Mei Banfa?

“A woman with a voice is by definition a strong woman.” This quote by Melinda Gates was our guiding light for last night’s women’s leadership group discussion. We read a passage about Rebecca Lolosoli, a Kenyan woman who started her own women’s collective as a refuge for women suffering from abuse at home.

Lolosoli spoke out against culturally accepted gender violence in her village, regardless of first being ignored and then later being beaten and harassed for her insolence. But my girls admired Lolosoli’s conviction, and we compared the severe physical risks Lolosoli faced to the types of risks we face when we speak out - whether in defense or support of someone or some cause, or merely in response to a teacher’s question in class.

“What stops you from speaking out?” I asked. They said none of the answers I had anticipated - embarrassment, fear of losing face, fear of being wrong. It was my intention to discuss these issues with them, as I have a my own personal stock of stories along these lines to share. However, to my surprise, all of them said that their main reason for not speaking out is that they are afraid that people will say it’s none of their business, especially when it comes to speaking in someone’s defense.

“So, is another person’s suffering “none of your business”? When is it appropriate to step in and help someone? Should we just... never help anyone?”

There was a long period of silence as my girls thought about it. And then Lily broke in angrily, “Even if we make it our business, other people will make sure not to hear us. It makes me so angry. I see so many problems, but what can I do? Nobody cares. Not the media. Not the government. Not even the people with the problems. They already gave up. I hate this feeling of being so... helpless.”

Another moment of silence followed as I tried to think of the most appropriate response. I asked them to look at Lolosoli again, to see if they could identify with the challenges she faced as she spoke out - being ignored by village elders, shunned by her family, eventually beaten by angry villagers. For Lolosoli, the stakes were high, and she knew with clarity that she must do what was right. The strength of her conviction is something we admire, admittedly because ours does not quite measure up.

"I don't know why I can't feel that kind of passion about anything. I wish I could, but it just seems so far from my life," said Emily. We discussed this problem, and said that coming from single-child homes, and growing up in this competitive market-based economy, we’re taught to be concerned with only ourselves, and sometimes we let our personal fears stand in the way. Sometimes we forget to look past ourselves, to look around and question whether or not the society we’re living in is “right.” And even if we disapprove, we’re taught that it’s not our business to change things. This is just merely another disguise for the same 'ole problem of having our voice taken away.

The beauty in Melinda Gates’ words is that it reminds us that ALL of us have a voice - and it can only be taken away if we give it away. It is up for us to hang on to it - to choose if, when and how to use it. There is a great source of strength that flows merely from having this choice.

The discussion went in a direction that made me a little nervous - and I can already hear my Dad urging me to be more careful. But I am confident that I chose well when selecting the members for this group, and through these discussions and through their journal entries, I am learning so much about just how complicated it is to come of age in a society that at once has nothing and everything to do with you.

舍不得: growing pains of the heart

舍不得 (shebude) can be translated as "reluctant," but as the meanings of Chinese words are deeply influenced by their context, this three-character word more accurately describes the feeling you have when saying goodbye. For me, 舍不得 is certainly more than just a feeling of reluctance - with it comes all of the good memories - the happy times that have already passed. It involves admitting that life is more linear than it is cyclical, that we cannot relive the past.

Tomorrow marks the end of the semester, and coincidentally, the end of my first year in China. I'll admit that my first semester was a challenge, but the tough times were more than compensated for by the pure joy I experienced day-in and day-out of this term. I honestly think I came as close as it is possible to being "天天快乐 (happy everyday)."

But I often think too much, and then I become afraid of my own happiness. I start to wonder how much longer it could possibly last. Of course, this type of fear is unhealthy, and it leaves me resentful of change. It leaves me 舍不得, especially when I think about my junior students, some of whom have become my best friends here in Fuling. After tomorrow, they will leave this school for their hometowns, and then most will spend the coming fall in small towns along the Yangtze, where they will practice teaching English in primary and middle schools. I won't see them until January, when they come back to report on what they experienced, but after that they'll be off again, searching the towns and cities near and far for increasingly precious job opportunities.

I did not think I could love so many people so quickly and so deeply. Last semester, when I was not teaching, I was hiding out at home, spending my surplus of time on the stack of novels I lugged all the way from Hawaii ne. But this semester, I began to willingly give all of my time to them. And then suddenly, time ran out.

The more time I spent with them, the more my affection for them grew, and it has grown to the point where it is overwhelming. I am simply not used to being this generous with love, nor to being this happy.

I also did not expect to become so involved in the lives of my students - to be able to share their ups and downs: An knee injured in a soccer match, another scraped badly in a moped accident. A mother who was forced to have an abortion, another who is slowly dying of cancer, another who quietly puts up with her husband's mistress. The shame and guilt of having been caught cheating, the pride gained in having independently authored a well-written essay. The joy of singing solo in the concert hall, of winning a speech contest, of being named best actor in an English drama competition.

Their lives have become so intertwined in mine and now occupy such a big part of my heart that knowing they will leave soon really does leave me 舍不得. I can only imagine what it's going to be like next year when it's my turn to leave.

I usually enjoy thinking about the future, but that was before I knew it was possible to get this much pleasure from the present. Can life really get better than this?

A Typical Chinese Female Peasant (by Iris)

I am teaching writing this semester, and I absolutely love it. I am in the midst of grading descriptive essays and just finished reading a very touching piece one student wrote about her mother. Enjoy :)


"My Mother, a Typical Chinese Female Peasant" by Iris

My mother, who is nearly sixty now, is a typical Chinese female peasant. Day after day, she toils and moils in the field. Being very pessimistic, she is always feeling sad. However, she loves me so much that she spares no effort to encourage me to face difficulties in my study and my life optimistically and bravely.

After years of hard work, she is skeleton thin. Her face is without flesh. It looks like a skeleton which was covered by a piece of gray skin. The bones in both her cheeks are noticeably protruding. Her eyes, filled with sadness, can only show some signs of happiness when she hears my good news. Wrinkles spring up on her forehead and become denser with age. Her lips are pale white. When she shows her teeth one can see how black they are, covered by dirty things calculated year after year. Because she never brushes her teeth. There is no such thing as tooth brush or tooth paste in her mind. And her hands make me think of dried tree branches. And her neck, because of an accident in her childhood, is deformed and bends towards the left side.

This is not an attractive image, absolutely. But I admire her. It is her skinny hands that give my brother and me great support. Now, being far apart from her, she misses me very much. Once I called her on the line, she cried uncontrollably. I was thinking whether to go home or not during the QingMing Festival. She said in a sullen voice, "My dear, come back. I miss you too much." She had some problem with her body. But when I arrived home, she said happily, "When you come back, my illness goes away immediately." Hearing this, I sobbed. I can't give her company for the sake of my study.

As time flies, I am worried about her health. She is skinny. Any disease may take her away from me. I hope that day will never come.

Humbled by Hessler

Peter Hessler is the pride and joy of Fuling, at least as far as my site mate and I are concerned. After reading his book, River Town, and comparing his experiences with my own, I couldn't help but wonder if such big disparities exist not so much because times have transformed this town, but that he and I just see the world entirely differently.

I tend to think books do change the world, that words do set change into motion. But should change be the purpose of writing? After half a year of Peace Corps service, a humbling experience in and of itself, I can't say that I disagree with Peter Hessler's opinion on this matter:

taken from http://urbanatomy.com/index.php/arts/why-i-write/2770-why-i-write-peter-hessler


Does writing change anything?
To be honest, I don’t care, not in the strictest sense. I’ve never been a political person; I tend to get bored when people talk about policy and big-picture things. I suppose that my time in the Peace Corps made me more realistic about a person’s impact, and more cynical about a certain type of idealism.

But Americans are attached to this idea, especially with regard to the developing world. You look at the books that sell well in the States, the best-selling books about poor places, and they tend to be about a foreigner who is trying to save people. You have Three Cups of Tea or Mountains Beyond Mountains. Individually these books can be great, and they tell important stories, but it concerns me a little that this approach tends to dominate the bestseller readership with regard to the developing world. The other main option is books about atrocities – child soldiers, or sex slaves, or things like that.

I wonder about the impact of these books, and I wonder about the vision they promote of the developing world. Americans seem to read these books and conclude: Thank God I was born in the good old U.S. of A. instead of in some crazy country like this. Or they think, We really need to fix these places. They conclude that if you’re going to live overseas, you need to be either a saint or insane. There’s no sense of normal life in a developing country – no sense that you might live in one of these places and have an enjoyable life, and make friends you respect and like. Obviously, there are some countries where it’s just not possible to live a normal life, because things are so troubled – but these places tend to dominate our perception of the world; they are represented disproportionately.

As a result there’s no real connection with the people, not in terms of understanding them and being able to put yourself in their shoes. These books don’t come out of a deep anthropological instinct. The basic interest is more along the lines of changing the world than understanding the world. But this has always been the classic American weakness beyond its borders. People want to get involved, and they want to change the world, but they don’t want to be patient. And they aren’t inclined to grant others the dignity of figuring out their own path.

One thing I liked about being in China was that I couldn’t over-estimate my significance, either as a teacher or as a writer. When I arrived with the Peace Corps, the country was clearly going its own way, and that’s still the case. Foreigners have some impact, but they aren’t guiding the country, and it’s not a playground for NGOs like so many parts of the world. The state-level stuff is of questionable value. When a head of state like Obama goes to Beijing, he’s performing certain rituals that are part of big-picture politics, but he’s not making a lot of earth-shattering decisions that will change China. In a sense, he has a lot less leeway than a migrant going to Dongguan looking for a factory job. So as a writer you’re best off sticking with that migrant or somebody like him; you should try to understand Chinese people. You try to figure out their stories and their motivations, and you try to write in an artful way. As far as I’m concerned, that’s enough. Good writing should enlighten and entertain, and it should have some quality of art. But it doesn’t have to change policy or raise funds for a cause. Plenty of other people are trying to change the world, often in heavy-handed ways that do as much harm as good.

But perhaps Jung Chang, author of the fantastic Wild Swans, gave the best answer:

Does writing change anything?
Yes, my life.

Xiexie Day

It's Thanksgiving Day in America, and I'm doing everything I can to keep from conjuring up images of KTA's roasted turkey and Aunty Judy's pumkin pie. My mouth is watering not only because I really wish I could be at home for this holiday, but because I am seriously hungry.

For the past couple of days, I haven't been able to hold down my food, thanks to some kind of bug that has made me feel quite seasick. I felt so queasy yesterday that I left my class early to celebrate the rest of Thanksgiving by wallowing in misery in the comfort of my bed. You know how misery is - it makes you forget the many things you should be thankful for.

After sleeping all afternoon, I got a call from one of my students. Our conversation went something like this,

"Where are you?" she demanded.
"Um, hi.. I am in bed."
"Yes, I hear you are sick. I will see you at 5 o'clock!"
"Huh? Okay, see you."

I fell asleep again and was awakened by tiny fists raising havoc on my door. I rushed over in my fleece pajamas and hot pink house boots, not giving a damn that I looked more like a ten year old than a teacher. I opened the door and in rushed two of my students. They brought with them a bowl of hot noodles, a bag of apples and pears, and their dinners.

"We have come to celebrate with you!"
They ordered me to eat the bowl of noodles, saying that it would make me feel much better. Obediently, I carefully slurped down the salty noodles as they downed their bowls of spicy dumplings. Who knows, perhaps sickness is partly a state of mind, for by the end of the evening, I actually did feel a little better - while I wasn't able to hold down those noodles, I was reminded of how thankful I am to have such sweet students.

So while my Thanksgiving was not as gloriously festive as it usually is (although, I admit, I am guilty of romanticizing it), the holiday still did everything it was supposed to: it prompted me to give thanks. :)

Halloween Party II

The party went well. It really wouldn't have been possible if not for my committee of students, the Magnificent 7, as well as a few of their friends who helped set up and clean up. The Mag 7 did everything from helping me run the games, work the computer, bribe the room cleaners for an extra hour of electricity, and serve popcorn to the 200 guests.

When most of the students arrived, Kathy welcomed everyone and told them she had a special guest: Barack Obama. I walked in with my Obama mask, and the crowd went wild. Believe me, I am plenty vain enough to have thoroughly enjoyed that brief moment of superstar status. And I definitely did stand and wave for a full minute before delivering my presidential message.

After I was done basking in Obama's glory, we started the games. They were a mess, as the contestants either did not understand the directions, or chose to ignore them. I doubt the former, for I'm sure Kathy did a great job translating my instructions into Chinese. Regardless, the games were fun and the crowd seemed to enjoy them. During one of the balloon popping relay games, in which the point was to blow up a balloon and then pop it by sitting on it, one of the plastic stools broke, sending a contested hurtling onto the floor. The audience sure loved that, and luckily the girl was unhurt.

Once the games were through, we passed out popcorn to everyone. Yes, all of the 200 guests got popcorn. I bought a ton the day before in Fuling and spent a good part of the afternoon popping them, so you can imagine how thrilled I was that there were enough people to eat it all. Then I showed "Twilight," mostly because Edward is hot, and also because there were supposed to be Chinese subtitles. But as always happens in my classes, the computer system failed me and I could only get the English subtitles to work. So in the end, I lost about half of my guests. The ones who were stayed were those of my students most dedicated to mastering English, and I have a feeling that they stayed only because they didn't want to hurt my feelings by leaving. Or because Edward is really hot. :P

All in all, I would say the party was a success, but I am so, so glad that it's over with. Organizing an event is stressful when you lack guanxi and the ability to communicate directly with key people. In time, though, I'm sure it'll get easier.

Here's some pics:

Halloween party

I had no idea what I got myself into when I said "YES!" to a student to who asked for a Halloween Party. Heck, I'm all for sharing a holiday that celebrates freaks and creeps! But Halloween can a spooky thing when you're planning a party that will be attend by anywhere from 8 to more than 200 college students!

Just like in the scary stories I shared with my classes this week, party prep went horribly wrong. My site mate got called to Chengdu for PC duty :(. Then the administration said I couldn't use the big activities room and instead assigned me a lecture hall, due to which I had to scrap some of the games I had planned. Then the computer in that room wouldn't play any of my Halloween movies. It was turning into a nightmare.......

Until the Magnificent 7 saved the day.
The members: Yedda, Kathy, Rose, Olivia, Sandy, Izzy and Lily.
All of them are my students, and all of them are wonderful.

Lily's got guanxi, Yedda's a computer whiz, Kathy knows where to buy the necessary supplies. Sandy, Izzy, Rose and Olivia have pointed out things I overlooked, things I wouldn't have known to prepare for if not for their advice. The best thing is that they're all so willing to help. :)

I was going to treat them to dinner tomorrow to thank them, but then they asked to cook for me. Hah! I hope I didn't agree too quickly! So tomorrow, they're making jiaozi at my place.

I am still looking for game ideas, but so far I have 4:
Pumpkin bowling
Chubby Bunny
Footloose Balloon Pop
Balloon Squat Relay

Hopefully everyone will get a chance to play. Winners will get prizes - trick-or-treat bags, sent by Mom, stuffed with candy.

Also,there will be a costume contest IF students dress up, I will show "Hocus Pocus" IF (big, big IF!) the computer and projector work, and there will be popcorn for all IF Kathy can help me find some in Fuling tomorrow. I'm trying not to let all these IFs spook me!