  I started a new job two weeks ago, and at first I was revolted by the thought of doing the same thing every day, and no longer having my summers free, and all the shackles that come along with adult life; but after two weeks on the job I've found that I love it.  I'm a legal assistant at a law firm downtown and it doesn't seem so terrible to go to work at the same time every day and see the same people.

I promised to update my blog readers when I landed a job but I got distracted by climbing mountains with my sister during my last two weeks of freedom.  They were as glorious as two weeks could possibly be, but life in the low country is plucking along dandily too.  That doesn't mean that I won't keep my eyes out for the faces of dead Presidents on the trees I pass as I drive to work…

 

"So you think that money is the root of all evil. Have you ever asked, what is the root of all money?"
-Ayn Rand

Things I Miss About China

Okay let's be real...I've only been gone for a week, I don't actually miss China yet.  But eventually I will and here are some of the reasons:

 

Spending 5 hours getting my hair done.

 

 

七月七号 直到永远

July 7th was 37 hours long.  When it began I was in Yichang, China.  I was lying on the grass of the football field at Three Gorges University, trying to comprehend how two years was already over.  My two best friends were beside me, listening to Chinese pop music and making up a love story about the lonely star in the sky.

 

6 hours later I was frantically shoving my belongings into an over-burdened suitcase and holding back tears as my friends silently watched.  Together we greeted the dawn on my last morning in China.  With 45 minutes of sleep to strengthen me through the next 47 hours of travel I was feeling far from prepared.  We loaded into the car and I watched my home slip behind me through the rearview mirror.

 

Each hour imbedded itself in my memory with agonizing slowness.  Some were spent relishing the somewhat Western food in 广州's airport.  Some were spent praying for mercy from the airlines when they weighed my bags, and for strength to leave.  Others were spent in that place that's not sleep but not awareness, where we aren't sure what's real.  I spent a few of them flipping through the three channels on the TV provided by China Southern Airlines, trying to decide if I wanted to watch The Blind Side for the 4th time or the Chinese war movie I'd switched to after hour 7 on that flight.

 

When I landed in America it was 6:50pm on July 7th though more than 31 hours had passed since the day began.  I stumbled off the plane unable to comprehend I was finally in the land of internet freedom and horizontally challenged people.  An immigrations officer gruffly questioned me about the contents of my suitcase and I couldn't remember which language to answer him in.  After trying a sentence in Chinese I realized why he was looking at me like I'd lost my mind.  The next sentence seemed to pacify some of his inner anger and he waved me though the line.

 

I found a book store and subsequently remembered one more reason to be grateful for this transition.  July 7th mecifully ended with a chicken ceasar salad and Three Cups of Tea to comfort me.  I had 30 minutes before my flight to Houston and I was determined to enjoy every bite of food that didn't taste Chinese.

 

Descending from the plane in Houston at 5:40am, I envisioned meeting my parents at the airport in Oklahoma City.  I could picture their smiles and hugs and I felt like one more minute was too long to wait.  I approached the Continental Airlines desk hoping I could sweet talk my way onto an earlier flight.  What I heard seemed to come from far away.  "I'm sorry ma'am, your flight has been canceled due to the weather.  We've got you scheduled for a flight at 9 tonight."  Tears sprung unbidden to my eyes yet again and I angrily shook them away.  I implored the man to try something else.  He found a flight to Dallas/Fort Worth and told me I could try to get on standby for a flight from there to OKC.  I called my parents and they decided they'd rather drive the 3 hours to Dallas than wait for me to fly in late at night.  Thus began my transition back to American life.

 

 

"The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on on's own country as a foreign land."

-G.K. Chesterton

The end

It's 2am, and I'm still cleaning before my 6am departure.  I'm still cleaning because I had the perfect last day.  I didn't spend a minute of it at home.

Home is sweltering hot.  My air-conditioner's been broken since the day I switched it from heat, so when I'm here I feel like the main course of some cosmic barbecue.  I went downtown with Zhang XiaQing, my best friend here, to exchange money today and while we were shrinking my pile of cash we found the world's best dumpling shop.  I'm telling you, food doesn't get any better than that.  After running all my last-minute errands we went over to Zack's air-conditioned oasis.  Our sister Han Lu came over and taught us all how to make baozi.  When all of our appendages were sufficiently covered in flour the doorbell rang, and it was Zack's neighbor, bringing us cake in celebration of her birthday.  We went over and sang Happy Birthday and shared our fresh baozi.

When I couldn't eat another bite we watched the World Cup for a while, then XiaQing, Kuang Yu, and I went for a walk.  It was sufficiently cool enough outside to make it worth braving the prowling ground of the mosquito hordes, and we stayed out til 12:30, talking, singing, and laughing.  XiaQing has been staying with me for the last few weeks, and Han Lu for the last few nights, so we headed home for the evening.  Han Lu reached out, took my hand and XiaQings, and began to pray for us.  I was overwhelmed with gratefulness at the opportunity to know these amazing people.

I couldn't imagine a better way to end my time in China, than to spend it with my closest friends…my family.  I've been blessed.

Things I'm going to miss about China

Tofacos

Things I'm going to miss about China

Talking to my family via the internet.

...okay some of these posts may be a tad facetious.

Things I'm going to miss about China

The presents people give me

Things I'm going to miss about China

Street food

Things I'm going to miss about China: 柏林

I learned two things today.  Firstly, just because you used to be good at swimming does not mean you can retain that ability without practicing for 8 years.  Secondly it is possible to swallow gallons of Yangtze River water and not die (immediately) from the pollution.  Though there’s a possibility I may develop some kind of deformation in the future, only time will tell.  It’s even more likely that I’ve contracted Giardia.  Honestly the 长江 is not nearly as polluted as many rivers I’ve seen, but I couldn’t help but cringe as I waded in.

The leader of our swimming crew today happens to also be the owner of the coffee shop on campus.  His shop has been declared my favorite place in Yichang and because we both have a love for all things outdoors, we’ve become good friends over the last two years.   If he had asked me to swim across the river a few months ago, most likely my answer would have been, “Are you crazy??”  But as I near the end of my time in China I find myself jumping at the chance to spend time with my favorite people, despite obvious risks of say, growing a third eye.  The only complaint I have about the day was seeing far too many middle-aged men in Speedos.  Doesn’t anyone in this country know that there are swimsuits that don’t scare people?

 

“It's a good idea to begin at the bottom in everything except in learning to swim.”

Things I'm going to miss about China: 我的学生

 It's probably not the hallmark of a good teacher to cry in class, but as I said goodbye to my students today I couldn't help it.  Today was my final day as an English Professor at Three Gorges University.  Right before the exam started my students crowded around my desk with a vase of flowers, a card, and a notebook in which each of the 70 English majors had written a page to tell me how much they'll miss me.  As if I needed another reason to be sad about leaving.  Here is a sampling of their messages:


"Hi.  Guess who I’m.  Yes.  It’s Heather, who admires you.

Er.  I have so much to say that I even don’t know where to start.  First of all, you’re the most beautiful and loveliest foreign teacher I have ever met.  Yes.  It’s the truth!  The most beautiful decoration on your face is your shinning smile!  I liked you when the first time I saw you.  Do you know why?  That’s your sweet smile that impressed me most.  But the more I know you. the more I like you.  but when we have a test.  we are afraid of you.  Because you can be very secrious about the exam.  So you told us the high mark should be got by you hardwork.  Not by cheating.  I really like this.

I scream, You scream.  We all scream for ice cream  西西…I like it very much.  You can’t believe it.  I always speak out it even today.

Time really flies.  You have taught me for one year.  I really love thise course.  Maybe I still remember clearly what you did during each class to make the atmosphere more vivid and interesting.  That really move me a lot.  Anyway, what I wanna say most is Thank you!  You made us feel at ease when learning English.  You are a good girl.

May you find your Mr Right and be happy everyday.  To be honest, I really don’t want you to leave.

Give you a sentence I like most:  “you never know where you are going until you know where you have been.”

It seems that where there is (are) you there is smile.

(Tell you a secret:  I have always been fond of seeing your earrings every class.  They’re really beautiful =) !!)

(find a  ideal husband early)"

哥哥

It was a year ago today t hat the world fell apart.  I'm not just talking about my world.  I mean the whole world, in general.  Every piece of it stopped working the way it was supposed to.  It forgot its purpose and spun out of control.  Most of you probably didn't notice.  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary for you.  But I'm telling you that it broke that day.  It still hasn't been put back together.  Someday you'll realize it too.  And when you're telling your story, you'll think it fell apart on a different day, in a different place.  But you're wrong.  This is where it happened.

For 365 days now I've tried to be normal.  At least half of the time I put on a good show.  I look and act like your average messed up human.  But at night, I close my eyes and relive the nightmare.  I've tried everything short of doing drugs to be able to sleep when I lay down, but it's fairly elusive to this day.  The second my eyelids shut I'm transported back in time; to a time when my phone rings at 4:30 in the morning.  Nobody with good news ever calls at 4:30 in the morning, even if they're calling from America.

I hear my dad's voice on the other end and my heart jumps into my throat.  He keeps saying my name.  It's like he needs to be reassured that he's talking to me, that I'm real.  I hear my mom's voice too and breathe a premature sigh of relief.  Then he asks me if I'm alone.  That's when I know this is going to be one of those phone calls that changes your life, and not in a good way.  Panic has gone from a little seed to a full-grown monster inside of me.  He keeps asking me who is there with me and I'm practically screaming for him to just say what he needs to say.  The suspense is choking me.  Then when he speaks I feel the urge to throw the words back.  I can't accept them, I refuse.

After I got home I drifted in and out of awareness.  I was numb.  I was surrounded by family and overwhelmed by people who all wanted to tell me that everything was going to be okay.  Those people and their love mean a lot now, but at the time it was like putting a band-aid on a cancer patient.  I couldn't feel the effects; I couldn't feel anything except agony.  I was dealing with the shock of being back in the U.S., and being around my family again, and the enormous, gaping hole in my heart all at once.

My thoughts whirled in and out so fast I couldn't grab onto one before the next flurried in my vision.  I lost control of my feelings completely.  Things seemed to be the opposite of what they should be.  I'd be crying in the middle of the grocery store and laughing when someone told me a story about my brother.  I felt like whatever my reaction was it was the wrong one.  A lot of the time I convinced myself that it wasn't real.  The world really didn't work this way.  It was all a mistake.

That's when the questions came.  Why now?  Eleven more days and I would have gotten to see him and tell him that I love him.  I even had a countdown on facebook until I got to see my sister again, and he had written on it, "What about me?"  I changed it so that it counted down the days until I saw him too, but I found out later I changed it two hours after he died.  He never saw it.  I told myself he must have thought I didn't love him as much as I loved her.  Logic has little to do with grief.  No matter how ridiculous the accusations are we still point the finger at ourselves.  I counted the number of times I'd talked to him over the last year.  It was pitifully small.  I managed to make myself feel guilty for everything I'd ever said or done to him.

Maybe that's partly why now I feel like sharing what losing him has meant to me.  Maybe I hope he'll read this and know how much he means to me, because I never told him while he was alive.  I never told him just how much I love him.  We don't always know how much we love someone until they aren't there to hold the world together anymore.

In a way I was glad to escape Oklahoma and head to China again.  Friends felt like strangers.  Every relationship was different and I wasn't sure how I was supposed to act around people.  Everybody wanted to show their concern by asking me how I was doing and every time I wanted to react by screaming, "How am I supposed to be?"  It felt like such a cruel question.  I know they were trying to show their kindness, but every time someone asks how you are doing, you have to stop and analyze how you are doing.  When you're in pain, the last thing you need is to be reminded of it.

Some people hugged me and told me that they loved me.  With those people I felt safe, I felt like they each took a little of my hurt on their shoulders to help me carry it.  Some people told me that everything happens for a reason.  I tried really hard to see beyond their lack of tact to their good intentions.  I often failed.  Some friends brought me a cup of tea and said nothing at all.  I knew they'd be there when I wanted to talk.  Some people think they need to defend God and explain why Clifford died.  They try to put a positive spin on the fact that sometimes life sucks.  I try to be patient with these people but it's hard.

Since that time there have been days—months even—where I felt as lost as I did at the very beginning.  I've also had periods of relative normalcy and even joy.  Slowly life is reclaiming my affection.  For a while I didn't know if I'd ever be the Katie I used to be again.  I worried that I'd changed forever.  In part, I have.  I'm sure there are pieces of the old Katie I'll never see again, but I'm learning that the essential core is still me.  And whatever I've lost won't keep me from being happy permanently.

I often haven't been able to stop the anger inside me from seeping out, and I let it take over my ability to care about other people.  I'm sorry for all the people who have had to put up with me this year, as I try to work through my pain I tend to neglect anybody's feelings but my own.

My questions haven't been answered, and a new one finds me every day.  All the things I used to be so sure about have gone fuzzy around the edges and I don't understand the world at all anymore.  Maybe it's supposed to be that way.  Maybe things don't really make as much sense as we pretend they do.

I'll never understand why pain exists in this world.  God doesn't even try to explain it so my feeble attempts are doomed to failure.  It makes me question God.  It also makes me need him.  I cry out to him, begging him to exist, and to do something about this awful void where he ought to be.  Then I close my eyes and realize the sun will rise soon.  And when it does it reassures me that this is about something bigger than me.

I know there are a lot of people who have dealt with far more loss than I have.  I'm lucky by the world's standards.  This post isn't meant to generate sympathy or to wallow in self-pity.  I don't need affirmation about how much I'm loved, I already know that more people than I deserve love me.  I just find it therapeutic to write my thoughts out, and decided that in honor of my brother I should subject the internet to them as well.  I also don't want you to worry about me, or call a counselor on my behalf.  This is all part of the process and I'd be inclined to worry more if I didn't have this much pain, or if I wasn't overwhelmed with questions.  I don't hurt every day but this is June 20^th.  This is for him.

I love you Clifford John Marshall.

 

"Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break."
-William Shakespeare

Things I'm going to miss about China: 玉米浆

Corn Juice

Things I'm going to miss about China

Drinking Cool

Things I'm going to miss about China: 外语村

English Village

English Village is a fake village made up of students from the Foreign Language College, who are forced to man it for 3 hours every Thursday and speak only in English.  In theory it's a great idea.  There is a bar, a travel agency, a garage sale, food DIY, church, and movie theater where students can practice all kinds of situational English.  In reality it's a "spot the foreigner" contest wherein the unlucky foreigners (like yours truly) are mobbed by students who've never seen or talked to an American before and are shaking
with fear as they ask us, "Do you love Chinese food?" and " Can you use chopsticks?"

A lot of times English Village redeems itself by allowing me the opportunity to get to know my beautiful students better.  Once in a while I escape the horde of strangers by wearing a "talk to the hand" expression, and get to sit down and chat with the girls in my classes.  This is when I feel overwhelmed by love for English Village, Yichang, and let's face it, all of China.  I've gotten pretty good at avoiding people I don't know, and managed to be surrounded by my students a few weeks ago, when one of them wanted to bring me a treat to make my time more enjoyable.  He loaded some sweet Chinese bread with gallons of ketchup and brought it to me to snack on.  I tried as hard as I could to wear an expression of enjoyment, but I'm afraid it came out more like a grimace as I dutifully took a few bites without throwing up.  You can see Sammie showing her love for the "sandwich."

Don't get me wrong.  I LOVE Chinese food.  I do not; however, have any feeling close to love for what has been done to "Western" food.

"If you reject the food, ignore the customs, fear the religion, and avoid the people, you might better stay at home."

-James Michener

Things I'm going to miss about China

KTV (Karaoke)

Things I'm going to miss about China: 公共汽车

Riding the bus

Things I'm going to miss about China

Smog

Things I'm going to miss about China: 臭豆腐

Chou Doufu

Things I'm going to miss about China

Clark and Eden's

别爱这样的男人

"I'm not going to talk to you until you take care of the problem."

That's what he said to her when he found out about the new life growing inside her.  So instead of going home for the spring festival, she went to the hospital.  She got rid of "the problem," and won his affection back, at the cost of her self-respect.

She was my student last year, and she called me and asked if I'd ever been in love.  I told her I was far from an expert on the subject but probed further.  It's rare that my students call me out of the blue, just to chit-chat and I sensed there must be a reason.  She stumbled for a while, unsure of how much to reveal to her teacher but finally started telling me that she'd fallen in love with a foreigner on campus.  She'd been dating him for a few months when she got pregnant.

I wish she'd called me sooner—before she went to the hospital.  But it was after that she was hurting and alone and she called me.  So I took her to lunch and she told me about him.  I asked her why she thought she loved him.  Here were her three reasons: 1) He's foreign 2) He has a beautiful smile 3) He's going to be a doctor.  If that's all it takes to inspire love I can think of a few guys who should be married by now.  She admitted that he was also seeing other girls while dating her, but she still gave him her all.  Then he dumped her.

I've seen it happen time and time again, with the names and a few of the details changed, but the story relatively the same.

I hate to categorize people.  Anytime I label someone I am reducing them down to preconceived notions and dismissing the need to get to know them further.  But I find it relatively easy to file the foreigners who come to China into groups depending on their motives.  I know that to do this is to possibly make erroneous judgments but, there is one group of people that persistently forms a category in my mind, and I have trouble seeing them as anything other than this:  foreign men who prey on Chinese women.  I've just seen too many men come to China with the explicit purpose of finding a Chinese girlfriend because they couldn't find one in their home country.  Which would be fine with me if a) they didn't abuse their rock-star status as a foreigner; b) the women weren't quite so easily misled; c) they stayed within the accepted cultural relationship rules and treated the women the way they expect to be treated.  I'm not saying there's something wrong with trying to find a girlfriend.  What bothers me is the abuse of power.  They know these women will fall easily for someone from an "exotic" country and they use that to their advantage and then toss the woman away like garbage when they're through.

It is difficult for me to write this and be remotely objective; I'm seething with anger as I type.  Because some of the women being used are my friends, my students, and beautiful faces of this country I've come to love.  I've heard more than one of them announce that they want to marry a foreigner.  I try to instill in them a sense of what's important in a relationship (which in my opinion does not include someone's status as coming from another country) but my admonitions seem to fall on deaf ears.

Part of me would like to place at least some of the blame on the women who become victimized.  They really should open their eyes; use their brains, and stop believing whatever they're told.  Really, if some women were more rational the problem would be much smaller.  The tendency to fall to easily does not give someone else permission to use that weakness to their advantage.

Far be it from me to say that all Chinese women are naïve and easily swayed.  Many of them are confident, intelligent, and driven.  But many are also sheltered and innocent, with no idea that some people date and break up at the drop of a hat.  They sometimes assume that if a guy wants to date you, that also means he wants to marry you.  I tried to tell my student to have more pride in herself, and not to let someone treat her like this.  She just couldn't believe that he would willingly hurt her.

So I'll continue to lecture all of my female friends and campaign for the scum who call themselves men to be revealed for what they truly are.  If that fails plan B is to try to give foreigners a bad name so that people will stop idolizing us.  Suggestions?

**Let it be known that I'm not a misandrist.  Not all men are worthless—in fact I'm quite partial to them.  I just happen to see an unfair proportion of less-than-honorable ones in my current career.

Things I'm going to miss about China: 休息

Xiuxi time (for those of you non-Chinese speaking folk, that's siesta time)

Things I'm going to miss about China: 火锅

Hot pot

Things I'm going to miss about China

Grocery shopping

Things I'm going to miss about China

Eternal rain

Things I'm going to miss about China

Eating with plastic gloves

我爱我的父亲

I have the best Dad in the world.  And it doesn't get said enough.

Dad works hours that would vanquish most people and I'd expect him to come home and sleep the whole weekend.  Instead, I usually walk outside and see his legs sticking out from under someone's car that has broken down and is sitting in our driveway.  I don't think I know anyone with a servant heart as big as his.  I think he spends all of his free time doing things for other people, and I've often been the recipient of his generous nature.

His smile is contagious and he takes every opportunity to share it with anyone he is talking to.  I used to pride myself on never getting homesick but today, I miss my parents terribly.  So I'd like to take this opportunity to say,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DADDY!
I LOVE YOU!

Things I'm going to miss about China

Split pants

Things I'm going to miss about China

The Indian canteen

蝎子。。。没问题，我吃过了

One of the most entertaining and simultaneously annoying features of a dinner party in China is the constant toasting.  Every few minutes someone feels the urge to stand up and say something complimentary to someone else in the group.  Then everyone proceeds to drink their corn juice, or baijiu, or whatever strange concoction is brewing in their glass at the moment.  The time came for Jessica to salute her students for bringing us to such a wonderful restaurant, perched in the side of a cliff.  She extolled the greatness of the evening, elaborating on how we loved all of the dishes on the table.  "Usually there is something that is very strange for foreigners to eat, but this time we love everything!"

The next bowl was brought out with a flourish and placed in front of me.  I glanced up at the tiny legs and pincers glistening amongst the chili peppers.  Scorpion anyone?

In case you are wondering they taste so good I had seconds.

"Could you recommend some delicious food to me?

Of course.  Er…would you like some desserts at first?  And I advice you to try beverage.  It's fresh today.

I'd like some hot dessert.  The beverage sounds nice.  I'll try.

I guess the main course for you should be vegetable salad.

Thanks.  I'm right on a diet.

Have a good time."

-A conversation my students wrote

在火车里面

...The continuing saga of the Fenghuang tales...

It grew as a storm grows--the sound we heard--gathering steam from the atmosphere, rumbling warningly of the thunder to come.  We could tell from the man's belligerent attitude he wasn't going to let this one blow over.  I tore my eyes away from my book to watch the coming wrath.

He sat on the once empty seat as if he owned it.  His right to sit on this train was as unquestionable as my neighbor's right to blow cigarette smoke in my direction.  No one would dare defy them.  His contempt for the train employee dripped from his words.  I couldn't understand much of what he said but tone-of-voice seems to bind all of humanity together with a common language at last.  His was as clear and sharp bold of lightening--the spark needed to set off thunder.

 When the thunder came it was sudden and it was deafening.  Three train employees yelling at the same time, with the man who refused to buy a ticket trying to top them all with his own voice.  The clash was enough to interest everyone in the car, and the next two cars besides.  I edged away from him in an attempt at neutrality but being in an adjacent seat didn't give me much escape room.

The voices escalated to such an extent that I was certain fists were going to fly.  One employee reached down to encourage the man to get up and his hand was brutally slapped away.  That was all that was needed to start the shoving.  The three train employees physically lifted the man to his feet and began pushing him toward the exit.  He resisted with all his might but was forced inexorably on.  As he passed the whole car erupted into applause at his forced exit.

As I leaned back in my seat to resume reading a horrid smell washed over me.  I'm no stranger to stinky bathrooms but some are hard for even the strongest stomach to bear.  Every time the train came to a stop the smell flooded the compartment.  It's a thick, sticky smell that doesn't flow by, it settles, covering you in stench like a blanket, defiling your whole body.

Then the guy in front of us started smoking and for the first time in my life I was grateful.  And I wanted to praise him and ask him to keep smoking.  And maybe light a cigarette and hold it under my nose for the blessed relief of its fragrance.

"The only way to be sure of catching a train is to miss the one before it."
-G.K. Chesterton

虽无人愿意我还要跟随

I fell in love with China in the spring.  I was crazy about this country well before then but the blooming flowers that litter the side of the road, and pineapple-on-a-stick sealed the deal.  Spring is when I first felt confident about my Chinese abilities and my friendships deepened enough to remain in my heart forever.

It's spring again, which means lots of showers.  Showers every morning and showers every afternoon, and a few in between.  The rain feels endless but I'm thankful the cold has departed.  Gone are the extra blankets, they've been replaced by a fan and a wide-open window.  I'm seeing less winter coats and more bare bellies as Chinese men walk around with their shirts half up, exhibiting their well-fed middle.

It's been a long year; a good year in many ways, but long nonetheless.  I've had dry spells where I felt entirely empty.  Though there's been encouragement from wonderful people that helped me along the way.  The winter is the hardest to get through.  It feels like I've been in China forever, without end in sight during the winter.  The months stretch before me as far as I can see.

Suddenly I'm nearing the end of my time.  I feel like I'm about to cross the finish line and I don't remember running the middle of the marathon.  Surely there's been a mistake.  I've only run the first 5 or 6 miles.

During this year I've been plagued by doubts—doubts about why I'm here, and what I really trust in.  I've questioned the reason I'm in China.  I've doubted the sanitation of street food, and the reason for the existence of the world, and everything in between.  At times it was terrifying.

As I type, I feel my doubts fade away like the cold weather.  Sure, they'll return, but I'll have the memory of the warmth of summer to keep them at bay.  You see, tonight two girls made the biggest decision of their lives.  The confessed that they know one who is powerful and they trust him to take away all their past mistakes.  They demonstrated that trust by being washed clean in the waters of sacrifice.

It was the spark I needed to rekindle the fire in my soul.  The ember was barely glowing but a fresh wind has it warmly blazing once more.

The echoes of our celebration song are still playing in my head.  "Though none go with me, still I will follow…"

我第二次来凤凰玩儿

The neon light was shining like the star over Bethlehem.  The Yin Pin Lou Bing Guan was going to be our saving grace.  We had followed it from the East and were prepared to bring gifts of great worth.  I was as wet as I could be when I entered the346^th (ish), and hopefully last, hotel to ask if they had any vacancies.  The drops fell heavily outside; the air was thick with their ­­­­menace.  It was either this hotel or a sleepless night on the street.  We'd already been rejected by most of the hotels in Fenghuang because, well, great minds run on the same track.  Evidently our unquestionably ingenious idea to spend the weekend in a touristy town was shared by everyone within a 3-province radius.  I made a small note to myself to stay home for the tomb-sweeping festival in the future—which will be easy to follow through on since I will be in a place where no-one knows what tomb-sweeping day is.

The woman working at the desk diligently ignored me until I turned on my inner Chinese person and claimed her attention.  Gone was the polite foreigner standing around waiting to be helped.  She'd been replaced by a demanding and aggressive customer.  To my delight the manager told me she had a room downstairs and even offered a reasonable price (so I thought before I saw the room).  Rejoicing about having a bed, we descended ever lower into a cavernous basement, filled with broken furniture and spider webs and I'm sure a few friendly ghosts.  I tried not to let the stink of the toilets choke me as I entered the black hole that was to become our room.  Water spurted up from the floor tiles as I stepped on them but the bed looked clean and inviting.  I turned to thank the boss and ask her for our key.

"Key?  We'll watch your stuff, no problem."

"No, I really need a key.  We want to lock our room."

"Why?  I'll watch it.  You don't need a key."

"Really I do…pretty please with sugar on top?" (well I can translate that phrase into Chinese but I'm not sure anyone understands it).

"Ugh.  Fine.  I'll bring you your key."

She returned to the burrow we'd claimed with our key and the promise of a new and less-flooded room the next night.  Satisfied, I jumped under the covers and faded away to the land where hotel rooms do not smell like urine and I can occasionally fly.  Throughout the night I was aware of a dripping sound, but since the entire floor was enveloped with water I assumed it was a normal occurrence and not worth my attention.  Until.  I woke before seven with the realization that my left side was sopping wet and getting wetter.  The drips landed close enough to my head to jar me awake one by one.

Robbed of the option of sleeping, I ventured out to shop and explore.  The sky was dull and flat like all the life had been taken out of it, but the rays of the blooming youcai beamed up from the ground as though light is supposed to come from below in this place where everything seems upside down.

I stumbled on a café overlooking the river and spent the next part of the day bonding with a latte and a heaven-sent book.  It was almost too good for words.  (almost—because a word-lover like me could never fully commit to that sentence).  After the 9 hours worth of hungry-to-the-point-of-almost-passing-out, spitting, smoking, smashed up against people train ride to get here, the moment crystallized in my mind as near perfection.  I appreciated the coffee and book so much more because of the hours spent uncomfortably leading up to that oasis.  I wonder if sometimes we need to experience things we hate in order to be grateful for the blessings.

Later that evening, when I returned to the hotel to inquire about the new room we'd been promised I was met by a shrewd and argumentative manager.  Her eyes shifted from left to right and back again as she struggled to make up excuses for why we couldn't move after all.  She was trying to condemn us to the flooded stink hole again and I regretted, not for the first time, my too trusting nature.  First she told us she'd tell us if there was room.  Then she said there wouldn't be room and I asked for my money back—I'm slowly improving my manipulation skills these days.  Then she agreed to find us a room and we followed her up the stairs.  She said our new room would be on the fourth floor, which was only a half-lie.

Balanced in the doorway to the 4^th floor rooms was a shifty ladder leading up to a cubby.  Built into the ceiling, our new room was the exact opposite of our former underground dwelling.  The ladder completely blocked entrance into the rest of the hall and rocked when we climbed it, but it led to a room I could breathe deeply in and a dry floor and bed.  I closed my eyes and thanked the cloud-covered stars for those small blessings.

"I travel a lot; I hate having my life disrupted by routine."
-Caskie Stinnett

我的小白菜有甲虫

I started a new diet today.  It's called Not Eating.  I'd like to thank the cook at 老地方 for propelling me towards this new goal.  Without the little gift in my lunch bowl I might not have ever started on my way towards skinniness.

"Dieting:  A system of starving yourself to death so you can live a little longer."

-Jan Murray

前不久，我家乡遭受了龙卷风的狂烈袭击，损失很严重

There are three ways to get on my black list—which is not a pleasant place to be.  An easy and automatic jump to the top of the list comes from waking me up from a sound sleep.  There is only one exception:  my sister has the right to text me night or day, whenever she so chooses.  So when I woke up at 6:30am to the evil sound of my cell phone my first instinct was blind rage.  Then I saw that the message was from Sammie, "There are tornados on the ground.  Woo hoo."  I wrote her back and asked where she was, to which she responded with a picture of her with Hitomi and Reiko (two of my best friends).  I don't know if she was trying to make me jealous or reassure me that she was okay.  Since tornadoes and Oklahoma go together like eggs and tomatoes I wasn't worried enough to stay awake.

When I finally dragged myself out of bed later that morning I read the news and saw that my hometown, Norman, got pretty torn up.  The tornado crossed the highway about a mile from where my parents live right now, leaving 5 dead and destroying lots of trees and houses.  I called my parents and they said they were fine, and nothing had been damaged at our house.  It's tornado season back home, which means that the sky regularly turns that sick, greenish color and everything gets really still in late afternoon.  By evening the lightening is gearing up for a grand show and the rain pours forth out of pent up frustration.  Soon sirens are going off and all the regular TV shows have been postponed due to continuous weather updates.  It's such a common occurrence that the typical response is to go outside and try to spot the funnel (I didn't say Oklahomans were particularly bright).  Call me crazy but I miss the intensity of those storms.  It's a lot more fun than an all-day drizzle.

Today I was taking a nap after my 8 o'clock class when I was awoken by another text from my sister.  Grumbling that she was starting to push the limits of her anger-immunity I noticed that this one was a little more urgent.  My parents have been trying to build a house just outside of town for a few years now.  We have a storage shed on the land, where I've been storing all the things I didn't sell or give away when I moved to China.  The good news is, if I've lived without it for two years, chances are I'll be just fine without it for the rest of my life.  The bad news is I'm going to have to be.   The storage shed is now upside down and across the land.  All the trees are on the ground, except for the one across my dad's truck.  I don't know yet if anything can be rescued from the shed but I'm mostly grateful my parents hadn't yet moved out there.

"I have held many things in my hands, and I have lost them all.  But what I placed in God's hands, that I still possess."
-Martin Luther

应该是找个工作但是我不要

I'm looking for jobs right now.

Or am I writing a blog post instead?  I'm sure that somehow this relates to looking for a job.

The problem (one of many) is:  I love my job right now.  A classroom has never held students as wonderful as mine.  I have plenty of time to read and write to my heart's content.  I get to study another language, which has always been one of my life's goals.  I get to know and love Chinese people and culture.  And I get to talk with them about some things I think are important to life.

Last night I went to a house on campus where a group of students meet every night to eat dinner together and fellowship.  I saw a living example of the kind of brotherly love and fellowship our friend Luke described about 2000 years ago.  When I walked in I saw a mouth-watering display of dishes spread out on the table and a group of smiling brothers and sisters waiting to make my day.  We stuffed ourselves then sang our hearts out.  I learned more Chinese in the few nights I've spent eating with that delightful group than in my many hours spent studying alone and I struggled to keep up with their conversation.  I reveled in the joy of the moment and wondered how I could leave this place I love so much.

My mind flashes back nine months to Sydney, Australia.   Standing at the entrance to security in the Sydney Airport, I didn't think I had the courage to walk through those doors.  I couldn't face the thought of leaving my sister behind and going back to China alone.  I'll never know how I managed to make my legs work against my every desire.

Then I travel even farther back--ten months to Norman, Oklahoma.  The prospect of leaving my family and friends again seemed like the worst idea I'd ever had.  I dreaded leaving behind the comfort of their arms.  How could I ever have thought of leaving home again?  Not a particle in me wanted to be back in China after the summer.  I couldn't imagine making it through another year like the one before.

I find it slightly ironic that now I'm having trouble convincing myself that I'll be happy away from China.  It has taken hold of my heart in ways I never dreamed of.  But I'm reminded of how much I wanted to stay in other places when leaving turned out to be the biggest blessing.  Every time I've dragged my feet and dreaded the change I've been proven wrong.  Here's hoping that will be true in the future.

 

"There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered"
-Nelson Mandela

我真不喜欢我中国朋友的音乐

I just spent the last hour listening to music videos of Avril Lavigne (Did I spell that right?  Actually, nevermind…I don't care) and Taylor Swift, accompanied by exuberant singing—at top volume—from the folks in my living room.  It was one of the most profitable hours I've ever spent.  With lyrics as brilliant as, "Hey, hey, you, you I don't like your girlfriend.  No way, now way, I think you need a new one.  Hey, hey, you, you, I could be your girlfriend" how could you go wrong?  Just imagine the amount of time she must have spent writing such life-altering rhymes!  Or maybe someone did the writing for her; I'm not sure who deserves the credit.

Good taste ought to be recognized.  It's important to know quality when you see it.  If you can't  recognize that something is praiseworthy, you can't begin to create something to be proud of.  That's why I'm in such awe of the popular music around these parts.  Every week during English Village—those blessed two hours I get to spend surrounded by students who quiver in fear as they attempt to ask me questions—I also get to listen to Backstreet Boys.  I'm so glad I didn't get enough of their music when I was in middle school.  It would be such a shame if I were sick of it ten years ago since I get to jam out to it so often these days.

And just a few weeks ago I was asked to judge an English-speaking competition.  Imagine my delight when there was a singing section to the contest!  I got to hear the following line-up:

1. Because of You by Kelly Clarkson (I think)
2. Big Big World
3. Take Me To Your Heart by …I have no idea
4. Take Me To Your Heart
5. Big Big World
6. Take Me Home Country Roads
7. Because of You
8. …well you've pretty much got the idea

"I'm a big, big girl in a big, big world; it's not a big, big thing if you leave me.  But I do, do feel that I too, too will miss you much.  Miss you much."
-Clearly one of the world's great lyricists

塑料

For two years now I've woken up to a haunting sound.  It's the sound of someone calling out in Chinese as they walk below our apartments.  It reverberates off the buildings nearby.  I remember being woken by this when I first moved here and wondering if someday I'd understand those words echoing into my bedroom.  It took me about a week to figure out that the old people shouting were the same ones who dig through trash cans to find discarded plastic in the form of bottles and cups.  They then take the plastic to a recycling center and get money for it.  This is their livelihood.

Two years and countless hours spent studying Chinese have passed and I still have no idea what is being called out as they pass under my window, but I do know that anytime I need to get rid of the pile of empty water bottles collecting in the kitchen, at 6:30 or 7 every morning I can find someone to gladly carry them off for me.  My favorite is an old man I call "Grandpa" (the polite thing to call any old man I see).  He doesn't speak Mandarin at all, just the local dialect I'm almost completely ignorant in.  So when he smiles toothily and chatters away, I smile back hoping that will communicate how much I wish I could understand him.

A few weeks ago I brought a sack of bottles down to give to a woman I spotted as she plunged her hand deep into the dumpster in search of plastic treasures.  She looked up at me with a radiant smile and asked, "Do you believe in the Father?"  In shock, I asked her to repeat the question, unsure if I'd understood correctly.  She took a step closer and asked again, "Do you believe in the Father and the Son?  Are you a follower?"  I told her that I was and she began jabbering rapidly in Yichang dialect.  I barely understood a word, so I called a friend over to help me translate.  My Chinese friend couldn't understand either since the lady wasn't speaking standard Mandarin, so we apologized and continued walking.  As I walked away I heard her wishing me blessings from above.

It's a wonderful world.

"I've learned that making a 'living' is not the same thing as 'making a life.'"
-Maya Angelou

不要吃！

Dear Past Katie,

That chicken you're about to eat… DON'T DO IT!  It will keep you up all night and miserable most of the next day.  I know you don't believe me—what do I know?  I'm just a figment of your imagination.  But I'm trying to bend the rules of time to save you from lots of pain.

The beaches here in Goa are calling out to you, just begging for you to plant yourself in their sand and send down roots.  You'll be cutting down your potential relaxation time significantly if you put that fork in your mouth.  Spit it right out.

I'm telling you.  I've seen the sun rays torturing you while you lay in bed groaning.  You'll wish you could go back in time and undo this dinner so that you would feel well enough to go outside where the waves are.  You won't want to be confined to your room when you could be on the beach!  You'll be forced to watch a televangelist from Texas and Hannah Montana if you don't do what I say.  You know this chicken is not worth putting up with that.

Is the threat of Hannah Montana not enough?  Stop eating!  On top of that, you've finished your book and can't start on Shantaram until Jessica finishes it.  So you'll be bored out of your mind.  I told you you should have packed more than three books on this trip.  Who needs clothes to change into when you could have reading material instead?

Why is the fork still inching towards your mouth?  Your three days in Goa are rapidly dwindling; now's your chance to make them count.  Picture yourself on that beautiful stretch of sand, surrounded by locals trying to sell you jewelry, with the waves providing a continuous backdrop of serenity.  Go hungry for tonight and make up for it at the Bob Marley shack tomorrow.  They've got fish and chips—you won't regret skipping this dinner.

Well it's too late now, you've gone and ruined your trip.  Don't say I didn't warn you.  At least try to learn from this mistake and don't let it happen again.

Oh, and P.S.  …Buy some sunscreen.

"Life must be understood backwards; but... it must be lived forward."
-Søren Kierkegaard

印度人

I debated even bothering to finish blogging about India.  So long after the trip it hardly seems worth the effort, but then I told myself I've only got two places left to tell about, and thousands of clamoring blog fans who'd be disappointed if I left them hanging.  Also, it's much more fun than grading papers.  So this is for you, the 1 ½ of you who actually read this.

Our second to last stop in India brought us to that primeval, feculent, and some would say holy river, the Ganges.  We traveled to Varanasi, where many Hindus go to die.  According to legend, the city was founded by Lord Shiva around 5,000 years ago.  It has the reputation of being one of the oldest continually inhabited cities in the world.

So there I was, eating corn flakes and thinking they may indeed be the secret to happiness in this life.  I was so busy shoveling them into my open mouth I didn't notice the guy who sat down beside me.  He stopped me, mouth open and spoon perched in mid-air with a question.  And then another.  Soon we were having an in-depth discussion about the problems of Chinese education, the inevitable rise of China as a superpower, the economic disparities in developing nations, and everything in between.  I love that I can meet someone for the first time and within minutes we're talking about the problems of the world.

That's why, if you asked me what my favorite part of India was, without hesitation I'd say, "The people."  We saw beautiful things, and ancient buildings, and experienced life on a whole new level but I'd still say I loved the people the most.  Here's an example of a conversation with one vendor:

                "I only have a 100, do you mind giving me change?"
"I don't mind anything, except when girls make flirt with me."
                "Oh I'm sure that must be terrible for you."
"Yes.  But luckily it never happens."

It was there that we took a boat ride from Raja Ghat on Mother Ganga.  I could show you a picture of our guide, Babu, but pictures can be so incomplete.  By looking at his photo you'd never know that his head is shaved because his sister died 20 days ago in childbirth.  Or that her ashes are now flowing in the river where he believes paradise lies.  You wouldn't know that he's been married for 14 years and has three daughters.

By just looking at a picture you wouldn't know about the rhythmic slapping of the clothes being washed at the edge of the river, keeping perfect time with the drum beats of those worshipping her waters.  You'd remain unaware of the two tiny kids asking me for a pen, or watch them multiply into four and then six kids; pointing at me and asking, "You name?  You name?"  They shove each other to get in the picture we take and we can hear their teeth chattering after bathing in the river to wash away their sins.  They shiver with the wind and grin at us.

We didn't stay long in Varanasi.  It was just enough to notice that special feeling old places have.  It's something intangible, that a new place has to grow into, and can't fake.  I felt its presence and wondered, if I were born there, would I want to leave, to go to a place with no history and fresh beginnings?  I suspect at least part of the reason I'm attracted to such an ancient place simply because I come from the metaphorical babe of the world.  We moved on to Goa but I took with me the memories of the smoke rising from a cremation ceremony on the edge of the river, and the sound of 4 cricket games being played simultaneously on the riverbank.

"Benares is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together."
-Mark Twain