The 30-Days Summary

Well, it’s been precisely a month since I last wrote for my blog. A thousand apologies. In retrospect it seems that very few reportable events occurred in that time, in all the other ways it’s been a roller coaster ride.

On the teaching front, I have 4 weeks remaining for the semester. This means that things are winding down. Including me. Both the students and I seem to be feeling the approaching end and responding in the typical manner. Any work I need to do seems to take three times longer than it should.

For the last few weeks I have been trying to wade through a backlog of homework assignments, quizzes, and projects. I needed to mark an essay for every one of my reading students (approximately 70 students per class x 7 classes = hell on earth). The essay was on volunteering, its necessity and what the students would do to volunteer. Volunteering is not a strong tradition China and it’s surprising to talk to students about their lack of volunteer experience compared with their Western contemporaries.

Most essays said something like this: I will help you and then you will help me and the love will grow between all the people of the world and soon the world will be a warm, colorful, harmonious place and we will all love each other. That’s all. (A common ending for essays. Th-th-that’s all, folks!) There was a lot of eye-rolling going on as I read these. Nothing wrong with a little optimism, it just wasn’t a very compelling argument to read several hundred times.

There were the budding utopists and then there were the wily coyotes—those who used their cell phones to copy or slightly alter essays on volunteering from the internet. This was far more common than I would’ve ever expected. Sometimes I was amused at their resourcefulness. Sometimes I was outraged.

Then there were the I-will-help-the-old-man-cross-the-street-ers. Who even says that anymore? I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone help an elderly person cross the street in my life. This beyond the fact that I consider this good manners and not volunteering.

It was a long 490 essays.

Then I had to grade reports and presentations from my English for Tourism class. The presentations had been groan-inducing. The reports left me flushed and angry. Almost 100% plagiarized. Even from students I would never have expected it from.

Internet plagiarism is so common in China that it is hardly worthy of note, expect for the relative newcomers who haven’t yet been worn down into a dull acceptance of this distasteful feature of Chinese academic life.

I’m not there yet. So voice-shaking I returned reports to students with the lowest marks I thought the department would allow me to give, lectured them on Western standards of research, reminded them of my first class presentation on this, and then gave them the option to redo their reports, though that means nothing but more work for me. Then I talked to students who seemed genuinely baffled at how to do research and write a report without wholesale copying. It was an educational week.

After all that marking the number of papers in my apartment seems to have hardly decreased at all.

Aside from teaching and marking and planning, the last month has been a time of emotional highs and lows. At the moment I am planning to return here in the fall for a second year. A surprise for me as well as possibly for you.

I suppose in the end it comes down to not wanting to have to start from square one in September. I don’t want to pack up my apartment and bring all my stuff home. I don’t want to transition to a new country, a new culture in the fall. I feel like I am making good progress here. I’ve learned a lot. I’ve made friends. I’ve found my way. I have a comfortable foundation of knowledge and skills that allow me to get around and live my life. Also there’s just so much in China I’d like to see.

When I considered a second year it was with the rosy glow of my coworkers, friends, and students around me. Or at least those things would balance out the negatives of China for me. The cons mostly feature the teaching situation and the cultural context. One thing I didn’t realize in Georgia was how much looking passably Georgian helped me to blend in and feel accepted. I could write a whole blog about my struggles with body image and self-confidence in China. Not something I’ve generally felt comfortable sharing with the larger world. It’s been very, very hard. And that’s something that will not improve next year. Why on earth would I consider putting myself through it all again? I suppose in the end it just seemed like the pros outweighed the cons. And really, I’m going to struggle with those issues wherever I am in the world. The Chinese are perhaps just more direct about it.

So I made that decision, signed my contract and promptly felt that—to some extent—the bottom fell out of my world as some of closest friends here put me on alert that they might not be returning. I took the news better than I expected at first, but with time it’s affected me more and more. I’m standing by my decision to come back, for all the other reasons mentioned above and more, but I can’t help but think about how that change colors my perception of next year. It’ll be Brave New World – Part II. And I suppose that was precisely what I was hoping to avoid.

The option of returning home, which probably is what all of you are thinking about, just doesn’t seem like a desirable option to me. I can’t explain it really, but I like America much better when I’m not in it. I love seeing American thrown into contrast with other countries and cultures. I not only understand it much better when I’m away, but I also appreciate it more.

Distance from American Evangelicalism is also restful. I talk about Church (big C) constantly here and find that I have a lot to work through. I don’t think any other country struggles with religion quite like America. It is so enmeshed in our culture and politics. I’ve tried to explain that to my students and it’s like I’m realizing it as I say it. It’s a big deal in America. Period. Full stop. And not just on the national level, but on the micro level—individuals. It’s incredibly important to me and to most people even if it’s just their distaste for religion or their denial of it.

I suppose I should stop there. Needless to say, there’s been a lot on my mind.

Have no fear; I am not planning any sort of permanent exile. Not consciously, anyways. In due
time, perhaps in a few years or so, I will return to my native roost for good. At the moment though, I will continue in my migratory pattern. And—be advised—soon this little homing pigeon will be homing in on you for a few months of work and relaxation in the native nest.

Airing the Laundry

Many things are easier in China than they were in Georgia. Fortunately, laundry is one of them.

The laundry situation in Georgia was tense. Or at least it felt that way to me. My host family had recently purchased a washing machine. In the village, this was quite significant. Though a television was always a given, there was no guarantee that the average family would have a refrigerator or a washing machine, much less indoor plumbing. I felt quite lucky because my host family had two out of three. Indoor plumbing AND a washing machine. But no fridge.

In the absence of a washing machine, other volunteers were doing their laundry by hand, Oregon Trail style. Can you imagine washing your blue jeans by hand? Scrubbing, rinsing, and wringing them out? A truly unpleasant affair. To be carried out with disturbing regularity to every item of clothing you own, including all your unmentionables.

I was sure of my good fortune having been placed with a washing machine-blessed family; though there were many times I wondered if I would’ve rather had a refrigerator. It’s like one of those semi-impossible decision scenarios: what two things would you take to a desert island, rescue from your burning house, etc.

Nevertheless, the washing machine was there, waiting to be used, to fulfill its purpose in the world. However, the family seemed reluctant to put it to work. They seemed to regard it a little warily—the new technology. Laundry was carried out with gravity. With due reverence and ceremony I would make a petition for use of the glorious machine and the presence of its devoted attendants that were required for its operation. I was not deemed capable of operating the new technology unsupervised. And, following the example of my family, it was communicated to me that its use should be limited. We wouldn’t want to tire it out, now would we?

The realization that I was drawing near to a time when I would need to do laundry was always accompanied by a sinking feeling. There were a number of factors to consider: time of day, weather, the use of the WM by other family members, the use of the kitchen for other purposes, would I be available to immediately remove the clothes from the washer, was washing powder available, was someone available to get the surge protector from the shop, was there water, was there electricity, estimated drying time due to weather conditions, and how quickly I needed the clothes clean and dry.

I am not pulling your leg. This was my reality. I learned from experience to take all of these factors into consideration. Do not assume anything. Do not assume there will be washing power. Do not assume there will be water. Do not assume there will be electricity.

Laundry had a psychological and emotional toll. There was the preparation to ask, the asking itself, the material preparation for laundry (getting the surge protector, attaching the water hose to the sink, inserting the waste hose into the drain, and filling buckets with water for the family’s use while the machine was in use), the actual washing, the immediate removal of laundry from the washer, hanging, drying, folding, and then finally rest. It was an all day affair.

Was I making this more difficult than it had to be? Being overly considerate to my host family? Reading too much into body language and tone of voice? It’s one of those things that I will probably never know. I felt it was a huge inconvenience for me to do laundry as I could not do the whole process myself. And I could not expect that the people who I needed to help me would be available when I wanted them. And I could not be sure that even if the people were available that all the required facilities would be available. It was maddening. I developed a laundry psychosis. I wished I didn’t have to do laundry. Ever.

My solution to this issue was to do my laundry as infrequently as possible. I usually did one gigantic load of everything I owned every 10-14 days. Surely they could not begrudge me one load of laundry in that time frame? I don’t know.

I didn’t enjoy doing laundry in Georgia. Far too emotionally fraught it was.

China is much better. Independence in doing laundry, as in other things, is very important. Materially the situation has not changed. I have a washing machine and I air dry my clothes. But everything is on my terms. Laundry: as often as I need it and whenever I want to do it. If I spill something on my clothes—no cause for concern! I can pop it in the wash as soon as I get home. I can do laundry at a time of day that is convenient to my work schedule, not just when I can count of the aligning of the multitude of factors that are out of my control. No one is pounding up the stairs 2 second after the cycle finished, telling me that I need to come immediately to get my clothes. Nor am I sitting around waiting for the perfect moment to ask if I can use the washing machine.

For those living in an apartment building, the balcony becomes the center of all laundry operations. The washing machine is usually located here. For drying, there are a number of convenient devices that make the most of the available space. Installed on the balcony ceiling is a drying rack, which requires a little pronged pole to lift your clothes on hangers up to it. It’s fun. Just don’t drop your wet clothes on the dirty, dusty balcony floor. I also have a clothesline which I use for heavy items like jeans and towels. A portable drying rack is used for shirts and other small items. Widely popular for socks and underwear is a little double hoop with dangling clothespins that can be hung on the clothesline or from the upper rack. It’s very space efficient.

So on my little balcony I have enough places to hang a fair amount of laundry. The only challenge is drying our dismayingly white sheets. This requires a complex operation involving a lot of hangers, clothespins and most of the upper drying rack. It also obscures my view completely until they are dry. But it gets the job done. And I feel the usual feelings of domestic tranquility as I bring in my laundry to fold it and put it neatly away.

It’s a real improvement for me here. This thought crossed my mind last weekend as I was putting a new load in and taking down a load that had dried. I have not changed my mind about Georgia. I still love it and am actively plotting my return. However, it was very, very complicated living in a host family, in a village, and working at a school where you cannot truly communicate with people, where no one speaks your language. The effort required for laundry is perhaps representative of so many of my struggles there. The longer I’ve been in China, the more I’ve been amazed at what I survived in Georgia. China has been a cake walk in comparison.

Tackling China

I’m learning a lot being in China. It’s a whole new world. One that is so different from the way it appeared sitting in my suburban California home pondering my move here. When students ask me why I came to China, my answer is not one they were hoping for. No “I love China” or “I’ve always wanted to work in China”. Sorry. Actually, I never wanted to come to China. I came because it was here. Because I didn’t know anything about it. Because it was the country that offered me a job. Not exactly warm-fuzzy inducing.

As an ignorant Westerner, I’ve tried to keep my eyes wide open for China. To learn about it. To understand it better. In the West, China is all human rights violations, currency manipulation, and Communist Party. Maybe throw in a little Tibet and some kung-fu for good measure. The portrayal isn’t very human. It’s mostly political. If it’s at all human, it’s the suffering of factory workers or the extremes of China’s super-rich. There’s no middle. And there’s a lot of middle in China.

So it’s interesting to observe the life of the average Chinese: the things that are important to them,  what they want, what they talk about. After a while of being in China I started to feel that Western media was going overboard on its negative portrayal of China. It didn’t match with what I was seeing.  The following quote from James Fallows’ Postcards from Tomorrow Square expressed what I was feeling:

I think that even now the Western world’s limited familiarity with China…leads to two important problems: an overestimation of China’s power and a misestimation of its strengths, weaknesses, and possibilities….…Sharon Shirk, of the University of California, San Diego, who in 2006 published a book on China called China: Fragile Superpower…When Shirk discussed the book with Amercans, they always asked, “What do you mean, fragile?” When she discussed it with Chinese, they always asked, “What do you mean, superpower?”

China does not seem on the verge of taking over the world.

But in the West, China is portrayed as threatening, a danger. Our American leaders have been busy wagging their fingers at China in the last year of so. China must cooperate with us, they say. They must do _____. They make knowing faces. We know what you’re up to China! We’ve got our eye on you. No funny business!

Come to China and you’ll see how bemusing this all is. Really.

So that’s the first point of interest: the portrayal of China in Western media compared to the very non-threatening, pro-America environment in China.

The second issue relates to the place of the negative media, specifically the human rights violations, when everything appears so peaceful here.

The utter normality of my life here can sometimes lure me into feeling that perhaps these human rights violations are being exaggerated. Emphasis on sometimes. Everything just seems so quiet. Which is a little eerie. I think I came to China half expecting to experience trouble of some kind. Or at least to see it somewhere. Walking past Communist Party offices or even police officers gave me a slight feeling of tension. Don’t laugh. You hear stories. You come to verify whether they are true, even if in part. Plenty has been said about China. If you want scary stories, you can get them.

So lately I’ve been trying to feel around the edges a bit, trying to get a sense of the things that are not being discussed or publicized. Like Tibet. Like angry villagers rioting. Like the mysterious Falun Gong issues.

It’s not generally a good idea to ask the students about these types of issues. Not like they usually know that much anyways. Instead I prefer to talk to some of the Chinese teachers I know and trust. On the whole they seem a content bunch. Those that are Party members are almost shockingly flippant about it, complaining about the fees they have the pay and stating that that is their sole function as member. A few gripes about the one child policy. They understand the difference between politics and reality. Taiwan being an example of politics. A story of a previous Falun Gong coworker that went away for awhile and came back completely changed. On the whole, they’re very aware that as long as they keep their heads down and don’t rock the boat, then life will be fine. A peaceful progression from birth to death, with everything in between.

The boundaries are clear. To cross over is to open yourself up to an undoubted world of trouble. And it would be a very conscious decision. A deliberate transgression. So the danger is there, if you want it. Human rights violations are undoubtedly being committed daily, but you’re not going to hear a peep about that in the Chinese media. Which does allow you to sort of forget they are happening as you admire all the new infrastructure and buildings.

Sometimes I don’t know whether I should admire the practicality or abhor the apathy. But any such judgment is not that simple. China is a complex place. It’s also a gigantic place. The variety is endless. From the urban metropolises of Hong Kong and Shanghai to the dusty, dirt-poor plains of western China. It’s developed and developing. It’s rich and poor. In the words of James Fallows, “I suspected before coming to China, and now know for sure, that no one can sensibly try to present the “real story” or the “overall picture” of this country. It is simply too big and too contradictory.”

Perhaps I didn’t know before, but I certainly know now. There’s a lifetime worth of information that I should learn about China. And, of course, there’s still that vexing problem of learning the language. To get a sense of the vastness of China, please check out this fantastic photo spread in The Atlantic.

China. Understanding it is going to take a lot more than a year.

Not Just a Pillow

We visited the Southern Yue King Mausoleum in Guangzhou over the weekend. The Nanyue was an ancient kingdom, established in 204 BC, of which present-day Guangdong province comprises a significant part. The tomb of one of the kings was discovered and made into a very nice museum. Also in the museum was a collection of ceramic and porcelain pillows, carefully collected and then donated to the museum by a Hong Kong couple.

I can’t imagine being a porcelain pillow collector and I must admit that I entered the museum with a slightly derisive smile lurking in the corner of my mouth. Oh, yes. The pillow exhibit. Must see this!

Not only does collecting of pillows seem a bit like collecting footstools or chamberpots, but the use of a porcelain pillow sounds like the closest possible thing to torture. However, the average pillow in the collection was actually quite nicely painted with animals, flowers, and sometimes children. (Children are restful?) The designs were attractive and I found myself enjoying the exhibit far more than I expected to. The pillows forced me to put aside my derision. I was won over.

One pillow in particular featured a poem which postively delighted me. My delight was such that I took the entire poem down into the notepad feature of my Kindle, key by tiny key. It was just too good to leave behind.

To read this poem is to become a porcelain pillow convert.

Here is the pillow
Made in the style of the Emperor of Shen Nong,
Incorporating elements of the ancient past
And produced in the region on Xiangzhou.
Meeting precisely the potters’ standards
It shares the perfection of the universe
And accords with the pattern of creation.
It has the luster of the precious jade,
But avoids the ostentation of brocades.
Clay was thrown on the wheel to made the biscuit,
Shaped in a rectangle and made hollow within,
Coming from the kilns of emperors of Yu and Shun on the riverbanks
It is completely free of blemishes
As the extinguishing of the vigorous and steady
Flame of Boyi was precisely timed,
Having come from the hands of poet.
It is proudly placed in the chamber of books.
It makes precious coral artifacts look vulgar
And decorative amber items appear philistine.
At a distance it captures the attention
And at close quarters it dazzles the eyes.
He would never exchange it even for a massive jade disc,
Nor would he sell it for myriad taels of gold.
Placed in a pouch of finest brocades from SiChuan,
Within a box made of hardwood from Yuzhang.
It is stored likes precious jade
And handled with the utmost care.
In the hottest season of the year,
The heat rages to the nine heavens.
In the northern studio the guest bed has been prepared
And as the southern wind blows against the bamboo bed
The poet falls fast asleep.
His body and soul enjoying the blissful cool
Deep in sleep his mind is at ease
While in his dreams his desires are fulfilled.
It is as if he is strolling in pavilions on the moon
Or sauntering in an icy grotto.
He suddenly awakes to find his white hair again dry
And the burning heat dispersed.
This brings to mind the diligent scholars of old
Who used a round tree trunk as their pillow
And Confucius who slept on his folded elbow.
If we are to fully appreciate this ancient ware of Shen Nong,
How can we simply regard it as a means to avoid
The discomforts of the summer heat?

My favorite lines are It shares the perfection of the universe/ And accords with the pattern of creation. When the heat soon “rages to the nine heavens,” I believe it would be wise of me to turn to a porcelain pillow. So that I too can have all my desires fulfilled and stroll on the moon.

Hong Kong: Second Time’s the Charm

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I went to Hong Kong for only the second time last weekend.

My first visit to Hong Kong was on Christmas weekend. Yes, the actual Christmas weekend. And while the visit on the whole was good, the number of people in the city made everything more difficult. I remember fighting up this terrible street in Kowloon, trying to get to the ferry station. Literally fighting. I felt like a salmon swimming upstream. But when the real salmon do that they have safety in numbers. There were only 3 of us in this scenario. And of course when we arrived at the ferry station there were no tickets back to Zhuhai for hours, which was our fault for not reserving them ahead of time. We squeezed into the back table of a Starbucks and didn’t move until it was time to go.

And of course food had been quite expensive as well. Christmas Eve we were wandering the city in search of an affordable meal and finally found a tiny noodle house. Outside a large group of students were singing Christmas carols as we slurped our noodles. Christmas morning we stumbled on an underground Irish pub for breakfast. Not very cheap, but Christmas breakfast is a Van Gundy family tradition and I felt that I was honoring my own Christmas traditions by indulging in a large British breakfast.

(Perhaps it will amuse you to tell you that we then went and saw Mission Impossible IV. Well, it was either that or go shopping. I astounded my students by telling them that I went to Hong Kong and didn’t buy anything. In their eyes that is the entire purpose of Hong Kong.)

And our hotel on that trip. Wow. Hong Kong currently takes the cake for most deceptive Internet photos. Our hotel was supposed to be a reasonable looking room with 3 beds and our own bathroom. What we got was a closet-sized room with bunk beds, thread-bare linens, and soggy shared bathroom down the hall. For the rock-bottom price of 975 HKD. Outraged? A bit. Leaving Hong Kong, my feelings were somewhere along the lines of “good riddance”.

However.

I knew that we’d chosen to visit Hong Kong on a quite significant weekend, where crowds, high costs, and general inconvenience should’ve been expected. So, though that trip had been a bit of a challenge, I wanted to give Hong Kong another chance in the spring. And after having done so I can happily report that that was a wise decision. I had a great time last weekend.

Saturday we went to Lantau Island. Though we were disappointed to hear that the cable cars were not running, it may have been a blessing in disguise as the bus ride around the island was gorgeous. We went to Ngong Ping to see the Big Buddha and the temple around it. Endless mirth because the infamous university orientation game “Big Booty” was quickly supplanted by “Big Buddha” and I had a hard time not breaking out into the chant as we circled the Buddha. Also some flashbacks to the terribly irreverent “Buddha’s Delight” song used in the movie Music & Lyrics. We had lunch in the vegetarian restaurant on-site and then explored some of the trails leading off into the hills. The hills were green, the skies blue, weather balmy. A truly excellent excursion.

The following day we went to Stanley Market on the south side of Hong Kong Island. Another gorgeous drive hugging the coastline which felt positively Californian. It could’ve been Highway 1, possibly even prettier at points. The bus deposited us at the market and we were promptly delighted by the market’s offerings. We made an initial circuit and popped out on the harbor. I was glad we’d passed up the nice, but chain-y looking café we saw in the market as there were several lovely waterfront cafes there. We hadn’t “broken our fast” yet so I was very inclined to treat ourselves to a wonderful breakfast with a fantastic view. So we did.

After breakfast we roamed the market. Suddenly everywhere I looked there were things I wanted to buy. Zhuhai has been a shopping famine for me other than food and bootleg DVDs. So I feasted a bit in Stanley. I bought some linen clothes in preparation for the coming heat. A new colorful, but sturdy bag. A scarf. It was fun.

Unfortunately soon the clock was tolling for us. Not 12, but half past 2. We’d booked tickets on the 4:30 ferry to prevent the problem we’d had last trip. We scurried back to the bus stop, multiple shopping bags each, for the beautiful drive back. After some intense power walking we made it to the ferry office to reclaim our tickets on time and just had time for iced coffee (with real cream!).

The biggest surprise of the trip was just how beautiful Lantau and Central were! Nothing like what I’d expected. Hong Kong had taken on grimy, urban tones in my mind based on the first trip. Kowloon was not that different really from Zhuhai; everything was just on a somewhat larger scale. But the coastline—wow! Already contemplating my next trip.

It’s a Jungle Out There

I turned on my air conditioner today. That feels momentous. March 6th—Day One of Air Conditioning.

More momentous is that I turned it on shortly after 7 AM. Waking up today everything felt slightly damp and sticky: bath towels, kitchen towels, even supposedly clean clothes straight from the closet. Bathroom floor is still wet from my shower the night before. Even the dust bunnies are damp, as evidenced by the way they clump together and then stick to the broom. And this isn’t just today. It’s been like this for awhile.

I taught my 8:00 to 9:35 AM class, walked back, and took a cold shower. I see many more in my future.

Edjakashun, or Why I Travel

Being in another country—if you are paying attention—really helps you learn things. Something I was oblivious to before coming to China was the antipathy some Chinese still have towards Japan. If you’re like I was, you’re essentially in the dark as to why. Dredging up some high school world history might give you at least an inkling of the cause. Japan. Empire. WWII. Leading you possibly to the ….Nanking Massacre. Remember that? Probably at least a little light bulb for most of you. While Americans focus almost exclusively on Pearl Harbor as the sign of Japanese aggression, Chinese have their own terrible tale of woe. And it truly is a terrible tale.

If you’ve ever seen Empire of the Sun, you remember that Shanghai was lost to the Japanese. A young Christian Bale does a fantastic job playing a young British boy who gets separated from his parents. Yes, yes, very sad. But while the foreigners seem to be having such a tough time of it all, you sort of lose sight of that fact that the Japanese continued pushing into China, arriving in the city of Nanking at the end of 1937.

In Nanking the Japanese committed numerous atrocities on the populace, including theft, arson, rape and murder. An estimated 200,000 women were rape, 100,000 people slaughtered in cold blood, with a possible total of 200,000 killed, including both civilians and POWs. Some of these numbers were difficult to verify due to how the bodies were disposed of, but eye-witness and survivor accounts leave little doubt of the atrocities being committed. It’s truly terrible stuff.

Understandably the Chinese still remember and grieve. And they will not brook any denial of the events or any cover-ups, which unfortunately has been the Japanese policy in the past. In 2006 the Japanese prime minister issued a formal apology to China and the rest of Asia, but many Chinese are not mollified. The actions of some Japanese to down-play what happened in Nanking or to outright deny them has enraged Chinese in the past. Think about how we feel about Holocaust deniers. Yeah. Not much patience for those types of people.

A Chinese movie was recently released about the Nanking Massacre, titled The Flowers of War in English. The director is Zhang Yimou, who has done a number of movies that Western audiences would be familiar with, including House of Flying Daggers, Hero, and others. The movie is based on a novel. However, one article states that the movie is also based on the journal of an American missionary, which records an event similar to what happens in the film.

I saw the movie when it came out and it is an understandably grim, tragic movie. I returned home to read up on the events surrounding the Nanking Massacre, to get a better understanding of the Japanese empire and their actions pre-Pearl Harbor.

I saw the movie with a friend, but also with two Chinese international students who were home for Chinese New Year. Before the movie, the topic of Japan was clearly on the mind of one of them as she made several negative comments about Japan. I was curious because this was the first time I’d heard this from any Chinese, but especially someone so young, which initiated me into this whole anti-Japan sentiment which still prevails to some degree today.

She was very adamant that The Flowers of War be nominated for the Academy Awards and she also felt that the film deserved to win. But from the way she talked about it, it wasn’t so much that the film deserved to win, but that the Nanking Massacre deserved to win. That it deserved and needed recognition on that level. A world-wide acknowledgement of China’s suffering and possibly Japan’s bad behavior.

While The Flowers of War was nominated for the Academy Awards, it did not win and some Chinese were very disappointed and/or angry about it. The producer of TFOW declared that the Academy was in the pockets of the Japanese, as they own several studios, and, even more seriously, that the United States was denying the Nanking Massacre. Whoa, whoa, whoa.

Fortunately this producer has a long history of flying off the cuff and making baseless accusations of this nature, so it doesn’t appear that anyone takes him too seriously. To accuse us of denying the Nanking Massacre is a bit much. Based on my personal response alone, I can’t believe any reasonably intelligent person would seek to deny what happened in Nanking. It is well-documented and well-researched. Maybe the totals for each crime and the overall number of deaths cannot be precisely verified, but there is no denying that these things happened on a wide scale. There are photos and films, eye-witness accounts and survivor accounts. There are Japanese soldier accounts. Newspaper articles from the time. It’s a ridiculous accusation.

The movie is emotional affecting, of course, but simply the style of the film didn’t lead me to expect it as an Oscar winner. Just something about the chronology of it, the character development, the script, etc. didn’t scream “Oscar!” Sorry, nice try. Though I highly recommend the film for anyone interested in getting a different perspective on WWII and the Japanese empire.

What is interesting to me about this whole exploration of Chinese feelings towards Japan and also the Nanking Massacre is two things. One, the fixedness of American attention on Pearl Harbor, possibly to the obliteration of all other examples of Japanese aggression. Meaning, I think the Nanking Massacre is worthy of maybe a bit more attention in our world history classes, as well as a need for more Sino-focus in general. Two, the fact that bad juju towards Japan has been passed on to the current young adult population. I can only compare this to what it would be like if my generation still harbored animosity towards Germany for the events of WWII and the Holocaust.

I appreciate being exposed to some of the different threads of through in modern China. I appreciate being made aware of things that I haven’t known before. In that regard, living abroad is invaluable. China is such a mysterious place to Westerners. Its portrayal in the media is all about the politics, the human rights violations, the currency manipulation, the economy, etc., etc. But there’s a very human side to China, to every country. And that’s what living in a country allows you to explore.

Knock, Knock, Knock

I met a student at English Corner last week. A very enthusiastic student, she followed me out when I left and walked with me for half of my evening walk around campus. With reservations I gave her my phone number. Never a good idea, really. And I usually don’t. But she was just so . . . something.

Today is Sunday. In the western world that’s the weekend and it is sacrosanct. Around 5:30 PM this student gave me a call. Seeing who it was, I groaned. Yes, Amy, that’s why you shouldn’t give students your phone number. I was “busy” watching Fringe and didn’t feel like talking to her. So I ignored her call. Twice. I know, I know. You’re thinking it and I’m thinking it. What a _____ , Amy.

A short while later someone starts knocking on my door. I thought it was my friend Stephen who likes to mock Sheldon from “Big Bang Theory” who does this three quick knocks on the door in a row followed by your name thing, repeated on a loop until you open the door. Knock, knock, knock. Knock, knock, knock. Yeah, yeah. Coming.

Imagine my surprise when I open the door and find this student there. How does she know where I live?!? Admittedly most in the foreign teachers live in the same building on the same floor, but there’s still at least 30 apartments. I didn’t actually recognize her at first. Then she said that she’d been calling me, but I hadn’t answered. Uhhhh. Yeah, about that.

And why is she here on my doorstep? She brought me food. KFC, in fact. I don’t know the exact distance of the nearest KFC, but it’s a least 25 minutes away by bus. My mind was not functioning well and I wasn’t sure how to interpret this. Students do seem to have this distressing way of thinking that foreigners are like babes in the wood who do not have the intelligence or know-how to feed themselves. I’m like 60% sure that this wasn’t the motivation behind this surprise visit, but then I can’t entirely discount it . . .

I took the proffered bag and stood there a little dumbly for a few seconds. Was I supposed to invite her in? There was also another older woman with her. Her mother maybe? Whoa. So not prepared for this. I managed a ‘thank you,’ but was still trying to process this. Wah-how-what?! As no invitation seemed forthcoming from me, the student said good-bye and turned to leave. I shut my door and put the bag on my desk to stare at it confusedly. An unexpected turn of events.

Yes, I did explore my food. A chicken sandwich and two crispy chicken wings. And some smelly fish balls that I didn’t touch. I felt a little guilty as I ate, but no sense in letting it go to waste, right? I owe this student a very kind text message and/or phone call. And should probably take her out to lunch this week. I’m sure my reaction was not at all what she had in mind. But—seriously—how did she find out my room number?

It’s a little disconcerting, no?

Here We Go Again

Two old friends made an appearance this week. They haven’t been around for awhile, but not long enough that I’m pleased to have them back. They would be Heat and, even worse, Humidity.

September was a misery. I had never experienced humidity such as Zhuhai offers. When I was at university in southern California, the slight increase in humidity from the bone-dry heat of home seemed cause for complaint. Zhuhai was a level of discomfort previously unknown or even imagined. The heat took my breath away. I soon stopped turning my air-conditioner off, even when I left the apartment. It took too long for the room to cool down again otherwise.

October brought typhoons and their torrential rains. I waded to class on several occasions, pant legs wet to mid-thigh. The morning would be suffocatingly hot. Eight o’clock in the morning. Sweat rolling down my face. And then the rain would begin. Hot and wet. Those are always the words students use to describe our local climate.

Beginning mid-November the weather began to cool, for which I was terribly grateful. I could walk to class and not be a sweaty mess when I arrived, though it still didn’t take much for me to feel overheated. Scarves were a possibility. I enjoyed wearing a blazer I’d brought. Intermittent rain.

December and January the temperatures dipped. Teachers who’ve been here warned us that though the temperatures would not be that low, it would feel very, very cold. Especially inside. And they were right. My room was like stepping into a refrigerator. I bought a space heater to which I would rotate my feet to track with its oscillation. I bought a hot water bottle for my feet at night. I bought a throw blanket for sitting at my desk.

But all this only for my room. Temperatures outside didn’t require near so much. I could still be hot when teaching lessons, though none of the classrooms are heated. Southern China gets air-conditioners; northern China gets heaters. No, you can’t have both.

My vacation for Chinese New Year allowed me to experience some different climates: the pleasant warmth of Hainan and the brisk, biting cold of Shanghai. The day I returned to Guangdong the temperature was 25 degrees Celsius, a shock, but the next day a cold front moved in again.

Through these somewhat cooler months the thought always in the back of my mind was that this was temporary. Students always tell me that Zhuhai doesn’t have four seasons, but two. Summer and winter. And winter is always very short. So though I was sometimes tempted to complain about the cold, most complaints were not voiced. The cold was such a welcome surcease.

Wednesday morning the view from my window was overcast. Interpreting this to mean cooler temperatures I pulled out a long-sleeve sweater, scarf and blazer and layered nylons under my slacks. Yet a few minutes outside and I realized that this was not cold overcast. This was the humid overcast, especially of October. Uncomfortably hot on the way to class, I pulled off my blazer and rolled up my sleeves. Everything already sticking uncomfortably to my skin. In my classroom I pulled out tissues to blot my perspiring face and flapped my pant legs to get some circulation. As the sweat dripped down my back, seeming to collect in the hollow, and trailed down to my waistband to leave little chalky indicators in testament to the day’s heat, I bit back a groan. It would appear that summer is back in town, along with those two old friends of mine.

Rule Number 1

Today is Saturday, February 11, 2012. It’s now noon-ish. The new semester will begin on Monday, February 13th. Since work will recommence in less than 48 hours, you would assume that I would know my teaching schedule. However, in a foreign country, the most important lesson to remember is this: never assume anything. I will be able to go pick up my schedule later this afternoon. Gee, thanks. For, like, all the time to prepare.