我已经决定

可能，我疯了有关书籍。

2012-02-11T20:15:00.002-06:00

Fully furnishing an apartment without spending a dime of your own money is not an easy task. I challenge anyone to do a better job than Sam, Rachel, and I have. So what if our kitchen table rocks so much that setting a drink on it could be hazardous to your clothing? I maintain that the uneven kitchen floor is the culprit, not our rickety table. So we only have one chair to use at the table? We sit on the floor around the coffee table and eat family style, like the happy Egyptian family we are not. Free coffee table with only one leg? Easiest of them all. Behold: the majesty of the stack of books. It's functional and cute. Adds a whimsical touch to our apartment. What happens when you break two legs off the microwave stand in the process of sweeping the kitchen floor? Why, books are the answer to that question as well, just as they are the solution to nearly every problem in my life. I use books to prop up my table and I use books to prop up my broken spirit when I cannot stand.

"Never trust anyone who has not brought a book with them."
-Lemony Snicket

我会写一本书。真的。

2012-02-09T11:07:00.001-06:00

I don't make new year's resolutions. I think they are doomed from conception and can serve only one purpose: that of a guilt-factory. I was once told by a very dear friend of mine (one of the three blessed people who happen to read this blog) that this is a character flaw and something I should focus on immediately. Perhaps my new resolution should be to make resolutions?

I justify my disregard for the collective starting-over period by saying that I do decide to make changes whenever the need for one happens to hit me in the face, no matter what time of year it arrives. The problem is that whether it be on January 1st or August 20th, the intended change usually fades within about the same period of time.

Until now.

Some time ago I stumbled upon a wonderful little website, www.onepageperday.com, on which you can type exactly one page, which it will save for you. If you haven't written yet when the reminder fairies wake up, they send you an email called your "gentle reminder" to write your page that day. Those emails are very easy to delete. If they stack up in your inbox and you suddenly have fifteen of them, there is a magical button which blocks them from ever showing up in your inbox again. New year's mumbo-jumbo defeated! Then I remember that I asked them to infiltrate my inbox, so that I would actually be productive with my otherwise wasted life and I beg their forgiveness. This new-found discipline lasts another couple of days until I get annoyed with the "gentle" reminders yet again.

That cycle might continue indefinitely if I hadn't made the mistake of telling that same nagging (and very beloved) friend that I was going to write a book. Now, for some reason, he keeps asking me how that book is coming. It's not that I don't want to write a book--I very much do. It's that working 40 hours a week has got to be the surest way to suck all the creativity out of a person and leave them a dry shell of a human. By the time I get home I'm so tired of listening to the insane ramblings of our needy clients* that all the creativity I can summon is depleted when I add a jalapeño to whatever I'm cooking for dinner. That little addition is all I have left to contribute to the world.

Peer pressure is a lot harder to resist than an electronic reminder, so I've begun writing my book for the third or fourth time. If it lacks the spark of humanity that makes literature worthwhile, I blame this system of slavery we expect adults to join in order to be considered "responsible."

"Each person's task in life is to become an increasingly better person."

-Leo Tolstoy

*If you think I exaggerate, I will record one of the aforementioned insane ramblings and force you to listen to its entirety. I do not suggest testing me on this.

天天开心

2012-01-24T13:18:00.001-06:00

For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.
Vincent Van Gogh

我离开中国一年多前。

2012-01-19T12:32:00.001-06:00

If I were to be completely honest--which I'm not convinced is possible--I would admit that when someone asks me for a blog post, or tells me they check my blog daily because they love reading it, I shine inside. Fireworks shoot out of the ends of my hair. I grow to be 6 feet tall, and could run 1,000 miles without taking a drink of water.

Then I sit at my computer and stare at the page for a few hours, hoping a brilliant thought will crawl out of my ear and onto the keyboard. That's what I've been doing for most of today. The result has been a few scratched out sentences in my notebook, and a lot of coffee flowing in my veins.

When I write, most of the work is done before I ever sit at the computer. I carry a notebook with me and I observe things while I'm inhaling smoke on a train, bouncing down rutted mountain roads on a bus, sipping coffee in a cafe by the river. I no longer do any of those things on a regular basis, and I've lost the habit of soaking in human behaviors around me. I left China over a year ago, and somehow don't feel like I've moved at all since then. It's time for that to change! The future is mine for the shaping, and I will not let it pass me by.

"The mission of life is to live [your] potentiality. How do you do it? My answer is, 'Follow your bliss.' There's something inside you that knows when you're in the center, that knows when you're on the beam or off the beam, and if you get off the beam to earn money, you've lost your life. And if you stay in the center and don't get any money, you still have your bliss."

-Joseph Campbell

"Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive."

-Howard Thurman

第一入学申请表

2011-12-13T09:31:00.002-06:00

December 13, 2011

Dear Kathleen:

We have received your application for admission to the English Master of Arts program for the Fall 2012 Semester. You will soon receive additional correspondence from us regarding the status of your application and any materials you still need to submit.

We know that applying to graduate school is an important and significant decision for you and the committee will give your application the highest degree of thoughtfulness and consideration. We will inform you of the committee’s decision by mail. If you have questions about the application process, please contact the office of Graduate and Professional Enrollment Management at (312) 915-8950 or via e-mail at GradApp@luc.edu.

Please let us know if your name, address, or application information is incorrect, and we will make the proper adjustment. If your contact or address information changes during the admission process, please let us know that as well so we can update your application.

Thank you for your interest in graduate education at Loyola. We look forward to reviewing your credentials and wish you the best of luck in the admission process.

Sincerely,

Ronald P. Martin
Associate Director of Enrollment Management
Graduate Enrollment Management

:)

研究生院

2011-04-14T11:21:00.001-05:00

"Sometimes decades pass and nothing happens; and then sometimes weeks pass and decades happen."

-Lenin

I'm in love with adventure. I've spent most of my life chasing recklessly after it, and it's led me all over the world. In the last nine months; however, adventure been conspicuously absent from my life and I'm almost grateful. Since I got back to the States my days have become somewhat monotonous and for the most part I've been glad for the respite. Adventure itself is a wonderful thing, but it can be synonymous with turmoil. It's good to have a rest from the whirlwind that the last two years have been.

I'm still enjoying my job more than I imagined I would, but in the last few weeks I've felt the familiar stir of restlessness reawakening. I need to have a goal, a purpose, something to bend my life towards. So, I have started taking steps towards getting myself in grad school in the next few years. I signed up for the GRE this week, and am researching schools and programs related to English. While on OU's website trying to learn about their Master's program, I clicked on the link to Frequently Asked Questions. Check out the answer.

Here is my blog post for the asking

2010-11-05T11:07:00.002-05:00

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

2010-09-12T19:11:00.001-05:00

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 a Sunday morning at the lake, feeling like you've never really been alive before you flew across the top of the water like a weightless spirit.

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

Things I miss about China

2010-09-08T21:21:00.000-05:00

Flashlight Earpick

Instructions:

1. Switch on before use, The spoon part illuminates to tacilitate inspecting the inside of an ear.

2. Two types of earpicks, i.e. thick and thin, are available for different ear hole sizes of adults and children.

3. The tweezers is equipped to catch bigg earwax.

4. After dismounting the transparent spoon part tweezers or other accessories, it can be used as a torch.

5. If the accessories are not used for a long period, store them in the tube at the end of an earpick

6. Light on the earpick should be turned off after using.

7. This product uses AA battery.

假的眼睛

2010-09-04T22:11:00.002-05:00

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！

2010-08-23T22:20:00.003-05:00

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

2010-07-15T10:59:00.001-05:00

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

2010-07-12T16:18:00.001-05:00

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

2010-07-06T13:33:00.001-05:00

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

2010-06-30T10:14:00.001-05:00

Tofacos

Things I'm going to miss about China

2010-06-29T11:05:00.001-05:00

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

2010-06-27T11:18:00.001-05:00

The presents people give me

Things I'm going to miss about China

2010-06-26T10:52:00.001-05:00

Street food

Things I'm going to miss about China: 柏林

2010-06-24T12:01:00.001-05:00

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

2010-06-23T11:45:00.001-05:00

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

2010-06-19T12:16:00.002-05:00

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

2010-06-15T09:12:00.001-05:00

Corn Juice

Things I'm going to miss about China

2010-06-14T12:22:00.001-05:00

Drinking Cool

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

2010-06-13T09:50:00.001-05:00

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

2010-06-12T12:15:00.001-05:00

KTV (Karaoke)

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

2010-06-09T08:32:00.001-05:00

Riding the bus

Things I'm going to miss about China

2010-06-08T09:03:00.001-05:00

Smog

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

2010-06-07T09:22:00.001-05:00

Chou Doufu

Things I'm going to miss about China

2010-06-06T04:16:00.001-05:00

Clark and Eden's

别爱这样的男人

2010-06-05T10:33:00.001-05:00

"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

2010-06-04T10:36:00.001-05:00

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

Things I'm going to miss about China: 火锅

2010-06-01T23:28:00.001-05:00

Hot pot

Things I'm going to miss about China

2010-05-31T21:51:00.000-05:00

Grocery shopping

Things I'm going to miss about China

2010-05-26T08:49:00.000-05:00

Eternal rain

Things I'm going to miss about China

2010-05-24T11:12:00.001-05:00

Eating with plastic gloves

我爱我的父亲

2010-05-23T09:56:00.001-05:00

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

2010-05-22T20:11:00.001-05:00

Split pants

Things I'm going to miss about China

2010-05-22T07:45:00.000-05:00

The Indian canteen

蝎子。。。没问题，我吃过了

2010-05-20T23:12:00.001-05:00

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

2010-05-20T09:01:00.002-05:00

...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

2010-05-18T09:18:00.001-05:00

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

2010-05-16T21:53:00.001-05:00

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

2010-05-16T01:59:00.001-05:00

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

2010-05-13T02:21:00.001-05:00

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

2010-05-11T04:00:00.000-05:00

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

2010-05-09T10:16:00.001-05:00

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

2010-05-05T10:01:00.001-05:00

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！

2010-05-04T03:07:00.001-05:00

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

2010-05-01T07:29:00.000-05:00

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

疯狂的人

2010-04-30T09:03:00.001-05:00

Every morning at 6am the Cai's neighbor starts playing his revolutionary music. He starts with one song memorializing the conquest of the communists in the early 1950's. He likes this song so much he plays it 3 times at full volume. It's loud enough to wake up the tenants in the whole apartment building. The playlist grows a little more varied after that and continues for an hour before closing with the same song it began on.

Two weeks ago Mrs. Cai was trying to get over a cold and needed to be able to sleep in, so her husband found the power switch for their neighbor's apartment, disconnecting his ability to disturb the whole neighborhood. When the perpetrator of the racket discovered what had happened he wrote death threats all over the area to ward off further disruption of his electricity. The Cai's contacted the police about the noise violation but they were told that since the man is mentally ill, he can do whatever he wants. He reportedly used to spend his days throwing bricks out the window at passer-byes who happened to wander near his apartment. The police admitted that they are afraid of him and refuse to put a stop to the morning music.

They know the man is insane and therefore exclude him from prosecution, but there aren't enough facilities to house the mentally unbalanced, so he remains in public housing, free to do whatever he pleases.

When my friends first told me about their annoying neighbor I dismissed it as a laughable story without cause for too much concern. The news today made me reconsider my first position.

Twenty-eight children were stabbed in Jiangsu province when a mentally unstable man went into a kindergarten with a large kitchen knife and began attacking students and teachers alike. This is reportedly the second of such attacks recently and demonstrates just how serious of a problem it is when the mentally ill receive no treatment and have no access to professional help.

It's time for officials realize the enormity of the problem and take action to adequately treat and restrain, if necessary, the millions of mentally ill people in China. Too much time has already gone by without anyone taking charge.

"Politicians and diapers should be changed often and for the same reasons."

-Mark Twain

泰姬陵

2010-04-15T02:41:00.000-05:00

There is a place in Agra
It's called the Taj Mahal
And it's been the ruin of many a traveler
It just might wreck us all

Our bus, it was a late one
Slowed by the traffic crawl
The guide he was a lyin man
He caused our own downfall

Now the only thing we really wanted
Was to see the white wonder
And the only thing we couldn't bear
Was to hear the traffic thunder

Oh mothers, tell your children
Not to do what we have done
Spend your day in sincere misery
When the trip has just begun

We got one foot on the building
When they called, "It's time to go"
We're goin back to Delhi
Cause the bus is really slow

There is a place in Agra
It's called the Taj Mahal
And it's been the ruin of many a traveler
It just might wreck us all

你应该去新德里

2010-04-14T10:51:00.001-05:00

I was straddling the fence.

Not figuratively. I was literally hanging there, with one leg on one side, and another about to swing over and join its partner. We were in the middle of a dark alley in Delhi, at a time when the only people who would see us would have reasons of their own for sticking to the dark. I looked down and tried to untangle myself from the wires inhibiting my progress. Getting through the barbed wires looked tough but soon I had managed to extricate myself and hop to the ground.

I looked around to make sure the same crazy old man wasn't waiting below this time to ask us countless questions in Hindi. Or maybe it was the same question, I don't really know since I don't speak Hindi. Either way the coast was clear the second time we climbed to freedom. We glanced over our shoulders one last time and walked quickly away from the shadows of the alley and toward the stench of the River of Rubbish. A beacon of odor lit the way for us like the pillar of fire in the Old Testament. We followed the smell to the 'Garbage Ganga' running past the med student's dorms until we located the sweets shop we were supposed to wait in front of.

Pausing to wait for the tour bus gave me the chance to strip off my clever disguise—the scarf tied around my head—and resume my prominence as a foreigner. I felt the freedom of victory. Twice we'd managed to sneak in and out of the med student's dorm, posing as Indians who belonged there. It was a desperate move for desperate travelers without a bed.

Waiting for a tour bus was peaceful. It was somewhere between dawn and daylight, the sky caught in transition when it hadn't yet settled on a color. We watched a man wash a car in that grey light—watched the dirt get wiped away like the color from the sky.

The contrast between the beginning of this day and the one before seemed too great to have happened in the same city. The previous day began in a conglomeration of elbows and shoulders all pushing me from every direction as I fought my way into the line at the train station. It had taken us a minute to figure out the system but we were determined to act like the seasoned travelers we wanted to be. Jessica got in the inquiry line and fought viciously to hold her place in the crowd as she shouted out possible train numbers to me and I submitted them to the lady selling tickets, who incidentally did not speak English. The lady looked at me with eyes full of exasperation and I knew the answer before she shook her head. There were no tickets to Agra on that train either. Just like the 13 trains I'd already inquired about. I wondered silently if I was giving her a reason to study English, so she could tell me to give up.

This time we were sure we were going to make it to Agra. What's a traveler to India if they don't see the Taj Mahal? After running out of trains and time on our first full day in Delhi we had booked a travel tour to ensure our passage. The tour package was located by Prince Oswin, who came to our rescue for the thousandth time, and promised us three hours at the Taj. I wasn't thrilled about the idea of a tour when all we really wanted to see was the world's most renowned expression of love, but decided it was better than not going at all.

After our long battle at the train station we waved our white flags and surrendered to the stronger warriors, knowing that we still had a chance at Agra the next day. So we called the ever-faithful Oswin and asked him what to do. He called the tour company and got us on a bus touring Delhi and leaving immediately. Thus we began our exploration of Delhi—on a bus examining our wounds but safe from further combat.

That day was spent comfortably traveling from site to site. We had ample time to leisurely examine each stop. A few of my favorites were the Qutab Minar, Humayun's tomb, and the Rajghat—where Mahatma Gandhi was cremated. Delhi is packed with historical sites, but don't take my word for it—go yourself! And do yourself a favor and stay longer than two days. Also, be sure you have a place to sleep.

A high pitched tune brought me out of my reverie to the realization that I was still standing in front of the sweets shop, reliving the day before. It took me a minute to place the noise until our tour bus pulled up and I realized it was the horn that played a melody. Little did I know how much I could come to loathe that sound in the next 22 hours. We boarded our bus with high hopes and settled down for a long, long, long, long journey to the Taj Mahal.

I closed my eyes and let the sun spill through the window onto my shoulder. I didn't know then that despite all the wondrous things we had seen, and were going to see, the things that would stay with me were the few minutes stolen from the trip to spend with my friends. I smiled to myself when I thought that Ami and Akhila had given up their room for us to sneak in and out of in the dead of the night. Remembering the late night laughter we shared warmed me from the inside out. Hopping from place to place didn't give me much time to spare, but the meals shared and jokes told with my friends linger in a different way than the amazing things we saw. Time may erase the words we said but won't touch my affection for them.

"True friendship is an identity of souls rarely to be found in this world. Only between like natures can friendship be altogether worthy and enduring."
-Gandhiji

骆驼没有名字

2010-04-06T01:05:00.000-05:00

On the first part of the journey I was looking at all the life. There were plants and birds and rocks and things. There was sand and hills and rings. The first thing I met was a fly with a buzz and the sky with no clouds. The heat was hot and the ground was dry but the air was full of sound.

We sat high above the sand and plodded our way into the Thar Desert atop Chewbacca and a camel with no name. Each step jolted me into a new appreciation for walking. I resolved never again to consider walking a less-than desirable method of transportation. Our camels ruled the desert, they were in their element. The only thing that seemed out of place was us.

We were in Jaisalmer. Rather, we were outside Jaisalmer; it was our first great adventure in India. We met it at full speed with arms thrown open in expectation. Jessica, I, and our two desert guides found ourselves at the mercy of the earth. Or what I once thought was the earth, but felt as though I had been transported unknowingly to Tatooine. Chewy belonged there, the sand people belonged there, but we did not.

Our guides were exceptional. The men and plants seemed to spring from the same seed, spawned by the desert. Both were marked by their ability to subsist on only the barest of sustenance. I was in awe of their thrift.

After a few hours of rocking through the sand high above the ground I forgot where we came from or where we were going; I was aware only of the incredible loneliness of the land. We met no other travelers, only a herd of sheep. Even the sheep seemed like they were looking for companions in their aimless wandering. They stared at us expectantly, knowing that the sight of another living creature was special.

My mind began to drift and I found myself writing the story of our journey using only song lyrics. I surprised myself with how many songs I found that fit perfectly into the story like they were written for that purpose.

When we reached the sand dunes we stopped for the night. The sudden stillness was unsettling, as though the world was supposed to sway rhythmically underneath us and the constant motion was our tie to reality. I had a hard time walking but the dunes were calling to me as clearly as if they'd spoken aloud. I had to summit the sand ridge even if I couldn't walk the next day.

That night we slept under the stars. The temperature was as bitterly cold as it had been ferociously hot during the day, changing only its direction and not its intensity. I've never seen the contrast between the blackness of the sky and the brightness of the stars in quite such an extreme display. I lay awake as long as I could and tried to etch them into my mind to recall whenever I want. Because every once in a while you have to lie under stars and lose yourself in their charm, and forget that life on earth isn't always beautiful.

"All we are is dust in the wind"

如果我睡不够

2010-03-24T08:36:00.001-05:00

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

2010-03-23T05:24:00.001-05:00

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

2010-03-21T05:40:00.002-05:00

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

2010-03-08T07:47:00.001-06:00

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

2010-03-07T06:18:00.001-06:00

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

2010-03-02T07:47:00.001-06:00

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

没钱别跟着我

2010-02-28T08:09:00.001-06:00

I can feel the age of these stones.   This is the real thing. Too often the sights China boasts of are rebuilt within the last 20 years, they reek of falsehood and newness. When we were trying to choose our trip to the Great Wall, the number one requirement I had was that it be original. I wanted the antiquity of the place to speak to me. To soak in the wisdom it holds.

I remember going to the county fair in Michigan when I was a kid, with my grandma and my cousin Josh. There was a ride called the Zipper that we were all afraid to go on, but too proud to admit it. We'd stand in awe below it, watching the cars go round and round on a giant conveyor belt, spinning as the belt moved, and turning topsy turvy on top of that. Three separate motions to make you sick. We'd shake with fear and one of us would dare the other one to get on. It took a lot of name calling and double-dog-dare-yous but eventually we would get on together. Then we'd spend the rest of the evening holding onto our stomachs and trying to see straight.

I'm thousands of miles away from the county fair but from time to time I feel like I just got off the Zipper. The whole world keeps sliding first one way, and then the next, spinning the whole time, and occasionally bucking me off.

It comes when I least expect it. I'll be walking along listening to Michael Jackson and then I'll have the image of my aunt walking in my house the morning of my brother's funeral and announcing that Michal Jackson died that day. Suddenly the world is unstable. I can't figure out which way is up, or how to move my legs, or that I'm supposed to breathe. Sometimes I yell at God. I tell him I'm not as strong as he thinks I am. Then I'm on my knees thanking him for my many blessings.

Standing on these stones though, I can't help but feel the solidness. They aren't going anywhere. I know because I can see how long they've been here. I cling to them because they remind me that some things can be stationary. I need their assurance.

We weren't sure we were going to make it here. It only took 6 hours. Being too cheap to book a tour of the Great Wall, we wanted to get here on our own. It can be done but unless you speak Chinese I recommend going with a group. Luckily I've learned a word or two while living here.

The Lonely Planet suggests going to the Beijing Travel Center between 6:30 and 8:30am for a bus to 司马台. So we dutifully showed up at 6:30 and asked the ticket counter for a bus. Either the Lonely Planet is outdated or their information is most reliable during peak tourism seasons (which January is not). The gentleman told me that we could only book a bus to the BaDaLing section of the wall unless we had five people. Not willing to budge an inch, I went back to the hostel to take another look at the LP.

Option 2 looked promising as we got off the subway at 东直门 and looked for the bus station. I'd gotten used to everyone speaking perfect Mandarin so I was thrown off when I asked directions from a newspaper stand and couldn't understand a word the man said.

Soon a woman came alongside me and started asking the usual questions. "Where are you from?" "How long have you been in China?" "How did you learn Chinese?" As we chatted she walked us to the bus station and I was struck by her friendliness. The cynical voice inside me kept waiting for her to try to sell me something. I was sure there was a catch somewhere. She asked where we were going and even walked us to bus 980, which is what the LP said we wanted. We started to board the bus and she started pointing at another bus and telling me I wanted to be on it instead. Aha! I thought smugly. Here comes the pitch. I knew she was being so nice for a reason. I declined her advice as politely as I could and got on the bus anyway. She followed us and sat to talk to the driver. I was certain she wanted to get us on the wrong bus so that she, or her friend could charge us an exorbitant amount to get to the wall.

We sat in the back of the bus and the moments ticked by. I was starting to get a little impatient so I went to ask the driver when we should pay. Rather than answer my question he asked where we were going. As if he didn't already know. We're foreigners in hiking clothes on a bus to MiYun. We had "Great Wall" written all over us. He surprised me by pointing to the same bus my lady friend had been directing me to and told me to get on it instead. I figured the bus driver didn't have anything to gain by getting paying customers off his bus so he seemed a little more trustworthy. As we got off the bus, my lady friend shouted after me, "Why didn't you believe me?" I apologized and ran to catch the rapidly filling bus bound for MiYun. When we sat down I found out why there was such confusion. We were now on bus 980快, which means 980 Fast. Same number, fast rather than slow.

We were about 40 minutes into the trip when someone tapped me awake. "Hello? To SiMaTai? Get off here." If I'd been using half my brain I would have hesitated to get off. But unfortunately both halves were occupied in slumber and not serving much use to me. We stumbled off the bus and blinked. This sleaze had talked us into getting off the bus in the middle of nowhere and had his taxi waiting to take us to SiMaTai for only 300 yuan! What a deal! I wanted to spit on his shoe. We engaged in a short-lived shouting match while Jessica and I marched resolutely away from him and his deceitful ways.

We saw what appeared to be the city ahead and steadily ignored the shouting taxi driver behind us. He waited til we hiked almost out of sight and then his car appeared beside us again, driver hanging out the window shouting prices at us. If only he'd known how stubborn I am he would have saved his breath. Even if it meant walking the whole 70 km to the Great Wall I wasn't going to give in.

Ten minutes later he was still following us and had dropped his price in half. But by this time more taxi drivers had joined the fray and we had a full escort service driving by our sides as we marched ever on toward the elusive town.

I was certain we could get a better deal if we found the place where most tourists get off the bus and we could pitch the drivers against each other. But we couldn't shake them even for a minute to gather our thoughts.   We ducked in a gas station to buy some time and one driver followed us inside, hovering over my shoulder like the grim reaper, determined not to let me escape. I am starting to believe that everybody in Beijing speaks English so I turned to Jessica and slurred, "Whaddayawannado?" She opened her eyes wide and answered, "Idunnotheyredrivinmecrazy." in our super secret English code.

I looked out the window in search of freedom from these human vultures and saw our chance: the bus had just stopped and deposited a few more people on the side of the road. I watched for the next bus and when it stopped I was waiting to jump on and quiz the driver. Surely he knows where most people get their passage to the old wall.

At this point I began having an inner battle. How badly do I want to see some crumbly old stones built by stubborn men who refused to admit that it was a bad idea anyway?

A year and a half in China has given me the necessary elbow skills to climb onto a bus while people are trying to get off, but just barely. I made it to the driver and cast my question at him hurriedly, knowing that at any moment I could get carried away with the sea of bodies flowing out the door. With his answer I let myself be forced outside in defeat. He essentially told me that this was as good of a place as any. The many taxi drivers outside didn't hesitate to pounce on their prey. The second my feet touched the ground they closed in on me, teeth bared and claws extended. One began in English, "No Bus! No bus!" While others tapped me on the shoulder and declared their superior offers. Something inside me snapped and my frustration over-ruled my inhibitions. I rounded on the short, chubby driver who had dared insult my intelligence with his assertion that there was no public bus, "Wo zhidao!" I bellowed at him, I know! There must have been a snarl on my lips too, as I felt like all the taxi drivers took a step back and appraised me with new eyes.

At that moment I became a worthy adversary. Deciding they liked this angry waiguoren they lowered their prices a hair and the real bartering started. Eventually they were all set on the same price. I thought it seemed high, but since we were there during the off season and the price of gas had most likely risen since the last time I drove I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt. As brothers-in-arms, none of them would sell out and offer a lower price so I decided on the plump gentleman I'd screamed at in a conciliatory gesture.

About 31½ Chinese techno songs later we made it to the Great Wall. My spirits rose with the altitude. Seven months after I planned, I was finally here! The sun sparkled his congratulations as we made our ascent.

I puased to catch my breath and spotted some old folks resting by the side. Their eyes lit up when I began a conversation. We stood and talked about the weather for a second. Standing a little off to the side was a woman in a pink jumper with her arms full. She watched me chat with the old people and then swung in step behind us as we moved on. Soon the questions came flying in one-by-one. Every time she flung another one my way I gave the shortest answer I could, hoping she'd get bored and move on. My disadvantage was a lack of other foreigners to host her. I'd hunted so long for a place free from other tourists that we became a magnet for all the hawkers.

I took a step. Looked over my shoulder and there she was with her silent sidekick, a younger boy. The follower and the followed. Another step, another deliberate look. She mimicked my every move, skillfully ignoring my subtle pleas for solitude. We stopped to take pictures. She stood and waited, shadowed by the wordless boy at her elbow. We started again. She stepped behind.

I decided to risk offending her if it would give us some peace so I finally turned and asked, "Why are you waiting with us?" She'd been on our tails for at least half an hour. I knew already what her answer would be. "I want you to buy my postcards." I hated crushing her hopes. "I don't want any postcards." She didn't seem upset. She smiled serenely and said, "But maybe on the way down you can take a look." I apologized and told her I really didn't want them. She finally slowed her pace and demanded, "Why not?" I said, "because I don't have any money," knowing she wouldn't believe me. She stomped her foot and declared, "You have lots of money," her voice rising with the distance I put between us. I tried to put sincerity in my voice and answered, 'But I work in China."   The last I heard of her as I rounded the bend was her angry voice floating after me, "You have American money!"

As I surveyed the mountains of Mongolia from one of the world's wonders I thought about her accusation. That I have money. She's right of course. I could probably afford to buy her postcards and not even notice. But will buying postcards from every lady I feel sorry for allay the guilt I carry for things I can't control? I'd like her to have more opportunities in life, so she doesn't have to make a living by following tourists around. I just happen to think there are better ways to help than spending a few bucks on something I don't want. I think one of the ways to help is to be a good teacher. I may be biased since I'm an educator, but I believe in the power of education. So I resolve to try harder. I'm going to give my students my all again, in the hopes that they will make the world a better place.

"Our greatness comes from our woundedness."

火车票，护照，和买东西

2010-02-03T21:11:00.001-06:00

It's 5:45am! Why are my eyes open? Why did my dreams of cream-topped coffee and buttery cookies vanish? These are the questions I cast at the fluffy white cat stalking around the living room. He turned his baleful eyes on me and meowed his indifference. The retort his wordless expression directed at me was less than helpful so I searched for a new interviewee. The room was void of all other life forms so I consulted a cup of water but a few seconds later Jessica surprised me by emerging from her tent and joining me on the couch. Both of us wondered aloud why we were awake so early.

We shrugged in perplexity and decided we might as well make the most of our day, so we started packing up our belongings and wondering how to get to the train station. Right when we were standing by the door our couch-surfing host came out and offered to take us to breakfast. Northern wind met the three of us at the door with ferocity and we retreated as quickly as we could to a steaming baozi shop. It was the most creative batch of steamed bread wrapped around various assortments of meat, vegetables, or combinations thereof I'd ever seen. Each one contained a delicious surprise.

Feeling satisfied by the last shrimp baozi I'd managed to stuff in my mouth I got up from the table and aimed myself in the direction of the bus stop to try to find the train station. We jammed ourselves onto another bus, and then a subway where I found myself smashed against a pole. The guy squished on the other side of the pole started making small talk in perfect English. "It must be my lucky day to be standing next to two lovely girls." I looked around trying to figure out who he was talking about. I asked him if it was like this every day. I couldn't imagine people willfully subjecting themselves to such crowds on purpose unless they thought all the cramming might somehow make them thinner. His answer made me laugh out loud, "This is nothing. Mondays are like hell."

When we crawled off the subway into daylight I squinted at the lines of hopeful ticket buyers in front of the train station. They were intimidating but I was distracted by the beauty of the architecture. Waiting in line for such a long time has inherent unpleasantness but this time it came loaded with a reward as well. We were overjoyed to discover that we were going to make it home after all. When we first bought two standing tickets and one sleeping ticket (for me, Jessica, and our friend James) we were jumping up and down with excitement. We didn't know how we were going to divide the spoils but it didn't matter. What mattered was that miserable as it would be, at least we would be able to go back to Yichang before we left for India.

From the train station our next stop was our friend Eva's workplace. We were going to pick up our passports so we could check into a real hostel instead of bumming off complete strangers. It was a moment of pure joy. I opened my passport and there was a beautiful page dedicated to telling me that I was going to legally be allowed in India. Jessica and I hugged each other, hugged Eva, thought about hugging complete strangers, then decided we'd better not.

Finally the rejoicing slowed and our stomachs started letting us know that they'd like us to remember them with gifts of food. For that reason we went to our hostel to check in, meet Zack and Elizabeth, and find some sustenance. Our hostel was tucked in a side street not far from the heart of Beijing and in a sense the heart of China. The winding roads that lead there charms you as you walk. Songs of varying nature and varying volume levels greet you at each new shop. They all blend together to form the cacophony that China would be so lonely without. At one point I listened to myself in disgust, I'd started singing along to a song I hate just because I recognized the words. The amount of English songs that join the mix are few, and when I hear one I recognize I automatically feel a sense of belonging no matter how much I detest the song in normal circumstances.

My first impression of the hostel was a good one. The dimly lit lobby had a TV on the wall and the particular music video playing was "Power to the People" and the scene in the background had to do with a certain person standing up for themselves in front of a much larger machine in a very large square I would later walk across. We checked in and decided to eat lunch there. It took a while for all of us to be ready to go explore the city we'd tried so desperately to get to, but we finally managed to all make it downstairs eventually. Our target was the forbidden city, after I bullied the others into agreeing that we needed to see it immediately.

As we sauntered down the ancient pathway leading up to the forbidden city, gaping at the walls around us, two guards crossed their arms in front of me. They had just admitted their last visitors for the day and were closing the gate in front of us. So we sighed, turned around, and weighed our options. Eventually we agreed to go to the Pearl Market and shop, much to the guys' disgust. At the Pearl Market I had my first experience with Beijing-style bargaining.

I've done my fair share of bargaining with salesmen, but the Beijing-ren are a new breed. They are actors in the finest sense of the word. They use flattery, guilt, cajoling and a hilarious amount of slapping to try to win your money. It's entertaining to watch, a rush to participate in, and an art form in itself. This is how a conversation goes:
"Come here friend. Take a look at my (insert name of random junk). Special price for you. 300 yuan."
   "Wo bu yao. Wo juede na tai gui le." [No thanks, that's too expensive]
"Oh you speak Chinese! You are very clever. Okay okay I give you deal because you speak Chinese. Only 180." *wink*
   "Ai you! Bu xing! Gei ni shi kuai qian." [Yikes! There's no way. I'll give you ten.]
*slap on the arm* "How can you say like this? I will lose money if I give to you for that price. Come on, be reasonable. Okay okay only 120."
   "Zhende bu yao. Xie xie." [I really don't want it. Thanks.] I start to walk away.
"Okay okay you are so smart. I can give it to you for 50 kuai." *grabs my arm and hangs on to me for dear life.*
   I'm trying to walk away and I shake my head, "Bu yao, bu yao. Nide dongxi tai gui le. Shi kuai qian." [Don't want it, don't want it. Your stuff is to expensive. Ten kuai.]
*yanks my arm out of socket* "You are too mean. Come on only 15 kuai."
   I walk away leaving my arm behind.
*shouting after me* "Okay okay ten kuai. You want how many? I give you this one for only 5 more? Okay? How about a _______?"

I may have an argumentative streak. Or a stubborn streak. Or both. Just slightly. And that may be why I love bartering so much. I think I enjoyed the experience so much I bought things I didn't even want just for the fun of getting my price. But who doesn't love a few extra souvenirs? Filled with adrenaline I decided to tackle the next obstacle of our trip: Great Wall planning. I had arbitrarily decided we were going to go to the Great Wall on Friday but no amount of compromise could get us all five to agree on a specific plan. So our group of five tourists decided on three different Great Wall experiences. Jessica and I wanted to avoid other tourists; rebuilt, fake, and therefore boring sections of the wall; and conformity (namely seeing the part everyone else sees). My opinions on the subject might have been slightly stronger than Jessica's but none of us were prepared to give up what we wanted in our only chance to see the Great Wall of China.

We poured over our Lonely Planet, and websites detailing how to get to the (relatively) untainted parts of the wall and that's when I discovered that I'd left my tennis shoes in the home of our couch-surfer host. It was 9pm and I ran out the door in the hopes that someone, somewhere would still be selling shoes. In a rare streak of luck a shoe store down the street was just about to close their doors when they spotted a potential customer running at them in desperation. I asked them for their cheapest pair of tennis shoes. I asked them for the enormous size of 40. Instead of laughing at me the lady pulled them of the shelf. And they fit! And I paused for a moment to reflect on the first thing that's ever been easy in China. Then I complimented myself for understanding and communicating my dire needs in Chinese, brushing aside the fact that it's a lot easier to do that in Beijing where the Mandarin is crystal clear and beautiful.

I went to bed almost immediately upon returning to the hostel, because the plan was to leave at 6am the next day. We wanted a bright and early start on the Wall. I use the term "we" rather loosely since in reality I'm the only one in the group who had any desire to see 6am but I can be persuasive when I want to be. Would we later regret losing sleep on this adventure? Stay tuned to find out.

"It hurts me to say this about democracy (and I know because my band is one), but rarely does majority rule produce something of beauty."

-Bono

我们找不到火车票

2010-02-03T09:53:00.002-06:00

It began in a wet, rainy place where the sun seldom shines. Moss grows on the sides of buildings there, as trees are rare and buildings plentiful. The depressed clouds drip continually but never get angry enough to storm. The constant moisture clings to you, gets in your bones and soaks into your spirits weighing them down little by little. It began there high on a hill overlooking the town square.

At the top of the hill rests the city train station. We arrived there in the afternoon, two girls with backpacks full of hope and fear and a few too many substantial items to get us through the next week. We were on our way to the north, where the sun shines and the wind blows. We were giddy with the knowledge that the trip was actually happening after dealing with numerous setbacks the week before. We were fearful that it would be a disaster if we didn't get our passports, or worse--if our visas to India had been denied. I had woken up with a cold but was determined not to let it stop us from going, after all, the other pieces had fallen into place. I stuffed my bag full of NyQuil and kleenexes, tea bags and the secret hope that people would run away from me screaming if they thought I had H1N1. Jessica set off to find dinner while I waited in line to buy tickets home.

As I stood in line to buy tickets home I noticed a guy edging his way to the front, with wads of bills clutched in his hand. I looked at him in awe of his daring and decided I wasn't in the mood to put up with cutting in line so I said, "Hey!" with as much force as I could. The word may not have been Chinese but my meaning was quite clear. After eyeing me for a minute, no doubt deciding who would win in a fight, he shuffled to the back of the line. I turned around feeling victorious in time to see a lady jam her arm in front of the window from the exit line, cutting off the guy who's turn it was. Before he had time or willpower to react she barked out her request to the lady selling tickets. No one even blinked, they just accepted it as an unavoidable part of buying tickets.

One other lady managed to cut her way to the front before I made it to the window. When I got there I asked about the availability of trains from Beijing to Wuhan on the 1st of February. There was painful suspense while the lady typed in her request. Nothing. So I asked about trains to Yichang. Nothing. The 2nd of February was tried next. Nothing. I exhausted every option I could think of. I began to suspect we were never going to make it home. I knew this would happen, that buying tickets during the Spring Festival in China is like trying to wean my roommate off of milk tea, but I hadn't bought tickets earlier out of fear that the trip would be canceled. My ability to think about other options while translating my thoughts into Chinese for the ticket seller to understand was quickly reaching its limits so I ducked out of line empty-handed.

I met Jessica trudging up the formidable hill to the train station, breathless but holding supper in her triumphant hand. Both of us were worried that upon arriving in Beijing we might not find a way home. But rather than dwell on the problem we decided to solve the most pressing issue: hunger. We fell on our food with abandon and with full bellies and happy tongues loaded our train.

The bunks we'd reserved for the next 22 hours were on the bottom. Within minutes of depositing our backpacks and sitting down, we found our bunks serving as chairs for our neighbors all around. We didn't mind sharing but as I was sick and Jessica is never averse to sleeping when she has the chance, we were both soon stretched out and slumbering. At about 10 o'clock the lights in our car were turned out and I thought we'd all be able to sleep peacefully. Then it happened. Beep be-be-be-beep. A minute of silence. Beep be-be-be-beep. I glared angrily in the dark and listened for the direction of the sound. It was the guy in the top bunk receiving text messages. I fantasized about ripping it out of his hand and throwing it out the window. I imagined how relieving it would feel to free him from his invisible prison and show him that there is life beyond cell phones. Maybe he would thank me. Probably he would curse me. But happily I wouldn't understand the words that he chose and could pretend that they were a blessing.

Eventually my anger wore me out and I slept again. At 6am the bright minds in charge of the train decided to start playing music. Soon cigarettes were lit all around, cards were being played, and subdued talking turned into uninhibited yelling. We groaned and plugged in headphones to drown out the ruckus. Fading to sleep again we noticed our beds being used as seats again, but didn't care.

Later that noon both of us had dragged ourselves to consciousness and were beginning to feel the pangs of hunger. We eventually got around and went to the meal car where the lady asked me if I could read Chinese characters. I told her a little and she gave me a menu, obviously impressed by my intelligence. I perused their meager wares and settled on one I could read: chicken. I ordered it and she told me they didn't have any left. So I chose another dish, less sure what I was asking for and she apologetically told me there wasn't any of that either. Then she told me the only things available were fish and rice. I'm not sure why she bothered to give me a menu in the first place but I didn't feel much like paying 25yuan for a fish, so I headed back to my bunk to buy a bowl of instant noodles from the annoyingly constant hawkers who parade up and down the aisles.

After lunch I finished Wuthering Heights and spent the rest of the train ride musing, and formulating different scenarios that explain how it became such a famous book. Then Jessica and I alternated suggesting routes home. We considered trains to other cities in Hubei province. We considered buses that smell of stinky feet and stale smoke. We considered hijacking a flying carpet. We reminded ourselves multiple times to try to buy tickets when we arrived at the train station in Beijing. After a full 22 hours of sitting on the same hard bunk we stumbled off the train wondering why the ground had stopped moving. In our state of confusion we accidentally exited in exactly the place we wanted to be and boarded a bus to the other side of town. It would be an hour before we remembered our resolution to buy tickets of some kind.

I've invented a new game I like to play in China. It's a one-person game but anybody can play. The rules are simple. Try to remain standing on a city bus without holding on to anything. This game is made more difficult when the bus ride lasts over an hour and made more simple when the bus is so crowded people are smashing into you from all sides, as is often the case in China. We were a little worried we might lose the ability to breathe because of the number of bodies crammed into the pressure cooker on wheels. After an hour of getting jerked around, stepped on, and squished we arrived on the East side of Beijing and called our couch surfer to meet us at the bus stop.

If you've never heard of couchsurfing.com go there right now (after you finish reading my blog that is). It's a life-saving website for people who really want to go to Beijing and don't have their passports so they can't stay in a hostel. We met a really sweet girl named Juliet, she took us back to her apartment and cooked dinner for us. She was from Wuhan so the food was good and spicy and everything you could hope for in Chinese food. Our bed for the night was a choice between a tent set up in her spare bedroom or the over-sized couch. We asked her for advice on getting back to Yichang and she tried to help us look up tickets online, but didn't give us much hope. We went to sleep fretting about whether or not we'd be able to make it back home. We decided to get up at 8 the next morning and go to the train station to try again. Would we make it back to the land of the clouds and rain? To be continued...

"The only thing we learn from history is that we never learn from history."

-Hegel

被禁止的

2010-01-23T03:05:00.001-06:00

I like the sound of a place called "The Forbidden City." It evokes mystery, wonder, excitement...frustration. I'm beginning to think the whole city of Beijing is forbidden. I'm never to go there. Never to walk the stones of Tiananmen Square, or the halls of the imperial palace. Beijing was to be the grand finale of year one in China last June. I had spent weeks planning out every minute of our trip, from the steps of the Great Wall, to the Peking Duck at the end. We were scheduled to leave June 21st. Instead June 21st turned into a day of agonizingly packing up my belongings, searching for plane tickets home, and trying not to lose my sanity all at once.

I hesitated to try again. Thoughts of Beijing inevitably provoke thoughts about why I didn't go the first time. While not wanting to face those, I also don't see how I can live in China for two years and fail to see what most people place at the top of their travel lists in this country. Since going at the end of my time in China seemed like too high of a risk for failure I resolved to add it to my winter vacation plans. We're currently scheduled to leave in three days.

First we bought plane tickets. Thanks to qunar.com we found plane tickets for 320 yuan, which is 11 yuan more than the 22 hour train for only a three-hour flight. That seemed too good to be true and we snatched them up. It turns out they were indeed too good to be true. What you may not know is that it's illegal to go anywhere in China without your passport. Not a problem right? If you know me very well you probably know that I'm not very good at meeting deadlines. So naturally I waited until the last minute to send our passports to the Indian Embassy in Beijing, to apply for our visas for that trip. Our passports are somewhere either in India or on their way back from there right now. We aren't sure yet. If you aren't allowed to go anywhere without a passport, you certainly cannot board a plane sans that particular document.

Last week was mostly spent trying to solve that problem. I called a friend, who called the airport, who told us to go downtown to the PSB's Foreign Affairs Office and we could obtain a document that would serve as a substitute. We called the office several times throughout the week and got no answer. So I met her early one afternoon and together we faced the first of many obstacles. When we finally arrived at the station we were struck by the lack of life. Nobody stirred. Cautiously approaching the building I noticed a white sign on the wall, notifying us that the office had moved. Where? Right next to the South gate of our school. At a gleaming new office building I'd admired from the bus window many times. I complained loudly about the absence of answering machines in China that would have made this problem so much easier to solve by simply warning us on the phone that they had changed buildings. So off we went again. To the 6th floor to wait in line. (That's right, people actually stood in a line!) The lady at the counter was polite but adamant that in absolutely no circumstances were we to be given documents that could serve as a passport replacement unless we lost our passports. We asked again. Again we were refused. Dejectedly I left, to call my friend and see if we could get a refund on our plane tickets. We got 100 yuan back so it wasn't a total loss.

So I went to the train station last week and bought train tickets instead. They still had sleeping tickets so I knew immediately it wouldn't be as bad as the last time I took that train.

For a few weeks now I've been calling the hostel I'd previously booked in Beijing to ask them if it would be possible to check in with only a copy of our passports. I already knew the answer to that question, because if the rules are going to be enforced anywhere it is certainly Beijing. But I couldn't give up without trying. But every time I'd called the hostel I'd gotten this recording: "Nin hao, nin cuo bo ta de hao ma shi kong hao..." Which basically means, "You idiot, the number you're calling doesn't exist. Try again and this time get it right." Or something a little nicer but equally frustrating. But how could the number not exist? I called it a few weeks ago to book our rooms! I looked it up a hundred times on the internet to make sure I had it right. I was complaining to Jessica about it when she decided to help me out. So she looked up Wangfujing International Youth Hostel. And found this review: "I arrived on January 13th only to find out that they were closing the next day."

Our hostel closed without warning. That explains why I couldn't get reach anyone on the phone. I'm just glad we discovered it before we arrived in Beijing with no place to stay. So we quickly got out the trusty Lonely Planet and started trying to find a new hostel. All of them, it turns out, were twice the price of the one we had booked before, naturally. So I settled on the one I'd planned to stay in last year, called them, and found out that our Chinese friend James will not be allowed to stay in the 10-12 bed dorm room with other foreigners. He has to get a private room, which are roughly 4 times the price. Then I asked the all-important question: What if we don't have our passports? The lady declared rather forcefully that we'd better have them ore else we wouldn't get a bed.

At this point I was starting to hate my phone, and anyone on the other end of it. But I sighed and called James and told him the situation. He wasn't worried, and said he'd find his own hotel no problem. Then we tried to call the Indian Embassy to get the latest update on the location of our passports. Unfortunately it was 3:30pm. Their office closes at 3 Monday through Friday. So now I'm impatiently waiting until Monday morning to call them and find out whether or not our passports will arrive in Beijing soon; and therefore whether it is worth even trying to go to Beijing on Tuesday.

"If we fail to reach the Great Wall we are not men."

-Chairman Mao

不曾哭泣的年轻人是野人；不愿欢笑的老人是愚人。

2010-01-20T10:13:00.001-06:00

   "Where to?"
I got in the back of the taxi and hoped that would be the last question he would ask me. "北正街"
   "You speak Chinese very well. Where are you from?"
He wasn't going to give up easily. I decided to play along. "No, not really. My Chinese is very bad. I'm from America."
   "Really. It's great. How long have you lived here?"
"Oh well I've been here for a year and a half."
   "Did you study Chinese in America before you came?"
"No, just when I got to China."
   "Did you study by yourself or in class?"
"By myself."
   "Are you a student?"
No, I'm a serial killer who preys on overly inquisitive taxi drivers.
"No, I'm a teacher. I teach English at the Three Gorges University."
    "Oh...how much money do you make?"
Not enough to make it worth hearing all these questions over and over again.
   "That's not enough! Do you think America is better or China is better?"
How can I possibly answer this question?
"Um...well I love it here."
   "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
   "How old are you?"
   "Are you married?"
    "Do you have a boyfriend?"
   "Do you want to find a Chinese husband?"
   "Do you think Chinese is harder or English is harder?"
   "Why did you come to China?"
   "Do you like Chinese food?"

By the time I arrive at my destination there is the distinct feeling that this taxi driver knows me better than my own mother. I'll go ahead and confess, I get annoyed. Almost every time. It's the same questions over and over again, with a different driver. But along the way I started to question my reluctance to make small talk with a stranger. Why does it annoy me that he is interested in my life?

If I had to choose one defining characteristic of Chinese culture, I'd be compelled to highlight their hospitality. Guests are highly honored and respected here. And that includes guests in their country. We may be "lao wai", those pesky old foreigners who come to China, but we are guests in their land and therefore are treated with utmost kindness. It's ironic to me that they seem to intuitively know that living in a strange land is difficult, without ever having tried it--so the people we meet seem to go out of their way to make us comfortable. In China, where it's a lot harder for a college graduate to get a decent job than it is in the States, nobody accuses me of job stealing by coming over here. They don't tell me to get back on the boat. Nobody gets mad at me for not learning Chinese, in fact they act blown away by my ability to say two words in their language. People everywhere are eager to help me in my native language instead of grouchily declaring that I ought to learn Chinese. So taxi drivers ask me too many questions as a way of showing their friendliness. Next time I start to get frustrated that he won't leave me alone, I'll try to remember the alternative.

"The young man who has not wept is a savage, and the old man who will not laugh is a fool."

-孔子(Confucius)

今天的下雪，漂亮的水

2010-01-05T10:03:00.001-06:00

Beauty fell from the sky today. It came in the form of ice, perfectly sculpted into millions of crystals. Water, so cold it became solid, so thin it became soft. Velvety art forms brushing my cheeks, each one as they made their descent. One piled on top of the other, slowly covering the old, dirty earth and changing it into something new. I watched it happen. This world transformed before my eyes. For a short time it hid all the impurities, making creation seem perfect once more.

I felt the renewal inside. The snow was a physical embodiment of something deeper. For too long now I've been feigning interest in the world. Hoping that somehow all this pretending would fool even me, and I'd feel fire again, or passion, or excitement, something besides pain. As the holidays fade into the past I'm starting to feel the possibility of that happening. I've been able to focus on something besides my own hurt. It may be short-lived or permanent, only time will tell but a change is here. And I'm ready.

Snow covers over the filth, every contamination that shouldn't be there. For a time, everything is new, like it was intended to be. A friend of ours decided this week that he wanted his life to be that way. So he went under the water, and washed away all of his dirt. He's beginning again. We've got a new family member. And he's got a new life. And now, my smile is real.

Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes

Silver white winters that melt into springs

These are a few of my favorite things

我的午饭不是鸡胸肉

2009-12-18T09:36:00.002-06:00

In an ideal world, after living in a place for a year and a half I wouldn't experience culture shock anymore.

But then again in an ideal world Jim Halpert would have asked me to marry him a long time ago, and I'd sing like Norah Jones. Unfortunately none of those things are true, and the culture seems to be shocking me more than usual this week as Christmas approaches. There's an abundance of other emotions which could be contributing to my lack of patience, but regardless I'm finding it more difficult to retain my usual degree of joyfulness.

Today I went to the knock-off KFC across the street from our favorite grocery store, hoping to find some peace of mind in a big hunk of chicken. I've been there once before, in fact it's the very restaurant which provided our succulent Thanksgiving chicken. I located the characters which supposedly represent "chicken breast" on the menu, and ordered one while bragging inwardly about being able to read two words in Chinese. I was beaming with pride as I sat at the table and waited for my coming victory bird. As the employee advanced toward me armed with a flat piece of meat that was about ½ a centimeter thick and broader than my head, my pride morphed into astonishment and a few other indescribable feelings. I'm still quite bamboozled about what I actually ended up eating. It had the look and texture of chicken, but smelled like fish and had a strange fishy chicken flavour. At first I thought such an event would worsen my culture shock and reduce me to tears but in fact it had the opposite effect. I was so flabbergasted with by my mystery meat that I just kept repeating, only in China in between giggles. When I go back to the U.S. I'll get exactly what I order most of the time. What's there to laugh about then?

"Statistics show that of those who contract the habit of eating, very few survive."

沃尔玛

2009-12-08T04:55:00.001-06:00

宜昌市有一个沃尔玛!

2009-12-08T04:33:00.001-06:00

When people look back at the 21st century at all the great achievements, it may look something like this:

On October 23, 2001 Apple Computers publicly announced their portable music digital player the iPod.
In 2003 scientists announced the Completion of the Human Genome Project.
In 2005 Youtube was invented.
On December 1, 2009 Walmart opened in Yichang, China.

Some people might consider it a tragedy that conglomerates spread their tentacles to every edge of the globe, and in theory I'd be inclined to agree. However, holding an opinion about an abstract idea and finding that idea take shape in real life can be hard to reconcile. It was impossible not to be ecstatic when we discovered treasures like aluminum foil, ziploc bags, Christmas wrapping paper (last year we used hearts and other less festive designs), pizza, candles, paper towels and many other jewels. Walmart (沃尔玛) in China is by no means synonymous with Walmart in America. It retains its very Chinese feel, but does house items no one else in China seems to have.

Even the music seemed like an attempt to integrate the two countries. They were playing English songs, but kept the widespread Chinese custom of being stuck in the 90s, reminding us of greats like "I Believe I Can Fly", "All My Life", "End of the Road", and many other songs I'd forgotten ever existed. I sang along to "No Woman No Cry" as I surveyed the shark on ice right next to the pizza and fought through the crowds to the tune of "Back at One" by Brian McKnight. Eventually I got tired of elbowing my way through masses of people and made my way to the check out, but you can be sure I'll be frequenting Walmart many more times in the coming months. And thanking the stars daily for some corporations brave enough to spread all over the world.

"We act as though comfort and luxury were the chief requirements of life, when all that we need to make us really happy is something to be enthusiastic about."
- Charles Kingsley

时间过得真快！这是我在这儿的第二个感恩节！

2009-11-27T12:00:00.001-06:00

Picture yourself cozily snuggled under the covers Thanksgiving morning. You stayed up well past midnight baking pumpkin bread, and are infinitely proud that it didn't burn in the toaster oven. It's 7 am. Even the rooster who is about to become someone's dinner hasn't stirred yet. He's saving his voice for the first glimpse of our mutual friend, the sun. As you rest deep in the folds of your pillow the sound of a cell phone begins to disturb the silence. One eyelid cracks open but you decide the phone is too far away to bother turning off. You'll just go back to sleep and pretend that the day started peacefully. Dreams begin once more to flit across the screen in your head. That's when the sound repeats itself. It rises from a mere nuisance to a genuine annoyance. Mentally you calculate the amount of effort required to shut the darn thing off. Deciding once again that the effort is not worth the reward, you put another pillow over your head.

Another hour passes with you caught between blissful sleep and vexed awareness. Every couple of minutes a new text message has sounded bringing you to the brink of despair, but then the cell phone reaches capacity and overloads its ability to receive new messages. You breathe a prayer of thanksgiving and snuggle deeper under the warm layers. Then the phone comes to life again. This time someone is calling you. Wondering why people must rise so early when sleep is a perfectly attractive alternative, you subject your toes to the cold floor in search of the source of all your frustration. A bright and entirely too cheerful voice greets you from the other end, inquiring as to whether you will be teaching class that morning. Trying to put every ounce of sleepiness into your voice you croak out that, as you pointed out in class numerous times last week, there will be no class because it is a holiday. Just like you wrote all the way across the board in an effort to avoid this very situation. Hoping the student will feel bad for waking you up, you yawn in the middle of the sentence and trail off at the end. She seems to get the idea that there will not in fact be class that morning and you hang up and jump back under the blankets, only to discover that all the warmth has fled during your brief absence.

Purposefully ignoring the ten or more text messages wishing you a happy Thanksgiving day, you make your way outside to greet the rooster who has finally realized his calling in life and is cheerfully crooning his own death march. You wander down the row of farmers, perusing the array of vegetables spread out on the ground. A pumpkin catches your eye, along with some eggs that are destined to fulfill their higher purpose of making enjoyable food. Too tired to bargain earnestly, you give the farmers a bit more than average for their wares in a gesture of generosity on such a special day. You spot sweet potatoes farther on, and eye them expectantly. Just knowing that these things are going to complete all of your culinary longings in a few hours makes your stomach leap with joy. You bargain for the sweet potatoes, all the while wondering just how to say 'sweet potato' in Chinese. Little did you know that you were going to have the chance to learn the word for good later that day.

You return to your kitchen and begin packing up every possible ingredient or tool that could be needed to prepare a tremendous feast, and cart it over to your friends, Zagg and Shmelizabeth's house so that you can cook together like a real family. You correctly assume that this will stave off some of the longing for your own family and make the holiday seem festive. When you walk in the door at Zagg and Shmelizabeth's the fragrance of holidays washes over you, brightening your mood as much as the table full of snacks that await the hungry cooks. Tears well up in your eyes when you spot cinnamon rolls, the one thing you had mistakenly assumed you'd have to live without this year. Sighing with deep satisfaction you add your meager snacks to the collection already laid out. Zagg and Shmelizabeth are already elbow-deep in flour as they work to prepare a feast that will probably go down in the history books as one of the greatest. You roll up your sleeves and join the fray eagerly.

It's only a few hours before the first morsel is scheduled to be eaten. You've been busily mixing and boiling and measuring and singing. It's time for the sweet potatoes to achieve greatness. You start to peel one and disaster strikes. Your eyes must have gone bad. The sweet potato is strangely white under the layer of mud. Frantically you peel some more. The potato somehow managed to morph from a sweet potato into Mystery-Vegetable-39. You've never seen such a deceitful root. Lamenting loudly that there will not be sweet potato casserole for Thanksgiving dinner, you guilt Zagg into buying some of the non-mutant variety while he is downtown purchasing 'Turkey' (which oddly resembles six tiny chickens). He graciously agrees and sets off in pursuit of these very necessary food items after you look up the proper term for sweet potato so that no more mistakes will be made.

With two burners, one toaster oven, and three cooks the food takes longer than expected to come to completeness, but eventually everything is spread out in a glorious display before your eyes. Zagg came to the rescue, and the sweet potato casserole was finished in the nick of time, along with a variety of other things, the likes of which you may never see again in this life.

Everyone sits down to give thanks for the happiness that awaits them. It is decided that each person will tell what they are thankful for, but you find that when your turn comes you are so overwhelmed with thankfulness, not a single word squeaks out. You try repeatedly to tell the other people in the circle how much they mean to you, how they are the most wonderful people you've ever been blessed enough to know. Every time you try to say these words nothing is able to come out of your mouth, but abundant moisture escapes your eyes. After causing all the females in the room to produce waterworks too, and making the only male as uncomfortable as possible people begin to realize that you are not going to be able to formulate a complete sentence for a long time, and they commence eating promptly. You shrug and try to show your gratitude through your appetite. You never manage to tell your friends that they are what you are grateful for this year. That without them so much sunshine would be missing from your life. That they have blessed you beyond measure. You want them to know, but can't express yourself without crying. They are not just friends, they are family. You have so much to be thankful for.

"Oh to grace, how great a debtor
daily I'm constrained to be.
Let thy goodness, like a fetter
bind my wandering heart to thee."

星巴克星冰乐咖啡

2009-11-21T01:12:00.001-06:00

Before I came to China I had never...

the list of possible endings for this sentence is nearly infinite.

I've never felt fat before in my life.

Then along came China.

The last thing I was expecting when I sat on that flimsy little red stool was for it to splinter into dozens of tiny pieces and deposit me unceremoniously onto the cold, hard floor. I am glad there was a large, mirthful audience there as witness to my obvious obesity. Most of the Chinese girls I'm acquainted with seem to suffer from near anorexia and now I know why. It's because the chairs are designed to hold exactly 40 kilos, and not a fraction more.

You may wonder how I got to be the rotund woman I am today and I'll tell you exactly where the blame should be placed. On the shoulders of the foreign affairs office at Three Gorges University. Every year they give the foreign teachers a box of moon cakes for Mid-Autumn Festival (中秋节, which was October 3rd this year), while knowing full well that we all hate them. Even Chinese people don't really like moon cakes. They just eat them because that's what you're supposed to do on Mid-Autumn day. I was looking forward to my giant box of moon cakes again this year, just about as much as I was looking forward to my overnight stay in the Lodi train station. Then...in a surprisingly wonderful turn of events our school blessed us with gift certificates to Eliville instead of moon cakes!

Eliville is the glorious location of the things you see in this picture, and I finally got around to cashing in my 100yuan gift certificates today; since Thanksgiving is this week I figured I might as well get in the gluttonous mood ahead of time. So rather than mysterious, strange-flavoured round "cakes" I got to enjoy chocolate cake and a frappuccino. Which is why the stool collapsed under me to the delight of my friends.

Now the sun is shining so I believe I'll go run off some of this extra weight in a game of football!

"When I first open my eyes upon the morning meadows and look out upon the beautiful world, I thank God I am alive."
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

这个周末下雪啊!

2009-11-16T04:38:00.002-06:00

It's started already. The cold has crept into every nook of my not-so-well insulated apartment, causing me to groan and grumble with each draft. I was so appreciative of the change in temperature for a solid week, and proud of my tolerant attitude to boot. Now that the arctic weather has made itself at home I'd rather uninvite it. From here on out it's going to take much more willpower to muster up a pleasant disposition when I have to brave the elements in order to go to class or find food.

This morning I noticed small white crystals gathering on my coat, before they had quite grown into full-fledged snowflakes, and someone above has been spitting them all day, but they seem to have prematurely fled their cloud homes, and are all melting before they reach the ground. At least it's an attempt at snow, which has only increased my holiday mood. I'm more than happy to be sitting in my cozy jia (home) with a steaming cup of tea and a burning candle that hints at jollier days to come.

Our benevolent university invited the foreign teachers on a weekend outing to some "scenic spots" this weekend, and never wanting to miss an opportunity for adventure I bravely signed up. We did stop at some interesting places Yichang boasts of, and thanks to my handy dandy travel card, entrance was free. I won't pretend to remember the names of all the places we stopped at, nor would you understand them if I did. The first morning was so cold I was reprimanding myself continually for agreeing to go, although we did see some interesting things. Once sight in particular that stands out in my memory was a cave that seemed to go on forever.

We descended countless stairs into the heart of the mountain, deeper into the cave than I thought possible, until I felt like I was in a scene from the Lord of the Rings. At the very bottom, the cavern opened up to reveal an underground lake, and we got in boats that threatened to tip us with the slightest shifting of weight, and rowed to the other side of the mountain, where we came out a tiny hole opposite where we started.

Sunday morning we stopped at the most highly anticipated site of the trip, Chaibuxi, where we hiked around what was supposedly a beautiful gorge. Since we were in a cloud, the visibility extended about 20 feet in any given direction and I cannot be counted upon to verify the authenticity of the photos advertising its beauty, although I suspect they have been photo-shopped generously. This much I can say: I can vouch that it is a foggy, cloudy place; and therefore mysterious in its attraction.

Our friend in the foreign affairs office had sent us a detailed, descriptive, and mendacious itinerary, telling us that we would be stopping at "Place 1" at 10am, "Place 2" at 2pm, etc., and falsely leading us to believe we would arrive home by afternoon. I don't know why I'm regularly surprised when time schedules mean absolutely nothing in this country, but I was fooled yet again by their deceitful ways.

We stopped at a middle school in the countryside past Yidu to donate some gym equipment, and of course such generosity necessitates a long, drawn-out ceremony in which all parties involved say lots of complimentary things about each other, pose for pictures, and everybody gets to benefit from the frosty wind turning their limbs into icicles. After such compliments were paid, we were invited as foreign experts to spend 40 minutes with a class of 12 year-olds, which we were completely unprepared for thanks to the predictable lack of warning. So Jessica and I taught our class to sing "You Are My Sunshine" and I have to admit, it came close to making the whole trip a favorable affair. They then taught us a Chinese song (两只老虎) and surrounded us like teenage girls at a Miley Cyrus concert, trying to get autographs. I've never felt so much like a celebrity in all my life, nor had so many notebooks and pens shoved in my face at one time.

We finally got back on the bus and aimed it towards Yichang again, well past our originally stated arrival time. As our bus trip stretched on for months...I mean hours, I passed the time by staring out the window and playing Name That Tune on my iPod. As long as I live in China I'll never tire of looking at the patterns created by the terraced fields in the mountains. Farmers here take advantage of every inch of ground available to them, inadvertently turning their fields into a work of art. As rain-streaked as the windows were I'm afraid I can't provide proof, but believe me when I tell you they were exquisite.

"One can solve a math problem. One can contain a chemical reaction in an equation. But one never 'gets' beauty - one stands (or falls) in front of it astonished, amazed, open-mouthed, speechless, and humbled."

-Brian McLaren

今天是十一月十一号，光棍节

2009-11-11T10:17:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I'm quick to point out the faults I see in China but I'd like to be equally generous at pointing out the virtues.

In America we have this awful excuse for a holiday known as "Valentine's Day" which is actually an excuse for girls everywhere to demand absurd presents from their significant other, and get irrationally upset when their expectations are not met. It's undeniably annoying, and not just for single people. My miserliness may be more extreme than most, but I feel safe in saying that the consumerism attached to Valentine's Day has blossomed out of control. People are expected to spend more every year than they did the year before and the limits seem boundless. It's sickening.

Chinese culture, by contrast, has invented a wonderful alternative. November 11th, because it is 11/11 has become known as "Singles Day" or "Single sticks day." It was started by some college students in Nanjing in the 90's and has spread far and wide as a time to celebrate your single-ness. Last year one of my students gave me a present for 光棍节, but this year I just got text messages that said things like, "happy single person's day!hope u can find your mr right soon my beautiful teacher" People eat four yóutiáo, a deep fried bread stick that represents the four ones of the day. Several of my students celebrated by going out to eat and making sure that each person paid for themselves, as opposed to the tradition of taking turns buying dinner. I think I'll celebrate by living vicariously through a fictional love story created by Jane Austen. I would not be disappointed if we adopted this festival in the West, and replaced a much more obnoxious holiday around February 14th.

"Only the deepest love will persuade me into matrimony which is why I shall end up an old maid."
-Elizabeth Bennet

我们的小乌龟

2009-11-05T10:52:00.000-06:00

At times my heart is touched by strange things, like the livelihood of a tiny little turtle. Jessica and I have a turtle, recently christened Nuwanda, who brings us endless entertainment; but Yichang turned cold this week, and I started to fear for Nuwanda's life. He looked like he was either going into hibernation, or might freeze to death in his little bowl of water, so I joked about putting him under the heat lamp in the shower so that he could feel some warmth. After walking by his bowl a few times and seeing him pressed up against the edge with his eyes closed in what looked like desperation, I couldn't harden my heart any more. I realize that I'm a total pushover, but I have relocated Nuwanda to the bathroom and set up an abode complete with permanent sunshine for him. The change in his personality was unmistakable, he started swimming more, eating more, and in general looking alive. Today was the crowning glory though, when we noticed that he was sunbathing without shame. He stretched his legs out as far as he could, lifted them in the air, and looked as blissful as a turtle can look.

"Parrots, tortoises and redwoods live a longer life than men do; Men a longer life than dogs do; Dogs a longer life than love does."
-Edna St Vincent Millay

*There's been some debate on whether Nuwanda is technically a turtle, terrapin, or tortoise, so to avoid confusion I may switch to the Chinese: 乌龟

今晚我很高兴

2009-11-03T08:54:00.001-06:00

I felt the first frosty bite of fall this morning as I crunched leaves all the way to class. It's scent is even wafting through my apartment, because I've been snatching up every pumpkin that shows itself around the market, to ensure enough pies to last all the way through November. The changing of seasons is sure to invigorate the most dull life, though in a few weeks I'll almost certainly be complaining about the ache in my fingers and the insatiable shivers cold weather brings. Just when I begin to feel that life is mundane the weather shifts and sends a spark of newness through every day activities. I'm enjoying the crispy air but to please my concerned Chinese friends, who are convinced that I'm never wearing enough clothes I've begun bundling up in lots of layers and scarves.

My bones may ache from the cold but my heart has been thoroughly warmed again and again. Tonight I felt like I might burst from happiness as I sat around and chatted with my friends about the kind of love that would inspire someone to sacrifice their life for others. We talked for hours about what it means to be selfless, and how we can love others more fully, and our whole group came to the conclusion that we want to do more. To that end, we have proposed an outing or two, to a school for disabled children, and we're going to play with them and teach them English. I hope it works out! I've been really wanting to do something like that but didn't know how to get started.

"When God created October he said this is when we are going to play college football."

-Beano Cook
[I know it's not October anymore, but it didn't feel like football weather til just now.]

Snail mail fails

2009-11-01T01:08:00.001-05:00

For those of you faithfully following my blog, here is the conclusion of the package story (from Australia), as promised. After many phone call battles with China Post and a few letter exchanges, I was able to convince them to send my package to me, from Wuhan, without charging the 1100yuan in taxes or the 3yuan/day holding fee. There was great rejoicing. When I got the box, it looked like they had played kickball with it a few times. I've never seen a box so beat up, but the treasures it contained were only mildly destroyed. It was missing a bag of coffee, three muffin mixes, and one package of brownie mix, but everything else arrived, albeit not in one piece. Three cheers for China's mail service!

"We either make ourselves miserable, or we make ourselves strong. The amount of work is the same."
-Carlos Castaneda

星期六的事

2009-10-31T09:11:00.001-05:00

Lesson number one from today:
When you plan a Halloween party for 7pm expect a house full of girls at 3:30.

Lesson number two:
Eat dinner before the girls show up at 3:30 or you will be doomed to hunger pains for the next 6 hours.

Lesson number three:
Expect your house to look like a war zone after said party because the "worm cake" will be irrevocably ground into the floor.

Lesson number four:
Plan enough Halloween costumes for 7 people besides yourself, because they will show up expecting you to create one for them.

For those of you who are wondering, my Grandma had surgery today, and she's doing fine, everything went well, and she'll be in the hospital for a few more days. I cannot thank you enough for the prayers and encouragement this week.

"Weekends don't count unless you spend them doing something completely pointless."
-Calvin (& Hobbes)

2009-10-28T02:19:00.001-05:00

Please pray for me and my family. My grandma had a heart attack, and is having triple bypass surgery this weekend. She needs your prayers for safety and we need your prayers for comfort. I wish I didn't have a heart so that I wouldn't hurt so much.

银行, 吉他, 豆腐

2009-10-24T08:14:00.000-05:00

When I start to get over-confident in my ability to perform every day functions in China life takes a sledgehammer to my confidence. For example, I went to the bank to Western Union some money home so that I can pay those pesky student loans and possibly buy a plane ticket for winter travels. Last year my first Western Union adventure was one of the biggest headache inducing expeditions I've had, but I was naively expecting it to be a piece of cake this time around. They wouldn't surprise me with the irrational requirement that I have to have the ID card of a native even though the money has nothing to do with any Chinese citizens. I was fully prepared, walking past the largest, fanciest branches of the Agricultural Bank of China. They wouldn't fool me by their size or grandeur. The western Union was hidden in a smaller, farther branch I knew. When I got to the location of the bank I gazed upon a pile of rubble and mentally gave myself a few swift kicks in the rear for thinking any building here is safe from the sudden demolitions ravaging Yichang. Buildings are destroyed and replaced overnight on a regular basis. So a quick errand once again became an epic battle with the streets of China.

To make a long story short, I was victorious in sending all my money to my mom--which incidentally did not bring with it the sense of accomplishment most victories in China do thanks to my now-empty bank account. Katie-1 China-0.

Tonight one of my friends called and asked me if I wanted to come to a guitar class with him, to learn from a "Guitar Master," and since I've had a guitar decorating my living room for the last 8 months I felt it was about time I used it. At first I had to endure 10 minutes of the kid next to me extolling the brilliance of Avril Lavigne and I was wishing I'd said no to the invitation, but soon I met some kindred spirits. On my other side a student started playing some Dylan and from there I met some people with good taste in music, and am therefore exceedingly glad I went, not to mention there's a chance I might come out of this with the ability to play a song or two.

I'll leave you with a story from lunch:

"Hey Katie," I paused with the noodles halfway to my open mouth and glanced at Utopia from the corner of my eye. I held my breath in anticipation of his next sentence. He lifted his eyebrows in excitement and proceeded, "I want to be a business man someday and I will sell tofu in America. And when I sell tofu in America, I will give you all the tofu you want for free!"

It's all my dreams come true.

我得了感冒

2009-10-18T04:54:00.000-05:00

For the last three days I've had a head cold that is proving to be more relentless than I first thought, so I canceled all my activities and spent the day in bed. I was too lazy to even get myself something to eat, but my wonderful roommate bought me a milk tea and fried rice. I probably would have shriveled into nothing if it weren't for her. Then she washed all my dirty tea mugs, because I hadn't wanted to get my germs all over them by washing them. I'm feeling very loved.

"It is not the magnitude of our actions but the amount of love that is put into them that matters."
-Mother Teresa

阳朔的华，山

2009-10-15T22:15:00.001-05:00

Story time

2009-10-14T04:27:00.001-05:00

Once upon a time, there was a Sammie.
Once upon a time Sammie sent her favourite sister a package from Australia.
That sister was so happy she danced the whole way to her foreign affairs office.
Alas, her foreign affairs officer gave her a measly envelope.
Inside that envelope was a jigsaw puzzle.
A jigsaw puzzle made of Chinese characters.
Her task was to decipher the characters and determine the reason she got an envelope not a box.
She declined the mission and handed the paper back with with a pout.
Her foreign affairs officer translated for her.
He told her that her package had been WITHHELD in Wuhan for an unkown reason, probably due to the Australian contraband inside．
He also said it will be very complicated to get it back．
Even he does not know how.
They will charge her 3yuan per day to hold her box from her...
Until she provides a list of what's inside, and a million other ridiculous things.
A list of what's inside a box she's never seen.
Will the story end happily ever after?
To be continued...

我的英文名字

2009-10-13T10:28:00.001-05:00

Hello Kitty.

That's what the teacher said to me when she shook my hand and thanked me for coming to the English speech contest at Yiling High School. I understand that my name is sometimes hard for Chinese people to pronounce, so I tried not to cringe too obviously until I saw the giant sign marking my place at the judges table. For the rest of the evening I was introduced as "Kitty" in front of hundreds of high school students. Yes, my mom really hates me that much. She named me Kitty, so that people could greet me by saying, "Hello Kitty!"

The sad part is, I'm pretty sure my student thinks that that is my name. She's the one who asked me to judge the contest. Last week I got called "Kite" repeatedly by one of my students. I think the next quiz I'm going to give will have one question:
1. What is my name?

Pass or fail, muah ha ha.

You can tell more about a person by what he says about others than you can by what others say about him.

2009-10-13T09:31:00.001-05:00

阳朔和桂林

2009-10-12T09:21:00.001-05:00

I've almost convinced myself to seek help for this problem that I have: I cannot leave home without at least four books in hand. My vacation was scheduled for seven days and I nearly brought a book for each day. During my 24 hours of traveling to get to Guilin I began to pat myself on the back for loading myself down, no matter how cumbersome they were otherwise. The morning before I left, my good friend ZhangXiaQing came over to tell me that she wasn't going to be able to come along because her mom was afraid she would get swine flu while traveling. So what had at first looked like a fun all-nighter with a friend began to look more dreadful. It started with a train ride on a hard seater from 7pm to 2am. While I dread spending all night on a hard seat, from the very beginning this train had a different feel. It was subdued, like China took some time off and had a glass of wine instead of it's usual crack. The guy across from me was polite but not nosy, instantly endearing himself to me by not overwhelming me with questions or cigarette smoke. It's like everyone had been muffled by the festivities of the National Day celebration in the morning, and had no energy left to be annoying.

Around 2am I arrived in Loudi to wait for my next train. At first I had decided to ignore the shouting taxi drivers and hawkers who swarmed around me, pretending that I didn't speak either Chinese or English but instead risked the inevitable sales pitch to ask if one of them could take me to the McDonald's in town so that I could get a cup of coffee. Unfortunately he said they were closed, so I hopped over a conveniently placed shrub outside the train station and settled down against a tree to read for the next 7 hours. I thanked the shrubs for their ability to hide me from inquisitive eyes. I think I like China better at night. At night you can't tell that smog is shrouding the nearest buildings. At night old people dance in the town square and don't care who's watching. Fireworks still pop and horns still honk, but they seem somehow softer, as though blanketed by the darkness and unable to travel as far. I laid there and listened to the tunes played by the combination of taxi horns. Each one plays a different note and to a different rhythm that forms a living musical. Loudi's is livelier than Yichang's.

At 6am after finishing 1 1/2 books I decided to try for Mackers again but the next taxi driver told me there wasn't one in Loudi. I think he was lying but I resisted the urge to try all of the taxis around. I went inside when my eyes stopped functioning, to wait the next two (I thought) hours before falling blissfully into a bed. Waiting in the train station after being awake all night wasn't the most miserable I've ever been, but it definitely makes the top ten list. When the sign above the train entrance repeatedly flashed messages about the newest delay I started to think I was never going to get out of Loudi, and that's when CCR seemed prophetic.

If I only had a dollar, for every song I've sung.

And every time I've had to play while people sat there drunk.

You know, I'd catch the next train back to where I live.

Oh Lord, I'm stuck in Lodi again.

At almost 11am I finally was allowed to elbow my way to the train where I found my bunk and lost consciousness for the next 6 hours or so. Upon arriving in Guilin I met two other American teachers and we hopped on a bus to Yangshuo, where we eventually located our hostel...above a night club. I had fun falling asleep to rock music but was thankful for the ability to sleep in the next morning. Eventually we got around and headed out to the 漓江 Li River and hired a bamboo boat to float down the river, so that we could see some of the gnarly hills lend their beauty to the country. It's easy to see why it's such a famous tourist spot.

Yangshuo has some of the best shopping I've yet seen in China, though I haven't been to the famous Silk Street or Pearl Markets in Beijing. We were a little disgruntled at how much we had to bargain for everything though, including a simple bottle of water. The city was so foreigner-heavy that the locals assumed we were suckers just like the rest and tried to double the price of water and food, in hopes that we wouldn't know any better. Once you started speaking Chinese they toned it down a bit though, and through my impressive skills I managed to get lots of cheap things. We filled our days with a lazy kayaking trip through some of the most unique scenery on earth, a mud bath and hot springs excursion in a very underwhelming cave, and getting lost on what was supposed to be a 13 mile hike to Xingpping. We stumbled across farmers knee deep in the fields, which in my opinion was more interesting than the highly-populated trail we had been looking for, and were honored to try to chat with the locals who gave us fruit and told us we were thoroughly lost.

I'm afraid I may be losing some of my extensive reader base due to over-exuberant typing, so here is the last highlight of the trip:
We accidentally discovered a little hostel that served coffee and ended up chatting with the owner for over an hour about his life, and how he became a follower of our king. It was one of the most encouraging conversations I've had. All in all, it was a great week with great people. Pictures will follow.

"If you don't get to a beautiful place every couple of years, you get to thinking everything is urban, as though when God made creation he just made some medium-sized buildings, a bowling alley, and a burger place."
-Don Miller

周年

2009-09-28T10:07:00.001-05:00

宜昌有名的人

2009-09-28T10:04:00.002-05:00

The mayor and party secretary of Yichang
and the fanciest meal I've ever been to.

星期六的照片

2009-09-28T10:02:00.001-05:00

The platform we sat on in Yiling Square.

今年是中国的六十周年

2009-09-28T09:55:00.001-05:00

It feels strange to say that this is the 60th anniversary of a country that boasts of a 5,000 year-old continuous civilization, but October first marks the 60th year of the People's Republic of China. I'm sure you all know what that means: FIREWORKS! The celebrations are enormous, and yesterday the humble city of Yichang and its one-million plus residents all lined the streets downtown to watch a parade, dancing, and all kinds of fantastic shows. As "foreign experts" a few of us foreign teachers received VIP cards and sat on a platform overlooking the parade, with the mayor of Yichang and the other important officials in attendance. After the parade, we were taken to the only five-star hotel in Yichang where we ate dinner on the 39th floor. We would have had a spectacular view of Yichang had the sky not been so murky. The Party Secretary of Yichang toasted us and told me to "ganbei"* after he emptied his swallow of wine, and I didn't finish mine in one gulp. After eating I tried to sneak pictures of the many 白酒 Baijou Faces I saw, after watching some newbies try it for the first time. Baijou is the Chinese rice-liquor that burns your taste buds off on the way down, leaving each person with a distinct expression of being kicked in the stomach. I tried to catch these on camera each time someone new tried the stuff. Six hours into the celebrations the real fun began, as we traversed down to the edge of the Yangtze (长江) River to watch the fireworks display.

We foreigners had been "asked" to sing as a part of the celebrations of Communism's anniversary in China on the same evening but I managed to avoid the obligation due to the Foreign Affairs Office's generous invitation to the aforementioned festivities. As much as I love to celebrate the birthday of their nation, I didn't feel quite right doing more for China's anniversary than I usually do for my own country's. Alternating between being scared out of my pants and oooooooing over the explosions that lit up the Yangtze with colored patterns I sat there contemplating the beginnings of our respective countries, and wondered that both nations have come so far from where we began.

"This summer when you're being inundated with all of this bicentennial Fourth of July bruouhaha, don't forget what you're celebrating--and that's the fact that a bunch of slave-owning aristocratic, white males didn't want to pay their taxes."
-Dazed and Confused

*bottoms-up

好吃

2009-09-22T09:42:00.001-05:00

I have no idea if this is going to work since I can't stinkin see my own blog OR watch videos online anymore, but I'm trying. So here is a eulogy to cheeseburgers that speaks volumes.

什么?

2009-09-16T00:27:00.001-05:00

This is an email I got from the Foreign Language College this morning. Good luck deciphering it:

Hello, I am here to inform you of the good news. we will have an eight-day holiday for celebrating the Chinese National Day and Mid-autumn Day; that is from Oct. 1st to Oct.8th, among which Oct.1^st, Oct. 2^nd, and Oct.3^rd are three lawful holidays. On Oct.4 th. ,we will enjoy our Sunday as usual. On Oct. 5^th we will enjoy the Saturday of Oct. 3^rd. Oct. 6^th is Mid-autumn festival. Sept. 27 and Oct. 7^th will change their roles; that is On Sept. 27^th we will have Oct. 7's class,(Wednesday's class), and on Oct. 7^th we will have Sept. 27's class(Sunday's class). Oct8th and Oct. 10 will change their roles; that is, on Oct. 8^th we will have Oct. 10^th's class(Saturday's class), and on Oct. 10^th we will have Oct. 8^th's class(Thursday's class). The rest days go smoothly as usual.

"I have always had more dread of a pen, a bottle of ink, and a sheet of paper, than of a sword or pistol."
-Alexandre Dumas

第一天,第二年

2009-09-14T10:36:00.001-05:00

When my alarm went off bright and early this morning I was excited to begin the day. I got up extra early so I could run down and buy some food from the farmers outside and still not be rushed for my first day of classes. I left the apartment at 7:30 in order to follow our instructions to arrive 20 minutes early to class on the first day. I had to wait a few minutes before someone came to unlock the door, but was still anxiously awaiting my new students for the year. Last year I was ecstatic to find my English majors in the classroom 30 minutes early with their books open, studying. I wasn't quite that hopeful for today's class since they are the somewhat spoiled students who will be traveling to England in two years, but I expected to see a few of them within the last five minutes before class started. At 8:15 I started to wonder if I was in the right building. At 8:20 a guy came in to tell me that the school had decided my class would not begin until the 3rd week. I'm so glad they decided to tell me.

So I went back to my apartment, studied some Chinese, and drank some tea until it was time to leave for my 10:00 class. I showed up to that class twenty minutes early as well, and was confused by the lack of students once again. There were students exiting, but none entering. One cute girl came up to me, curtsied, and said, "Welcome to Yichang." And then she skipped off along her way. It reminded me again of how much I love my job. About five minutes before that class begin I was still trying to figure out the newest lack of students when a man came in the room again. This time it was to tell me that the school had mistakenly put the wrong classroom on my schedule. I dashed up the stairs in time for class and the fun began. I had my students introduce themselves and they were given some time to get to know me as well, and I was asked three times if I have a boyfriend. One student stood up, pointed out the five boys in the class and said, "There are five of us, so I think we all have a chance."

This afternoon Jessica and I ventured downtown to try and buy a wireless router for our apartment so that we wouldn't have to take turns using the internet, and I apparently forgot that nothing is as easy as you think it's going to be. A few hours worth of extraordinarily confusing directions later we emerged with a new router and absolutely no idea how to set it up. We spent even more time following the directions repeatedly hoping that eventually they would magically work, all the while knowing that we were doing something wrong, when Jessica's overly-helpful friend Kiki called to see if we were making any progress, and after hearing our dilemma she sent her brother-in-law to our apartment (at 9:30pm) to help us. We felt so bad for making a complete stranger come to our rescue but there was no talking either of them out of it. Soon his girlfriend joined him, and they squatted over my computer trying idea after idea. The next thing I knew another classmate of theirs showed up to lend a hand, and we felt completely helpless. The students stayed out until they were late for curfew but finally got our internet working at 10:45pm. I can't imagine the depth of kindness in their hearts to make them spend their entire evening helping strangers set up internet. The frustrating part is knowing that I won't be able to thank them enough for such selflessness. I'm so blessed by the Chinese people.

"Develop interest in life as you see it; in people, things, literature, music--the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself."
-Henry Miller

从北京到宜昌

2009-09-08T01:20:00.000-05:00

Sammie and I arose at 6:45 so that we wouldn’t be scrambling around trying to do everything at the last minute. When we got to the Sydney airport and went to the Malaysia Airlines counter to check in we were told that we owed $600 in excess baggage fees. I knew my bags were a little overweight but I didn’t think that it deserved that kind of honor. One bag weighed 21 kilos, and the other 28. After arguing with the lady at the counter I learned, to my horror, that she meant I was only allowed 20 kilos TOTAL, not per bag. That’s like a pair of shoes and two pairs of jeans. Sammie and I scrambled over to an empty space and started throwing things out of my bag right and left, after wrenching open the broken zipper and praying that I wouldn’t ruin it beyond repair. We threw all the books and heavy things we could manage into my dirty laundry bag and I sent those home with her, so she can ship them to me by boat later, and made our second of many trips back to the ticket counter. Eventually we got my bags down to a fee of $325 and I gave in and paid it because I only had about 10 more minutes to dig through them, and to live in a place for a year, it’s miserable without certain things like warm clothes.

Upon arriving in Malaysia I finally located my gate through all the construction only to discover that it had been changed from C16 to H10, so I had to hop on a tram to get to the other building, which was no trouble since I had four hours to kill. My online itinerary listed my total travel time (including layovers in Kuala Lampur) as 8 hours and 30 minutes. My first flight was 8 hours and 5 minutes, plus another 4 hours in Malaysia before a six hour flight to Beijing. According to the website I was to leave at 2pm Sydney time, and arrive at 8:30am Sydney time, yet only travel for 8 ½ hours. I wonder what kind of education you need to figure the math for that company.

Descending into Beijing I watched the world go grayer as I bid farewell to the sun and felt my spirits fade with the colours. Getting through customs and on a bus to the train station was much easier than I had anticipated, which is not something I get to say often living here. I was feeling really proud of my Chinese-speaking abilities because I communicated quite well while in Beijing, but I realized when I got to Yichang why I was able to understand people so easily. They were actually speaking Putonghua instead of some hick mixture of dialect and Chinese. As soon as I got to Yichang I lost my ability to understand what people were saying to me.

I made it to the train station and was reminded yet again about the kindness of Chinese people. Two girls stopped what they were doing to help me drag my bags to the ticket counter when they saw me struggling with all my earthly possessions. They didn’t speak any English but still helped me buy my train ticket and lug my junk around. It warmed my somewhat exhausted heart. I was really bummed to hear the guy at the ticket counter say that they were all out of sleeping tickets, but I bought a sitting ticket anyway because I had to teach Monday (I thought), with hopes that I could bribe someone on the train to sell me a sleeper.

If you’ve ever ridden on a train in China you know that the chairs were specifically engineered (by a fella named Lucifer) to provide the utmost discomfort. 22 hours of everybody trying to outshout/outsmoke each other can really drain the energy you began with, if there was any. Then there are the people who all think that everybody wants to listen to their music…at once. I got so desperate for sleep that I tried to lay down on the floor, which ranks in the top 25 filthiest surfaces since time began. Even that degrading effort was wasted, so I settled for wondering who came up with koo-koo-ka-choo first, the Beatles or Simon and Garfunkel?

As tired as a person can be, I fell into my apartment a full two days after I left Australia and was greeted by air-conditioning, ice cold water in the fridge, and candy on the table. It pays to give my friends the key to my apartment when I’m gone! My friends Zack and Elizabeth knew the perfect way to lift my spirits after a grueling journey. I got my teaching schedule and found out I have another week to get ready, so I didn’t have to rush home from Beijing quite so fast, but it will give me time to kill all the cockroaches and catch up on some rest.

“It contributes greatly towards a man’s moral and intellectual health, to be brought into habits of companionship with individuals unlike himself, who care little for his pursuits, and whose sphere and abilities he must go out of himself to appreciate.”
-Nathaniel Hawthorne

Angels Among Us

2009-08-17T02:48:00.003-05:00

On my birthday a sweet friend from our church called and asked if she could take Sammie and I out to lunch, but first she needed to run some errands and wanted our help. We happily agreed and met her at 10:30 that morning, looking forward to soaking up some joy from a Spirit-filled lady. We got in the car and she turned around with a big smile and said, “We’re not going to the school. We’re going shopping.” And she handed each of us an envelope full of money collected from many anonymous and loving people at our church.

I was so stunned I could hardly even react other than to gape open-mouthed. My previous post about a vacation gone awry explains why she, and many others, felt like doing something nice for us, as they knew we would need to replace the stuff that got chewed on or stolen. It’s been several days and I still can hardly accept how generous they’ve been to us. Such amazing love knocked me speechless. Truly, this has been the worst summer I’ve ever lived through but our family continues to be blessed. I can hardly begin to name all the acts of kindness and expressions of genuine love that have been bestowed on us, I only know that I’ll never be able to repay it all. It’s humbling.

Several times this summer I’ve complained about not having enough time to see all the people I love. There are so many people I wanted to see and hug, but was unable to. But as tears streamed down my face at least once a day, a few of them spoke not of pain—but of healing. It occurred to me that it’s a blessing that I have so many friends, I can’t see them all. So many precious people in my life make it worth opening my eyes every morning.

“I believe there are angels among us, sent down to us, from somewhere up above. They come to you and me—in our darkest hour; to show us how to live, teach us how to give, and guide us with a light of love.”
-Alabama

我的东西

2009-08-10T00:05:00.003-05:00

Of all my possessions, very few would catch the eye of any potential thief. Most are monetarily virtually worthless. So, theoretically I shouldn't be terribly distressed if something happens to my material possessions...

Thursday evening before our much-anticipated trip to Colorado, I was at Target with Sammie and somehow managed to lose my car keys in the store. We searched for half an hour and eventually resigned ourselves to the knowledge that we were stranded, and ashamedly called my mom to have her rescue us. I wasn't remotely upset about the episode, knowing at the most it would cost me 2 hours and 5 dollars worth of headache. In the long-run, it wasn't a terrible setback.

Unfortunately that event seemed to set a minor precedent for the rest of the week. After a few blissful days in cathartic scenery with old friends, we set off for our first family outing. Sammie and I had high ambitions of climbing at least a few 14ers, if not the full 5 we set as a goal. Mount Princeton was the first objective inviting us into his lair. We camped along the folds of an eternal stream in the only mildly steep site we found that didn't threaten to eject us from the side of the mountain. Early the next morning we set out in pursuit of his elusive peak. Many excruciating hours, and a hail storm later we finally descended to the previous night's haven only to discover that all was not well in our camp. A bear had visited these trespasser's belongings sometime during the day, and destroyed several vital tools, while mysteriously leaving some intact. He ripped my pack to shreds, chewed my Bible beyond use, and wreaked havoc on tents, sleeping bags, etc.

A few more decent days passed, allowing us to laugh about the damage done by our bear friend, when catastrophe struck again. After spending the night with a cousin in Aurora, we packed our bag and hauled it outside to be loaded in the car. Went back inside to get the keys. Came back outside to a street, a vehicle, and no bag. Somebody who thinks they are getting a good steal is going to be kicking themselves when they realize that all they have is a junk bag full of dirty, nasty laundry, and toothbrushes and other utterly valueless yet necessary items. So Sammie and I had to go to Walmart in the middle of the night to try to find something besides a T-shirt and running shorts (literally the only thing I had left) to wear to our friend's wedding the next morning. I managed to get a skirt that wasn't quite falling off of me, and wore my chacos to the wedding.

Though I left with two full bags I returned home with almost nothing. I doubt seriously that anybody benefited more than a dollar for all the stuff they got, yet it was almost irreplaceable items for me. My Bible with all my notes--and bear slobber-- was among the missing, along with lots of other valueless yet special things. On the bright side my copy of 1984 now has teeth marks in it.

Renunciation of objects, without the renunciation of desires, is short-lived, however hard you may try.

-Nishkulunand

高山

2009-08-09T18:34:00.005-05:00

He was born in the summer of his 27th year
Comin home to a place he'd never been before
He left yesterday behind him, you might say he was born again
You might say he found a key for every door

When he first came to the mountains his life was far away
On the road and hangin by a song
But the string's already broken and he doesn't really care
It keeps changin fast and it don't last for long

But the Colorado rocky mountain high
I've seen it rainin' fire in the skyThe shadow from the starlight is softer than a lullabye
Rocky mountain high

He climbed cathedral mountains, he saw silver clouds below
He saw everything as far as you can see
And they say that he got crazy once and he tried to touch the sun
And he lost a friend but kept his memory

Now he walks in quiet solitude the forest and the streams
Seeking grace in every step he takes
His sight has turned inside himself to try and understand
The serenity of a clear blue mountain lake
And the Colorado rocky mountain high
I've seen it rainin' fire in the sky
You can talk to God and listen to the casual reply
Rocky mountain high

Now his life is full of wonder but his heart still knows some fear
Of a simple thing he cannot comprehend
Why they try to tear the mountains down to bring in a couple more
More people, more scars upon the land
And the Colorado rocky mountain high
I've seen it rainin' fire in the sky
I know he'd be a poorer man if he never saw an eagle fly
Rocky mountain high

哥哥

2009-07-01T18:06:00.003-05:00

Clifford somewhere in Thailand

In Egypt

Off the coast of India

It seems fitting that Pink Floyd provided the backdrop as I rounded the corner on 24^th where my brother lost his life. If it hadn’t been for him I might never have learned to appreciate good music. It was he who introduced me to The Wall, Led Zeppelin, some of the Beatles lesser-known masterpieces, and the Who. I remember with painful clarity the first time he made me listen to Queen’s Greatest Hits on the way to Michigan: me grimacing in pain and begging for a shorter CD. I never suspected it would later become my favorite album. We used to have radio wars right up until he left for the Navy. By the time he came home, I had surrendered to the classic rock craze thinking we’d finally agree on something, only to discover that he’d started listening to country while he was away. I guess when siblings fight at home it doesn’t affect how much they miss each other later.

I’m still having trouble believing that it’s real. Because I hadn’t seen him in 10 months I’d almost adjusted to our irregular, infrequent communication. It’s hard to convince myself he won’t come walking in here with a silly grin and some redneck story to tell me. Reality is getting harder and harder to avoid though, as we acquired his beautiful dog and read over the will. The part where he left me his music collection brought a fresh wave of pain, so acute I almost couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know I could hurt this bad.

My purpose for today’s post is to thank everybody who has been my lifeline over these past few weeks. Without the love and prayers of so many of you I don’t know how I would have kept going. I don’t regret going to China but being on the other side of the world from my parents during this time was truly agonizing. I’m infinitely grateful for all of you who called, sent messages, prayed, and hugged me.

"I don't believe an accident of birth makes people sisters or brothers. It makes them siblings, gives them mutuality of parentage. Sisterhood and brotherhood is a condition people have to work at."

-Maya Angelou

我喜欢看书

2009-06-20T10:29:00.001-05:00

I'm watching the smoke curl from my mosquito-repelling coil, and wishing the insects were as quick to clear the room as the students are from campus. The University has turned into a mass exodus. Everybody lit out of here like there was a fire under them, in a rather soothing turn of events for me. I finished teaching over a week ago, got all my grades completed quickly, and am currently trying to work on something I have yet to master: patience.

If everything goes as planned I'll leave Sunday afternoon for Beijing, spend a little less than a week, then get ready to go back to America in a gratifyingly small number of days. Mostly I'm spending my days reflecting on this year and counting the number of seconds until I get to see my sister. Looking back over this year I can see an uncomfortable number of things I wish I had done differently, but am rewarded by the realization that some things could not have been better. I know that when I get back, people are going to want me to tell them what my year has been like and I feel frozen in an inability to convey anything real about the vast and unexplainable China. I can find words, but not sentences they could fit.

I've turned to reading to recuperate, under the illusion that every breach in my life can be patched with a good book. So far I have not been disappointed.

"We read for those important moments when literature gives us words for what we are: the words for what we did not know we were. In reading great literature I become a thousand men and yet remain myself. Like the night sky in the greek poem, I see with a myriad of eyes, but it is still I who see. Here, as in worship, in love, in moral action, and in knowing, I transcend myself; and am never more myself than when I do."

-C.S. Lewis

糖醋

2009-06-16T03:03:00.001-05:00

This is us learning how to cook tang cu li ji

和平公园，二零零八

2009-06-14T02:47:00.001-05:00

Yesterday one of my favourite students, Vanilla, invited me to go roller skating with her and some of her classmates. I haven't been roller skating since I was in about...6th grade so I was pretty stoked. Unfortunately when we arrived, the place was closed, so we settled for playing in the sprinklers at Peace Park, and eating ice cream in the shade. We stuck our feet in the Chang Jiang (Long) river and somehow emerged without a disease, so I guess it's not as dirty as it looks.

The relaxing afternoon was followed by one last trip to the Indian Canteen for the year. Then this morning our Sunday group went to our favourite place in Restaurant Row: Er Ling Ling Ba (2008). The lovely sisters who run the place agreed to teach us to make some of our regular dishes, so Elizabeth and I stepped into the kitchen (which incidentally is smaller than most people's bathrooms) with our notebooks and camera's in hand. We watched him create five Chinese wonders and hastily scribbled instructions in the hopes that we can cook them for our families this summer. We had to occasionally call Emma in to translate, but for the most part managed quite well. So this summer if you'd like to try some authentic Chinese food expertly cooked by yours truly, give me a call!

"What is patriotism but the love of the food one ate as a child?"

-Lin Yutang

晚饭和好朋友

2009-06-12T01:03:00.001-05:00

The only complaint I could possibly have about yesterday was the bananas mixed with mayonnaise. Could there be a more disgusting dish? I spent all day preparing a feast with my friends Sabrina and James, getting ready for an end-of-the-year party with nine of my friends. We were grocery shopping together and Sabrina suggested a salad. I had my doubts about her idea of a salad but went with it for the sake of adventure. She bought a jar of mayonnaise. I was wondering what was next but kept my mouth shut. When we got home she asked me to make the salad and I gave her my most confused look and said, "But I don't have anything to make a salad with." I used my carrots in the chicken and dumplings, and didn't have any lettuce. That's when James came to the rescue. He had bought a bunch of bananas, and they proceeded to cut them into pieces and coat them with mayonnaise. I couldn't even hide my look of disgust, no matter how hard I tried. No one else seemed to share my revulsion and the whole dish was gone by the end of the night.

I tried to forget how much they loved the "salad" when they also complimented my cooking, and convince myself that my food really was delicious. But you just can't go wrong with food and friends. There's no way to ruin that combination. My oven has become a serious health hazard, and I couldn't even turn it on yesterday (which is probably better than the ball of fire it sometimes becomes) so I improvised and made cobbler in the microwave. Surprisingly it turned out great. When we had all stuffed ourselves to the bursting point we had to play the Chinese version of Paper/Rock/Scissors to decide who had to finish the dishes. My apartment never feels more like a home than when it's filled with laughter and the smell of good food. It was a great way to finish our semester-long study group.

"Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all."

-Harriet van Horne

我已经决定

可能，我疯了有关书籍。

我会写一本书。真的。

天天开心

我离开中国一年多前。

第一入学申请表

研究生院

Here is my blog post for the asking

我讨厌这个问题

Things I miss about China

假的眼睛

新的工作！

Things I Miss About China

七月七号 直到永远

The end

Things I'm going to miss about China

Things I'm going to miss about China

Things I'm going to miss about China

Things I'm going to miss about China

Things I'm going to miss about China: 柏林

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

哥哥

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

Things I'm going to miss about China

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

Things I'm going to miss about China

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

Things I'm going to miss about China

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

Things I'm going to miss about China

别爱这样的男人

Things I'm going to miss about China: 休息

Things I'm going to miss about China: 火锅

Things I'm going to miss about China

Things I'm going to miss about China

Things I'm going to miss about China

我爱我的父亲

Things I'm going to miss about China

Things I'm going to miss about China

蝎子。。。没问题，我吃过了

在火车里面

虽无人愿意我还要跟随

我第二次来凤凰玩儿

我的小白菜有甲虫

前不久，我家乡遭受了龙卷风的狂烈袭击，损失很严重

应该是找个工作但是我不要

我真不喜欢我中国朋友的音乐

塑料

不要吃！

印度人

疯狂的人

泰姬陵

你应该去新德里

骆驼没有名字

如果我睡不够

星期一关门

我已经决定

妇女的天

我很忙，所以不能写太多了

最后北京的事

没钱别跟着我

火车票，护照， 和买东西

我们找不到火车票

被禁止的

不曾哭泣的年轻人是野人；不愿欢笑的老人是愚人。

今天的下雪，漂亮的水

我的午饭不是鸡胸肉

沃尔玛

宜昌市有一个沃尔玛!

时间过得真快！这是我在这儿的第二个感恩节！

星巴克星冰乐咖啡

这个周末 下雪啊!

今天是十一月十一号，光棍节

我们的小乌龟

今晚我很高兴

Snail mail fails

星期六的事

银行, 吉他, 豆腐

我得了感冒

阳朔的华，山

七月七号直到永远

火车票，护照，和买东西

这个周末下雪啊!