Sleepless in Hong Kong, but I don’t want to write about my troubles. I’m always thinking about my problems, today I want to write about something that brings my joy in my life.
Th Guitar.
Ever since I’ve been 18, the guitar has become an obsession for me, albeit a secret one. I don’t know why exactly, but I never felt totally comfortable letting people know I love playing guitar until just the last few years. But that’s not really the point. The point is guitars are my best friends. Better than people most times. I spent a ridiculous amount of time playing them, sleeping with them, obsessing over them, buying stuff for them, selling them, thinking about the various personalities of each, thinking about fingers on strings, amp tones, on and on. There’s a fucking universe in there.
Guitarists are a moody, pompous lot as I heard a guitar hero of mine Johnny Marr say yesterday. Yes, we think we are god’s gifts and everyone else are idiots in the band. We are the superego of the band, the director and visionary. The singer is merely the lead actor. The bass player and drummer are the lighting guy and boom guy respectively. But guitars are wonderful creations that even the most musically uneducated can really appreciate. The power, the emotion, the release, the god like power to create. And we as guitar players have masted the magical ways to not only tame but also direct this power on others. I have a picture in my head of me as Gandolf holding an electric guitar swaying hordes of orcs and hot women with the reverb drenched notes from my fingers. No body ever cries during a bass solo.
As with any art form, after the initial techniques are mastered, the artists personality eventually reveals itself. I’ve never been a fast, skilled player - you won’t find me shredding 16th notes to Swedish guitar prodigies or comping Jazz standards. But in my simple way I can make that guitar sound like other worlds by painting shades of colors and mood. Guitar is easy to play at a basic level, and even gain some flashy techniques but hard to become expressive at beyond copying other’s styles. That’s why there are so many guitarists skilled guitarists that all sound alike. Most players end up getting stuck sounding like Hendrix, Van Halen, etc. and never move beyond that. All I know, is sometimes when the mood is right, God feels like he is in me playing the notes themselves. And so it’s really cool to see how far I’ve come. Guitar playing is a constant companion in my life that reveals itself deeper and deeper each year and I learn more about myself as I deepen on the instrument.
In China, I’ve only had an acoustic guitar so I’ve been forced to play only non-amplified guitar which I wasn’t too fond of all these years. But I started to enjoy it more. The simplicity of only having one sound and also the richness that can come from that. I’ve also started to sing more, because no one ever knows the words to fucking songs that THEY themselves ask you to sing. Most people are musically unsavvy. They like what they like and don’t understand why you can’t play their favorite sugary R&B Chinese pop song without the benefit of the rest of the band and electronics on that beat up acoustic guitar at their house. And they only want to hear songs they already know. Particularly in China, my top 3 English language requests are:
Hotel California - The Eagles
Take Me Country Road - John Denver
Yesterday Once More - The Carpenters
This validates my theory that Chinese music al taste is stuck in the 70s. The bad sapply ballad seventies. Not the gods of rock Led Zeppelin stadium rock version. Anyway, I’ve been forced to swallow my pride and play some cheesy songs in order to make friends and be a nice at social get togethers. Nobody here has heard of ‘the Smiths’ or ‘the Cure’. They just want to hear Yesterday Once More dammit. And how about that cool Jay Chou song? “Fucking twats!” I say behind a clenched smile before launching into some middle of the road ballad.
One bright side is that my guitar playing is really opening doors in China. It’s an hugely pleasurable experience to be at a party talking to a hot girl who thinks she’s out of your league, then pick up the guitar and sing a few songs with the folks, and next thing her eyes and body language say it all - asking for you to teach her with doey eyes. What does this say about women? I dunno. Now I haven’t gotten lucky from playing guitar quite yet, that girl at the party quickly dismissed me after one date, but still the guitar opens doors like magic. I even sang live at a folk music concert a few weeks ago. My friend Xixi invited me to see her friends play and during an intermission she prodded me to go up. I ended up playing three songs and not forgetting the lyrics. I thought singing ‘The Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Under the Bridge was a good song, considering there are dozens of bridges in Chengdu and about loneliness and love of a city which was very fitting and clever of me. I even replaced lyrics to directly say Chengdu. Nobody got it. Polite applause. I got drunk after with the other musicians who were super friendly and supportive. My first gig in China. Free beer as payment.
Anyhow, I’m trying to get a band together in China now. That’s my next big project here. Watch out Chengdu.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
English Teacher
When I first decided to arrive to China I vowed I would never be an English Teacher. Those two words came to symbolize everything I was cliche about a Foreigner in China; virtually every foreigner I met on my travels here had done it. Most for the easy money, plying the one huge advantage they have over the locals. I met a Polish girl in Qingdao who taught English to young children at a private school. I asked her whether the kids know she is not an American, as her strong accent was clearly not of the English speaking world. She sheepishly replied that the school told the kids and their parents that she was an American..hey just look at her white face and blue eyes! Then she proceeded to ask me an English grammar point. Jesus. I wanted none of that.
A few weeks later, at a near bottom low emotional point I decided to become an English teacher, going against all my previous dogged preconception because I knew I needed to do something in China to give me a sense of purpose and routine. Drifting from city to city, friends come and go, lack of family, it was causing my brain to cave on itself. My girlfriend Parisa at the time, was growing more concerned at my mood swings and depressive episodes. I didn't know what I would do, but I knew I had to do something or spiral down. On second thought, I concluded, being a English teacher would allow me to meet many many Chinese people, and thereby understand China on a different level. I would get paid to talk, something that I'm terribly good at naturally, and it was a perfect opportunity to work on that. Moreover the money and flexibility are quite excellent by Chinese standards. It really was a no lose proposition. I left for Chengdu to have it a go.
I quickly called local schools. Most were friendly and excited over the phone. However most never called me back. Why? Perhaps because I had made it a point to tell them up front that I was an American Born Chinese, and not surprise them at the interview them with my big yellow Chinese looking face. I knew that a lot of these schools prefer Aryan, young, blond looking candidates, and I didn't want to waste my time showing up to interviews where my being Chinese was going to be a problem. One hiring manager who was eager to meet me initially until I told him my ethnicity, apologetically told me over the phone "I'm so sorry. We are only looking for 外教. （Foreign Teachers)" Go fuck yourself I thought. But underneath the resentment I understand. Pretend you are a 45 year old Chinese parent who doesn't speak any English and is shelling out $2000 for your kid. If you see the Polish blond girl in one corner, and me in the other you're going to think her white skin grants her a level of credibility that you can see.
But rationale be damned, I came all the way to China to be discriminated for being Chinese by Chinese people.
Luckily, I met some nice folks at Meten School who overlooked the color of my skin and hired me anyway as a part time teacher: $15 an hour, no training, wear a tie, see you tomorrow!
After some initial bumps, I quickly realized I had an aptitude for teaching English. My brain is always working and teaching English is a good outlet for my mind on speed. I resolved to be the best English teacher at the school to prove that a Chinese American can teach better than all the white guys at the school (btw the preponderance of white guys in China makes me believe that China is some sex playland for them, but that's a whole other post).
The students come in all ages and personalities, but are all generally respectful as teachers are given an automatic high level of respect here. I've taught 10 year old girls so sweet and innocent, that I felt truly angered that they should even be sitting in class talking about the topic of globalization. Shouldn't they be at the park or playing with their friends on a nice Summer day?! Childhoods are short in China. The machine will grind you up no matter if you are rich or poor. The only way to succeed is to study harder, to score higher they are taught. The gas pedal doesn't ease up. Ever. Mostly in my conversations, I sense a resignation and sadness amongst the young people. The more introverted thoughtful ones know what lies ahead, hope for something different, but hope is painful if cannot be realized, so they trudge along and forget about it.
My favorite student is Marayan, a 18 year old Hui (Muslim) ethnic student who is from a rich background, but despite that he rails against the Chinese government and the Sheep he calls Chinese people. One time, we were talking about Japan, a topic I often bring up to gauge my students, and he asked me a question.
"Do you know why Chinese people hate the Japanese?
I fidgeted, calculating the exact correct answer I should give as a teacher, and the reasons I knew to be the truth. "History." I answered. I wasn't lying, but I wanted to see what he wanted to say.
"No teacher. Because we need someone to hate."
I let out a huge laugh before I could stop myself. "Now, there is a student I like!" I thought to myself.
Most of my native English speaking colleagues are nice with their own reasons for being in China. There's Jacob, the 23 year old from Virginia who fell in love with a Sichuanese girl and followed her home. There's Jayden, a 20 year old Aussie, who's good looking enough to be a model in China and the heart-throb at school. There's Melo, a Botswanian woman who likes hang out at the local reggae bar on her off hours and smoke the regular spliff. Mostly we sit around the foreigner teacher office bitching as a sort of way of social bonding. "Man whoever the hell came up with 'the History of Jewelry' as a lesson topic should be forced to sit through it for all eternity."
But mostly, I hang with my Chinese coworkers who are sweet interesting people. We eat dinner, go drinking, gossip. I feel a level of closeness that I didn't in my American work life. They are my windows into young Chinese people. I am one of them but not. That pretty much sums up my life in China actually. In the middle in the Middle Kingdom.
A few weeks later, at a near bottom low emotional point I decided to become an English teacher, going against all my previous dogged preconception because I knew I needed to do something in China to give me a sense of purpose and routine. Drifting from city to city, friends come and go, lack of family, it was causing my brain to cave on itself. My girlfriend Parisa at the time, was growing more concerned at my mood swings and depressive episodes. I didn't know what I would do, but I knew I had to do something or spiral down. On second thought, I concluded, being a English teacher would allow me to meet many many Chinese people, and thereby understand China on a different level. I would get paid to talk, something that I'm terribly good at naturally, and it was a perfect opportunity to work on that. Moreover the money and flexibility are quite excellent by Chinese standards. It really was a no lose proposition. I left for Chengdu to have it a go.
I quickly called local schools. Most were friendly and excited over the phone. However most never called me back. Why? Perhaps because I had made it a point to tell them up front that I was an American Born Chinese, and not surprise them at the interview them with my big yellow Chinese looking face. I knew that a lot of these schools prefer Aryan, young, blond looking candidates, and I didn't want to waste my time showing up to interviews where my being Chinese was going to be a problem. One hiring manager who was eager to meet me initially until I told him my ethnicity, apologetically told me over the phone "I'm so sorry. We are only looking for 外教. （Foreign Teachers)" Go fuck yourself I thought. But underneath the resentment I understand. Pretend you are a 45 year old Chinese parent who doesn't speak any English and is shelling out $2000 for your kid. If you see the Polish blond girl in one corner, and me in the other you're going to think her white skin grants her a level of credibility that you can see.
But rationale be damned, I came all the way to China to be discriminated for being Chinese by Chinese people.
Luckily, I met some nice folks at Meten School who overlooked the color of my skin and hired me anyway as a part time teacher: $15 an hour, no training, wear a tie, see you tomorrow!
After some initial bumps, I quickly realized I had an aptitude for teaching English. My brain is always working and teaching English is a good outlet for my mind on speed. I resolved to be the best English teacher at the school to prove that a Chinese American can teach better than all the white guys at the school (btw the preponderance of white guys in China makes me believe that China is some sex playland for them, but that's a whole other post).
The students come in all ages and personalities, but are all generally respectful as teachers are given an automatic high level of respect here. I've taught 10 year old girls so sweet and innocent, that I felt truly angered that they should even be sitting in class talking about the topic of globalization. Shouldn't they be at the park or playing with their friends on a nice Summer day?! Childhoods are short in China. The machine will grind you up no matter if you are rich or poor. The only way to succeed is to study harder, to score higher they are taught. The gas pedal doesn't ease up. Ever. Mostly in my conversations, I sense a resignation and sadness amongst the young people. The more introverted thoughtful ones know what lies ahead, hope for something different, but hope is painful if cannot be realized, so they trudge along and forget about it.
My favorite student is Marayan, a 18 year old Hui (Muslim) ethnic student who is from a rich background, but despite that he rails against the Chinese government and the Sheep he calls Chinese people. One time, we were talking about Japan, a topic I often bring up to gauge my students, and he asked me a question.
"Do you know why Chinese people hate the Japanese?
I fidgeted, calculating the exact correct answer I should give as a teacher, and the reasons I knew to be the truth. "History." I answered. I wasn't lying, but I wanted to see what he wanted to say.
"No teacher. Because we need someone to hate."
I let out a huge laugh before I could stop myself. "Now, there is a student I like!" I thought to myself.
Most of my native English speaking colleagues are nice with their own reasons for being in China. There's Jacob, the 23 year old from Virginia who fell in love with a Sichuanese girl and followed her home. There's Jayden, a 20 year old Aussie, who's good looking enough to be a model in China and the heart-throb at school. There's Melo, a Botswanian woman who likes hang out at the local reggae bar on her off hours and smoke the regular spliff. Mostly we sit around the foreigner teacher office bitching as a sort of way of social bonding. "Man whoever the hell came up with 'the History of Jewelry' as a lesson topic should be forced to sit through it for all eternity."
But mostly, I hang with my Chinese coworkers who are sweet interesting people. We eat dinner, go drinking, gossip. I feel a level of closeness that I didn't in my American work life. They are my windows into young Chinese people. I am one of them but not. That pretty much sums up my life in China actually. In the middle in the Middle Kingdom.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Chengdu
I haven't posted in 5 months due to the Chinese Gov's attempt to stifle blogging, social networking of any kind due to the recent events in Western China. Finally I found a way to bypass the firewall.
What has happened since?
I got the hell out of Qingdao. That place really got my down.
I moved to Shanghai, to be with my girlfriend, stayed there lost for a month and broke up with her, not knowing what I would do next.
I came to Chengdu to find a new city, a new job, new apartment, new friends, a new life...
I work as an English Teacher at a large English school. The best part are my coworkers and meeting the ocassional brilliant and open minded Chinese student who wants to talk politics and spar. I have taken to being subversive. I bring up topics such as Japan to my students to see how far I can push their molded-by-propaganda minds.
I climbed Emeishan with my friend Thinh. No more fucking Chinese mountains again. 2 days of hiking straight up, with rain, monkeys, stairs that would never end, thin air. That said, I'm glad I did it. Now let's never do it again.
What they say about Chengdu is true - a beautiful relaxed city with even more beautiful women. They say places near rivers breed beautiful women and mountains breed handsome men. I literally live next to a river. Bodes well.
The food here is way too oily and spicy. Actually the spice I can handle. It's ubiquitous and I barely notice it's presence. The oiliness is over the top though. If only we could convert cars to run on all the chili laced crimson oil from Sichuan. Then we would solve global warming.
Ok going to eat some Kung Pao Chicken for dinner now. Seriously.
What has happened since?
I got the hell out of Qingdao. That place really got my down.
I moved to Shanghai, to be with my girlfriend, stayed there lost for a month and broke up with her, not knowing what I would do next.
I came to Chengdu to find a new city, a new job, new apartment, new friends, a new life...
I work as an English Teacher at a large English school. The best part are my coworkers and meeting the ocassional brilliant and open minded Chinese student who wants to talk politics and spar. I have taken to being subversive. I bring up topics such as Japan to my students to see how far I can push their molded-by-propaganda minds.
I climbed Emeishan with my friend Thinh. No more fucking Chinese mountains again. 2 days of hiking straight up, with rain, monkeys, stairs that would never end, thin air. That said, I'm glad I did it. Now let's never do it again.
What they say about Chengdu is true - a beautiful relaxed city with even more beautiful women. They say places near rivers breed beautiful women and mountains breed handsome men. I literally live next to a river. Bodes well.
The food here is way too oily and spicy. Actually the spice I can handle. It's ubiquitous and I barely notice it's presence. The oiliness is over the top though. If only we could convert cars to run on all the chili laced crimson oil from Sichuan. Then we would solve global warming.
Ok going to eat some Kung Pao Chicken for dinner now. Seriously.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Random Encounters
So far my experience in Qingdao has been mostly boredom, frustration, and loneliness punctuated by random but wonderful experiences that make it all worthwhile.
I started hanging around with David, a really nice German guy in my Chinese class who is known for being hit in the head with a beer bottle by a Russian guy in a bar. That's another story...David then asks me if I am interested in meeting his German friend Maren who wants to find a English speaking language partner for her coworker. I say, "Yeah, sure thing." without much interest to be honest. Next day we arrange to meet up and I hit it off with Maren and her Chinese friend Michelle. Michelle met Maren by chance on a bus a week before. Maren and Michelle become my weekend friends because they satisfy
Elliott's New Criteria for Friendship:
1. Smart.
2. Kind.
3. Not full of bullshit.
Next thing I know, Michelle invites us over to her hometown of Gaomi for dinner. I jump at the chance because it's one of the things I want to do most in China. We head out last weekend by train, and it's everything I hoped for: super kind parents, shy cousins, delicious food, wonderful hospitality, and incomprehensible dialect. I felt grateful and humbled to be given the chance.
But it all ends abruptly. Maren is going back to Germany next week and Michelle is going back to school in Qufu. I'm left in Qingdao now trying to see what random people will walk into my life next.
I have a feeling it will be more Germans. I seem to have good karma with them. Of all the nationalities here I get along best with them. They are smart, honest, and dark humored. I ask them about David Hasselhoff and they ask me whether all Americans are such dumbasses. It's really hard to justify electing Arnold Schwarzenegger as your Governor. Try it.
I get brownie points when I try to speak to them in German from the 4 years I took in high school. They seem very pleased that any American can speak their language. Interestingly there are very few Americans in Qingdao. I think it is because Americans are very uninteresed in China compared to the rest of the world. A shame considering the next century will be a Chinese/American one.
From my experience so far I think Chinese people understand America much better than Americans understand China. The Chinese I've met have been very candid in saying that they think America is trying to use Tibet and Taiwan as a tool to keep China divided and politically weak. At first I thought this was Chinese proproganda. But on second thought, I think they're right. Just as much as they are raised on Chinese proproganda, the West has been raised on it's own. Ok enough of my stump speech. I'm just saying, give the Tibet thing a rest. Are we giving back America to the Native Americans? I think not.
I started hanging around with David, a really nice German guy in my Chinese class who is known for being hit in the head with a beer bottle by a Russian guy in a bar. That's another story...David then asks me if I am interested in meeting his German friend Maren who wants to find a English speaking language partner for her coworker. I say, "Yeah, sure thing." without much interest to be honest. Next day we arrange to meet up and I hit it off with Maren and her Chinese friend Michelle. Michelle met Maren by chance on a bus a week before. Maren and Michelle become my weekend friends because they satisfy
Elliott's New Criteria for Friendship:
1. Smart.
2. Kind.
3. Not full of bullshit.
Next thing I know, Michelle invites us over to her hometown of Gaomi for dinner. I jump at the chance because it's one of the things I want to do most in China. We head out last weekend by train, and it's everything I hoped for: super kind parents, shy cousins, delicious food, wonderful hospitality, and incomprehensible dialect. I felt grateful and humbled to be given the chance.
But it all ends abruptly. Maren is going back to Germany next week and Michelle is going back to school in Qufu. I'm left in Qingdao now trying to see what random people will walk into my life next.
I have a feeling it will be more Germans. I seem to have good karma with them. Of all the nationalities here I get along best with them. They are smart, honest, and dark humored. I ask them about David Hasselhoff and they ask me whether all Americans are such dumbasses. It's really hard to justify electing Arnold Schwarzenegger as your Governor. Try it.
I get brownie points when I try to speak to them in German from the 4 years I took in high school. They seem very pleased that any American can speak their language. Interestingly there are very few Americans in Qingdao. I think it is because Americans are very uninteresed in China compared to the rest of the world. A shame considering the next century will be a Chinese/American one.
From my experience so far I think Chinese people understand America much better than Americans understand China. The Chinese I've met have been very candid in saying that they think America is trying to use Tibet and Taiwan as a tool to keep China divided and politically weak. At first I thought this was Chinese proproganda. But on second thought, I think they're right. Just as much as they are raised on Chinese proproganda, the West has been raised on it's own. Ok enough of my stump speech. I'm just saying, give the Tibet thing a rest. Are we giving back America to the Native Americans? I think not.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Qingdao
I've been in Qingdao for over 3 weeks now. My daily routine is thus:
7:30am Wake up.
8:00 Go to class where the teacher speaks too fast and I learn inane words like 超声波 Ultrasonic Wave.
9:00 Break 1, I go for a smoke with my Japanese friend Honda-san, a retiree who I like chatting with in my broken mandarin.
10:00 Break 2, I talk to Ian, a fellow American. Ian is very popular among the Korean girls here as he is 1/2 Korean himself and can speak with them. They generally wave and say hi to me, but they can't speak much Chinese and I don't speak Korean so it ends up getting old fast. The Korean guys just smoke a lot.
11:00 Break 3, I avoid Phillip, or as I call him the Polish Asshole. All the guys hate him in class. A royal turd of a person who is arrogant, rude, and stupid. The girls seem to like him as they think he's funny and cool. Says a lot about something.
12:00 End of school. If I am feeling good I go eat with someone. We head to 青大一路, the local food street for students where we eat very well for $3. On special days I get drunk at lunch. On depressed days, I order some noodles and ask myself what the hell I am doing in China.
1:oopm I go back to my room and nap for an hour.
2:00 I wake up and avoid studying by blogging or calling someone back in the States. Why don't people call me?
6:00 I try to figure out my dinner plans. The school cafeteria is monstrously big, loud, and not too appetizing. I've eaten there once so far, but most foreigners avoid it. I think tonight I will go with the Indonesians. They like to eat well and I don't have to talk too much with them.
7:00 Study the endless list of Chinese characters that all sound the same. I am feeling better that I can read more and more, which keeps me going.
10:00 Call my girlfriend in Shanghai. She's just moved there and is not liking it too much. We speak in Mandarin now which is pretty cool. Mainly it's her speaking and me going through my pat set of 200 phrases. Then I watch some TV. Chinese TV is pretty awful full of bad state produced media or hilarious chinese infomercials. Korean TV is pretty awful, but the people look nice and the characters are reassuring in their 2 dimensional way. Japanese TV is much better and relaxes me. I like to watch their cooking shows. Thank you NHK.
12:00 Sleep on a rock hard bed that is killing my back. What's up with the beds China?
On weekends I hang out with the motley crew of friends I have here to avoid the nagging sense of loneliness and confusion that creeps into my mind when I am alone.
7:30am Wake up.
8:00 Go to class where the teacher speaks too fast and I learn inane words like 超声波 Ultrasonic Wave.
9:00 Break 1, I go for a smoke with my Japanese friend Honda-san, a retiree who I like chatting with in my broken mandarin.
10:00 Break 2, I talk to Ian, a fellow American. Ian is very popular among the Korean girls here as he is 1/2 Korean himself and can speak with them. They generally wave and say hi to me, but they can't speak much Chinese and I don't speak Korean so it ends up getting old fast. The Korean guys just smoke a lot.
11:00 Break 3, I avoid Phillip, or as I call him the Polish Asshole. All the guys hate him in class. A royal turd of a person who is arrogant, rude, and stupid. The girls seem to like him as they think he's funny and cool. Says a lot about something.
12:00 End of school. If I am feeling good I go eat with someone. We head to 青大一路, the local food street for students where we eat very well for $3. On special days I get drunk at lunch. On depressed days, I order some noodles and ask myself what the hell I am doing in China.
1:oopm I go back to my room and nap for an hour.
2:00 I wake up and avoid studying by blogging or calling someone back in the States. Why don't people call me?
6:00 I try to figure out my dinner plans. The school cafeteria is monstrously big, loud, and not too appetizing. I've eaten there once so far, but most foreigners avoid it. I think tonight I will go with the Indonesians. They like to eat well and I don't have to talk too much with them.
7:00 Study the endless list of Chinese characters that all sound the same. I am feeling better that I can read more and more, which keeps me going.
10:00 Call my girlfriend in Shanghai. She's just moved there and is not liking it too much. We speak in Mandarin now which is pretty cool. Mainly it's her speaking and me going through my pat set of 200 phrases. Then I watch some TV. Chinese TV is pretty awful full of bad state produced media or hilarious chinese infomercials. Korean TV is pretty awful, but the people look nice and the characters are reassuring in their 2 dimensional way. Japanese TV is much better and relaxes me. I like to watch their cooking shows. Thank you NHK.
12:00 Sleep on a rock hard bed that is killing my back. What's up with the beds China?
On weekends I hang out with the motley crew of friends I have here to avoid the nagging sense of loneliness and confusion that creeps into my mind when I am alone.
Friday, February 27, 2009
And so it begins.
I sit here in my single simple dorm room in Qingdao, a sunny cold city in Shandong Province that borders the sea. Here I have no friends yet as I have just arrived earlier today off a red eye flight.
It's always a strange feeling to know no one in a place...it''s as if the fact of my invisibility hightens my own sense of myself and my thoughts. Here I have no memories. Here I practice my habit of slowly walking around a new town, getting used to each street to build familiarity, increasing my radius each day until I feel more at ease. Here I realize the Putonghua is familiar but strangely accented as I struggle to order a simple 3 Yuan meal of noodles off a menu three months ago I could not read at all. Here I'm too tired to make friends right now and too lonely to not want to make them. I know that this feeling is natural, comforting me to know that things will be fine. Here the signage is in Korean too and more than half my classmates are Koreans, as Qingdao happens to sit directly across from Seoul. A city that is used to straddling nationalities, Qingdao was once held by the Germans who were granted a concession at a time when China was forcibly opened and exploited by foreign nations earlier this century in a humiliating chapter of its history that resulted in the Cultural Revolution. Of the more positive remnants of colonialism, they behind their architecture and beer, of which one is much more popular.
Here my dorm room is so simple as to highten my appreciation for every single thing in it. I can literally count the things in it with my fingers: I have a TV, a desk, a bed, a bookshelf, a nightstand, and an air conditioner. That's it. I add my own flavor to this room with my own possessions which can fit in one suitcase, a backpack, and guitar case. "Who really needs anything more?" I think to myself.
Priori to this, I had just spent the last week in Wuhan having a love affair with a girl 12 years my junior that I had met online 3 months ago while practicing my Chinese. One thing led to another and I decided to visit her before coming out to Qingdao. She's a pretty, sweet, funny, and clever girl who sings semi-professionally a la Mariah Carey, works at Century 21 Real Estate as a graphic designer (I think), likes Lychee flavored potato chips, and has only one boyfriend before me. It occurs to me that what I represent to a lot of girls in China, is a channel for them to escape the dreary oppressiveness of old China as they struggle to sort out their own place in this country that has gone through so much monumental cultural shifts. Women have a hard life here. Actually life is hard here. Period. Girls here often comment that I feel very Chinese to them, which I take as a compliment now. From the outside looking in, I can see why they find me so interesting. The guitar doesn't hurt either. I've said before that being in China is like an episode of Star Trek where the Enterprise's crew finds themselves in a parallel universe where things are familiar yet twisted as they struggle to survive until they can find a way back. Except in my case, I don't want to go back to my former reality. Now she wants me to move in with her either here or in Shanghai but I am not sure I'm ready for that as I am just beginning a new life in a new city. A good dilemma to have I think.
So here I am, a southern Cantonese speaker who grew up in America, now in a city built by Germans and now surrounded by Koreans to learn Chinese at age 34. Life is strange. I settle in to my stiff bed to know that all that lays before me has not happened yet..that each intersection of time, place, and person still lays open and uncommitted. And so it begins.
It's always a strange feeling to know no one in a place...it''s as if the fact of my invisibility hightens my own sense of myself and my thoughts. Here I have no memories. Here I practice my habit of slowly walking around a new town, getting used to each street to build familiarity, increasing my radius each day until I feel more at ease. Here I realize the Putonghua is familiar but strangely accented as I struggle to order a simple 3 Yuan meal of noodles off a menu three months ago I could not read at all. Here I'm too tired to make friends right now and too lonely to not want to make them. I know that this feeling is natural, comforting me to know that things will be fine. Here the signage is in Korean too and more than half my classmates are Koreans, as Qingdao happens to sit directly across from Seoul. A city that is used to straddling nationalities, Qingdao was once held by the Germans who were granted a concession at a time when China was forcibly opened and exploited by foreign nations earlier this century in a humiliating chapter of its history that resulted in the Cultural Revolution. Of the more positive remnants of colonialism, they behind their architecture and beer, of which one is much more popular.
Here my dorm room is so simple as to highten my appreciation for every single thing in it. I can literally count the things in it with my fingers: I have a TV, a desk, a bed, a bookshelf, a nightstand, and an air conditioner. That's it. I add my own flavor to this room with my own possessions which can fit in one suitcase, a backpack, and guitar case. "Who really needs anything more?" I think to myself.
Priori to this, I had just spent the last week in Wuhan having a love affair with a girl 12 years my junior that I had met online 3 months ago while practicing my Chinese. One thing led to another and I decided to visit her before coming out to Qingdao. She's a pretty, sweet, funny, and clever girl who sings semi-professionally a la Mariah Carey, works at Century 21 Real Estate as a graphic designer (I think), likes Lychee flavored potato chips, and has only one boyfriend before me. It occurs to me that what I represent to a lot of girls in China, is a channel for them to escape the dreary oppressiveness of old China as they struggle to sort out their own place in this country that has gone through so much monumental cultural shifts. Women have a hard life here. Actually life is hard here. Period. Girls here often comment that I feel very Chinese to them, which I take as a compliment now. From the outside looking in, I can see why they find me so interesting. The guitar doesn't hurt either. I've said before that being in China is like an episode of Star Trek where the Enterprise's crew finds themselves in a parallel universe where things are familiar yet twisted as they struggle to survive until they can find a way back. Except in my case, I don't want to go back to my former reality. Now she wants me to move in with her either here or in Shanghai but I am not sure I'm ready for that as I am just beginning a new life in a new city. A good dilemma to have I think.
So here I am, a southern Cantonese speaker who grew up in America, now in a city built by Germans and now surrounded by Koreans to learn Chinese at age 34. Life is strange. I settle in to my stiff bed to know that all that lays before me has not happened yet..that each intersection of time, place, and person still lays open and uncommitted. And so it begins.
Friday, January 30, 2009
10 Things I Learned About People By Selling My Things on Craigslist
Over the course of the last few weeks I've been selling everything I own on Craigslist except my soul. It's liberating learning how little you really need. In addition here's what I learned about human nature:
- Haggling is done not for money's sake, but because it makes people feel better. They feel like they got a deal. Therefore mark up your items by 10% and let them feel better. It's a win win.
- People basically will look like what you think they will look like from their emails and phone conversations.
- 50% of people are flaky and don't show up when they say they will.
- Most people have decided they will buy your item when they arrive. If they come, they will buy and will hand you the money precounted out in 20's.
- There are some people who try to appeal to your compassion (mostly young women) and appeal for you to sell your $600 bike for $400 because they don't have the money. Tough nuts lady. If you can afford a $400 bike, you can afford to pay the $600 I asked.
- Men with trucks are the saints of the world, and are under appreciated. Thank them.
- Pretty girls with baby voices get their way with men with trucks.
- I'm glad I have music as a hobby. It has great resale value too. But strangely only men seem to buy music equipment. I have never sold any music related item in all my years to a woman.
- Smiling and being polite go a long way in life.
- People are basically fair, honest, and nice.
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