如果我睡不够

I don't function well without sleep.  I never have.  It’s probably very entertaining to others to watch me fumble around trying to think coherently when I went to sleep at 11 and woke up at 3, but for me it’s excruciating.  I don’t know how I made it through college with this malady.  I can’t remember, because most of my time was spent in that sleep-deprived funk—which might explain the graffiti on Dudley Chancey’s office window…

I try to limit the number of days when the stupid things I’ve done can be blamed on my desperate need for sleep (and I’ve subsequently discovered that reducing the excuses does not reduce the amount of stupidity revealed).  From time to time it provides a nice defense though.  We left for the airport in Mumbai at 3am, for our flight to Jaipur.  Jiapur is an intriguing place full of tourist attractions but our main objective was to get out.  We were set on going to Jaisalmer to ride camels in the Thar desert.  Jaipur was just a stepping stone.

Optimistic at first, we strolled the streets in search of adventure.  We were delighted by the cattle ruling the streets, and fascinated still by the beauty of India.  Four hours of sleep quickly took its toll on my endurance though, and before long I was dragging my feet and longing only for a place to sit.

I was wearily plodding along wondering if Jessica was putting rocks in my backpack as we stepped, or if it was growing without any help from her.  All I could see was the brown of the road, the darker brown of the excrement on the road, and the lighter brown of the dust in the air when suddenly a glowing patch of green appeared before us.  I was certain it was a mirage but followed it anyway, through a dusty gate into paradise.  A beautiful green park opened up before us, bereft of prying eyes and bursting with sunshine.

Overcome with joy we threw our backpacks down in the grass and sprawled out in the sunshine to rest.  Jessica was soon asleep but cursed by my body’s hatred for napping I was forced to pull out a book to pass the time. 

About the time the hero of the story was going to commit murder I was interrupted.  “Excuse me madam?”  I looked up at the four boys who had walked by our temporary camp for the second time.  The one in the red suit with a red and white striped tie, emboldened by my attention, decided to get to know me.  “Your country madam?  Your good name madam?”  He fired question after question while the other three looked on.  He confessed to me that they were supposed to be in school but were skipping.  I asked him why the other boys didn’t talk and he said they couldn’t speak English.  We humored their curiosity for a while before turning our attention to resting again.

Soon the hero of the book I was reading had secured his standing in my mind as being morally deficient and I felt my eyes growing heavy.  I heard a familiar voice asking questions, and as I pried an eyelid opened I spied the same four boys, back to interview us again.  This time he wanted my phone number in India, China, or America—he wasn’t picky.  He settled for my email address.  Eventually the kid got tired of repeating everything he said three times until I understood him, and they wandered away.  I finished my book and we decided to look for a place to eat.

I’m usually pretty adventurous—some people might choose the word “insane”.  I’m typically not afraid of seedy-looking restaurants and dubious living conditions.  So when we found a restaurant called The Nice Café which advertised pizza, I decided to give it a try.  Sometimes hole-in-the-wall places are gold mines of undiscovered delicacies.  Sometimes they’ll make you regret your bravery.

The Nice Café had a nice rooftop with a nice view, where we ordered our nice pizza and nice lemon-soda.  I started feeling a little queasy when our nice lemon-soda came out and the glasses didn’t appear to have been washed in the last decade.  I did not feel nice about them.  When the nice pizza came out I took a deep breath and plunged in.  One bite was sufficient to let me know that I would not be able to coax myself to eat the rest of the pizza and keep my stomach intact.  I felt terrible knowing that the owner would see that I’d only eaten one bite of my pizza before leaving.  He was so…nice.

I sat for a while staring over the balcony and wondering what to do.  I had to avert my eyes when a guy stopped to relieve himself against the building, and my gaze fell on the drainage ditch below.  There were some desert shrubs growing up close to the building and I saw a vision.  The four hours of sleep was catching up to me, and any idea seemed like a good one, especially if it came from a dream.

I saw the pizza flying off the roof and making its escape to the drainage ditch below.  Covered by the bushes it would fulfill its destiny as food.  The animals that abound the streets would ensure that it was eaten, and I would be absolved of my guilt for not being able to.  The nice owner would think I’d eaten my fill and not be insulted by my poor appetite.

I looked around quickly and held the pizza like a Frisbee.   It flew just like the pizza in my vision.  I dusted my hands off and sat down triumphantly, thinking I had successfully avoided offending the cook.  The exultant smile was still flitting across my face when a worker appeared on the roof, marched to the edge, and looked over the balcony at the ground below.  He peered for a moment and then walked back to the kitchen.  He never said a word as I tried to sink into to dirt under me.

Probably the last word they’ll use to describe me at that restaurant is nice.  I tried to think of the least offensive way to not eat a bite of food and instead doubtlessly affronted their pride worse than any customer they’ve ever had.  The moral of the story is: never trust my judgment when I’m functioning on insufficient sleep.

“Many things--such as loving, going to sleep, or behaving unaffectedly--are done worst when we try hardest to do them.”
C.S. Lewis

星期一关门

Because I live in China, I’m used to feeling like I don’t know anything.  Not much in my 23 years of life before China happened to me has prepared me for this grand adventure.  However, it was revealed to me just how comfortable I’ve gotten in this land I once thought was so strange, as soon as I ventured out on a new quest.  Suddenly China seemed achingly familiar and understandable.  In India, and often in China, I’m humbled by my own ignorance of the world around me.  I’m desperately trying to eliminate the gaps in my knowledge but it seems that the more we learn, the more we realize how little we know.

I used to be on the swim team in high school but lest you start to get impressed let me admit that I was the slowest person on the team.  Actually I was the slowest person to ever grace the waters of the University pool.  Every day was the same.  I’d dive in and the water never failed to take my breath away.  The shock made me feel like I’d never truly been alive until that moment.  Of course it didn’t help when my sister stood on the edge and threw ice cubes at me.  I would resurface, breathless and shivering.  But after swimming for a few minutes I adjusted to the temperature and the water felt so good I never wanted to leave.  In a way, India had the same effect on me.

Our university in China has a medical program populated with students from India and Nepal who spend 4 ½ years here before returning home to do their internships, and last year I became close friends with a few of the students from India who met with us every Sunday for fellowship.  They graduated at the end of my first year in China, and are now back in India so I was looking forward to seeing them again.  Being foreigners together in China gave us a close bond and I miss them daily.  One of my friends lives in Mumbai and kindly invited us to stay at his house but due to my poor planning I hadn’t given him the flight number we were coming in on and was afraid he’d be unable to find us and go home.

We arrived in Mumbai in the middle of the night, utterly exhausted.  I was a little grouchy after missing our train on the way to Hong Kong and starting the trip stressed because the power had been out in our apartment, but thankful that we’d still made it on our flight with such small obstacles to overcome.  Because we hadn’t had power I hadn’t been able to check my email, so I wasn’t sure if my friend was going to be able to pick us up at the airport or not.  For the same reason, my cell phone had given up on me so I couldn’t look up his number to ask.  I was standing in line to go through customs just praying that he’d be there.  There’s something about airports that makes time drag on indefinitely, until you feel that real life is something going on outside and you’re not a part of it. 

We waited a profane amount of time for our backpacks to come off the airplane; that coupled with an already delayed midnight flight made it well on the way to 2am before we emerged from the Mumbai airport and looked around for a familiar face.  To my immense relief I saw my friend waving immediately and breathed out the tension I’d been holding in.  We got to his house at somewhere around 5am China time, which is what our body clocks thought it should be, and slept a painfully short amount of time before church the next morning.

Going to a large, organized church was one of the things I was looking forward to most about our trip.  It was wonderful to be surrounded by so many strong believers.   I closed my eyes and listened to the echo of Praise Him!  Praise Him!  Ever in joyful song fade away.  I thought about how beautiful and appropriate some of the old songs are.  After church we walked around town a little bit and went to the Kala Ghoda Arts Festival.

One thing I noticed above everything clamoring for my attention was beauty.  I was, and still am awestruck by the beauty that is everywhere present in India.  The people are beautiful, the clothes are beautiful, and the buildings are beautiful.  The arts festival was a concentration of color and creativity that impressed me immediately, but I found the same flair for art in every city we visited.

That night we also visited Chaupati Beach, where we looked curiously at the local fast food but were warned not to try it unless we wanted to be sick during our trip (a futile warning unfortunately).  The beach was swarming with people and life.  I tried to soak it all in, all the color and chaos, but instead it absorbed me.  I lost myself in watching the people around me until we walked down to Nariman point and breathed in the sea air.

The next day we planned to visit the Elephanta Caves, a fascinating collection of Hindu and Buddhist caves on Elephanta Island.  It’s a UNESCO World Heritage Site, full rock carvings dedicated to the god Shiva among other things.  We sauntered down to the Gateway of India and were met by this sign:

“Every Monday Elephanta Caves are closed”

Apparently lots of things are closed on Mondays, like the Red Fort in Delhi, and the Indira Gandhi Museum.  If I had bought a Lonely Planet I might have found out about these little tips ahead of time, but that’s what happens when you are stingy.

We tossed around the idea of going to the Elephanta Caves the next time we were in Mumbai, at the end of our trip.  I really didn’t want to miss out on that experience.  But as the philosopher Jagger once said, “You can’t always get what you want.”

Since we’d already wandered around the arts festival, Marine Drive, and the Colaba Causeway we decided to take a local train.  That’s when I first encountered the poverty I knew was just beneath the surface of everything I’d seen so far.  Though the economic situation in other countries is similar, I got the feeling India is more open about their poor.  They didn’t try to hide them and pretend like problems didn’t exist.  I stood at the edge of the endless tangle of shacks and felt guilty for being there.  I thought about the money it took to take me there, and how absurd it was that I was born vastly richer than I deserve.  Even though I didn’t create any of the problems that afflict the people I saw, I couldn’t help feeling like the lowest person on the planet for just being there to witness it.  The money in my pockets seemed to accuse me just by existing.

If people remember the things that go wrong more than they remember the times when everything is great, then most of my last two years will be stuck in my mind forever.  And I think it’s true.  I think good days are synonymous with boring days.  So as I look back on the trouble we had in India, I realize that the trip is already growing in my mind, as one of those that I’ll be telling my grandchildren about and they won’t find it nearly as interesting as I do.

India is the only place I can remember being where I repeatedly proclaimed I love being a girl.  Everywhere we went they had security lines and there were separate lines for men and for women.  For some reason the ladies lines were a fraction of the length of the men’s and we breezed through security checkpoints.  They’ve also instituted “ladies only” trains in some places, which is a welcome break from unwelcome stares when traveling.

On our way back to my friend Sooraj’s house Jessica and I hopped on the ladies car while Sooraj ran down to the end after shouting instructions about when to get off.  The trains only stop for about 30 seconds, so it was easier for us to get on where we were.  We sat down and realized our car was much more comfortable than the ones we’d ridden on earlier.  There weren’t very many ladies and the seats were surprisingly cushioned.  That’s when I realized we’d accidentally gotten on the first class train.  In all the times we had ridden on a train before no one had asked us for our tickets, so I was trying to decide if it was worth getting off at the next stop and trying to make it on the economy class train before it took off again.  I decided I didn’t want to risk not making it back on the train, so we stayed where we were.  Unfortunately for us, a lady came around asking to see our tickets.  Not only did we not have first class tickets, but Sooraj had our tickets in his pocket.  We panicked as she lectured us about getting the right tickets, and we called Sooraj who got off at the next stop and met us and the angry railway employee instructing us on the importance of getting on the right car.  We meekly apologized and she graciously let us off with a lecture as our punishment rather than a fine.

Those first two days in India flew by, and we left for Rajasthan early the next morning.

It should be stated now that any attempt of mine to convey the richness, vibrancy, and chaos that is India will be sincerely inadequate.  I can share with you a glimpse here and there into my own experiences, but were you to go to the exact same places as me, and do the exact same activities as me you would come away with an entirely different experience.  The India you would discover would be very different than the India I explored.  They’d both be worthwhile.

 

''The greater our knowledge increases, the greater our ignorance unfolds.''
- John F. Kennedy

我已经决定

If you ask me what the secret of life is I just might tell you. Catch me at the right time and I might say it’s watching the sun rise as you soak in the promise of a new day. Or I may look you in the eyes and say that it is undeniably losing all your inhibitions and dancing with the old people in Yiling Square. More often than not I’ll tell you it’s a piece of pumpkin pie melting on your tongue. (Given long enough I’ll reduce everything to terms of food.)

But the truth is—I don’t have all the answers. This life is an infinite mystery that I’m happy not to completely understand. Maybe the search for it is enough.
Call it what you want, but I’m convinced that everybody’s got the itch in them. All of us are searching for meaning. We want the things we do to have significance. I live in a place where most of the people believe that their lives are not significant. They were taught that they were just a cosmic accident, and live accordingly. This doesn’t mean these people can’t be happy; many of them appreciate life just as fully as someone with a trust in a bigger picture—but not all.

I’ve also seen a lot of people who can’t accept what they are told life is. Lots of the people I meet are looking for more. They ask questions, they want to know if there is another explanation. They’ve been captured by the beauty of the night sky, or the innocence of a newborn baby. It strikes a chord within them that continues to echo despite the explanations the world offers.
Within the last week, two friends of mine have found another answer to the question their lives ask. Both of them found a relationship with someone who has been quietly knocking on the door for a long time. They’ve discovered that what some would call uneducated and archaic instead reverberates wisdom. Two people started life again this week. They’ve been washed clean, and we are proud to call them our brother and sister.


"Total surrender, the absolute leap in the dark were demanded. The reality with which no treaty can be made was upon me. The demand was not even 'All or nothing' ... the demand was simply 'All.' "
- C.S. Lewis

妇女的天

Today in class one of my students came up to my desk and I smiled and said, "Hi Mark!"  Everyone started laughing and his face turned red as he ran away.  About 45 minutes later he came up to my desk again and stood there looking nervous.  I decided not to embarrass him again by paying attention to him so I continued to grade papers until a few minutes later he leaned over and said, "Happy Women's Day!" in a very practiced voice.  Then he ran away with a huge smile on his face.

Last year I got a text message from a friend wishing me a Happy Women's Day and when I replied asking what Women's Day was, this is the response I got:
"In China we think men are important than women but women must be in some position so women's day was born."

Happy Women's Day!

我很忙，所以不能写太多了

It will most likely take a while before I have time to type up the thousands of stories I have from India so in case some of you get impatient, here is the cliff-notes version to tide you over:

Had no power.  Cursed China for it.  Missed our train on the way to Shenzhen.  Hopped on another one.  Bought tickets.  Upgraded to sleeping tickets.  Shook my fist angrily at the early morning lights and music.  Arrived in Shenzhen.  Made it to Hong Kong.  Went to the airport.  Flew to Mumbai.  Got hassled by immigration.  Waited for our bags.  Waited for our bags.  Waited for our bags.  Thought Sooraj left us.  Found Sooraj.  Danced for joy.  Church.  Lunch.  Downtown.  Kala Ghoda arts festival.  Got in an accident in our taxi.  Went to Elephanta Caves.  Were rejected by said caves.  Took a train.  Got kicked off the first class lady's train.  "Shopped."  Dinner with Sooraj's dad and sister.  Got up at 3am.  Flew to Jaipur.  Hated our lives.  Found a park.  Jessica slept.  I read.  Made new friends.  Finished book.  Hated life again.  Tried pizza at the Nice Cafe.  Embarrassed myself royally.  Bus to Jaisalmer.  I slept.  Jessica plotted murder.  Arrived in Jaisalmer.  Slept again.  Met Chewbacca.  Rode on a camel.  Tried to memorize "We Didn't Start the Fire."  Dead camera.  Explored fort.  Got camera battery.  Bought a new book.  Train to Delhi.  Asked someone which station we were going to.  Got lied to.  Arrived in Delhi.  Saw monkeys.  Found Oswin.  Missed church.  Found out we had no hotel.  Went to med student's dorm.  Ate with Oswin and Ami.  Snuck into dorm.  Snuck out of dorm.  Train station.  Met evil ticket sellers.  No train tickets.  Switched tour of Delhi.  Tour of Delhi.  Tandoori chicken with Os and Ami.  6am.  Agra.  Wrote a song about our one hour and ten minutes at the Taj Mahal after an all-day bus ride.  Got back at 4:40am.  Climbed fence and snuck into dorm.  Slept.  Airport.  Tearful goodbyes.  Varanasi.  Got lost in alleys.  Slept.  Took a boat on the Ganges.  Shopped.  Watched a Hindu ceremony.  Got 21 thousand mosquito bites.  Back to Mumbai.  Met Dawson at Sooraj's house.  Ate pizza with Dawson.  Train at 6:55am.  Goa.  Chicken.  Regretted the chicken.  Slept.  Slept more.  Beach, sun, cows.  Beach, sun, cows.  Train, 4am Sooraj's house.  Relaxed.  Flight to Hong Kong.  Entered China.  Had culture shock again.  Forgot how to speak Chinese.  Made it home.

"Who was the first guy that looked at a cow and said,'I think that I'll drink whatever comes out of those things when I squeeze them?'"
-Calvin and Hobbes

最后北京的事

外国人
Waiguoren.

 

Three little syllables, and yet so powerful.  The literal meaning is "outside country person."  Foreigner.  I hear these words every day; sometimes they're whispered behind me, sometimes shouted by tiny children, and occasionally breathed in my face by the curious person next to me on the bus.  I'm constantly reminded that I'm an outside-country-person--I don't belong.  In case the color of my skin and hair weren't reminder enough.

Sometimes I feel so comfortable in China, I can almost convince myself that I've become a part of this country.  I even get a little defensive of other foreigners invading my China.  The illusion is easily shattered.

On our last full day in Beijing I slipped out of my bed early, with only the darkness for company, leaving the other 11 backpackers to their slumbers while I stole time from the night.  I saw a group of girls running toward Tiananmen Square and joined them for no other reason than to feel alive.  We were brought up short by the security guards towering over the bag screening checkpoint, forbidding misconduct without any words.  Sobered, I joined the growing throng of visitors in the square.

We watched the spirit of the Chinese people rise, its red pride boldly waving in the wind with its golden stars speaking of hope for their country.  It proclaimed their pride in the past and belief that the future will be better.  An unwavering trust in the greatness of China.  I silently watched as hundreds of Chinese citizens started their morning with the flag raising.  As I looked around I was struck by the realization that no matter how long I live in China I'll always be an outsider.

That shouldn't come as a surprise.  I didn't expect to become a citizen or anything.  I just realized that in the U.S. we tend to absorb people.  You move to America and you become American.  We don't ask questions about where you came from and we don't care.  You prove your worth by what you become there.  The past is gone.  I guess some part of me expects that to happen in China too, but it never will.  And that's okay.

The ceremony was short and not very exciting but I loved watching the people.  I felt like China was showing off for me.  Every person and every thing vying for my attention and trying to make me love it more.  There was a row of cleaning ladies standing in formation, armed with their brooms, ready to sweep away the evidence of the crowd.  After it was over I considered going to the Mao'soleum to view Chairman Mao.  My desire to see what is supposedly the dead body of a world famous fool was not at all strong but my desire to tell people about it led me in that direction.  Then I saw the morbid line stretch its sinuous body all the way around the building and decided breakfast would serve an acceptable substitute. 

I was drawn in by a beautiful shopping center decorated in the spirit of the forbidden city and filled with shops I couldn't even afford to look at.  The siren song of Starbucks took hold of my muscles and I looked around for a pole to tie myself to, but somehow I stayed strong.  A block over I found the real China, hidden behind the painted facade with its gray broken buildings and ever friendly workers.  I found a baozi shop and sat down with a bowl of doujiang to serve as a replacement for the coffee I wanted.  I paid 6 kuai for my breakfast and savored it for the time when Starbucks are plentiful and baozi are impossible to find.

After a leisurely breakfast I decided to message my friends to see if any of them were awake but not a soul replied so I decided to explore the Forbidden City without them.  I lost myself in the maze of elaborate buildings.  It's impossible to describe, just go see it for yourself!  Besides I'm actually getting a little tired of my own Beijing stories so I'm assuming most people who read this are too.

A thought that kept creeping into my head while I wandered the once forbidden palace was how consistently power corrupts.  People may start off with the best of intentions, or they may start of with mediocre intentions, but I think I can safely say that given power they will surely arrive at self-service.  One look at the grandeur of palaces convinces me that no matter who is in charge, they care more for their own luxury than the livelihood of their people.  I'm sure I would be no better.  It does taint my enjoyment of the splendor just a tiny bit.

Eventually most of my traveling companions joined me in the Forbidden City, then we went to the Temple of Heaven and discovered that it costs almost the same amount as the Forbidden City entrance price but is significantly smaller and less interesting.  I felt like it was an extension of what I'd already seen.  After that we went to WangFuJing street where we had the chance to eat scorpions, grasshoppers, starfish, centipedes, and many other scary snacks. The extent of my bravery was to eat strawberries on a stick.  Lastly we found a place to try the famous Peking Duck.  The day was rather perfect which makes for far less interesting stories but was enjoyable nonetheless.

Next up:  India stories!


"Prosperity knits a man to the world.  He feels that he is finding his place in it, while really it is finding its place in him."
- C.S. Lewis