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