The girl’s stream of consciousness went a little something like this:

Cheapest bottle… cheapest bottle… aha! Dasani. $2.59— TWO FIFTY NINE USD?! That’s– that’s like 2.59 times 6.3…”

Her tired post-12-hr-flight brain clanks fruitlessly.

Fine. That’s two fifty times six equals— FIFTEEN KUAI for a freaking bottle of water?! This must be the expensive front-of-the-store waters!”

She trundle shuffle wobbles to the back of the store.

Water water– ooh!

Distraction ensues.

Lays BBQ chips!! Real BBQ that doesn’t taste like funky Chinese ‘Texas Barbecue Flavor’ chips!

Her parched throat protests.

Uh right, water! There. Dasani. Two Fifty Nine USD… Ack!

And so the disgruntled dehydrated girl engages the bottles of water in a staredown, trying to muster up the will to pay 15 kuai for a freaking bottle of water, when all of a sudden…

Huh. This situation feels weird. And unfamiliar… I don’t…

Then suddenly again…

OH! I never buy bottled water in the US!

Why?

Because…

Yes?

This great land of the USA has…

What?

WATER FOUNTAINS!!

Wow. Really. You’re joking right?

Yes! I mean no! Just– WOW!! Water fountains exist here! And– and– and-…

Speak child!

You can– you can actually DRINK from the TAP here!!! THE TAP!!! OMG!!!

*crickets*

And with that, the no longer disgruntled, but still quite dehydrated, and now thoroughly delighted girl skips out of the store (literally, skips out of the store) and to the nearest water fountain and slurps up the delicious, clean, FREE water.

Welcome back to the good ol’ USA, the land of omg water fountains!

[UTC-8 LA/San Diego 20111227 23:55]

Related posts:

1. Pee in a Bottle & the Onesie of Personal Space
2. Day 10, in snippets
3. New York, Shanghai

If you, dear reader, are thoroughly confused at this point, let me recap:

Round 1, Sept 2008, to the European lands:
Clouds chosen, bladders protested, clouds triumphed.
Round 2, Sept 2009, to the lands Down Under:
Bladders assigned, clouds whine, bladders triumphed.
Round 3, Sept 2010, to the Middle Kingdom:
Bladders chosen, Mt. Fuji scores, old age triumphed.
Round 4, Dec 2011, to the Home lands:
Clouds chosen, bladders protested, stars triumphed.

Yes, I did have to 不好意思-ly poke the man sitting next to me three times during the 12-hour flight to 不好意思的 request in a confused mix of English and Mandarin that he move so that I could go placate my bladder.

But the stars and the sliver of a moon made it worthwhile.

Followed by the gradual brightening of the horizon. Followed by sneaky golden light creeping over previously blue-tinted clouds. Followed by the sun itself making a grand entrance above the clouds, attacking my delighted eyes from behind the wing of the plane when the pilots shifted just so.

I watched the sun rise, high above the clouds.

Then, five hours later, flying over the California coastline, the setting sun as it played splendid shadow-light games with the clouds, and delicious reflect-and-dazzle games with the ocean.

Then, over the numbing sprawl of LA, the sunset.

Then, three hours later, back in the air, back in the dark: man-made light creating pin-pointed beauty out of SoCal sprawl. Light pollution yes, but above it all, Orion still shone through, as he always does.

And somewhere along the way, it stopped being a question of Clouds versus Bladders, but an all-embracing approach of Clouds And Bladders, where one can take care of Bladders (不好意思‘dly now, un不好意思‘dly with time) in order to make room for the unflinching wonder and ‘useless’ enjoyment of Clouds.

Long live Awe.

Long live Delight.

[UTC-8 San Diego 20111222 01:17]

Related posts:

1. On Clouds and Bladders, Round Three
2. On clouds and bladders, Round Two
3. On Clouds and Bladders

Changes in location (whether via traveling or living in a new country) bring reflections and stories. These stories are found without much effort because the fresh and the new are almost always experienced with heightened awareness.

Changes in lifestages bring questions, reevaluations and realizations. Again, heightened awareness because of unfamiliar territory.

The former change may be accompanied by blog silence due to being thoroughly occupied with fun and exploration.

The latter can birth silence due to an elongated period of difficulty: where there are no realizations or mini epiphanies, just the same challenges played in a loop with minor variations.

Then there is silence born of routines and ruts. Routines aren’t inherently bad. But if they carve out ruts, and those ruts are accompanied by a lack of appreciation for the present because you’re doing the same old same old…

Well snap out of it!

I’m snapping. In the best way possible. I still complain too much, forget to really look up and around when I’m on the same long daily commute… but the snap is the kick after which follows work and change. Oh look, it’s back to change!

As part of this post-snap change, this blog is shifting roles: it’s going to be a testament to the joyous snippets and slices of daily life that are always present, but only if you have the will and desire to see them.

It’s time to wake up.

[Between Shanghai and Hangzhou (literally, figuratively) 20111028 21:03]

Related posts:

1. Change.
2. It’s not the new year!
3. The Story of Stuff

It’s so subtle that it becomes easy to take people and places for granted. So along with the normal changes that come with the flow of life, perhaps it’s necessary for us to have visible, physical change in order for us to appreciate what we have.

I’m used to moving. I’m used to shifting out of the convergent paths of friends in one location and having my path rudely placed into convergence with others in a different location. And I am well aware that once I’m out of the mix of the previous convergence of paths, we all continue to change… but now those I flowed with before will flow on without me, changing without the effect of my presence; and I will flow and change without the effect of their presence.

So when I return to that former place where I once was a piece in the puzzle, it no longer fits. Because the puzzle has shifted and relationships have shifted, all without you there to shift with them.

But knowing this is a gift.

Because if you’re not going to be the same person when you return to a place, the only thing you can do is to appreciate and love a place and its people as fully as you can while your paths flow together.

When my family moved to San Francisco from Texas, we were shocked to hear that our friends never visited the beach. But– but– it’s right there! Why would you not be in this gorgeous location when it’s just right there?

But after a few months, we also stopped being in that gorgeous location… precisely because it was right there. We do the same things for the people in our lives. They are right there. Seemingly always available. So appreciation is forgotten all too easily.

When I was leaving San Diego for China, I visited the beaches, the zoo, the park, all the places that I had stopped visiting because I was too used to living in that gorgeous city. When I knew I was leaving Hangzhou, I’d jump out of bed in the morning thinking “Where will I go to explore today?” And when I was in the company of my friends, I’d sit there, being in their presence, enjoying the life they exuded, grinning at their quirks, and appreciating their beauty.

Change. It makes appreciation grow. Or maybe it makes the appreciation already existing more apparent. Because when you don’t have much time left, you don’t focus on the negatives and the annoyances. Pet peeves that muddle our perception of a person/place become insignificant when the approaching alternative is the absence of that person/place.

So why is it so hard to live life with full appreciation and joy when we know that we all have the approaching alternative of the absence of people, places, and yes, even ourselves… ?

[UTC+8 Shanghai, China 20110707 16:16]

Related posts:

1. Shift
2. It’s not the new year!
3. The Joker, The Job Search and The Wanderer

In other words, it’s the 15th day of Chinese New Year and the city is going absolutely bonkers with fireworks.

In my limited field of view from the airport window, maybe of 100 degrees, I counted at least 10 different firework displays bursting from the city.

And I thought I was so cool for finding a place in San Diego where my friends and I could see 8 separate 4th of July fireworks displays within a 180 degree range overlooking the harbor.

Now compare.

The 4th of July is 1 day.

Chinese New Year is celebrated for 15.

The 4th of July has one night of spectacular fireworks. And, it goes without saying, it only happens at night.

Chinese New Year, well, it’s pretty much continuous. And when I say continuous, I mean, continuous. You wake up to fireworks before dawn, you stroll the streets with fireworks, you eat with fireworks, you play with fireworks… Night AND day. You basically live in a microwave of popping popcorn. Or an angry bubble of thunder.

The 4th of July… You view fireworks with patriotic crowds, a very safe distance away from the fireworks. In San Diego they’re fired from strategically placed barges around the bay.

Chinese New Year… Those fireworks are up close and personal. In Malaysia, my extended family went to a neighbor’s house to see a lion dance. This lion dance culminated in the lighting of a long string of fireworks attached to the overhang of the porch less than 10 feet from the onlookers. One of the charred remains of a segment of the firecracker flew towards me with a loving embrace (kidding) an slapped me in the leg. Nice to meet you!

In Haerbin, China on the 8th day of Chinese New Year, we stepped out of our hotel to be greeted by unending strings of red firecrackers lining the curb in front of various stores. The noise was deafening.

Waking down the street, we passed piles and piles of smoking red and black firework remains, some of them emitting a heart-stopping crack and spark as you walked by, inches away from each smoldering stack.

The best sight of all was when our flight from Dalian took off. I peered out of my window to see the city spread out below in glorious patches of twinkling lights… I love that sight on any regular night, but on this night, it was merely the backdrop for innumerable bursts of fireworks blooming from every patch of city below. It was absolutely beautiful.

And now it’s the 4th of July… Just another normal day in China: no fanfare, no parade, no fireworks, no incessant 4th of July themed sales for every consumer product imaginable… (for that I am grateful.)

I’m used to being in the USA and celebrating Chinese New Year (just by wearing red and giving my parents oranges in exchange for red packets of money) while no one else around me had any clue that halfway around the world, massive celebrations were taking place. But I’m not used to having a 4th of July pass by with so little notice. I love getting my perspective twisted oddly and placed into a larger scheme than my usual egocentric nature usually allows.

So Happy 4th of July everyone! I’m off to celebrate it by moving from one Chinese city to another. It’s strangely fitting.

[UTC+8 China 20110319 11:57 and 20110704 15:57]

Related posts:

1. It’s not the new year!
2. Why I’m Learning Chinese
3. Will the real China please stand up?

[China :: 对河口村, Hangzhou]

JANUARY • FEBRUARY • MARCH • APRIL • MAY

Back to the Pool of Creative Energy

Related posts:

1. FEBRUARY
2. JANUARY
3. APRIL

[China :: 15 days Shanghai, 13 days Hangzhou, 1 day Wuzhen, 1 day 对河口村]

JANUARY • FEBRUARY • MARCH • APRIL • MAY

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Related posts:

1. MARCH
2. JANUARY
3. FEBRUARY

[Malaysia :: Kuala Lumpur, Batu Pahat…
China :: Haerbin, Shenyang, Dandong, Dalian, Shanghai, Hangzhou]

JANUARY • FEBRUARY • MARCH • APRIL • MAY

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1. JANUARY
2. MARCH
3. APRIL

[China :: Shanghai, Hangzhou…
Malaysia :: Kuala Lumpur, Ipoh, Penang]

JANUARY • FEBRUARY • MARCH • APRIL • MAY

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1. FEBRUARY
2. APRIL
3. MARCH

[China :: Shanghai, Hangzhou, Shanghai, Hangzhou,
back and forth, back and forth]

JANUARY • FEBRUARY • MARCH • APRIL • MAY

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1. FEBRUARY
2. JANUARY
3. APRIL

How badly do you really need to go??

The Western Toilet

I used to favor these out of habit. But then I came to the conclusion that sitting toilets are quite nonsensical. Why on earth would you want to put your bare backside on a surface of questionable cleanliness upon which another person’s bare backside—actually more like many other persons’ bare backsides—also resided?

At the risk of revealing too much information, I don’t actually sit on public toilets; I hover. Which, frankly, is a far more precarious position than squatting. Which brings us to…

THE SQUATTY TOILET

of which there are several varieties:

The White Porcelain Squatty

It’s like the sitting toilet bowl got smooshed, reduced in width and depth, then pushed in the ground. Porcelain grooves usually indicate where your feet go, and the only choice left is whether to squat and face the door, or squat and face the wall. (Word to the wise: face the door. That way if you have a faulty lock—which isn’t as uncommon as one would like—you won’t be providing a perfect stranger with an indoor glimpse of a full moon.)

When a public place provides the option to sit or squat, I’ve actually started opting for the porcelain squatty, at least, when the cleanliness of both the porcelain squatty and the porcelain throne are about equivalent.

The Gutter Squatty

This variety is a (usually metal) gutter about 2 feet in depth and 1 foot in width, and runs continuously through every stall. In other words, every person’s business runs down the same channel and mixes and mingles until the exit.

So the quandary becomes: Choose the stall at the end where you will see everyone else’s business traveling below your squatting self? Or choose the stall at the front, where you won’t view the business of others, but will have to pay for this privilege by having your business travel beneath every other stall squatter in the restroom? Oh, the decisions we must make in life!

The, Um, Nonexistent Squatty

In other words, there’s a floor. And there’s a bucket. Not to relieve yourself in, but from which you get water to wash your er, business from the sloping floor. If you’ve got big business to take care of, you go to the public outhouse. (Which I wimped out of.)

Now, why would any of these warrant the question “Oh frak, how badly do I really need to go?!” One word:

Privacy!

Full Privacy

The most private toilets are the ones we’ve all probably seen: each stall is essentially it’s own room, with floor to ceiling walls, and a proper floor to ceiling door. I associate these with expat-y places.

Then the next step down are the ones we’ve all definitely seen: each stall has a door and walls that go from the floor or somewhere near the floor, to well above the occupants’ heads.

The only hiccup occurs when lock-fail occurs: either the lock is incomplete and unlockable (though at least this way you know what you’re getting into) or the lock is sneaky and lockable, but unlocks itself while you’re happily squatting (which, to my great shock, has happened before).

Just-the-Basics Privacy

Next, the stalls with doors and walls, but at a height roughly equivalent to a standing person’s chest or midriff. Walk into the women’s toilet and what do you see? At varying intervals, the disappearance of occupants as they squat down; and the reappearance of said occupants as they pop up like gophers, do a little wiggle, then exit from the short stalls.

My mom and I unexpectedly encountered this type while at a section of the Great Wall next to the North Korean border. We fell into a massive giggling fit as we, while in our respective short stalls, (rather immaturely!) taunted each other with flashing cameras and “I see youuuu!“s.

Bare-it-all Privacy

These are the walled floor-to-ceiling toilets whose doors are completely missing. These are the mid-height walled toilets whose design includes a slight mocking of the fourth wall/door with a teeny bit of jutting wall a few inches long, but where the door should be attached, there is, by design, nothing.

No door.

None. Whatsoever.

I encountered the missing doors in Hongcun, the day after a Huangshan misadventure. I needed the toilet, pretty badly, so I thought. But when I entered the public restroom in Hongcun, I found myself faced with the option of a door-less stall directly across from the entrance to the restroom… or, a doored toilet, with a large helping of poop covering the back of the squatty toilet.

I decided I didn’t really need to go that badly.

I willingly used a doorless mid-height squatty toilet on our Fujian Tulou trip, as did my sister. We took turns at the stall at the very end, giggling and squealing “Don’t look!!” to the other party standing guard at the restroom entrance (which was also doorless).

The other time I encountered doorless mid-height squatty toilets was in Hangzhou while trying to find the transportation card buildings. I had to go. Pretty badly. (So I thought.) But when I walked in to a tiny restroom, with five doorless mid-height toilets, all full of squatting women, with nary a single stall with an ounce of privacy due to the line of waiting women as well as the cleaning lady standing in the aisle, well, I decided I didn’t really need to go that badly.

On the bright side, most of the places I’ve been to have been awesome at providing public toilets at handy intervals. And the majority of them have stalls with doors! Oh the things I’ve come to appreciate!

The desire for some modicum of privacy when going to the loo has thus far trumped my small bladder’s need for relief. Let’s see how long I need to stay in China for me not to ask the question “How badly do I really need to go??” and instead, shrug at whatever lack of privacy I find and just go.

[UTC+8 China 20110429 19:05]

Related posts:

1. Will the real China please stand up?
2. Assumptions. Or, Why I’m In China
3. Pee in a Bottle & the Onesie of Personal Space

People peppered across the green. Colorful strollers parked at arbitrary intervals, usually next to a family on a picnic blanket. Ridiculously adorable toddlers bumbling around, mini kids chasing lazy evasive bubbles.

Central Park, New York. A sense of disorientation.

The trees on the north side have branches tangled with captive kites, far too high for distraught ex-owners to reach and rescue. But the sky still has kites to fly… Two funny rockets (or maybe they’re penguins), a bright blue eagle, a fluttering red dragonfly, an awkward shark, a fluorescent yellow triangle, other specks in the sky…

Suddenly I feel like I’m in Seaport Village, San Diego, on that small grassy knoll next to the water, with kites flying above, sometimes swooping down dangerously close to your toes, with abandoned kites tangled in the branches above. Fewer kites are left behind. The trees are shorter, friendlier to intrepid climbers.

Behind the tangle of kite-laden branches, there’s a pavilion of sorts, with marble-looking sculptures. It encloses a paved area where music plays. Blares, to be more accurate. A complete mish-mash of styles with one thing in common: the mass of people in the square can dance to it, usually in some ballroom style variation.

The pavilion grows much much larger, the blaring music morphs to a live band, the people sit down on long metal benches while the dancing remnant shrinks and enjoys their dancing on the side.

It’s now an evening of a Summer Concert at the Organ Pavilion, Balboa Park, San Diego.

But the mental morphing soon shifts back to the blaring music and ballroom dancing masses. The ridiculously adorable toddlers bumbling around with butt cheeks peeking through their split bottom pants (split by design, not accident). The other groups of middle-aged dancers and tai chi practitioners scattered across the park. The little girl posing in pink for a picture, fingers arranged in the requisite peace sign… Except that she has three fingers up, not two. W!!

Then two grandmas, still very youthful in appearance, chatting about their respective charges in Mandarin… How old is yours? 11 months. Mine too! How many teeth? 3, 4… No, 7. Yes, 7. This one has 3. Can he walk? Not yet. Neither can mine.

A skinny wrinkled grandfather bent over, hands enclosing his tiny granddaughter’s hands. “Tiao! 跳！Tiao! 跳！Tiao!” He bobs and bends his knees to the beat. His granddaughter staring far far up at him, not really knowing what’s going on, but enjoying it with a childlike grin all the same.

The little voice yelling “Ayi! 阿姨！Ayi!” on the edge of my awareness, not really standing out from the general hum and chatter until I receive a whack in the arm from the grandma next to me. Oh! A little boy leans out of his grandfather’s arms, staring at me and yelling “Aunty!” at me! He wants to play!

So I join him in kicking around his teeny orange and green soccer ball, sneakily aiding his grandparents in getting the little boy to eat by shuffling the ball closer and closer to their waiting spoon and cup of oranges with every kick. Reunited with the grandparents, he acquiesces and eats as I return to staring out at the grassy expanse, people-watching. Then suddenly the little boy’s pants are down and a puddle grows in the dirt. Little boy needs to go pee!

I’m in Zhongshan Park, Shanghai. And there are moments where I could be anywhere in the world enjoying a gorgeous day, watching people living in the little pleasures of life. And then lovely little details pop up, and I’m here enjoying a gorgeous day, specifically and undeniably in Shanghai, China.

[UTC+8 Shanghai, China 20110331 11:14]

Related posts:

1. My awareness is the size of a pea.
2. Assumptions. Or, Why I’m In China
3. Will the real China please stand up?

Is it odd that the times I most feel like a local are when I am comfortable enough in my setting, usually in transit, that I can relax and not pay rapt attention to exactly where I am at every moment?

When, on the bus, instead of counting stops and minutes or scanning eagle-eyed for the name of each stop, I stick in my headphones to watch a TED video, or put my head down on my backpack to nap.

Or when, on walking from rehearsal to the JingAn Temple subway station, I stick my headphones in to listen to music the entire way. (Except for when I’m crossing the last particularly busy intersection. I’m not that at ease with heavy traffic.)

Oddly enough, the moments I feel like a local are not the moments when the usually stoic cafeteria ladies grin at me (as a result of the months I spent grinning at them and laughing at my food-ordering bloopers).

Nor are they the moments when I pass by the noodle shop where the white-capped white-coated teenage boy who works there waves cheerily at me and asks me where I’m going.

I love those moments of interaction and connection. But they aren’t my moments of feeling like a local.

I’m not sure what this means for how my mind and body interpret being a local. And that’s somehow unsettling.

[UTC+8 Hangzhou/Shanghai, China 20110323 16:57]

Related posts:

1. It’s not the new year!
2. Advice, unheeded.
3. My awareness is the size of a pea.

Rehearsal ends at 9:00 PM. The last train leaves at 9:12 PM. There’s no way I’d make that.

So I spend the night with my ever generous sister and brother in law and wake up the next morning at 6:37 AM for the following:
07:00 Get out the door
07:15 Arrive at subway station, take Line 2
07:35 Arrive at Hongqiao Railway Station
08:00 Board 45-min train to Hangzhou
08:45 Arrive in Hangzhou, take 2-kuai bus to school
09:45 Arrive at school
10:00 Attend first class of semester

That was the plan at least. Here’s what actually happened:
07:00 Get out the door
07:15 Arrive at subway station, take Line 2
07:28 Get kicked off the subway with everyone else, two stops before my final destination
07:33 Board next subway
07:42 Arrive at train station, 2 minutes too late to buy the 08:00 train ticket from the automated machines
07:46 Go to human ticket counter. (Maybe humans will be more flexible than machines.) Wait in line behind insanely slow woman exploring all her options.
7:49 Tell lady politely that my ticket buying is very quick business, so if I could go first… She gives me an insincere 不好意思 bu hao yi si (literally, not good meaning, more like “I’m embarrassed” in an apology sense) and returns to ticket buying.
07:50 My turn. Ask man at the counter if I can buy the 8:00 AM ticket. No go. Next train? 八点十四. 8:14 AM.

Sigh. Fine. 8:14 it is.

Plan A scrapped, now it’s time for… Plan B!
08:14 Take 55-minute train to Hangzhou
09:09 Arrive in Hangzhou
Plan B.1: Take 2 kuai bus
.…..10:09 Arrive at school, grab my books
.…..10:20 Get to class, late
Plan B.2: Take 25 kuai taxi
.…..09:35 Arrive at school, time to spare.
.…..10:00 Attend class

Okay. We’re still good.

So with my 08:14 train ticket in hand, I head to the 08:14 train ticket gate… And pass the 08:00 train ticket gate along the way.

It’s still open and flashing green. Mockingly. Flashing. Green. Bwahaha! You can still board me but you don’t have a ticket! Flash. Mock. Flash! Mock!

Screw you flashing green lights!

At the 08:14 train gate, I feed my ticket into another flashing green ticket machine.

It spits my ticket back out.

Reeeejected!

Maybe it’s not open for boarding yet? Feeling confused and a tad embarrassed, I plop down on a nearby seat and stare at my ticket: 6车12F号。2011年02月28日。08:39开。

Wait, what?!

08:39开。My sleep-deprived brain struggles to make sense of this… Then…

Oh. My. Lady. Gaga. (I heard a lady in a restaurant exclaim this recently. Hah! I have to entertain myself somehow in this painfully frustrating situation… So to continue…) 08:39开. Oh. My. Lady. Gaga.

The #!@$^&@¥#$% 笨蛋 ticket man sold me the wrong ticket!!

Flinging mental curses towards the heavens (that is, across the station towards the 笨蛋 ticket man) I head back past the still-flashing-green gates of BOTH the 08:00 and 08:14 train gates—their collective mocking has escalated into a full out hallelujah chorus gone wrong—back towards the ticket counters.

The line in front of the 笨蛋 ticket man is way too long. By the time I’d get to the front it’d be too late to buy/switch to the 08:14 ticket. (Funny. Because the last time I saw the 笨蛋 ticket man, it was too late to buy the 08:00 ticket but not too late to buy the 08:14 ticket.)

The automated ticket machine had no lines. I could still buy the 08:14 train ticket there. But as 笨蛋 ticket machines can’t exchange tickets for you, I’d be yet another 82 kuai poorer. No go.

The universe is mocking my sleep-deprived, travel-weary, trying-to-be-a-good-student self. It seriously wants me to skip class.

Frustrated and fighting tears at having woken up so early only to have to hang out for 1 hour at the train station only to spend more money than I intended only to arrive at school STILL late, I settled down to write…

There’s another rehearsal and meeting Wednesday night. I have to do all this again?! But worse… Thursday’s classes start at the delightful time of 8AM. Rise and shine sunshine!

So I’m skipping class. The Universe wants me to!

[UTC+8 In a taxi careening towards school, Hangzhou, China 20110228 10:04]

Related posts:

1. Lost! Late! Saved/Ripped Off on a Motorbike!
2. Pee in a Bottle & the Onesie of Personal Space
3. The Moments I Feel Like A Local

But not unequivocally. Because I don’t look American. But neither am I Chinese especially with my lack of Chinese language. So in the end, I’m just… American. But always with an explanation. Never just. American.

*Note: I know America encompasses far more than just the United States, but for simplicity’s sake, I use American in the specific sense of being from the United States of America. Read the comments of On Being American (Take One) for more of that discussion.

If you protested at my statement that “I don’t look American,” thanks. But for a reality check, try again. Because for much of the world, Americans are white. (And black, actually, thank you basketball and Obama.)

During my first week in China, I was walking near the West Lake, trying to find a bus that would take me back to my school. While attempting to ask a tourist booth for help, my stuttering Chinese led me to say in defeat, 对不起，我不是中国人！I’m sorry, I’m not Chinese! [in nationality]

Confused, they looked at me in surprise. 你是哪里人？Where are you from?

Innocently, I replied, 我是美国人。I’m American.

The man chatting to the booth attendant laughed, pressing his finger to his nose and saying something to the effect of: Nuh uh! Your nose is too short!

Okay, Americans have long noses. Got it. What else do Americans have?

Fast forward to the train station a few weeks later, in a long line for a very tiny toilet. I struck up a conversation with a foreign woman in front of me.

你是那国人？What country are you from? (Yes, I can turn the common question back on other people too. Woohoo!)

I didn’t recognize the Chinese name of the country immediately, but I believe she was from Israel. (Based on a list of country names in pinyin which I later looked up.)

When I told her that I didn’t understand her country name because I was American and just starting to learn Chinese, she gave me that strange look then declared something in Chinese while pulling out on the sides of her eyes to make them narrower. Translation? You’re American? BUT YOUR EYES ARE SLITS!

Splendid. I have slitty eyes. Which makes me not American. Oh the things I learn every day.

I was only slightly offended. (Go me!) The rest of me found her response ludicrous to the point of hilarity.

I later learned that instead of saying “我是美国人 I am American,” I should clarify my statement by making it more specific: 我是美国华人。I am American of Chinese ethnicity/descent.

That helped with the direct questions, though it still took me awhile to get used to people around me staring at me or doing double takes upon hearing a foreign accent pouring from a Chinese-looking girl’s mouth.

But then, I noticed that I did the same thing to other Chinese-looking people who spoke in English with a British accent, or in Italian, or in Portuguese. Double take. Curiosity. Cool.

So I am, for the most part, accustomed to the backward second glances. Curiosity is nothing to be irked at.

I have also learned to stop being frustrated that my friends from Brazil and Cameroon are more likely to be thought of as American than me, the one who actually is from the USA. The Brazilian and Cameroonian told me that many people guess the USA or England for anyone of a Caucasian appearance because those are the more “famous” countries. And they frequently guess USA for my friend from Cameroon because of seeing black players on basketball teams on TV. (Not to mention my friend from England whose classroom kids call him Obama!) Fascinating!

So my initial annoyance at the double takes and the more “Americanness” of my non-American friends has dissipated greatly over the past six months.

In fact, it’s kind of fun now. When someone asks me,” 你是哪里人？Where are you from?” I like to throw it back to them as a game they’ll never win: 你猜一猜吧。Why don’t you take a guess?

They usually start with Hong Kong and Taiwan (based on my accent, if I’m doing a good job with my Chinese) or Japan and Korea (if I’m butchering my Chinese).

One old man in a tiny town outside of Hangzhou made it all the way through all the Asian countries he could think of before declaring with some frustration “你一定是亚洲人！” You are most definitely from an Asian country!

When I told him I’m American of Chinese descent, he essentially said, whatever, you’re Chinese.

Woohoo! That’s a new one!

I much prefer the declaration of “Whatever, you’re Chinese” to the declaration of “You don’t look American!”

Because although I understand the sentiment, it can be difficult to accept. It’s not a big deal that no one will ever guess that I’m American. That is perfectly understandable considering I’m of Chinese ethnicity living in China. What does leave a bit of a dent is telling someone that I’m American and getting “challenged” on it.

And yes, I’m used to locals giving me the telltale strange look and saying 你不像美国人。You don’t look American. (Or the preferred, 你像中国人一样！ You look just like a Chinese person!)

But, this week, for the first time in my life, I got the telltale strange look from another American citizen. I don’t know if it was just his mental twist of hearing the name Fern attached to someone who looks like me (is it really that odd?) or hearing me say that I’m from the United States with a very American accent when I look more like a local Chinese person… but really?

Sure, I’ve learned to tame my irritation when locals give me that puzzled look, but receiving the same look from a fellow American (in the foreign students building while chatting with other foreign students no less) was, quite honestly, unsettling and incredibly frustrating.

On the bright side, my initial sense of disorientation over being American Chinese turned “just American” ish has eased somewhat. Getting to the point where my Chinese is decent enough to be mistaken for someone from another part of the country rather than from a different country altogether (at least, in basic daily conversations) has helped. And maybe so has getting used to referring to myself as a 美国人 mei guo ren American in the context of China rather than an American Chinese in the context of the USA.

So maybe my challenge now is learning to respond with grace when someone questions my “Americanness” out of ignorance.

Because answer me this: What physical characteristics define what looks American?

Better yet, split that into two parts: What physical appearance and characteristics are needed for someone to be able to guess that you are American? And secondly, what appearance would you need for someone else to accept without question the statement “I am American”?

The questions and their implications are not the same.

Think about it.

[UTC+8 Hangzhou, China 20110226 02:51]

Related posts:

1. On Being American
2. Why I’m Learning Chinese
3. East and West: Honor vs Pride

This onesie of personal space isn’t as uncomfortable as you might think, even if it does take some getting used to. In fact, delightful things can occur when you’re stuffed—standing—into a narrow train rubbing shoulders and all sorts of other body parts with complete strangers for six straight hours.

Yes indeed, my carefully researched train selection to get us from Haerbin to Shenyang, sitting, in four hours, was all for naught when every single train I asked for was sold out. Thankfully, we still managed to get a ticket for an earlier six-hour train even though it was still the jam-packed, trains-sold-out, tickets-bought-way-in-advance Chinese New Year travel season.

But, it wasn’t until we boarded this train that we realized that our tickets said 无坐 (no seat, standing room only) with the aisles and corridors packed to the brim with people. The hassle wasn’t in emulating vertically aligned sardines, but in dealing with the constant flow of traffic up and down the aisles: train conductors checking tickets, attendants pushing food carts, people getting hot water, and boarding and disembarking passengers.

At first, I tried to decide if I’d rather have people squeeeze past me at my front or my back. (Sort of like at the movies when your seat is right in the middle and every seat in between is filled. Do you face your front towards strangers or turn your rear to their faces to squeeze through?)

Then I realized, it doesn’t matter. Unless your back is against the (narrow) edges of the seats, when someone squeezes past your front, your derriere will be squeezing against someone else next to you. Like it or not, your body parts are constantly getting squeezed all around.

It’s almost like getting a full-body hug. (You have to find something pleasant about being in a packed tin can of sardines!)

Get elbowed? Free massage!
Get squeezed? Free hugs!
Get marked in the arm by the conductor’s errant jostled pen? Free tattoo!

The exception? The many passengers squeezing through with a bowl or two of convenient noodles (the literal translation of instant noodles, 方便面 fang bian mian) gripped in outstretched hands and filled almost to the brim with boiling hot water… Everyone squeezes out of the way as best as they can. A free hot water bath? I’ll pass, thank you.

But the best experience of the journey was not learning how to reframe a six-hour foray into the life of a sardine, but how to morph my former ideas of what I saw as China’s uncaring “each to his own” mindset.

It didn’t matter that space was seemingly nonexistent on the train. Where there’s a will there’s a way. And everyone just rolls with it. As my mom said, there was a certain community in this train of strangers…

We assumed that the people sitting in one group of four seats were one family based on their interactions and physical proximity. Turns out, they were three separate units.

Man, wife, two young children, aunt and uncle, turned into mother with children, lone man, couple. Then the group of four seats became seven people in four units as the couple scooted over so that a young wavy haired woman with a standing room only seat could perch on the edge of their seat.

At another stop, a newly arrived couple saw my mom and I squatting down momentarily to give our legs a break. The man stood up and offered us his seat with a gentle smile. Later, he and his girlfriend scooted closer together so that my mom and I could take turns perching on the edge of their seat.

Strangers shared tables, shared seats, and harmoniously shared the limited space… It’s practicality combined with good-natured acceptance and flexibility.

When a seated person got out of their seat, a standing person sat down for a brief respite until the seated person returned. When a stranger almost sat on you or stood in between your knees or just smooshed you thoroughly, you didn’t shoot them a look of haughty annoyance. You know they’re just trying to make room for someone else. When a stranger scooted over, willingly shrinking their comfort and the amount of space they had just so you could sit down, it flies in the face of each to his own.

It helped me to put things in perspective when I saw other acts occurring that I (coming from a different world with different norms) thought were nonsensical or downright impolite.

For nonsensical, take the train attendants dutifully doing their tasks… They actually came through to sweep the floor under each table and seat even though this act required yet another squished rearrangement of feet and bodies and luggage.

And even though the narrow aisles were packed with people, workers STILL managed to push the food and beverage cart through… May you not be the lucky aisle stander pinned by the cart across your thighs as a lucky seated person (who scored their tickets 18 days earlier… though they were trying to buy sleeper tickets for their 28 hour train ride) peers into the cart to see if the 牛奶 milk they want is still present.

牛奶 available or not, I didn’t want to drink anything. I was thirsty but I had no desire to brave the train toilets, much less fight my way through the crowds to get to them.

If only I was one of the two little boys in that group of four seats whose mother whipped out an empty water bottle for them to pee into…

I admit to being a bit shocked and grossed out when this actually happened. But really, it would have been a nightmare for a single mom to push and squeeze through the aisles with two little boys in tow.

At any rate, the two little boys were so adorably mischievous, with their playful antics bringing strangers together in conversation and play, that you can’t begrudge them for having a creative mother.

Practicality, flexibility and acceptance. No one batted an eye… Except me I suppose.

At one point, when one of the boys wanted to lie down, strangers helped the mom shift luggage around and spread newspaper below the seat so that the little boy could stretch out for a nap. (What on earth is she doing?! Thought I…)

Creativity, practicality, flexibility, and acceptance!

Later, I saw a bottle of yellow liquid rolling around under the same seat my backpack was stuffed under.

Pee in a bottle. Next to napping boy on newspapers, next to the backpack of an American girl used to oodles and oodles of personal space.

There was a remarkable equilibrium on that train. The “lack” of personal space was really just the amazing ability to find a place for yourself no matter how small, to coexist in relative peace under uncomfortable conditions, and to find beauty in all the little quirks and acts that make us human. There’s hope for us yet.

[UTC+8 Shenyang, China 20110213 23:25]

Related posts:

1. Assumptions. Or, Why I’m In China
2. My awareness is the size of a pea.
3. Will the real China please stand up?

If that’s not bad enough, try entering these temperatures after two weeks in Malaysia, which is currently dripping buckets of sweat at a scorching 32°C/90°F! (Here in Harbin, I’ll bet that sweat would freeze the moment it dared to peek out of your pores. Ouch.)

So it should come as no surprise that my mother and I entered these temperatures woefully unprepared. (My mother would like to point out that we are not idiots as we had planned to buy whatever warm clothing we lacked once we arrived.)

We stepped out of the airport bus near the main railway station and were immediately assaulted by the noisy chaos of mobs of people and traffic. So we walked away from the crowds with great haste, the chill nibbling into our limbs little by little.

Out came the gloves!

Out came the hat!

Out came the earmuffs!

Now where did my dratted second pair gloves go? My exposed fingertips were turning pink, but at least they could find solace within my jacket.

Unfortunately for my mother’s thighs, their covering of one single layer of jeans wasn’t nearly enough to break the advance of the nibbling chill.

So as we made our way to our hotel, cautiously walking on/through/prepositionfail/over/ the ever-present ice that covered the majority of the sidewalk, my mother’s thighs began to complain.

First, they felt the little chilly nibbles…

Then, they started to get really cold…

Then, they would whine in pain as my mother smacked them to figure out if her thighs had any feeling left…

Then my mom started to worry that her thighs were getting frostbitten and were beginning to resemble frozen meat…

(Each step above was accompanied by my mother’s hilarious commentary. Unfortunately, my ensuing fit of giggles drove each hilarious statement out of my memory.)

Desperate for relief from the impending frostbite (yes, I’m being dramatic), we ducked into one of the only open shops on the street (everything is still closed for Chinese New Year).

It was a pharmacy. And, unfortunately for us, we were one of the three patrons present and were thus immediately assisted.

Just so we’d have an excuse to stay indoors, my mom bought a bottle of oil for headache relief for 1 kuai and meandered to a couch nearby, plopping down with relief.

It’s soo cold! We exclaim.

Soon, every person in the shop (an elderly lady and all three pharmacists) gathers around us with expressions varying from amusement to bemusement to disturbed concern.

You’re only wearing cowboy pants?! No other layers?!?! (Note: jeans in Chinese is 牛仔裤, literally, cowboy pants!!)

My mom mournfully says (in Chinese) We just came from Malaysia, it was so hot there! Now my legs are freezing!

After more mournful discussion of frozen thighs, one pharmacist brings out a bright orange packet with a design reminiscent of laundry detergent.

Only 3 kuai! Just open the packet, stick one on each knee and one on your back, and voilà! The pharmacist says all this (sans the voilà) while smacking each of my mother’s knees in turn, then pulling her forward by the shoulder to smack her on her lower back.

The pharmacist rips open the happy orange packet, pulls out the flat white packet within and kneels down to help my mom make use of it.

My mom pulls up the legs of her jeans slowly while laughing at the modpodge of material below… Blue and white socks below crumpled black leg warmer failures (they always slide down an become below-shin warmers), with one leg also sporting a tan knee brace.

Everyone exclaims, distraught over how little protection my mother’s legs have from the cold.

The pharmacist wastes no time.

She hikes the legs of the jeans up past the knee, yanks the leg warmer failures back up to their rightful position, tugs the knee brace back into place, and slaps the warm packet onto the knee brace.

This pharmacist gets things done!

While we wait for the warmth to kick in, the old lady grabs a blank pharmacy receipt and scribbles down the name of the item of clothing we need to buy in order to save my mother’s thighs. Or maybe it was the name of a nearby shop we should go to. (Something like 透笼商厦曼哈咤… Who knows? I still can’t read handwritten Chinese.)

Then the gung-ho pharmacist grabs the old lady’s arm and yanks on the sleeve of her lower thermal layer. See! Like this! You need to buy this!

The other pharmacists nod in agreement, sticking out their various warmly clad limbs and yanking on the respective inner layers to show us.

Ahh, aah… nod my mother and I in assent. We will go buy some immediately!

And! says the other pharmacist, turning her attention to me and my bright pink (thawing) cheeks, you can cover your lower face with your scarf to keep warm! (This last bit was translated from body language rather than mandarin.)

With this last piece of advice for braving the freezer of Harbin, we were ushered out the door while spouting many giggles (from myself of course) and 谢谢你 xiexie ni’s, back out to the biting cold.

My mom then declared, “That was a good break! Now you can’t scoop a pound of frozen flesh out of my thighs!!”

Unfortunately, we still haven’t figured out how to save our temples and cheeks from freezing.

But, on the bright side, it’s highly amusing to poke my cheeks with only a distant tingling sensation calling in response. It’s like getting numbed at the dentist.

Poke! Slap! Tingle! Giggle!

[UTC+8 Harbin, China 20110209 20:08]

Related posts:

1. Pee in a Bottle & the Onesie of Personal Space
2. The Lies of the Little Green Man
3. The Little Green Man, Revisited

“What cute eggs!” I exclaimed to myself.

So I picked Mr. Devious up to examine him and noticed a switch on his bottom. So of course, I had to turn him on to see what happened.

Lo and behold!

Mr. Devious turned red!

I am not proud to admit that I sneered and immediately turned Mr. Devious off. Who wants a red deviled egg? Not I, not I!

Placing Mr. Devious back on the low shelf, I turned around to inspect the other oddities in the store.

But wait, it’s not over yet Mr. Devious!

Mr. Boss 老板 Lao Ban, saw our flagging interest and swooped in immediately to save the day. Grabbing Mr. Devious and turning him on, he brandished Mr. Red Devious Deviled Egg at our faces and said:

你们看！Ya’ll look! 要摸一模！Yao mo yi mo! You must stroke him!

As he spoke, Mr. Lao Ban rubbed Mr. Devious gently upon Mr. Devious’s pointed head and lo and behold… Mr. Devious began to change colors!

“Waaah!” we squeal in Chinese-language-style excitement.

“啊！Ah! 摸一模！Mo yi mo! 摸一模！Mo yi mo!” he says.

So my friend and I pick up our respective eggs, turn them on, then begin to 摸一模 mo yi mo with the 老板 lao ban’s encouragement.

(Oh goodness. Flash back to the days of terrible websites drowning in terrible animations. Or to be more positive, flash back to the old classic Hampster Dance!)

“Waaah!” I think to myself in Chinese-style excitement, “I’ll bet you can even pick which color you want. Just stop 摸 mo-ing on the color you like and it’ll stick. This is SO cool.”

Delighted, my friend decides to buy two 摸一模 mo yi mo eggs for her soon-to-depart-from-the-middle-kingdom friends.

She commences bargaining.

I jump in. 如果我们买三个，多少？How much if we buy three?

We get an 8 kuai discount for each. 30, down from 38.

Did I mention we are failures at bargaining?

Delighted, the 老板 makes a point of showing us the bottom of our new eggs and how there’s a little slip of plastic in the battery area to show that they haven’t been used before.

I’m just happy that I found a birthday gift for my dear sister, so I nod dumbly and pay for my new Mr. Devious Egg.

We troop out of the store with our 摸一模 eggs leaving the 老板 behind, who is surely delighted to have been blessed with such easily-impressed shoppers.

Once home, I take Mr. Devious out of his box and examine his switch. True enough, the little plastic slip is in there. But, when I open his battery compartment, I find crusty, clearly old, and once-used batteries.

No matter, they still work apparently, as I turn Mr. Devious Egg on to 摸一模 mo yi mo him.

He changes colors.

Then… I stop 摸一模-ing.

Lo.

and.

behold.

He changes colors.

哎呀！Aiya! 我们非常笨！Women feichang ben! We are sooo stupid!!

I’m torn between hilarity and exasperation.

So I run to my friend’s room to reveal my discovery of our gullibility.

She falls—nay throws herself—backwards onto her bed with a shout of shock followed by exclamatory laughter.

哎呀！Aiya! 我们非常笨！Women feichang ben! We are sooo stupid!!

Oh, Mr. 老板 Lao Ban, we should have known you were up to no good…

摸一模!

Mo yi mo!

摸一模!

Mo yi mo!

Oh, Mr. 老板 Lao Ban, wise, cunning, sneaky Mr. 老板 Lao Ban…

You sure are devious!

*Devious Egg was named by the one and only Skaught. Thank you Skaught!

[UTC+8 Hanghzou, China 20110119 18:38]

Related posts:

1. Lost! Late! Saved/Ripped Off on a Motorbike!
2. A pound of frozen flesh
3. The Little Green Man, Revisited

Or at least dipping my toes in daily. Even if it’s just my tippy toes. Let’s see where this ends up going by the end of 2011 shall we?

JANUARY

On letting go, coffee shops, failed nutella, and whooshies.

[China :: Shanghai, Hangzhou…
Malaysia :: Kuala Lumpur, Ipoh, Penang]

31 Photos

FEBRUARY

On doodles, photography, travel and failure.

[Malaysia :: Kuala Lumpur, Batu Pahat…
China :: Haerbin, Shenyang, Dandong, Dalian, Shanghai, Hangzhou]

28 Photos

MARCH

On an over-reliance on design jobs… (Or, Rosencrantz & Guildenstern takes over my design life)

[China :: Shanghai, Hangzhou, Shanghai, Hangzhou,
back and forth, back and forth]

31 Photos

APRIL

On my (real) life being taken over by R&G, the severe draining of my creative pool, & the scrambling and stretching to find creativity in my daily life (in hindsight)…

[China :: 15 days Shanghai, 13 days Hangzhou, 1 day Wuzhen, 1 day 对河口村]

30 Photos

MAY

I will jump back into you pool!

[China :: 对河口村, Hangzhou]

6 Photos

Related posts:

1. APRIL

]]> http://fernlim.com/blog/pool/feed/ 1 http://fernlim.com/blog/pool/ http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/FelceArto/~3/Q7bwFu8BXm8/ http://fernlim.com/blog/2011/01/why-im-learning-chinese/#comments Sat, 08 Jan 2011 08:16:51 +0000 Fern http://fernlim.com/blog/?p=1008

California = G.I. Joe, or, On Learning Chinese

Chinese New Year Trumps the 4th of July

Guess where I’m going?

]]> Final exams are quickly approaching, and with my recent 2-week hiatus from class (spent instead with family for Christmas and New Year’s!), my motivation to study is just about non-existent.

So since I’ve been procrastinating all day long on studying, I might as well procrastinate by completing this list (which I began 3 months ago) to remind myself of why exactly I’m here in Hangzhou, in school again, learning Chinese…

ONE

Learning Chinese means that there are so so many more people in the world with whom I can connect, converse, and get to know. In doing so, we expand and better understand our world and we humans living in it. All with someone else’s native language and mental structures!

TWO

Chinese characters are fascinating. They have all sorts of history and stories in them. And they’re surprisingly logical. This deserves a full-post to itself.

THREE

I do feel the impulse to learn Chinese. I’m sure it’s at least partially driven by all the Chinese churches I’ve been to and felt stupid in when my answer to “Mandarin or Cantonese?” was always “Neither.”

Also prodding the impulse are all the odd questioning looks I got from Chinese travelers abroad when they heard American English pouring from my mouth and an apologetic “Wo bu ke yi jiang hua yu.” (Which I’ve since learned is not the correct way to say it. Go figure.)

FOUR

Learning Chinese is unfinished business. I studied Chinese in Malaysia for 2 years from the end of kindergarten to the beginning of 2nd grade. I was fluent! I’m not letting my 6 year old self trump my 23 year old self.

FIVE

I  am now well on my way to having a real conversation with my grandmother. Q.E.D.

[UTC+8 Hanghzou, China 20110108 16:16]

Related posts:

1. California = G.I. Joe, or, On Learning Chinese
2. Chinese New Year Trumps the 4th of July
3. Guess where I’m going?

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