Cloudy in Beijing Blogging about my time in China

On the streets

So often I'll walk the streets of Xi'an only to hear this: a wad of phlegm rasping up through someone's hollowed throat. Then comes the inevitable and loud spit, followed by my own cringe.

Little children peeing on a tree in the sidewalk, this is common too on the streets here. Once I even saw a grown man do the same and urinate in broad day-light, all the while pedestrians were walking right on by. Like the mucus that hits the concrete floor here, I try to ignore it all.

There are yellow trash canisters spaced out along the sidewalks where I live. Every once and a while, I'll see an man or woman peek through the garbage cans and then stick a hand in. They'll pull out an empty drinking bottle, and place it in the bag or cart that holds the rest of their scavenged recycled goods.

"Are you done with that?" an old woman once asked while I sat on a street. She pointed to the water bottle next to me. "No," I said, seeing that there was a little bit left. She walked off, but I shook my head; I should of just gave it to her anyways.

On the streets are also people begging for money. At one store there is an old man who kneels for money. At his side is a small toddler, who picks up empty drinking bottles.

Some of these people willingly tell their stories, usually writing it on a paper they place on the ground next to them. "My parents bullied me" a young girl wrote who was going blind. "So I ran away from home," she added.

"I've met financial misfortune," a man scrawled in chalk while he sat carrying a baby.

Today I walked past a man sitting on the ground. In his lap, he cradled what I guess was his friend, who had lost both of his legs. The disabled man slept, his pants knotted up at the knees. I ignored them, and didn't stop to read their story; Starbucks Coffee was on my mind.

Today, a student told me she got hired for a short part-time job. Over this three-day weekend, she'll be doing what I often also see on the street corners: people passing out commercial pamphlets. (Another thing I try to ignore).

"How much do you make?" I asked.

"About 14 yuan" she said, which equals to about $2.

"Is that 14 yuan an hour?"

"No, it's only 14 yuan for a whole day," she said. "I work 8 hours each day."

After three days of work, she'll have only made 42 yuan, or $6. Just enough to buy two cups of coffee.

"Oh," I said to her.

Going to Starbucks never felt more wrong.

Clubs, bars and coffee

"Do you guys go out to drink coffee?"

"Noooo!"

"Do you guys go to bars?"

"Noooo!"

Sometimes I'll ask my students what their plans are for the weekend. "Sleep" is often times the unanimous answer. But never do I hear my Chinese students say they plan on going to a bar, club, or coffee shop. So lately, I've been asking them why is this?

"It's too expensive," a class of students told me today when asked about going to Starbucks.

True. Paying $3.50 for a coffee drink even in the U.S. is kind of a lot. But in China, that same amount of money could buy you several meals. When I asked students today about what annoyed them, one student said: "I'm annoyed that I have no money."

As for bars, one student told me weeks earlier that, "all the people there look shady and like they do drugs."

"The people there are terrible," another student told me today.

Why bars and clubs here are associated with such a negative image, I wasn't entirely sure at the time. But one local Chinese teacher told me, "Going to bars and clubs is still a very modern thing to do... When we were younger, we didn't have bars."

Xi'an does have its own bar district here. But every time I walk through it, most of the shops seem largely vacant, even on a Friday and Saturday night.

That's not to say my students don't drink. They certainly do, but not at bars. Instead, it's more of a tradition to go to restaurants to eat and drink beer. Already I've had a few times where I've had dinner with my students, only to end up close to being drunk. (It's difficult to refuse a drink when you've basically been designated a "guest of honor".)

Recently I've been asking a student here her take on the issue, and she put things in an interesting perspective:

"Going to a coffee place just isn't suitable," she said to me today. "If you wanted to drink coffee you would just go to supermarket and get the drink there. You wouldn't go all the way to the coffee shop just to drink coffee... It's the same with going to a bar and having a beer."

That kind of makes sense. But what about just going to a bar or a coffee place to relax?

According to her, many of the people who got coffee places are white-collar workers, who need to do business or sign contracts. She added that there is also a certain kind of person who goes to a coffee place; a person who likes to "receive enjoyment" or "appreciate things".

"But don't you like to enjoy things?" I asked.

"It's just not suitable," she replied. "But we do go to McDonalds or KFC."

---

My students may not go to get coffee, but plenty of other young people here do. The Starbucks in Xi'an, which are almost the same as they are in America, are often packed with seemingly college-aged people.

Last Saturday I also went to a night club, and the place filled with the same young demographic graphic. Maybe somewhat ironically, clubs in Xi'an are way better than they are in my home state of Oregon.

For one, this club was free. Also, it was a bit more high-class than what I was used. As we entered it, me and another fellow foreign teacher crossed through a metal detector. Every now and then we saw helmeted guards posted here and there. The club itself was ultra-modern and sleek and it was easy to marvel at its architecture. While walking through the place, part of me felt that we had left Xi'an, and entered some place entirely new. Later, the club featured a group of professional dancers, the women dressed scantily-clad.

The crowd at the club was made up of almost all young people. But I didn't expect to see any of my students here. The dorms at the college have a curfew at around 11 or midnight. Plus, its expensive.

Today I asked my Chinese tutor about why my students don't go to clubs, and yet so many other young people do.

"A lot of these young people (at the clubs) don't have jobs, but they rely on their parents for money." she said. "Or they do have jobs, which they got through their parents. The girls there may also be trying to find a guy, who is rich."

Other interesting folk can also be present at such clubs. My foreign friend told me that sometimes he'll see a beautiful Chinese woman eyeing him, who will then be followed by a man. These women, he was told, are usually prosititutes, the man being the bodyguard.

What young people do with their spare time is still a bit of a mystery to me, but I'm starting to understand why my students look down on clubs. My Chinese tutor added: "If you want to be a good girl, it's best not to go to these clubs."

The awkward topic

Why did you come to Xi'an?

I get this question all the time. Usually I respond by saying "I came here to learn Chinese and more about China," or how I want to be a foreign correspondent.

Last week I was asked this by a woman I had just met. But as I sort of droned on with my answer, the woman interrupted me in mid-sentence.

Is it to find a wife? she joked with a snickering laugh.

"Uhhh...." is how I responded. Laugh, I did not.

I get this sometimes, or some versions of it. I'm a Chinese-American, so I guess the thinking goes I have returned to my homeland to find a wife. But for me, just thinking about getting married at my age, frankly, terrifies me.

"Have you found your ???" an older woman asked me on the bus a few weeks back. Literally it can be translated as target, but in this case, means girlfriend.

"You have a good job," she later said. "You can stay here for several years, raise a family, and then go back to America. How good is that?" (Hell no, was the knee-jerk reply I said to myself in my head).

My students have been just as nosy, as Chinese people are often known to be. I remember telling my students do you have any questions about me or America. One student asked: "Do you have a girlfriend teacher?" I rolled my eyes and ignored him, saying, "Let's move on, and ask about something else."

"Do you like foreign girls, or do you like Chinese girls?" a student asked me a few weeks back. Awkwardly and a bit dumbly, I said, "I like all girls." For God's sakes, let's change topics, is what I thought to myself.

"We can help you find a girlfriend," a group of students told me last semester. "Uhhhh.... that's okay." I said in response. Another student felt the need to point out: "It's common for students to have crushes on their teachers."

I have yet to meet anyone in Xi'an, so I have no idea how romance works in China. I just hear stories after stories.

They are mostly negative. (People naturally gossip about the bad stuff). Like how some people marry solely for money; an easy way to get out of poverty. Or how dating someone, often essentially means you will marry this person; breaking up seems to be looked down upon. And how, on the flipside, it is sometimes expected that men will have affairs or routinely sleep with prostitutes; prostitution is basically legal here.

A foreign teacher recently told me about his bad experience with a local female colleague on the campus. He had no interest in her. But the girl became crazy over him, and relentlessly pursed, even as he tried to refuse her.

At one point the woman said to him, "I thought we would get married, stay in Xi'an for a while, and then go back to America."

Scary.

Earlier this week I ended up speaking to an old woman as I was trying to freelance a story. Very quickly, the question came again: "Do you have a girlfriend?

I said no, wanting to be honest.

"Oh, well I know a young girl here," she said. "I don't let other people (other men) know about her. But you look like you're a very good person."

"I've been wanting her to marry a person from Taiwan," she later told me. This came after I said my parents were from Taiwan.

Oh crap. She could see the polite discomfort in my face, and so then said: "You can meet here and just make friend."

She wanted my number, and I couldn't think of an excuse not to. It's been a few days now, and no phone call yet.

This week my Chinese tutor gave me a homework assignment. "Ask your students what their ideal wife or husband will be."

Seriously? I thought to myself. "Do you know how awkward and embarrassing that will be to ask that question?"

She laughed.

Teaching can be fun

I myself can be a shy and quiet at times; admittedly, I'm an introverted person. So it's ironic that I've ended up being a journalist and now a teacher, two professions where talking to people is the backbone of the work.

Perhaps a bit strangely, being a teacher is somewhat like being an actor. When you step into a classroom, the person you are in real life takes a back seat, while your teaching persona then takes over. You force yourself to smile in an attempt to be jolly and comforting. You praise and encourage in the face of whatever mistakes your students make. Optimism saturates the air around you. I've even drawn a smiley face on the back of my hand to remind me to be "extra nice."

But most of all, as a teacher you're patient, when really, all you want to do is scream a stream of profanities.

In the past I would think about this, specifically the wanting to scream profanities part. Teaching is tough, and in my opinion, the hardest profession, hands down. But lately, I've been overlooking these qualms, and been thinking about how enjoyable teaching is too.

I like how in some ways, it's a bit like show and tell. To understand language, one also has to understand culture. This past week, I've been showing my students different videos; an episode from "The Office" to explain fire safety; President Obama getting his new dog; and what the Latin phrase "Carpe Diem" means by watching some clips from "The Dead Poet's Society."

I'm not sure if any of this will exactly be on any listening test in the future. But it's authentic, loads more interesting, and actually even more challenging to learn. I figure if they can understand this, they can hopefully better understand the slow-speaking, sometimes droning, voices on the listening test.

Today I taught one of my favorite classes. When I started class I said "Good Afternoon!" and many of the students excitedly replied back to me with various greetings. "Good Afternoon! How are you?" one student nearly screamed, followed by laughter. When my students are brimming with enthusiasm, teaching just become so much more easier.

The school asked me today if I want to stay for another year. "They'll be a pay raise," they pointedly told me. I hesitated and said I am still thinking about it, even though I've pretty much decided I want to devote more time to studying Chinese next year.

Maybe only a few weeks back, I was reading a quote Obama made. He was asked about the merits of public service and replied something to effect of, helping people enriches your own life.

So many others have said the same; "What's the point of being here, if you don't help people"
a philanthropist I once interviewed told me. No doubt its all true, but it's not as black and white as I hoped when I was younger. Whether I feel enriched by all this, I can't really say; helping people is hard, and It seems questionable at times if my students are actually learning.

A thankless job I suppose: you do it because it's right, not for anything else. There's a tragic, but noble, ring to it, yet things are hardly ever this simple. This is my first year teaching, and also one of the most recent experiences where I've felt like I wasn't good at something. I don't know what kind of effect I've had on my students, but I hope its been positive.

Temple O’Rama

I know very little about Buddhism. Reincarnation and vegetarianism are what come to mind. And I myself am not a very religious person.

But today I decided to leave Xi'an, and travel 70 miles west to Famen Temple, a very famous Buddhist shrine. The views of these ancient grounds alone were worth it.

Being a place of worship for around 1,500 years, the temple naturally had a lot of praying and burning of Chinese incense. I just stood by and watched as visiting people came and knelt before the various statutes. Even though I've seen such praying before, its still a very foreign act to me.

I haven't yet been to a temple in China that was free. Going to this one cost about $4. Local monks, clad in modest robs, manned a few of the ticket counters. One monk in particular got angry, expressing a peeved scowl, as visitors snapped photos in an area where they were told not to. Just half a mile away from the temple is this Buddhist monument, the size of a building. Each four sides of the statute displays a face. Visitors can even walk all the way up to its head via a spiraling staircase inside.

"Come make a prayer," an old woman told me after I entered the place. The old woman had dyed her hair violet of all things. I said to myself "why not", buying three red sticks of incense for 80 cents. "I'm Chinese-American," I said to her.

"You know, China isn't afraid of America," the old woman interrupted me as I tried to make a prayer. "They have the atomic bomb, we have the atomic bomb."

"Uh huh," I nodded with a smile, trying to be polite.

"Even since 1950, with Mao Ze Dong, China wasn't afraid of America," she added matter of factly. "China isn't afraid of America."

"Yea..." I mumbled as I held my three incense sticks.

Well, this was off topic, I thought to myself. I nodded again to the woman, hoping she would stop her rant. Then I awkwardly made a prayer in front of the buddhist monument, having no idea to what I was doing. "Peace on Earth" I said in Chinese, though in retrospect, I messed up the words.

Famen Temple is located in Fufeng county, a rural area. I took this shot from the top of the Buddhist monument. In the center you can see temple's pagoda, and to the left, you can see the faint view of what I mentally refer to as "The Stargate."

The actual name of it is ?????, and means: "put the palms together relic pagoda." Not the smoothest sounding name when said in English, but as you can the tower is shaped like two hands pressed together in prayer. I was told by a local person that it'd be done in May. As for now, only construction workers were allowed to approach it. To me, the pagoda seems more like it belongs in a science-fiction movie. Or at Las Vegas.

While there, I also shuffled my way through a vast street market festering with local people. A few merchants sold these giant Chinese cakes, cleaving off a slice to any buyer. Most people here seem to eat in the market, where food is cheap. Some people squat down on small stools, and eat outside on foldable tables, crowded around by other customers.

During lunch time I found myself comfortably eating alone in a clean, but vacant restaurant, paying for a meal that would have lasted me a few days if I had chosen to dine in the market's local shops. Choosing to go with the restaurant owner's recommendation, I had myself two of the greenest and most leafiest dishes I've ever had. Made me feel like an herbivore.

There were other sights in the market as well: a goat being pulled along by its owner; street side fortune tellers with no customers; young people playing billiards on pool tables outside; a man selling live turtles. (For pets, or for food, I don't know; me thinks, and hopes, its the former).

I also had a chance to walk around in the local town. Most of the buildings were made out of brick and painted yellow. Government signs, like the one above in the picture, were also posted on the power poles. This one says: "Whether it's a boy or a girl, they are both the same. Of the most importance is population quality."

Especially in more traditional areas of China, boys are valued over girls. Males can continue the family name, and also support their parents in old age. Girls, however, are married off to another family. The Chinese government has been trying to change people's thinking about this, seeking to offset any population imbalances.

But tradition, and the practical nature of it, continues to persist. The New York Times recently had an article about people kidnapping young boys and selling them to the countryside where they are needed. Another government sign here said: "Purge the old customs. Build a new farming community."

Things are noticeably greener in this farming town. But also noticebly poorer. While at a small supermarket here, I noticed a young man, maybe a teenager, as he received his change from the cash register. Rather than simply taking his money, he inspected every bill, unfolding each one with the sound of a flap, and holding them up in the air, into the light.

Outside one of the temple walls, a thick strip of black ash had piled up. Local people were burning paper and fake money to honor their ancestors. From what I could tell, on the faded green paper they burnt, I often saw people write the names of relatives who had passed away. I probably should have burnt some as well. I'll have to do it another time.

Development

Big, tall, skyscrapers. In the eight months I've been here, I've seen more and more of these go up around Xi'an. A new condo complex is being built right near the campus I teach at. Workers are already digging the foundation to a set of buildings across from where I live. Even my own apartment was officially just finished a few months ago.

Like the rest of China, Xi'an is developing fast. Almost as if architects were farming these new buildings in fields. From the south of the city to north, new apartments and offices are sprouting, making this ancient city feel sleek, and modern at times.

When I ask about the changes in Xi'an, people often will refer to some place I know and say: "Ten years ago, this wasn't here."

"This used to just be a small road," a woman told me while we were traveling on a major freeway, flanked by apartments under construction.

Xi'an is certainly getting richer. With all this development coming in, it feels like a new upper-class is emerging. More people can afford cars now, and often I'll see a Mercedes on the road. One foreign teacher I know judges how developed a Chinese city is by the number of foreign stores here. Already, Xi'an has three Wal-Marts, at least three Subways, a Diary Queen, and numerous KFCs, McDonalds, and Pizza Huts.

But despite all these new buildings coming in, Xi'an is far from a wealthy city. A major problem in China is the growing wealth gap, where the rich get richer and the poor get poorer. Sometimes this is very easy to see.

I traveled to the north of the Xi'an today, where new development is further pushing out the city. I came across a small neighborhood already under demolition. The old wall encircling it was repeatedly marked with the Chinese character ?, which means "tear down."

What's left of the neighborhood is mainly all debris and rubble. Workers, clanking along with their metal chisels, rummage through the remains, scavenging for still whole bricks that they can reuse. One brick home still stands, desolate and abandoned. While there I could taste dust in my mouth.

Only a small walk away is an alley filled with stores and a street market, a place where the Xi'an's new development is only beginning to touch. The buildings here are old, smoked by dirt, what you would call "hole in the wall" shops ; each one selling their cheap goods.

I notice the people surrounding me; many look more like laborers, their skins tanned and hardened. No one here is dressed in business-suits or ties. One skinny man in particular, smiles, and I see the large gap in the middle of his teeth.

At a fruit stand I glance at a line of bananas on display. They descend in color from ripe yellow all the way to a burnt black. An old man, with a nylon sack over his shoulder, looks at bootleg books. Meanwhile, trash piles up on the curb, leaving a mini-land fill of crud crawling with flies and other black insects.

Just nearby this alley, a group of new condominiums is going up. My Chinese tutor says that most people in Xi'an can't afford to live in such apartments. (Average salaries for many people here can be around $120 a month). Instead, these new living complexes are mainly meant for city outsiders, like businessmen who come to Xi'an to do work, and even foreigners as well.

It makes me wonder how different Xi'an will be in ten years time. Will this alley and its shops still be here?

Teaching limits

"Chinese Education is a failure," a student instant messaged me yesterday.

"They keep saying they will change, but they never do," he added. "It's terible (sic)."

This isn't the first time a student has told me this: how flawed Chinese education is. Last semester, during my first classes I would always end it by telling the students to give me some feedback on my teaching.

Practically all of the responses were positive, although whether my students were being totally honest I doubt; I would have laughed if anyone wrote to me, "Your class sucks!"

But some of the students were a bit more positive (and incidentally more depressing) than I would have imagined.

"This class is my most important and happy class," one student wrote "I feel you are my greatest English teacher in my college life."

"Its an unforgettable class. I want to go abroad," a different student wrote. "You are my best teacher in my life... The education of China is rubbish.

After telling me how exciting being taught by a foreigner was, one student wrote: "I'm sad for Chinese education."

"Make me forget my unhappiness," another student wrote.

From these responses I could only assume that many of my students had never been in class where the teaching was more active. During those first classes I would force my students to verbally introduce themselves, and later role-play as a rich-elite, middle-class teacher, and poor farmer. Then, I myself would pretend to be Arnold Schwarzenegger, and play some Michael Jackson for them to listen too.

It was all meant to encourage them to speak, all the while trying to make it fun. I didn't think it was anything special. But many of my students told me how "humorous" that first class was for them.

"It's funny, interesting and excellent," one student wrote. "I like this way of teaching, though, I don't think its very suitable to our Chinese students."

Students often have told me, that in the past, they learned English largely through just sitting in a class and listening to the teacher lecture. It's no surprise that many of my students are afraid to speak, since in China its expected that students remain silent whenever the teacher is going through a lesson. Verbal language skills, hence, are the big weaknesses among most Chinese students.

I remember at the start of my job I was driven to perform well on the job. Not just perform well, but be a fantastic teacher, like all the ones I had when I was growing up. Often, I bypassed the boring textbook and its mundane listening clips and instead loaded my lessons with speaking exercises and exciting videos. "Star Wars" and short videos of "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air" were even included.

The feedback I received from my students perhaps helped fuel this drive. But as I look at all of what I've accomplished so far, I don't know if I have much to show for it. (Unlike my past journalism job, I have no newspaper clippings I can show.)

Even after one semester with them, a lot of my students are still quiet, and its been hard to shake them out of their mute demeanors. I see them once only every two weeks, so class time is scarce, and I suppose some habits, ones that have been especially ingrained for so long, just die hard.

At the same time, the Chinese education system demands all my students pass an English test, that includes a listening section. The ability to speak well, however, is absent from the examination. In reality, I don't even know what use verbal English skills will have for many of my students, unless they travel abroad.

Not all of my students are exactly the study dynamos I had imagined either. The campus I teach at is ranked as a "third tier" school, which is not that high, and most students major in engineering or finance-related fields. So to some, English learning is just some benchmark/burden they need to pass.

Even as the new semester only began a month ago, my class attendance is already starting to trail off. Cheating, as I found out last semester, is apparently condoned to some degree. Yesterday I told my students at the end of class: "I can give you homework, but I don't think any of you will do it." Sigh...

"Some students don't have the educational foundation," is the commentary I often hear. Perhaps, but as a teacher, I try to shun such reasoning as "excuses" and stay committed to the job. I still do have many good students, and hope I can at least help them.

"I really want to improve my English!!" one student recently instant messaged me.

His name is Sam, and he is one of my kindest students. His major is International Finance, and so English is rather important for his prospective career. I want to help him as much as I can. But I'm not sure how, or if I'm willing.

I have many other students like Sam. Ones who want to improve their verbal English skills, but have no one to practice with. I wish my classes were arranged so that I could have class with my students more often, rather than just once every two weeks. (In college, I would have classes with my language teachers three to four times a week)

Over a week ago, I recently spent an hour practicing English with one student who wants to speak fluently. To another student, I gave a textbook on different speaking topics, after he told me he wanted to learn more practical language skills.

I've even contemplated holding a special class for my students who wish to learn more. But then I worry I'll be biting off more than I can chew. I also notice, In terms of teaching, I'm much happier and more relaxed this semester.

Mentally, last semester was tough. I tried so hard to teach well, but often times I felt dejected by it, like I was in some uphill battle I had no shot at winning. Now I've better restrained my passion, and realized my limits. Basically, I don't care as much. And as a result, I'm happier, with more time for myself.

"Your goal is to be a journalist, not a good teacher," my Chinese tutor told me weeks back. "You cannot have both," she said, speaking from her own teaching experiences.

She is probably right, though I'm still struggling to find ways to freelance as writer. (Perhaps I can't even have both). It is a bit ironic that the more "selfish" route is the solution in this case.

Still, I want to help. Especially, when I'm in a position to do so.

Being Chinese-American, or American-Chinese

I came to China hoping to improve my Mandarin skills and learn more about cultural heritage. Though I was born and raised in America, I am still Chinese.

So a few months ago, a friend back in the states said to me: "Hey, you've been in China for a while now, I bet you've become really Chinese now."

It's true I've been learning a lot and my Mandarin has never been better, but I've been thinking about what my friend said. Ironically, in a lot ways I feel like I haven't become more Chinese at all, but rather more American instead.

Part of the reason is probably because of my job. As an English language teacher, I rarely speak Chinese in my classes, and I often find myself explaining different facets to America. And with the Internet I still remain immersed with the pop culture and current events back home, reading the national presses whenever I can, and watching episodes of The Office and The Daily Show, on a weekly basis.

Another reason may be because of how I'm viewed here. As a Chinese-American, one think I might be able to blend in better. But this is only sometimes true. Though their intentions are good, Local Chinese have a penchant of saying an almost mockingly sarcastic "Hello!" whenever they see a foreigner, which is then followed by a churlish giggle. Thankfully, I have been free from that.

But I still draw inquisitive looks now and then, and somehow they can tell I am not one of them. "Give this to the foreigner," I remember one restaurant server saying as she pointed to me. Though I am Chinese by blood, many people here don't think I look Chinese. (I've gotten this before, even in the States). Often I'm mistaken for being Korean or Japanese. People say its because of my"high-nose." I have no idea. But it only adds to my feeling of separation from the native Chinese people here.

No, I am not a true Chinese. And yet I'm glad that is so; often I think to myself I was lucky that I was born and raised in the U.S. , and not instead in China.

I love certain facets of Xi'an: the food is great, things are cheap, people are extremely nice, and life is so much more relaxed. But there are things that make me cringe, and others I abhor. Often, I shake my head whenever I look at the inadequacies of the education system; how so much seems to be focused on test-taking, and so little on critical thinking. I hate how free-speech can so easily be squelched here, and I remain irritated as hell that the government continues to block access to Youtube. And even as China is modernizing, most of the population still lives in relative poverty.

Everyday I can see these differences. By just thinking about them, its so easy to feel thankful that there is that invisible separation between me and the local populace here. So I guess its natural that whenever I introduce to someone new, I will always first say: "I'm American," and then add, "But my parents were from Taiwan, so I'm Chinese too."

It is funny though, that I refer to America as home, and not China. Once I was asked where my hometown was by a local here and I replied Oregon. She then mumbled to one of her friends nearby, that she was surprised with my response. "I thought he would say his original home is China," she remarked.

Part of me will always remain rooted in America. And I have no yearning to become a genuine Chinese person.

Today I went to my Chinese language tutor, but I got there ahead of time. So I had to wait a while. But as I sat there, I paid attention to another student my tutor was instructing at the time. He was a white person. And while practicing his Mandarin, I noticed how excited he got when he used common Chinese phrases like "Aiya!", an expression of displeasure, and
"Haodehen!", which means very good. He spoke them as if he was trying to genuinly speak like a typical Chinese person.

It's ironic that I've tried to stay away from such expressions. I hardly ever say "Aiya!" perhaps because I think its old-fashioned and lame. There are some Chinese curse words I know, but I rather just say "Shit" or "Fuck"; the words strangely have a unique beauty to them, although there are quite a few interesting Mandarin swear words. Maybe its because the ones I know tend to revolve around the word "egg."

But as I watched this student practice his language skills it occured to me how lucky I am to also be Chinese. For some foreigners learning Chinese is especially difficult. But since I was a little boy I've been learning Mandarin, trying to master it. Now I'm here in China, and I feel like I'm close as ever to reaching my goal. All the while I can easily converse with anyone I want to, and order food without having to point simply point at a menu. I know all the popular Chinese movies, I can read the local papers, I can sing Chinese songs at the Karaoke joints, and I can actually approach deeper friendships with the locals here, beyond just talking about the simplest topics like the weather or where I'm from.

So it's good to be Chinese too. I'm glad I didn't shut off that side to me when I was growing up. Instead, I tried to embrace it when I could, albeit frustratingly and with a sigh at times.

Things like cultural identity can always be complicated if you want them to be. But I don't think its big deal. Maybe I'm in limbo. Or maybe I have the best of both worlds, as one friend put it. No doubt for me, it's the latter.