The Week in Pictures

For the first few years I was here, I held end-of-year parties for all of my students, class by class, in my apartment. It was never meant to accommodate more than 30 people at a time, and my kitchen is not meant to cater that much food at once. I soon discontinued that practice.

This year, to get my kids talking in class – and off their phones, I came up with the ingenious idea of holding competitions. Class by class, divided into groups, whichever team presented the best topic, as judged by their peers, would enjoy a dinner at my house. The exercise culminated in time for the end of the year. Thus, I hosted 4 parties, back to back, during the last week.

I thought I was going to get away from having parties at my house... oh well! These were smaller groups, and we had an opportunity to play outside of class and appreciate our time together.

On Monday, I went food shopping for all of these dinners. No pictures to show of that. It's really not that exciting.

On Tuesday, The FBI made their appearance. We made pizza and quesadillas, and cookies for their classmates 

On Wednesday, my lone sophomore group and I met for a dinner off-campus. I wanted to show my appreciation for them pushing me to be a better teacher. Fortunately, that meal was catered.

On Thursday, The Running Goddesses came by. We had already had a pizza party earlier in the year, so for them it was shepherd's pie, grilled chicken wings, deviled eggs, steamed veggies and salad. And quesadillas, which are proving to be a hit.

On Friday, The TFGirls graced my home. Again: pizza and quesadillas. For them and the Running Goddesses, I made an apple pie – because I had already treated their classmates to home-baked treats earlier in the year.

And this is what I felt like at the end of it all.  

The Rise of the Cyberbully

While cyberbullying in America has garnered a lot of attention, mainly due to attacks on social media that lead the victims to commit suicide, in China it has been a relatively rare phenomenon till now. However, instances of cyberbullying are on the rise here, as evidenced by this article, posted in ChinaDaily: http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/china/2013-06/21/content_16644475.htm

America has made laws in the face of cyberbullying. China's cyber-laws are still in their infancy, and that includes determining punishment for such bullies.

You might have guessed by my writing about this topic that I have my very own cyberbully on my ChinaDaily blog page. A comment attached to one of my blog posts, that had nothing to do with the article's topic, read: 

teacher we all like you but your punctuation are not correct .your are out of touch with our generation .can you please improve your teaching style in our class? we do not like when you talk like this things in class or and in the net .can you improve your teaching style for us ? my classmates talk things .you shouldn't not say poorly things of this any more .

Doesn't sound like bullying, does it? It sounds like a student who wishes to point out some deficiencies in my teaching or writing style, something I'm always glad to improve on. My response included: “Which class are you in? What is your name? Can we talk face to face?”

A few days later, on my message board:

teacher you make no real to help us .we are young and you are wrong influences on classmates .out of touch our generation and not actively in class .very too old for us to folow.

Now curious, I went to that person's page: no blogs posted, no friends, no pictures, no articles shared. In fact, that page seems to have been created the day the first comment appeared. I intuit I might have trouble.

And what am I supposed to make of that message?

“...out of touch with our generation...”. Like my bully is the first teen ever to express that thought? What youngster has not, at one time or another, accused older generations of being out of touch?

“...very too old for us to follow.” I can't help being old anymore than I can help being female, Caucasian or tall!

What is this bully hoping for? That I'd become despondent? Cry? Quit my job and flee the country? Kill myself??? 

Am I a target of a 'human flesh search', that uniquely Chinese phenomenon where an attacker will seek out information to target a potential victim with? Or is this person really one of my students who went through the trouble of finding me in the void of cyber-space, and then created a profile page for the exclusive purpose of sending hateful messages?

Here, Cyber-bullies everywhere, are some lessons for life:

1.      If you're going to put forth the effort of doing something; if you are going to speak with utter conviction, be proud of yourself! Put your name to it. Only a coward or a weakling hides.

2.      State your desired outcome. It makes things so much clearer to us victims. It is so bothersome to have to try to figure out what you want from us!

3.      How about not bullying? Clearly there are better ways for you to spend your time and energy.

As for my bully... I feel sad. I hope she will stop hiding behind our blogging community and out of cyber-space, face me  directly and tell me what's really on her mind. Until then, there's nothing else to be done. 

The Last Dance / The Last Hurrah

Both of those phrases mean the same thing: something coming to an end. The first phrase indicates something pleasant or enjoyable is almost over; the last expression reveals that something onerous, dutiful or difficult – something that requires a lot of effort is almost done. For me and many other foreign teachers, the first phrase fits. For our students, the second one is more apt.

I kicked off my last class of the year by explaining the difference between those two seemingly synonymous phrases. 

After listening to my charges' final recountings of their university experience, ceremoniously un-setting my phone's alarm and clearing my electronic calender of those pesky reminders: when, where and which groups of students have class, I reflect on the 2015/16 academic year.

Until recently, this has been a very sweet gig: minimal effort for maximum gain. This year I've had classes every day, sometimes several times a day – a far departure from when I had only 3 classes per week. Much of the joie de vivre that possessed me in my first few years here lay dormant in the face of duty and obligation. In fact, I could say that this engagement has become a full-time job! After being semi-retired for 4 years, it was a bit difficult to adjust to being occupied every day again.

I had some difficult groups this year. One demanded that I teach them something useful. “What is 'useful'?” I tasked them to debate. That particular group pushed me harder than any other class. For them, I worked extra hard to provide fresh material, presented in a unique way.

Thing is, I'm not required  to teach anything (please see I'm Not Fluff entry, posted November, 2015) My job is to provide opportunities for students to practice their spoken English and, maybe, to correct, IF there is a grave error repeated by many. The school gives me plenty of latitude, something I really appreciate.

One thing I've learned this year is that not all groups are the same, or like the same activities. Whereas one class of freshmen loved making Powerpoints and presenting, another bunch didn't even like to answer out loud. One set suffered from 'phonitchia' – the urge to constantly be on their phones. Quickly, I learned to incorporate their phones into classroom activities.

OOPS! I guess I too could express the end of the year as 'The Last Hurrah', couldn't I?

Does every teacher look back over their year, weigh the good versus the bad and draw conclusions before putting the whole thing away and cavorting all summer? Are some teachers on fire with ideas, writing out lesson plans in advance of the distant, next semester? Or is everyone wrung out, ready to forget any word even remotely related to academia? I'm guessing some expat teachers are thinking of nothing but their trip home, after their year-long absence. How sweet will that reunion be!

I'm thinking about the year's standouts:

Orange, a dear boy who will graduate next year, who boarded a plane for Wisconsin yesterday. He will spend the summer in an amusement park, taking tickets and starting rides for gleeful vacationers. Through a series of texts that started in January, he asked for help and communicated this uncertainty and excitement. He will be a different boy when he comes back, I'm sure.

Haiyou Me! (还有 me!; Hi-yo me!), an adorable freshman (acual name: Vixen) who stands no taller than 1.20m but has the heart of a conquerer. This child, with her elfin visage and her boundless enthusiasm, has taken part in every English competition our department offered, performed in every student show and excelled in class. She is so well known around campus that, when I show her picture, even senior students know who she is. This summer she will go back to her village, where her heart has been since she came here. I wonder if she will take a part of this big city back with her?

I had 3 Julias this year. The first is an adorable pixie of a girl, quiet, soft-spoken and so cute you'd want to bite her (I restrained myself). The second started her college career with severe problems that she sought counseling for. At the start of the year she would barely talk when spoken to; these days she walks around campus with her head held high and eagerly joins in our classroom activities. What a change!

Julia the 3^rd is a bit harder to quantify. Shunned by her classmates early in the year due to severe hygiene deficiencies, she threw herself into her studies, almost to the exclusion of all else. One tortuous episode witnessed between her and a classmate after the bell rang led me to take her under my wing. She is still mostly shunned by her peers but she is more confident in herself and her abilities. A good thing, too: she's a very bright girl who didn't need the extra burden of ridicule.

I had more than 200 students this semester. All have, in some way become remarkable to me; impressed themselves in my heart. Berry, a funny little girl who shyly stated she had ambitions to be a doctor, but her family quelled that notion. Doreen, from a poor village, determined to learn French as well as English, even though she battles apraxia. Bob, with the mellifluous voice of a preacher, a humorous kid who jests outside of class but can only barely be made to participate in class.

As I put away my grade book, so I shelve those who've occupied my time and thoughts all year, knowing they won't pursue English studies during the summer anymore than I will haunt classrooms.

That's why I believe the last class is the Last Dance: in spite of aggravations and demands on my time and heart, after that final bell rings, it is all over.

Time to move on.       

  

The Bucket List

Yes, I am shamefully borrowing a movie title! It was a great movie about 2 men from different social classes, 'stored' in the same hospital room for their terminal illnesses. See, sickness and death do not care if you are wealthy or poor. You could say that they equalize us all.

BUCKET LIST: a list of things to do, places to see, foods to eat before one dies.

The phrase comes from the American colloquialism 'to kick the bucket', meaning 'to die'. A bucket list supposes that there are must-have experiences that everyone should aspire to: climbing Mount Everest, sky-diving, experiencing a transformative love.

These are all generalities, of course. Not everyone is physically fit (or financially well off) enough to climb Mount Everest. Some have a veritable fear of flying, and if that doesn't get them, I'm guessing the idea of throwing themselves out of a perfectly good airplane might keep them grounded. And love... ah! Love! How many people in this world really discover true and enduring love?

Great Love happens all too seldom, doesn't it?

For some reason, I woke up today, thinking of bucket lists. Well, I know the reason I woke up thinking about them (I'll tell you later), and that thought led me to remember a conversation I had with my son last year.

“What's on your bucket list, Mom?”

He, a new father and reveling in the role – something to scratch off his personal bucket list, wanted to know what I wanted to do before I grew too feeble to do it. I couldn't think of a single thing! 

It's not that my imagination is so limited, or that my mind is so closed that I wouldn't want to experience anything more than what I am privileged to partake of already. It's just that there is so much in this world to see, do, eat and experience that I can't narrow my perspective down to a few items on a list. Every time I click on an internet link, read a book or talk with a friend, I discover some previously unknown that I'd like to immerse myself in.

Until recently I've been possessed of the arrogance of youth, thinking I had all the time in the world, and the physical ability to do anything I wanted. Having recently been made painfully aware of my limitations – time and physical, I am realizing that all of the world's treasures are not mine to take. I have to be selective.  

Here is how I came to think of bucket lists to begin with...

Olaf, a gentleman I've had the pleasure of knowing since I've lived in Wuhan, is now back in Germany with the love of his life, Xiao Ai. We've kept in touch all of this time, and yesterday, in our latest message exchange, I put forth the idea of visiting him, and Germany, via the Trans-Siberian Railway.

BUCKET LIST ITEM: Travel from Harbin to Moscow, for a 3-day visit. And then on to St. Petersburg for a week-long stay, to visit The Hermitage. From there, through Poland and into Germany – visiting my girlhood home in Berlin along the way, and ending up at Olaf's house in Stuttgart. (See Black Dragon River entry, posted April of this year).

NOTE: Olaf was not originally a part of my bucket list trip, but he confessed that that train trip is on his bucket list.

I have wanted to ride the Trans-Siberian train since I watched Fiddler on the Roof, all those years ago: Tevye putting his daughter on that train, to meet her husband.  Dreamy sounding names – Novosibirsk, Vladivostok, Irkutsk all lay along the lines of that fabled railway. The Ural mountains, the Volga, the Kama... the slice of life that can only be witnessed on passenger trains.   

Indeed, this trip would be quite an adventure. But is it a Bucket List trip?

If so, then many aspects of my life are Bucket List worthy: being a mother/grandmother, when so many can't have children. Touching the lives of so many, and having their warmth and friendship fill my heart. Embarking on no fewer than 3 distinctly separate careers in my life (so far). Abandoning all that is known and familiar to embrace life in China.

Some people never get to leave the town they were born in. Some don't want to.

I guess what I'm saying is: why make a List of things you might do someday – or feel compelled to do before you kick the bucket? Your whole life should be a bucket list, filled with experiences that make you uniquely you.   

Whereas before, I only had a vague longing to hit the rails across Russia – a 'someday' attitude toward the whole adventure, now that I know I would also be carrying my friend Olaf's dream with me, this trip has become a necessity.

I've got to start shopping for tickets... 

Happy Birthday, ChinaDaily!

China's #1 English language paper was 'born' 35 years ago, today. At that time I was a young mother, living in Germany. I had thought my path in life had already been decided, for better or worse. I had no idea of China Daily's existence, and it knew nothing of me. Fate would bring us together.

When CD was 27 – an age in humans that I consider optimal, I had the privilege of visiting China for the first time. I didn't want to because all I knew of China was what I had heard or read in western media, and not much of it, if anything, was good. By the time that birthday of CD's rolled around, I was living in America, a divorced mother of 2. My ideas and prejudices were formed by my environment and I never realized how my perceptions had been shaped until I stepped foot in this country.

The devastating earthquake in Sichuan province happened just before I visited China for the first time, in May, 2008. ChinaDaily had been recommended to me by the academic group I would be traveling with. In the weeks before arriving in China, I gingerly picked through articles, trying to find redeeming qualities in a country I was determined to not like. With ChinaDaily's reporting, I was introduced to a side of China no one ever intimated to. Before even stepping foot on Chinese soil, ChinaDaily caused me to wonder if everything I had read and heard about China until now could be credited.

What impressed me most was China Daily's coverage of the Sichuan Earthquake of 2008. China Daily took a sensitive look at the devastating loss and of the boy who risked his life, saving his classmates. This excellent news outlet didn't stop at the immediate vicinity of the quake: CD went on to report on the effects of the quake as far away as Xi'an, where people were so fearful that they would die in their sleep, crushed by their building crumbling from an aftershock, that they slept on the sidewalks, outside their apartments.

That 2008 visit changed my life! After a too-short, 3-week stay, I resolved to connect with China in the most fundamental way possible: live here. Of course, it took some doing to divorce myself from life as I knew while preparing to embark on a new direction. The 2 years I spent preparing for this journey, I spent in the company of China Daily: reading every article, ingesting the Culture and Lifestyle sections especially. Later, I discovered the Language Tips section. It helped greatly in my learning of this timeless tongue. The Travel section fueled my dreams of wandering all over the country.

It wasn't until March, 2014 that China Daily and I established our formal relationship. It came about so: One of my former students, now studying in Australia, asked me via QQ chat to look up something. I automatically went to China Daily homepage, and there found an ad for a blogging contest.

A blogging contest? I'm a blogger! I've been blogging in the west since the outset of my China adventure! Unfortunately, everyone else blogs in the west too, it seems, and one lone blog about a middle-aged woman in China just doesn't seem to make a splash. People in the west – like me, as I once was, just don't find any appeal in China. After all; that's why I didn't like China or want to come here. To this day, after 6 years of writing and over five hundred articles posted on my (western) Vagabond Blog, I have virtually no following.

Of course, it could be simply because I'm not an engaging writer, too. But then...

China Daily's blogging community; instantly I became a welcome member. Unlike my western blog, where nary a comment appears, here, every one of my articles garners at least a handful of comments. And I get to participate! Oh, the friends I've made in this blogging community! Writing with China Daily has been one of my greatest pleasures; truly an outlet for this heretofore frustrated author. I've even won awards!

Now, six years into my China adventure and entering my second year as a ChinaDaily blogger, I continue to get my news first from this source. Thank you, ChinaDaily!

Happy Birthday!

Remembering Garry

A new law was just passed in America, stating that the words 'Black' and 'Oriental' – to describe 'non-whites' have been banned. Henceforth, those of Asian descent are to be called Asian-Americans and those of Congoid descent are now designated African-Americans, regardless of whether their lineage traces back to Africa or elsewhere that biological taxon may originate.

And regardless what people of those races/ethnicities call themselves. And nothing has been said about what people of Hispanic/Latino descent are to be called. I wonder why they were omitted?

While people in China marvel at the social advances in America, I and others shake our head at the seeming senselessness of labeling and classifying people to begin with. Why not just call all American citizens 'Americans'?

Meanwhile...

Garry Kelley suffered a heart attack while riding a bus in Hot Springs, Arkansas. His brain was deprived of oxygen for over 3 minutes while waiting for the paramedics. Nevertheless, when the ambulance arrived they resuscitated Garry, and then whisked him away to the hospital intensive care unit. He never regained consciousness. His family were all notified. My dear Sister, Donna, took emergency leave from work and rushed to his side.

NOTE: I call Donna my Sister because we've known each other all of our lives, not because we are related by blood. We were related by marriage at one point, as she was my brother's wife. She is no longer my sister-in-law, just the sister of my heart.

When she got to Hot Springs, her brother was hooked up to life sustaining machinery. Because of the oxygen deprivation and the severity of the heart attack, doctors did not expect Garry to live if life support were withdrawn. The family, by now all gathered by the bedside, agreed to take their eldest brother off life support on Friday morning.

The following Tuesday, he was still alive: unconscious, and with an infection in his lungs but breathing on his own (with a bit of oxygen pumped up his nose). Apparently he can feel pain because he is being regularly dosed with morphine. The doctor voted to move him to hospice care, and brother Terry will stay in the room with him. It won't be long till Garry dies, now. When they removed life support, they also took out his feeding tube. He will starve to death. It should only take a week or two.

This is a fairly common practice for terminal cases in America. Most notably, Terri Schiavo, who had been in a coma for 10 years was taken off life support and left to starve to death after a 5-year legal battle between her parents and her husband, during which her feeding tube had been removed and reinserted two times before a final court ruling that it should be removed and not replaced. Terri died on March 31^st, 8 days after she had last been fed.

Her case differed from Karen Ann Quinlan and Nancy Cruzan – both who were in the same state Terri. They broke ground in the legal area of Right-To-Die law: the removal of feeding tubes, permitting starvation. Until their cases presented in the Supreme Court, people had been left in a vegetative state  until they died of natural causes, forcing their families to pay for their care until they bankrupted.

Another landmark case, Estelle Browning, had made her wishes very clear, in writing and long before her coma: she did not want to be kept alive by artificial means. Having been fed through a tube as a matter of procedure until her will was found and read, her feeding tube was removed, and she, too, was permitted to starve to death. In none of these cases was death accelerated by administering drugs. 

In fact, the 'forced to live, no matter what' phenomenon that appears uniquely American even found its way into movie theaters, splendidly showcased in the film Million Dollar Baby:

Maggie struggled her whole life to do the one thing that makes her feel good: boxing. She quickly rose through the ranks, fighting in matches all over the world. During one fight, her opponent landed an illegal hit that left her paralyzed from the neck down. She was kept alive by various machines. Even though she expressed her desire to die, the medical staff went to great lengths to prevent her death, even keeping her sedated so that she couldn't bite off her own tongue and bleed out, as she had tried to do. 

I have ranted about this topic before: the right to die with dignity (See Death Rights, posted August 2014). My friends, Caroline and Earline, dismissed by their doctors, had been sent home to die, even though they were both of sound enough mind to exercise the option of ending their life, had that choice been available to them. One point of that previously posted article was that they did not have that option.

Garry (and Terri Schiavo and the other women) is not awake to make decisions for himself. Dignified termination of life being illegal in all but one state - Oregon, the doctors' and family's only option is to force starvation. Remember: Garry must still feel pain, as he is being fed morphine. Can you imagine what he will be going through?

Makes me wonder: why does the American government waste time and tax dollars trying to decide what to label people when there are much greater decisions to be made, such as the right to die with dignity? I won't go again into the argument made in my previous article: that prisoners on death row and animals have the legal right to die with more dignity than ordinary citizens.

Meanwhile...

President Obama is in Vietnam, brokering trade agreements and lifting arms embargos. He addressed a crowd of 2300 in the Hanoi Convention Center:

Yet even as he hailed the progress (Vietnam has made), Obama also gently pushed Vietnam to improve its record on human rights and free speech. (Source: The Washington Post)

That would be the president of the United States, urging Vietnam to improve its human rights record. Where does America stand on human rights, letting people who have no hope of recovery and no quality of life starve to death or die in agony (while prisoners and dogs are humanely 'terminated')?

And 'free speech'? Obama just signed a bill into law, banning words! 

Does anyone else see any irony, here? 

I Am NOT My Mother!!!

Of course, all of our mothers are saints: wise dispensers of comfort and advice, doers of good deeds, veritable fountains of kindness and love, the epitome of beauty. If that's the case, why the saying: 'You're turning into your mother'? It is usually uttered by husbands – we all know the old joke about how sons-in-law and wive's mothers supposedly get along, right? Or, a middle-aged woman might, aghast at her own proclivities, mutter to herself: “I am NOT turning into my mother!”

This remark is generally made – by a spouse or to oneself, when less-favorable traits, such as nagging, nit-picking and/or over-controlling manifest. Somehow, our first teacher, our most adoring fan, our paragon of virtue turns into some malevolent maven as soon as we do something unsuitable. Or, after a collection of unsuitables. After all: wouldn't it be a great thing to turn into one's mother, if indeed that woman were made of nothing but goodness and light?

I have a lot of similarities to my mother, as recently pointed out by my brother. I've chosen to live in a land where I don't speak the language (fluently) - a different country than my children, just like she did. However, I differ from her in that I have a great relationship with my children and visit them and their families every year. In between visits, we have email, text message, video chat and package sending. My mother refused to board a plane to come see us, and eventually even refused any communication with us.

To be perfectly fair to her: there was no email, texting or video chat in her time. 

I'm one of those ladies who assiduously avoided any comparison to her mother. She liked classical music; I favored punk. She went to the theater, I caused theater with my antics. Her ideal Sunday consisted of taking a long bath and reading the day away; my Sundays consisted of resting up for another start to the overnight shift in the factory. Her ideal meal consisted of exotic foods; heavens help me if I eat exotic foods!

See, I'm not my mother at all!

Except...

Well, I have a fondness for the Brandenburg Concertos, and anything else by Bach, Brahms, Berlioz, Beethoven, Mozart and the like. In fact, these days, I prefer them to Adam Ant and Ian Dury. And I can't say I've never visited the theater; in fact, I've done some theater acting – and quite liked it.  AHA! The Sunday Bath! I CAN'T take a bath because I have no bathtub; only a shower! I'm NOT my mother! But, I do enjoy reading the day away.

One particular annoyance for my mother was in fact my constant reading. “You always have your nose in a book!” She would either complain, rage or otherwise fume, depending on her mood. Truly: books were my great escape. I had no problem running away from life into a good story. I could be seen eating, cooking, walking or just lounging around with my nose in my book. Sometimes she would just grumble at me. Other times she would get so angry, I knew to put the book away before something terrible happened to it, or me. One time of note, while we were riding a bus, she smacked the book out of my hands. It went flying out the window.

I hope it did not hit some unsuspecting person on the sidewalk.

These days, I look around at all the young people in China, focused on  their phones: in my classes, on buses, crossing the street... it's a blue miracle that no one gets hit. I don't mean by me, smacking people as my mother did me, but by a car, a scooter or the like.

The other day, I was running errands: out all day! In the course of my travels I couldn't help but notice all of those people with their eyes on their phones as they ambled about, not watching where they were going. The phenomenon forced its way into my attention because two or three times, I narrowly averted a collision with a pedestrian with eyes only for their phone, and once, I nearly got hit by a driver who was focused on his phone rather than all of the people in the crosswalk, under the supposed protection of zebra stripes and a green light.

I wanted to smack the phone out of his hand. Out of all their hands! “For pity's sake! Watch where you're going! Stop staring at your phone! There's nothing that important that you can't walk a few steps without consulting it!” I muttered.

***GASP!!!***      

It didn't hit me at first – pardon the pun, how much I sounded like my mother. Really: all you have to do is substitute 'phone' for 'book' and voila: Mama, resurrected!

The deep, dark confession: I've been wanting to smack phones out of people's hands for a long time, now. Especially in my classroom. It's never been a concretely formed idea, just a vague desire, and I'd probably only have to do it once, to create a shock effect.

Or to get fired. 

That's it! I need a long, hot shower. While I'm in there, thinking about my wicked need to smack people for reading their phones, I'll have some nice, classical music playing. After that, I'll cook a fancy dinner and enjoy The Original Production of Cats – the musical. I have it on disk.

See? I... AM... NOT!!! MY... MOTHER!!!