Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Things I'm going to miss about China
...okay some of these posts may be a tad facetious.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
-798916.jpg)
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Things I'm going to miss about China: 柏林
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.”
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Things I'm going to miss about China: 我的学生
"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)"
Saturday, June 19, 2010
哥哥
It was a year ago today t hat the world fell apart. I'm not just talking about my world. I mean the whole world, in general. Every piece of it stopped working the way it was supposed to. It forgot its purpose and spun out of control. Most of you probably didn't notice. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary for you. But I'm telling you that it broke that day. It still hasn't been put back together. Someday you'll realize it too. And when you're telling your story, you'll think it fell apart on a different day, in a different place. But you're wrong. This is where it happened.
For 365 days now I've tried to be normal. At least half of the time I put on a good show. I look and act like your average messed up human. But at night, I close my eyes and relive the nightmare. I've tried everything short of doing drugs to be able to sleep when I lay down, but it's fairly elusive to this day. The second my eyelids shut I'm transported back in time; to a time when my phone rings at 4:30 in the morning. Nobody with good news ever calls at 4:30 in the morning, even if they're calling from America.
I hear my dad's voice on the other end and my heart jumps into my throat. He keeps saying my name. It's like he needs to be reassured that he's talking to me, that I'm real. I hear my mom's voice too and breathe a premature sigh of relief. Then he asks me if I'm alone. That's when I know this is going to be one of those phone calls that changes your life, and not in a good way. Panic has gone from a little seed to a full-grown monster inside of me. He keeps asking me who is there with me and I'm practically screaming for him to just say what he needs to say. The suspense is choking me. Then when he speaks I feel the urge to throw the words back. I can't accept them, I refuse.
After I got home I drifted in and out of awareness. I was numb. I was surrounded by family and overwhelmed by people who all wanted to tell me that everything was going to be okay. Those people and their love mean a lot now, but at the time it was like putting a band-aid on a cancer patient. I couldn't feel the effects; I couldn't feel anything except agony. I was dealing with the shock of being back in the U.S., and being around my family again, and the enormous, gaping hole in my heart all at once.
My thoughts whirled in and out so fast I couldn't grab onto one before the next flurried in my vision. I lost control of my feelings completely. Things seemed to be the opposite of what they should be. I'd be crying in the middle of the grocery store and laughing when someone told me a story about my brother. I felt like whatever my reaction was it was the wrong one. A lot of the time I convinced myself that it wasn't real. The world really didn't work this way. It was all a mistake.
That's when the questions came. Why now? Eleven more days and I would have gotten to see him and tell him that I love him. I even had a countdown on facebook until I got to see my sister again, and he had written on it, "What about me?" I changed it so that it counted down the days until I saw him too, but I found out later I changed it two hours after he died. He never saw it. I told myself he must have thought I didn't love him as much as I loved her. Logic has little to do with grief. No matter how ridiculous the accusations are we still point the finger at ourselves. I counted the number of times I'd talked to him over the last year. It was pitifully small. I managed to make myself feel guilty for everything I'd ever said or done to him.
Maybe that's partly why now I feel like sharing what losing him has meant to me. Maybe I hope he'll read this and know how much he means to me, because I never told him while he was alive. I never told him just how much I love him. We don't always know how much we love someone until they aren't there to hold the world together anymore.
In a way I was glad to escape Oklahoma and head to China again. Friends felt like strangers. Every relationship was different and I wasn't sure how I was supposed to act around people. Everybody wanted to show their concern by asking me how I was doing and every time I wanted to react by screaming, "How am I supposed to be?" It felt like such a cruel question. I know they were trying to show their kindness, but every time someone asks how you are doing, you have to stop and analyze how you are doing. When you're in pain, the last thing you need is to be reminded of it.
Some people hugged me and told me that they loved me. With those people I felt safe, I felt like they each took a little of my hurt on their shoulders to help me carry it. Some people told me that everything happens for a reason. I tried really hard to see beyond their lack of tact to their good intentions. I often failed. Some friends brought me a cup of tea and said nothing at all. I knew they'd be there when I wanted to talk. Some people think they need to defend God and explain why Clifford died. They try to put a positive spin on the fact that sometimes life sucks. I try to be patient with these people but it's hard.
Since that time there have been days—months even—where I felt as lost as I did at the very beginning. I've also had periods of relative normalcy and even joy. Slowly life is reclaiming my affection. For a while I didn't know if I'd ever be the Katie I used to be again. I worried that I'd changed forever. In part, I have. I'm sure there are pieces of the old Katie I'll never see again, but I'm learning that the essential core is still me. And whatever I've lost won't keep me from being happy permanently.
I often haven't been able to stop the anger inside me from seeping out, and I let it take over my ability to care about other people. I'm sorry for all the people who have had to put up with me this year, as I try to work through my pain I tend to neglect anybody's feelings but my own.
My questions haven't been answered, and a new one finds me every day. All the things I used to be so sure about have gone fuzzy around the edges and I don't understand the world at all anymore. Maybe it's supposed to be that way. Maybe things don't really make as much sense as we pretend they do.
I'll never understand why pain exists in this world. God doesn't even try to explain it so my feeble attempts are doomed to failure. It makes me question God. It also makes me need him. I cry out to him, begging him to exist, and to do something about this awful void where he ought to be. Then I close my eyes and realize the sun will rise soon. And when it does it reassures me that this is about something bigger than me.
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 20th. 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
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Things I'm going to miss about China: 外语村
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
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Saturday, June 5, 2010
别爱这样的男人
"I'm not going to talk to you until you take care of the problem."
That's what he said to her when he found out about the new life growing inside her. So instead of going home for the spring festival, she went to the hospital. She got rid of "the problem," and won his affection back, at the cost of her self-respect.
She was my student last year, and she called me and asked if I'd ever been in love. I told her I was far from an expert on the subject but probed further. It's rare that my students call me out of the blue, just to chit-chat and I sensed there must be a reason. She stumbled for a while, unsure of how much to reveal to her teacher but finally started telling me that she'd fallen in love with a foreigner on campus. She'd been dating him for a few months when she got pregnant.
I wish she'd called me sooner—before she went to the hospital. But it was after that she was hurting and alone and she called me. So I took her to lunch and she told me about him. I asked her why she thought she loved him. Here were her three reasons: 1) He's foreign 2) He has a beautiful smile 3) He's going to be a doctor. If that's all it takes to inspire love I can think of a few guys who should be married by now. She admitted that he was also seeing other girls while dating her, but she still gave him her all. Then he dumped her.
I've seen it happen time and time again, with the names and a few of the details changed, but the story relatively the same.
I hate to categorize people. Anytime I label someone I am reducing them down to preconceived notions and dismissing the need to get to know them further. But I find it relatively easy to file the foreigners who come to China into groups depending on their motives. I know that to do this is to possibly make erroneous judgments but, there is one group of people that persistently forms a category in my mind, and I have trouble seeing them as anything other than this: foreign men who prey on Chinese women. I've just seen too many men come to China with the explicit purpose of finding a Chinese girlfriend because they couldn't find one in their home country. Which would be fine with me if a) they didn't abuse their rock-star status as a foreigner; b) the women weren't quite so easily misled; c) they stayed within the accepted cultural relationship rules and treated the women the way they expect to be treated. I'm not saying there's something wrong with trying to find a girlfriend. What bothers me is the abuse of power. They know these women will fall easily for someone from an "exotic" country and they use that to their advantage and then toss the woman away like garbage when they're through.
It is difficult for me to write this and be remotely objective; I'm seething with anger as I type. Because some of the women being used are my friends, my students, and beautiful faces of this country I've come to love. I've heard more than one of them announce that they want to marry a foreigner. I try to instill in them a sense of what's important in a relationship (which in my opinion does not include someone's status as coming from another country) but my admonitions seem to fall on deaf ears.
Part of me would like to place at least some of the blame on the women who become victimized. They really should open their eyes; use their brains, and stop believing whatever they're told. Really, if some women were more rational the problem would be much smaller. The tendency to fall to easily does not give someone else permission to use that weakness to their advantage.
Far be it from me to say that all Chinese women are naïve and easily swayed. Many of them are confident, intelligent, and driven. But many are also sheltered and innocent, with no idea that some people date and break up at the drop of a hat. They sometimes assume that if a guy wants to date you, that also means he wants to marry you. I tried to tell my student to have more pride in herself, and not to let someone treat her like this. She just couldn't believe that he would willingly hurt her.
So I'll continue to lecture all of my female friends and campaign for the scum who call themselves men to be revealed for what they truly are. If that fails plan B is to try to give foreigners a bad name so that people will stop idolizing us. Suggestions?
**Let it be known that I'm not a misandrist. Not all men are worthless—in fact I'm quite partial to them. I just happen to see an unfair proportion of less-than-honorable ones in my current career.
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.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Things I'm going to miss about China: 休息
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)