After Lei Feng’s death in 1962 he was declared by Chairman Mao Ze Dong to be a worthy role model and exemplary Communist. Lei Feng’s life was ordinary; his greatest claim to fame was that he wanted to be nothing more than “a revolutionary screw that never rusts.” Many stories are told of his frugality and the kind deeds he did for others. Most importantly, he let the Communist Party – or Mao – do his thinking for him and taught others to do the same.

Some doubt exists as to whether Lei Feng ever actually lived, and as to whether the “Lei Feng spirit” is even relevant in today’s China. Now the commemorative day is used to promote volunteer work.

And so it was that, when we went for our weekly visit to the local orphanage yesterday, it was mobbed with swarms of students standing around, watching the kids, some passing out candy or fruit. It was a little overwhelming: my first time back to the orphanage since the vacation and it was challenging to really reconnect with the kids amidst the madness. But I still had a good time. I’m not sure how many of the kids know about Lei Feng Day.

The first one I bought about six months ago for a little over 100 yuan (about $12). After a couple months, it broke – it wouldn’t open. I took it back to the shop but the warranty had already expired. So I bought a second one, from a different store, careful to buy a better brand that would carry a longer warranty. A week ago, when I tried to print my lesson plans, my new flash disk wouldn’t open. I was annoyed but not worried, figuring I would just take it back to have it fixed. Yesterday I went back to where I thought the shop I’d bought it from was. It wasn’t there anymore. It may have moved; it may have just closed; it will take some research to find out and in the meantime I need a way to print my lesson plans, so I bought my third flash disk. Three flash disks, three different stores, three different brands. I’m hoping the third time will be a charm.

My Chinese students and friends say they’ve “never heard of a flash disk breaking before.” Go figure.

I stood outside the classroom for a few minutes, figuring that if the classroom had been changed, a student would come to tell me. After a while one of the students studying in the classroom came out and said, rather embarrassedly, “I’m sorry, Teacher, but we will not have your Oral English class this term.”
“You mean, the class has been cancelled?”
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to take Oral English this term?”
“Yes, I’m sorry.”

I wasn’t. Not that I didn’t want to teach them, but it was a class of Japanese majors who were juniors; by this point in their college career many Chinese students have stopped caring. My first lesson with them had more or less convinced me they’d live up to my prejudices.

This afternoon I went for an “interview” at the on-campus kindergarten. The day before I’d been asked whether I wanted a job teaching the kids there once a week – just fun stuff to spark their interest in English. It sounded like something different and potentially entertaining, so I agreed. I surprised the teachers I was meeting with (and myself) by operating in Chinese for most of our discussion. Only a couple times did I revert to English with the university professor who’d come to interpret: once was when they asked me how much I wanted per hour. I didn’t feel confident enough in my ability to negotiate money matters tactfully in Chinese. I had asked Luke (the interpreter) beforehand what he thought was reasonable to charge, and he wouldn’t tell me. The lady I was talking to kept saying, “Our own teachers get 30 yuan (about $3.50) an hour.”
“Tell them I taught an extra class here on campus and was paid 50 yuan an hour,” I said to Luke.
He told them.
“So you want 50 yuan an hour?”
“Yes.”
“How many students in a class? Forty?” (Now we’d switched back to Chinese).
“Um…how about 30?”

After the meeting, Luke and I walked outside together. “I think you could have asked for more money,” he said, “but now that we’ve agreed on it it’s too late.”
So why didn’t you tell me that when I asked you before the meeting, Luke?
Oh wait, I know why. It’s because you’re Chinese. I think that, as the intermediary, he didn’t want to take sides by telling me how much I should charge.

That’s ok. I’m not really doing it for the money.

It’s a pity, really, realizing that all those hours of shivering, in the classroom, walking down the street, in restaurants eating dinner, were not necessary.

It’s also a relief to know that my students are not always freezing, since they’ve known the secret for years.

And it’s silly that it took me so long. After all, Chinese people have been telling me for the past two years that I needed to wear more clothes in the winter.

Yesterday I finally broke down and bought a down jacket that I can wear under my peacoat. It was on sale for 79 yuan, or about $10, and is a nice plum color – the same as my new cell phone. I had no idea a layer of down would make such a difference; I assumed adding layers of long underwear would do the trick. I wish I had had this jacket when we went to visit Melody in Xi’an for Chinese New Year last year. Or last December when I was giving finals to my students with numb fingers and toes.

I’m delighted to be back in China after two months’ vacation in the U.S., and doubly happy knowing that I won’t be turned into an icicle by the windy, humid Zhenjiang cold.

There’s a PSA they play on the kids’ channel that has brought tears to my eyes more than once, including the first time I saw it, more than a year ago. It opens showing a mom washing her son’s feet in a basin – he’s about four. She leaves him in his bedroom to play and then goes and washes her mother’s feet, saying it will make her more comfortable. Grandma says, “You’ve been busy all day!” and Mom replies, “I’m not tired.” It’s the closing that gets me – the next thing you see is the little boy carrying a basin down the hallway, splashing water all over the place, saying, “Mom, wash your feet!” Then the announcer says, “Parents are children’s best teachers.”

The way family members care for each other is one of my favorite aspects of Chinese culture; but I think my favorite thing about the commercial is how the Communist government-sponsored broadcasters accidentally stumbled upon such a well-known symbol of Jesus Christ’s servanthood in their promotion of traditional Chinese values.

The Thinner and the Beautiful

I think the women the more thinner the more beautiful. Nowadays almost every people like thin women. So many many women want to lose weight.

Losing weight can make people healthy. Fat people can get alot of illness. So many people keep weight not only to become beautiful but to keep healthy. And keep fit can make someone eat more nutrition. Because people always eat lobsters.

Losing weight can make people beautiful. When you walking in the street, I think you always like to watch thin girl. Thin girl can wear beautiful clothese.

So I think the more thinner the more beautiful. If I can lose weight I will very happy.

A: Do you drink water before you go to bed?
Me: Um…I do if I’m thirsty.
A: So do I. But many people tell me I shouldn’t.
Me: Why not?
A: It’s bad for your eyes.
Me: Bad for your eyes?
A: Yes. If you put honey in the water, it’s okay, but if you drink the water without honey and then lie down, the water will go to your eyes and ruin them.
Me: Hm. I’ve never heard that before. But I’m pretty sure the water goes to your stomach.

Blue Autumn

It was raining. But I was having a walk without an umbrella, for the rain was slight.

Looking back, I saw my lovely family standing under the grey sky. The rain had covered everything here.

It is said that rain stands for great sadness because Chinese believe that it always happens where there something bad, such as someone dying. The rain is the tears of and sympathies from God.

Under the rain, everything seemed to have lost its color. A gloomy day it was.

Continuing my way, I passed by the chicken’s family: two hens and their eggs. But it seemed that they didn’t like this weather because their house had got wet and they couldn’t go out for food.

Suddenly a flock of birds flew over my head and into the distance, leaving melodious songs. Did they want to make me happy? Did they know and understand my sadness?

The sharpness of their formation was very tidy: Sometimes it was like a dash; sometimes it was like the Chinese character “人”. Whatever it looked like, there was always a leader, as a star, guiding them to the warmest and lightest world.

I sat on a stone beside the road. The crops lay before me.

Dad said we wouldn’t have a good harvest this year. No one knew why there were so many diseases that destroyed the crops.

Seeing the crops falling down in the wind, I cried out and imagined I was in a desert and without food and water.

The yellow waves filled my eyes; the sad rain kissed my face; the wind made my hair fly. I tried to forget myself and the world. The mixed scent of fresh grass and soil filled the air, which brought new energy and might, and I couldn’t ignore it. With the sound of heavy steps came the poor farmers, including my father.

"We needn’t worry and give up,” they said, “We still have the stored food.”

“But what about next year?” one of them asked. No one answered.

What about next year? Like the river, didn’t we need to be refreshed and cheered up? The technology was too old and limited. Farmers also should learn more and more to improve themselves and should love nature; then it would love them. Just this. Everyone wants to eat delicious food, but not everyone loves making it.

I wiped my tears dry and was determined to try to help them. Although I may not play an important role, I wouldn’t give up. Next year there might be a golden autumn.

For more reasons why I love my job, check here and here.

Here are parts of the answers I got, for your edification*:

Why bother? Because if you don't, then why bother with life? We are social
creatures of the 3 person God who are meant to be in relationship with each
other and with God the Creator, Christ, and Holy Spirit. Unless we come close
enough to be vulnerable and risk being hurt, we ensure that we will not have the
joy of deep and meaningful relationships we are meant to have…When you start counting up what your life has meant (it's a bit early for you to start doing that) I think you'll find that most of what really matters boils down to relationships.

We do disappoint /hurt people when we are close to them. It is very important that we stay closer to Jesus than to anyone else. When we let the Holy Spirit have control of our lives, we will see people as God sees them and have His kind of love for them. It is dangerous when we let any person have the closest place in our heart that belongs to God alone. Jesus is truly the only one who will never leave us, never disappoint us and never hurt us!

"The paradox is that part of what binds us closest together as human beings and makes it true that no man is an island is the knowledge that in another way every man is an island. Because to know this is to know that not only deep in you is there a self that longs above all to be known and accepted, but that there is also such a self in me, in everyone else the world over." --Frederick Buechner

We'd like to think that to be known and accepted by a person is an easy process, with utopian-like results. But inevitably, as yet imperfect creatures, we mess up this, one of God's greatest gifts to us. Our sin gets in the way, and then we are each tempted to stay on our own islands, where we cannot get hurt any longer. We ask, "Why bother?"?

But that desire is still there. We long to be known and accepted. And so we try again.

Another friend said she could relate to my question and wanted to respond, but didn’t know what to say. This isn’t something we talk about often. But I want to make it clear to anyone who’s reading this: I go through times of intense struggle in my relationships, as most people do. Usually it makes me want to run and hide, to withdraw into my icy shell of pride and self. But I am committed to keep trying, to break the cycles I find myself spinning around in, for the reasons listed above, and because there is no viable alternative.

*Extra Three Lines of Scrawl points for guessing who wrote them, heh heh

then

why

bother?

My expectations are China’s plaything. I never know whether there will be a pit in the maraschino cherry. I am constantly running across shapes that look familiar – because they’re similar to something from home, or to something I’ve seen in China before – but which hold surprises. China keeps me on my toes.

Naomi and went to our favorite Korean restaurant at the beginning of the year, walked in, sat down, opened the menu – only to discover it was now a goose hotpot place**. A little earlier we’d tried the hole-in-the-wall Korean joint outside our university’s gate…to find it in the process of being demolished.

At this time last year we were sweating our way around Nan Shan (South Hill, one of the city’s parks). This year I was shivering my way around Nanjing, jacketless, because who knew it’d be so cold in early October? This isn’t Seattle, it’s southern China!

To get to Nanjing last Sunday, we got tickets for what I call the “devil train”: I think it’s 5055; it leaves around 7:30 am. A few of the experiences Naomi and I have had on this train are indescribable. Once, the 5055 pulled into the Zhenjiang station an hour late; it was already stuffed with people and I didn’t think there was any way we’d make it on. But the crowd was determined; elbows and arms and loud voices were employed; we were buoyed up the stairs onto the train along with the rest of the people-sea. Once squished on (we had standing tickets), firmly pressed in on all sides, we discovered to our utter horror and sardonic amusement that the food and toy-cart pushers stop for no crowd. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, these determined train employees are not fazed by the familiar sight of people stacked on top of each other; they will roll up and down the train, calling their wares, offering beer, chicken feet, ramen noodles, magazines, and flashing tops which play an off-key Happy Birthday to their dear passengers. It was one of the longer hours of my life.

Oh, the memories. When I found out we were scheduled for the “devil train” this past week, I resigned myself to a miserable time. It was the second day of National Holiday and the whole country would be traveling. I was not looking forward to it, to say the least.

But when we got on the train and found our seats (seats!), I was amazed to see only a few people standing in the aisles. The train left Zhenjiang on time and the ride was fairly comfortable – at least, uneventful. Pit or no pit? It’s impossible to guess.

*"Jelly" in the British sense=jello
**Mongolian hotpot, or chafing dish=a pot of broth at your table kept boiling by a flame underneath, in which you cook a variety of ingredients chosen from the menu. At the goose hotpot place, you order a half or whole goose to go in the pot to start with.

The sweet-scented osmanthus, which is blooming and covering the pig-farm stink the Yangtze river-wind has lately been blowing in from the north

A surprise lesson with my favorite new Chinese teacher: I had asked another student to teach me this week, but at the last minute she found out about a meeting this afternoon she had to go to

A cute email from a Chinese friend who is in Nanjing right now

Motivated students

A week of vacation starting Saturday

“You country?”
“I’m an American.”
“America! Me, Canada, seven years!”
“Oh, you’ve lived in Canada for seven years?”
“Yes! Come back, finished, Canada!” (vigorous waving of the hands)
“You’re finished in Canada? You’re not going back to Canada?”
“Yes! Three months, finished, back Canada!”
“So you’re going back to Canada in three months?”
“Yes! You here do what?”
“I’m an English teacher.”
“You singerrr? No married?”
“Yes, I’m single.”
“What’s your name?”
I told her and she repeated it carefully, replying, “I’m Ying!” (tracing the letters on her hand) “Y-I-N-G, Ying! You call me Ying! Family name, Gu!”
“Do you like Canada?”
“Yes, yes, like Canada! Very beautiful, very crrean! Not like here, here not crrean!”
Melody (whom I was walking with) asked her, in English, how she had the opportunity to go to Canada.
“My daughter, teach at university! I stay help her, cooka Chinese food!” (with a stirring gesture)
“A traditional Chinese mom,” Melody suggested, before parting with us for her evening class.
“In Canada I study English, free! Because I…immigration!”
“Oh, because you immigrated, the Canadian government gives you free English lessons?”
“Yes! I in Canada, me speak, people no understand!” (Mrs. Gu, I find that quite easy to believe) “So…the body language!”
I laughed, thinking that explained the spirited hand gestures, which are rare in your average conversation with a Chinese person.
“In Canada, live P.E.I.!”
“You live on P.E.I?” I asked, incredulous. “Prince Edward Island?”
“Yes, P.E.I. Island!”
“I think that must be a very beautiful place! It’s very famous, you know!” Something in the picture of Mrs. Gu living on P.E.I., cooking Chinese food for her university professor-daughter, made me inordinately happy.
“Yes, very beautiful! People not many, not crowded, like here!”
We commiserated for a while on the differences between English and Chinese, and she told me she had a grandchild at university and that she was currently staying with her "big son", who is a computer instructor at the university. Her second son is an electrical engineer. When it came time for us to part ways, she said, “N-….next week five – Friday, I go to-- to dance!” (little boogie to demonstrate)
“Next Friday you’re going to a dance?”
“Yes! No, this Friday! At…at Teacher’s Home!”
“Teacher’s Home?”
“Yes! 教工之家!”
I repeated the Chinese name; it did in fact mean “Teacher’s Home.”
“You go too?”
“I don’t know, maybe,” I replied, thinking I might just have to find this place to make sure I see little Mrs. Gu again.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, shaking my hand enthusiastically.
“You too, Mrs. Gu,” I replied, “Good night.”

Jo

They’ve come to spend four and a half years studying Western medicine in English. Yes, in China. There are quite a few of them; I’ve heard people say 40, 50 and 70, so maybe the real number is around 30. They’re staying in a newly built international student dorm and have brought their own chef.

The boys were very friendly, introducing themselves and getting our cell numbers. I was instinctively on guard. Why were they so eager and assertive? After we said good night and were continuing on our way, it hit me: Chinese culture feels normal to me now. The shy voices, unsure pauses, indirectness, rare handshakes. I know how to judge a Chinese person’s intentions toward me, and how to respond – like last Tuesday on the bus, when a slightly-creepy Chinese man in his 30s started talking to me (in English) and asked for my phone number. “Maybe it’s not convenient,” I said, which must sound weird to any native English speaker; but he knew exactly what I meant.

In theory I’m not opposed to being friends with the Indian students. We’ve got the rather substantial bond of being 老外 – foreigners – in China. But when Harish called me yesterday and asked if I were free to go shoe shopping, immediately my guard was up again: I know what the international stereotype of American women is. He was insistent, and I reluctantly told him I’d be free today. This morning, however, I learned that the huge concert held in Zhenjiang tonight is going to be broadcast live*, and I just can’t miss it. Thankful for the excuse, I asked if he could find someone else to help him.**

It’s not just the boys. Walking home today I met two Indian girls and got the same immediate handshake and what’s-your-name. I told them where the post office was. I should have gone with them, I suppose, but it was sprinkling and I was drowsy and just thinking about getting home.

All this to say I don’t find Chinese people or Chinese culture so strange any more. Interesting, yes. And of course I still feel awkward in some situations – hey, I feel awkward in my own culture often enough; maybe it’s a personal problem – but I usually have an idea of what Chinese people are thinking, and how I should respond. These past few days it’s been the Indians, with their eager hand-thrusting and weird bobbling head-shakes, who have shown me just how familiar China has become.

*I just missed the chance to attend the concert myself in the VIP section – a friend of mine’s mom had an extra ticket but at the last minute it went to her friend’s daughter, instead of her daughter’s friend.

**Our conversation over text messages yesterday was something like the following:
Harish: this is harish indian shall we meet tomorrow i think you are free
Me: Ok, that's fine.