Progress

There are a lot of times in the midst of studying Chinese when it's hard to feel like we're making a lot of progress. Lately it seems like lots of our classes have been filled with confusing grammar rules and the fifth word that means almost exactly the same thing as the other four, except for one small contextual nuance that can't fully be explained. And the measure words – oh man, does Chinese have some measure words.

For about every fourth new vocabulary word, we learn a new measure words. English has different measure words too: a pair of pants, a cup of coffee, a slice of bread. But it's amazing how many times we can just say “a” or “the” or don't even have to use a measure word at all. Thank you, English. A few examples of Chinese measure words:

片 pian – for things that are flat, thin pieces (a pill, a large grassy area)

张 zhang – a measure word for flat objects (a table, a bed, a piece of paper)

支 zhi – for long, thin, inflexible objects (a pen); for troops; for songs; for wattage; and for the size or quality of yarn.

根 gen – for long, thin objects (a banana, a match, a piece of string)

There are different measure words for a pair of eyes and a pair of glasses, a letter, a book, a newspaper, a present, a tv, a road, a mountain, a piece of clothing, a class period...you get the idea. Usually to introduce how these myriad measure words are used, our book says something useful like, "a measure word."

As always, we feel the difficulty of both of Kevin and I trying to learn Chinese while also being parents. It's hard not to compare to someone who is able to spend 20 hours a week in class, meet with a tutor every day, and (novel thought) study every day too! I'm only in class 10 hours a week, meeting with a tutor 4-5 hours a week, and my study time is more often than not 2-5 snatches in between Juliana's suddenly urgent need for attention. She's just like a cat – as soon as she can sense I'm trying to focus, she does her best to put herself directly between me and my book. Sometimes I wonder if I'm really learning that much at all.

So it's helpful to look back every so often and be able to see progress! I sometimes forget how very, very little we knew starting off, even after 5 years living in China. I used to be able to answer a few, very basic questions before starting to flounder. Now I can carry on conversations for half an hour or an hour. Maybe not deep, eloquent conversations, but communicative ones all the same. Last week I called my Chinese friend from Yangzhou, and she was thrilled that we could talk in Chinese and I could understand her. Last weekend we spent the morning at the home of a random family Kevin and Juliana had met outside and only used a few words of English.

Juliana and her new little Chinese friend find words, Chinese or English, rather unnecessary.

I looked back at the first lesson in our reading book where we were reading this:

Reading Text: Lesson 1

Compared to last week when we read this:

Reading Text: Lesson 21

I could not write any Chinese before this year, and my writing is still not great. I don't practice it too much except in class and writing homework because it's probably the area I'll use least in the future. Even so, I can write (and even remember how to write) a whole lot more characters than before!

Notes from class

It's exciting to remember we are making progress.  Yay for us!

A Truly Tiny House

Juliana with Li Jie's daughter (in red).  The tiny house-room is behind them.

Every day we park our bikes with more than a hundred others inside the bike shed just outside our apartment building.  Inside the low, narrow building, the bikes are protected from ever present thieves by the lady who watches over the bike shed. Li Jie, the bike lady, lives in a tiny room at the front of the shed. It is about the size of a large walk-in closet, smaller than a king-sized bed. A smaller-than-twin bed takes up one half of the room, which also holds a small table/desk and a computer screen (with wires threaded to the console outside). The room has a door and one small window looking into the shed.

When needed, Li Jie walks across the small road to the public toilet. She washes her face and probably her hair at the small wash basin just outside her house-room. She squats in front of the bike shed to wash clothes in a small plastic bucket. What I'm not actually sure is where she cooks. Usually when people live in the tiny room behind their shop, as is relatively common, they pull out a rice cooker and a burner or lump of coal to make their meal, but I've never seen these things around her room. Perhaps the small apartment-turned-shop next door, which sells odds-and-ends and apparently also a small variety of food, provides it.

Li Jie has a daughter and a husband. At least, I think there's just one daughter. It's hard to keep track because there are about three different elementary aged girls I regularly see coming in and out of the room. The husband stops by to visit sometimes, but he isn't around too often, so they must have some other place they also call home. But the bike lady – she is always at the bike shed. Eight o'clock in the morning, nine o'clock at night, middle of the day, the weekend, the holiday...she is always there, and usually her daughter, and perhaps one or two other young friends, are there too. They play outside the bike shed or crowd around the tiny table working on homework or watching something on the computer.

Our apartment has two bedrooms, an office, a living room, a kitchen, and a bathroom. It is 871 square feet. It has never looked so big.

Heels over the edge

Ningxia man stands on the corner of a building for an hour, then gets rescued as he attempts to jump.

By Kevin

He stood with his heels hanging over the edge of the roof for more than an hour before jumping.

The young man, presumably a Ningxia University student, had sat down on the corner of the rooftop across from ours. He appeared to be trying to decide whether or not his grief was enough to propel him off of the five-story building. As rescue worker approached from one side, he became agitated and pushed off of the corner of the building. The rooftop rescue worker sprang to action and grabbed his arm a split second before he could complete his fall.

Heels hang over the corner of the five-story building.

A crowd of hundreds of teachers, students and children, which had gathered below, shrieked and ran towards the edge of the building. When they saw that the man had been hoisted back onto the roof, many cheered. The man had been saved.

It was the first time I'd witnessed a suicide attempt. I pray that it is my last, but recent statistics aren't very promising.

On average, someone in China attempts suicide every two minutes, according to China's Centre for Disease Control and Prevention, China's suicide rate is 22.23 people out of every 100,000, giving China one of the highest per capita rates of suicide in the world. It's also the biggest killer of people ages 15-34. In this nation of 1.3 billion people, about 2 million attempt suicide every year and 287,000 people kill themselves. Pressure to provide for aging parents, poor job prospects, broken relationships, failure and loss of face often lead people to despair.

We went outside a little before 5 p.m. We were planning to take advantage of the beautiful afternoon and bike over to buy her some new shoes in a nearby marketplace before grabbing some dinner. The plan changed when we saw a crowd gathered outside our building, gazing up at a man standing on the edge of the rooftop.

The shoes could wait. We quickly alerted our friends and teachers who live on campus and asked them to join us in prayer.

Police had just begun trying to clear the area. The first firetruck arrived a few minutes later, but the firefighters did little more than mull  about near the foot of the building.Twenty  minutes later, a firetruck carrying a giant inflatable cushion arrived. We held our breath during the 10 minutes it took them to set it up, praying that he wouldn't feel rushed to jump right away. As the air bag inflated, he moved along the edge of the roof to a place where he could avoid it if he jumped. He turned and stared out at the crowd. His hunched shoulders carrying the look of defeat.

Looking down from the top of a five-story apartment building

We still couldn't see any rescue workers on the roof, but he turned and looked like he was talking to somebody. The gates were locked. Nobody was going to be allowed on or off this area of campus. The crowd gathered. Children continued playing. Students smiled and giggled nervously. Elderly people wondered what had sent him to this point of despair. For the first time I spotted a few rescue workers on the roof, trying to persuade him to come down.

About 45 minutes after we arrived, he sat down on the edge. It seemed like a good sign. Better than standing on the corner with his feet over the edge, at least. Finally 50 minutes after our arrival, an ambulance from Ningxia People's Hospital arrived. Apparently rescuers wanted to bring him to the best hospital hospital halfway across town if he survived the fall, rather than the one just down the street (which may or may not have ambulances of its own).

A crowd gathers to see if the man jumps from the rooftop.

Just after the rescuer caught him, we met a student who told us that just last week, another Ning da student jumped off a building on another campus. She survived, but is completely paralyzed. I imagined his fate might have been the same had he completed his jump. Since it was at the corner of the building, he may have missed the landing pad.

After he was rescued, I couldn't help thinking about what a difficult road the man faces now. Not only will he have to deal with the consequences of dealing with his pain and the fact that he ultimately jumped, but now he'll face the likelihood that people will shun him and his family because of the huge loss of face that comes with such a public spectacle. 

Loss of face (and our Ayi)

By Kevin

As I pulled on my jacket and prepared to head out for our weekly team meeting, Juliana clung to my leg and cried, using babgyhua to plead for me to stay with her. Ayi's face crinkled and she joined the chorus, replacing babyspeak with rapid-fire Chinese, which – with the right combination of unfamiliar vocabulary – often manages to carry nearly the same meaning from my ears to my brain. What I could understand was that she too wanted me to stay behind. "As long as you are here, AnAn is OK," I understood. "When you leave, she just cries.”

I encouraged her to bring Juliana outside and Ayi responded with more rapid-fire Chinese. This time I understood even less, so Ayi began to pantomime what we already knew had happened the day before: she took Juliana outside, and even though she was constantly hovering right behind our little adventurer, Juliana managed to trip over a crack in the sidewalk and cut her bottom lip. This, on the same day that the other little girl Ayi watches also sustained a minor injury.

I tried to reassure Ayi that it is OK, we thought she was doing a good job taking care of Juliana. But she insisted that she wouldn't be able to take her this day unless I stayed in the apartment too, which wasn't going to happen, because our meeting was about to start. I suggested bringing Juliana outside, since our daughter loves running around outside. In fact, everyday, she'll walk over to the door and say, “side” – meaning “take me outside.” But Ayi was hesitant. I dressed Juliana and brought her downstairs, thinking that perhaps she would be ok with letting me go now that she was outside.

Juliana was OK with the idea, but Ayi was too afraid Juliana would fall and hurt herself again, so I walked over to the “bike shed,” where we and a couple hundred other residents park their bikes. As I put Juliana into the bike seat, Ayi asked if she should go home. I tried to find a polite way to say it, but my words spilled out quickly: “I guess so. If you can't watch her, then you can go home.”

The blood drained from her face. I'd just insulted her. She was losing face. Even worse, there was a man from the neighborhood looking on. It was a public shaming. I needed to show my displeasure with her reluctance to do her job, but I'd botched it. Trying to regain a little bit of composure, I said I'd see her tomorrow. She agreed and I biked off to our meeting, worried that we may have just lost our babysitter less than three weeks into our “trial period.”

My suspicions grew when she called our teammate, and then me, the next morning and said that she had some sort of family matter so she'd miss the next two days of work, but she'd be back on Monday.

We probably should have began our search for a replacement then, but we were optimistic that some important family matter had just come up and the loss of face wasn't irreparable. Unfortunately, our Chinese isn't good enough to catch the spoken subtleties or the nonverbal cues that she was trying to express her dissatisfaction with the job. So we hoped and prayed for the best.

The next Monday, she came as usual. She watched Juliana and seemed to do fine with her. Then, Tuesday came along. She began telling me how tired and worried she is and how much Juliana cries when she watches her. I assured her that we thought Juliana liked her. “I can hear from the office, when you play with her, she is happy.” She insisted that Juliana wasn't as comfortable with her as with the past Ayi. I told her that we thought that it was just a matter of time. It also took her a couple weeks before she excitedly jumped into the old Ayi's arms everytime she walked through the door. “Maybe you can bring (your old) Ayi back,” she suggested. “She has a new job now,” I reminded her in garbled Chinese. “Juliana has just reached the point where she doesn't cry anymore when I leave. Things will get better.”

Then she dropped the bomb, something along the lines of: “I don't think I can watch Anan anymore.” Ruth was meeting with her tutor, so I opened our office room and asked if her tutor could help us translate because I wanted to make sure understood. “I'm pretty sure that she's quitting,” I said. I was on the right track. We repeated the same lines and Ruth's tutor managed to convince Ayi to stick around. For a moment, we thought crisis had been averted.

The next day she came, watched Juliana and did great with her. Our hopes continued to rise. When I left to go study, Juliana didn't cry or cling to me. She laughed and played and had a great time. When I came to pick her up afterward, Ayi said, with a bit of surprise, “She didn't cry. She was happy.” The same thing happened again the next day. We figured things were looking up. In fact, the teammate whose kids she watches each morning and I were discussing how we should pay her, since tomorrow would be her fourth week working for us, and we were splitting her services. Perhaps we should give her a raise?

Then Thursday came. With it came our teammate's news: “Ayi quit today. We managed to convince her to work one more day.” A couple hours later, she came to our house one last time to clean.

Our previous Ayi, who attends a fellowship with the one quitting happened to stop by in the middle of her last day. The old Ayi loves Juliana and, if she had more time, would probably love to continue watching her. In fact, she stops by every few weeks just to say hi and play with Juliana. She too spent some time trying to convince her to stick around because it'll get better, but it was to no avail. Eventually, she officially broke the news to us that we had heard earlier in the day. 

Unfortunately, when your house-helper quits in China (at least here), you can't just thumb through the yellow pages or hop online and find a handy service that will bring in another (not that we know how you'd find someone in the States either--we'd never be able to afford someone there). It's all about who you know. Thankfully we know a lot of foreigners in this city who have kids, so we immediately began throwing out feelers. Our first candidate was interested, but she lives outside of the city and didn't want to work at times that would work for us. A second candidate just didn't seem very interested in the job when our teammate met with her. The third was promising, so he brought her by with Ruth and I were out shopping. Ruth liked her, so tomorrow Ayi number three starts. We're hoping she'll be able to keep up with our little runner.

Tomb Sweeping Day

We have been happy to have a three day holiday this week.  The reason?  Tomb-sweeping day.  I've been sick the whole holiday and haven't been outside, but before the holiday I already saw tables set up on the sidewalks selling paper money and other items to burn for your ancestors to use in the afterlife.  A woman we know who has lived in China for decades wrote about this holiday:

"Wednesday (April 4) is Qing Ming Jie, or Grave Sweeping Festival in China.  It's sort of like Memorial Day in the US, but with more religious overtones.  On this day, Chinese are supposed to tend to the graves of the ancestors.  This is done out of much more than respect, but as a way of actually caring for and looking after the departed ancestors. "

Check out the rest of her post about "Hell Money."  (If you are interested in China, her blog is full of interesting stories and insights).  She also links to a fascinating Economist article about "Ghost brides."  It's the first I've heard of this bizarre tradition, probably because it is mostly practiced in Northern rural areas.  So enjoy your reading and...happy holidays??

Juliana's newest word: "Med-cine!"

China is notorious for its overuse of antibiotics. There still doesn't seem to be a real awareness that viruses (say, a cold) cannot be cured by a dose of antibiotics, IV preferred. Some doctors say they give antibiotics because the patient will not feel they have received good treatment unless they are given some medicine. Even if the doctor doesn't prescribe antibiotics, it's really no problem; you can buy them at any pharamacy, no prescription needed.

This often works in our favor, since we can just get the medicines we need even when the doctor prescribes something harmful or not useful. It also works in our favor because often doctors don't prescribe enough antibiotics. For example, I realized today that the doctor only gave Juliana three days worth of the antibiotics she's supposed to take. I emailed International SOS (our very handy medical referral team) to ask if she should take more, and they said the typical course of antibiotics for bronchitis is 5-6 days.

So today Kevin had to go out and buy some more medicine. Juliana will be happy; she likes taking medicine. In fact she likes it so much (first the cough syrup and now the antibiotic) that she learned to say medicine. She points up to the table where it is stored and says, “Med-cine? Med-cine?” Tonight she was so excited about it that Kevin gave her a little extra water in her dropper so she could pretend it was medicine. We're going to have to keep an eye on this one.

Juliana Goes to the Doctor

Juliana climbs on the chairs in the Pharmacy Hall waiting area. (Unfortunately the little camera phone lens was dirty so the pictures are really bad.)

This morning I took Juliana to the doctor about her persistent cough. Whenever I have to go to the doctor in China, I think with fondness on doctors' offices in America. The quiet pediatrician's office with the clean waiting room and private exam rooms. Maybe half a dozen other people around.

In China most doctors don't have private offices, so you go to the hospital for everything. It is usually crowded, a little (or maybe a lot) dirty, and has an old, dark smell. Our local hospital isn't bad, but it's definitely not a cheery place either. Something like a cross between a old jail and a state-run nursing home. My tutor accompanied Juliana and I to help with translation (since our textbooks teach words like “amphibious” and “reptile house” but not medical terms). As we pushed our way into the crowd waiting to register/pay, Juliana was already getting antsy in my arms, saying, “Down! Down!” I put her down and she immediately took off for the door (smart kid), nearly running over a dog and nearly being run over by a massive stretcher.

After paying about a dollar to see the doctor (okay, China doctors have their benefits), we went down to the pediatric area. It was pretty easy to spot because of all the crying babies buried under layers of quilts. Today was a particularly busy day at the hospital as it was Friday and just before a holiday. One good aspect of the crowdedness though – it meant the good doctor was in! If no one is waiting to see the doctor, it probably means they aren't worth seeing.

Juliana spent the waiting time climbing up and down on the metal chairs, watching the other kids, and trying to dart off down the hallways. She has gotten really fast! Finally her name was called and we went in to see the doctor. This was actually a unique experience because the only ones in the examining room were us, a doctor and a nurse; the rest of the crowds peered through the open door trying to find out what was wrong with the foreign baby. Most of my hospital experiences have involved 12-15 people crowded into an exam room, even sitting next to me on the exam table while the doctor asks all kinds of questions about bodily functions and announces your ailment to the room.

Since Juliana obviously wasn't going to cough with a doctor around, I managed to record her cough beforehand so the doctor could hear it. She pronounced it bronchitis, and even knew how to say bronchitis in English, which was good because my tutor had no idea. She wrote out a prescription and we headed over to the pharmacy room. Don't think Walgreens. Think...old shabby bus station? I can't really think of a good American-analogy.

Waiting to buy medicine (some of the crowd had already cleared out).

The pharmacy room was crowded with well over a hundred people waiting to buy medicine. First you stand in line to pay for the medicine (you pay for almost everything at a hospital upfront). Fortunately my tutor stood in line while Juliana ran around the waiting area, amusing nurses and patients. This medicine was some of the most expensive we've gotten in China – almost $10. After paying, we waited at another counter to get the medicine (which turned out to be a useful, non-banned antibiotic, and actually what we needed). Juliana had just about had it with the hospital by this point, and I don't really blame her. She struggled and cried until we finally got outside and then she fussed most of the way home. She must have been pretty tired because in the afternoon she took a two hour nap, which is about twice as long as normal. Meanwhile, I went and learned about confusing Chinese grammar until I my brain turned inside-out.

The good news is, hopefully Juliana's cough will finally get better! The other good news is that it's finally the weekend, and next week we have a three day holiday! Woo-hoo! And after the holiday – we have a new ayi! Things are looking up.

Why bother with toys?

Juliana's list of items that are more fun than toys.

1. A large package of diapers
2. A laundry basket
3. Laundry (clean or dirty)
4. Wash clothes, rags, dish towels
5. Any box larger than herself
6. Any box
7. Plastic containers
8. Phones
9. Anything that looks like a phone
10. Remotes
11. Spoons, ladles, whisks, knives (she wishes)
12. Large water jugs
13. Shoes, the bigger the better
14. Shoes, the dirtier the better
15. Hats, gloves, face masks, ear muffs – preferably someone elses
16. Keys
17. Computers
18. Any electronic object (the more expensive the better)
19. Any object with buttons
20. Grown up books
21. Make-up brush
22. Mama's hairbrush
23. Lamps
24. Broom and dust pan
25. Pieces of paper (the more important the better)
26. Pencils and pens
27. Purses, bags, backpacks, grocery bags (reusable, not plastic)
28. Any type of food
29. Anything packaged
30. Curtains, blankets, and pillows
31. Moveable and/or climbable chairs
32. Drawers and cabinets
33. Water in any location (the more fully clothed the better)
34. Yogurt container with small hole and straw
35. Tissues
36. Anything in her diaper bag
37. Stairs
38. Anything small enough to choke on

Which leads me to wonder...why does she have so many toys??

18 Months

It's hard to believe Juliana is already a year and a half old, although she definitely isn't acting like a baby anymore. She is developing all those wonderful and not so wonderful traits of a toddler. Some recent developments...

Juliana loves going outside, and she has perfected her Chinese squatting skills. (She doesn't usually wear a helmet; we're getting ready for a bike ride.)

Motor Skills
Juliana likes to climb up and down the stairs to our apartment (with a helping hand). She chants “yi, er, san” (1,2,3 in Chinese) as she climbs, and sometimes she makes it all the way to the 4^th or 5^th floor before getting tired! She loves to run around outside and climb up and down ramps and curbs. And she still breaks into dance whenever she hears music.

Her fine motor skills are still the more advanced. She's got her block sorter down, and loves putting any kind of small objects into small places. She can spend half an hour clipping the hooks on her high-chair straps.

Working on her rock-star persona

Language
Juliana's speech has really taken off in the last month. She now has words for most of her favorite things. She can count to three in Chinese and sometimes says numbers in English too. She loves the ABC song and can say ABCD, plus a few others like YZ. She can point out her facial features and major body parts, plus her “bee-bo” (belly button). Juliana can only say about a dozen Chinese words, but there are some things she only knows in Chinese. She hasn't said “dog” in a long time, but she sees a dog she says, “gou!” And she's very good with her tones.

Rescuing dolly after she "fell" (with help) into the clothes hamper

Playtime
She has been doing a lot more imaginary play especially with her dolly. She likes to include dolly in all kinds of daily activities: giving her food, dancing together, wrapping her in a blanket, brushing her teeth, and giving her lots of kisses. She also likes to give dolly rides on her push/ride train, then knock the train over and cry “OH NO!” as dolly flies off.

Helping sweep.  I have no idea what her expression is, but it's pretty funny.

She can spend the most time on her big lego-like blocks. She also loves to play with non-toys: plastic containers in the kitchen, pieces of paper, boxes, and my clothes. She likes to “help” with things like sweeping and hanging up laundry. Depending on the day, she's getting much better about playing on her own and entertaining herself.

Eating

Despite the fact that every hour or two she walks to the kitchen door saying, “Eat, eat?” Juliana has become a much pickier eater lately. She is currently in love with yogurt, and throughout the day she walks to the fridge saying “Yo? Yo?” She consistently eats cheese, bread, oatmeal, sweet potatoes and applesauce...almost everything else is hit or miss. She has even rejected bananas, a previous favorite. She's gotten picker about Chinese food too, although she still loves tofu and rice. She also still enjoys nursing every morning and at bedtime.

Being tortured by mommy with a washcloth

Personality and Temper (ah, Temperment)

Juliana's life is very dramatic. She's probably not different from an average toddler in that regard, but she rarely leaves you to wonder how she's feeling. Particularly if she is tired, a small frustration like blocks not going together or not getting food at the exact second she requests it can cause her to wail in distress. Most of the time she doesn't seem to feel too angry, just like, “The world is ending!!!” Sometimes she throws herself down on the ground and bangs her head on the ground just gently enough to not actually hurt. She likes to do this in front of the mirror so she can stop and check herself out every so often. Sometimes I want to laugh; sometimes I want to bang my own head on the floor.

Kisses for the baby in the mirror

Juliana is still a definite extravert. If she spends most of the day surrounded by people, she is bouncing with energy by nighttime. She is having more chances to be around other kids, and when we go outside people call out, “An an!” (her Chinese name). She likes to talk to family on Skype and starts saying, “Hi! Hi!” and practicing her biggest smile before the computer is even set up.

She has her moments, but most of the time she is really fun to be around because she has such a zest for life. She smiles and laughs and gets excited about all kinds of little things. She has the greatest little dimples. She has started giving kisses (to us, her stuffed animals, her books...) and they are so sweet! Since she can say, “I see you,” I thought I'd try to teach her to say, “I love you.” So far she has only managed, “I-you.” Oh well, maybe next week.

The thing about plans is...

One month later finds us ayi-less once again.

Today our ayi told us she didn't want to watch the children (Juliana and our teammate's kids) anymore. There is no such thing as two-week's notice; this morning we heard she was quitting and this afternoon we saw her for the last time. That's just how things work. Everything, it seems, is last minute.

It was a little rocky from the start. We thought our new ayi was doing just fine, but she was not very confident in her child-watching abilities. She was always afraid that something would happen or the kids would get hurt. This was not helped by two kids having some minor bumps-and-blood falls on the same day. In the end, she felt like it was more than she could handle. She was exhausted and she was worrying all the time. It's just as well that things ended now before the kids got too attached. If ayi did not feel comfortable it will be better to find someone else. But still. Juliana had finally gotten used to ayi and stopped crying whenever we left her. I don't want to start this all over again.

This could happen to anyone, anywhere, and frequently does. But sometimes I feel like turnover and instability and ambiguity characterize our lives here. It's only been seven months since we uprooted and moved to this new city with new role, found a new ayi, and settled down. Except there seems to have been a lot less settling that I would have liked. Things are still changing all the time.

When we first came to China, we were told two characteristic phrases we must grasp to live in China: “Tolorate ambiguity” and “plans cannot keep up with change.” These truly have been themes just about every year (month?) of the past seven. You'd think we'd have gotten them down by now, but somehow they always crop up and surprise us once again.

Why do we think that things will stay the same? Why do we still make schedules when we know they will change? Why do we still settle in when we know we will soon move again? Why do we still get thrown off by the unexpected?

The train is three hours late. The bus route unexpectedly changes. Your school tells you, “Oh yes, tomorrow is a holiday.” Your teacher/tutor/student calls a two minutes ahead of time and says, “Sorry, I can't meet.” Your friend shows up at your door just as you were about to go to bed. Your leader tells you, “We will have a banquet and you must come. It's in half an hour.” Your internet/power/water stops working, but it's no big deal because it will work again in a few hours or maybe tomorrow. You go to the hospital and the doctor says you need an IV right away except the one person in charge of IV's has just gone home for the night. Your renter tells you they will move out in two days. Your landlord tells you your building may or may not be demolished soon. Your ayi tells you she can't work for you anymore starting today.

These are all things that don't phase Chinese people because that's just how things work. They don't have to remind themselves that “plans can't keep up with change” because it's already imbedded in their mindset. They don't expect to be in control. It's just we foreigners who have a problem, who still delude ourselves into thinking we can control our own lives.

And you know, I do constantly remind myself that these are the small things. Half of everyone I know is having their world turned upside-down by much more devastating changes. Death of parents. Death of friends. Cancer. Threat to personal safety. Trying to explain loss to your preschooler. Mysterious illness. Injury.

Most Chinese have already made the important realization that they can't control their own lives, but they may not realize their life isn't a whim of chance, governed by fate and more powerful people. It is an intricately woven, delicate web. A careful mixture of pain and loss and joy and gain. The hang-ups, the detours, the dead-ends, the unexpected change of course are all just part of it. Either we fight the whole way, or we accept and wonder at the mystery. And I guess that when we see it in the end, we'll realize that's what makes our our lives look like something beautiful.