by Ruth
(photo by Kevin)
October the first was an important day for China. It was the 60th anniversary of the People’s Republic of China. Each year the country has a week long holiday to celebrate National Day. Every ten years, a big military parade is held in Beijing. But this year’s holiday was a really-really-really big deal.
To make sure there were no troubles or disruptions during the national holiday, Beijing instituted security measures than were even firmer than during the Olympics. They also blocked about 15,000 new websites in the weeks leading up to the day. Facebook is long gone, blogger has also fallen by the wayside (so we are uploading blogs via flickr), and we haven’t even been able to find a proxy site to break us through the barriers. We’re still holding out hope that once the national day hype backs down, we’ll regain some more access.
Anyway, on the morning of October 1st, a big military parade was held in Beijing. Only the top leaders and elite of the elite were invited to attend, but the whole country followed along on TV. We invited some students who stayed here during the holiday over to watch it with us. They were excited and brimming with pride about being Chinese. Sometimes I have to envy their patriotic zeal. Being Chinese seems to be one of the most central aspects of their identity.
In the evening of National Day, another big performance/gala was held in Beijing. It involved 60,000 performers singing and dancing and waving things in the air (all perfectly synchronized of course). It also included twice as many fireworks as the Olympics. The performance lasted for 1 hour and 40 minutes, and fireworks were going off for at least 75% of that time. It was all quite impressive.
I could say more, and perhaps Kevin will later, but for now I will just leave you with two recommended sights. I really should have put these at the beginning because they are more interesting than the blog.
A fellow foreigner in China posted some links, and I wanted to pass them onto you. They are both really interesting.
1. (http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2009/10/china_celebrates_60_years.html) First is a series of pictures from the military parade.
2. (http://vimeo.com/6853452) Second is an interesting video – a combination of time lapse and slow motion that condenses the parade into 3 minutes 42 seconds.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Nationalistic Patriotic People's Singing Extravaganza
Sept. 23, 2009 (it's been a crazy week, so I didn't have a chance to finish this till now, but since today is THE National Day, Oct. 1, now's as good a time as any)
By Kevin
It was finally here: the much-anticipated singing competition. After weeks of listening to choirs from each of some 20 departments at the school, including staff, office workers and cafeteria workers, rehearse a half-dozen patriotic "revolutionary" songs dating back to the founding of modern China (the PRC), it was show time.
We weren't sure until now where the competition would be held, but we followed the sound and sauntered out to the square on campus a few minutes after we'd been told it would start: at 2 p.m. (No city or school in China would be complete without a giant concrete square modeled somewhat after the large one in the capital where untold numbers of major events have occurred in the last 60 years has) The steps in front of the central teaching building made a natural stage for choirs. Thousands of students sat in the square. Some were dutifully watching the performances, which had already begun. Most were huddled underneath umbrellas chatting with friends. Though the temperature was in the 80s, many still wore long sleeves, so umbrellas, or as we've taken to calling them, "sunbrellas" were necessary to help the students keep their skin white. Generally Chinese people have a polar opposite reaction to sunny days from Americans. American women sunbathe, often admiring the darker tones of other cultures. Chinese girls do everything they can to be as pale as they can, admiring the whiteness of our skin.
But I digress. As we looked for the students, teachers and leaders from the English department, who we've heard practicing for hours on end for the last few weeks, we found out that they were inside the building getting dressed and doing their makeup. Yes, even though few students wear makeup, both guys and girls made sure to apply the most gaudy stage makeup they could imagine.
As I walked into the building, and unfamiliar student approached. "Can I ask you a question?" he asked, nervously. I assumed he wanted to know how to improve his spoken English or one of the other standard questions Chinese students need to know about us. "Can I borrow your shoes."
I figured I heard him wrong. "My shoes?" I asked, sizing him up. He was taller than an average Chinese student, but I still had several inches on him. "Won't they be a little bit big on you?"
"It doesn't matter," he said. "My leader said I must wear black shoes, but we only have 15 minutes until we will sing."
I put my foot next to his. My size 13 foot dwarfed his size 9. But he insisted that the size difference wouldn't matter. "I will still need shoes to wear, though," I explained. "Let's go to my house and I can exchange shoes with you there."
"I think we'd better run," he said. "I don't have much time."
On the way to the apartment, in between hard breaths, he explained that he was a "fresh student" (Chinglish for "freshman," which I'd guessed -- all the freshmen wear the same white shirt with yellow and blue fringe) and that his English name was Darren.
At the apartment, Darren slipped his feet into my shoes. There was a good inch to spare behind his heel. We couldn't run back to the staging area because the shoes were too loose. He walked with his knees bent, trying to keep his feet from slipping out of clown shoes. I remembered how big my Dad's shoes felt whenever I tried them on as a child. I tried to imagine how he felt, walking in the shoes of a foreigner to sing patriotic Chinese songs.
When he made it back, the math department was waiting, they were second in line to sing. He endured several minutes of ridicule from his friends, who seemed to tease him about his shoes. I wonder what he told them. Undoubtedly I was now his best friend.
After he sang, he came back, slipped back into his white shoes and thanked me profusely for helping him. Around this time Ruth and Christina came back from going to see the English department teachers and students putting on their makeup. They'd learned that the English department would be the 17th group to perform. We were on group number five and it was now more than an hour into the program. We decided we'd kill the time in the comforts of our apartments, then return just before the English department performed. There's only so many times a foreigner can handle hearing the same half-dozen revolutionary marches sung over and over again, even if the arrangements are (slightly) different.
Around 4:30 p.m., our students and colleagues were finally in the staging area, anxiously awaiting their chance to do the motherland proud and show off their patriotic zeal. I thought about how many millions of college students were likely doing the same thing today or sometime in the coming week. They proudly took the stage and sung with all their might. After they exited to the other side of the stage, we hurried to find them, so we could congratulate them on a job well done. By the time we found them, the last group, the Art department (which includes not only painters and sculptors, but also musicians and singers), took the stage and blew everyone else away.
Thankfully, the English department wasn't competing against them.
"Can you understand what they are singing?" asked Connor, a former student who is now a junior. Nope. He seemed confused by our appearance. "They are patriotic songs about the motherland."
"I figured as much. China is celebrating it's 60th anniversary. It's a big deal."
"Why did you come?" he asked.
I thought it seemed obvious. This was a huge outdoor competition with a mass of thousands of students. The school "strongly encouraged" us to move classes in order to accommodate students who might want to watch. Music had been blaring on loudspeakers all day long. We couldn't avoid it if we tried. But I kept those explanations to myself and went with the still truthful, but more diplomatic, approach: "We wanted to come," I said. "We've been hearing students and teachers practice for a long time. We knew that the singing would be excellent and we wanted to support our students."
Before long, prizes were announced. First prize for the non-educational portion: the cafeteria workers. My mind flashed to Saturday Night Live skits with Chris Farley dancing to Adam Sandler's song about "Lunch Lady Land." Clearly I wasn't as mentally caught up in the patriotic fervor of the students around me.
I asked why Connor wasn't singing, since almost all of the other boys in the department were on stage. "I wish I could have been there," he said.
"I went to the first practice, but I had the runs for more than a week," he explained, using a bit of slang he'd recently picked up. "I couldn't stand there for two hours to practice."
I listened to the awards and noticed a couple that were familiar: "Wai jiao" (foreigner), so I was able to anticipate the student's translation. "We won," exclaimed one student, grinning. "First prize for the English department."
Another student, who had sung with the group, said he hoped this meant that the English Department would treat them to dinner. "So far, the department has given us a notebook for participating," he said, sensing a tinge of disappointment.
As we left, a reporter from the local newspaper grinned and asked us to pose for a few photos, handing his camera to a student to snap his memento of his fortunate rendezvous foreigners at a patriotic Chinese singing competition. Who knows if or when the photo might show up in print.
By Kevin
It was finally here: the much-anticipated singing competition. After weeks of listening to choirs from each of some 20 departments at the school, including staff, office workers and cafeteria workers, rehearse a half-dozen patriotic "revolutionary" songs dating back to the founding of modern China (the PRC), it was show time.
We weren't sure until now where the competition would be held, but we followed the sound and sauntered out to the square on campus a few minutes after we'd been told it would start: at 2 p.m. (No city or school in China would be complete without a giant concrete square modeled somewhat after the large one in the capital where untold numbers of major events have occurred in the last 60 years has) The steps in front of the central teaching building made a natural stage for choirs. Thousands of students sat in the square. Some were dutifully watching the performances, which had already begun. Most were huddled underneath umbrellas chatting with friends. Though the temperature was in the 80s, many still wore long sleeves, so umbrellas, or as we've taken to calling them, "sunbrellas" were necessary to help the students keep their skin white. Generally Chinese people have a polar opposite reaction to sunny days from Americans. American women sunbathe, often admiring the darker tones of other cultures. Chinese girls do everything they can to be as pale as they can, admiring the whiteness of our skin.
But I digress. As we looked for the students, teachers and leaders from the English department, who we've heard practicing for hours on end for the last few weeks, we found out that they were inside the building getting dressed and doing their makeup. Yes, even though few students wear makeup, both guys and girls made sure to apply the most gaudy stage makeup they could imagine.
As I walked into the building, and unfamiliar student approached. "Can I ask you a question?" he asked, nervously. I assumed he wanted to know how to improve his spoken English or one of the other standard questions Chinese students need to know about us. "Can I borrow your shoes."
I figured I heard him wrong. "My shoes?" I asked, sizing him up. He was taller than an average Chinese student, but I still had several inches on him. "Won't they be a little bit big on you?"
"It doesn't matter," he said. "My leader said I must wear black shoes, but we only have 15 minutes until we will sing."
I put my foot next to his. My size 13 foot dwarfed his size 9. But he insisted that the size difference wouldn't matter. "I will still need shoes to wear, though," I explained. "Let's go to my house and I can exchange shoes with you there."
"I think we'd better run," he said. "I don't have much time."
On the way to the apartment, in between hard breaths, he explained that he was a "fresh student" (Chinglish for "freshman," which I'd guessed -- all the freshmen wear the same white shirt with yellow and blue fringe) and that his English name was Darren.
At the apartment, Darren slipped his feet into my shoes. There was a good inch to spare behind his heel. We couldn't run back to the staging area because the shoes were too loose. He walked with his knees bent, trying to keep his feet from slipping out of clown shoes. I remembered how big my Dad's shoes felt whenever I tried them on as a child. I tried to imagine how he felt, walking in the shoes of a foreigner to sing patriotic Chinese songs.
When he made it back, the math department was waiting, they were second in line to sing. He endured several minutes of ridicule from his friends, who seemed to tease him about his shoes. I wonder what he told them. Undoubtedly I was now his best friend.
After he sang, he came back, slipped back into his white shoes and thanked me profusely for helping him. Around this time Ruth and Christina came back from going to see the English department teachers and students putting on their makeup. They'd learned that the English department would be the 17th group to perform. We were on group number five and it was now more than an hour into the program. We decided we'd kill the time in the comforts of our apartments, then return just before the English department performed. There's only so many times a foreigner can handle hearing the same half-dozen revolutionary marches sung over and over again, even if the arrangements are (slightly) different.
Around 4:30 p.m., our students and colleagues were finally in the staging area, anxiously awaiting their chance to do the motherland proud and show off their patriotic zeal. I thought about how many millions of college students were likely doing the same thing today or sometime in the coming week. They proudly took the stage and sung with all their might. After they exited to the other side of the stage, we hurried to find them, so we could congratulate them on a job well done. By the time we found them, the last group, the Art department (which includes not only painters and sculptors, but also musicians and singers), took the stage and blew everyone else away.
Thankfully, the English department wasn't competing against them.
"Can you understand what they are singing?" asked Connor, a former student who is now a junior. Nope. He seemed confused by our appearance. "They are patriotic songs about the motherland."
"I figured as much. China is celebrating it's 60th anniversary. It's a big deal."
"Why did you come?" he asked.
I thought it seemed obvious. This was a huge outdoor competition with a mass of thousands of students. The school "strongly encouraged" us to move classes in order to accommodate students who might want to watch. Music had been blaring on loudspeakers all day long. We couldn't avoid it if we tried. But I kept those explanations to myself and went with the still truthful, but more diplomatic, approach: "We wanted to come," I said. "We've been hearing students and teachers practice for a long time. We knew that the singing would be excellent and we wanted to support our students."
Before long, prizes were announced. First prize for the non-educational portion: the cafeteria workers. My mind flashed to Saturday Night Live skits with Chris Farley dancing to Adam Sandler's song about "Lunch Lady Land." Clearly I wasn't as mentally caught up in the patriotic fervor of the students around me.
I asked why Connor wasn't singing, since almost all of the other boys in the department were on stage. "I wish I could have been there," he said.
"I went to the first practice, but I had the runs for more than a week," he explained, using a bit of slang he'd recently picked up. "I couldn't stand there for two hours to practice."
I listened to the awards and noticed a couple that were familiar: "Wai jiao" (foreigner), so I was able to anticipate the student's translation. "We won," exclaimed one student, grinning. "First prize for the English department."
Another student, who had sung with the group, said he hoped this meant that the English Department would treat them to dinner. "So far, the department has given us a notebook for participating," he said, sensing a tinge of disappointment.
As we left, a reporter from the local newspaper grinned and asked us to pose for a few photos, handing his camera to a student to snap his memento of his fortunate rendezvous foreigners at a patriotic Chinese singing competition. Who knows if or when the photo might show up in print.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
"If you aren't confused, you aren't paying attention"
One of our company leaders, who has lived in China for over 20 years, has several mottos for understanding life in China/Chinese society. One of them is, “If you aren’t confused, you aren’t paying attention.” Our lives seem to often demonstrate this point. Take this afternoon, for example...
2:30pm - Kevin and I go to teach our phonetics classes (they are in multi-media computer classrooms). I arrive to find my classroom unlocked but empty. I have no idea where they are, and since I have only met them once, I don’t have any phone numbers yet. Meanwhile, Kevin arrives at his classroom to find my students instead of his students in his classroom (it takes a while to realize this, however, since we’ve only met these freshmen once).
2:35pm – I call my teammate Kelly who also teaches my student and has fortunately gotten their phone numbers already. I find out the student monitor’s number and try to give him a call. Meanwhile, Kevin realizes my students are in his classroom and goes searching for his students.
2:36pm – I call Kelly back since I can’t get a hold of the monitor and ask for another student phone number. I call the student but he can’t understand anything I’m saying. At the same time, Kevin shows up at my door saying he has found my class, and he will send them down.
2:40pm – My students arrive in my classroom. I have no idea why they went to the other classroom, but we can finally get started. Kevin finds his students and brings them to the right classroom.
2:45pm – Kevin can’t get the computers in his classroom to work. He goes to the office to enlist some help. The help (the poor people from the office who deal with all our problems) was unable to help. The Office Man told Kevin he would find another classroom for him, but then disappeared. Kevin ran to find Office Man while his students waited in the hallway.
2:55pm - After running up and down the stairs several times, Kevin was able to find Office Man who unlocks a new classroom for them. Kevin finally starts class.
3:10pm – I am doing individual pre-tests with my students while the others watch a movie. Everything was going smoothly until 20 minutes into the movie when the students’ computer monitors all inexplicably stop working. I try the only things I know how to do – reopen the program and reboot the power. These have no effect so I send a student up to the office for help.
3:15pm – I tell the waiting students to talk about something random and try to continue my individual testing. Office Man comes down and does something with the computers and the power. He leaves before we realize it still doesn’t work.
3:20pm – I send the student back up to the office, but he finds no one there. They are apparently now all in a meeting. They cannot fix it until after the class. I tell my students to do some random activities from the book while I try to finish up the tests.
3:55pm – After about five more interruptions which I won’t detail, I finish up the tests and try to finish up the class. I’ve gotten pretty accustomed to unexpected problems and confusions, but I am still feeling rather frazzled.
4:10pm – As my next class of students enter the classroom, I go back up to the office to request more help. Another office man comes down and he and another random person try to do some different things on the computer. Finally they decide that these computers cannot be fixed right now, so we all move to another classroom.
4:20pm – Meanwhile, Kelly has arrived to teach her Oral English class only her students aren’t there. For some reason, the students thought they would have Kevin’s phonetics class today instead. They show up at Kevin’s classroom and are confused and a little bit offended that Kevin won’t teach them now. He tells them they are supposed to be meeting Kelly instead.
4:30pm - Kelly and her class are reunited. Kevin and his next class find each other. My new classroom computers work well with no problems. We are all happy though still deeply confused.
Fortunately, my second class got to actually see the movie (Wild Hearts Can’t be Broken) and they loved it. Perhaps even more than I do. They laughed at funny moments. They clapped at triumphant moments. I heard sniffling during the sad parts. They clasped their hands and leaned forward during suspenseful moments. They sighed contentedly during the romantic parts. I love showing movies to Chinese students.
If you would believe it, this story was actually even more complex in real life, but I left out some of the other complications because I figured you'd already be confused enough. Chaos is often a normal part of life in China, but not usually quite so much for quite so many people all at the same time. As the Chinese would say, "Aiii Yaaaa!"
2:30pm - Kevin and I go to teach our phonetics classes (they are in multi-media computer classrooms). I arrive to find my classroom unlocked but empty. I have no idea where they are, and since I have only met them once, I don’t have any phone numbers yet. Meanwhile, Kevin arrives at his classroom to find my students instead of his students in his classroom (it takes a while to realize this, however, since we’ve only met these freshmen once).
2:35pm – I call my teammate Kelly who also teaches my student and has fortunately gotten their phone numbers already. I find out the student monitor’s number and try to give him a call. Meanwhile, Kevin realizes my students are in his classroom and goes searching for his students.
2:36pm – I call Kelly back since I can’t get a hold of the monitor and ask for another student phone number. I call the student but he can’t understand anything I’m saying. At the same time, Kevin shows up at my door saying he has found my class, and he will send them down.
2:40pm – My students arrive in my classroom. I have no idea why they went to the other classroom, but we can finally get started. Kevin finds his students and brings them to the right classroom.
2:45pm – Kevin can’t get the computers in his classroom to work. He goes to the office to enlist some help. The help (the poor people from the office who deal with all our problems) was unable to help. The Office Man told Kevin he would find another classroom for him, but then disappeared. Kevin ran to find Office Man while his students waited in the hallway.
2:55pm - After running up and down the stairs several times, Kevin was able to find Office Man who unlocks a new classroom for them. Kevin finally starts class.
3:10pm – I am doing individual pre-tests with my students while the others watch a movie. Everything was going smoothly until 20 minutes into the movie when the students’ computer monitors all inexplicably stop working. I try the only things I know how to do – reopen the program and reboot the power. These have no effect so I send a student up to the office for help.
3:15pm – I tell the waiting students to talk about something random and try to continue my individual testing. Office Man comes down and does something with the computers and the power. He leaves before we realize it still doesn’t work.
3:20pm – I send the student back up to the office, but he finds no one there. They are apparently now all in a meeting. They cannot fix it until after the class. I tell my students to do some random activities from the book while I try to finish up the tests.
3:55pm – After about five more interruptions which I won’t detail, I finish up the tests and try to finish up the class. I’ve gotten pretty accustomed to unexpected problems and confusions, but I am still feeling rather frazzled.
4:10pm – As my next class of students enter the classroom, I go back up to the office to request more help. Another office man comes down and he and another random person try to do some different things on the computer. Finally they decide that these computers cannot be fixed right now, so we all move to another classroom.
4:20pm – Meanwhile, Kelly has arrived to teach her Oral English class only her students aren’t there. For some reason, the students thought they would have Kevin’s phonetics class today instead. They show up at Kevin’s classroom and are confused and a little bit offended that Kevin won’t teach them now. He tells them they are supposed to be meeting Kelly instead.
4:30pm - Kelly and her class are reunited. Kevin and his next class find each other. My new classroom computers work well with no problems. We are all happy though still deeply confused.
Fortunately, my second class got to actually see the movie (Wild Hearts Can’t be Broken) and they loved it. Perhaps even more than I do. They laughed at funny moments. They clapped at triumphant moments. I heard sniffling during the sad parts. They clasped their hands and leaned forward during suspenseful moments. They sighed contentedly during the romantic parts. I love showing movies to Chinese students.
If you would believe it, this story was actually even more complex in real life, but I left out some of the other complications because I figured you'd already be confused enough. Chaos is often a normal part of life in China, but not usually quite so much for quite so many people all at the same time. As the Chinese would say, "Aiii Yaaaa!"
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
The (Constant) Sound of Music
by Ruth
Everywhere I go these days, I hear singing. It’s not just my blissful state or unrelenting optimism (I have finally admitted that I am indeed a pessimist). There is actual singing going on every which away I turn.
We are just about a week away from China’s big 60th anniversary. Sure, this country has been around for thousands of years, but it is also 60 years old in the sense of being the People’s Republic of China. So it’s a really big deal. I would say it’s like 4th of July on steroids, but that really doesn’t begin to describe it. We just don’t do celebration on the large scale that China does.
We have been hearing about the grandiose celebrations that will be happening in Beijing. They are supposed to top the Olympics, and that was quite a presentation. There will probably be fireworks being shot off every minute of the day in every city across China. Our school is doing its part to participate as all the students are bursting with patriotic pride. And also, bursting with song.
For the past two weeks as we have walked around campus, we keep encountering groups of 30-50 students and teachers practicing songs outside various classroom buildings. Often there are several groups practicing on different parts of campus. We hear it from our apartments, in our classrooms, and everywhere we go. The first week it was mesmerizing. The second week it was interesting. Now, I'll be honest, it's getting a little tiring.
Tomorrow will be the big performance, so today the groups have been in mega-overdrive. All day long, they have been gathering to practice on the front steps of the main classroom building, this time complete with microphones, large speakers, and costumes. When I walked to class at 7:30am, hundreds of people were already congregating. My classes were carried out with the benefit of constant background music…if it can be called “background” music when you have to yell over it. When I finished with class at 4:15, hundreds of people were still gathered around while various groups loudly practiced their songs. Even during the rest period, the sacred after lunch rest period which is usually the quietest time of the day, the groups were practicing their singing. Now, at 11pm at night the speakers are still blasting out their music. It sounds like I have music going in the next room. Good thing I’ve got earplugs. Who knows when this will end.
So tomorrow will be the big performance, and I’m not quite sure what it will be like. Or rather, I’m pretty sure what it will sound like since I’ve been hearing it for weeks. But I’m not sure how long it will last. Apparently each department is performing. There are 20 departments. So I think we’re looking at hours…and hours. We were strongly encouraged to move our classes to different times because it's a big deal. I think it will be interesting. For all the practicing, they are bound to be good!
Everywhere I go these days, I hear singing. It’s not just my blissful state or unrelenting optimism (I have finally admitted that I am indeed a pessimist). There is actual singing going on every which away I turn.
We are just about a week away from China’s big 60th anniversary. Sure, this country has been around for thousands of years, but it is also 60 years old in the sense of being the People’s Republic of China. So it’s a really big deal. I would say it’s like 4th of July on steroids, but that really doesn’t begin to describe it. We just don’t do celebration on the large scale that China does.
We have been hearing about the grandiose celebrations that will be happening in Beijing. They are supposed to top the Olympics, and that was quite a presentation. There will probably be fireworks being shot off every minute of the day in every city across China. Our school is doing its part to participate as all the students are bursting with patriotic pride. And also, bursting with song.
For the past two weeks as we have walked around campus, we keep encountering groups of 30-50 students and teachers practicing songs outside various classroom buildings. Often there are several groups practicing on different parts of campus. We hear it from our apartments, in our classrooms, and everywhere we go. The first week it was mesmerizing. The second week it was interesting. Now, I'll be honest, it's getting a little tiring.
Tomorrow will be the big performance, so today the groups have been in mega-overdrive. All day long, they have been gathering to practice on the front steps of the main classroom building, this time complete with microphones, large speakers, and costumes. When I walked to class at 7:30am, hundreds of people were already congregating. My classes were carried out with the benefit of constant background music…if it can be called “background” music when you have to yell over it. When I finished with class at 4:15, hundreds of people were still gathered around while various groups loudly practiced their songs. Even during the rest period, the sacred after lunch rest period which is usually the quietest time of the day, the groups were practicing their singing. Now, at 11pm at night the speakers are still blasting out their music. It sounds like I have music going in the next room. Good thing I’ve got earplugs. Who knows when this will end.
So tomorrow will be the big performance, and I’m not quite sure what it will be like. Or rather, I’m pretty sure what it will sound like since I’ve been hearing it for weeks. But I’m not sure how long it will last. Apparently each department is performing. There are 20 departments. So I think we’re looking at hours…and hours. We were strongly encouraged to move our classes to different times because it's a big deal. I think it will be interesting. For all the practicing, they are bound to be good!
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Bye-bye Facebook, Facebook goodbye...
Dear Friends,
Effective last week we have entered a post-Facebook world. The little people who sit in little cubicles in some little city blocking websites all day have finally been effective. We searched through several different methods of worming our way around the block, but the programs that once working for us have now been terminated, at least at our school.
And so, we are forced to end our Facebook relationship. Maybe I shouldn’t say it’s the end of the relationship but rather that we’re “taking a break.” It’s possible that one day (say, after the big upcoming anniversary), Facebook will all of a sudden become available again. Until that time, let me explain the operating procedures for those of you who have forgotten how communication ever happened before Facebook.
What we can do:
1. We can still post notes (because actually they are just imported blog posts).
2. We can still read comments made on our notes (because they are emailed to us).
3. We can read private facebook messages (which are also emailed to us).
What we can’t do:
1. Reply to private facebook messages (unless you are so kind as to give us your actual email address)
2. Read comments left on our walls or perhaps other random places.
3. Look at all the nice pictures you posted.
4. Post our own pictures (unless maybe if they are part of the blog).
5. Update you about what we are doing five times a day.
6. Read your updates about which cereal you chose to eat, how much you hate traffic, and what kind of toothpaste you use (I think we’ll survive anyway).
7. Read your updates about important life events which you no longer tell people about because you posted it on Facebook.
What you should do:
1. Still leave comments on our notes, because we do like comments.
2. Tell us your email address so we still have some method of contact.
3. Remember your poor Facebook-less friends and TELL us when something important happens in your life.
4. Don’t forget we exist.
Thank you for your patience and understanding as we all attempt to adapt ourselves to these more archaic forms of communication.
Sincerely,
Mr. and Mrs. Ruvin
Effective last week we have entered a post-Facebook world. The little people who sit in little cubicles in some little city blocking websites all day have finally been effective. We searched through several different methods of worming our way around the block, but the programs that once working for us have now been terminated, at least at our school.
And so, we are forced to end our Facebook relationship. Maybe I shouldn’t say it’s the end of the relationship but rather that we’re “taking a break.” It’s possible that one day (say, after the big upcoming anniversary), Facebook will all of a sudden become available again. Until that time, let me explain the operating procedures for those of you who have forgotten how communication ever happened before Facebook.
What we can do:
1. We can still post notes (because actually they are just imported blog posts).
2. We can still read comments made on our notes (because they are emailed to us).
3. We can read private facebook messages (which are also emailed to us).
What we can’t do:
1. Reply to private facebook messages (unless you are so kind as to give us your actual email address)
2. Read comments left on our walls or perhaps other random places.
3. Look at all the nice pictures you posted.
4. Post our own pictures (unless maybe if they are part of the blog).
5. Update you about what we are doing five times a day.
6. Read your updates about which cereal you chose to eat, how much you hate traffic, and what kind of toothpaste you use (I think we’ll survive anyway).
7. Read your updates about important life events which you no longer tell people about because you posted it on Facebook.
What you should do:
1. Still leave comments on our notes, because we do like comments.
2. Tell us your email address so we still have some method of contact.
3. Remember your poor Facebook-less friends and TELL us when something important happens in your life.
4. Don’t forget we exist.
Thank you for your patience and understanding as we all attempt to adapt ourselves to these more archaic forms of communication.
Sincerely,
Mr. and Mrs. Ruvin
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
When is it OK to lie?
by Kevin
"We will have to be sneaky," Brian told us when we went to visit him in Lanzhou, Gansu, the next province to the west of ours. "I don't want my boss to find out that you came."
Sometimes it's hard for us to completely grasp the ethical issues Chinese people face dealing with foreigners. Usually a Chinese person would be glad to parade around a foreigner in a town that is rarely, if ever, visited by foreigners. They would gain a lot of face for being the person responsible for bringing a white face into town. But, our relationship runs deep enough that exploiting us wasn't on Brian's mind.
But still, it's complicated.
Last Spring, just after he had started the job teaching English at a small tutoring school in a tiny three-street town outside of Lanzhou called Hai Shi Wan, he asked his boss if he could have a day off so he could come to visit his foreign teacher if I came to visit. It would be my first chance to see him since leaving Tonghua more than two years ago. His boss said he would give him the time on one condition: he wanted to either photograph us and use us to advertise for his school or he wanted us to do a lecture for his students. Since our company prohibits us from doing outside work, I was hesitant. Before I could reply, Brian said, "I told him that I don't think you can do it." His boss didn't understand why we would say no. After all, the nature of guangxi in China means going out of your way to help friends and colleagues. His boss thought that if Brian has a strong relationship with some foreigners, he should be both willing and able to leverage that relationship to help his new relationship with his boss. "I would rather not do those things," I told him. "But I will do whatever you need me to do. If it helps you with your new job, I understand."
Unfortunately issues with getting a visa renewed (it took more than a month) meant that we had to postpone our trip until this fall. In the ensuing months, Brian decided that he doesn't want to work there for much longer (another story, which I'll try to get to soon).
So when we came, he made a difficult decision: he lied to his boss, saying that he needed the day off so he could go into Lanzhou to attend a friend's wedding. That meant we would have to lay low in the town. "If my boss finds out, he will be very angry."
As we checked into our hotel for the night, I was doubtful that it would be possible to keep quiet the arrival of "Wai guo ren" (the word for foreigners is literally "outside people"). The receptionist seemed genuinely shocked when we arrived. Even though the 2-star hotel, owned by the State Grid Corporation of China (the national power company), is the only one in town approved to the government to house foreigners, apparently they haven't had many. She nervously smiled and called her manager to ask for the proper procedures for checking us in. Since they didn't have a copy machine on hand, they took our passports so they could make photocopies, promising to return them before we left the next morning. I wondered when, or, more specifically, if foreigners have stayed at the hotel before.
So when we walked through the small town, which has maybe 20 or 30,000 people and covers about five blocks on three main streets, we took a small back road. Keeping news of foreigners coming to town quiet was going to be difficult. The key was going out of the way to make sure if his boss did get wind of foreigners coming, nobody would connect us to Brian.
Everywhere we went in town, people stared intently at us. Most welcomingly shouted "hello," but many others had suspicion plastered on their faces.
When we got to our hotel room, the door was open. I figured a cleaning lady was getting it ready for us. Instead, a young girl was sitting in the room watching TV, shocked to be disturbed by foreigners. Undoubtedly, she was the daughter of someone working at the hotel who had picked a free room to watch some TV. It wasn't difficult to see why the hotel had two stars. It smelled like a mixture of cigarette smoke and standing water and there was a large water stain on the carpet next to the bathroom. The bathroom door was so ajar that it didn't come close to closing. The bed was also only slightly softer than a piece of plywood. Ruth curled the blanket underneath her to provide a semblance of padding. After sleeping horribly on the noisy, smoke-filled train the night before, we slept like babies for about 11 hours while Brian went to work Friday night and Saturday morning.
When his boss unexpectedly called for a meeting with parents that afternoon, we hid out in the small bachelor's pad Brian shares with two other teachers, who were also sworn to secrecy. We watched our first game of snooker (a billiards-like game) on CCTV 5 and marveled at the sparse decor. They had four beds, a few seats, a coffeetable and a TV stand holding a small TV, but that was about the extent of the furniture. No mattresses on the beds. Although two of them were softened by half-inch mattress pads, the only padding on the third bed was a layer of cardboard.
The closest we got to the "Frontier Study School" was when we drove past it in the city's peculiar three-wheeled taxis, which Brian mocked as "Huge Road Mice." Brian couldn't risk us getting any closer.
When we left, Brian escorted us onto our train and we said our goodbyes. We got situated and noticed that the train was slowly beginning to creep forward. Brian hurried toward the exit, certain that he would be able to leave. I looked out the window hoping to wave goodbye one last time. But he didn't materialize. Then suddenly, laughing, Brian plopped down into the seat across from me. "The conductor wouldn't let me get off."
He pulled the printed train schedule from his pocket and searched to see if there would be a train he could take him back that night or early enough the next morning that he could teach his class. No. Laughing, he began calling his boss and coworkers to try and reschedule his class, telling them that he'd gotten stuck on a train seeing off some "friends." "I am embarrassed," he said. "Now whenever you think of your trip here, you will think about this. At least I will have a funny story to tell my students."
I tried to slip some money into his pocket to pay for his unexpected expenses, but he swatted my hand away.
The bright side was we got a few more hours with him, since we had an hour to wait in Lanzhou before catching our overnight train back to Weinan. Throughout the train ride, an exuberant woman attempted to sell us a variety of toys. When she realized that our Chinese was limited, she asked Brian if he would help her translate.
Brian again lied to protect us. "I don't know them," he said.
She didn't believe him.
"I saw you talking to them in English," she said. "Just help me translate into English."
"I don't speak English," he said.
"I won't leave until I sell something to the foreigners," she told him in Chinese, occasionally throwing out the few English phrases she could remember: "Hello." "Pleased to meet you."
After a good 10 minutes of bantering, during which a car full of passengers watched, she finally walked away.
When she approached again later, she again attempted to get us to buy something. Sitting down, she asked another man to teach her what to say in English so she could make the sale.
She hid out in a seat near us, waiting to catch Brian speaking to us in English so she could convince him to help her make the sale.
Finally, as we were exiting the train, Brian told us to make sure we had all our things. As we were walking away, he turned around while I forced some money into his pocket to pay for his unexpected expenses.
"I knew it," she said. "They were together."
We couldn't stop laughing. Brian said, "Now I have two stories to tell my students."
"We will have to be sneaky," Brian told us when we went to visit him in Lanzhou, Gansu, the next province to the west of ours. "I don't want my boss to find out that you came."
Sometimes it's hard for us to completely grasp the ethical issues Chinese people face dealing with foreigners. Usually a Chinese person would be glad to parade around a foreigner in a town that is rarely, if ever, visited by foreigners. They would gain a lot of face for being the person responsible for bringing a white face into town. But, our relationship runs deep enough that exploiting us wasn't on Brian's mind.
But still, it's complicated.
Last Spring, just after he had started the job teaching English at a small tutoring school in a tiny three-street town outside of Lanzhou called Hai Shi Wan, he asked his boss if he could have a day off so he could come to visit his foreign teacher if I came to visit. It would be my first chance to see him since leaving Tonghua more than two years ago. His boss said he would give him the time on one condition: he wanted to either photograph us and use us to advertise for his school or he wanted us to do a lecture for his students. Since our company prohibits us from doing outside work, I was hesitant. Before I could reply, Brian said, "I told him that I don't think you can do it." His boss didn't understand why we would say no. After all, the nature of guangxi in China means going out of your way to help friends and colleagues. His boss thought that if Brian has a strong relationship with some foreigners, he should be both willing and able to leverage that relationship to help his new relationship with his boss. "I would rather not do those things," I told him. "But I will do whatever you need me to do. If it helps you with your new job, I understand."
Unfortunately issues with getting a visa renewed (it took more than a month) meant that we had to postpone our trip until this fall. In the ensuing months, Brian decided that he doesn't want to work there for much longer (another story, which I'll try to get to soon).
So when we came, he made a difficult decision: he lied to his boss, saying that he needed the day off so he could go into Lanzhou to attend a friend's wedding. That meant we would have to lay low in the town. "If my boss finds out, he will be very angry."
As we checked into our hotel for the night, I was doubtful that it would be possible to keep quiet the arrival of "Wai guo ren" (the word for foreigners is literally "outside people"). The receptionist seemed genuinely shocked when we arrived. Even though the 2-star hotel, owned by the State Grid Corporation of China (the national power company), is the only one in town approved to the government to house foreigners, apparently they haven't had many. She nervously smiled and called her manager to ask for the proper procedures for checking us in. Since they didn't have a copy machine on hand, they took our passports so they could make photocopies, promising to return them before we left the next morning. I wondered when, or, more specifically, if foreigners have stayed at the hotel before.
So when we walked through the small town, which has maybe 20 or 30,000 people and covers about five blocks on three main streets, we took a small back road. Keeping news of foreigners coming to town quiet was going to be difficult. The key was going out of the way to make sure if his boss did get wind of foreigners coming, nobody would connect us to Brian.
Everywhere we went in town, people stared intently at us. Most welcomingly shouted "hello," but many others had suspicion plastered on their faces.
When we got to our hotel room, the door was open. I figured a cleaning lady was getting it ready for us. Instead, a young girl was sitting in the room watching TV, shocked to be disturbed by foreigners. Undoubtedly, she was the daughter of someone working at the hotel who had picked a free room to watch some TV. It wasn't difficult to see why the hotel had two stars. It smelled like a mixture of cigarette smoke and standing water and there was a large water stain on the carpet next to the bathroom. The bathroom door was so ajar that it didn't come close to closing. The bed was also only slightly softer than a piece of plywood. Ruth curled the blanket underneath her to provide a semblance of padding. After sleeping horribly on the noisy, smoke-filled train the night before, we slept like babies for about 11 hours while Brian went to work Friday night and Saturday morning.
When his boss unexpectedly called for a meeting with parents that afternoon, we hid out in the small bachelor's pad Brian shares with two other teachers, who were also sworn to secrecy. We watched our first game of snooker (a billiards-like game) on CCTV 5 and marveled at the sparse decor. They had four beds, a few seats, a coffeetable and a TV stand holding a small TV, but that was about the extent of the furniture. No mattresses on the beds. Although two of them were softened by half-inch mattress pads, the only padding on the third bed was a layer of cardboard.
The closest we got to the "Frontier Study School" was when we drove past it in the city's peculiar three-wheeled taxis, which Brian mocked as "Huge Road Mice." Brian couldn't risk us getting any closer.
When we left, Brian escorted us onto our train and we said our goodbyes. We got situated and noticed that the train was slowly beginning to creep forward. Brian hurried toward the exit, certain that he would be able to leave. I looked out the window hoping to wave goodbye one last time. But he didn't materialize. Then suddenly, laughing, Brian plopped down into the seat across from me. "The conductor wouldn't let me get off."
He pulled the printed train schedule from his pocket and searched to see if there would be a train he could take him back that night or early enough the next morning that he could teach his class. No. Laughing, he began calling his boss and coworkers to try and reschedule his class, telling them that he'd gotten stuck on a train seeing off some "friends." "I am embarrassed," he said. "Now whenever you think of your trip here, you will think about this. At least I will have a funny story to tell my students."
I tried to slip some money into his pocket to pay for his unexpected expenses, but he swatted my hand away.
The bright side was we got a few more hours with him, since we had an hour to wait in Lanzhou before catching our overnight train back to Weinan. Throughout the train ride, an exuberant woman attempted to sell us a variety of toys. When she realized that our Chinese was limited, she asked Brian if he would help her translate.
Brian again lied to protect us. "I don't know them," he said.
She didn't believe him.
"I saw you talking to them in English," she said. "Just help me translate into English."
"I don't speak English," he said.
"I won't leave until I sell something to the foreigners," she told him in Chinese, occasionally throwing out the few English phrases she could remember: "Hello." "Pleased to meet you."
After a good 10 minutes of bantering, during which a car full of passengers watched, she finally walked away.
When she approached again later, she again attempted to get us to buy something. Sitting down, she asked another man to teach her what to say in English so she could make the sale.
She hid out in a seat near us, waiting to catch Brian speaking to us in English so she could convince him to help her make the sale.
Finally, as we were exiting the train, Brian told us to make sure we had all our things. As we were walking away, he turned around while I forced some money into his pocket to pay for his unexpected expenses.
"I knew it," she said. "They were together."
We couldn't stop laughing. Brian said, "Now I have two stories to tell my students."
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Freshmen
by Ruth
The freshmen have arrived. This has been evidenced by:
- Huge banners, balloons, and blow-up welcoming arches
- Lost looking kids wandering around with suitcases
- All day announcements and music blared through the loudspeakers (alternating between quiet elevator-type music, loud, patriotic marches, and high-pitched operas)
- A special 2.5 hour welcoming program of speeches and performances
- Thousands of kids walking around in matching wind-suits and now…
- Thousands of kids broken into class groups, standing in line, turning, and marching together
- The leaders counting off “yi, er, san, si” followed by “YI, ER, SAN, SI” from the students
Unlike in America, the freshmen arrive two weeks after the older students. They have a short orientation and then go through military training before classes. Military training is when they stand in lines and shout out numbers. After a while, they will add marching and turning to the regimen. They do this all day long (with of course the lunch/nap break in the middle, because it would be inhumane to not allow a mid-day nap). It seems like it would be pretty boring, but some of the students say they have fond memories from that time. I guess in all the time that they are standing around doing nothing, they talk to their classmates and start getting to know each other.
We thought the freshmen would have two weeks of military training, but now it appears that they will start classes next week, which means that we will need to start teaching them next week. Kevin and I are teaching half sophomores and half freshmen, so this first couple of weeks we’ve had significantly less to do. I guess we should figure out what we're going to teach these little freshmen. Darn it…now we actually have to work. What a drag.
The freshmen have arrived. This has been evidenced by:
- Huge banners, balloons, and blow-up welcoming arches
- Lost looking kids wandering around with suitcases
- All day announcements and music blared through the loudspeakers (alternating between quiet elevator-type music, loud, patriotic marches, and high-pitched operas)
- A special 2.5 hour welcoming program of speeches and performances
- Thousands of kids walking around in matching wind-suits and now…
- Thousands of kids broken into class groups, standing in line, turning, and marching together
- The leaders counting off “yi, er, san, si” followed by “YI, ER, SAN, SI” from the students
Unlike in America, the freshmen arrive two weeks after the older students. They have a short orientation and then go through military training before classes. Military training is when they stand in lines and shout out numbers. After a while, they will add marching and turning to the regimen. They do this all day long (with of course the lunch/nap break in the middle, because it would be inhumane to not allow a mid-day nap). It seems like it would be pretty boring, but some of the students say they have fond memories from that time. I guess in all the time that they are standing around doing nothing, they talk to their classmates and start getting to know each other.
We thought the freshmen would have two weeks of military training, but now it appears that they will start classes next week, which means that we will need to start teaching them next week. Kevin and I are teaching half sophomores and half freshmen, so this first couple of weeks we’ve had significantly less to do. I guess we should figure out what we're going to teach these little freshmen. Darn it…now we actually have to work. What a drag.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Noticing the details
Aug. 30, 2009
By Kevin
She'd been standing in the middle of our living room for several minutes gazing at the photograph.
"It's wonderful," she repeatedly said with wonder. "So beautiful."
Lily, our Chinese tutor, marveled at the trees surrounding Ruth's parent's home in Georgia. She stroked the grass with her finger. Everything about it was so different from her experience. The home is on several acres of land, surrounded by lush green grass and trees.
"Is it made of wood?" she asked, noticing the texture of the walls in the background of a family photo. Many of her questions are things we simply take for granted.
She explained how most Chinese homes are made of brick or cement. Most Chinese people live in multi-story apartment buildings unless they live in the countryside. I thought about how I've seen Chinese builders frequently pull the rebar out as concrete hardens so they can reuse it to erect the next level of an apartment building. I wonder whether or not they left the rebar in our walls.
She was amazed that Ruth's parent's home was somewhat typical in America.
"Kevin, what about your family's home?" I'd forgotten to print out a photograph, but I explained that it too was made of wood, noting that the prevalence of earthquakes in California means more wooden homes because they handle the shaking better. My mind flashes to pictures of the damage done in the Sichuan earthquake two years ago and compare it to the comparatively light damage I've seen when the ground shakes in California.
"Is that your car?" Lily asked Ruth, pointing to the foreground.
"My mother's."
"Does everyone in America have a car?"
"Not everyone, but probably most people."
Her friend Cherry was amazed to discover that our families don't all live in the same city and that many Americans, particularly in more rural areas don't know their neighbors well because they hop into cars and travel from place to place rather than walking or taking the bus. "In my hometown there are 300 who all know each other," Cherry said.
Just before this, as they were paging through our America photographs, they gasped when they saw the skyscrapers of Chicago. "Did you take this?" She asked. We couldn't remember if it was one I snapped or if Ruth took it. "The sky is so blue," Lily said. "So beautiful."
She was shocked. "I had heard that most developed countries do not have clean air," she said. but the sky here is very clean."
It's interesting how they noticed all the little details in photos that we never think of.
They spotted the castle-like administration building in the background of Wheaton graduation photos, wondered why a skyscraper would be labeled "Westin," and giggled at photos of Abby and Hannah playing with a magnifying glass, remembering how they too played dress-up as young girls. Seeing photographs of family, they were shocked to discover that both of our grandmothers still wear makeup. "In China, most women stop wearing makeup when they are 60," Lily explained. They were also amazed that our grandparents are still independent that they don't want to live with their children, even though they are in their 80s. In a photos of family, their eyes were drawn to the fireplaces in the background. "Do people burn wood in America?" Cherry asked. "In China we usually burn coal."
After convincing Lily to set the photos down, we played a game of Uno. I was amazed because these were the first two Chinese students we've played with who actually pronounced the word correctly "Oooh-no" not "You-no."
Then, as we chatted, Cherry sat down and began to play with Ruth's stuffed giraffes Geoffrey and Gloria, teaching us the animal's Chinese name: cháng jǐng lù - which means "long-necked deer."
Finally, though, the temptation to return to their studies set in and we parted ways. These girls are seniors hoping to study Chinese as post-graduate students in Beijing next year, so they spend most of their waking hours studying for January's post-graduate exam. It's good to be back getting into the flow of China life.
By Kevin
She'd been standing in the middle of our living room for several minutes gazing at the photograph.
"It's wonderful," she repeatedly said with wonder. "So beautiful."
Lily, our Chinese tutor, marveled at the trees surrounding Ruth's parent's home in Georgia. She stroked the grass with her finger. Everything about it was so different from her experience. The home is on several acres of land, surrounded by lush green grass and trees.
"Is it made of wood?" she asked, noticing the texture of the walls in the background of a family photo. Many of her questions are things we simply take for granted.
She explained how most Chinese homes are made of brick or cement. Most Chinese people live in multi-story apartment buildings unless they live in the countryside. I thought about how I've seen Chinese builders frequently pull the rebar out as concrete hardens so they can reuse it to erect the next level of an apartment building. I wonder whether or not they left the rebar in our walls.
She was amazed that Ruth's parent's home was somewhat typical in America.
"Kevin, what about your family's home?" I'd forgotten to print out a photograph, but I explained that it too was made of wood, noting that the prevalence of earthquakes in California means more wooden homes because they handle the shaking better. My mind flashes to pictures of the damage done in the Sichuan earthquake two years ago and compare it to the comparatively light damage I've seen when the ground shakes in California.
"Is that your car?" Lily asked Ruth, pointing to the foreground.
"My mother's."
"Does everyone in America have a car?"
"Not everyone, but probably most people."
Her friend Cherry was amazed to discover that our families don't all live in the same city and that many Americans, particularly in more rural areas don't know their neighbors well because they hop into cars and travel from place to place rather than walking or taking the bus. "In my hometown there are 300 who all know each other," Cherry said.
Just before this, as they were paging through our America photographs, they gasped when they saw the skyscrapers of Chicago. "Did you take this?" She asked. We couldn't remember if it was one I snapped or if Ruth took it. "The sky is so blue," Lily said. "So beautiful."
She was shocked. "I had heard that most developed countries do not have clean air," she said. but the sky here is very clean."
It's interesting how they noticed all the little details in photos that we never think of.
They spotted the castle-like administration building in the background of Wheaton graduation photos, wondered why a skyscraper would be labeled "Westin," and giggled at photos of Abby and Hannah playing with a magnifying glass, remembering how they too played dress-up as young girls. Seeing photographs of family, they were shocked to discover that both of our grandmothers still wear makeup. "In China, most women stop wearing makeup when they are 60," Lily explained. They were also amazed that our grandparents are still independent that they don't want to live with their children, even though they are in their 80s. In a photos of family, their eyes were drawn to the fireplaces in the background. "Do people burn wood in America?" Cherry asked. "In China we usually burn coal."
After convincing Lily to set the photos down, we played a game of Uno. I was amazed because these were the first two Chinese students we've played with who actually pronounced the word correctly "Oooh-no" not "You-no."
Then, as we chatted, Cherry sat down and began to play with Ruth's stuffed giraffes Geoffrey and Gloria, teaching us the animal's Chinese name: cháng jǐng lù - which means "long-necked deer."
Finally, though, the temptation to return to their studies set in and we parted ways. These girls are seniors hoping to study Chinese as post-graduate students in Beijing next year, so they spend most of their waking hours studying for January's post-graduate exam. It's good to be back getting into the flow of China life.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Cricket
by Ruth
When I was home this summer, I thought about how nice it was to listen to the symphony of crickets as I fell asleep at night. It was such a summer-in-the-south, woodsy,country sort of sound. Well, the past few nights we've had a cricket take up residence on the laundry porch next to our bedroom and start it's own little little symphony. It's not quite the same.
Moral #1: Some things which are beautiful from a far are annoying up close.
Moral #2: Just because you sound fine singing in a group doesn't mean you should try it alone.
When I was home this summer, I thought about how nice it was to listen to the symphony of crickets as I fell asleep at night. It was such a summer-in-the-south, woodsy,country sort of sound. Well, the past few nights we've had a cricket take up residence on the laundry porch next to our bedroom and start it's own little little symphony. It's not quite the same.
Moral #1: Some things which are beautiful from a far are annoying up close.
Moral #2: Just because you sound fine singing in a group doesn't mean you should try it alone.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Coming "Home"
by Ruth
We have made it back to Weinan, after various means of travels and two days of meetings in Beijing. We arrived on the train this morning and have already gotten settled back in, plus had a cleaning crew come in to deep clean the apartment. It's such a nice feeling to be in a clean house (Although, half an hour after they cleaned, the dining table was already covered with enough dust to run your finger through. That's what happens when the windows are open, which is what happens when your A/C still doesn't work.) Now we are just trying to press through the exhaustion/jetlag for long enough until we can justify going to bed.
While we were in Beijing with other teachers, I kept hearing people talking about "going home" to their schools. For some people, who have lived here a long time, that seems legitimate. This is probably their home more than anywhere else. With other people, it seemed kind of fake...like campers calling their cabin "home" or something like that. But perhaps that's just me being judgmental.
It was nice to come back to Weinan, to our familiar apartment with all our things. It is nice to know our way around, to greet the guard at the gate and the owners of our favorite restaurants. But would I really call this home? It still seems too temporary. Only slightly more permanent than college. Sometimes I even feel like I'm not quite telling the truth when I tell people I live in China. Because I still go back to the states every year, I am still away from here for 3-4 months a year, I still have a US passport and a white face to show I don't belong. So does it count to say that I really live here?
I guess, after moving to so many different places in the past few years, I hold things more loosely. I know I can't quite get settled in. I never forget that anything I bring home I will soon have to pack up and move out. I wonder what "home" really means? After you live in a place for X months/years, does it automatically become home? Does it mean a place where you hang up pictures and put down rugs? I have those things. But to me, home signifies a certain sense of belonging; whether through ownership or memories or family, you have a claim to the place. Home means stability. Roots. Depth that doesn't come with one or two years. That's not what I have here.
It's not such a bad thing, just the way things are. And still, I felt satisfied when I opened my wardrobe and saw all my clothes hung neatly inside. It is a good feeling to come back to a desk drawer that is as cluttered as I left it. Maybe that means I do belong here, even if it's only for a few years, even if it's not quite home.
I am almost up to the 9pm mark, which means I am completely justified in going to bed. Good thing too, because my brain just went on standby. Which means, this is the end.
We have made it back to Weinan, after various means of travels and two days of meetings in Beijing. We arrived on the train this morning and have already gotten settled back in, plus had a cleaning crew come in to deep clean the apartment. It's such a nice feeling to be in a clean house (Although, half an hour after they cleaned, the dining table was already covered with enough dust to run your finger through. That's what happens when the windows are open, which is what happens when your A/C still doesn't work.) Now we are just trying to press through the exhaustion/jetlag for long enough until we can justify going to bed.
While we were in Beijing with other teachers, I kept hearing people talking about "going home" to their schools. For some people, who have lived here a long time, that seems legitimate. This is probably their home more than anywhere else. With other people, it seemed kind of fake...like campers calling their cabin "home" or something like that. But perhaps that's just me being judgmental.
It was nice to come back to Weinan, to our familiar apartment with all our things. It is nice to know our way around, to greet the guard at the gate and the owners of our favorite restaurants. But would I really call this home? It still seems too temporary. Only slightly more permanent than college. Sometimes I even feel like I'm not quite telling the truth when I tell people I live in China. Because I still go back to the states every year, I am still away from here for 3-4 months a year, I still have a US passport and a white face to show I don't belong. So does it count to say that I really live here?
I guess, after moving to so many different places in the past few years, I hold things more loosely. I know I can't quite get settled in. I never forget that anything I bring home I will soon have to pack up and move out. I wonder what "home" really means? After you live in a place for X months/years, does it automatically become home? Does it mean a place where you hang up pictures and put down rugs? I have those things. But to me, home signifies a certain sense of belonging; whether through ownership or memories or family, you have a claim to the place. Home means stability. Roots. Depth that doesn't come with one or two years. That's not what I have here.
It's not such a bad thing, just the way things are. And still, I felt satisfied when I opened my wardrobe and saw all my clothes hung neatly inside. It is a good feeling to come back to a desk drawer that is as cluttered as I left it. Maybe that means I do belong here, even if it's only for a few years, even if it's not quite home.
I am almost up to the 9pm mark, which means I am completely justified in going to bed. Good thing too, because my brain just went on standby. Which means, this is the end.
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