For the first two weeks of campus life, things were relatively quiet and easy for me to manage. Quiet because we only had half our student body; easy to manage because I only had two classes per week and daily had only to score some food from somewhere. Of course, it was not easy to manage not sinking into depression, but I already wrote about that.
Of course, maybe there was a cycle going on at that time: it was quiet on campus so I felt compelled to sleep, I slept because I was depressed, I was depressed because there was nothing going on on campus… but I suppose that it is now a moot point.
And then, the day arrived when Freshmen, hailing from far and wide, were to report to campus. What an occasion! The street in front of the school, still under construction when I arrived 3 weeks prior, was finished just in time to accommodate the influx of people. The businesses and stores that were opening up along that small segment of road had triumphant laurels and specially woven garlands of flowers adorning them. They also set off firecrackers to celebrate their grand opening throughout the day and the din was maddening.
On campus the preparations were equally elaborate: tents were erected to shelter welcoming committees from the heat and to give the campus police someplace shady to process the new students and sign their parents in. Lines of Sophomores formed a type of gauntlet for their new proteges to run, and they directed the Newbies to the various tables they needed to visit. They danced and clapped in the heat of the day to a repeating soundtrack of Pachabel’s Canon in D Major, Kelly Clarkson’s Because of You, and music from various Chinese artists that I did not recognize. The elderly people who normally scrounge through the garbage in search of recyclables were in 7th heaven: the University provided all and sundry with a steady supply of bottled water and once the water was drunk, the bottles were simply handed over to a ‘scrounger’.
In short, everyone was enjoying the celebration, except for maybe the freshmen, which appeared overwhelmed, their parents who most likely had never left their remote farming village before now and appeared dazzled at all the noise and people, and me… I still had my sad face on.
Lavender to the rescue! Lavender is one of the students who sees to my welfare – not one of my Cookie Cutter Girls. She is a perfectly adorable dumpling of a girl with stunning eyes, a compelling smile and a sweetness that would throw a diabetic in a coma. She dragged me out of the house and, battling the influx of humanity, dragged me off campus. I thank Lavender for her seemingly cruel but very timely action; I would never have witnessed the gala of welcoming the freshmen had it not been for her. We enjoyed a day out and got back fairly late.
Nobody told me that the freshmen undergo 2 weeks of military training before actually starting their academic career. The celebration, banners, fireworks and dancing students all happened on Sunday; at 0600 Monday morning a sharp whistle blast caused me to leap straight out of bed. Presumably it caused everyone else to too, as testified by the near immediate cavalcade of stomping feet down the staircase adjoining my apartment. The freshmen were to be in formation just outside my bedroom window, in complete uniform, for the march to the exercise field where they would drill for 10 hours or more per day. Those first few days they did not form very well and I got to experience their drill sergeant yelling at them. Thus I started my days.
For the next 2 weeks I needed no alarm clock on Mondays or Wednesdays in order to get up and teach. I did not need an alarm clock on those days when I didn’t have to get up and teach, either. I had a very loud one, courtesy of the Chinese education system in general and the University in particular. That REALLY took care of my desire to sleep the clock ‘round.
Those students: what fortitude! What strength! They were drilled mercilessly, hour after hour, in the heat and in the rain until they could salute, march in step, stay in formation, shout salutations, and understand the values proscribed by their country and by this establishment of higher learning.
From my window I spied these poor children, for mere children is what they are at barely age 18. Some fresh off the farm, some lonely and homesick, all bewildered at the new life they were embarking on by virtue of their ability to pass an entrance exam. Some of the girls broke down and cried mid-drill, some of the boys just gave out and had to break rank and sit. From all appearances, nobody loved what was going on: having to wear cammo dress uniforms with red berets for the girls and green ones for the boys, simple canvas shoes that provided no foot comfort during the hours of marching and drilling; hungry, sweaty, homesick, lonely. It must have been difficult for these children to establish any kind of friendships during those first two weeks while the drill sergeant barked orders at them.
But they did it. Not only did they forge relationships, but during those two weeks these kids, as diverse a population as had they come from different nations because of China’s 58 different ethnicities, could march in step, understand and respond to commands, perform a gracious tai-chi routine, present arms while passing in review, and maintain formation until they were instructed to stand at ease.
How do I know? I was honored to be invited to their graduation. It was a very formal affair, with all of the school dignitaries seated on a dais bedecked with red velvet covered tables. And I wasn’t hidden in the back either: I was at the front table, front row seating to behold and admire this gala ceremony. I was introduced as a member of the school staff, just like all the other senior staffers and military personnel. These kids… they clapped at the introductions as though they were honored that we deigned to grace them with our presence. I was completely moved.
Matter of fact, I welled up more than once during that hour-long ceremony. I had so many emotions battling for center stage: witnessing a nation’s pride when the flag was hoisted, awe that these kids had mastered so much in so little time, feeling the summer’s last heat on my face and arms. Finally, a bubble of laughter as some poor marcher lost his or her shoe on the parade ground and it sat, dejected and abandoned, until a custodian kicked it off the track.
The last picture I took was of them throwing their caps in the air, after the dignitaries had left. It appears that they were instructed to maintain decorum until all the muckety-mucks were gone. After that, they reverted back to being children and indulged in a moment of simple pleasure and pure relief. What a joy to behold.
Because of their hat tossing I was sharply reminded of graduations in America, and the sense of relief American kids feel when the burden of academia has been successfully vanquished. Maybe the differences between China and America are not so great, I remember thinking… before welling up again.
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