No, it is not the latest creation from an inspired Chef; you will not find it on the menu of your favorite Chinese restaurant. Bu tai shu fu (see pronunciation above) literally translates to ‘not very comfortable’. It is how the Chinese say they’re sick or in pain, or burdened by some psychological or mental dilemma.
I’ve noticed, in all of my wanderings and delvings into the language and culture here that hardly anything is expressed in actual negative terms. There is no actual word for ‘No’; Bu is the closest there is to a negation. ‘Bu’ precedes most any verb to indicate a negative. The sole exception is ‘mei’ (pronounced ‘may’) which precedes the verb ‘to have’. I do not know why ‘to have’ is negated by mei and all other verbs by bu.
More specifically: there are no positive statements for a negative condition. ‘I’m broke’ translates to ‘I don’t have money’ in Chinese; ‘I’m unemployed’ becomes ‘I don’t have any work’; ‘I’m sad’ becomes ‘I’m not happy’.
If you think about it linguistically, that puts a positive spin on every possible condition. The expectation is to be on the sunny side of life – as it were; to express a negative state in positive terms signifies acceptance and even a certain expectation of that condition. And this pattern of speech has been in place and actively used by the Chinese for over 5,000 years.
Mind you, I am no historian or cultural anthropologist (although I’d love to be one) but I have to comment on this peoples’ utter desire to put a positive spin on everything. What is so wrong with just coming out and saying what is wrong? Why do they negate what should be perfectly acceptable? People get sick every so often; why not state that one is under the weather, rather than confess to not being comfortable?
I think it has a lot to do with expectation. Here, people expect good things to happen, good conditions to be maintained and good states of being to exist. If, for some reason that level of goodness cannot be maintained, somehow it is the fault of the sufferer. If you get sick, it is your fault: viruses are supposed to coexist harmoniously with all other organisms, including you. If you have no money it is your fault; every person is to be industrious. If you are sad, who’s to blame? Each person is to make their own happiness.
Kinda takes accountability to a whole new level, doesn’t it?
And that smiling acceptance doesn’t end there. I recall the story about the American salesman pitching an insurance policy to a Chinese restaurant owner. The restaurateur agreed with everything the salesman said, right down the line. Yes, it would be terrible if his kitchen burned up. Indeed, it would be frightening if he got sick and couldn’t provide for his family. Of course, if he died and his loved ones had no money it would be a sad state of affairs. The salesman, already relishing his fat commission, whipped out all the necessary forms for business, health and life insurance… but the establishment owner refused to sign anything.
Perplexed, the salesman walked away. I too have walked away from one Chinese conversant or the other shaking my head, wondering what went wrong.
Like when I tried to organize a blood drive here on campus. There is a desperate shortage of blood in the blood banks, and if you haven’t heard that tragedies occur with startling regularity in China – earthquakes, floods, fires, even desperately needed surgeries, quite frankly I have to wonder if you’ve decided to adopt a hermit lifestyle and remain out of touch. A university campus would be the best place to hold a blood drive – all that young, healthy juice of life running around, but somehow I just cannot seem to get anyone interested in the idea. That’s not to say that, when I broach the subject, people are not enthusiastic. When it comes to the actual doing though… that’s when the problem occurs.
The enthusiasm comes from the cultural more to agree with anything. Chinese people will smile, nod and agree with anything you say. Just when you think you’ve got them hooked, there is no follow-through. It is not you or your words or your ideas that they are not agreeing to, it is simply that what you are suggesting does not follow their way of life. This is not just Chinese versus foreigner either; it happens when Chinese people deal with other Chinese people. At least, so I’ve been told by my Chinese friends and more recently by some of my students. It is maddening, really.
But on the other hand: doesn’t the same kind of thing go on in America? Especially in the South? The genteel mannerisms of the South mirror the Chinese passion for positive spin. ‘If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all’ for example: some women have taken that adage to heart and used it to elevate cattiness to an art form. It has even been satirized in movies and books: have a read at a gothic novel or a Jodie Picoult story, if you don’t believe me. Or, just watch a soap opera or two: women who pretend to get along when, really, all they want to do is scratch each other’s eyes out. We’ve all been there, haven’t we?
And what about politician’s campaigns? A prime example of the smiling, nodding agreement that results in nothing!
When I first made my acquaintance with China, I was bowled over with the positive attitude and sense of accountability everyone here had. I think that that is one of the reasons I wanted to live here. Living and working among this young generation of people has shown me how dangerous it is to expect everything to be happy-happy and Oh, so gay!
Not that having a positive attitude is a bad thing, in itself. Pretending to have a positive attitude when you are broke and starving is counterproductive, though. There is only so far genteel politeness should carry you, after that, we’re down to the brass tacks Baby, and you’d better be calling it like it is. This younger generation of Chinese have learned that, and the culture is evolving because of it. I wonder how it will reflect in the language, in years to come.
I’m boo tie shoo foo. I think I’ll take some Nyquil and go to bed. Also, my desk chair makes my back hurt and I wonder how I will make Christmas special for everyone I love. Bu tai shu fu covers all of those things.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Black Friday
Did you go shopping the day after Thanksgiving? Were the stores crowded? I recall the times, in my former life when I had to leave the house 30 minutes early to get to work every Saturday in December because the mall was on the way and traffic was lined up for miles up the road from that exit. I don’t have to live with that anymore; here the stores, streets and malls are crowded year-round.
And are there malls? For pity’s sake: Lu Xiang Square, that popular tourists’ showplace boasts no less than three malls directly off the Square, each of them several stories tall, with shop after shop and food courts every so often. Here, shopping is no problem. The forth corner of Lu Xiang is occupied by a Ramada Business Hotel; 5-star if you’ve ever seen one. That’s just Lu Xiang Square; wait till I tell you about Wu Ma Lou (pronounced Woo Ma Low). A shopper’s paradise!
I did not shop on Black Friday. For me, Friday was genuinely black. The power had gone out sometime overnight; by the time I woke up around 8:00AM there was no electricity anywhere on campus.
My normal routine is to stumble to the kitchen and start the electric kettle for tea. While that heats I go to the bathroom for a good brushing of teeth and constitutional; on the way there I turn on the computer. On the way back through I log into my DSL account; by the time I make it back from the kitchen with my hot tea I’m ready to savor your emails and the daily news.
Only one problem with that: most of my morning routine requires electricity, and there was none that day! What’s a girl to do?
I went back to bed. Being as my apartment is maintaining a steady 61 degrees Fahrenheit –those darn concrete walls! The only warm place is under my thick quilt, with what heat remained in my hot water bottle. I read by ambient light until I couldn’t see anymore, and then I snoozed.
At noon I was awake again, and hungry. Still no electricity. A cold breakfast is better than no breakfast, so I had the last deviled egg from the night before, two pieces of Melba toast bought at Metro, a piece of cheese also from that fabled store, a glass of yoghurt and an apple. Oh, and a brownie. Satisfying, but cold.
Now, I’m cold.
I could have gotten dressed and gone out but to tell you the truth, sometime in the past 48 hours I had developed what felt like the onset of a nasty cold and just couldn’t see myself facing the great outdoors and all that dust. What water remained in the hot water heater was already tepid; getting cleaned up and ready to greet the world with only warm water did not send my into shivers of anticipation. Besides, I’m still incubating a virus. Remember that.
Back to bed with me. Now I’m not even reading because I’m tucking my cold hands between my only slightly warmer knees. Again I doze.
As it turns out, it really is a nasty cold. From the tickle in the back of my throat that no Hall’s will soothe to the ache in my muscles, this might be the worst cold I’ve had in a long time. With all that time to lie in bed and snooze and think, I reflect on the ever-loving bus system here in Wuhan. I know: strange thing to think about when you can’t quit coughing, right?
Here, many people wear face masks to keep from inhaling germs or dust. Commendable… but what about their hands? The Chinese are not noted for washing their hands much, even after bodily functions. Nobody performs any bodily functions on the bus (except for the occasional nose picking, but even that is going away). If one’s hands aren’t clean when they board the bus, and then they grip the bars and handles to hold on as the bus travels its circuitous route, where do the germs go?
That’s right: onto the next person’s hands. And that is how cold viruses are transmitted. I’ll bet that’s how I caught my cold.
It is a moot point now. I’m sick and there’s no heat except for under my comforter. I sleep until 5:00PM this time, and wake up ravenous.
Still no power. The ironic thing is that I had mashed potatoes, chicken, vegetables and all sorts of good stuff to eat in my fridge, but with no electricity for the microwave, I either have to eat it cold or go out for hot food.
There is electricity beyond the campus walls; I can see the neon of the KTV shining though my windows, and the steady stream of students going by with warm food tells me the food vendors are out. Using what might be the last of the tepid water in the water heater I wash my face, run a comb through my hair and head up the road, into light and life with the objective of securing a roasted chicken from the chicken restaurant. While on my way I figured I had better buy a flashlight because my three flickering candles would soon gutter out.
My whole outdoor adventure lasted 20 minutes: selecting and paying for a rechargeable flashlight and trying to find one that is battery powered instead (no luck), buying a hot chicken dinner and then braving the crowds back home. The crowds? It seems the weather was so beautiful that everybody turned out: the ‘civilians’ of the community around campus and all of the students who did not want to stay in their darkened dorms. I daresay the street was more crowded than I’d ever seen it. I slunk back home to eat dinner while it was still hot.
As I trudged back home I saw a familiar sight: a full-sized car trying to wedge its way between street vendors and pedestrians into the neighborhood behind campus. This time their way was blocked by electricians rolling out a large spool of wire, hopefully to supply our campus with power again. Needlessly, uselessly, the impatient driver leaned on his horn, as if sheer volume would give him priority. Each blast drove a spike into my throbbing head. I felt like kicking his tire as I walked past his car.
I don’t know what happened to our electrical feed, but I think some industrious handyman capped the wrong wire from the rat’s nest tangle that allegedly feeds our campus. Or it could have been cut because of the construction going on a quarter mile up the road.
The power came back on at 9:20, but by that time I had already eaten my dinner and was back in bed, still feeling miserable. I only got up to boil water for my hot water bottle, and I shivered as I waited for the kettle to finish its little chore.
The next time my eyes popped open, it was 7:14 the next morning. All the sleeping I did had done me a world of good; I felt full of energy and made plans to go play badminton and enjoy dinner with some friends. But I have to reflect that yesterday was one of the most depressing days I’ve spent since I’ve been here, sickness notwithstanding.
Black Friday indeed!
And are there malls? For pity’s sake: Lu Xiang Square, that popular tourists’ showplace boasts no less than three malls directly off the Square, each of them several stories tall, with shop after shop and food courts every so often. Here, shopping is no problem. The forth corner of Lu Xiang is occupied by a Ramada Business Hotel; 5-star if you’ve ever seen one. That’s just Lu Xiang Square; wait till I tell you about Wu Ma Lou (pronounced Woo Ma Low). A shopper’s paradise!
I did not shop on Black Friday. For me, Friday was genuinely black. The power had gone out sometime overnight; by the time I woke up around 8:00AM there was no electricity anywhere on campus.
My normal routine is to stumble to the kitchen and start the electric kettle for tea. While that heats I go to the bathroom for a good brushing of teeth and constitutional; on the way there I turn on the computer. On the way back through I log into my DSL account; by the time I make it back from the kitchen with my hot tea I’m ready to savor your emails and the daily news.
Only one problem with that: most of my morning routine requires electricity, and there was none that day! What’s a girl to do?
I went back to bed. Being as my apartment is maintaining a steady 61 degrees Fahrenheit –those darn concrete walls! The only warm place is under my thick quilt, with what heat remained in my hot water bottle. I read by ambient light until I couldn’t see anymore, and then I snoozed.
At noon I was awake again, and hungry. Still no electricity. A cold breakfast is better than no breakfast, so I had the last deviled egg from the night before, two pieces of Melba toast bought at Metro, a piece of cheese also from that fabled store, a glass of yoghurt and an apple. Oh, and a brownie. Satisfying, but cold.
Now, I’m cold.
I could have gotten dressed and gone out but to tell you the truth, sometime in the past 48 hours I had developed what felt like the onset of a nasty cold and just couldn’t see myself facing the great outdoors and all that dust. What water remained in the hot water heater was already tepid; getting cleaned up and ready to greet the world with only warm water did not send my into shivers of anticipation. Besides, I’m still incubating a virus. Remember that.
Back to bed with me. Now I’m not even reading because I’m tucking my cold hands between my only slightly warmer knees. Again I doze.
As it turns out, it really is a nasty cold. From the tickle in the back of my throat that no Hall’s will soothe to the ache in my muscles, this might be the worst cold I’ve had in a long time. With all that time to lie in bed and snooze and think, I reflect on the ever-loving bus system here in Wuhan. I know: strange thing to think about when you can’t quit coughing, right?
Here, many people wear face masks to keep from inhaling germs or dust. Commendable… but what about their hands? The Chinese are not noted for washing their hands much, even after bodily functions. Nobody performs any bodily functions on the bus (except for the occasional nose picking, but even that is going away). If one’s hands aren’t clean when they board the bus, and then they grip the bars and handles to hold on as the bus travels its circuitous route, where do the germs go?
That’s right: onto the next person’s hands. And that is how cold viruses are transmitted. I’ll bet that’s how I caught my cold.
It is a moot point now. I’m sick and there’s no heat except for under my comforter. I sleep until 5:00PM this time, and wake up ravenous.
Still no power. The ironic thing is that I had mashed potatoes, chicken, vegetables and all sorts of good stuff to eat in my fridge, but with no electricity for the microwave, I either have to eat it cold or go out for hot food.
There is electricity beyond the campus walls; I can see the neon of the KTV shining though my windows, and the steady stream of students going by with warm food tells me the food vendors are out. Using what might be the last of the tepid water in the water heater I wash my face, run a comb through my hair and head up the road, into light and life with the objective of securing a roasted chicken from the chicken restaurant. While on my way I figured I had better buy a flashlight because my three flickering candles would soon gutter out.
My whole outdoor adventure lasted 20 minutes: selecting and paying for a rechargeable flashlight and trying to find one that is battery powered instead (no luck), buying a hot chicken dinner and then braving the crowds back home. The crowds? It seems the weather was so beautiful that everybody turned out: the ‘civilians’ of the community around campus and all of the students who did not want to stay in their darkened dorms. I daresay the street was more crowded than I’d ever seen it. I slunk back home to eat dinner while it was still hot.
As I trudged back home I saw a familiar sight: a full-sized car trying to wedge its way between street vendors and pedestrians into the neighborhood behind campus. This time their way was blocked by electricians rolling out a large spool of wire, hopefully to supply our campus with power again. Needlessly, uselessly, the impatient driver leaned on his horn, as if sheer volume would give him priority. Each blast drove a spike into my throbbing head. I felt like kicking his tire as I walked past his car.
I don’t know what happened to our electrical feed, but I think some industrious handyman capped the wrong wire from the rat’s nest tangle that allegedly feeds our campus. Or it could have been cut because of the construction going on a quarter mile up the road.
The power came back on at 9:20, but by that time I had already eaten my dinner and was back in bed, still feeling miserable. I only got up to boil water for my hot water bottle, and I shivered as I waited for the kettle to finish its little chore.
The next time my eyes popped open, it was 7:14 the next morning. All the sleeping I did had done me a world of good; I felt full of energy and made plans to go play badminton and enjoy dinner with some friends. But I have to reflect that yesterday was one of the most depressing days I’ve spent since I’ve been here, sickness notwithstanding.
Black Friday indeed!
Sunday, November 28, 2010
How I spent my Thanksgiving
How was your Thanksgiving? I hope you were surrounded by friends, family, the rich aroma of good food and the joy of love and laughter.
How was my Thanksgiving, in a country that doesn’t observe this particular holiday? I have to tell you: for a people who do not celebrate Thanksgiving, the Chinese certainly know how to give an expat things to be thankful for. I’ll start at the very beginning…
The first part of the day was spent in conversation with my brother Woody in Colorado, and his lovely partner, Liz. Come to think of it, Thanksgiving marks the event that finally brought Woody and I close: the death of our father, two years ago. Woody and I were not raised together and although we have known about each other for years, our family is so fractured that we have not kept up with one another at all. We met up at our father’s memorial service in July of 2009 and had a long heart to heart conversation; we’ve been in touch ever since. At that memorial service is when I met Liz for the first time, and since then she and I have become like sisters: talking and/or emailing nearly every day and learning from one another. Liz and Woody are two of my staunchest supporters in this China adventure… there! Another thing I have to be thankful for!
Liz, Woody and I spent over two hours on Skype Thanksgiving morning, and when my beloved Gabriel chimed in we conference called, and included Darrell, my son. That was the first time Woody and Darrell had talked since 1995 – see how fractured this family is? It sounded like they got along very well. It made my heart sing to hear these guys converse; the genuine liking and curiosity for one another shone right through. Another thing to be thankful for: family coming together after years apart.
Soon enough we all had other things to do: it was getting late in Colorado and Woody and Liz had to go to sleep, Darrell had to finish getting his kitchen ready because he was hosting Thanksgiving for Jenn and Garrett this year, and I… was STARVING! It was 2:00PM when I finally got off the computer and I hadn’t eaten anything all day! Besides that, I had decided to prepare as traditional a Thanksgiving meal as I could in China and I had invited Sam and even the detestable Victor over; they were due at 5:30.
I rushed to the kitchen and cut the head and feet off my chicken. It should have been a turkey, but there are no turkeys to be found in China, at least not of the poultry variety. I do have some students that qualify for the title however, it would be improper to roast them and they wouldn’t fit in my oven anyway.
But I digress… again!
Here, all poultry is sold with head and feet still attached so that it can easily be recognized as an authentic bird, not a mock-up of some kind of meat passing for fowl. Whereas that sounds comforting to know that you are actually kept in the loop of your fowl purchases, I am still a little uncomfortable cutting heads and feet from the portions intended for consumption. I’d just as soon buy a bird in a pretty package, all dressed up and with the innards tucked into a discreet, removable white bag. Yes, I see I’m still a little spoiled.
Next came the chore of spitting and roasting what should become the piece de resistance of my meal. As I’ve not used that particular function of my oven yet, I have to confess that me and the chicken danced around the kitchen a bit. It is a bit difficult to spit a flaccid, tough-skinned bird that has been oiled down. It seemed like the bird objected to being spitted and roasted while I strenuously insisted on it. I won and the bird went in the oven, turning round and round, making full use of the rotisserie function of my delightful little oven.
Now for a mad dash to the farmer’s market that is just off campus. I needed a few more potatoes for mashing, some corn on the cob and some of those wonderful tasting green beans that are currently in season. I also wanted a red bell pepper to mix with my pickled cucumber to make a relish for deviled eggs, and I needed some eggs to devil. Finally, a stop at the supermarket for a nice bottle of white wine to go with the dinner and I’m on my way home.
I have to confess: I enjoy cooking. And, in the environment I have to work with, I don’t do too bad a job of it. The single electronic hot plate I have to cook with decides it is done cooking whether you want it to be or not, so hard-boiling eggs and keeping the fire on under potatoes until they are done is really quite the challenge. Add to that the fact that I actually needed 4 hot plates – one for the potatoes, one for corn, one for eggs and one for steaming green beans, and I only had one, made it a logistical nightmare! Finally, factor in the granite countertops that chill everything you set on them, the additional nightmare of keeping everything warm while everything else cooks made me really rise to the challenge!
Quick check on the phone: Sam has responded to the invitation and will be here; Victor has not responded at all, one way or the other. Time check: 3:45. I have a little under two hours to pull this whole meal together, or embarrass myself completely. Of course I could still end up embarrassed if something doesn’t turn out right.
But everything was perfect! Sam loved the deviled eggs and adored the mashed potatoes; he had never tasted either before. He is not much of a meat eater so the roast chicken did not earn many raves (from him. I thought it turned out rather tasty for my first effort at roasting). I even had time to bake brownies for dessert, and he really liked those, too.
Sure, I’m a good cook and yes, the meal went without a hitch. But that’s not what made my Thanksgiving spectacular. What really made the day was all of the emails from my friends in the States, the conversation with my family and my students sending me text messages to wish me a happy holiday and telling me to not be sad because I was far away from my family. The phone chimed every few minutes with just such a message all afternoon and evening. In total, there were 43 messages full of care, well wishes and thoughtfulness. I answered every single one of them.
At 7:30, Stephanie and Martin, two of my Freshman students came by to invite me out for a drink (of tea). As Sam was wrapping up his visit, their arrival was particularly timely. I had no qualms whatsoever about abandoning my dirty kitchen and joining these delightful kids for a nice, hot pitcher of tea and some fun conversation. We got back just before curfew at 10:00PM.
The detestable Victor never manifested himself at all.
Do I have a lot to be thankful for, or what?
Monday, November 22, 2010
Thanksgiving Blog Entry
I’d be remiss if I didn’t write you a little something for Thanksgiving, seeing as I went overboard on the Veteran’s Day post. But… Veterans are so worth it, aren’t they?
So is Thanksgiving. It is in that spirit that I rush this post. Just in case you log in and want something to read, but also because my collaborator will be celebrating Thanksgiving with his kith and kin and thus will not be available to post this for me.
I will not be celebrating Thanksgiving with kith or kin this year. I’ve opted to be thousands of miles from any kith or kin I have and furthermore, China does not even have a holiday that approximates Thanksgiving. Thus they are thirsty for any knowledge of this holiday; all they really know is that Americans eat turkey on that day. I am truly put upon to explain to my students about the spirit of Thanksgiving: how people came to the New World and 2/3 of them died within the first year (that would be 1620). How it was the Natives (the Wampanoag Tribe) who helped the Pale Faces survive that first year by showing them what could and could not be eaten in the New World. How, even though the Pale Faces wanted to have this wonderful feast to thank the Natives, they didn’t have enough food so the Natives produced food from their own supplies and a feast was had. That feast consisted of corn, nuts, venison, squash and beans - nothing like what we consider a traditional Thanksgiving dinner today.
I daresay that, if you were to serve your guests the above listed menu, you just might be thankful you don’t end up in the hospital with broken bones and a severe concussion. Your kith might only leave the house in a huff, but your kin is liable to pound on you judiciously. Because I care deeply about you, I recommend you stick to what is commonly known as a traditional menu: turkey and all the trimmings.
Interesting factoid: the Wampanoag usually ate their meals while sitting down on the ground, but in the interest of not clashing cultures, they sat at the tables with their hosts. The Wampanoag women joined their men at the table, but the Pilgrims refused to bend tradition: their womenfolk stood behind their men as the men ate. Women ate what was left.
Now you guys know why women are so intent of serving leftovers: it is a throwback to those good ol’days when we had to stand back and watch you eat all the good stuff. You have thus been cursed with being served leftovers until women stop being in charge of the kitchen. Depending on your feelings about leftovers, that is a good or a bad thing.
Back to Thanksgiving. One of my favorite questions to ask, usually as you have a mouthful of mashed potatoes, is: what are you thankful for?
Just because there is nary a kith or a kin of mine in sight, that does not mean that I’ve ceased to be thankful. Quite to the contrary: I am more grateful and more sincerely thankful for the bounty in my life than perhaps I’ve ever been. True I have virtually no material goods to my name and what would appear to be only minimal creature comforts but, my friends… how I’m rich!
· Every time I log into my email account and see that one of you has sent me something.
· Every time I step in front of the classroom to teach these kids who are so eager to learn.
· Every time I log into Skype and talk with my precious grandson.
· Every time I reach into my pocket and there is money for me to spend.
· Every time I wake up feeling healthy and vital.
· Every time I have not only the privilege of good food, but the choice of what I will eat.
· Every time I lay down in a warm, comfortable bed.
· Every time I have the strength and the courage to do a good deed.
· Every time I enjoy a friend’s company, even long-distance.
· Every time I hear my daughter’s slightly cautious ‘Hello?’ on the phone
I realize my riches. And my list of things to be thankful for goes on and on. It is indeed too long for me to list here.
Don Henley (of the Eagles) has a song titled My Thanksgiving. It is a great song; thoughtful and reflective on a life well lived. I strongly urge you to take a listen to it; it is on YouTube. For me it is very hard to pick the most significant lyrics from this song, but with regard to Thanksgiving the ones that sum up my feelings the best are:
For every moment of joy
Every hour of fear
For every winding road that brought me here
For every breath, for every day of living
This is my Thanksgiving
What are you thankful for?
I wish you and yours a happy, healthy and safe Thanksgiving.
So is Thanksgiving. It is in that spirit that I rush this post. Just in case you log in and want something to read, but also because my collaborator will be celebrating Thanksgiving with his kith and kin and thus will not be available to post this for me.
I will not be celebrating Thanksgiving with kith or kin this year. I’ve opted to be thousands of miles from any kith or kin I have and furthermore, China does not even have a holiday that approximates Thanksgiving. Thus they are thirsty for any knowledge of this holiday; all they really know is that Americans eat turkey on that day. I am truly put upon to explain to my students about the spirit of Thanksgiving: how people came to the New World and 2/3 of them died within the first year (that would be 1620). How it was the Natives (the Wampanoag Tribe) who helped the Pale Faces survive that first year by showing them what could and could not be eaten in the New World. How, even though the Pale Faces wanted to have this wonderful feast to thank the Natives, they didn’t have enough food so the Natives produced food from their own supplies and a feast was had. That feast consisted of corn, nuts, venison, squash and beans - nothing like what we consider a traditional Thanksgiving dinner today.
I daresay that, if you were to serve your guests the above listed menu, you just might be thankful you don’t end up in the hospital with broken bones and a severe concussion. Your kith might only leave the house in a huff, but your kin is liable to pound on you judiciously. Because I care deeply about you, I recommend you stick to what is commonly known as a traditional menu: turkey and all the trimmings.
Interesting factoid: the Wampanoag usually ate their meals while sitting down on the ground, but in the interest of not clashing cultures, they sat at the tables with their hosts. The Wampanoag women joined their men at the table, but the Pilgrims refused to bend tradition: their womenfolk stood behind their men as the men ate. Women ate what was left.
Now you guys know why women are so intent of serving leftovers: it is a throwback to those good ol’days when we had to stand back and watch you eat all the good stuff. You have thus been cursed with being served leftovers until women stop being in charge of the kitchen. Depending on your feelings about leftovers, that is a good or a bad thing.
Back to Thanksgiving. One of my favorite questions to ask, usually as you have a mouthful of mashed potatoes, is: what are you thankful for?
Just because there is nary a kith or a kin of mine in sight, that does not mean that I’ve ceased to be thankful. Quite to the contrary: I am more grateful and more sincerely thankful for the bounty in my life than perhaps I’ve ever been. True I have virtually no material goods to my name and what would appear to be only minimal creature comforts but, my friends… how I’m rich!
· Every time I log into my email account and see that one of you has sent me something.
· Every time I step in front of the classroom to teach these kids who are so eager to learn.
· Every time I log into Skype and talk with my precious grandson.
· Every time I reach into my pocket and there is money for me to spend.
· Every time I wake up feeling healthy and vital.
· Every time I have not only the privilege of good food, but the choice of what I will eat.
· Every time I lay down in a warm, comfortable bed.
· Every time I have the strength and the courage to do a good deed.
· Every time I enjoy a friend’s company, even long-distance.
· Every time I hear my daughter’s slightly cautious ‘Hello?’ on the phone
I realize my riches. And my list of things to be thankful for goes on and on. It is indeed too long for me to list here.
Don Henley (of the Eagles) has a song titled My Thanksgiving. It is a great song; thoughtful and reflective on a life well lived. I strongly urge you to take a listen to it; it is on YouTube. For me it is very hard to pick the most significant lyrics from this song, but with regard to Thanksgiving the ones that sum up my feelings the best are:
For every moment of joy
Every hour of fear
For every winding road that brought me here
For every breath, for every day of living
This is my Thanksgiving
What are you thankful for?
I wish you and yours a happy, healthy and safe Thanksgiving.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Two Year Anniversary
This past week the English Club on campus celebrated its two-year anniversary. A big do was held in the Student Auditorium, and my invitation to this shindig arrived via engraved invitation. More specifically: Grace pecked on my window until I responded to her intrusion on my time and dwelling, and she handed me the invitation to the party.
NOTE: the students can no longer just slide my windows open and look into my apartment because I’ve rigged them so that they now lock. The windows, not the students. It is all part of my malicious little gambit to retain a measure of privacy in my life.
Nevertheless, Grace lived up to her name: she was very gracious in presenting me this invitation. Fortunately, I was presentable when she came by. Even more fortunately, she only stayed a minute. Can you tell I still get irritated by these seemingly innocuous intrusions on my life and the students’ apparent impression that I live to serve?
The day of the party, Grace and Jinkey, another student of mine came by my apartment at noon to inform me that I would take part in a game played during this party, and they wanted to tell me the rules. As I was currently logged into Skype and deep in a game of Battleship with my adorable grandson, I declined to listen to the rules and introduced them to my grandson instead. Again they left, but this time promised to return after class that day.
Good! Now I know to expect students coming by!
This time I was ready for them: hair combed, makeup on, jewelry set, nothing else going on. I was thoroughly prepared to give them my undivided attention and absorb these rules I had to learn before the game.
They were very straightforward: I give simple commands – sit down, stand up, turn left, turn right – to 8 or so volunteer players who are then supposed to do the opposite of what I say. There would be two rounds played at the end of which the two winners would be awarded prizes. It seemed like a weird version of Simon Says; easy enough to do. What they did NOT tell me is that this party was actually a gala type affair, with all manner of teachers invited, as well as students from other colleges, and that this game would take place at the Student Union hall, onstage, in front of everyone!
Figuring I was just going to a party, I didn’t bother too much with my appearance; I thought casual would be acceptable. As soon as I learned I was to step onstage and have a white-hot spotlight on me, I immediately felt uncomfortable. I should have done more with my appearance! On the plus side, I finally learned that there is a Student Union hall, and now I know where it is. I just never stop learning things!
My self-satisfaction, coupled with my impending humiliation did nothing to dampen my spirits or cause me to not enjoy the show. And what a show! There was dancing, singing, skits… all put on by the students. Very little of it was in English, but there was enough that I could catch the gist of things. Before the show started the teachers in the audience were introduced, including me. And then the kids commenced to dazzle and entertain.
I honestly don’t know where they get it from. These kids are talented and they love to be onstage. They are hams and turkeys: funny, touching, sweet and MAN! Can that kid from the Music Department sing? I didn’t even know we had a music department, let alone a kid with such a voice! As with regular variety shows where the stars get flowers and Teddy bears, this guy claimed an armful of accolades before he even finished his song. He got so much stuff he had to set it all down onstage to finish his number. To watch him scoop a double armload of tribute at the end of his performance was hilarious. We clapped uproariously.
Soon enough it was my turn onstage. With much ceremony and fanfare – none of it on my part, the student body welcomed me and the MC - One of my students also named Grace, resplendent in a purple, sequined gown, introduced the game while she coached me through my little stint: “Say Hello” she stage-whispered. “Encourage them to come up” she muttered after soliciting for volunteers in Chinese. Once we had enough volunteers, the game began. Grace showed me where to stand and made sure my mike was working fine, and then off we went.
Contrary to my commands, the game players sat when I told them to stand, stood when I told them to sit, kept their arms down when I told them to raise them and raised their arms when I told them to lower them. It almost felt like a regular day in class. If a student actually followed instructions they were disqualified. As the number of volunteers dwindled I gave the commands faster and faster: “Turn left, turn right, stand up sit down, sit down, stand up, turn left, turn left, turn left, turn right!”
It was that sudden switch from turning left to turning right that did everyone in. Soon enough the last two alert persons – one from each round, collected their prize and melted back into the audience. I slunk off stage as soon as graciously possible and went back to my seat.
As best I could tell, there was no adult or faculty leadership behind that three-hour show: the kids did it all themselves. I have to think about how these kids manage such feats as this gala, even while living the life they live. Dorms that are not climate controlled, 6 persons to a room, not much more personal space than the bunk they sleep in, sharing virtually everything they own, no hot water in the communal bathrooms for their showers. They are in class from 8 in the morning until 5:30 at night, after which they scramble to a dinner bought at vendor stalls or in local restaurants; the ones who are broke go to the canteen. They have only a few hours between the end of class and curfew to study, build and maintain a social life, find some sort of entertainment such as playing cards or basketball, and then hit the rack… only to get up and do it all again the next day.
My hat is off to them. Not only for enduring the life they live, but for putting on such a great show.
NOTE: the students can no longer just slide my windows open and look into my apartment because I’ve rigged them so that they now lock. The windows, not the students. It is all part of my malicious little gambit to retain a measure of privacy in my life.
Nevertheless, Grace lived up to her name: she was very gracious in presenting me this invitation. Fortunately, I was presentable when she came by. Even more fortunately, she only stayed a minute. Can you tell I still get irritated by these seemingly innocuous intrusions on my life and the students’ apparent impression that I live to serve?
The day of the party, Grace and Jinkey, another student of mine came by my apartment at noon to inform me that I would take part in a game played during this party, and they wanted to tell me the rules. As I was currently logged into Skype and deep in a game of Battleship with my adorable grandson, I declined to listen to the rules and introduced them to my grandson instead. Again they left, but this time promised to return after class that day.
Good! Now I know to expect students coming by!
This time I was ready for them: hair combed, makeup on, jewelry set, nothing else going on. I was thoroughly prepared to give them my undivided attention and absorb these rules I had to learn before the game.
They were very straightforward: I give simple commands – sit down, stand up, turn left, turn right – to 8 or so volunteer players who are then supposed to do the opposite of what I say. There would be two rounds played at the end of which the two winners would be awarded prizes. It seemed like a weird version of Simon Says; easy enough to do. What they did NOT tell me is that this party was actually a gala type affair, with all manner of teachers invited, as well as students from other colleges, and that this game would take place at the Student Union hall, onstage, in front of everyone!
Figuring I was just going to a party, I didn’t bother too much with my appearance; I thought casual would be acceptable. As soon as I learned I was to step onstage and have a white-hot spotlight on me, I immediately felt uncomfortable. I should have done more with my appearance! On the plus side, I finally learned that there is a Student Union hall, and now I know where it is. I just never stop learning things!
My self-satisfaction, coupled with my impending humiliation did nothing to dampen my spirits or cause me to not enjoy the show. And what a show! There was dancing, singing, skits… all put on by the students. Very little of it was in English, but there was enough that I could catch the gist of things. Before the show started the teachers in the audience were introduced, including me. And then the kids commenced to dazzle and entertain.
I honestly don’t know where they get it from. These kids are talented and they love to be onstage. They are hams and turkeys: funny, touching, sweet and MAN! Can that kid from the Music Department sing? I didn’t even know we had a music department, let alone a kid with such a voice! As with regular variety shows where the stars get flowers and Teddy bears, this guy claimed an armful of accolades before he even finished his song. He got so much stuff he had to set it all down onstage to finish his number. To watch him scoop a double armload of tribute at the end of his performance was hilarious. We clapped uproariously.
Soon enough it was my turn onstage. With much ceremony and fanfare – none of it on my part, the student body welcomed me and the MC - One of my students also named Grace, resplendent in a purple, sequined gown, introduced the game while she coached me through my little stint: “Say Hello” she stage-whispered. “Encourage them to come up” she muttered after soliciting for volunteers in Chinese. Once we had enough volunteers, the game began. Grace showed me where to stand and made sure my mike was working fine, and then off we went.
Contrary to my commands, the game players sat when I told them to stand, stood when I told them to sit, kept their arms down when I told them to raise them and raised their arms when I told them to lower them. It almost felt like a regular day in class. If a student actually followed instructions they were disqualified. As the number of volunteers dwindled I gave the commands faster and faster: “Turn left, turn right, stand up sit down, sit down, stand up, turn left, turn left, turn left, turn right!”
It was that sudden switch from turning left to turning right that did everyone in. Soon enough the last two alert persons – one from each round, collected their prize and melted back into the audience. I slunk off stage as soon as graciously possible and went back to my seat.
As best I could tell, there was no adult or faculty leadership behind that three-hour show: the kids did it all themselves. I have to think about how these kids manage such feats as this gala, even while living the life they live. Dorms that are not climate controlled, 6 persons to a room, not much more personal space than the bunk they sleep in, sharing virtually everything they own, no hot water in the communal bathrooms for their showers. They are in class from 8 in the morning until 5:30 at night, after which they scramble to a dinner bought at vendor stalls or in local restaurants; the ones who are broke go to the canteen. They have only a few hours between the end of class and curfew to study, build and maintain a social life, find some sort of entertainment such as playing cards or basketball, and then hit the rack… only to get up and do it all again the next day.
My hat is off to them. Not only for enduring the life they live, but for putting on such a great show.
Tingling in my Jaws
Sing to the tune of Strangers in the Night, Frank Sinatra’s version (is there any other?)
Tingling in my jaws
Such a strange feeling,
Tingling in my jaws
Staring at the ceiling
Wondering if I am
In cardiac distress???
Lately I’ve had the strangest sensation: an odd tingling in my jaws that won’t go away. It is especially prevalent in the morning, but sometimes gets worse as the day wears on. I’m a bit scared by it, as you can understand if you’ve ever had something suddenly change in the way your body acts that you can’t explain.
It just so happens that I know women have different indications of a heart attack than men do, and pain or tingling in the jaws is one symptom of cardiac distress that women experience. That is why I wonder if I’m not going into some sort of cardiac distress, or if I’m having other heart problems.
Which causes me to think: what if I’m in my apartment and its 2 in the morning, and I do in fact have a heart attack?
For one, I’ve already shared with you that I do not know how to contact emergency services. For two, the dorm gates are locked at 10PM on weeknights, and at 11 on weekend nights. If I do have a medical emergency and had to summon help and, by some miracle I’m able to make someone understand over the phone that I’m having a heart attack, how would paramedics get to me with me behind these locked gates?
Hopscotch thought: what if there’s a fire in the dorm at night, when the gates are locked and everyone is asleep? With temperatures plummeting, there is a prevalence of space heaters in the dorms and no sprinkler system or fire alarms anywhere in the building (there are fire extinguishers). We have not had a fire drill since the dorm filled up in late September, when the Freshmen hit campus, or since I’ve been here, Would these kids know what to do? It is very likely a tragedy could unfold. Imagine this dorm, full of girls and one lone language teacher, all trapped behind a locked gate.
For you history buffs: I recall to you the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory incident of 1911. For you who are not familiar with that incident, let me tell you about it. The factory occupied the 8th and 9th floors of a building. The owners of this factory, which produced women’s blouses (at that time called shirtwaists) got in the habit of locking the doors so that the workers would not sneak out to the fire escapes or down to the alley to smoke. Thus everyone there was locked in for their full 9 hour shift.
A careless machine operator flicked a cigarette into the trash, igniting the scraps of material therein. A fire broke out and panic ensued as hundreds of women ran for the doors, which were locked. Fire fighting equipment could not reach that high, so they told the women to jump out the windows into the nets the fire fighters held to catch them. The women started pitching themselves out the windows, whether firemen were ready to catch them or not. The death toll of that incident peaked at 146. You can read about this tragedy here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Triangle_Shirtwaist_Factory_fire
The Triangle Shirtwaist incident is considered to be the worst industrial accident of the century, and indeed it brought about the legislation in America that no exit or fire door may be locked or blocked when a building is occupied. Later laws dwell on the imperative of clearly showing the way to the closest exit; that is why there are lighted ‘EXIT’ signs everywhere in commercial and industrial buildings.
A more recent incident happened this week at a high rise in Shanghai. This residential building was undergoing renovations when (it appears) a worker dripped welding slag onto some flammable building materials nearby. Fire broke out, and again fire fighters were powerless to get the blaze under control The death toll from this fire currently stands at 58, with several people still in critical condition and many others still unaccounted for. You can read about this incident here: http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/china/2010-11/16/content_11553098.htm
This article specifically states that residents are not trained in fire evacuation, nor is there a fire evacuation plan for high-rise apartment buildings in general. There is such a plan for commercial buildings, and commercial buildings have fire sprinkler systems installed. Tenants – and it appears college students are on their own.
Again I despair over the lack of orientation on this campus. Not just for myself, but for the students who would most likely end up panicking and hurting themselves in the general melee during an emergency. And what of those locked gates?
This is clearly something I can do to help the kids stay safe. I will approach Sam with the idea that we need to have a fire drill at least once a quarter so that these kids know what to do if a fire does consume one of these dorm buildings. I can also voice my concerns about the locked dorm gates and maybe see that curfew is monitored some other way. I can ask Sam how to contact emergency services and ask him to teach me how to say that help is needed in Chinese.
As for the tingling in my jaws? It turned out to be nothing serious. A routine supplement that I had been taking in the States appears to no longer be effective here in China, and the overdose of said supplement was manifesting itself by making my jaws tingle madly, and causing my hair to start fall out in clumps. As a former thyroid patient I know that if my hair goes limp and starts falling out, something is knocking my hormone levels out of balance, and such was the case with this supplement. A few days after I stopped taking it, my hair stopped falling out and the tingling sensation in my jaws went away.
While men do tend to experience the shooting chest pains and the numbness in the left arm, women tend to experience discomfort in their upper body regions and what appears to be gastrointestinal discomfort. Jaw pain or discomfort is specifically indicative of heart trouble in women. You should stay in tune with how your body feels and acts, so that if something changes or starts acting different, you can pay immediate attention to what your body is trying to tell you and get help immediately, if needed.
I urge you to get familiar with the symptoms of a heart attack and stroke by reading up on them at http://www.heart.org/HEARTORG/Conditions/Conditions_UCM_305346_SubHomePage.jsp.
Tingling in my jaws
Such a strange feeling,
Tingling in my jaws
Staring at the ceiling
Wondering if I am
In cardiac distress???
Lately I’ve had the strangest sensation: an odd tingling in my jaws that won’t go away. It is especially prevalent in the morning, but sometimes gets worse as the day wears on. I’m a bit scared by it, as you can understand if you’ve ever had something suddenly change in the way your body acts that you can’t explain.
It just so happens that I know women have different indications of a heart attack than men do, and pain or tingling in the jaws is one symptom of cardiac distress that women experience. That is why I wonder if I’m not going into some sort of cardiac distress, or if I’m having other heart problems.
Which causes me to think: what if I’m in my apartment and its 2 in the morning, and I do in fact have a heart attack?
For one, I’ve already shared with you that I do not know how to contact emergency services. For two, the dorm gates are locked at 10PM on weeknights, and at 11 on weekend nights. If I do have a medical emergency and had to summon help and, by some miracle I’m able to make someone understand over the phone that I’m having a heart attack, how would paramedics get to me with me behind these locked gates?
Hopscotch thought: what if there’s a fire in the dorm at night, when the gates are locked and everyone is asleep? With temperatures plummeting, there is a prevalence of space heaters in the dorms and no sprinkler system or fire alarms anywhere in the building (there are fire extinguishers). We have not had a fire drill since the dorm filled up in late September, when the Freshmen hit campus, or since I’ve been here, Would these kids know what to do? It is very likely a tragedy could unfold. Imagine this dorm, full of girls and one lone language teacher, all trapped behind a locked gate.
For you history buffs: I recall to you the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory incident of 1911. For you who are not familiar with that incident, let me tell you about it. The factory occupied the 8th and 9th floors of a building. The owners of this factory, which produced women’s blouses (at that time called shirtwaists) got in the habit of locking the doors so that the workers would not sneak out to the fire escapes or down to the alley to smoke. Thus everyone there was locked in for their full 9 hour shift.
A careless machine operator flicked a cigarette into the trash, igniting the scraps of material therein. A fire broke out and panic ensued as hundreds of women ran for the doors, which were locked. Fire fighting equipment could not reach that high, so they told the women to jump out the windows into the nets the fire fighters held to catch them. The women started pitching themselves out the windows, whether firemen were ready to catch them or not. The death toll of that incident peaked at 146. You can read about this tragedy here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Triangle_Shirtwaist_Factory_fire
The Triangle Shirtwaist incident is considered to be the worst industrial accident of the century, and indeed it brought about the legislation in America that no exit or fire door may be locked or blocked when a building is occupied. Later laws dwell on the imperative of clearly showing the way to the closest exit; that is why there are lighted ‘EXIT’ signs everywhere in commercial and industrial buildings.
A more recent incident happened this week at a high rise in Shanghai. This residential building was undergoing renovations when (it appears) a worker dripped welding slag onto some flammable building materials nearby. Fire broke out, and again fire fighters were powerless to get the blaze under control The death toll from this fire currently stands at 58, with several people still in critical condition and many others still unaccounted for. You can read about this incident here: http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/china/2010-11/16/content_11553098.htm
This article specifically states that residents are not trained in fire evacuation, nor is there a fire evacuation plan for high-rise apartment buildings in general. There is such a plan for commercial buildings, and commercial buildings have fire sprinkler systems installed. Tenants – and it appears college students are on their own.
Again I despair over the lack of orientation on this campus. Not just for myself, but for the students who would most likely end up panicking and hurting themselves in the general melee during an emergency. And what of those locked gates?
This is clearly something I can do to help the kids stay safe. I will approach Sam with the idea that we need to have a fire drill at least once a quarter so that these kids know what to do if a fire does consume one of these dorm buildings. I can also voice my concerns about the locked dorm gates and maybe see that curfew is monitored some other way. I can ask Sam how to contact emergency services and ask him to teach me how to say that help is needed in Chinese.
As for the tingling in my jaws? It turned out to be nothing serious. A routine supplement that I had been taking in the States appears to no longer be effective here in China, and the overdose of said supplement was manifesting itself by making my jaws tingle madly, and causing my hair to start fall out in clumps. As a former thyroid patient I know that if my hair goes limp and starts falling out, something is knocking my hormone levels out of balance, and such was the case with this supplement. A few days after I stopped taking it, my hair stopped falling out and the tingling sensation in my jaws went away.
While men do tend to experience the shooting chest pains and the numbness in the left arm, women tend to experience discomfort in their upper body regions and what appears to be gastrointestinal discomfort. Jaw pain or discomfort is specifically indicative of heart trouble in women. You should stay in tune with how your body feels and acts, so that if something changes or starts acting different, you can pay immediate attention to what your body is trying to tell you and get help immediately, if needed.
I urge you to get familiar with the symptoms of a heart attack and stroke by reading up on them at http://www.heart.org/HEARTORG/Conditions/Conditions_UCM_305346_SubHomePage.jsp.
Banana Meets Sex
Before you get up in arms about this, I will tell you that this is not an entry about porn. I have a student whose English name is Banana, and I am very concerned about her.
When the semester started, Banana and her cohorts, Edith and Claudia were regular attendees and participants in class. They got there on time, minded the lesson and did everything they could to participate. Then, one day, I saw Banana outside the classroom. I did not recognize her! Such a shocking transformation…
This young girl was wearing a low cut blouse that revealed a lot of cleavage, a short, tight mini skirt, towering high heels and enough makeup to repair the façade of the Chrysler building: cat’s eye eyeliner, pale foundation and ‘come on’ ruby red lipstick. Her hair was teased up in a fashion much too mature for her young face. The ensemble was completed by… yes, a beaded purse that swung casually from her wrist.
Where could my student, who is not more than 20 years old, be going in that get up?
I would be incredibly naïve to declare that I am unaware that teenagers and young adults explore their sexual nature. While certainly Chinese girls are a bit more modest and clearly not as aggressive sexually as American girls – or Western girls in general, I have to admit some Chinese girls are giving Western girls a run for their money in that department.
As the semester wore on I started noticing other girls that had every indication that sex had become their favorite pastime. Delta had hickeys all over her neck and Kara withdrew from class activities and spent more time looking at her cell phone than at the board. Jennifer simply quit coming to class after showing up one day, reeking of alcohol. No notes from the office explaining why Jennifer is missing class, and her fellow students are not talking about her either.
From watching Chinese movies and talking with my Chinese friends I know that there are hotels that rent rooms by the hour. What I didn’t know is that our neighborhood is rife with just such hotels. I found out just how prevalent those hotels are while walking with Lavender one evening. She had come over to cook dinner with me, and after enjoying a sumptuous, 4-course meal we decided to go walk some of it off with a stroll through the neighborhood. Up one street and down the other, there was a hotel, and a restaurant. A hotel and a restaurant. The further we got into the neighborhood, the more hotels there were and the fewer restaurants.
I actually did not know they were hotels. They are not advertised as such. I just saw doors that were wide open, and a bed, visible in the foyer. I had to ask Lavender what those were all about: surely no self-respecting family would put a bed right there, by the front door that hangs wide open!
Lavender told me that the bed was actually advertisement that the establishment was a hotel offering rooms by the hour. OK, so maybe I am a bit naïve. College campus, kids with money to spend, far from home for the first time and away from their parents’ watchful eye, hotels immediately available… I should have figured.
While the light of understanding dawned in my innocent head, Lo and Behold: here comes one of my students, Delta – she of the hickeys, hand in hand with a boy. It just so happens we were in a particularly remote alley, 4 or 5 removed from where all of the food vendor stalls are. It looked like she did not want to go: dragging her heels and pulling her hand back. So caught up in her drama was she that she did not notice Lavender and I, or maybe she didn’t expect to see her English teacher down this particular alley. When she did look up, an expression of shock crossed her face. What could I do but say “Hi Delta!” and keep on going?
Delta stopped in her tracks, which caused the boy who was dragging (?) her to stop and turn to her. Delta hung her head and, out of the corner of my eye I saw her push against the boy’s chest. Whatever might be transpiring between them, her body language and actions clearly said she wanted no part in it. Whether she turned around and left the boy or finally went with him I do not know.
I am concerned about these girls, but is there a call for action on my part? Normally I would say yes, but this time I hesitate. For one, there is the language barrier. How could we have a decent conversation about unprotected sex or the virtues of abstaining when I don’t speak enough Chinese to be clearly understood, and they don’t understand enough English for me to get my point across?
Another reason I’m hesitant to launch into a lecture on morality is culture. The tide is changing so rapidly in China, and every self-respecting boy and girl wants to ride that wave. While the wave is not exactly ‘Be as Promiscuous as Possible”, there certainly is an indication that there is as much a feeling of ‘The Love Generation’ here as there was in the ‘60s in America. In the face of such a wave, one gets out of the way or drowns. Another aspect of the differing culture mores is that, while sex can be openly discussed in America, in China that is still not the case… not matter how these kids carry on. And certainly, no discussion would be held with a foreign, unmarried teacher.
Am I a coward, or sensible? Good question, and I think the answer is: ‘A little bit of both’. In America, I might chance a discussion, something to the effect of “What’s going on? It is affecting your grades. I can see you have changed in the past two months…” and go from there. Here, I do not have much of a relationship with these kids. I do care about them, but my responsibility to them ends when the class session is over.
Or does it?
Recently there was an article in China Daily about more and more women being infertile. A lot of that can be attributed to abortions which are not only legal here, but commonly practiced. Another disturbing article I read was about the growing acceptance of unwed mothers and teenaged pregnancies. Finally, the number of people testing HIV positive in China has skyrocketed in the past 5 years. Very disturbing trends. Could I be doing something to help stem this tide? Should I? Would my efforts have any impact?
Banana recently showed up to class late, wearing a blond wig and her ‘street’ get up. Delta cut off her beautiful long hair and now sports a bowl cut – the better to show off her neck markings. Kara has withdrawn even more. I haven’t seen Jennifer in weeks. It makes me wince to think of what these young girls are doing to themselves and their future.
What should I do?
When the semester started, Banana and her cohorts, Edith and Claudia were regular attendees and participants in class. They got there on time, minded the lesson and did everything they could to participate. Then, one day, I saw Banana outside the classroom. I did not recognize her! Such a shocking transformation…
This young girl was wearing a low cut blouse that revealed a lot of cleavage, a short, tight mini skirt, towering high heels and enough makeup to repair the façade of the Chrysler building: cat’s eye eyeliner, pale foundation and ‘come on’ ruby red lipstick. Her hair was teased up in a fashion much too mature for her young face. The ensemble was completed by… yes, a beaded purse that swung casually from her wrist.
Where could my student, who is not more than 20 years old, be going in that get up?
I would be incredibly naïve to declare that I am unaware that teenagers and young adults explore their sexual nature. While certainly Chinese girls are a bit more modest and clearly not as aggressive sexually as American girls – or Western girls in general, I have to admit some Chinese girls are giving Western girls a run for their money in that department.
As the semester wore on I started noticing other girls that had every indication that sex had become their favorite pastime. Delta had hickeys all over her neck and Kara withdrew from class activities and spent more time looking at her cell phone than at the board. Jennifer simply quit coming to class after showing up one day, reeking of alcohol. No notes from the office explaining why Jennifer is missing class, and her fellow students are not talking about her either.
From watching Chinese movies and talking with my Chinese friends I know that there are hotels that rent rooms by the hour. What I didn’t know is that our neighborhood is rife with just such hotels. I found out just how prevalent those hotels are while walking with Lavender one evening. She had come over to cook dinner with me, and after enjoying a sumptuous, 4-course meal we decided to go walk some of it off with a stroll through the neighborhood. Up one street and down the other, there was a hotel, and a restaurant. A hotel and a restaurant. The further we got into the neighborhood, the more hotels there were and the fewer restaurants.
I actually did not know they were hotels. They are not advertised as such. I just saw doors that were wide open, and a bed, visible in the foyer. I had to ask Lavender what those were all about: surely no self-respecting family would put a bed right there, by the front door that hangs wide open!
Lavender told me that the bed was actually advertisement that the establishment was a hotel offering rooms by the hour. OK, so maybe I am a bit naïve. College campus, kids with money to spend, far from home for the first time and away from their parents’ watchful eye, hotels immediately available… I should have figured.
While the light of understanding dawned in my innocent head, Lo and Behold: here comes one of my students, Delta – she of the hickeys, hand in hand with a boy. It just so happens we were in a particularly remote alley, 4 or 5 removed from where all of the food vendor stalls are. It looked like she did not want to go: dragging her heels and pulling her hand back. So caught up in her drama was she that she did not notice Lavender and I, or maybe she didn’t expect to see her English teacher down this particular alley. When she did look up, an expression of shock crossed her face. What could I do but say “Hi Delta!” and keep on going?
Delta stopped in her tracks, which caused the boy who was dragging (?) her to stop and turn to her. Delta hung her head and, out of the corner of my eye I saw her push against the boy’s chest. Whatever might be transpiring between them, her body language and actions clearly said she wanted no part in it. Whether she turned around and left the boy or finally went with him I do not know.
I am concerned about these girls, but is there a call for action on my part? Normally I would say yes, but this time I hesitate. For one, there is the language barrier. How could we have a decent conversation about unprotected sex or the virtues of abstaining when I don’t speak enough Chinese to be clearly understood, and they don’t understand enough English for me to get my point across?
Another reason I’m hesitant to launch into a lecture on morality is culture. The tide is changing so rapidly in China, and every self-respecting boy and girl wants to ride that wave. While the wave is not exactly ‘Be as Promiscuous as Possible”, there certainly is an indication that there is as much a feeling of ‘The Love Generation’ here as there was in the ‘60s in America. In the face of such a wave, one gets out of the way or drowns. Another aspect of the differing culture mores is that, while sex can be openly discussed in America, in China that is still not the case… not matter how these kids carry on. And certainly, no discussion would be held with a foreign, unmarried teacher.
Am I a coward, or sensible? Good question, and I think the answer is: ‘A little bit of both’. In America, I might chance a discussion, something to the effect of “What’s going on? It is affecting your grades. I can see you have changed in the past two months…” and go from there. Here, I do not have much of a relationship with these kids. I do care about them, but my responsibility to them ends when the class session is over.
Or does it?
Recently there was an article in China Daily about more and more women being infertile. A lot of that can be attributed to abortions which are not only legal here, but commonly practiced. Another disturbing article I read was about the growing acceptance of unwed mothers and teenaged pregnancies. Finally, the number of people testing HIV positive in China has skyrocketed in the past 5 years. Very disturbing trends. Could I be doing something to help stem this tide? Should I? Would my efforts have any impact?
Banana recently showed up to class late, wearing a blond wig and her ‘street’ get up. Delta cut off her beautiful long hair and now sports a bowl cut – the better to show off her neck markings. Kara has withdrawn even more. I haven’t seen Jennifer in weeks. It makes me wince to think of what these young girls are doing to themselves and their future.
What should I do?
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