No, not me, but this blog.
After sticking with blogger for awhile, hoping that something would change and I'd be able to read and post comments without the help of a proxy again, I have finally given up and decided to move The Local Dialect over to wordpress. The recent tease, being allowed full blogspot access for a full day and then having said access yet again revoked, has been the last straw. Google needs to stop cooperating with the Great Firewall, that's all I gotta say.
So, without further ado -- The local dialect can now be found at http://thelocaldialect.wordpress.com , so please update your links and If I have forgotten to link you on the new site, slap me over the head and remind me. Hope to see you all soon on my new, improved, unblocked (knock wood, but watch it go down tomorrow!) blog.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Monday, October 1, 2007
Happy Birthday Dear China, Happy Birthday to You!
So it's "Golden Week" in China, the week of National Day. Actually, today is National Day itself, October 1st, the day that Chairman Mao proclaimed the People's Republic of China an independent and sovereign nation. Today China celebrates it's 58th birthday and Chinese around the country celebrate by taking off and heading out on vacation to places like Lijiang, Xishuangbanna, Hainan, or for the more adventurous, even Tibet.
However, not us, not this year. Since I'm due in about two weeks, we're grounded this National Day, and I have to admit a bit of jealousy knowing that half the country is off having fun, while I'm sitting at home all day, mostly in front of the computer, doing pretty much nothing.
Of course, National Day travel has it's drawbacks. When an entire country the size of China takes it's annual vacation all at the same time, you can probably imagine the sort of chaos that usually ensues. Successfully buying bus, train, or plane tickets becomes a feat akin to winning the lottery and often you stumble into your destination at some ungodly hour, say 3 or 4am, and find that there is not a single guesthouse, hostel, hotel or inn that has free beds. You wander around the streets aimlessly until daybreak and camp out somewhere waiting for the room that the staff "promises" will be ready at 9 but doesn't materialize until 10. The room, inevitably, contains two single beds with hard mattresses, a dirty bathroom with on again off again hot water, and some insects, and yet, because it's National Day holiday, this room will cost you roughly 10x what the normal going rate should be. However, by then, you're so tired that you don't care, and fall into bed and spend your first entire day of "vacation" sleeping off the 12 hour bus ride/5 hour search for accommodations in a mediocre yet overpriced hotel room.
Come to think of it, spending this week indoors is not really such a bad idea after all. And, simply because we're rebellious like that, my husband and I have already planned our next travels for the time of year when most Chinese generally DO stay put indoors -- Chinese New Year! So, until January, I'll have to tame my travel bug. Of course, in a few short weeks we'll have a newborn to contend with, and travelling will probably be the last thing on our minds. But, for now, looking out my window at the crisp Fall sunshine, I can't help but feel a pang of regret that we can't take off and join the hordes in enjoying it.
However, not us, not this year. Since I'm due in about two weeks, we're grounded this National Day, and I have to admit a bit of jealousy knowing that half the country is off having fun, while I'm sitting at home all day, mostly in front of the computer, doing pretty much nothing.
Of course, National Day travel has it's drawbacks. When an entire country the size of China takes it's annual vacation all at the same time, you can probably imagine the sort of chaos that usually ensues. Successfully buying bus, train, or plane tickets becomes a feat akin to winning the lottery and often you stumble into your destination at some ungodly hour, say 3 or 4am, and find that there is not a single guesthouse, hostel, hotel or inn that has free beds. You wander around the streets aimlessly until daybreak and camp out somewhere waiting for the room that the staff "promises" will be ready at 9 but doesn't materialize until 10. The room, inevitably, contains two single beds with hard mattresses, a dirty bathroom with on again off again hot water, and some insects, and yet, because it's National Day holiday, this room will cost you roughly 10x what the normal going rate should be. However, by then, you're so tired that you don't care, and fall into bed and spend your first entire day of "vacation" sleeping off the 12 hour bus ride/5 hour search for accommodations in a mediocre yet overpriced hotel room.
Come to think of it, spending this week indoors is not really such a bad idea after all. And, simply because we're rebellious like that, my husband and I have already planned our next travels for the time of year when most Chinese generally DO stay put indoors -- Chinese New Year! So, until January, I'll have to tame my travel bug. Of course, in a few short weeks we'll have a newborn to contend with, and travelling will probably be the last thing on our minds. But, for now, looking out my window at the crisp Fall sunshine, I can't help but feel a pang of regret that we can't take off and join the hordes in enjoying it.
Monday, September 17, 2007
My Father-in-law
My father-in-law was buried today.
My father in law was 86 years old, and had lived a full life. As a young man, he joined the army shortly after the defeat of the Japanese, and fought in the PLA against the Nationalist army. Later, in the 1950s, he fought in the Korean War, against America, and was shot in the leg, a war injury which bothered him his whole life. He lived the rest of his life after the war as a farmer, building his family's home with his own two hands, and raising a family in that home, a family consisting of his wife and three sons, the youngest of which is my husband.
My husband has lots of stories about his father. Unlike my husband's relationship with his mother, which was one of warmth and support, of exceptional closeness that perhaps only exists between mothers and sons, his relationship with his father was more distant. He described his father always as a loner, as a solitary, independent man. His father didn't talk much, but would often take off early in the morning to go walking the village and the surrounding countryside, and not return until late at night. One day last Spring my husband decided to show me what he considered to be a testament to his father's peculiar personality. We walked out into the fields, towards the river. The fields are divided into plots, and each season a particular crop will be grown in the plots. I remember in Spring and early Summer, the countryside surrounding my husband's village was awash with the smell of onions. Onions were being grown everywhere, their green stalks shooting up out of the ground, their bulbous bodies harvested and piled in stacks around the perimeters of each plot.
We plodded through the fields, and finally reached the edge of the riverside, where a small "beach" was formed by silt and river sediment. At this particular point in the river the water had collected into a small pool, a deep pocket of cool blue-green mountain water. It looked extremely inviting at that time of day, the sun still high in the sky and the heat of the early-May day still upon us. My husband said that this had been, when they were children, the swimming hole. When school was not in session the village children would come down and splash and play in the water. He also told me that his childhood friend, a man peculiarly nicknamed "nine-eight" (jiu-ba), had lost his older sister in this particular swimming hole, that the girl had drowned and been pulled out of the water, cold and blue.
Perhaps it was the drowning that motivated my father in law. My husband next directed my attention to an odd stone structure that snaked down to the water and out into the crops. It was clearly a crude irrigation system of some sort. My husband told me that this half-finished large stone "channel" had been the result of months of work on the part of his father, who had spent large amounts of money and labor on this peculiar project. At the time, his father had been ridiculed and not a few people commented on his conspicuous absense from the normal field labor, digging, planting, pulling. What was he doing down by the river that summer? Why was he so singularly obsessed with building this irrigation system that was doomed to fail (for the fields sat on a slope. The water would have to somehow flow upward in order to actually reach the plants above)? My husband had a simple explanation. He wanted to be near his children. Of course, he couldn't outright say so, as his fears would have been laughed away. In rural China leaving children alone to amuse themselves while the parents work is perfectly normal, and to suggest otherwise would be ridiculous. So my father in law invented an excuse to watch his children swim. In his own, quiet way, he showed his love. The irrigation system still stands as a testament to my father in law's peculiar nature.
In his last few days, my father in law clearly did not want to live any longer. Ever the independent, he first pulled out his oxygen tubes, and then pulled out the IV that was providing his only nutrients. Although my husband implored him to wait, just another month, in order to see our son, his grandson, my father in law was determined, and had decided it was his time to go. My poor husband, the youngest child, the last to marry, the last to have children, would be denied a grandfather for his son, but he could not deny that his father was, in the end, suffering and that he'd lived a good life. My husband brought me back to Kunming the day before my father in law passed. Chinese superstition dictates that a pregnant woman should not see a body, because doing so would mean bad luck for the unborn baby. Although my husband and I are not superstitious people, we respected the wishes of his relatives, and so he brought me home. My husband returned to his father's bedside the next day, and had been back in the village for only an hour when his father passed on. I later told my husband that I was certain that his father was waiting to see him one last time before he could go peacefully. Although my father in law died before our child's birth, I think it is no coincidence that he chose to go when he did, knowing that his youngest son, the baby of the family, was married, had a soon to be born son, and was clearly grown up and ready to handle whatever obstacles life may throw in his way.
There is so much more I could say about my father in law, about his family, about his spirit. Instead, I simply want to thank him for always making me feel like a part of the family, for, despite having fought a war against and having been wounded by Americans, he never held that against me personally. I want to thank him for having raised such a kind, considerate, gentle human being, and entrusted that human being to me. If a man's children are in any way a measure of himself and his own accomplishments, then my father in law must have left this earth content.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Surreal
I was given some shocking news earlier this week about an old friend, a real Kunming old timer, a man who was affectionately referred to among our expat community as "Bike Mike." Unfortunately, Bike Mike, along with his longtime girlfriend Lily May, passed away in a river rafting accident on the Nanpan River, coincidentally, not far from my husband's hometown.
You might have noticed some of the links on my blog, among which there's a website called People's Hemp. Bike Mike was the mastermind behind People's Hemp, and quite the figure in the Hemp industry. I had the pleasure of working with Mike on his clothing line a little over a year ago. I acted as his translator, advisor, and general "helper" with the more Chinese aspects of doing business, well, in China. I accompanied him on what he referred to as "guanxi dinners" and helped him with the sizing for his line of hemp clothing. Bike Mike was quite a character, having made Kunming his home for well over ten years. He could often be seen around town on his trademark bicycle, which had been stolen not once, but twice. Both times Bike Mike had spotted his distinctive bicycle being ridden around town and had recovered it himself. Bike Mike had a full head of long red hair and a long red beard. He was known for being a bit paranoid, but altogether a decent sort of person. He loved the Camel Bar and could often be found there till the wee hours of the morning. His girlfriend Lily May was an older divorcee with a grown daughter. Although, as a foreigner in Kunming, Bike Mike certainly could have found a younger, more attractive woman, he and Lily May had been together for years and seemed to have come to a sort of understanding about each other. I always felt like his relationship with Lily May, gave him, if nothing else, a bit of dignity in a place that sometimes lacks just that.
Bike Mike was an adventurer. He was often off on bike trips all over Yunnan, and was always up to explore new parts of the province. That he should have died on a big adventure seems fitting. The Lancang river during rainy season is certainly dangerous, no one can deny that. There are quite a few who have questioned what exactly the group was thinking, going out there rafting this time of year, and I guess that question will, at this point, probably never be answered. In any case, that's not important. What's important is that future generations of Kunming foreigners will never know Bike Mike, and for those of us who did know him, Kunming won't be the same from now on.
Rest in peace Bike Mike and Lily May.
You might have noticed some of the links on my blog, among which there's a website called People's Hemp. Bike Mike was the mastermind behind People's Hemp, and quite the figure in the Hemp industry. I had the pleasure of working with Mike on his clothing line a little over a year ago. I acted as his translator, advisor, and general "helper" with the more Chinese aspects of doing business, well, in China. I accompanied him on what he referred to as "guanxi dinners" and helped him with the sizing for his line of hemp clothing. Bike Mike was quite a character, having made Kunming his home for well over ten years. He could often be seen around town on his trademark bicycle, which had been stolen not once, but twice. Both times Bike Mike had spotted his distinctive bicycle being ridden around town and had recovered it himself. Bike Mike had a full head of long red hair and a long red beard. He was known for being a bit paranoid, but altogether a decent sort of person. He loved the Camel Bar and could often be found there till the wee hours of the morning. His girlfriend Lily May was an older divorcee with a grown daughter. Although, as a foreigner in Kunming, Bike Mike certainly could have found a younger, more attractive woman, he and Lily May had been together for years and seemed to have come to a sort of understanding about each other. I always felt like his relationship with Lily May, gave him, if nothing else, a bit of dignity in a place that sometimes lacks just that.
Bike Mike was an adventurer. He was often off on bike trips all over Yunnan, and was always up to explore new parts of the province. That he should have died on a big adventure seems fitting. The Lancang river during rainy season is certainly dangerous, no one can deny that. There are quite a few who have questioned what exactly the group was thinking, going out there rafting this time of year, and I guess that question will, at this point, probably never be answered. In any case, that's not important. What's important is that future generations of Kunming foreigners will never know Bike Mike, and for those of us who did know him, Kunming won't be the same from now on.
Rest in peace Bike Mike and Lily May.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Summer ends, and not a moment too soon!
I know my blog has been woefully neglected as of late, but that should change soon as I'm now offically on maternity leave. The preceeding six weeks were, to be honest, quite hellish. The school was in full summer-session swing, and that meant my workload increased tremendously just as my energy levels were starting to decline. However, it's over now and I won't be teaching again until sometime next year. As much as I love my students, I have to say it will be good to have an extended break, something I haven't had in awhile.
I have another reason for choosing to blog today. I wanted my readers to know the Multicultural Living magazine has published an article about my school. Multicultural Living is a beautifully formatted online magazine with articles dealing with issues such as bilingual/multilingual education and lifestyles, living abroad, and cultural differences. There are book and product reviews, recipes, interviews, Q&A columns and features. My article, which is titled "Bringing Bilingual Education to China's Youth: Helping children learn to love a new language" is in the September/October issue, the education issue. A subscription to the magazine costs 12 dollars a year and you can read more about it at www.bilingualfamily.org . It is fully worth it, I promise you.
As for me, I'll update again soon, but in the meantime, do check out the website and consider subscribing to Multicultural Living.
I have another reason for choosing to blog today. I wanted my readers to know the Multicultural Living magazine has published an article about my school. Multicultural Living is a beautifully formatted online magazine with articles dealing with issues such as bilingual/multilingual education and lifestyles, living abroad, and cultural differences. There are book and product reviews, recipes, interviews, Q&A columns and features. My article, which is titled "Bringing Bilingual Education to China's Youth: Helping children learn to love a new language" is in the September/October issue, the education issue. A subscription to the magazine costs 12 dollars a year and you can read more about it at www.bilingualfamily.org . It is fully worth it, I promise you.
As for me, I'll update again soon, but in the meantime, do check out the website and consider subscribing to Multicultural Living.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Mianzi Not Included
I just wanted to take a moment to say how much I really enjoy buying used things. I got a new digital camera last week, a Sony 5.0 megapixel number, quite new looking, in perfect working condition, for only 500RMB (a mere 60 or so dollars). New, this camera would cost me a large chunk of my monthly salary, but used, it's affordable. It was, I must say, a real bargain.
This seems to be a trait that is uniquely American (perhaps Western?) -- we enjoy getting a bargain. Chinese people, on the other hand, do not like to buy used things. They say used clothes are dirty, and that you can get AIDS from them. Used appliances are acceptable, but it would be better to buy something brand new, which would give you a bit more "face" than the old stuff.
I once went to Dali with a couple of friends, and we were randomly browsing around a jade shop, with really no intention whatsoever of buying anything. The jade pieces have pricetags on them, and they're never cheap. A quick browse through the shop would reveal everything from 500RMB-5000RMB. My friend was looking at a jade Guanyin, the goddess of mercy. She was only about an inch long, and the pricetag read 3000RMB (roughly 380USD). The shop owner noticed my friend looking, and took her out of the case to show her off. While it was a pretty piece, we weren't going to spend 3000RMB on a piece of jade. The owner encouraged my friend to make an offer, but he declined, saying it was out of his price range. The owner persisted, and finally my friend laughingly, as we were headed out the door, said "75RMB!" To our surprise, the owner immediately called us back in and the 3000RMB guanyin now had a new home. We asked the owner what the deal was with the pricetags, why the huge markup? She said, in all seriousness, that lots of rich tourists -- not from foreign countries, but from China itself, from places like Beijing and Shanghai -- would pay the sticker price without even trying to negotiate. Why? Well, when you go back to Beijing with a guanyin around your neck and your buddies ask you where you got it, you can say "this is pure Burmese jade, I got it in Yunnan. Cost me 3000RMB, but it was worth every penny!" and your friends would ooh and ahh, not so much over the jade, but over the extravagance of the purchase, and you'd immediately have won "face" with them.
That's why Chinese people don't buy used things. Poor people buy used things. People who can't afford new things buy used things. People wouldn't think of buying clothes, even designer labels like Chanel or Prada, off of E-bay. I remember the day I brought home both a fully automatic washing machine and a refrigerator for 200RMB each. A friend of mine had payed three times that amount for a lesser, only partially automatic, washing machine. My washing machine still works, like a charm, over a year later, although my refrigerator has succumbed to the heat. But the beauty of used things is that they're easily replaceable. I don't feel the same guilt, the same sense of buyer's remorse over my dead 200RMB refrigerator, because, seriously, 200RMB is about 25 dollars and I'll just get a new one, big deal. If I'd spent 8000RMB on a brand new refrigerator that broke on me, you can bet I'd be crying over it as we speak. So I might lose "face" with my used purchases, but I gain value.
I have to say, I started writing this post about a week ago, but didn't finish it and forgot about it until today. Why? Well, another trip to the used stuff market and we're the proud owners of two new comfy computer chairs. We had just bargained chair number one, a nearly-new plush red number, down to 30RMB and were about to load it onto the cart to take home when we spotted it's brother, a blue version of the same chair, but slightly more beat up. My husband offered up 20RMB for the raggedy chair, which was quickly agreed to, and so we took home a pair of chairs instead of just one. I'm sitting in my new-used 30RMB chair now, and I gotta say it's comfy as hell. Thanks used stuff market! Later on in the day, we went to Wal-Mart and purchased an iron, and at the register, in glass cases, were electric razors that cost 1500RMB. Why on earth, I asked Wang Yao, would anyone in their right mind pay 1500RMB for an electric razor? "Honey," he said, "they're the same people who would pay 3000RMB for a 70RMB jade necklace. It's all about the face."
This seems to be a trait that is uniquely American (perhaps Western?) -- we enjoy getting a bargain. Chinese people, on the other hand, do not like to buy used things. They say used clothes are dirty, and that you can get AIDS from them. Used appliances are acceptable, but it would be better to buy something brand new, which would give you a bit more "face" than the old stuff.
I once went to Dali with a couple of friends, and we were randomly browsing around a jade shop, with really no intention whatsoever of buying anything. The jade pieces have pricetags on them, and they're never cheap. A quick browse through the shop would reveal everything from 500RMB-5000RMB. My friend was looking at a jade Guanyin, the goddess of mercy. She was only about an inch long, and the pricetag read 3000RMB (roughly 380USD). The shop owner noticed my friend looking, and took her out of the case to show her off. While it was a pretty piece, we weren't going to spend 3000RMB on a piece of jade. The owner encouraged my friend to make an offer, but he declined, saying it was out of his price range. The owner persisted, and finally my friend laughingly, as we were headed out the door, said "75RMB!" To our surprise, the owner immediately called us back in and the 3000RMB guanyin now had a new home. We asked the owner what the deal was with the pricetags, why the huge markup? She said, in all seriousness, that lots of rich tourists -- not from foreign countries, but from China itself, from places like Beijing and Shanghai -- would pay the sticker price without even trying to negotiate. Why? Well, when you go back to Beijing with a guanyin around your neck and your buddies ask you where you got it, you can say "this is pure Burmese jade, I got it in Yunnan. Cost me 3000RMB, but it was worth every penny!" and your friends would ooh and ahh, not so much over the jade, but over the extravagance of the purchase, and you'd immediately have won "face" with them.
That's why Chinese people don't buy used things. Poor people buy used things. People who can't afford new things buy used things. People wouldn't think of buying clothes, even designer labels like Chanel or Prada, off of E-bay. I remember the day I brought home both a fully automatic washing machine and a refrigerator for 200RMB each. A friend of mine had payed three times that amount for a lesser, only partially automatic, washing machine. My washing machine still works, like a charm, over a year later, although my refrigerator has succumbed to the heat. But the beauty of used things is that they're easily replaceable. I don't feel the same guilt, the same sense of buyer's remorse over my dead 200RMB refrigerator, because, seriously, 200RMB is about 25 dollars and I'll just get a new one, big deal. If I'd spent 8000RMB on a brand new refrigerator that broke on me, you can bet I'd be crying over it as we speak. So I might lose "face" with my used purchases, but I gain value.
I have to say, I started writing this post about a week ago, but didn't finish it and forgot about it until today. Why? Well, another trip to the used stuff market and we're the proud owners of two new comfy computer chairs. We had just bargained chair number one, a nearly-new plush red number, down to 30RMB and were about to load it onto the cart to take home when we spotted it's brother, a blue version of the same chair, but slightly more beat up. My husband offered up 20RMB for the raggedy chair, which was quickly agreed to, and so we took home a pair of chairs instead of just one. I'm sitting in my new-used 30RMB chair now, and I gotta say it's comfy as hell. Thanks used stuff market! Later on in the day, we went to Wal-Mart and purchased an iron, and at the register, in glass cases, were electric razors that cost 1500RMB. Why on earth, I asked Wang Yao, would anyone in their right mind pay 1500RMB for an electric razor? "Honey," he said, "they're the same people who would pay 3000RMB for a 70RMB jade necklace. It's all about the face."
Thursday, May 31, 2007
We're having a ...
I haven't been able to get onto this page for the past few days ... in fact, I still can't view my own page (so to those of you who left comments, I'm not ignoring you, I just can't see my page!), but even if I can't see anything that I write, I can still write it!
I wanted to announce to those of you who hadn't heard the news that we found out on Monday that we're having a little boy in October. My husband is one of three sons, and he's been saying all along that boys run in his family, so he wasn't surprised at all, but I was! Somehow I didn't really believe him, and thought there was a good chance it might be a girl.
I had been wondering for months now whether or not we'd be able to find out the gender, and had pretty much resigned myself to it being a surprise. In China, because of problems with people wanting to select for gender, you're normally not allowed to find out at your ultrasound whether the baby is a boy or a girl. I had a very nice doctor who agreed to tell me in English so that the patients nearby wouldn't understand what he was saying. He seemed very pleased to have the opportunity to not only give me the happy news, but also use his English with a patient. I'm sure he, as well as I, had a story to tell at dinner that night.
Now we have to start the arduous process of picking out Chinese and English names for the little guy. I get to choose the English, he gets to choose the Chinese. If you have any good suggestions, feel free to toss them my way!
I wanted to announce to those of you who hadn't heard the news that we found out on Monday that we're having a little boy in October. My husband is one of three sons, and he's been saying all along that boys run in his family, so he wasn't surprised at all, but I was! Somehow I didn't really believe him, and thought there was a good chance it might be a girl.
I had been wondering for months now whether or not we'd be able to find out the gender, and had pretty much resigned myself to it being a surprise. In China, because of problems with people wanting to select for gender, you're normally not allowed to find out at your ultrasound whether the baby is a boy or a girl. I had a very nice doctor who agreed to tell me in English so that the patients nearby wouldn't understand what he was saying. He seemed very pleased to have the opportunity to not only give me the happy news, but also use his English with a patient. I'm sure he, as well as I, had a story to tell at dinner that night.
Now we have to start the arduous process of picking out Chinese and English names for the little guy. I get to choose the English, he gets to choose the Chinese. If you have any good suggestions, feel free to toss them my way!
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Y is for Yak
This is what we're learning today in kindergarten class. The kids will finally be finishing the alphabet, and great rejoicing will be heard throughout the school.My 4-6 year olds are really bright, and they learn quickly. Luckily, they also have a stellar group of parents who are supportive without being pushy. They wait patiently while their kids stay after class to make sure they're satisfied, personally satisfied, I should say (I could give two hoots as to whether they color within the lines or not), with their work. They dutifully tally up their stars for the day, and encourage the kids to accumulate even more next time. They are, all in all, good parents, the kind of parents every teacher loves.
So, good job parents. You've managed to break the Chinese parent mold, you're not pushy and you're not demanding. Your kids enjoy learning and have accomplished a lot. I know you'll probably never see this, but I'm giving you a "shout out" just the same. To all parents out there with kids and school, try to remember first and foremost that your kids are there to learn and to take joy and pride in learning. Encourage that joy, that curiosity inherent in all children, and never, ever, let learning become just another chore. Your children (and their teachers) will someday thank you!
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Would you like some cheez whiz with your rice?
My dad, apparently, has decided that I'm not an American anymore.
I was talking to him online last night, and he made several comments that sort of amused and surprised me at the same time. We were talking about him and mom wanting to learn Chinese. Now, I think this is great. Learning a foreign language is very rewarding, and if they want to take up Chinese as a hobby, more power to them. However, my dad's reasoning is that he'll need Chinese in order to communicate with his grandchildren.
This sort of shocked me. Of course we'll be teaching our children English. Won't we? My husband doesn't speak English besides a few words here and there, and we use Chinese together, but English is my native language. I don't want to spend my entire life communicating to my children in a second language. We also don't plan on spending our lives in China.
This comes as a surprise to some people. After all, I've been here for four years, which might as well be a lifetime, right? It seems that some people take my extended stay in China as a conscious rejection of America, which it isn't really. During the same conversation yesterday, my dad said to me "we love your country." When I told this to Wang Yao, he just about died laughing. How could China be MY country? In China, I'm reminded of my foreign-ness every day. There is not a single person in this country who would ever call me Chinese, ever include me in their mental "one of us," and yet my own family and friends often seem eager to strip me of my citizenship, and proclaim that I've "gone native." I should clarify that they never say this in a bad way -- the attitude is almost always amused, and a bit proud, as if, by association, they too can claim a bit of international blood, a little bit of China for themselves.
Of course, this puts me in an awkward position. My countrymen back home are quick to announce that I'm Chinese now, but the Chinese people themselves aren't so eager to accept me. To them, being Chinese is not about how long you've lived here. It isn't about how much you love Chinese culture, how well you speak the language. It's about blood, and that's something I'll never ever have. While Wang Yao can go to America and literally become American, I can never become Chinese. My children can be Chinese, but I can't. In Chinese eyes, I'll always be an outsider, a foreigner, and, by the same token, Wang Yao, even if we go to America, buy a Suburban and raise our children on Taco Bell and Mountain Dew, and never set foot in China again, will always be Chinese. Even our kids will always be able to lay claim to China, but not me.
Of course, I tend to agree with them. I'm not Chinese and I never will be. As much as the folks back home might delight in announcing that I'm living a totally Chinese lifestyle, I'm not. I'll sit on a curb, or in the grass, without being worried about dirt. I don't like my bread sweet. I don't see anything wrong with wearing flip flops outside the house. I like coffee, not just because drinking it makes me look cool. I hate Mandarin pop music. My cell phone doesn't have stickers all over it. I don't feel the need to have rice at every meal. I want my kids to go to school and enjoy it and enjoy learning and not grow up to be robots. I don't think it's really that tragic if a woman never gets married or has kids. I didn't consider my husband's income or ability to buy me a house and car when I married him. I didn't get rid of my cat or stop using the computer when I got pregnant. I don't have a drop of Chinese blood in me. I'm not Chinese.
If anything, living in China for so long has made me feel more American. While there are certain aspects of my native land that I'd love to disown, I can't deny the fact that she made me who I am. I'm the product of Montessori schools, summers at Folly beach, hippy relatives, building forts in the backyard, swimming pools, learners permits, keggers, Nintendo, free thinking, a multicultural environment, hating Bush, Tex-mex, Indy rock, and a liberal arts degree. These aren't things you can get in China, and even though my four years here have been delightful and informative and person building, they have nothing on the 23 years, the formulative years, that I spent in the USA.
So, in answer to my father, and to all the others out there who might have, at one point, wondered just what "label" fits on me, just keep in mind that there are some things that are easier said than done, and renouncing one's nationality is one of them. Furthermore, as frustrated as I get with America sometimes, I don't think that China is "better," and my choice to be here has nothing to do with picking sides, or becoming something that I'm not. I think anyone who has spent an extended time in another country, particularly us Westerners in Asian countries, realize that often our experiences here serve not to sever us from that home culture, but to tie us more strongly to it. We crave things we would never touch back home, like Cheez Whiz (a fellow American expat, a slim, pretty, California lady, picked up a can of the stuff in the market today and told me that THIS was how pathetic she'd gotten. Her boyfriend, for his part, had taken to eating tater tots every night before bed). We watch TV shows that we'd otherwise skip (like The OC). We get excited when the cafe has a 2 month old issue of People magazine because we can "catch up" on celebrity gossip that we wouldn't otherwise care about (Britney Spears had another flip-out). The folks back home might imagine that we're distainfully shedding our Western skins, but in reality, we're embracing our own cultures all the more because we're not within them, not able to take them for granted.
Many Chinese people ask me "which country is better, China or America?" My answer is always the same. It isn't a contest. There are things about both countries which I love, and things about both countries that I detest. While both sides seem eager to make me choose, I'm content with being in the middle. My kids will learn Chinese AND English. We'll eat macaroni and cheese tomorrow, and ginger pork the next day. We live in China now, but we might live in America in 5 years. My husband will always be Chinese, and I'll always be American, and our children will be a product of both of us. We didn't choose it this way, but I know that we most certainly wouldn't change it either.
I was talking to him online last night, and he made several comments that sort of amused and surprised me at the same time. We were talking about him and mom wanting to learn Chinese. Now, I think this is great. Learning a foreign language is very rewarding, and if they want to take up Chinese as a hobby, more power to them. However, my dad's reasoning is that he'll need Chinese in order to communicate with his grandchildren.
This sort of shocked me. Of course we'll be teaching our children English. Won't we? My husband doesn't speak English besides a few words here and there, and we use Chinese together, but English is my native language. I don't want to spend my entire life communicating to my children in a second language. We also don't plan on spending our lives in China.
This comes as a surprise to some people. After all, I've been here for four years, which might as well be a lifetime, right? It seems that some people take my extended stay in China as a conscious rejection of America, which it isn't really. During the same conversation yesterday, my dad said to me "we love your country." When I told this to Wang Yao, he just about died laughing. How could China be MY country? In China, I'm reminded of my foreign-ness every day. There is not a single person in this country who would ever call me Chinese, ever include me in their mental "one of us," and yet my own family and friends often seem eager to strip me of my citizenship, and proclaim that I've "gone native." I should clarify that they never say this in a bad way -- the attitude is almost always amused, and a bit proud, as if, by association, they too can claim a bit of international blood, a little bit of China for themselves.
Of course, this puts me in an awkward position. My countrymen back home are quick to announce that I'm Chinese now, but the Chinese people themselves aren't so eager to accept me. To them, being Chinese is not about how long you've lived here. It isn't about how much you love Chinese culture, how well you speak the language. It's about blood, and that's something I'll never ever have. While Wang Yao can go to America and literally become American, I can never become Chinese. My children can be Chinese, but I can't. In Chinese eyes, I'll always be an outsider, a foreigner, and, by the same token, Wang Yao, even if we go to America, buy a Suburban and raise our children on Taco Bell and Mountain Dew, and never set foot in China again, will always be Chinese. Even our kids will always be able to lay claim to China, but not me.
Of course, I tend to agree with them. I'm not Chinese and I never will be. As much as the folks back home might delight in announcing that I'm living a totally Chinese lifestyle, I'm not. I'll sit on a curb, or in the grass, without being worried about dirt. I don't like my bread sweet. I don't see anything wrong with wearing flip flops outside the house. I like coffee, not just because drinking it makes me look cool. I hate Mandarin pop music. My cell phone doesn't have stickers all over it. I don't feel the need to have rice at every meal. I want my kids to go to school and enjoy it and enjoy learning and not grow up to be robots. I don't think it's really that tragic if a woman never gets married or has kids. I didn't consider my husband's income or ability to buy me a house and car when I married him. I didn't get rid of my cat or stop using the computer when I got pregnant. I don't have a drop of Chinese blood in me. I'm not Chinese.
If anything, living in China for so long has made me feel more American. While there are certain aspects of my native land that I'd love to disown, I can't deny the fact that she made me who I am. I'm the product of Montessori schools, summers at Folly beach, hippy relatives, building forts in the backyard, swimming pools, learners permits, keggers, Nintendo, free thinking, a multicultural environment, hating Bush, Tex-mex, Indy rock, and a liberal arts degree. These aren't things you can get in China, and even though my four years here have been delightful and informative and person building, they have nothing on the 23 years, the formulative years, that I spent in the USA.
So, in answer to my father, and to all the others out there who might have, at one point, wondered just what "label" fits on me, just keep in mind that there are some things that are easier said than done, and renouncing one's nationality is one of them. Furthermore, as frustrated as I get with America sometimes, I don't think that China is "better," and my choice to be here has nothing to do with picking sides, or becoming something that I'm not. I think anyone who has spent an extended time in another country, particularly us Westerners in Asian countries, realize that often our experiences here serve not to sever us from that home culture, but to tie us more strongly to it. We crave things we would never touch back home, like Cheez Whiz (a fellow American expat, a slim, pretty, California lady, picked up a can of the stuff in the market today and told me that THIS was how pathetic she'd gotten. Her boyfriend, for his part, had taken to eating tater tots every night before bed). We watch TV shows that we'd otherwise skip (like The OC). We get excited when the cafe has a 2 month old issue of People magazine because we can "catch up" on celebrity gossip that we wouldn't otherwise care about (Britney Spears had another flip-out). The folks back home might imagine that we're distainfully shedding our Western skins, but in reality, we're embracing our own cultures all the more because we're not within them, not able to take them for granted.
Many Chinese people ask me "which country is better, China or America?" My answer is always the same. It isn't a contest. There are things about both countries which I love, and things about both countries that I detest. While both sides seem eager to make me choose, I'm content with being in the middle. My kids will learn Chinese AND English. We'll eat macaroni and cheese tomorrow, and ginger pork the next day. We live in China now, but we might live in America in 5 years. My husband will always be Chinese, and I'll always be American, and our children will be a product of both of us. We didn't choose it this way, but I know that we most certainly wouldn't change it either.
Friday, May 18, 2007
My little school is growing up
In a week, my first class will graduate from Level 1 to Level 2. This is our inaugural class, the class that started the school, the class that has stuck with us for a whole school year, and has served as our guinea pig class as well as our model class.
This is a big milestone for the kids. They've finished a whole book, they're on to Book 2. While they're still at the beginner stage, they've accomplished something a lot of kids never will. These kids, 7 girls and 1 boy, aged 8-11, have gone from speaking barely any English to being able to introduce themselves, able to make requests, able to say what they're doing and what they like doing, name the rooms in a house and what happens in each room, name clothes and what you wear in hot and cold weather, name the body parts, and a whole lot more. They have a vocabulary of probably 500 or so words, not too bad for eight months! A lot of them have taken a real interest in English, and in their own primary schools have gone from being so-so English students to the top of their class, examples for others.
I'm proud of this class. Their graduation is a milestone not just for the kids, but for our school as well. When this class started, they were our first and only students. We now have over 100 students, kindergarten, primary school, high school and adults. We now have not one, but 12 classes of varying levels. We have new students signing up every day. Our school is, slowly but surely, growing, and this first graduating class was there from the start.
I hope these kids stick with us until they all go off to college, but even if they don't, they'll always have a special place in my heart. I couldn't have made this school what it is without them, and for that, they deserve my thanks.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
So who's the genius that named this place "chun cheng"?
Kunming is grey. It's been grey for days now and this means that even in the middle of May, the weather is damp, cool, and dreary.
Last year I returned from Laos to sunny skies. May is generally a nice season in the Spring City. Not quite as hot as the later summer months, but warm enough to go out without a jacket. Warm enough to wear skirts and sandals. Usually the monsoon hits around July, and rain falls throughout late summer. Fall offers a brief glimpse of sunshine, and then the winter rains start, cold and miserable.
Perhaps you're noticing a trend here. It rains a lot in Kunming. Perhaps not as much as it might in, say, Seattle, a city famous for rain, but certainly more than you'd expect from a city touted as having "spring-like weather, all year round." Migrants like myself can't help but feel a bit cheated as year after year we seem to experience more rainy than non-rainy days.
This year's Spring rain is particularly unwelcome, then, if only because it comes at a time when it should not be raining. We accept monsoon season, and we accept the cold winter rain, but we feel entitled to those few weeks in April and May when the Spring City should live up to its name, bask us in glorious sunshine, treat us to mild temperatures, and show off the beauty of the city. This year's rain is, we feel, unfair. It is bound to rain in July and August, so will we have to suffer through 4 straight months of this?
Of course, we still have time, and all is not yet lost, but if I'm still wearing my winter boots and heavy coat come June, and Kunming is denied even a few weeks of it's namesake season, then I think we need to seriously consider renaming this place. Enough is enough. The gigs up. There's no Spring in the Spring City.
Last year I returned from Laos to sunny skies. May is generally a nice season in the Spring City. Not quite as hot as the later summer months, but warm enough to go out without a jacket. Warm enough to wear skirts and sandals. Usually the monsoon hits around July, and rain falls throughout late summer. Fall offers a brief glimpse of sunshine, and then the winter rains start, cold and miserable.
Perhaps you're noticing a trend here. It rains a lot in Kunming. Perhaps not as much as it might in, say, Seattle, a city famous for rain, but certainly more than you'd expect from a city touted as having "spring-like weather, all year round." Migrants like myself can't help but feel a bit cheated as year after year we seem to experience more rainy than non-rainy days.
This year's Spring rain is particularly unwelcome, then, if only because it comes at a time when it should not be raining. We accept monsoon season, and we accept the cold winter rain, but we feel entitled to those few weeks in April and May when the Spring City should live up to its name, bask us in glorious sunshine, treat us to mild temperatures, and show off the beauty of the city. This year's rain is, we feel, unfair. It is bound to rain in July and August, so will we have to suffer through 4 straight months of this?
Of course, we still have time, and all is not yet lost, but if I'm still wearing my winter boots and heavy coat come June, and Kunming is denied even a few weeks of it's namesake season, then I think we need to seriously consider renaming this place. Enough is enough. The gigs up. There's no Spring in the Spring City.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Mei Tais. How to carry your baby like a Chinese farmer.
Ok, so the title is sort of flippant, but I was truly surprised when, a couple of months ago, browsing on some websites about parenting and stuff, I noticed that there seemed to be a new trend in baby-carrying, that trend being strapping the baby to the mother's back, Asian peasant style, with the aid of a beautifully embroidered rectangle of fabric and belts that go under the baby's butt, making a seat out of the fabric and giving the baby a comfy piggy back ride, all while leaving the parent's hands free to do other things (which, in China, would be things like planting rice seedlings. The US equivalent would be shopping at Whole Foods). In SouthWest China, where I live, these contraptions are called "bei" (pronounced "bay") and just by looking at one, you'd have no idea how this thing would secure a child to your back, but they do, and have been in use for thousands of years.
Anyhow, some marketing genius seemed realized that these "bei" had the makings of a major parenting trend, and voila, the "Mei Tai" was born (I have no idea who came up with the name, but it sounds prettier than "bei" I suppose). Google Mei Tai and you can find many examples of the good old Chinese peasant baby carrier, fancied up with a few extra bells and whistles, being marketed to well-intentioned parents everywhere, for prices as high as 160 US dollars.
I showed a couple of these sites to my husband, and he was intrigued. We live in China, the land of the Mei Tai. We can get Mei Tai, and we can offer real, authentic Mei Tai to everyone out there who is sick of the commodification of native cultures and would like to support the continuation of a genuine Chinese tradition, which is, ironically, dying out in China. Upper class Chinese wouldn't be caught dead wearing a Mei Tai, because doing so would basically be the same as announcing to the world that you work in the fields -- not that there's anything wrong with working in the fields, but this is not a misconception that city-bred folks are willing to risk. The bottom line is that, as China modernizes and develops, the practice of carrying babies on the back, of embroidering elaborate "bei" with symbols meant to bring good luck and prosperity for this purpose, is, like so many other traditional customs, is dying out. Which I think is kind of sad. But not sad enough that I feel like the Mei Tai market should be commodified and taken over by Western manufacturers who can charge customers an arm and a leg for them. Instead, I think it would be great if people who wanted Mei Tai would buy Chinese "bei" instead. Of course, not everyone has relatives and friends in China who can get "bei" so easily, and so, friends of this blog, I have a proposition to make ...
I'm not trying to make a lot of money off of this, but if anyone is interested in getting a "bei" from China, contact me at jesslarsonwang@gmail.com. Here are a few pictures of some "bei" we picked up in my husband's native village over the May Holiday:
Anyhow, some marketing genius seemed realized that these "bei" had the makings of a major parenting trend, and voila, the "Mei Tai" was born (I have no idea who came up with the name, but it sounds prettier than "bei" I suppose). Google Mei Tai and you can find many examples of the good old Chinese peasant baby carrier, fancied up with a few extra bells and whistles, being marketed to well-intentioned parents everywhere, for prices as high as 160 US dollars.
I showed a couple of these sites to my husband, and he was intrigued. We live in China, the land of the Mei Tai. We can get Mei Tai, and we can offer real, authentic Mei Tai to everyone out there who is sick of the commodification of native cultures and would like to support the continuation of a genuine Chinese tradition, which is, ironically, dying out in China. Upper class Chinese wouldn't be caught dead wearing a Mei Tai, because doing so would basically be the same as announcing to the world that you work in the fields -- not that there's anything wrong with working in the fields, but this is not a misconception that city-bred folks are willing to risk. The bottom line is that, as China modernizes and develops, the practice of carrying babies on the back, of embroidering elaborate "bei" with symbols meant to bring good luck and prosperity for this purpose, is, like so many other traditional customs, is dying out. Which I think is kind of sad. But not sad enough that I feel like the Mei Tai market should be commodified and taken over by Western manufacturers who can charge customers an arm and a leg for them. Instead, I think it would be great if people who wanted Mei Tai would buy Chinese "bei" instead. Of course, not everyone has relatives and friends in China who can get "bei" so easily, and so, friends of this blog, I have a proposition to make ...
I'm not trying to make a lot of money off of this, but if anyone is interested in getting a "bei" from China, contact me at jesslarsonwang@gmail.com. Here are a few pictures of some "bei" we picked up in my husband's native village over the May Holiday:
I know the pictures aren't that great, but "bei" are pretty basic. This one is a velvety fabric, red on a black background. The reverse side is a plain deep blue cotton. The straps are thicker, woven blue striped cotton. It's fairly large and could easily carry either a new born or a 2 year old, if said 2 year old was cooperative enough! Anyhow, I don't have a completely unlimited supply of these things, but if you contact me and let me know what you're looking for, I'll do my best to find a "bei" that suits you.
A new blog, a new beginning
After many half-hearted attempts at blogging in the past, I've decided to give it another go. Sure, I could have taken up an old blog, last updated sometime circa 2004, but that somehow didn't seem appropriate. It wouldn't feel "right" placing this new life next to the old one. No, a fresh beginning seems the best for a fresh start.
To update those friends, new and old, who don't know what I've been up to lately, here's a quick rundown.
Last May (yes, a whole year ago), after returning from a much-needed trip to Laos, I started seeing the man who is now my husband. Wang Yao was, at the time, a guitarist and singer, working days at a local musical instrument shop, and performing nightly at a lounge club aimed at the trendy new Chinese upper-middle class (the menu featuring an astouding number of coffee drinks with names like The Black Nebula, as well as about 40 flavors of bubble tea. And, of course, Budweiser). We met when I went to see a friend perform drums at the same lounge club -- my friend was accompanying Wang Yao, who, as it turns out, I'd actually met once, two years earlier, under similar circumstances. After our reintroduction, our romance progressed steadily, and within a month we were a serious item. By the end of four months, we'd processed our marriage paperwork, and at the end of 2006, 2 days after Christmas, we held a wedding celebration in his hometown of Zhushan (110 kilometers from Kunming), attended by my parents, who flew in from America, a dear American friend who acted as my bridesmaid, and many of mine and Wang Yao's mutual friends from all-over Kunming. Although far from the fairy-tale wedding that most American girls seem to imagine for themselves, my wedding was a perfect blend of Chinese and American traditions, and I could not have been more happy with the results.
Fast forward five months later, and Wang Yao and I are expecting our first child, due on October 17th. Although our relationship has progressed quickly over the course of a year, we are absolutely committed to each other and to building a family together. Last July I became an investor in a startup foreign language center in Kunming (Pathways International Education Center), and Wang Yao is now helping me to run it. He still performs in clubs from time to time, but for now our main project is our school and our family. Being from two different cultures obviously presents some challenges for us, and we tackle those head on, as they come. And of course, even though I've lived in China for almost four years now, this country still manages to surprise me, these days in all new ways as a wife and soon-to-be mother, rather than a single woman. So, I look forward to sharing my observations with all of you, and hope to learn a little something myself by putting it all down in writing.
To update those friends, new and old, who don't know what I've been up to lately, here's a quick rundown.
Last May (yes, a whole year ago), after returning from a much-needed trip to Laos, I started seeing the man who is now my husband. Wang Yao was, at the time, a guitarist and singer, working days at a local musical instrument shop, and performing nightly at a lounge club aimed at the trendy new Chinese upper-middle class (the menu featuring an astouding number of coffee drinks with names like The Black Nebula, as well as about 40 flavors of bubble tea. And, of course, Budweiser). We met when I went to see a friend perform drums at the same lounge club -- my friend was accompanying Wang Yao, who, as it turns out, I'd actually met once, two years earlier, under similar circumstances. After our reintroduction, our romance progressed steadily, and within a month we were a serious item. By the end of four months, we'd processed our marriage paperwork, and at the end of 2006, 2 days after Christmas, we held a wedding celebration in his hometown of Zhushan (110 kilometers from Kunming), attended by my parents, who flew in from America, a dear American friend who acted as my bridesmaid, and many of mine and Wang Yao's mutual friends from all-over Kunming. Although far from the fairy-tale wedding that most American girls seem to imagine for themselves, my wedding was a perfect blend of Chinese and American traditions, and I could not have been more happy with the results.
Fast forward five months later, and Wang Yao and I are expecting our first child, due on October 17th. Although our relationship has progressed quickly over the course of a year, we are absolutely committed to each other and to building a family together. Last July I became an investor in a startup foreign language center in Kunming (Pathways International Education Center), and Wang Yao is now helping me to run it. He still performs in clubs from time to time, but for now our main project is our school and our family. Being from two different cultures obviously presents some challenges for us, and we tackle those head on, as they come. And of course, even though I've lived in China for almost four years now, this country still manages to surprise me, these days in all new ways as a wife and soon-to-be mother, rather than a single woman. So, I look forward to sharing my observations with all of you, and hope to learn a little something myself by putting it all down in writing.
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