It is 3:25 in the morning and for some reason I can’t sleep, so I am waiting for my microwave popcorn to finish popping and making use of the time by writing a new blog. On a side note, thank you Sarah for the popcorn among other things in my care package! And while I am making public proclamations of thanks, this one goes out to Dad, Robin, Owen, Mom, Steve, and Barrett for my care packages as well. You guys are the best! And Dad, as you constantly remind me, I have neglected you in previous blogs, so I owe you a long overdue shout out. Here goes: you are an amazing dad and I don’t know what I would do without you; thanks for always supporting me and for still making me laugh with your stupid jokes I’ve been hearing since I was about 2 feet tall. (I’m aware I set myself up for short jokes). I really am ridiculously blessed to have such a plethora of quirky and amazing family and friends. But before this turns into a Hallmark greeting card, let’s return back to the matter at hand. It is now 3:32 am, and I am no closer to ending this bout of insomnia. The only thing keeping me sane at the moment is knowing that I do not have an early morning wake up call, because my first class starts at 2:00 pm. Yep, my day tomorrow is from 2-5:30, and a half hour break in there somewhere. It’s a hard knock life. You might hate me right now, but to add salt to the wound, I love my job. I enjoy going to classes (most days) and because I teach “Oral English,” I have absolutely no papers to grade. I figure it’s about time for a full blog dedicated to the reason I came to China in the first place: teaching.
To be completely frank, teaching here is a far better gig than I had in America. I only work about 16 hours a week, my prep work is minimal, and students actually respect me here – most of them that is. I’m not saying that students in America weren’t respectful – well, actually I am. There were a large handful of students who made it full time job to make my life more difficult. It’s not to say that all Chinese students are enraptured with my every word, but if they don’t care, most of them are at least polite about it. Students here will offer to help me erase the blackboard and bring me small presents and tell me how much they appreciate my class. It’s kind of a nice change of pace from the constant chorus of “this sucks” and “why do we have to do this?”
Since the semester is coming to a close (this only reminds me that I have been slacking on my blogging duties), I am racking my brain trying to think of the most significant information I can tell you about Chinese university students and my teaching experience. I’ll start with a random assortment of trivia First, students here all have English names, although I think some of these students opened an English dictionary one day, randomly pointed to a word and said, “this is my new English name!” My roster includes such students as Lemony, Bleach, Jam, Comb, NoNo, SoSo, and my personal favourite, Blue Baby. I also get a kick out of some of the students with names that would be too old for my grandparents: Mavis, Ethel, Arthur, and Herman. I almost pissed my pants the first time I took attendance. Let’s see…what else? You should know that university life in China is the polar opposite of American college life. From my own personal experience, I recall that a midterm paper usually took a back seat to beer, a good smoke out, and a keg stand. I used to abide by the philosophy “work hard, play harder,” and some of my best memories in college I was so schnockered that I don’t really remember at all. In China, on the other hand, students have the mantra “work hard, work harder” drilled into their brains at an early age. Although drinking is legal from the time you’re old enough to ask for a beer, students here rarely drink or go to bars and it is considered semi-scandalous. Sad to say, but on weekends it’s the teachers and not the students who are dragging their drunken asses through the gates at half past three in the morning. I don’t know whether the Chinese are the ones missing out, or maybe the Westerners didn’t give our education the full attention it deserved. I’m thinking the first one.
So, I’ve covered their “English” names, their lack of partying, and I think you should also know about the typical demeanor of Chinese university students. Most of them are quite shy, and it is a huge deal in China to “lose face.” A lot of them were shitting themselves the first time I met them because they had to speak English with a foreigner. Well, to be fair, my awesomeness can be intimidating. So the vast majority of them are really conservative, shy, and afraid to make asses of themselves. They also still kind of have the mentality and maturity of Western high school students. They get giggly if someone brings up boyfriends or girlfriends, and they laugh at my B level jokes. I don’t even have to bring my A game to these guys; they laugh at anything. They’re also so ridiculously nice it’s insane! My ego’s gotten so inflated here – they bring small presents, offer to erase the black board for me, and burst into rounds of applause if I attempt to speak Chinese. (Note the heavy emphasis on attempt). It’s going to be a ruuuuuuuude wake up call when I go home, and I’m not funny, and no one praises me for using eating utensils correctly. My chopsticks skills are coming along quite nicely, in case you were wondering.
Before I get too mushy, I should tell you it’s not all a bed of roses – there are down sides to teaching Chinese students. They can be so sensitive that it’s sometimes like walking on a land mine. For Mid-Autumn Festival they eat these things called Moon Cakes, and I think they taste like pieces of crap wrapped in more crap. But, some students took it personally when I said I didn’t care for moon cake. Now when they give me barf-flavored presents, I stick them in my purse until I can chuck them. My friend Richard did a lesson British culture (I’m not sure why anyone would want to learn, but whatever) and he did a comparison between Chinese Yuan and the British Pounds. He shoved his Chinese money back in his pocket after the lesson was over, and his students wrote him a letter suggesting that he treat Chinese money with more respect. What was he supposed to do? Frame it? Oy vey!
I also was unaware of the fact that when you sign on to be a teacher in China, you’re signing up for the “performing monkey” gig as well. Students expect you to do a little song and dance number for them, and the school expects you to whip out a performance at any given function. I frequently sing in the shower, but I have rarely received requests for my singing. It’s a little below par, to put it nicely. But students live for this kind of stuff, so I have taught them everything from Journey to Britney Spears. My singing of English songs is a reward for students if they have worked hard. In what ass-backwards universe is my singing a reward and not a punishment? I’m telling you, China is in some parallel dimension. I am in a land where my singing is appreciated and Pizza Hut is a fine dining experience. Who knew?
Land mines and performing-monkey-bit aside, I love teaching here! It’s fun to teach students that the word ‘usually’ is not pronounced ‘urally.’ I love to watch them try out new slang and tell their friends to “peace out.” I really enjoy making friends with students here; they know the best places to eat, and they teach me Chinese for free. These are good kids and I will miss them when I go. Although considering I’m only about 5 years older than them, maybe ‘kids’ is not the most appropriate word. I start giving final exams in a week --- how did this semester pass so quickly? God bless ‘em;I don’t want to go back!
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Random Chinese update
So it’s hard to wrap my head around this, but I’ve been in Shijiazhuang for over two months now and I’m sort of/kind of getting the hang of things. It seems semi-bizarre to me to have “life as usual” in China, but I am done with the “Oh my God, what am I doing here” portion of the program. In a way, my daily life is a little like reliving the college experience. I’m in an apartment building that all the foreign teachers live in, so everyone is a few short flights of stairs away, just like the dorms. I spend time outside of class living in sweat pants eating instant food and drinking cheap bear; again, just like college. Half my classes don’t start until the afternoon and so I roll out of bed around eleven, surf the internet, putz around doing nothing of meaning until it’s time to leave for classes. The only difference is that now after a night of drinking I can’t wander into class the next day in my sweats and wearing last night’s make up. Now roles have reversed; I’m the teacher not the student and I have to bear some semblance of responsibility and maturity. I’m not quite sure if I’ve pulled it off with success yet; but time will tell.
Most days have a series of similar components: I teach classes, I wash my dishes while taking a shower for lack of a kitchen sink, I e mail someone from home, I try a new Chinese restaurant, or eat out at one of my regular favorites. Since the outdoor barbeque is now closed for the season, I’ve been getting my fix of potatoes sautéed in garlic and vinegar, as well as cabbage, cauliflower, and sweet and sour pork. I also have a “burger guy” I go to on a regular basis for 2 kuai burgers, which is equivalent to about 34 cents; cheap and good! Plus, the guy knows by now I don’t like it spicy and I am adamantly against onions contaminating my duck burger. Yeah, it’s not quite like McDonald's. Here in China, my burger options consist of duck, pork, or donkey. In case you were wondering, I have tried the donkey burger, and it wasn’t quite my cup of tea. But you never know, maybe I just ate a donkey that was having an off day. Every once in a while, I’ll have an out of the ordinary food related experience that catches me off guard. For example, last week a student asked if I wanted to have lunch with her and eat duck. I like duck, so I was all for it. As she and I are walking together after class, I ask her what restaurant we are going to, and she replies, “No restaurant. I have it with me.” She then proceeds to pull a full duck in plastic wrapping out of her purse. You just don’t see that every day. FYI, the purse duck was freaking fantastic. I need to start carrying birds in my handbag; maybe it’s some sort of flavoring technique that we haven’t picked up on yet in The States.
Speaking of food, I’ve been able to now order some of my favourite dishes on my own without needing a translator, and my language skills are progressing a bit in other areas as well. And by a bit, I do mean like a teensy eensie baby bit. If I haven’t stressed this before, Chinese is hard! I’ve been practicing with taxi drivers and random people I meet, or students that I go out to lunch with because they are always eager to teach me new phrases. Sadly, the vast bulk of the language still eludes me. Too many times I’ve fallen into the trap of just nodding and smiling and the people look at me like I’m a daft idiot when they have clearly asked me a question that does not require a yes or no answer. I’m guessing, and hoping, that it gets easier and that more and more comprehension will start to seep into my brain, and I’m hoping that’s not just me being naïve and foolishly optimistic.
As I’m adapting, I’m becoming more adept at picking up on the subtle nuances of Chinese culture that I hadn’t anticipated before arriving. First, I’ve mentioned the four tones before which dictate the pronunciation of a word and its meaning, but as it turns out there is a fifth tone I didn’t know about. If you listen carefully, you can hear this elusive and difficult-to- master fifth tone multiple times a day, most often on the streets; the tone starts deep in the throat and is completed when a loogie is officially hocked up and released onto the pavement. The Chinese have perfected the art of the fifth tone, but I think they’re still trying to improve their crafts, because I hear them practicing all day long. They’re diligent, I tell you.
Another aspect of Chinese culture which I hadn’t anticipated was the inner workings of Chinese logic. Or to be frank, lack thereof. Well there might be some logic, but it makes no logical sense, so I don’t know if it can technically be defined as logic. You may be thinking this seems a little harsh, and Big Brother if you’re reading, I’m sorry to offend you, but even you have to be with me on this one. Living here has given me so much respect for the Chinese culture in so many ways; after all, this is an ancient civilization responsible for the creation of gun powder and the compass among other things. Who doesn’t love the compass? But logic and efficiency, in my opinion, cannot be added to China’s “Things We Do Well” list. It’s not just me; you can ask almost any foreigner who has stayed here for any length of time; there is just an ass backwards way of thinking in this country.
Let me give you a small scale example from my first brush with Chinese “logic.” In the first few weeks here I had to hand over my passport so that official paperwork could be completed- not a big deal, I wasn’t using it anyways. One day when I’m in the middle of teaching a class, my supervisor trekked the five flights of stairs to my classroom and then tells me she needs to speak to me privately. Thinking this is semi-urgent, I make up something to occupy my class and step outside. She hands me my passport and says, “Here is your passport. But please bring it to me after class so I can make a copy.” Now correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m thinking it would make more sense to make a copy BEFORE bringing it to me in the middle of class. Chances were I didn’t need it for that particular hour and a half stretch of the day, but this is a classic example of Chinese “logic.”
The passport incident is only one small and seemingly insignificant anecdote, but I’m telling you, so much of the country is operated on this sort of thought process. I’ve been to the grocery store so many times and have bought a week and a half worth of groceries, only to be greeted by the same question, “Do you want a bag?” Nah, I thought I would practice my juggling skills on the way home and see how much of this crap I could keep in the air. Really? I just don’t get it. To be honest though, it’s more amusing than frustrating, and I suppose there is a possibility that the logic is so far above my head that maybe I haven’t yet grasped its genius inner workings. And in all fairness, if we started examining Western logic, there are so many holes it’s like looking at Swiss cheese.
But loogies and logic aside, I am in love with living here. I really am. I can’t pinpoint one specific thing about China that I love, but for some reason I love it all. I love the fruit vendors, and the street food, and the packaged milk, and the stray dogs on the street. I love that strangers giggle or stare at me with perplexed faces when I smile at them for no reason at all. I love that the streets are lined with pool tables and I love that friends here hold hands just because. I love hailing a taxi and practicing the only Chinese phrases I know with the driver. I even love that most of the time I understand nothing of what’s being said around me and everything is white noise, because it pushes me to want to learn. I love that I am learning something every day about the people, or the language, or the food, or myself and that I am not entirely one hundred percent at ease here. I mean that only in the best possible way, because if I felt one hundred percent comfortable here, then I wouldn’t be doing what I set out to do, which is challenge myself and get scared a little shitless. In truth, the streets are often filled with trash, the people don’t wear seat belts, and I have major ethical objections to the internet filters, but I love living in this bizarre parallel universe.
Most days have a series of similar components: I teach classes, I wash my dishes while taking a shower for lack of a kitchen sink, I e mail someone from home, I try a new Chinese restaurant, or eat out at one of my regular favorites. Since the outdoor barbeque is now closed for the season, I’ve been getting my fix of potatoes sautéed in garlic and vinegar, as well as cabbage, cauliflower, and sweet and sour pork. I also have a “burger guy” I go to on a regular basis for 2 kuai burgers, which is equivalent to about 34 cents; cheap and good! Plus, the guy knows by now I don’t like it spicy and I am adamantly against onions contaminating my duck burger. Yeah, it’s not quite like McDonald's. Here in China, my burger options consist of duck, pork, or donkey. In case you were wondering, I have tried the donkey burger, and it wasn’t quite my cup of tea. But you never know, maybe I just ate a donkey that was having an off day. Every once in a while, I’ll have an out of the ordinary food related experience that catches me off guard. For example, last week a student asked if I wanted to have lunch with her and eat duck. I like duck, so I was all for it. As she and I are walking together after class, I ask her what restaurant we are going to, and she replies, “No restaurant. I have it with me.” She then proceeds to pull a full duck in plastic wrapping out of her purse. You just don’t see that every day. FYI, the purse duck was freaking fantastic. I need to start carrying birds in my handbag; maybe it’s some sort of flavoring technique that we haven’t picked up on yet in The States.
Speaking of food, I’ve been able to now order some of my favourite dishes on my own without needing a translator, and my language skills are progressing a bit in other areas as well. And by a bit, I do mean like a teensy eensie baby bit. If I haven’t stressed this before, Chinese is hard! I’ve been practicing with taxi drivers and random people I meet, or students that I go out to lunch with because they are always eager to teach me new phrases. Sadly, the vast bulk of the language still eludes me. Too many times I’ve fallen into the trap of just nodding and smiling and the people look at me like I’m a daft idiot when they have clearly asked me a question that does not require a yes or no answer. I’m guessing, and hoping, that it gets easier and that more and more comprehension will start to seep into my brain, and I’m hoping that’s not just me being naïve and foolishly optimistic.
As I’m adapting, I’m becoming more adept at picking up on the subtle nuances of Chinese culture that I hadn’t anticipated before arriving. First, I’ve mentioned the four tones before which dictate the pronunciation of a word and its meaning, but as it turns out there is a fifth tone I didn’t know about. If you listen carefully, you can hear this elusive and difficult-to- master fifth tone multiple times a day, most often on the streets; the tone starts deep in the throat and is completed when a loogie is officially hocked up and released onto the pavement. The Chinese have perfected the art of the fifth tone, but I think they’re still trying to improve their crafts, because I hear them practicing all day long. They’re diligent, I tell you.
Another aspect of Chinese culture which I hadn’t anticipated was the inner workings of Chinese logic. Or to be frank, lack thereof. Well there might be some logic, but it makes no logical sense, so I don’t know if it can technically be defined as logic. You may be thinking this seems a little harsh, and Big Brother if you’re reading, I’m sorry to offend you, but even you have to be with me on this one. Living here has given me so much respect for the Chinese culture in so many ways; after all, this is an ancient civilization responsible for the creation of gun powder and the compass among other things. Who doesn’t love the compass? But logic and efficiency, in my opinion, cannot be added to China’s “Things We Do Well” list. It’s not just me; you can ask almost any foreigner who has stayed here for any length of time; there is just an ass backwards way of thinking in this country.
Let me give you a small scale example from my first brush with Chinese “logic.” In the first few weeks here I had to hand over my passport so that official paperwork could be completed- not a big deal, I wasn’t using it anyways. One day when I’m in the middle of teaching a class, my supervisor trekked the five flights of stairs to my classroom and then tells me she needs to speak to me privately. Thinking this is semi-urgent, I make up something to occupy my class and step outside. She hands me my passport and says, “Here is your passport. But please bring it to me after class so I can make a copy.” Now correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m thinking it would make more sense to make a copy BEFORE bringing it to me in the middle of class. Chances were I didn’t need it for that particular hour and a half stretch of the day, but this is a classic example of Chinese “logic.”
The passport incident is only one small and seemingly insignificant anecdote, but I’m telling you, so much of the country is operated on this sort of thought process. I’ve been to the grocery store so many times and have bought a week and a half worth of groceries, only to be greeted by the same question, “Do you want a bag?” Nah, I thought I would practice my juggling skills on the way home and see how much of this crap I could keep in the air. Really? I just don’t get it. To be honest though, it’s more amusing than frustrating, and I suppose there is a possibility that the logic is so far above my head that maybe I haven’t yet grasped its genius inner workings. And in all fairness, if we started examining Western logic, there are so many holes it’s like looking at Swiss cheese.
But loogies and logic aside, I am in love with living here. I really am. I can’t pinpoint one specific thing about China that I love, but for some reason I love it all. I love the fruit vendors, and the street food, and the packaged milk, and the stray dogs on the street. I love that strangers giggle or stare at me with perplexed faces when I smile at them for no reason at all. I love that the streets are lined with pool tables and I love that friends here hold hands just because. I love hailing a taxi and practicing the only Chinese phrases I know with the driver. I even love that most of the time I understand nothing of what’s being said around me and everything is white noise, because it pushes me to want to learn. I love that I am learning something every day about the people, or the language, or the food, or myself and that I am not entirely one hundred percent at ease here. I mean that only in the best possible way, because if I felt one hundred percent comfortable here, then I wouldn’t be doing what I set out to do, which is challenge myself and get scared a little shitless. In truth, the streets are often filled with trash, the people don’t wear seat belts, and I have major ethical objections to the internet filters, but I love living in this bizarre parallel universe.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Beijing, baby!
Beijing and Beyond! Well, no, actually just Beijing. But still, out of Shijiazhuang! So Swine Flu is out of the picture, at least as far as my vacation is concerned, and I’m outta here! One train ride at 6:30 am (thanks to Nadya) later and we are on our way. Now I guess it would be a bit of a lie to say I’ve never been to Beijing, because in truth, I dragged my sorry, jet-lagged ass through the city when I first landed in China. But, with the exception of the buildings I saw out the taxi window from the airport to the train station, I can’t say I’ve seen much of the city. So now I’m heading to the city with my other foreign teacher friends, for whom Beijing is old news. There’s Nadya from Belarus, Richard from England, and Dani from Iowa, which may technically be part of the States, but in my book, anything east of Colorado and west of Pennsylvania counts as butt fuck Egypt. You probably need a passport to enter the middle of the country, so I just haven’t bothered.
The four of us arrive in Beijing at about 8:30 am which is still technically the middle of the night to someone not used to waking up before noon. Nadya has plans to meet up with a friend at the train station, so Richard, Dani, and I grab a taxi to our hostel. My first intention is to take a big, fat nap, but not until after I’ve had a proper American breakfast. I haven’t had bacon, hash browns, or toast in about 7 weeks, and that is too long to go without that option! And it’s only $3 for a full breakfast! Ahhhh, life is good; nothing beats fresh toast in the morning.
So, in theory, I knew the three of us would be sharing a room with others; I just hadn’t fully prepared myself for the actuality of it. In my delusional head, everyone would have decided Beijing was not worth the trip and we would have the room to ourselves. Hrrrumphh. Maybe I’ve been too spoiled by private hotel rooms and my own bathroom where I don’t have to wear flip flops in the shower, but this whole ten strangers to a room is quite the shock to my system. Since we got to the hostel around 9:00 in the morning, most of the inhabitants of Room 318 are still sleeping. And snoring. The only beds left are the top bunks, and I have a serious lack of coordination when I’m not trying to climb over a sleeping body, but when I am, but uncoordinated abilities tend to double. However, my need for a nap is that great, so I climb over everyone’s array of shit on the floor, the sleeping bodies, and hurl myself onto the top bunk. Looking around, the only person that really catches my attention is this guy on a bottom bunk who has so much hair, front and back, that he might as well be wearing a sweater; holy shit this guy is furry. It turns out his name is Levee from Israel, and he often leaves and has to come back shortly because he forgot his shoes. Don’t ask, because I don’t understand it myself.
So my first official sightseeing stop in Beijing is Tiananmen Square, and although it’s exciting to witness a square that was the official site for a needless massacre, it’s pretty much just a big square. Although, in homage to China’s 60th National Day Celebration, it has been decorated with some tacky crap and there are about 80 kajillion people roaming about. Still, it is my first sight seeing extravaganza and I am pumped! From here I can see the Forbidden City, although I didn’t go in. (And not because it’s forbidden, if that’s what you’re thinking). So, since Mao’s dead body exhibit isn’t open today, we decide to poke around and maybe check out a foreign book store, and then it’s back to the hostel to get ready for a night out. I’m about to piss myself with excitement, because for the first time in 7 weeks, I’m going to eat at Outback Steak House. Why come to China and eat American food, you might be asking yourself. Well let me tell you, I’d sell my soul right about now for a piece of real cheese, and 2 straight months of nothing but Chinese food starts to weigh on a person’s wellbeing. It is for my own good and for the good of those around me that I am eating an overpriced prime rib tonight, because if I hadn’t, I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions. And don’t get me started on the Caesar salad I had, because I’ll probably start welling up at the memory. And I just realized I pretty much wrote an entire paragraph about the Outback, so maybe it’s about time to wrap up that segment of my blog. Moving along…
So many bars in Beijing and so little time! A very nice change of pace from the usual clubs we frequent, and after all, variety is the spice of life. After chilling with a few beers, we make our way to another bar where we proceed to hang out, take shots called “lube jobs” and I am conned into pantomiming and acting out what a lube job is to the Chinese bar tender. I wonder how many foreigners he’s gotten to do that just for shits and giggles. Anyways, it’s a shock to my system to see so many white people in one place, so I decide to mix and mingle and introduce myself to people and find out where everyone’s from. It’s going well until I stumble on this British chick, who turns out to be a giant, raving bitch. I started with a simple compliment: I liked her hair. And she retorts, “well, it’s kind of genetic so I don’t really have a choice in the matter. “OK British girl, I’m just trying to be nice. I try again, and ask her what she’s doing in Beijing and tell her I’m an English teacher from Seattle. She then says, “Wow. It must be hard to teach English when you can’t speak the language properly.” Yep, she’s one of those British people. Now my friend Richard ranks on America all the time, which is fine because he’s my friend and I can just as easily tell him that his queen has herpes, but this chick doesn’t know me! I don’t know why I keep bothering to try and win this girl over, but I try and develop some camaraderie by talking about China and thinking maybe we can commiserate about the squatting toilets and the lack of toilet paper. She asks me, “So you came half way across the world to piss and moan about tissue paper?” Alright British bitch, you win. I’m done. And just so you know, we kicked your asses once and we could do it again. That’s right, check your history book.
After that incident, we decided to go to a club, have overpriced drinks, and dance the night away. At about 4 o clock, I wander out of the bar and stumble into McDonalds for some middle of the night drunk munchies. Unfortunately, all this western food combined the plethora of shots I have pounded turn me into an emotional homesick wreck, and I start crying over my chicken nuggets like an oversized. I’m sure it was quite the sight, and I don’t want to think too much about it so we’re going to skip past it and the part where I drunkenly stumbled over sleeping hostel mates.
So now we’re on to the next day. Nadya has disappeared into no man’s land with a friend of hers, and Dani is off gallivanting with a Chinese man she met. Is it just me, or do people not use the word gallivanting enough? I think it should make a comeback. So basically, Richard is stuck being my tour guide and helping me to navigate the Beijing subway system. We eventually decide to take a long walk to a park called Beihei Park, which I thought was some hole in the wall landscape with some grass and benches. I didn’t know he was talking about the Imperial Gardens, and it turned out to be fantastically amazing. The temples, views, and scenery were a refreshing break from the busy grind of the city, and I could really imagine emperors coming here to collect their thoughts and be surrounded by beauty. It was worth the long walk in my inadequate flip flops (I was packing in a hurry at 5:30 am and I didn’t consider the best footwear). After trekking around town with my achy feet and chafed thighs, all I wanted was a nap and I unintentionally ended up sleeping through the hostel’s dumpling making party. Damnit! I was seriously looking forward to that.
Fast forward to the next morning after a sleepless night and being woken up by people entering and leaving the room, snoring, and opening my eyes to see Richard across the room in a man-thong. He claims they are normal underwear, but they were ridiculously small, and let’ s call a spade a spade. I don’t think anyone could go back to sleep after this; I sure as hell couldn’t. And I almost forgot to mention, that the day before, I threw a walnut at him and he freaked out, thinking it was a giant mosquito. What a lemon, that one is. So after breakfast we decide to meet up with Nadya who insists that the Olympic Village is the best sight to see in Beijing. So we saw the Bird’s Nest building, and the aquatic center, and walked around for an hour, which is one hour of my life that I will never get back. I’m sorry Nadya, I think it’s cool and all that the 2008 Olympics were held in Beijing, but there is only so long you can milk it, and there’s really nothing to get excited about now in my opinion. So now we’re on our way to the Summer Palace, and by this time I am really kicking myself in the ass for not bringing a good pair of walking shoes. And of course the Summer Palace is about 270 miles in circumference and we get to walk the whole thing! I am only mildly exaggerating…those emperors had quite the hook up. Anyways, the views, temples, and atmosphere were absolutely breath taking, and if it weren’t for the swarm of tourists it would have been so peaceful and soothing. And then we got to take a boat ride to an island in the middle of a lake, which is awesome! I love boat rides! Who doesn’t? I’ve never heard of anyone having a bad time on a boat. Except for maybe the Titanic, but that was ages ago!
So all in all, I enjoyed Beijing immensely, even if we almost missed our train due to a manipulative taxi driver and had to run like hell through the train station. I passed out on the train and woke up only to pass out about 4.7 seconds after we walked in the door. Definitely nice to have a break, short as it may be, from Shijiazhuang. In all truthfulness I feel a bit like a loser that this is my first time out of the city since arriving in China. Guess I need to make a bit more of an effort. I have only about 10 months less now, so I suppose I better get a move on!
The four of us arrive in Beijing at about 8:30 am which is still technically the middle of the night to someone not used to waking up before noon. Nadya has plans to meet up with a friend at the train station, so Richard, Dani, and I grab a taxi to our hostel. My first intention is to take a big, fat nap, but not until after I’ve had a proper American breakfast. I haven’t had bacon, hash browns, or toast in about 7 weeks, and that is too long to go without that option! And it’s only $3 for a full breakfast! Ahhhh, life is good; nothing beats fresh toast in the morning.
So, in theory, I knew the three of us would be sharing a room with others; I just hadn’t fully prepared myself for the actuality of it. In my delusional head, everyone would have decided Beijing was not worth the trip and we would have the room to ourselves. Hrrrumphh. Maybe I’ve been too spoiled by private hotel rooms and my own bathroom where I don’t have to wear flip flops in the shower, but this whole ten strangers to a room is quite the shock to my system. Since we got to the hostel around 9:00 in the morning, most of the inhabitants of Room 318 are still sleeping. And snoring. The only beds left are the top bunks, and I have a serious lack of coordination when I’m not trying to climb over a sleeping body, but when I am, but uncoordinated abilities tend to double. However, my need for a nap is that great, so I climb over everyone’s array of shit on the floor, the sleeping bodies, and hurl myself onto the top bunk. Looking around, the only person that really catches my attention is this guy on a bottom bunk who has so much hair, front and back, that he might as well be wearing a sweater; holy shit this guy is furry. It turns out his name is Levee from Israel, and he often leaves and has to come back shortly because he forgot his shoes. Don’t ask, because I don’t understand it myself.
So my first official sightseeing stop in Beijing is Tiananmen Square, and although it’s exciting to witness a square that was the official site for a needless massacre, it’s pretty much just a big square. Although, in homage to China’s 60th National Day Celebration, it has been decorated with some tacky crap and there are about 80 kajillion people roaming about. Still, it is my first sight seeing extravaganza and I am pumped! From here I can see the Forbidden City, although I didn’t go in. (And not because it’s forbidden, if that’s what you’re thinking). So, since Mao’s dead body exhibit isn’t open today, we decide to poke around and maybe check out a foreign book store, and then it’s back to the hostel to get ready for a night out. I’m about to piss myself with excitement, because for the first time in 7 weeks, I’m going to eat at Outback Steak House. Why come to China and eat American food, you might be asking yourself. Well let me tell you, I’d sell my soul right about now for a piece of real cheese, and 2 straight months of nothing but Chinese food starts to weigh on a person’s wellbeing. It is for my own good and for the good of those around me that I am eating an overpriced prime rib tonight, because if I hadn’t, I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions. And don’t get me started on the Caesar salad I had, because I’ll probably start welling up at the memory. And I just realized I pretty much wrote an entire paragraph about the Outback, so maybe it’s about time to wrap up that segment of my blog. Moving along…
So many bars in Beijing and so little time! A very nice change of pace from the usual clubs we frequent, and after all, variety is the spice of life. After chilling with a few beers, we make our way to another bar where we proceed to hang out, take shots called “lube jobs” and I am conned into pantomiming and acting out what a lube job is to the Chinese bar tender. I wonder how many foreigners he’s gotten to do that just for shits and giggles. Anyways, it’s a shock to my system to see so many white people in one place, so I decide to mix and mingle and introduce myself to people and find out where everyone’s from. It’s going well until I stumble on this British chick, who turns out to be a giant, raving bitch. I started with a simple compliment: I liked her hair. And she retorts, “well, it’s kind of genetic so I don’t really have a choice in the matter. “OK British girl, I’m just trying to be nice. I try again, and ask her what she’s doing in Beijing and tell her I’m an English teacher from Seattle. She then says, “Wow. It must be hard to teach English when you can’t speak the language properly.” Yep, she’s one of those British people. Now my friend Richard ranks on America all the time, which is fine because he’s my friend and I can just as easily tell him that his queen has herpes, but this chick doesn’t know me! I don’t know why I keep bothering to try and win this girl over, but I try and develop some camaraderie by talking about China and thinking maybe we can commiserate about the squatting toilets and the lack of toilet paper. She asks me, “So you came half way across the world to piss and moan about tissue paper?” Alright British bitch, you win. I’m done. And just so you know, we kicked your asses once and we could do it again. That’s right, check your history book.
After that incident, we decided to go to a club, have overpriced drinks, and dance the night away. At about 4 o clock, I wander out of the bar and stumble into McDonalds for some middle of the night drunk munchies. Unfortunately, all this western food combined the plethora of shots I have pounded turn me into an emotional homesick wreck, and I start crying over my chicken nuggets like an oversized. I’m sure it was quite the sight, and I don’t want to think too much about it so we’re going to skip past it and the part where I drunkenly stumbled over sleeping hostel mates.
So now we’re on to the next day. Nadya has disappeared into no man’s land with a friend of hers, and Dani is off gallivanting with a Chinese man she met. Is it just me, or do people not use the word gallivanting enough? I think it should make a comeback. So basically, Richard is stuck being my tour guide and helping me to navigate the Beijing subway system. We eventually decide to take a long walk to a park called Beihei Park, which I thought was some hole in the wall landscape with some grass and benches. I didn’t know he was talking about the Imperial Gardens, and it turned out to be fantastically amazing. The temples, views, and scenery were a refreshing break from the busy grind of the city, and I could really imagine emperors coming here to collect their thoughts and be surrounded by beauty. It was worth the long walk in my inadequate flip flops (I was packing in a hurry at 5:30 am and I didn’t consider the best footwear). After trekking around town with my achy feet and chafed thighs, all I wanted was a nap and I unintentionally ended up sleeping through the hostel’s dumpling making party. Damnit! I was seriously looking forward to that.
Fast forward to the next morning after a sleepless night and being woken up by people entering and leaving the room, snoring, and opening my eyes to see Richard across the room in a man-thong. He claims they are normal underwear, but they were ridiculously small, and let’ s call a spade a spade. I don’t think anyone could go back to sleep after this; I sure as hell couldn’t. And I almost forgot to mention, that the day before, I threw a walnut at him and he freaked out, thinking it was a giant mosquito. What a lemon, that one is. So after breakfast we decide to meet up with Nadya who insists that the Olympic Village is the best sight to see in Beijing. So we saw the Bird’s Nest building, and the aquatic center, and walked around for an hour, which is one hour of my life that I will never get back. I’m sorry Nadya, I think it’s cool and all that the 2008 Olympics were held in Beijing, but there is only so long you can milk it, and there’s really nothing to get excited about now in my opinion. So now we’re on our way to the Summer Palace, and by this time I am really kicking myself in the ass for not bringing a good pair of walking shoes. And of course the Summer Palace is about 270 miles in circumference and we get to walk the whole thing! I am only mildly exaggerating…those emperors had quite the hook up. Anyways, the views, temples, and atmosphere were absolutely breath taking, and if it weren’t for the swarm of tourists it would have been so peaceful and soothing. And then we got to take a boat ride to an island in the middle of a lake, which is awesome! I love boat rides! Who doesn’t? I’ve never heard of anyone having a bad time on a boat. Except for maybe the Titanic, but that was ages ago!
So all in all, I enjoyed Beijing immensely, even if we almost missed our train due to a manipulative taxi driver and had to run like hell through the train station. I passed out on the train and woke up only to pass out about 4.7 seconds after we walked in the door. Definitely nice to have a break, short as it may be, from Shijiazhuang. In all truthfulness I feel a bit like a loser that this is my first time out of the city since arriving in China. Guess I need to make a bit more of an effort. I have only about 10 months less now, so I suppose I better get a move on!
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Ni Hao!!!!
Fast forward 3 weeks, and I am officially a Chinese resident (according to my temporary Chinese residency permit). My vocabulary has multiplied by about 10 thanks to my patient Chinese friends, but I’m not sure how much that is saying considering my lack of speaking abilities to begin with. I’ve been practicing my dialogue abilities with various taxi drivers; we usually run out of conversation within 30 seconds or less, but that’s 30 seconds or less that I couldn’t speak/understand before. I can also correctly, with the proper tones and everything, say: ‘I hear, but I don’t understand,’ ‘I do not want cilantro on my dish’ and ‘class is over,’ all of which have served me well. I’ve already found my regular restaurants where they recognize my roommate and I. Granted it’s probably not hard considering we’re the only white people there, but it’s nice nonetheless. My liver has also been taking quite the hit this past month. Maybe I’m trying to relive my college days, maybe I’m bored, or maybe I’m just susceptible to the peer pressure by the other foreigners, but somehow, a beer ends up in my hand every night, and I keep frequenting the clubs that I claim to detest. C’est la vie! If I had a Chinese translation of this, it would be far more appropriate, but I don’t, so tough.
People did warn me that Shijiazhuang was dirty, polluted, and had little to do for fun. Well, turns out they were right, but I still like it here. A friend of mine called the city “a piece of real China,” which I think describes it perfectly. There are no tourist traps, the restaurants and shops are not targeted toward English speakers, and I’ve yet to see a vendor sitting on the street corner selling cheap plastic replicas of the Great Wall. The one fun filled exception would be the trip to the zoo, which was by far and away the best zoo I’ve ever been to. Not only was it a gorgeous, pagoda filled haven, but I got to sit on an elephant, pet a giraffe, and for 75 cents I was able to dangle raw chicken on a stick into the crocodile reservoir. I thought the crocodiles would be snapping and jumping for the meat, but instead they just sat there, eerily still, until they suddenly snatched the chicken out of my unsuspecting hands and made me scream like a little girl. Quite possibly the coolest and most terrifying thing I’ve ever done. Aside from the zoo, the lack of recreational activities does, however, in fact mean that I have been spending a good chunk of my free time watching all 5 seasons of Desperate Housewives over cups of tea with Nadya, my kick ass roommate. Yeah, it turns out having a roommate is fantastic, and I would probably be desperately lonely without her. She and the other foreigners have been a spectacular source of entertainment and company, and without them, I would most likely be sitting in room alone curled up in the fetal position and wanting to go home.
Now, I would like to venture out and explore other cities of China, which I will get to eventually, but a few obstacles have managed to prevent me. First, there’s that old nuisance of employment and having to hang around to do the job they hired me to do. That’s a topic that deserves its own blog, so my teaching experiences will have to come on a different day. The next and probably biggest barrier is H1N1, the god damn swine flu. Three colleges in the area have been quarantined and have had their holidays canceled and are forced to stay on campus. China’s 60th national celebration is coming up in the first week of October, and I was going to take advantage of this break by busting out of Shijiazhuang and wrecking havoc in other cities. Unfortunately, this might not be in the cards for me, and I could spend the entire “vacation” stuck on campus without any new episodes of Desperate Housewives! Life just isn’t fair! Although, it is probably considerably less fair to those who actually have swine flu, but still, they’re ruining it for the rest of us! I never said I wasn’t a selfish bitch. So here’s hoping that several weeks from now, you will be reading a blog about my glorious outings in China, and not a blog pissing and moaning about how much my life sucks and how I’m going to seek vengeance on the Chinese swine flu victims! So until next time, xai jian! (It means goodbye…can’t believe you didn’t know that.)
People did warn me that Shijiazhuang was dirty, polluted, and had little to do for fun. Well, turns out they were right, but I still like it here. A friend of mine called the city “a piece of real China,” which I think describes it perfectly. There are no tourist traps, the restaurants and shops are not targeted toward English speakers, and I’ve yet to see a vendor sitting on the street corner selling cheap plastic replicas of the Great Wall. The one fun filled exception would be the trip to the zoo, which was by far and away the best zoo I’ve ever been to. Not only was it a gorgeous, pagoda filled haven, but I got to sit on an elephant, pet a giraffe, and for 75 cents I was able to dangle raw chicken on a stick into the crocodile reservoir. I thought the crocodiles would be snapping and jumping for the meat, but instead they just sat there, eerily still, until they suddenly snatched the chicken out of my unsuspecting hands and made me scream like a little girl. Quite possibly the coolest and most terrifying thing I’ve ever done. Aside from the zoo, the lack of recreational activities does, however, in fact mean that I have been spending a good chunk of my free time watching all 5 seasons of Desperate Housewives over cups of tea with Nadya, my kick ass roommate. Yeah, it turns out having a roommate is fantastic, and I would probably be desperately lonely without her. She and the other foreigners have been a spectacular source of entertainment and company, and without them, I would most likely be sitting in room alone curled up in the fetal position and wanting to go home.
Now, I would like to venture out and explore other cities of China, which I will get to eventually, but a few obstacles have managed to prevent me. First, there’s that old nuisance of employment and having to hang around to do the job they hired me to do. That’s a topic that deserves its own blog, so my teaching experiences will have to come on a different day. The next and probably biggest barrier is H1N1, the god damn swine flu. Three colleges in the area have been quarantined and have had their holidays canceled and are forced to stay on campus. China’s 60th national celebration is coming up in the first week of October, and I was going to take advantage of this break by busting out of Shijiazhuang and wrecking havoc in other cities. Unfortunately, this might not be in the cards for me, and I could spend the entire “vacation” stuck on campus without any new episodes of Desperate Housewives! Life just isn’t fair! Although, it is probably considerably less fair to those who actually have swine flu, but still, they’re ruining it for the rest of us! I never said I wasn’t a selfish bitch. So here’s hoping that several weeks from now, you will be reading a blog about my glorious outings in China, and not a blog pissing and moaning about how much my life sucks and how I’m going to seek vengeance on the Chinese swine flu victims! So until next time, xai jian! (It means goodbye…can’t believe you didn’t know that.)
This probably should have been two blogs...
Warning: this blog could take you a while to get through, so grab a beer, get comfortable, and read about my first full week in China. That’s right, you heard me, I survived my first week. If you have been following along, you know that I am not actually able to post this blog myself due to the restrictions and filters of the Chinese internet. I for one think it’s admirable the government is looking after its citizens by prohibiting free speech and monitoring the sites they are able to look at. It’s like having a big brother. (Did you get the reference? 1984? Big Brother?) Just checking. Well, if my sarcasm didn’t come through loud and clear, let me clarify, I think this sucks. But, I knew about the government when I signed on for this gig, so I guess my only option is to stop bitching and find people to help me get around the system. Which I did. HA.
I’ve already given you the down and dirty version of my very first night of arrival. Well since that night, my week has been a blur of car horns, bowls of noodles, free whiskey, cheap shopping, transvestites, cabbie fights, and being on the receiving end of a lot of staring and pointing. And you read correctly, I did say transvestites. I’ll get to that later. So, first day, a family volunteered to put me up for a few days until I could move into my apartment at the university. Seems nice, right? And they were nice, but that doesn’t mean that it wasn’t weird. Apparently some Chinese people are fascinated by foreigners, like we’re some sort of zoo exhibit, and we should be observed and studied. So this family watched my every move, and if I left, they called my Chinese speaking friends to know when I would I return and if they thought I should have been back already. Last time I checked I was an adult, but maybe I can chock it up to them being cautious on my behalf. The awesome part of the deal was that the family cooked for me, and let me tell you, the dumplings they made were in my top 5 favorite meals ever. I think they were actually made by angels. So a free place to stay, good food, and oh yeah, a 13 year old boy whose parents want him to learn English. During the day, I spent my free time with NaNa (as in hey, hey, hey, goodbye), a 13 year old who wanted to learn English as much as I wanted to stick a hot curling iron up my bum. But his parents insist that we spend the day together “learning from each other.” I did my best to teach him English, but he much preferred to watch Chinese television involving a warrior, a pig, and I think it was some kind of monkey. If I tried to work on my Chinese, he corrected my pronunciation by shouting at me. No joke, this kid spoke in normal volumes until it was time to tell me how much my Chinese sucked. Ah well, all part of the experience I guess. So the really weird part came when it was time to leave for the university. The family wanted to follow along so they could see where I lived and come see me whenever they wanted. Not that I don’t appreciate being put up for a couple nights, but really? Does that mean you can have unlimited access to me for free English lessons or observational practices? Not in my book, suckas. Peace out, I’m gone. Except that I left my photo album there so I will have to make one more appearance. Fuck.
So now I am settled, somewhat, into my apartment on the university campus, and it is pretty damn big; so big in fact that it echoes. I haven’t determined whether this is a good thing or not, because it is such a big open space that it borders on creepy, and the dirty white walls and dim fluorescent lighting make me feel like a straight jacket would be welcome attire. So it turns out I’m going to have a roommate, which I was not told about beforehand, so we’ll have to see how it goes with some chick named Nadia from Belarus. Hopefully she’s cool and isn’t offended by a little (or a lot of) mess. A couple interesting notes on my apartment: I have a sunroom for hanging and drying my clothes, which seems delightfully quaint to me. The kitchen, or should I say “kitchen” is a giant room with a refrigerator that smells of old vinegar, and a microwave and a hot plate. No counters, drawers, utensils, or sink. That’s right, I’ll be washing dishes in the bathroom. And speaking of bathrooms, if you are ever in China, don’t flush the toilet paper. Learned that one the hard way. The thing that baffles me most about Chinese homes is the lack of a shower area; the bathroom has a showerhead in it and you just hang out in the wide open space with no shower curtain or boundaries to restrict you. Kind of nice if you have claustrophobia of shower spaces. I personally don’t, but if you do, Chinese bathrooms will be right up your alley. Oh, and a on a quick note, the power and water have been going out spontaneously because of bridges being built nearby, the longest stretch being three days. Yeah, you can guess what I smelled like. Moving along…
So now I am starting to get acclimated and the first week has been what I would constitute as successful, but that does not mean I have not received my fair share of culture shock. Let’s talk for a moment about assless pants, because they seem to be all the rage for kids these days. Yep, kids don’t wear diapers because the world is their toilet, and why not eliminate inconvenience altogether by ripping the ass out of the pants? Who needs to waste time pulling pants down when there is a more efficient alternative? Now, I’m all for maximizing convenience and efficiency, and when I’m in a particularly long line in a women’s restroom I sometimes wish the world were my toilet, but it’s not and I have yet to get used to this. Walking down the street often results in unexpected and particularly atrocious smell pockets that smell like, well, shit. So there’s human feces to deal with, and I’m sad to report that I have not yet acclimated to the driving or crossing the street. These drivers are seriously deranged. We’re talking swerving into oncoming traffic to avoid waiting at a light and putting at least two cars next to each other in a one lane road. If a pedestrian dare try and venture out into the crosswalk, they are taking their own lives in their hands. My safest bet is to try and cross with another Chinese person who knows the ropes. It really is like a game of Frogger, and I’m still not convinced I’m going to win.
Speaking of driving experiences, on my very first solo taxi ride, I had the good fortune of encountering a lovely cab driver whose mother apparently never taught him that violence is not the answer. So I’m sitting in the back seat reveling in my glory that I successfully communicated to the cab driver where I wanted to go, and another cab driver cut us off. (At least that’s what I’m assuming, but with their driving, I don’t know how you differentiate between rude driving and just the norm). My cab driver starts screaming what I can only assume are obscenities and gesturing wildly out the window to this other miscreant, and before I know it we are stopped at a red light and my cab driver is out of the car, dragging the other driver out by his shirt collar and they are fist fighting in the street. I am just cowering in the back seat sending a text message to friends to inquire if this is normal. It’s not. So my cab driver apparently gives up after a while and returns to the car as if nothing has happened, and I can’t help but wonder, was it really necessary to keep the meter running?
As this blog is dragging on ridiculously, I will sum up one final experience that I think helps set the tone for my first week in China. Chinese night life. I met the other foreign teachers in the building, and they are big fans of the Shijiazhuang club scene. Oh and by the way, they’re awesome, and I really like them all, and I’m not just saying that in case they read this. Being more of a hole in the wall bar fan myself, I was quite the skeptic on the whole club thing. Basically, it can be equated to American clubs: loud crappy techno music, people in slutty attire out on the prowl trying to get laid, and crappy dancing. There were some differences, however, that I should note. First off, it pays to be a foreigner for the fact that we get free liquor in many clubs. I’m telling you, foreigners are novelty items over here. Next, I’ve never been to an American club where a python-laden Chinese transvestite was headlining; and if you’re wondering, yes, I touched the snake. (That is not a metaphor). I’ve also picked up on a club specific dice game with special hand signals that is a dice equivalent to the card game “bullshit.” All in all, a good week, and I haven’t had the peking pork scared out of me just yet.
I’ve already given you the down and dirty version of my very first night of arrival. Well since that night, my week has been a blur of car horns, bowls of noodles, free whiskey, cheap shopping, transvestites, cabbie fights, and being on the receiving end of a lot of staring and pointing. And you read correctly, I did say transvestites. I’ll get to that later. So, first day, a family volunteered to put me up for a few days until I could move into my apartment at the university. Seems nice, right? And they were nice, but that doesn’t mean that it wasn’t weird. Apparently some Chinese people are fascinated by foreigners, like we’re some sort of zoo exhibit, and we should be observed and studied. So this family watched my every move, and if I left, they called my Chinese speaking friends to know when I would I return and if they thought I should have been back already. Last time I checked I was an adult, but maybe I can chock it up to them being cautious on my behalf. The awesome part of the deal was that the family cooked for me, and let me tell you, the dumplings they made were in my top 5 favorite meals ever. I think they were actually made by angels. So a free place to stay, good food, and oh yeah, a 13 year old boy whose parents want him to learn English. During the day, I spent my free time with NaNa (as in hey, hey, hey, goodbye), a 13 year old who wanted to learn English as much as I wanted to stick a hot curling iron up my bum. But his parents insist that we spend the day together “learning from each other.” I did my best to teach him English, but he much preferred to watch Chinese television involving a warrior, a pig, and I think it was some kind of monkey. If I tried to work on my Chinese, he corrected my pronunciation by shouting at me. No joke, this kid spoke in normal volumes until it was time to tell me how much my Chinese sucked. Ah well, all part of the experience I guess. So the really weird part came when it was time to leave for the university. The family wanted to follow along so they could see where I lived and come see me whenever they wanted. Not that I don’t appreciate being put up for a couple nights, but really? Does that mean you can have unlimited access to me for free English lessons or observational practices? Not in my book, suckas. Peace out, I’m gone. Except that I left my photo album there so I will have to make one more appearance. Fuck.
So now I am settled, somewhat, into my apartment on the university campus, and it is pretty damn big; so big in fact that it echoes. I haven’t determined whether this is a good thing or not, because it is such a big open space that it borders on creepy, and the dirty white walls and dim fluorescent lighting make me feel like a straight jacket would be welcome attire. So it turns out I’m going to have a roommate, which I was not told about beforehand, so we’ll have to see how it goes with some chick named Nadia from Belarus. Hopefully she’s cool and isn’t offended by a little (or a lot of) mess. A couple interesting notes on my apartment: I have a sunroom for hanging and drying my clothes, which seems delightfully quaint to me. The kitchen, or should I say “kitchen” is a giant room with a refrigerator that smells of old vinegar, and a microwave and a hot plate. No counters, drawers, utensils, or sink. That’s right, I’ll be washing dishes in the bathroom. And speaking of bathrooms, if you are ever in China, don’t flush the toilet paper. Learned that one the hard way. The thing that baffles me most about Chinese homes is the lack of a shower area; the bathroom has a showerhead in it and you just hang out in the wide open space with no shower curtain or boundaries to restrict you. Kind of nice if you have claustrophobia of shower spaces. I personally don’t, but if you do, Chinese bathrooms will be right up your alley. Oh, and a on a quick note, the power and water have been going out spontaneously because of bridges being built nearby, the longest stretch being three days. Yeah, you can guess what I smelled like. Moving along…
So now I am starting to get acclimated and the first week has been what I would constitute as successful, but that does not mean I have not received my fair share of culture shock. Let’s talk for a moment about assless pants, because they seem to be all the rage for kids these days. Yep, kids don’t wear diapers because the world is their toilet, and why not eliminate inconvenience altogether by ripping the ass out of the pants? Who needs to waste time pulling pants down when there is a more efficient alternative? Now, I’m all for maximizing convenience and efficiency, and when I’m in a particularly long line in a women’s restroom I sometimes wish the world were my toilet, but it’s not and I have yet to get used to this. Walking down the street often results in unexpected and particularly atrocious smell pockets that smell like, well, shit. So there’s human feces to deal with, and I’m sad to report that I have not yet acclimated to the driving or crossing the street. These drivers are seriously deranged. We’re talking swerving into oncoming traffic to avoid waiting at a light and putting at least two cars next to each other in a one lane road. If a pedestrian dare try and venture out into the crosswalk, they are taking their own lives in their hands. My safest bet is to try and cross with another Chinese person who knows the ropes. It really is like a game of Frogger, and I’m still not convinced I’m going to win.
Speaking of driving experiences, on my very first solo taxi ride, I had the good fortune of encountering a lovely cab driver whose mother apparently never taught him that violence is not the answer. So I’m sitting in the back seat reveling in my glory that I successfully communicated to the cab driver where I wanted to go, and another cab driver cut us off. (At least that’s what I’m assuming, but with their driving, I don’t know how you differentiate between rude driving and just the norm). My cab driver starts screaming what I can only assume are obscenities and gesturing wildly out the window to this other miscreant, and before I know it we are stopped at a red light and my cab driver is out of the car, dragging the other driver out by his shirt collar and they are fist fighting in the street. I am just cowering in the back seat sending a text message to friends to inquire if this is normal. It’s not. So my cab driver apparently gives up after a while and returns to the car as if nothing has happened, and I can’t help but wonder, was it really necessary to keep the meter running?
As this blog is dragging on ridiculously, I will sum up one final experience that I think helps set the tone for my first week in China. Chinese night life. I met the other foreign teachers in the building, and they are big fans of the Shijiazhuang club scene. Oh and by the way, they’re awesome, and I really like them all, and I’m not just saying that in case they read this. Being more of a hole in the wall bar fan myself, I was quite the skeptic on the whole club thing. Basically, it can be equated to American clubs: loud crappy techno music, people in slutty attire out on the prowl trying to get laid, and crappy dancing. There were some differences, however, that I should note. First off, it pays to be a foreigner for the fact that we get free liquor in many clubs. I’m telling you, foreigners are novelty items over here. Next, I’ve never been to an American club where a python-laden Chinese transvestite was headlining; and if you’re wondering, yes, I touched the snake. (That is not a metaphor). I’ve also picked up on a club specific dice game with special hand signals that is a dice equivalent to the card game “bullshit.” All in all, a good week, and I haven’t had the peking pork scared out of me just yet.
Leaving on a Jet Plane
I did it! I am in China, and not once have I lay down in the middle of the crowds and asked the world to swallow me whole. I take this as a good sign. In fact, I haven’t cried once since my arrival in China (and if you’ve read my former blogs, you know this is a pretty incredible feat). I just spent my first night in a hotel, which is pretty nice and in the States would cost at least $100 for a night, and I paid the equivalent of $32. Booyah! Although, everything seems so cheap and it feels like fake money, so I better change my outlook and spending habits pretty quickly or I’m going to head back with no money to my name. So after an 11 hour flight, taxi rides, train rides, and walks through the rain and lighting, here are my quick first impressions/observations/lessons learned in China:
1. The squat toilets were not a myth. I should have been peeing in the woods more often for practice. I’ve got to learn to control the splashing or my entire salary will be spent on laundry detergent. Gross.
2. I better get rid of my space issues, and quickly. Personal space bubbles do not exist here. If there is enough space for one person, it is being occupied by three people.
3. Being polite will not get you anywhere except pissed off. Barging to the front of the line and pushing and shoving to get where you need to go is not rude, it’s a survival tactic.
4. When riding in a car, just close your eyes and trust that you will come out alive. Get rid of your reliance on blinkers, crosswalks, the courtesy wave, or anything that could be considered considerate driving.
5. People stare. I like to think it is because I’m fascinating and they can just tell I have an interesting soul, not because I’m white. I ended up smiling at people which elicited multiple responses. Some smiled back and then giggled to themselves, and others looked at me as if I were a farm animal that just started busting out break dancing. Whatever, for the most part people have been incredibly nice to me. Multiple people stepped forward to help the struggling white girl who clearly over packed with her enormous suitcases. I could get used to it.
So, basically, these are the quick “mini lessons” I’ve gathered from my journey from the airport to Shijiazhuang. Not a hell of a lot to go on yet, but enough to give me a taste of what I’m in for. To be honest, I really thought I’d be panicking by now, and maybe I’m just sleep deprived, but the initial terror has not set in. I already know I’m going miss my family, friends, and Barrett, but I think I’ll be alright. To quote a wise person, me, if you get too comfortable, you’re not challenging yourself, and it’s good to go get scared shitless. So here’s to crapping myself out of fear. Here goes nothing.
1. The squat toilets were not a myth. I should have been peeing in the woods more often for practice. I’ve got to learn to control the splashing or my entire salary will be spent on laundry detergent. Gross.
2. I better get rid of my space issues, and quickly. Personal space bubbles do not exist here. If there is enough space for one person, it is being occupied by three people.
3. Being polite will not get you anywhere except pissed off. Barging to the front of the line and pushing and shoving to get where you need to go is not rude, it’s a survival tactic.
4. When riding in a car, just close your eyes and trust that you will come out alive. Get rid of your reliance on blinkers, crosswalks, the courtesy wave, or anything that could be considered considerate driving.
5. People stare. I like to think it is because I’m fascinating and they can just tell I have an interesting soul, not because I’m white. I ended up smiling at people which elicited multiple responses. Some smiled back and then giggled to themselves, and others looked at me as if I were a farm animal that just started busting out break dancing. Whatever, for the most part people have been incredibly nice to me. Multiple people stepped forward to help the struggling white girl who clearly over packed with her enormous suitcases. I could get used to it.
So, basically, these are the quick “mini lessons” I’ve gathered from my journey from the airport to Shijiazhuang. Not a hell of a lot to go on yet, but enough to give me a taste of what I’m in for. To be honest, I really thought I’d be panicking by now, and maybe I’m just sleep deprived, but the initial terror has not set in. I already know I’m going miss my family, friends, and Barrett, but I think I’ll be alright. To quote a wise person, me, if you get too comfortable, you’re not challenging yourself, and it’s good to go get scared shitless. So here’s to crapping myself out of fear. Here goes nothing.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Uh...Oh...
This is Barrett posting for the recently immigrated Emily Corak. She is currently staying in her Chinese apartment that resembles an assylum without hope of internet access for at least 2 weeks. Due to the recent blocking of internet sites by the "Very Open" Chinese Government Emily can no longer access her blog as well as Facebook and the such. Fear not she will still be writing and keeping you aprised of all her goings on in China, although it looks like I will be having to do the posting.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
We're going to party like it's 1999
It’s my party and I’ll cry/fall/vomit/punch/dry hump/laugh/yell/and cry some more if I want to. Ahh, memories. My going away party, hosted by my glorious yet anal retentive friend Brittany, was originally supposed to be held in her small yet chic apartment downtown but ended up being transferred to Barrett’s house due to space issues. I didn’t think many people would come, but it turns out I have more friends than I thought. Or people wanted free food and booze. My bet’s on the latter. Additionally, ribs were the featured entrée, and Brittany didn’t trust me to not get drunk and finger paint her newly painted apartment walls with barbeque sauce. I may scoff at this, but truth be told, I’m a klutz normally; add Jagermeister to the mix and I have to be watched like a toddler who is just learning to walk for the first time. On a personal note to you, Brit, my spilled drink count was only 3, so you can suck on that. And the only finger painting I did was on your pants, and that was just out of spite. But still, I love you. Thank you for my party; I will be an empty shell without you this year, you skanky beast.
The party was almost 100% entirely awesome. It seems fitting right now that I’m listening to Good Times Bad Times by Zeppelin, because that’s exactly what the party turned out to be. Except I would say 95% Good and only 5% Bad. The good being that almost all of my amazing friends were in one place at one time, Jager ,rum, and good food were in full supply, and I was the center of attention. (I don’t like it all the time, but once in a while it’s quite lovely). The bad being that I wept like a fucking infant with a wet diaper for the last 45 minutes of the party. This is the second baby analogy I’ve used since I started this blog…I’m betting Freud would have something to say about this. Back to the crying thing, I am definitely an emotional individual; I still cry at E.T. no matter how creepy that damn alien is. But I promise you that I am not normally that drunk crying girl who is dragging the whole party down with her hysterical sobbing about absolute nothingness. I am usually the one trying to stick my tongue in friends’ ears and telling people I love them for the 48th time that night. Yep, I’m that girl. But alas, when the evening was beginning to wind down and I realized I wouldn’t be seeing many of these people for the next year, the waterworks commenced. And kept coming. And then came some more. And a little bit more. We’re not talking a few glistening tears bravely wavering on my cheeks. Nope, we’re talking hysterical, can’t catch my breath, shoulders heaving, people staring awkwardly, sobbing. A quick note on saying goodbyes: I can’t stand them. I would prefer to have passed out and just woken up with everyone gone, because goodbyes seem so final and it’s too fucking hard. I cannot stress this enough, I HATE GOODBYES. So the goodbyes combined with a multitude of shots (it’s like the tolerance I built in college was a complete waste of time) left me gushing like Niagara Falls. Even after all but one or two guests had gone, I wept for a good 20 minutes into my friend Jacqui’s bosom about topics ranging from my leftover Aussie Shampoo to Ashton Kutcher’s fictional fatherhood on “That 70’s Show.” I’ll tell you what, if I’m going to do something, I’m going all the way. Why half-ass a crying fit when you can really go for gold?
Despite my awkward display of emotion, I am truly grateful to my friends for throwing, hosting, and/or attending my fiesta. I will miss the crap out of all of you, and just remember that if I call you sobbing from China, just recall that I gave you food and booze so you are obligated to listen.
The party was almost 100% entirely awesome. It seems fitting right now that I’m listening to Good Times Bad Times by Zeppelin, because that’s exactly what the party turned out to be. Except I would say 95% Good and only 5% Bad. The good being that almost all of my amazing friends were in one place at one time, Jager ,rum, and good food were in full supply, and I was the center of attention. (I don’t like it all the time, but once in a while it’s quite lovely). The bad being that I wept like a fucking infant with a wet diaper for the last 45 minutes of the party. This is the second baby analogy I’ve used since I started this blog…I’m betting Freud would have something to say about this. Back to the crying thing, I am definitely an emotional individual; I still cry at E.T. no matter how creepy that damn alien is. But I promise you that I am not normally that drunk crying girl who is dragging the whole party down with her hysterical sobbing about absolute nothingness. I am usually the one trying to stick my tongue in friends’ ears and telling people I love them for the 48th time that night. Yep, I’m that girl. But alas, when the evening was beginning to wind down and I realized I wouldn’t be seeing many of these people for the next year, the waterworks commenced. And kept coming. And then came some more. And a little bit more. We’re not talking a few glistening tears bravely wavering on my cheeks. Nope, we’re talking hysterical, can’t catch my breath, shoulders heaving, people staring awkwardly, sobbing. A quick note on saying goodbyes: I can’t stand them. I would prefer to have passed out and just woken up with everyone gone, because goodbyes seem so final and it’s too fucking hard. I cannot stress this enough, I HATE GOODBYES. So the goodbyes combined with a multitude of shots (it’s like the tolerance I built in college was a complete waste of time) left me gushing like Niagara Falls. Even after all but one or two guests had gone, I wept for a good 20 minutes into my friend Jacqui’s bosom about topics ranging from my leftover Aussie Shampoo to Ashton Kutcher’s fictional fatherhood on “That 70’s Show.” I’ll tell you what, if I’m going to do something, I’m going all the way. Why half-ass a crying fit when you can really go for gold?
Despite my awkward display of emotion, I am truly grateful to my friends for throwing, hosting, and/or attending my fiesta. I will miss the crap out of all of you, and just remember that if I call you sobbing from China, just recall that I gave you food and booze so you are obligated to listen.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Aunt Sharon, this one's for you!
I received a phone call about an hour ago from my cousin Tara. You may remember her from my previous blog: the biter and life saver. She called to tell me two things. First she tells me my documents successfully arrived today, and that I look like a little Dutch boy in my passport photo. I owe my high self esteem to her. Second, my aunt Sharon, her mom, is also going to San Francisco for the visa extravaganza and I completely forgot to give her a shout out. Naturally I feel like a real asshole, because my aunt Sharon is awesome. Not only is she one of the nicest and most intelligent people you could ever hope to meet, but she’s also fascinating. A drama teacher who left Napa this last year to teach in Lebanon, Sharon is full of funny anecdotes, inspiring stories, and words of much needed encouragement. She talked me through my anxieties about leaving for the other side of the world without knowing a soul and not speaking the language. She’s had the time of her life, and damn it, so will I. Aunt Sharon, you are an inspiration and I owe some of my newfound excitement and confidence to you. So, Sharon Rogers, drama teacher and lasagna maker extraordinaire, this one’s for you! Uncle T, don’t feel left out. If I ever write a blog about baseball or the world’s greatest Republicans, you’ll be the first one I call.
It was the heat of the moment
Nothing gets me inspired like Asia’s “Heat of the Moment,” which I am currently listening to, but what to do on a Wednesday night/Thursday morning at 12:30 am? Write a blog, that’s what. HA! I just now pieced together that I am listening to Asia while preparing to leave for Asia. While you are probably not laughing at this, I just chuckled to myself for a good fifteen seconds. No one gets me. So here begins blog number four. Since the toiletry shopping trip, I have been in the process of acquiring, or rather attempting to acquire my Chinese visa. My father has patiently agreed to be my permanent residence so that my mail can be sent to his house, and he called last week saying my alien employment license arrived! I’ve been waiting for this day since I was a little girl. I used to practice the face I would make in the mirror upon its arrival. So now that Chinese government has ascertained I am not infected with AIDS or mental disease, both of which will deny your entry into China, I am cleared to apply for a visa. One slight hitch in the grand plan: the closest consulate is in San Francisco, AND the visa has to be applied for in person. FUCK. On a side note, I was warned that dropping the F bomb could be a potential problem if future employers read this. To that I am flattered that my cautioner thinks anyone beyond my immediate circle would be interested in reading my blog, and secondly, prospective employers, if you are reading, I promise I very rarely drop the F word in the classroom, and only when students are really pissing me off.
Forgive my tangents, they will happen frequently. To recap, the consulate is in San Francisco, I am in Portland with precious little time and precious little money. A plane ticket is not in the realm of financial possibilities, and who really wants to make that drive? Not I, and particularly not in my crappy 99 Saturn. Truth be told, I am actually in love with my crappy little car despite the regular jolting sensations and the permanent mystery stains on the upholstery. I warned you about the tangents. Moving along, visa applications by mail are not allowed; however, strangely enough, you are able to have another person apply at the consulate on your behalf. Luckily for me, I have family living in Napa, just an hour outside of San Francisco. In a desperate panic, I called my cousin Tara and begged for her help in the matter, and being the awesome cousin she is, she graciously agreed to help me out of the visa/consulate crisis. She kind of owes me since she used to bite me when we were kids. Epic nasty, riiiiight? All childhood grudges aside, she is saving my ass, and I am eternally grateful. So now I have sent every document known to man in an overnight delivery to Napa, California so that my visa can go through, and quickly. I am even paying an extra 30 bucks for one day rush, and this is after the ass raping fees that pile up to obtain a visa. My bank account is being pillaged. So now the waiting game begins; if all goes well, I will be on my way to China in a week and a half with a valid visa. If not, this blog may turn into my imaginative delusions about what life would have been like in China. Wish me luck.
Forgive my tangents, they will happen frequently. To recap, the consulate is in San Francisco, I am in Portland with precious little time and precious little money. A plane ticket is not in the realm of financial possibilities, and who really wants to make that drive? Not I, and particularly not in my crappy 99 Saturn. Truth be told, I am actually in love with my crappy little car despite the regular jolting sensations and the permanent mystery stains on the upholstery. I warned you about the tangents. Moving along, visa applications by mail are not allowed; however, strangely enough, you are able to have another person apply at the consulate on your behalf. Luckily for me, I have family living in Napa, just an hour outside of San Francisco. In a desperate panic, I called my cousin Tara and begged for her help in the matter, and being the awesome cousin she is, she graciously agreed to help me out of the visa/consulate crisis. She kind of owes me since she used to bite me when we were kids. Epic nasty, riiiiight? All childhood grudges aside, she is saving my ass, and I am eternally grateful. So now I have sent every document known to man in an overnight delivery to Napa, California so that my visa can go through, and quickly. I am even paying an extra 30 bucks for one day rush, and this is after the ass raping fees that pile up to obtain a visa. My bank account is being pillaged. So now the waiting game begins; if all goes well, I will be on my way to China in a week and a half with a valid visa. If not, this blog may turn into my imaginative delusions about what life would have been like in China. Wish me luck.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Charmin, Charmin everywhere...
When it comes to mothers, my mom could top any mom hands down. Not only has the woman put up with me for the past 25 and a half years (over 26 if you count Cletus the fetus months), but she takes me shopping in order to prepare for my journey to the Orient. Who knew a year’s worth of toiletries added up so quickly? You may be asking yourself, why would one need an entire year of toiletries...Chinese people must bathe as well. I’m going out on a limb here to say that probably one third of what I bought today was probably made in China, but that does not mean that the Chinese sell it in their stores. I’m freakishly fastidious about my personal hygiene products, and after some half assed research, I discovered that the Chinese are not big on tampons, razors for women, or heavy duty deodorant. Apparently it’s just white people that sweat profusely. So now, thanks to mom, I have a year’s supply of tampons, my favorite cheap Aussie shampoo, a shit load of floss, and my own personal supply of toilet paper. Yep, it’s true, toilet paper is not provided in public restrooms, and on top of that, I’m really particular about what comes in contact with my bum, because I believe it deserves the best. Apparently I also need to start developing my squatting muscles, because the Chinese are partial to holes instead of sit down toilets. So now, armed with months’ worth of face wash and Imodium to counteract the shits, I can cross the toiletry/medicine cabinet section off my list of things to buy. Don’t worry dad, there’s still plenty on my list…you can help with the underwear and I pod. I think that came off far creepier than I meant.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Horses and hemp
Three weeks to go until my departure for China, and my Chinese is less than say…functional. I can count to 8, say my colors, and correctly differentiate between men and women. But let’s say I want to ask someone their name, or get directions, or anything that might be remotely useful, I’m fucked three ways. This is not for lack of trying, scout’s honor I’ve been working at it, but when the Chinese established their culture thousands of years ago and created a language, they evidently did not consider my convenience. Not to knock ancient civilizations, but would it have killed them to create an alphabet? I am aware that this makes me sound both lazy and disrespectful, but really? How any outsider is expected to memorize the thousands of characters that make up the Chinese language is beyond me. And don’t get me started on the four tones. Ah yes, the four tones. Depending on inflection, words take on entirely different meanings. Up, down, up then down, down then up, Christ. It just sounds like the recipe for a mediocre blow job. The word “ma” can mean either: mother, horse, hemp, or to scold. I applaud anyone who can master this with ease, because it is 100% beyond me. Still, I practice daily and I am determined to not look like a jack ass American that expects everyone to cater to my English speaking ways. Even if we can only count to 8 together, I will befriend the Chinese people with my linguistic prowess.
Monday, August 3, 2009
I just popped my blog cherry
I’m not a blogger by any stretch of the imagination. Well, despite all current evidence to the contrary. To be honest, blogging has never much appealed to me, mostly because there are absolutely no requirements to be a quote unquote blogger. Anyone’s propaganda can be posted on the internet for the general public to read. A little stomach churning if you think about it for too long. In a way, bloggers are comparable to home school parents. Any parent from butt fuck Egypt with a college degree or an 8th grade education can decide public education is no longer worthy of their children. So while I still think that both bloggers and home school parents should have to pass a minimum sanity and intelligence prerequisite course, I am going to take advantage of the free pass and put my thoughts out for all to read. Well let’s be honest here, most likely my mom and a handful of faithful friends.
So why the sudden abandon of my blogging prejudice? Because for the first time in a while, I might have something worth writing about. In three weeks, I’m leaving the comforts of Portland, Oregon and teaching high school English in order to move across the world and teach English to Chinese undergrads. The next year of my life will be spent in the Hubei province in a town I can’t pronounce; Shijiazjhuang, a quaint town of only 10,000,000 people. The decision to relocate wasn’t an easy one, and I wish I could say the kick in my ass came from something profound and meaningful, but the truth is, it was the combination of a trip to the movies and a rerun of a sitcom that gave me the final push. Pretty sad, right?
I guess I can trace it back to the semester I spent abroad the spring I turned twenty. In college I studied in Siena for a few months and learned Italian from a fantastic professor who made the language accessible and could make the phrase “taking a shit” sound sexy. It was there I fell in love with learning languages and the entire worlds that opened up as a result. I came back to college my junior year, promptly changed my major to English and ESL and didn’t look back. I declared to myself and anyone that would listen that the second I graduated I would travel the world making English accessible to others all the while soaking up everyone else’s culture. It would be perfect.
And then I met Barrett. The guy I didn’t want to meet because I just knew that if I ever met him I’d never want to leave. And I didn’t want to. Fuck me, this sounds like a Nicholas Sparks novel, but it’s true. I found myself moving to Portland to be closer to him and finding a job teaching high school. For a while, I thought this was giving up on my aspirations, but it took me a while to figure out that all I’d done was post pone them. These dreams got put on hiatus and I went in a direction I hadn’t anticipated, but ended up loving. Then, on an unbelievably dull Thursday, my girlfriend invited me to see the movie Revolutionary Road. I walked out of that movie shaken up with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, that wouldn’t go away. So I won’t spoil the movie for you if you haven’t seen it, but the basic premise is that unfulfilled dreams will dissolve your self-worth and then you’ll want to die, and yada yada yada. On a side note, Kate Winslet is bloody fantastic in this movie; two thumbs up, highly recommended. Just when the nauseous pit began to subside, I watched an episode of How I met your Mother. This episode coincidentally dealt with the same theme of, surprise, dreams and ambitions that went by the wayside. Now I tend to be a smidge skeptic on the concept of fate, particularly when fate comes to me through the boob tube, but it felt too purposeful to be a random coincidence. I spent an entire weekend sulking and contemplating whether I had given up on what I always wanted. Christ I am going on and on, but if you really want to know why I will be eating with chopsticks for an entire year, bare with me. The long and the short of it was, I feared that if I didn’t make a move now, I would get too comfortable to ever make it. So I talked to friends and I searched on the internet, and eventually a job offer from China came. When I pictured myself teaching in other countries, I saw myself in South America, or Eastern Europe, but when the offer came from China, I thought to myself, “Why the fuck not?” So here I am.
So why the sudden abandon of my blogging prejudice? Because for the first time in a while, I might have something worth writing about. In three weeks, I’m leaving the comforts of Portland, Oregon and teaching high school English in order to move across the world and teach English to Chinese undergrads. The next year of my life will be spent in the Hubei province in a town I can’t pronounce; Shijiazjhuang, a quaint town of only 10,000,000 people. The decision to relocate wasn’t an easy one, and I wish I could say the kick in my ass came from something profound and meaningful, but the truth is, it was the combination of a trip to the movies and a rerun of a sitcom that gave me the final push. Pretty sad, right?
I guess I can trace it back to the semester I spent abroad the spring I turned twenty. In college I studied in Siena for a few months and learned Italian from a fantastic professor who made the language accessible and could make the phrase “taking a shit” sound sexy. It was there I fell in love with learning languages and the entire worlds that opened up as a result. I came back to college my junior year, promptly changed my major to English and ESL and didn’t look back. I declared to myself and anyone that would listen that the second I graduated I would travel the world making English accessible to others all the while soaking up everyone else’s culture. It would be perfect.
And then I met Barrett. The guy I didn’t want to meet because I just knew that if I ever met him I’d never want to leave. And I didn’t want to. Fuck me, this sounds like a Nicholas Sparks novel, but it’s true. I found myself moving to Portland to be closer to him and finding a job teaching high school. For a while, I thought this was giving up on my aspirations, but it took me a while to figure out that all I’d done was post pone them. These dreams got put on hiatus and I went in a direction I hadn’t anticipated, but ended up loving. Then, on an unbelievably dull Thursday, my girlfriend invited me to see the movie Revolutionary Road. I walked out of that movie shaken up with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, that wouldn’t go away. So I won’t spoil the movie for you if you haven’t seen it, but the basic premise is that unfulfilled dreams will dissolve your self-worth and then you’ll want to die, and yada yada yada. On a side note, Kate Winslet is bloody fantastic in this movie; two thumbs up, highly recommended. Just when the nauseous pit began to subside, I watched an episode of How I met your Mother. This episode coincidentally dealt with the same theme of, surprise, dreams and ambitions that went by the wayside. Now I tend to be a smidge skeptic on the concept of fate, particularly when fate comes to me through the boob tube, but it felt too purposeful to be a random coincidence. I spent an entire weekend sulking and contemplating whether I had given up on what I always wanted. Christ I am going on and on, but if you really want to know why I will be eating with chopsticks for an entire year, bare with me. The long and the short of it was, I feared that if I didn’t make a move now, I would get too comfortable to ever make it. So I talked to friends and I searched on the internet, and eventually a job offer from China came. When I pictured myself teaching in other countries, I saw myself in South America, or Eastern Europe, but when the offer came from China, I thought to myself, “Why the fuck not?” So here I am.
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