Cloudy in Beijing Blogging about my time in China

Back in America

I've been at home in Oregon for about two weeks now. And it's nice. Got to see the family, eat authentic Mexican food, hear hip-hop on the radio, play with the dog, a lot of little things I couldn't really do in China.

But I still haven't totally adjusted yet. The jetlag still lingers. Each night I sleep for only about 4 hours. Then I wake up and take a long nap right at about noon. It's caused me to have weird dreams; a week ago I died in a post-apocalyptic grudge match.

I'm also still used to speaking Chinese. Whenever I meet someone or pickup the phone, my mind instantly prepares myself to speak Mandarin. Then I realize I'm in America. No need to mentally try and translate words like "driver's license" or "contact lenses" into Chinese. I can just speak in English. Makes talking a little boring.

Xi'an, however, isn't too far. Through QQ, a popular Chinese instant messaging service, I can still connect with my students. "We all miss the times when you were teaching our class," one student wrote. "Me too," I replied.

I study Chinese everyday to make sure I don't forget it. And as I sit at home, jobless, I also try to reflect on life. Nothing deep or really thoughtful comes. A week ago I wondered what my students would think if they had visited America with me. They'd probably be shocked at how fat everyone is, I earnestly concluded. (Even I could stand to lose some pounds).

I plan to head to Beijing in early September, where I can begin blogging once again. I'm looking forward to it.

My last day

There was hardly a cloud in the sky on my last full day in Xi'an. A few students invited me to have lunch with them, so I went to go see them. Afterward, we then strolled across the nearby campus, where I taught them. One last look before saying goodbye to it.

One of the students I was with asked me what I thought about her school. I said it was unique to have a university that was built from an existing steel factory. Across the campus you can find these dormant smokestacks jutting up from the ground.

But not all are dormant. This one in particular sometimes vents smoke as it sit right next to a long-line of dormitories. It's very annoying a student told me. "It's so loud and the gas dirties all the clothes I've hanged outside to dry," she said.

Recently, a new dorm was opened. It's the nicest and most modern-looking building on the campus. But the students I was with aren't so thrilled by it. They live six-students to a room, and say each floor is crowded with noise of other students. There are no showers in the building and instead have to go to the local bath house. They dub the building "The Chinese coffin" because it looks like one.

This is the modest gate from which I would enter and exit the campus. To get here I took a special bus that transported teachers from the main campus to this one. Once I arrived I'd have to walk up 6 flights of stairs to get to my classroom; not exactly the most wheel-chair friendly school.

The red banner above announces a dancing competition that was being held on the school.

After I left the campus and said goodbye to the students, I went back home to my apartment. Right next to it, they've dug a huge hole for the foundation of a new condo complex. Xi'an is an ancient city, but most is now modern urbanity. New apartments seem to go up each month, while older neighborhoods are torn down.

I feel sad as I pack up. I throw away graded papers and student journal entries as if I'm discarding precious memories. I put my broken bike next to a group of dumpsters like I was disposing criminal evidence, walking away only to regret that I couldn't give it a proper home.

As much as I would like to return to the U.S. and see friends and family, I look forward to returning to China once September comes.

I don't know what Beijing will bring. But as for Xi'an, it's been special. I've never been treated so nice before in my life; to be needed and important, and even popular among the staff and students at my school.

At least for a while, there will be no more morning jianbings, my favorite thing to eat in all of Xi'an. No more old men playing Mah Jong outside where I live. No more Chinese anthem played every noon on a neighboring loud speaker. And no more having to check the expiration dates on the bottled milk drink I buy. So many no mores and things I'll miss.

I wonder if this whole China experience has changed me much. At the moment, I can't really tell. Part of me wishes I would have something more profound to say. But I do know that coming to Xi'an has been one of the best things I've done in my life. I'll no doubt come and visit this place again in the future.

Goodbye Xi'an!

I’m crazy

I remember about a month or so back I had a dream in Chinese. All I can recall is that I was mad at someone and I was cussing them out in Mandarin. "???" the Chinese word for bastard was prevalent throughout this delusion of mine.

But I suppose this dream was a good sign of how much my Chinese has been improving. Reading the local newspapers now actual feels like I'm reading a newspaper, whereas before it felt like trying to decipher a block of coded ambigrams.

Now I can't help but think my thoughts in Chinese. So it feels good to have some mastery over this language I've been trying to learn since I was young.

Still, a few Chinese friends have been posing a strange question to me:
"Why do you learn Chinese?"

At least one of the answers seems obvious. "So that I can communicate with you," I've answered back.

But when I really think about it, I'm not totally sure what my motivations are.

Another Chinese friend of mind framed it another way: "Why do you spend so much time learning Chinese. Your Chinese is already good enough."

"I don't know," I said to a friend of mine. "It just feels like it's something I should do."

"What?!" my friend replied. "You're crazy."

To her, it seemed there was no logic behind my answer.

I asked her what did she think of other Chinese-Americans, who know little or nothing of their Chinese heritage.

"That's very typical," she said. "They are American. So they have their own culture now."

"What about me then?" I asked. "I'm a Chinese-American."

"Unless you plan on staying in China for the long-term future, you're just wasting your time," she half-jokingly said.

"But what about learning about my own culture and trying to be Chinese," I said.

"Well, it's not like if I learn English, I'll suddenly become American," she added. "That's ridiculous."

I later told her a more concrete reason for me to learn Chinese was for my career. But she had made her point, somewhat painfully clear. If I decide China isn't for me, and head back to America, my Chinese language skills will no doubt degrade. All that work undone.

My Chinese teacher thinks what's driving me is that I like challenges.

Maybe. I've struggled to learn Chinese all my life, so perhaps I feel like I don't want to give up. But lately, I've been lagging in my Chinese studies, perhaps bored by reading the textbook and trying not to forget vocab words. ?????? or "What truly lies in a woman's heart is like finding a needle in the sea," is just an example.

When I was young, there was this notion growing up that one wouldn't truly be Chinese unless they learned Mandarin. That's rubbish, and I'd live perfectly fine using only English.

But I would still feel that something was a miss if I didn't try more to learn the language of my homeland. There is no logic to it, just some feeling I can't totally explain.

Whatever the result, I know this pursuit has taken me to Xi'an. I've learned so much, all the while enjoying my time here. It's been worth it.

I’m poor

The bank tellers giggled at me today when I went to deposit some of the money I've earned from teaching.

I don't know why they laughed. Maybe because I had no idea how to properly deposit my money. But it made me want to get the hell out of there.

My bank statement came out to show that I had 24,097 Chinese RMB in my savings account. Seems like so much. But in U.S. dollars, it only amounts to $3,527.

I'll be heading back to America once I leave Xi'an next week. Really, $3,527 doesn't really go too far back home. So it makes me wish I'll be staying in Xi'an longer, where DVD's can cost a $1.50, and a bowl of noodles will go for even less.

In Xi'an I haven't had to worry about money at all. But next year I plan on going to Beijing, where I'll be studying Chinese at a University. Then I'll really be poor, with only a weekend job and my current savings to put me through school. (Not like I made much money being a journalist in the U.S.)

My only regret though is not having gone to Xinjiang. This week, a massive protest occurred in one of the cities there. I wanted to go. But the timing, as well as the costs, along with a train ride that would have been around 30 hours one-way, made me think I should just sit this one out and enjoy Xi'an.

But in retrospect, I should of just went. Crap.

Loneliness

Today is my birthday and unfortunately I've been spending it alone.

My students are all studying for tests and my few friends are busy or have left the city. Plus, I hate announcing to people that it's my birthday. Makes me feel like I'm forcing people to hang out with me.

I've never been terribly good at making friends. And so a thread of loneliness seems to run through my experiences in China. (For example: going to a video game arcade by yourself isn't quite as fun.)

"By staying in China, you are away from your friends and family," a friend in China said to me once. "It must be very difficult."

Indeed, it can be. I've been thinking what special things I can do for myself today, only to come up with nothing. Meanwhile my Facebook piles up with birthday wishes from far-away friends.

My Chinese teacher told me some weeks back that I was living in a bubble.

Not that I was being sheltered or anything, she elaborated. But that unless I make more friends and find a place in China as my own, my bubble will burst one day and I'll head back to America for good.

I'm sometimes asked if I want to settle down in China. I don't know. But at this point, I find the idea daunting. To spend so many years of your life here...

Still, I only have a week left in Xi'an. So already the thought of me saying goodbye to this place makes me all the more sad.

This is turning into a miserable birthday. Why do we celebrate the fact that we get older?

More goodbyes

Recently one of my students called me a cow.

This is a good thing.

"A cow means that you are very outstanding," a student named Simon told me.

I later found out cow or ? is a slang term. My student further emphasized its meaning by calling me a big cow or ??.

"Thanks" I replied a bit awkwardly.

My classes are over. But the goodbyes are still coming in. Mainly through text messages on the phone, or via QQ instant messaging as Simon did yesterday.

"Michael, good luck!" another student texted me. "We all shy to talk with you. Actually you are a good teacher."

As for verbal goodbyes there haven't been many. Just a few waves and smiles here and there. It's no surprise since so many of my students are not only shy, but insecure about their English abilities.

"My English is poor," many of my students have often said to me at some point. They are far too modest, but I can understand their fear of making mistakes; I sometimes get a little embarrassed when I make a mistake in Chinese.

Yesterday a student named LinDa spoke to me on QQ. I wasn't always too fond of her class. The vibe I got from them was the students didn't care much about learning English, their faces sometimes tired, bored or asleep.

Once I even got mad at them for writing the names of absent students on the class attendance sheet. When I found out, I took the attendance sheet, crumpled it, dropped an F-word, and then threw the paper at my desk. (Sigh... I wish I hadn't sworn.)

LinDa's class was so quiet, I assumed they didn't care about me. But yesterday she wanted to set the record straight with me.

She pointed out to me that all the students were sad to see me go. But that they were even sadder because they couldn't express their sentiments in English to me.

"If you couldn't express yourself, wouldn't you feel sad?" she asked me.

I agreed and said "I should have just let you speak Chinese."

---

On Thursday I took some pictures with one of my favorite classes. The funny part was when a student from another class came by. I couldn't remember his name, let alone the last time I saw him, because he hardly ever came to class.

Still, he wanted to have his picture taken with me.

"I'm sorry for missing so many of your classes, but I must be in a picture with you," he said.

So we took the picture, and then he graciously bowed a bit and we shook hands.

Other students have been taking pictures of me as well. Only that they are pulling out their cellphone cameras and snapping shots of me while I teach class.

I tell my students I'm nothing special; I had originally thought that they might have another foreign teacher next year. But it doesn't look like this is the case. A lot of my students won't have English class again, and will instead focus on their other studies.

"The next two year of my college we don't have English class, so I don't want to forget everything I have learned. I hope I can use it," one student texted me.

A few of my students have talked to me asking how can they improve their English once I'm gone. I don't have easy answers. "Study," I say.

In each of my last classes, however, I have told my students a corny story about myself, all revolving around how I hated learning Chinese when I was young.

I end by saying: "If I gave up learning Chinese, then I wouldn't be here in Xi'an. I would be back in America."

"So I hope you don't give up," I add.

I really do hope my students succeed. They're a good bunch.

The last classes

I had hoped these last classes I might finish strong. Teach my student something fun, like music and slang. And give them a proper farewell.

Well, it hasn't gone as planned.

In one of my last classes, not one student decided to show up. And this was the class with 57 students.

I waited for 15 minutes before I decided to leave. Maybe they had a test in another class they need to study for. Who knows. But it was not exactly the proper farewell I was envisioning. ("Your students are bad; they have no respect for you," a friend pointed out.)

In some of my other classes, attendance hasn't fared too much better, with only a handful of students. The reason I assume is because the College English Test is over, so there's really no need for my students to come to my class anymore.

Those that do show up often just want to watch a movie. It's understandable. Movie days were always the best days in school for me. Just sit back and relax.

Well, for a teacher, movie days suck. They are boring. God, I've seen Tony Stark become Iron Man several times already. I've tried different movies, but still, I rather teach. But when I do, my students look so bored and dejected. Their motivation is gone. And so does mine. It doesn't help that there's no air-conditioning in the classrooms either.

Another foreign teacher recently asked me if I'm sad because I'm teaching my last classes. I told her I was indifferent; I'm just their teacher.

But still, it is sad. A day ago I said goodbye to Catherine, one of my favorite students who knows the meaning of the word "slut." A week ago I said goodbye to Tarry, who gave me a hug and even wanted me to autograph is textbook.

No more smiling faces, sitting at their desks, some of them waiting to learn. No more of me asking my students how their week went, or seeing them laugh when I deliberately made a goofy face.

Soon there will be no more teaching for me. I don't know if I ever want to teach again, but still, it's sad.

"This is our last class, and I just wanted to say it's been a pleasure teaching you," I've said to my last classes. "I've had lots of fun and I've hope you learned a lot.... I won't forget you."

My bicycle

This is my bicycle. I had a little accident with it the other day.

If you notice, the back tire is warped and bent. Now my bike drags on the floor and cranks out a terrible screech if you try to ride it.

How did this happen? Well, I wasn't hit by a car or anything. Actually I was just riding along like I usually do. But for the first time ever, I had a friend ride along with me. She sat in the back on a metal grill above the back tire, like bike passengers often do in China.

My friend couldn't have weighed much at all. But I guess that was enough. After riding for an hour, my bike suddenly tipped to the side and we fell to the ground; the tire buckling under the pressure of a skinny girl.

There were no injuries, although I was a little embarrassed. A group of old men were walking by and began saying, "Your bike is lousy, you can't ride that."

We went back home by taxi, putting the bike in the trunk. Seeing my bicycle's bent tire, the taxi driver said: "Bikes used to be made to last for 10 to 15 years. Now they are only made to last for a year or two."

I suppose this was bound to happen. Back in 2004, I had one in Beijing, and only after a month it broke down on me, the pedals coming apart. I had it repaired, but soon it began falling apart on me once more. You get what you pay for; that particular bicycle had only cost me around $17.

Wanting to avoid that, I planted some more money on this green bike when I came to Xi'an, hoping it would last. And it did for the most part, although I was always worried it would fly apart while I was riding it.

It's my own fault. The prevailing wisdom is to always buy a used bicycle. One that you now has been tested. But there not always easy to find. Plus my green bike looks so cool.

I was planning on giving my bike to someone. But now with it broken, and after proving how unreliable it is, I think I'll just have to throw it away. Sigh...