I had a dream a few nights ago. I dreamed about China. I'm sure you expect me to say that it was a horror filled nightmare, but it wasn't. In the dream China held all things I loved about life; a promise land filled with joy and laughter. While walking down a random street in a random city, I saw a couple of members from the Chinese Women's Basketball Team. I made eye contact with one of the players-I saw them at the Wuhan airport on my way home, btw-- and she smiled at me. And then I ran into a random person from college. He was dressed up like a clown and was preparing to show the Chinese people his love for joy and humor. The dream made me happy. This is the first dream I've dreamed about the country; I didn't dream about China once while I was over there (dreams about the United States, every night). It's not often that a dream makes you happy, but this dream did. I woke up with a smile on my face and wondering just what the dream meant. I'm not giving this portion of REM sleep any spiritual or social interpretation, but still it makes me pause and think.
As you guessed, I made it home alright. Of course, the country wouldn't just let me leave without some form of trouble. When I arrived at the Enshi airport, inclement weather delayed my initial flight. Three hours later, I discovered that the delay would last eight hours, and I would miss my four subsequent flights. When I arrived in Wuhan that night, I found out, thanks to the translation skills of a good Samaritan, that the next available flight to Los Angeles was forty eight hours later. Luckily I had a friend in the city, (thank you Lucy!) who let me stay at her place for a few nights. A day and a half later, I arrived at the Wuhan airport only to find that the help desk had given me the wrong time. Thankfully, that flight was also delayed by inclement weather. A few hours later, while lounging in the Wuhan terminal I noticed my flight disappeared off the arrival/departure board (no ARRIVED or DELAYED or BOARDING, they just took it off the board) and it is a good thing the Chinese Women's Basketball team didn't mesmerize me too much, because I almost missed my flight out of Wuhan to Guangzhou.
My three remaining flights were uneventful. We did encounter some mad turbulence when flying over Japan (I was praying to God; the Chinese were all asleep) but besides that, the 12 hour flight across the Pacific went off without a hitch. On my flight from LA to Atlanta I sat beside two Hispanics, and I sat, on the charter flight from Atlanta to Nashville, close to a cute Hispanic girl who asked me "Do you speak Spanish?" I had to begrudgingly reply "No, no I don't." I'm pretty sure this is God's way of telling me to pick up the foreign language.
Even though, judging by the papers and the magazines, I should really be learning Chinese. Since my departure, I've noticed China's ubiquitous appearance in American media and culture has gotten worse. China is everywhere. This past weekend, my sister and brother-in-law gave me a Newsweek with a picture of Yao Ming on the front. Yesterday, I noticed three magazine at Barnes and Noble that had something about China on the cover. It's the new, hip thing. And well, I just got out of it. Since I've returned, I've had plenty of time to reflect on my Chinese experience. Here are a few thoughts:
I've had little reverse culture shock, nothing major. Here are the only examples: Americans eat way too much protein, Oranges should not be three dollars a pound, Americans eat way too much sugar and I still haven't become accustomed to putting toilet paper in the toilet (really, who does that?). There you go, that's it. They told us reverse culture shock would be worse than the initial culture shock, and, in my case, they were wrong. I don't have it, and I don't think I will ever have it. Life has pretty much returned back to normal in the good old United States; I'm in the same place I was before I left. Nothing has really changed (besides a few engagements and new gas stations) and life is not perfect, but I wasn't expecting it to be perfect when I returned. And let me tell you, it's a heckuva lot better.
And I mean heckuva. Of course I blame myself for all this, but still, I will take some liberties: I hated my Chinese experience because my Chinese experience sucked. Plan and simple. I had my "return home hi" and I've come down from it. But I consider life here exponentially better than life over there. I enjoy being back for the same reasons I fore casted months ago. Nobody uses me as their high-class American arm-candy; nobody tries to make me drink crappy Chinese beer; nobody feels insulted when I tell them, for a fact, some places in America are hotter than Wuhan; nobody expects me to give them free English lessons when they know three words of the language; NO BAIJIO (cept for the two bottles I smuggled back); no loud speaker that wakes me up at 6:20 every morning; the nearest large city is not 12 hours away; etc.
Sure, it sounds like I enjoy home because home is not China, but that is not entirely true. I do love home for what it has to offer, and China has made me appreciate those things so much more. However, I'm not the kind of person that is going to ditch a ten month commitment because I don't get to eat peanut butter and cheese on a regular basis. Since I've been back, it's been nice to eat Chic-fil-a and go to Barnes and Noble, but I haven't been pining for those things for four months. They are icing on the cake.
I've been renewed with a sense of purpose and optimism since I returned. I don't why, and I don't know if it will last, but I feel as if I now have the opportunity to do what I need to do. China is over, thankfully, and the days I never thought I would see are here. It feels like a dream more or less, like something that only happened in the recess of my mind. I feel like Scrooge on Christmas morning. I just had an experience that very few will ever understand, but that experience has made me better as an individual. I'm awake now, and even though nothing has changed since the night before, it's time to begin life anew. Whatever I do in the long term, whether I move to Nashville or ditch the place for some undiscovered metropolis, I will reflect on China as something that clarified my life. But, and I mean this, thank God it's over.
"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
The Final Post from China
I arrived in China on August 24 and tomorrow, 136 days later, I'm leaving.
I also have a million and one things to do tonight, but I felt like the blog deserved one last post before I left. Some random thoughts:
I've been enjoying myself since New Year's Eve. I can't explain why. I have had more fun in the last few weeks than the entire four months preceding. Why? Hmmm. Why is a very good question. I've been going out and doing fun things with Chinese people (There is a story where I was dancing on a stage in front of 100 Chinese people in a Chinese dance club, but I don't have time to get into that).
Anyway. It's late. I find it funny that this blog is ending with a whimper and not with a bang, but I guess this is it for now. I leave tomorrow and get in America on Thursday morning. See you all then.
"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."
I also have a million and one things to do tonight, but I felt like the blog deserved one last post before I left. Some random thoughts:
I've been enjoying myself since New Year's Eve. I can't explain why. I have had more fun in the last few weeks than the entire four months preceding. Why? Hmmm. Why is a very good question. I've been going out and doing fun things with Chinese people (There is a story where I was dancing on a stage in front of 100 Chinese people in a Chinese dance club, but I don't have time to get into that).
Anyway. It's late. I find it funny that this blog is ending with a whimper and not with a bang, but I guess this is it for now. I leave tomorrow and get in America on Thursday morning. See you all then.
"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Advent
My Advent calendar has slowly transformed into a "Jonathan Coming Home Calendar." Take that, Christmas...
Friday, December 28, 2007
Reflections on baijio (among other things)
What precipitated the love and joy from yesterday's post? Well let me expound.
I was dancing around a fire last night...
It all originated with baijio. I hate it with a passion. Baijio is the official (ok the only) hard liqour of China which has ruined every decent meal in this country for the last two thousand years. It taste like (yes I've had some) the run-off from all the sorrows of a teenage depression, like the secretion of a foot-mashed worm on a rainy day, like the holocaust in liquid form, like the first time you get rejected by a girl. The smell of baijio makes me want to hurl. My stomach churns every time I see a Chinese waitress bring in a bottle of the stuff, because I know what is about to happen next.
As I stated earlier in this blog, the Chinese men love baijio more than reproduction. It makes an appearance at every decent meal. They crack open a bottle, pour it in their cups, and toast each other until too drunk to continue. Now I understand wanting to get drunk every time you eat a meal, but really, a civilization that is six billion years old could have invented something that tastes better.
The Chinese keep drinking it, keep pouring it, and keep toasting each other for the rest of the meal. They really love the toasting part. I don't understand why, it's more or less a game where everyone wins. Everyone toasts everyone and everyone has a good time. The Chinese look forward to this whole toasting thing from the moment they wake up in the morning with a hangover. They live for dinner’s and toasting.
But the main problem is Chinese men consider baijio a sign of machismo. The real men drink a lot. The real men pretend they enjoy it. In fact, besides cigarettes, I'm pretty sure baijio is the only sign of machismo in China. Men in America assert their manhood in many way: hunting, drinking beer, lifting weights, eating spicy food, having a beard, driving a motorcycle, sports, womanizing, business, etc. Men in China have two choices: one hundred proof fire-water and cancer sticks. That is why every man in this country does both. I am a man. I am an American. I’m expected to put the stuff away.
Now you know the foundation of my troubles, I will tell you the story.
I have a Chinese businessman named David. He appears often in this blog--see the mountain park post and the one where I ranted--and David has a friend who is a student at the University across the street. His name is Bevin. Bevin and David have a symbiotic relationship: Bevin does David's translating, teaches David English, and gets David hooked up with the Americans he knows at the University. Why all this ingratiating? Because Bevin hopes by getting on David's good side, David will pay back Bevin's kindness with a job. Do you see where I fit into all this? Yes it's the part where I am an American.
David yearns to be friends with an American. Why? I don't know. It plays into the whole dream of one day making it to America. This whole thing is just a grand production of Fevil: An Amerian Tale. Americans are not humans over here, we’re demi-god status symbols. This is why David wants to be friends with me. He wants everyone to see that he has a friend from America. He wants everyone to know that the Americans like him. He’ll do almost anything to get that.
However, David has forgot the keystone of superficial friendships: I’m the one with the power, and because of this, you better be making me happy. He tries hard—expensive dinners, exotic places—but I really don’t enjoy his company. The sad thing is he doesn’t know that. Why? He is that obtuse. He has driven me to mountain parks, and he has taken me to fancy restaurants, but I hate it. He has such narcissitic confidence. He reminds me of the person that buys a Christmas gift on the sole factor that they want someone to give it to them. He thinks that if he is having a good time showing me around, then I must be having a good time. In his mind I am having the time of my life every time I am around him. There is no way I’m not right? Because spending time with him is a privilege. Something I should be thankful for. He is lowering himself to my level. And I should get down on my knees every night and be thankful that I met a guy that shows me the countryside and buys me dinner. I want to crush his little world. Really. I want to scream “Americans DON’T LIKE YOU!” But he probably wouldn’t pick up on that. Don’t be that person readers.
So I hear you asking: “But Jonathan why do you keep doing stuff with this man?” One word: persistence. Bevin and David are the most persistent people I have met. Bevin will call three times a week and inform me of an invitation to dinner. I will decline the invitation. Bevin will beg for ten minutes. I will still decline. Bevin will call the next day; I will decline again. Eventually I wear down and agree. JC was right: persistence works. They are why I refused to pick up my phone for a whole month. They don’t take no for an answer. One time I yelled into the phone “I WON’T GO.” Bevin and David knocked on my door the next day.
Well, I wore down this week and agreed to go to dinner with David last night. He blew his last chance.
At five thirty David took me to one of the 4,000 minority restaurants in the city. David also took Ms. Lucy (a Sister).
Ms. Lucy has been one of the bright spots of my trip to China. For one, Ms. Lucy studied three years in Jersey (she’s got friends in High places up in Rome), so she understands what it’s like to be a foreigner. Ms. Lucy has empathy for me because she’s been there. Plus, she has the best English of anyone I have met in the last four months. Above all, she’s a Sister. So you know, we have a lot in common.
So, as I was saying, David treated Ms. Lucy and me to dinner at a minority restaurant last night. Dinner was going fine—I wanted to leave, everyone was speaking Chinese, pretty normal circumstances—when the waitress breaked out the baijio. Of course, everyone started drinking.
At this point, the waitresses of the establishment began dancing around a bonfire in the middle of the restaurant (it had a courtyard feel). I feigned interest and left the table. Seeing that I might be interested, Lucy decided that I might enjoy learning how to dance Chinese style and guided me to the fire. Last night I was dancing around a fire with eight Chinese waitresses, the sole reason I came to China.
Unexpectedly, who expects these things, a group of twenty drunken people yanked me out of the conga line into the midst of their bacchanalian revelry. For about thirty seconds I lost all power. I couldn’t escape. I had about two inches of moving room, and there were random hands grabbing my arm and pulling me every direction. They surrounded me like a pack of blood-shot eyed zombies all moaning one-word “driiiinkkkk”. And then they tried forcing baijio down my throat. When you’re surrounded by a mob there is a second where everything starts ticking faster and you think to yourself “Oh I could die.” Granted it isn’t a realistic fear, but you are at the mercy of twenty drunk Chinese. You don’t think about knocking someone over or pushing your way out. You worry about holding your footing against the weight of twenty individuals. They just keep pressing closer and closer, without any coherent thought to what they are doing. And then occurs to you, you’re in this position because you are a foreigner. No other reason. You may die in this blasted place because a pack of baijio saturated Chinese forced you into a blazing bonfire.
I broke out, somehow, enraged out of my mind and soaked from neck to waist in baijio. I smelled like the wretched drink. I made my way to our table, and for the rest of the night I endured the constant toasting of David’s good friends and coworkers, who were eating at the same restaurant on the same night.
Yes, David took me to that restaurant to show me to his entire workplace. I have no humanity around this guy. David uses me to look cool; Bevin uses me to get on David’s good side, and I get a free three dollar meal. Everyone is too involved with his or her agenda to notice that I hate it. Even Sister Lucy.
After dinner they drove me to the foot of my apartment. I was soaked in baijio, livid, and exhausted. After we parked Ms. Lucy said, at the same time I began thanking the good Father for delivering me from evil, “You are the host, you should invite them up to your apartment.” I lost Ms. Lucy, my one Chinese friend who understands. She saw me hating the entire night. She had to know I wanted nothing more than to change clothes and get away from these people. She had too. Now she was on their side.
I invited them up to my filthy apartment (it’s that way to deter guests) in hopes the visit wouldn’t last long. I’m not sure what part about the night signified I was the host. It must have been my baijio soaked jacket. They sat down in my apartment and stayed for about an hour and a half, but that is not the length of it.
They played the part of “annoying houseguest” perfectly: they open doors that are closed for a reason, they touch things you don’t want touched, they stick around longer than they should. It doesn’t help the situation.
And David, right on cue, begins asking me to accompany him to Lichuan sometime in the next week. Lichuan is a town that is three hours away from Enshi. Its main claim to fame is beautiful scenery and that one cave. Lichuan is an overnight trip, and we will spend the night in a beautiful hotel. All my houseguests—Lucy, David, Bevin, David’s friend—were trying to convince me to do it. It was rather funny actually. They had no incentive except “It’s going to be really pretty.” I sat there in disbelief. How dense can a group of people be? What are they not telling me? “It’s going to be really pretty?” That’s all I get out of it? Oh man, they don’t know Americans. I didn’t want to do it. So I turned him down for Friday. I turned him down for Saturday. I turned him down for Sunday. I turned him down for Monday. BUT TUESDAY! TUESDAY I HAVE FREE!
They caught me in a lie. Apparently, New Years Day is a holiday in China and the student’s don’t go to class on that day:
“What do you mean you teach on Tuesday? It is a holiday, students don’t go to class.” Ms. Lucy said.
“What? Wait a second. You celebrate New Years twice in this country?” “Yes.”
“Well I’ll be.”
In extreme frustration I agreed.
Sitting there on that couch, hating everything about the last few months, I had an epiphany: if I could just leave the city by Monday and not tell anyone, I wouldn’t go on Tuesday, I wouldn’t have to talk to Bevin or David ever again, and I wouldn’t have to worry about calling them up and telling them I hate their guts (it has come to that point). Yes that’s right, and I could take my four thousand yuan and I could see the country! I could tell my friends at home I saw the Great Wall. I wouldn’t be cursed to a lifetime of “You went to China for four and half months and you didn’t see the Great Wall?” (or Shanghai, or Hong Kong, or pandas, etc.). Yes that’s right! It’s possible. I’m done with classes; I don’t have anything holding me here. All I need is to find a place to stay, pack my apartment and buy my plane ticket. It would work. I would be out of the city in three days! I had it; I had the ultimate plan. I would travel solo and see the country before I left forever. I became excited. I never become excited about anything. It lasted until three o’clock today.
The money. I lost my bankcard a couple of weeks ago and I have no money, and will have no money for a week. For some reason, I had some wild notion that you could walk into a bank, show your I.D. and clean out your account. I was wrong. My waiban and I went to the bank, and I have to wait seven days before the bank will give me a red cent. I’m stuck in this town for one more week. I probably won’t see Beijing.
Of all the soul-crushing experiences I’ve had in the last few months, this one tops them all. I don’t feel excited about something often, and I don’t know why I became excited about this. It’s not my style to want to see something. It’s not my style to get excited. But I wanted to do something alone. I wanted to overcome my lack of adventure. I wanted to go to a big city in a foreign country and survive on my own. I didn’t want a life cursed by “You didn’t see the Great Wall?” exclamations (and believe me they will happen).
I don’t know what happened to that cursed piece of plastic. I’m pretty sure it was stolen. I’ve looked everywhere in my small apartment and can’t find it. And now I have to wait a week for $500 cash. I guess I shouldn’t have lost it, I should have foreseen this coming and cleaned out my bank account when I had a card. I guess I should say it’s my fault, the whole fact that this China experience has been a disaster. I could have done so much couldn’t I? I should have traveled alone in October holiday when I had the chance. I should have made closer friends with my students. I should have cleaned my apartment, or read more. I should have bought into the culture and ingratiated myself with every person I knew. I should have fought the loneliness instead of letting it beat me. I should have invited my students over instead of surfing the internet. I should have done a myriad number of things that I didn’t do.
I planned on writing an optimistic blog post earlier in the day. It had something to do with overcoming obstacles. Hogwash I know. Is there a home after living in this place? Is there? The hits never stop coming. Something about this place just wants to keep you down. Take me home. Take me home and don’t ever let me leave. That’s all I want. You know that by now.
“I’ll see you in the morning if nothing happens.”
I was dancing around a fire last night...
It all originated with baijio. I hate it with a passion. Baijio is the official (ok the only) hard liqour of China which has ruined every decent meal in this country for the last two thousand years. It taste like (yes I've had some) the run-off from all the sorrows of a teenage depression, like the secretion of a foot-mashed worm on a rainy day, like the holocaust in liquid form, like the first time you get rejected by a girl. The smell of baijio makes me want to hurl. My stomach churns every time I see a Chinese waitress bring in a bottle of the stuff, because I know what is about to happen next.
As I stated earlier in this blog, the Chinese men love baijio more than reproduction. It makes an appearance at every decent meal. They crack open a bottle, pour it in their cups, and toast each other until too drunk to continue. Now I understand wanting to get drunk every time you eat a meal, but really, a civilization that is six billion years old could have invented something that tastes better.
The Chinese keep drinking it, keep pouring it, and keep toasting each other for the rest of the meal. They really love the toasting part. I don't understand why, it's more or less a game where everyone wins. Everyone toasts everyone and everyone has a good time. The Chinese look forward to this whole toasting thing from the moment they wake up in the morning with a hangover. They live for dinner’s and toasting.
But the main problem is Chinese men consider baijio a sign of machismo. The real men drink a lot. The real men pretend they enjoy it. In fact, besides cigarettes, I'm pretty sure baijio is the only sign of machismo in China. Men in America assert their manhood in many way: hunting, drinking beer, lifting weights, eating spicy food, having a beard, driving a motorcycle, sports, womanizing, business, etc. Men in China have two choices: one hundred proof fire-water and cancer sticks. That is why every man in this country does both. I am a man. I am an American. I’m expected to put the stuff away.
Now you know the foundation of my troubles, I will tell you the story.
I have a Chinese businessman named David. He appears often in this blog--see the mountain park post and the one where I ranted--and David has a friend who is a student at the University across the street. His name is Bevin. Bevin and David have a symbiotic relationship: Bevin does David's translating, teaches David English, and gets David hooked up with the Americans he knows at the University. Why all this ingratiating? Because Bevin hopes by getting on David's good side, David will pay back Bevin's kindness with a job. Do you see where I fit into all this? Yes it's the part where I am an American.
David yearns to be friends with an American. Why? I don't know. It plays into the whole dream of one day making it to America. This whole thing is just a grand production of Fevil: An Amerian Tale. Americans are not humans over here, we’re demi-god status symbols. This is why David wants to be friends with me. He wants everyone to see that he has a friend from America. He wants everyone to know that the Americans like him. He’ll do almost anything to get that.
However, David has forgot the keystone of superficial friendships: I’m the one with the power, and because of this, you better be making me happy. He tries hard—expensive dinners, exotic places—but I really don’t enjoy his company. The sad thing is he doesn’t know that. Why? He is that obtuse. He has driven me to mountain parks, and he has taken me to fancy restaurants, but I hate it. He has such narcissitic confidence. He reminds me of the person that buys a Christmas gift on the sole factor that they want someone to give it to them. He thinks that if he is having a good time showing me around, then I must be having a good time. In his mind I am having the time of my life every time I am around him. There is no way I’m not right? Because spending time with him is a privilege. Something I should be thankful for. He is lowering himself to my level. And I should get down on my knees every night and be thankful that I met a guy that shows me the countryside and buys me dinner. I want to crush his little world. Really. I want to scream “Americans DON’T LIKE YOU!” But he probably wouldn’t pick up on that. Don’t be that person readers.
So I hear you asking: “But Jonathan why do you keep doing stuff with this man?” One word: persistence. Bevin and David are the most persistent people I have met. Bevin will call three times a week and inform me of an invitation to dinner. I will decline the invitation. Bevin will beg for ten minutes. I will still decline. Bevin will call the next day; I will decline again. Eventually I wear down and agree. JC was right: persistence works. They are why I refused to pick up my phone for a whole month. They don’t take no for an answer. One time I yelled into the phone “I WON’T GO.” Bevin and David knocked on my door the next day.
Well, I wore down this week and agreed to go to dinner with David last night. He blew his last chance.
At five thirty David took me to one of the 4,000 minority restaurants in the city. David also took Ms. Lucy (a Sister).
Ms. Lucy has been one of the bright spots of my trip to China. For one, Ms. Lucy studied three years in Jersey (she’s got friends in High places up in Rome), so she understands what it’s like to be a foreigner. Ms. Lucy has empathy for me because she’s been there. Plus, she has the best English of anyone I have met in the last four months. Above all, she’s a Sister. So you know, we have a lot in common.
So, as I was saying, David treated Ms. Lucy and me to dinner at a minority restaurant last night. Dinner was going fine—I wanted to leave, everyone was speaking Chinese, pretty normal circumstances—when the waitress breaked out the baijio. Of course, everyone started drinking.
At this point, the waitresses of the establishment began dancing around a bonfire in the middle of the restaurant (it had a courtyard feel). I feigned interest and left the table. Seeing that I might be interested, Lucy decided that I might enjoy learning how to dance Chinese style and guided me to the fire. Last night I was dancing around a fire with eight Chinese waitresses, the sole reason I came to China.
Unexpectedly, who expects these things, a group of twenty drunken people yanked me out of the conga line into the midst of their bacchanalian revelry. For about thirty seconds I lost all power. I couldn’t escape. I had about two inches of moving room, and there were random hands grabbing my arm and pulling me every direction. They surrounded me like a pack of blood-shot eyed zombies all moaning one-word “driiiinkkkk”. And then they tried forcing baijio down my throat. When you’re surrounded by a mob there is a second where everything starts ticking faster and you think to yourself “Oh I could die.” Granted it isn’t a realistic fear, but you are at the mercy of twenty drunk Chinese. You don’t think about knocking someone over or pushing your way out. You worry about holding your footing against the weight of twenty individuals. They just keep pressing closer and closer, without any coherent thought to what they are doing. And then occurs to you, you’re in this position because you are a foreigner. No other reason. You may die in this blasted place because a pack of baijio saturated Chinese forced you into a blazing bonfire.
I broke out, somehow, enraged out of my mind and soaked from neck to waist in baijio. I smelled like the wretched drink. I made my way to our table, and for the rest of the night I endured the constant toasting of David’s good friends and coworkers, who were eating at the same restaurant on the same night.
Yes, David took me to that restaurant to show me to his entire workplace. I have no humanity around this guy. David uses me to look cool; Bevin uses me to get on David’s good side, and I get a free three dollar meal. Everyone is too involved with his or her agenda to notice that I hate it. Even Sister Lucy.
After dinner they drove me to the foot of my apartment. I was soaked in baijio, livid, and exhausted. After we parked Ms. Lucy said, at the same time I began thanking the good Father for delivering me from evil, “You are the host, you should invite them up to your apartment.” I lost Ms. Lucy, my one Chinese friend who understands. She saw me hating the entire night. She had to know I wanted nothing more than to change clothes and get away from these people. She had too. Now she was on their side.
I invited them up to my filthy apartment (it’s that way to deter guests) in hopes the visit wouldn’t last long. I’m not sure what part about the night signified I was the host. It must have been my baijio soaked jacket. They sat down in my apartment and stayed for about an hour and a half, but that is not the length of it.
They played the part of “annoying houseguest” perfectly: they open doors that are closed for a reason, they touch things you don’t want touched, they stick around longer than they should. It doesn’t help the situation.
And David, right on cue, begins asking me to accompany him to Lichuan sometime in the next week. Lichuan is a town that is three hours away from Enshi. Its main claim to fame is beautiful scenery and that one cave. Lichuan is an overnight trip, and we will spend the night in a beautiful hotel. All my houseguests—Lucy, David, Bevin, David’s friend—were trying to convince me to do it. It was rather funny actually. They had no incentive except “It’s going to be really pretty.” I sat there in disbelief. How dense can a group of people be? What are they not telling me? “It’s going to be really pretty?” That’s all I get out of it? Oh man, they don’t know Americans. I didn’t want to do it. So I turned him down for Friday. I turned him down for Saturday. I turned him down for Sunday. I turned him down for Monday. BUT TUESDAY! TUESDAY I HAVE FREE!
They caught me in a lie. Apparently, New Years Day is a holiday in China and the student’s don’t go to class on that day:
“What do you mean you teach on Tuesday? It is a holiday, students don’t go to class.” Ms. Lucy said.
“What? Wait a second. You celebrate New Years twice in this country?” “Yes.”
“Well I’ll be.”
In extreme frustration I agreed.
Sitting there on that couch, hating everything about the last few months, I had an epiphany: if I could just leave the city by Monday and not tell anyone, I wouldn’t go on Tuesday, I wouldn’t have to talk to Bevin or David ever again, and I wouldn’t have to worry about calling them up and telling them I hate their guts (it has come to that point). Yes that’s right, and I could take my four thousand yuan and I could see the country! I could tell my friends at home I saw the Great Wall. I wouldn’t be cursed to a lifetime of “You went to China for four and half months and you didn’t see the Great Wall?” (or Shanghai, or Hong Kong, or pandas, etc.). Yes that’s right! It’s possible. I’m done with classes; I don’t have anything holding me here. All I need is to find a place to stay, pack my apartment and buy my plane ticket. It would work. I would be out of the city in three days! I had it; I had the ultimate plan. I would travel solo and see the country before I left forever. I became excited. I never become excited about anything. It lasted until three o’clock today.
The money. I lost my bankcard a couple of weeks ago and I have no money, and will have no money for a week. For some reason, I had some wild notion that you could walk into a bank, show your I.D. and clean out your account. I was wrong. My waiban and I went to the bank, and I have to wait seven days before the bank will give me a red cent. I’m stuck in this town for one more week. I probably won’t see Beijing.
Of all the soul-crushing experiences I’ve had in the last few months, this one tops them all. I don’t feel excited about something often, and I don’t know why I became excited about this. It’s not my style to want to see something. It’s not my style to get excited. But I wanted to do something alone. I wanted to overcome my lack of adventure. I wanted to go to a big city in a foreign country and survive on my own. I didn’t want a life cursed by “You didn’t see the Great Wall?” exclamations (and believe me they will happen).
I don’t know what happened to that cursed piece of plastic. I’m pretty sure it was stolen. I’ve looked everywhere in my small apartment and can’t find it. And now I have to wait a week for $500 cash. I guess I shouldn’t have lost it, I should have foreseen this coming and cleaned out my bank account when I had a card. I guess I should say it’s my fault, the whole fact that this China experience has been a disaster. I could have done so much couldn’t I? I should have traveled alone in October holiday when I had the chance. I should have made closer friends with my students. I should have cleaned my apartment, or read more. I should have bought into the culture and ingratiated myself with every person I knew. I should have fought the loneliness instead of letting it beat me. I should have invited my students over instead of surfing the internet. I should have done a myriad number of things that I didn’t do.
I planned on writing an optimistic blog post earlier in the day. It had something to do with overcoming obstacles. Hogwash I know. Is there a home after living in this place? Is there? The hits never stop coming. Something about this place just wants to keep you down. Take me home. Take me home and don’t ever let me leave. That’s all I want. You know that by now.
“I’ll see you in the morning if nothing happens.”
Thursday, December 27, 2007
A Post Four Months in the Making
Brace yourselves...
I hate this. I hate this more than Tennessee football. I hate this more than Christian Laettner of the early 90's. I hate this more than the Backstreet Boys, O-town, N'Sync, Britney, and Christina combined. I hate this more than bad summer movies. I hate this more than 80% of my time at Lipscomb. I hate this more than the Adair county marching band. I hate being a stooge. I hate being a pawn. I hate being a high-class call-boy who is treated well because of his nationality. I hate living here. I hate the joke that somebody should do this for more than an hour. I hate being the only person that feels this way. I hate living here. I HATE Baijio. I hate that I didn't leave three weeks into it. I hate being the center of attention every time I leave my apartment. I hate that I ever stepped on that plane out of Nashville. I hate that I haven't seen the sun in close to a month. I hate the one time that I listened to others instead of trusting my gut it turned into this. I HATE THIS.
I feel a little better; you must have seen that coming. I've wanted to type that almost every day, but I've always held back until now. I didn't want to scare anyone I guess. My coming home can't wait 13 days, 10 hours and 10 minutes. I guess it will have to.
Well, I will not divulge the event's that brought on this blog post. Divulging these events would take three hours of explaining, and I don't feel up for it. Honestly.
In the words of Haley Fuller, and I don't think she would mind me quoting her on this, "I definitely don't have reverse culture shock." Haley has been home a week tomorrow, and she has no reverse culture shock. You don't understand people. At my orientation they TOLD us we would have reverse culture shock and they TOLD us that it would be much worse than the initial culture shock when we left America (Of course, they also told us that once we recovered from initial culture shock we would enjoy life in China more than life in America; I can't speak for Haley, but I on the other hand...). I have seen people experience Chinese reverse culture shock, so I know it exists. When somebody has a total absence of it altogether, something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
I say this because I know I will follow suit. For a total of six hours I will be the happiest man to ever grace the confines of LAX. Let me tell you that. When I return to Nashville and venture out in public, you better believe I'm going to stand there wide-eyed and say "Nobody's staring at me. Nobody's STARING AT ME!" ("My mouth's bleeding Bert! My Mouth's Bleeding!"). I will have reverse culture euphoria. I'll be a hoot and a half for about a week, and after that I'll be just a hoot for the rest of all time.
Well here's another blog post just in case you thought I had a spontaneous, Dickensian, Christmas-inspired change of heart.
BAH!!!!
"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."
p.s. I might post the story tomorrow. I'm just too tired for it right now.
p.s.s. Man, it takes a lot of rage to hate something more than I hated Laettner in the early 90's. Really.
I hate this. I hate this more than Tennessee football. I hate this more than Christian Laettner of the early 90's. I hate this more than the Backstreet Boys, O-town, N'Sync, Britney, and Christina combined. I hate this more than bad summer movies. I hate this more than 80% of my time at Lipscomb. I hate this more than the Adair county marching band. I hate being a stooge. I hate being a pawn. I hate being a high-class call-boy who is treated well because of his nationality. I hate living here. I hate the joke that somebody should do this for more than an hour. I hate being the only person that feels this way. I hate living here. I HATE Baijio. I hate that I didn't leave three weeks into it. I hate being the center of attention every time I leave my apartment. I hate that I ever stepped on that plane out of Nashville. I hate that I haven't seen the sun in close to a month. I hate the one time that I listened to others instead of trusting my gut it turned into this. I HATE THIS.
I feel a little better; you must have seen that coming. I've wanted to type that almost every day, but I've always held back until now. I didn't want to scare anyone I guess. My coming home can't wait 13 days, 10 hours and 10 minutes. I guess it will have to.
Well, I will not divulge the event's that brought on this blog post. Divulging these events would take three hours of explaining, and I don't feel up for it. Honestly.
In the words of Haley Fuller, and I don't think she would mind me quoting her on this, "I definitely don't have reverse culture shock." Haley has been home a week tomorrow, and she has no reverse culture shock. You don't understand people. At my orientation they TOLD us we would have reverse culture shock and they TOLD us that it would be much worse than the initial culture shock when we left America (Of course, they also told us that once we recovered from initial culture shock we would enjoy life in China more than life in America; I can't speak for Haley, but I on the other hand...). I have seen people experience Chinese reverse culture shock, so I know it exists. When somebody has a total absence of it altogether, something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
I say this because I know I will follow suit. For a total of six hours I will be the happiest man to ever grace the confines of LAX. Let me tell you that. When I return to Nashville and venture out in public, you better believe I'm going to stand there wide-eyed and say "Nobody's staring at me. Nobody's STARING AT ME!" ("My mouth's bleeding Bert! My Mouth's Bleeding!"). I will have reverse culture euphoria. I'll be a hoot and a half for about a week, and after that I'll be just a hoot for the rest of all time.
Well here's another blog post just in case you thought I had a spontaneous, Dickensian, Christmas-inspired change of heart.
BAH!!!!
"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."
p.s. I might post the story tomorrow. I'm just too tired for it right now.
p.s.s. Man, it takes a lot of rage to hate something more than I hated Laettner in the early 90's. Really.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Calculations and stuff.
Hmmmmm...
I have two weeks left, a little under two weeks actually. Two weeks ago was December 12...
I guess everyone has counted down to something. Of course, most normal countdowns end with a ceremony like marriage or graduation. I have never counted down to ceremony, but I have counted down twice before: when I moved out of Mrs. F's and my current countdown to coming home. During that first countdown those last few weeks were almost unbearable. Here we are again, two weeks left.
I'm guessing most people, like myself, create mathematical formulas to make the time pass quicker when they near the end. Some of my favorites:
Multiplying the days by twenty-four, the remaining hours by sixty and the remaining minutes by sixty. It gives you one large sum that never stops moving. Let's see: 1,245,600 seconds. Give or take a couple hundred seconds. On second thought, I don't like that one...
Better yet, let's go with percentages. I have been in China total of 123 days, and I have 14 left. Therefore I have 10% of my time in China remaining. Oh dear. That's depressing. 10% of my life is over two years. 10% is the difference between an A and a B. I'm trying to forget this one...
Or you could shave days. Let's see, since tomorrow it will be 13 days, and today is almost over with. Let's just say the countdown is at 13. And since I'm counting down the days until I get back in America, let's just pretend it's a countdown to leave so it's really at 12 days. Yea I don't like that one either...
Or when taken to extremes, the meta-physical time jump. I usually ask myself where I was one week ago today, say "Wow that doesn't seem like that long ago," and then I apply it to the future. So now the countdown is down to seven days. And since two weeks ago was December 12, and that doesn't seem that long ago (yea it does) then technically I should be leaving any second now. Well, we're 0 for 4...
Or better yet, pretend I am loving this and that the countdown is really something I'm not looking forward too. Then you have to ask why someone would countdown to something when they are not looking forward to it. That's why you don't ask...
And then I slap my head and say "You idiot! It's just two weeks!" When Haley hit her two week mark I kept thinking "Man if I could just make it two weeks, hot dog I'd be set!" Well it's passed. I've been telling myself since the first of October that if I could just make it to Christmas, man, I'd be sitting pretty. Well that happen yesterday. So I'm good, I'm slowly realizing that I should just enjoy it while I can, because it ain't happening again.
And yet when I'm thinking all this mumbo-jumbo, the comedian in the back of my head keeps saying "And you were supposed to do this a whole year!" (rimshot) (canned laughter). Sometime I forget that fact, and then I remember it, and then I forget it again, and then I think "Who were these people kidding? Do this a whole year?" I don't blame the College or the organization for wanting some form of long-term commitment of course. So I guess when I say "These people," I mean every person that has done the China experience and liked it. They must be out of their minds (I have started so many posts with "I believe we should institutionalize anyone who enjoys doing this..." before realizing we would be committing many of my good friends to the loony bin). Of course, before I left I asked seven or eight people who had taught in China before if they enjoyed it, and all recommended it. A 100% approval rate is hard to question.
Alright, alright, alright. So I'm the nut. I realize it, and I hate nothing more. Every single daggum person that has come to China loves it. And what's more, every single daggum person that leaves our beloved Country loves the experience. You could put me on Ripley's Believe it or Not: "Up next, a man who left America and didn't have the time of his life. Believe it, or not?" Ugh, I'm never going to overcome this English-major-travel-abroad-inferiority-complex. I'm like that penguin who just wants to dance! (I didn't like that movie by the way) While all the other penguins want to travel and they don't understand why I want to dance (mixed metaphor but you get the point). Man. I'm going to be regulated to the dust-bin of humanity. Maybe my experience is situational, or maybe I'm just a wuss. I don't care, either way get me home.
Anyways, to sum this up, a list of things I am looking forward to:
No one staring at me in public, no one yelling hello, no mandatory hard-liquor every time I eat a decent meal, no one expecting me to have the secret to English fluency, not being approached by strangers for the secret to English fluency, not being the center of attention everywhere I go, not being used by one person to get on another person's good side, not losing my bank card, not being woken up every morning at 6:15 by the school song, Chick-fil-a, not being offered cigarettes every day, not being cut in line, no more random cell-phone pictures, no more inquiries into my girlfriends, my ability to speak Chinese, my ability to use Chopsticks, my future plans to travel China; family, friends, etc.
But in the spirit of fairness, I would like to list the things I will miss about China:
When I am the recipient of a smile from a pretty Chinese girl.
Now see! Being here isn't all bad. I know I'm going to miss that!
"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."
p.s. Happens a lot actually. If I'm thirty and still single, I'll be coming back.
p.s.s. But let's not count on it.
I have two weeks left, a little under two weeks actually. Two weeks ago was December 12...
I guess everyone has counted down to something. Of course, most normal countdowns end with a ceremony like marriage or graduation. I have never counted down to ceremony, but I have counted down twice before: when I moved out of Mrs. F's and my current countdown to coming home. During that first countdown those last few weeks were almost unbearable. Here we are again, two weeks left.
I'm guessing most people, like myself, create mathematical formulas to make the time pass quicker when they near the end. Some of my favorites:
Multiplying the days by twenty-four, the remaining hours by sixty and the remaining minutes by sixty. It gives you one large sum that never stops moving. Let's see: 1,245,600 seconds. Give or take a couple hundred seconds. On second thought, I don't like that one...
Better yet, let's go with percentages. I have been in China total of 123 days, and I have 14 left. Therefore I have 10% of my time in China remaining. Oh dear. That's depressing. 10% of my life is over two years. 10% is the difference between an A and a B. I'm trying to forget this one...
Or you could shave days. Let's see, since tomorrow it will be 13 days, and today is almost over with. Let's just say the countdown is at 13. And since I'm counting down the days until I get back in America, let's just pretend it's a countdown to leave so it's really at 12 days. Yea I don't like that one either...
Or when taken to extremes, the meta-physical time jump. I usually ask myself where I was one week ago today, say "Wow that doesn't seem like that long ago," and then I apply it to the future. So now the countdown is down to seven days. And since two weeks ago was December 12, and that doesn't seem that long ago (yea it does) then technically I should be leaving any second now. Well, we're 0 for 4...
Or better yet, pretend I am loving this and that the countdown is really something I'm not looking forward too. Then you have to ask why someone would countdown to something when they are not looking forward to it. That's why you don't ask...
And then I slap my head and say "You idiot! It's just two weeks!" When Haley hit her two week mark I kept thinking "Man if I could just make it two weeks, hot dog I'd be set!" Well it's passed. I've been telling myself since the first of October that if I could just make it to Christmas, man, I'd be sitting pretty. Well that happen yesterday. So I'm good, I'm slowly realizing that I should just enjoy it while I can, because it ain't happening again.
And yet when I'm thinking all this mumbo-jumbo, the comedian in the back of my head keeps saying "And you were supposed to do this a whole year!" (rimshot) (canned laughter). Sometime I forget that fact, and then I remember it, and then I forget it again, and then I think "Who were these people kidding? Do this a whole year?" I don't blame the College or the organization for wanting some form of long-term commitment of course. So I guess when I say "These people," I mean every person that has done the China experience and liked it. They must be out of their minds (I have started so many posts with "I believe we should institutionalize anyone who enjoys doing this..." before realizing we would be committing many of my good friends to the loony bin). Of course, before I left I asked seven or eight people who had taught in China before if they enjoyed it, and all recommended it. A 100% approval rate is hard to question.
Alright, alright, alright. So I'm the nut. I realize it, and I hate nothing more. Every single daggum person that has come to China loves it. And what's more, every single daggum person that leaves our beloved Country loves the experience. You could put me on Ripley's Believe it or Not: "Up next, a man who left America and didn't have the time of his life. Believe it, or not?" Ugh, I'm never going to overcome this English-major-travel-abroad-inferiority-complex. I'm like that penguin who just wants to dance! (I didn't like that movie by the way) While all the other penguins want to travel and they don't understand why I want to dance (mixed metaphor but you get the point). Man. I'm going to be regulated to the dust-bin of humanity. Maybe my experience is situational, or maybe I'm just a wuss. I don't care, either way get me home.
Anyways, to sum this up, a list of things I am looking forward to:
No one staring at me in public, no one yelling hello, no mandatory hard-liquor every time I eat a decent meal, no one expecting me to have the secret to English fluency, not being approached by strangers for the secret to English fluency, not being the center of attention everywhere I go, not being used by one person to get on another person's good side, not losing my bank card, not being woken up every morning at 6:15 by the school song, Chick-fil-a, not being offered cigarettes every day, not being cut in line, no more random cell-phone pictures, no more inquiries into my girlfriends, my ability to speak Chinese, my ability to use Chopsticks, my future plans to travel China; family, friends, etc.
But in the spirit of fairness, I would like to list the things I will miss about China:
When I am the recipient of a smile from a pretty Chinese girl.
Now see! Being here isn't all bad. I know I'm going to miss that!
"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."
p.s. Happens a lot actually. If I'm thirty and still single, I'll be coming back.
p.s.s. But let's not count on it.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Christmas Eve
I had plans to attend Christmas mass tonight from seven to nine. Of course, I had already told a lot of my students that I would be going. And, being that it is a particular meeting, I saw it as the best oppurtunity, in my few remaining weeks to maybe smile or look happy or something. I guess it was one of the few things in the history of this train-wreck that I've been looking forward to. Well...
I got a call at 3; it was my translator. She said "You will have a Christmas Dinner today at 5:30." I said "Ok," and hung up the phone. They sucker-punch you with social events over here. By the time you think of the logistics of doing such things, its to late to rescind the invitation. And as I've stated earlier in the year, it's almost impossible to tell someone "No," once they have you on the phone. In fact, it's an insult to turn down an invitation to anything, even though they give you ten minutes warning, even though you've told them weeks before you have plans, even though you don't want to go, etc. And when the invitation is coming from the people that could make your life a living heck if they wanted too, well...
I will miss mass. There is no way I can make it now. Chinese dinners average three or four hours (don't ask me how). I should probably beginning my answers to the plethora of inevitable Christmas questions I will have to answer a dozen times: "What do you do on Christmas?" Do you celebrate Christmas with your family?" "What do Americans do on Christmas?" "If Christmas left San Diego on a train heading in an easterdly direction traveling 95 kph and Thanksgiving left Denver on a train in an westernadly direction travelling 35 kph and the distance between the two Holidays is 2,000 km, and both left at 14:15 Beijing Standard Time, at what time in the American Eastern time zone with the two intersect?" (man I wish).
It's Christmas eve and I'm bummed beyond belief, but I am going to do my best to keep this post from following the standard theme of "Look how much Jonathan hates certain life decisions!" That mentality is becoming cliche on this thing, and I'm running out of ways to express it. OH THAT THIS TOO SOLID FLESH WOULD MELT, THAW, AND RESOLVE ITSELF INTO A DEW! OR THAT THE EVERLASTING HAD NOT FIX'D HIS CANON 'GAINST SELF-SLAUGHTER! (that's Hamlet). Maybe I'll try a picture:
(I don't like the picture either. Merry Christmas).
"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."
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