My Professional Development

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 Next weekend, after a two-day workweek due to Mid-Autumn Festival and National Holiday, I will hop on a plane and fly to Bangkok for a weekend of professional development on conferring with students.  This past Friday we had an in-house PD day on eLearning, curriculum and Writer’s Workshop.  This follows a week of workshops and model lessons given by Dr. Stevi Quate, a Writer’s Workshop guru who was flown in for a week just for our benefit.  In the next few months, I will take a class that Dr. Quate is offering through SUNY for credit, I will attend further training on Critical Friends Groups, and I will apply to attend Teacher’s College at Columbia in the summer.  Even if you are not a teacher and have no idea what I’m talking about, I hope you can appreciate that… I’m learning a lot.

This school is not about mediocrity.  Stagnancy is not an option when surrounded by a bunch of overachievers. As a very wise mentor of mine always says, quoting Proverbs, “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” While super inspiring, I have personally had a lot of issues with this.  The “keeping up” that I feel I have to do is almost overwhelming.  And for a perfectionist, (which I guess I am when it comes to my job) this is really hard. 

I guess I have finally come to a healthy conclusion.  “I don’t have to be good at everything.”

Duh.

But seriously, it took me 11 years of teaching to get this?

Yeah well, I was always kind of a slow learner I guess.  I think I can finally look around me and say, “Yeah, she is good at technology. That is her gift. Yeah and her, she is really good at dynamic active lessons.  I can learn from that.  She is really good at the workshop method; good for her!”  I think finally my immediate reaction isn’t, “I gotta be good at that.” Because…

“I don’t have to be good at everything.”

But I would like to be good at something.  I’m not saying I have no talents.  This is not a pity party.  But I would like to be the go to person for something. 

And I think I’ve figured it out, finally.  I think I want to be good at readin’ and writin’.  Literacy, we teachers call it.  I like readin’. I like writin’. I’m not great at either, but I think in learning it myself, I will become a better teacher.  French did not come easily to me, but I think that made me a better language teacher.  I had to learn lots of tricks and tips to survive college level French, so I guess the hard work I did made life easier for my students. 

So, I think it will be the same with my language arts students.  It is humbling to tell a kid, “Reading Jane Eyre has been really hard for me.” But also, how endearing is that?  I struggle, so it’s okay if you struggle. That is what the workshop method is all about, exploring reading and writing alongside the learners in your classroom.  It’s something that I find really cool.  It’s something I really want to try out in my classroom.

And humbly I have to admit…I have no idea how to do it, yet.

But this—this is something I wanna be good at.

Why China?

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 When I first began telling people that I was going to move to China, I often got the question, “Why China?”  I would usually respond with a long explanation about the opportunities at this school, the benefits of teaching here and the need for adventure.  But really, the answer is much longer and more complex.  It involves multiple experiences woven in and out of my life.  I truly believe it was more than simple chance that brought me to China. 

When I was a kid I remember “digging a hole to China” on the playground at Rosehill Elementary School.   There was an area of the playground on a hill that had significant erosion.  I would grab a woodchip from the play area and start digging.  I got nowhere near to China, but I found some great clay soil.  I think I was always a little obsessed with this idea of digging a straight line underground and ending up on the other side of the world.  Funny enough, sometimes I think that would be easier than enduring an Economy class flight on United. 

In sixth grade, we had a massive project called “country reports.”  As my sixth grade mind remembers, it took at least the entire year to complete.  It involved learning how to do research, take notes, create outlines, and use the writing process to create a final draft.  I still have my final draft.  On the cover is a hand drawn red flag with a large yellow star and four small stars.  I spent a year of my life learning about China’s geography, history and culture.  I think it was about this time my dad first took me to a Chinese restaurant in a strip mall.  I think it was called Jade Garden, or Jade Palace or something of that nature.  He introduced me to Egg Fu Yong and Mu Shu Pork.  How exotic!  I learned how to use chopsticks… kind of. 

Just like most things in my life, I rebelled against China in my high school and college years. There were so many new and exciting things to learn about and experience.  I even shunned Chinese food.  But really, if you lived in Manhattan, Kansas, you would have passed on Hunan buffet too.  I spent my time focusing on my French and traveling to Europe in the summer.  I was SO continental.  Très chic, folks.

Fast forward to 2008.  My sister and I decided to travel to China to have a sister adventure and visit a friend from our church youth group who was living in Shanghai.  When planning the trip, I didn’t have any real desire to visit China.  I was just “along for the ride.”  Asia was not on my radar of places to explore.  Somehow on this trip, things changed.  I didn’t much enjoy Beijing.  Xi’an was noting beautiful.  But then there came Guilin and my long run. 

At the time I was training for a marathon and needed to do a long run.  I woke up before dawn and took off out the door of the Sheraton on the Li River.  As I ran, the morning crept in.  The sounds changed.  Roosters crowed across the river.  People had their morning swim in swift current.  Tai Chi and waltzing began along the promenade.  The smells of steamed buns wafted around.  It was magical.  When people ask me about my favorite part of my trip, it was that morning. 

I’m not sure if it was the runner’s high or a moment of providence, but I felt at pure peace as I heard a very matter of fact voice in my head that said, “You will come back.  You will live here.” 

I smiled and chucked it away.  Didn’t tell my sister.  Didn’t tell anyone.  People frown on hearing voices.

But, when I finally made the decision to pursue international teaching that little voice kept peeping in. 

At the career fair, the doors to Abu Dhabi and Dubai closed, while the door to China opened wider and wider.  Shekou began to feel more and more right for me.  Remember my friend that we went to visit in Shanghai? Her family had moved to Shenzhen and her kids attended this school.  If that is not another voice speaking to me, I’m not sure what is.

Am I meant to be here?  Yes.  There is too much evidence in the affirmative to argue.

So, “Why China?”

That’s why. 

Oh-leem-peek-uh…

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Otherwise known as The Olympics in the western pronunciation. 

I have had the “joy” of being able to watch the Olympics while here.  But of course, watching the games here is decidedly different than watching in the states. 

Obviously, all commentary is in Chinese. I prefer watching coverage on Pearl TV; I guess I just like the lulling singsong of Cantonese better.  I have learned that I am in no way qualified to be a judge in any sport.  While watching diving, I see a dive and come to my own conclusion as to what the score should be. Since I can’t understand the immediate reaction of the tv commentators, I am on my own to come up with a score.  I am generally WAY off. 

I’ve also missed out on a lot of the athletes’ back-stories.  Which really make these games much more compelling.  This I miss.

When I first started watching the games, I was amazed by the number of times CCTV showed montages of Chinese athletes being wildly successful while playing “We are the Champions.” My immediate reaction was, “Nice propaganda, China.”  But then when I really thought about it, we do the exact same thing!  Well, maybe we choose a more timely song, but we do the same thing and call it patriotism!  Yay America!  So, why not? Yay, China. (Don’t get me wrong.  I cheer for the US.  Always.  But in the absence of any US competitors, I support the Chinese athletes.  This is my home-away-from-home country for the time being.)

I have really enjoyed the coverage of CCTV and it’s differences with the NBC networks.  Racquet sports are covered much more in depth here, for obvious reasons.  Badminton is crazy popular, as is table tennis.  The ‘stars’ of badminton are on soda and beer commercials.  Picture LeBron James with a racquet and birdy and you are starting to get the idea.  The badminton fiasco with the Chinese and South Korean teams was a big deal here.  I kind of can't wait to see the public apology they have to give upon their return.  I have seen more shooting, archery and synchronized everything than in all of my previous Olympic experience combined. Yet I didn’t see a single beach volleyball match.  Darn it. 

My favorite CCTV moment though was during an interview of an athlete.  I have no idea what happened. I can’t remember the sport. I have no idea what the outcome of the athlete’s performance was, but during the interview he started crying.  Small tears really, nothing big.  In fact, I would just call it ‘misty eyed.’  But boy did CCTV’s cameraman pounce on that little bit of drama.  The camera slowly zoomed in to the one eye that was producing the tear.  And stayed zoomed in for the remainder of the interview.  I’d say if he wanted to capture “drama”, he missed and just captured “painfully awkward” instead. 

I have to say, I have really missed the Olympics coverage in the US.  I missed being a part of all of the proud moments for our US athletes… you know, the ones that made you a bit misty eyed.  I miss hearing the Olympic Theme (They don’t play that here!).

But hey, I’ve also missed out on political commercials, so…

One-year Anniversary

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One year ago today, I disembarked the ferry in Shekou to begin my adventure in China.  What a difference a year makes. 

Swagger is not the right word, but if there is a word that is a smidgen above confidence, I’ve got it. I feel different this time.

This year, when I was quoted an outrageous price for a taxi ride home from the ferry terminal I not only recognized I was being fleeced, but I argued with the driver.  “Too much! 50 RMB?!  Don’t want!” Too much!”  He came down 20 RMB, but even so I knew I was getting taken.  Didn’t fall for that this year. 

I’m more likely to use the Chinese that I know.  I felt quite a lot of pride the other day when I understood the lady at 7-11 asking me if I had one RMB and I said, “I have.”  Really, a big moment for me.  I’ve also added a few new phrases.  “It’s okay.” “Is it okay?” “Here and there” (I learned those during a massage. Contextual learning is so helpful). “I have”, “I don’t have” and “Do you have?” My goal is to take proper lessons this year.  I’m tired of just grunting and mumbling to communicate. 

I am not as hesitant to do things “out in China.”  The western stores around my apartment complex cater to English speakers and so when you go to any of those stores, life is pretty easy.  I will admit, last year I would get huge anxiety when I had to go to stores that probably didn’t have English speaking workers.  This year… not so much.  I went to buy a coffee maker and instead of giving up when I couldn’t find them I actually used my limited Chinese to ask if they had one in storage.  It sounded like this, “Do you have this (point to display model)?” Woman nodding in comprehension of what I said, “Have.” Win.

So one year later, I’ve amassed a lot of random useful and useless information about living in China. 

That is why I was so pleased to welcome my friend Sara to the wonderful world of China.  Sara will be placed as an artist in residence at an international school in Beijing.  After learning a bit about the program, it sounds like an amazing experience. 

Sara arrived in HK on Monday night and will spend the next three days learning about the artist in residence program before moving on to her new home in Beijing.  I think Hong Kong is a nice transition between the United States and ‘Real China.’ 

During my time with Sara, I so enjoyed passing on what knowledge I could.  Our conversations ranged from customary Chinese dining habits to the importance of carrying a small packet of toilet paper with you at all times.  It was also fun watching Sara take in all of her new surroundings.  I remember the first time I saw the lights and neon signs of Kowloon at night and loved reliving it with my new friend.  I just can’t wait to hear her stories of discovery when she gets to her new home city and I hope to learn about life in Beijing from her soon. What adventures she will have!

I have to say; I am really looking forward to this new year of learning more about this country, the language and if I’m honest, myself. 

End of Year One

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 At my old school we had some wonderful last day of school traditions.  We go outside to the bus lot, let the kids run around and sign yearbooks then we go in for our final assembly.  The end of the day is marked by a loud countdown followed by the bell and a huge cheer from both staff and students.  We herd the kids out the door and do the “wave” for buses as they leave.  It’s one of my favorites times of the year.  Not just because it begins my summer vacation, but it is such a happy time.

I have to say, the last day at an international school or at least our school is quite different.  Bittersweet is the word, I think.  More bitter than sweet.

We began the day with our awards assembly.  And I have to say, it was so cool seeing kids get really and truly excited about receiving recognition for their achievements in academics and citizenship.  And to watch the audience really cheer for them!  So often in US schools the kids with good grades and good behavior are considered “nerds” and don’t get the accolades they deserve, except from teachers and parents. It’s exciting to see kids making “good” the new “cool.”

On the other hand, it was sad to see a few of my kids upset when they didn’t get honors or high honors.  One said, “I was so close, if it wasn’t for PE.” So she and I had a discussion about how to improve in PE.  (Really teachers, can you imagine having this conversation! Most kids LOVE PE!)We tried to make it a learning experience.

Then our students had time to mosey the middle school floor and sign yearbooks.  This is when the crying started.  Yes, there was crying at my old school, but that was more like, “Oh, I’m so sad.  What if I don’t see you at the pool this summer? Boo hoo.” This crying was, “Oh my gosh, my best friend is moving to Qatar/Finland/Singapore/The United States and I will probably never see them again. “  Multiply that by all of the students who were leaving (many).  And you can begin to understand the sadness. 

But this is when Third Culture Kids shine the most.  They are so intensely supportive of each other.  I have never seen anything like it.  They say things to each other like, “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” and “It’s not good-bye, it’s see you soon.”  I watched as two of my 8^th graders, 14 year old boys, comfort each other like grown men.  There were strong man hugs, pats on the back and “Man, it’s gonna be okay, man.  You’ll do great, man.” It was enough to make me tear up a bit as well. 

When the end of the day came, there was no fanfare. No countdown, no bell, no cheers of joy.  It was more like, “Ms Jarr, can we go?”  I look at my watch, “Uh, yeah.  Have a good summer!” Anti- climax if there ever was one. 

The kids slowly found their way out of the building with much encouragement from teachers.  Except for the high school floor where students could be seen for hours getting yearbooks signed and chatting with teachers. I even found students at the reception desk four hours after school let out to make sure they got Peggy and Coco (our administrative assistants) to sign their yearbooks. So cool. .

I don’t think it was until after lunch (and a celebratory beer) that I really had time to think about the momentous occasion that had occurred. With that fizzling anti-climax came the end of my first year of international teaching.  Whoa. 

I look back to the poor sad sap that was hanging about for most of the year and I almost don’t recognize her.  I feel like next year will be much better. I hopefully won’t be spending every weekend at work.  Hopefully I won’t stay at work every night until dinnertime.  Maybe I might even be able to do a bit more traveling on the weekends (Sadly, I still haven’t been to Macau!) I already feel a bit of a China veteran, so I look forward to being helpful next year to new teachers instead of just constantly asking questions! 

So year one is finished.  It’s packed up.  And it’s on its way home to the US. 

Dear Friend

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Dear Friend,

I’m coming home soon. 

I’m not sure if I’ve ever been more excited.  I have been Miss Excited Dancey Pants for about two months.  I am having trouble sleeping and can barely stay focused at work.

But if I am to be honest with you, as our friendship has always called for, I am scared. 

Worried, anxious, nervous… all of the above. You see, I have changed.  I can’t help it, but I have.  I think you were expecting this. In fact I think you would be upset with me if I hadn’t. You encouraged me to take on this adventure and soak in every experience, learn from it and grow.  And I have.  I can deal with my changes.  I’m not sure I can deal with yours. 

I know you have changed.  You had to. You have had parties, and I wasn’t there. You had a beautify baby, who I haven’t met yet.  You had hilarious conversations that I was not a part of.  You planned a wedding and I’ve never even met the lucky guy.  You were on a TV game show and I couldn’t cheer you on.  I couldn’t walk beside you when you needed to talk.  I couldn’t be your shoulder to cry on when your mom was really sick, even though I really wanted to. You won trivia games without my expertise. You did amazing things, without me.  You lived life, without me.

And you’re fine. 

In fact, you’re great.

So, where do I fit in now?

Now that I’m back…

But just for a bit.

I’ll be entertaining for a while; telling stories of my adventures in Asia, but then you’ll get bored of my tales.  I’ll get tired of telling them.  I’ll want to be normal again and you’ll want me to shut up.  So what then?  What will we talk about? I’m scared we won’t talk.  And I need that so much.  I need to fill my cistern with memories of you and me.  So when I need them, I can pull them up and bathe in our friendship. 

Will we be friends?  We can’t go back to the way things were. We’ve both changed too much.  But can these two new people, who were so dear to each other before, create something new upon the scaffolding of the way we were?  The way things once were?

So dear friend, I share these thoughts with you in the good faith that you know me.  You love me despite myself.  I hope you welcome this new girl back and get to know me again, just as I hope there is a corner reserved for me in your life, that will be so new and strange for me to explore again. 

Much love,

Andrea

Dichotomy

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Sometimes when I describe it to others, I feel as though I am not painting a fair picture of how Shekou truly is. If I talk about how nice my life is here and how I live in a pretty posh place, I feel like I’m neglecting the “rougher” side of Shekou. However when I tell stories of the dirty, gritty, and downright disgusting parts of Shekou I truly feel bad, because, really it’s not that bad. 

So I’m stuck with it dichotomy as my word of choice. 

As per usual, I am writing in the coffee shop, Emily’s (formerly Ande’s).  It is a really nice place.  Good breakfasts, sandwiches and a decent cup of coffee.  As I look around there are no Chinese here.  Not a one.  Wait one lady just walked in for a take away coffee.  But what I love is that all of those delicious sandwiches and mango chicken salad fixings come from the wet market just a few streets over.  I see the delivery guy come with bags of groceries in a giant laundry basket on the back of his electric bike.  The wet market is the same place where you find chickens being deplumed and various pieces of unidentifiable flesh laying out on tables for purchase.  Most ‘green’ westerners would at least utter a few “ughs” while exploring the wet market. But those ingredients take a magical trip through a makeshift kitchen in the closet of a bar or café and suddenly the food is not only acceptable, but it is worth at least three times as much.

It is true that I live a pretty charmed life here.  I can call the coffee shop and have a coffee (yes, one coffee) delivered to my school.  I can order groceries from an online grocery and have them delivered that day.  Many of my co-workers have drivers; someone to call up when they want to go somewhere.  Yesterday a co-workers driver picked us up from work, took us to Ikea, waited, drove us back to her apartment and then proceeded to carry a very large parcel to the apartment for us. 

There are truly two sides to Shekou.  Old Shekou.  Real(er) China.  And the posh, fancy expat side.

There is an area of Shekou called Sea World.  It is not a marine wonderland with whales named Shamu, but it is for sure a wonderland of western style shops and restaurants.  Dunkin’ Donuts, McDonald’s, TCBY, and Kodak as well as western style restaurants ranging from Mexican to German.  It surrounds an open square.  Currently you can rent motorized, plush animals to ride around the square.  Picture fuzzy Powerwheels with blinking eyes and music playing.  It’s meant for kids, but every time I’ve been through there are always adults enjoying the ride. This is truly fake China; plastic, perfect, clean and shiny. 

However if you walk just two blocks toward the water, you will find where the workers live.  The migrant workers who are building this new fake China, of shoddy skyscrapers and flashy Hilton’s.  What they live in, I would best describe as something like shipping containers, stacked one on top of the other.  Their compounds smell strangely like mothballs, I imagine in order to cover the more offensive smells. These men and women have come to the “big city” for a better life.  Every time I see them trudging home from work, I wonder, “Have they found that better life here, or are they just stuck here?”

As much as I try to explain this place, I’m afraid you have the wrong idea.  It’s not a bad as you think.  And it’s not a great as you think. I’ll never do it complete justice, so I feel like I just have to give up on describing Shekou.  So to make things easier, just come and visit. 

Third Culture Kids

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 I guess before I took on this adventure, I believed that people, when they moved abroad, do it for only a few years. I had heard many stories of, “I have a friend who taught in China for two years.”Or, “She did her student teaching in Prague.”

But never had I heard, “We’ve been living abroad for 20 years.”  Or “We’ll go back…never.”

Wha-what?  This is a possibility? This is a way of life?  Living as a modern gypsy, but with a career and a vacation home in Thailand?

Yes, this is a way of life.

I have met many people here who live or plan to live this way.  And in my classroom are the children of these adults.

Enter the Third Culture Child.

She can tell you where she was born, what languages she speaks, where she’s lived, where her parents are from, and what passports she holds. But, ask her where she is from and there is an uncomfortable pause before she begins repeating the litany of personal facts she can tell.

This third culture kid (or TCK) usually has developed the most interesting language skills.  They speak their native language (most of the time) and have taken on English as well.  But not the “American” English we know well, but this lovely hybrid of British, Canadian, Australian, Kiwi and American English.  It is not rare to meet a child, whose parents are Malaysian, who speaks the most perfect valley girl American English. 

Their social skills are amazing.  As they move around the world, TCKs develop skills to easily navigate the ins and outs of expat communities and international schools.  They are quick to make friends, generally extroverts and adapt easily to change.  They are very welcoming and accepting of others differences, which makes teaching them a really satisfying endeavor. 

As great as these traits are, they also have some social difficulties. As TCKs move from place to place, they also develop the coping mechanism of easy detachment.  They never get too invested since they never know when they will be leaving.  They are not very good at future planning. Since they do not know where they might be in the future, to a TCK, there is nothing more important than the present. 

The end of the school year is a tumultuous time for many kids, but especially for TCKs. They are dealing with huge emotions that even adults would deal have difficulties with.  Some of my students are moving back “home.”  Some feel the joy of returning to a familiar place with friends and family waiting.  For others, home is simply the country listed on their passport. It is actually an unfamiliar place with strange customs, strange family and no friends waiting.  But your parents expect you to be happy, because it is home… at least to them.

 The other day in advisory, I had to lead a discussion about our feelings for this time of transition at the end of the year.  Actually, I was a little afraid to try to have a conversation with middle schoolers about their feelings.  I was afraid all I would hear would be chirping of crickets.  But truly I was amazed.  It was like my kids were just waiting for an adult to ask them about how they were feeling.  Words tumbled out of their mouths:  Scared, sad, angry, excited, lonely, why, again, etc.  One of my students just said, “Comma.” When I asked for clarification she just said, “Like, it’s not the end, like to be continued.”

People ask me often about my students.  This is what I want you to know about them.  They are extremely diverse.  They are socially sophisticated in so many ways.  They deal with complex issues of identity and culture on a daily basis. But in the end, they are kids. 

This video is an excellent introduction to TCKs.  I see my students in these interviews.  Thank you Lynne for posting it.  

Bad Habits

--> The other day while on a walk, Colleen and I were discussing some of the habits we have taken on while living here.  Some habits are good… I have become more assertive.  For someone so comfortable in the land of passive aggressive, this is a very good thing.  But some of the habits I have developed are just plain bad: ranging from annoying to down right unsafe.

I have developed the strange habit of replying to questions, especially yes or no questions, with a monosyllabic grunt.  Usually in the form of a “mmmm” or “uh” for yes or agreement, or a shorter more succinct “mm” for no.   I know this will totally annoy some people (mom) and to be honest, I’m pretty annoyed by it myself.  I hope this is the first of my bad habits to leave me when I get home.

So, I’ve also become a bit of a slob. I have an ayi.  She does my dishes and laundry for me.  I actually will leave dishes in the sink for days, knowing that Zhou will eventually do them for me.  Good luck with that dried on oatmeal, Zhou! I haven’t emptied a trash can or scrubbed a toilet in eight months. The most I’ve done is taken down the laundry that Zhou has put out to air-dry. Even that takes me days and I do it with a bit of an attitude. In fact, I’m looking at two shirts, some underwear and shorts that Zhou put out on the drying line on Thursday. It’s Saturday afternoon, I should probably take care of that… after my pedicure.

In restaurants, I have gotten used to some really poor behavior.  And sadly, I engage in it because it is expected. First of all, when you want something, you basically have to shout for it.  I’ve learned to shout, “Fu yu en (sp?)” when I need the waiter or waitress.  At first, when I tried to call the waitress with a weak fu yu en, it didn’t work.  I asked a friend if I was saying it wrong, and he just said, “You have to own your fu yu en." Since that day, I have been able to confidently get the attention of wait staff.  I have also developed the really bad habit of not busing my own table at fast food and coffee shops.  In fact, at my coffee shop, there are no trashcans.  I end up leaving all of my coffee trash on the table. Also, in restaurants, tipping is not expected.  When I was in Canada, I almost forgot to tip the first night I was there.  Thank goodness there was that little line on the bill reminding me of my duty.  I’ve never been one to stiff a tip, but it might happen on accident.  And I will feel the guilt of it for ages.

The habits I am most worried about are the ones that are just plain dangerous.  While walking with Colleen, I walked right between a couple walking the other way.  I, very rudely, walked right between two people.  I had the entire sidewalk, but I chose not to deviate from MY path.  I often, while walking, bump into people or play a delightful game of sidewalk chicken. I think given the wrong person, in the wrong place, this behavior could seriously add up to a bad situation.

I am now totally accustomed to stray dogs.  Think about this.  Usually, if you see a stray dog, with no tags and no owner nearby, you probably become at least a little more alert to the animal, especially if it is a particularly large dog.  You might look around for an owner or carefully assess the animal to decide if it is friend or foe.  There are so many stray dogs in Shekou, they have just become a part of the landscape.  Once while on a run I was at a waiting at a stop light and a stray came up and began licking the salty sweat off of my leg.  Strangely, I was not alarmed. I just looked down at the puppy and said, “Nihao.” By the way, I’m now up to date on my rabies vaccination.  I’d say that’s the first one to get before coming to visit China.

The worst habit I’ve developed is not wearing a seatbelt in taxis. Sometimes there are seatbelts, but it is treacherous and unwise to go digging for them.  I just don’t do it.  I get in, say a little prayer and hope I get there okay. Strangely, I do wear seatbelts in Hong Kong taxis.  I’m not sure if it is because I think I am in a “western” country when I am there and therefore should behave in a civilized manner.  I’ll have to remember this when I come home, “Click it, or ticket.”

Basically, this blog post is a preemptive apology for my behaviors when I come home.  But I suppose, if these habits have been learned, they can be unlearned…just in time for me return to China.

April Fool's Day in China. No Foolin'.

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I swear the following events to be true and factual or at least they are my interpretations of the events of April 1, 2012.  Also, these events are not out of the ordinary for me.  At most they rouse a giggle or a raised eyebrow, but not shock.

This morning I went to my local coffee shop to have a bagel and a latte and get some writing done.  In one corner of the coffee shop sat two middle-aged western businessmen.  I think most people would be shocked by the conversation.  They clearly and loudly were discussing graphic sexual encounters with their Chinese girlfriends. I hate to say, but I almost expect conversation like that wherever one finds a group of two or more western men.  I actually heard later in the day a man say, “Stuff some Chinese girls in my suitcase.” Yeah.  Really. Not a lie.

While eating my cheese quesadilla at Jordan’s (a bar/restaurant) I noticed the masseuses from the spa next door lining up for their afternoon “teambuilding’.  This is the best name I have for this event.  It happens daily at many different businesses.  Sometimes this teambuilding comes in the form of lining up to receive a tongue-lashing or possibly a pep talk.  I don’t speak Chinese, so I can only infer what is being said to them by their manager. I imagine it is something like, “We only did three massages this morning. We need to do more!  Let’s go team!” Sometimes they line up and do cheers. Again, I have no idea what they are cheering, but they do it with great enthusiasm.  This particular spa was building its team spirit through call and respond cheers and dance routines.  I know if I were asked to participate, I would do the bear minimum to show my boss that I was “dedicated to the team” but these ladies were having fun! Real fun! There was giggling and smiles everywhere.  I’m not sure if they sold more massages, but at least they were revved up for the afternoon.

Later in the afternoon, Colleen and I decided to go get our nails done.  On the way to the nail salon we saw a large tanker truck driving slowly down the road.  They were using a water cannon to water the plants beside the sidewalk all the while watering the walkway as well.  Since we were quickly running out of space we tried to figure out what to do to avoid being doused by a torrent of questionable water.  The truck began honking at us, like we were totally in the wrong for even thinking of walking on the sidewalk.  Colleen and I decided that walking into the middle of the street was our best option.  We nearly avoided being hit by oncoming traffic.  But to be honest, neither of us was bothered much.  So goes walking anywhere in China.

While walking around, I see amazing t-shirts.  I imagine they are the left overs and the misprints that don’t get sent to the US.  On my way home from getting noodles from the Noodle Lady, I saw a man wearing a t-shirt with a picture of Dr. Zaius from planet of the apes.  Around the face were the words- Bathing Chocolate Monkey.  The shirts here are hilarious.  I often wonder if when we wear clothing or get tattoos in Chinese, they actually say things like ‘love Sunday chicken happy feet.’ I’m pretty sure I want to pack my bags with Chinese misprint tees and sell them to hipster consignment stores when I come back.  They’d love this stuff.

So April 1, 2012 was also a Sunday.  I’m not sure why, but often there is loud music playing on Sunday nights.  It is usually someone singing in a wavering Mandarin tone from a few blocks away.  I have explored to see where it was coming from before, but I was just not motivated last night.  Even with all of my doors and windows closed, I could hear every syllable.  I couldn’t understand a word, but it had a good beat and I could tap my feet to it. Also, most nights (I’m writing this on Monday at 9:15 pm and it is happening now) there is a group of middle-aged women who meet in a parking lot across the street to dance together.  They play REALLY LOUD Chinese pop music and do elaborate dance routines that involve a lot of turns, swishing of arms and clapping.  It’s fun to watch. 

I suppose if I saw any one of these events in the U.S. I would be totally weirded out, but this is China. So… par for the course.

Soul Searching

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 I feel like I am a fairly self-aware, gal but there is nothing like moving thousands of miles away from friends and family to kick start self-reflection.

Some questions with which I have been wrestling –

1.     In the absence of family and best friends, whom can I trust?       

2.     Who are my REAL friends?                 

3.     Who am I, really?

4.     What do I want to do when I grow up?

5.     Am I too old or too young?

6.     Am I a leader or a participant?

7.     Am I happier here? Why or why not?

8.     Will I always see the grass as being greener elsewhere?

9.     Am I a social studies, language arts or foreign languages teacher? Does it matter?

These wonderings are constantly stoked by an inevitable question that I will need to answer. It is a question that is asked almost daily by co-workers and friends alike. And I don’t know the answer to it.

“Do you think you will stick with this after two years?”

*sigh*

What a loaded question.

To be honest, the decision to come here was by far easier.  I enjoyed aspects of my life, but overall, I was unhappy. I was completely disheartened by the state of public education and I didn’t see improvement in the future. It was time for a change, and at the very least China would be an adventure.

In contemplating a return to the US, I can’t help reflect on my job situation.  I love teaching here.  I have supportive administrators and co-workers. We challenge each other and are able to be inventive and innovative with our lessons.  My students are amazing.  My class sizes are fantastic.  The support I have received from parents has been nothing but positive, even when discussing tough issues. This is a dream job. In truth, it would pain me to teach in public schools in the US again… unless things change drastically. In my travels, I have seen new possibilities for teaching.  Bangkok? Yes, please!  Hong Kong? Oh, baby! Singapore, Jakarta, Istanbul, Doha, Dubai? Sometimes my brain spins with the possibilities!

Who am I? Well, I think I’m a traveler. My job here affords me both the time and money to do some amazing traveling.  I have seen things that literally take my breath away.  But sadly, when I’m taking in such beauty, I often cry.  Quite pathetically I look around for my sister so we can share the moment, but she is not there.  The familiar faces of my dear friends are thousands of miles away.  A pithy, “Wish you were here” doesn’t do my feelings justice.

I have lovely friends here. If you’ve seen my pictures, you can see how happy I am when I’m with them. Pure bliss, pure joy, and pure beauty we have experienced together. They are amazing and I am so glad they are in my life. I couldn’t imagine being here without them.

But for brutal honesty in the decision making process, here’s the kicker.  I would like to be in a relationship sometime in this decade.  Just a thought.  Anyone who comes to visit me here will quickly realize what my principal meant when she said, “This is not where you will find Mr. Right.” Shekou consists mostly of married men, married men with Chinese girlfriends or young guys with “Peter Pan Syndrome” (I won’t grow up! I won’t grow up! I don’t wanna go to school!) If it was difficult finding suitable guys to date in Kansas City, consider finding one here a feat of epic proportion.  It ain’t happenin’.

So now I’m here and the question remains, “Will I stay or will I go?”

This summer I will seek advice from those who know me best.  You know who you are, so get ready.  But when it comes down to it, I’ll make the decision. 

In the meanwhile, I wish people would quit asking.  I’ve got enough to think about.

Panic and Pacifying Andrea

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Last night, I lost the keys to my apartment.  

I had spent a lovely evening with my friend Rachel and her husband Glenn. We stopped off at Cheer’s to hear the tales of the Great Shekou Beer Olympics that had occurred that day.  When it came time to go, I had the great idea of riding Rachel on the back of my scooter to the gate of her complex. 

I used the keys to unlock my scooter. I used them to start my scooter.  I scooted a two blocks to drop Rachel off.  I scooted two blocks home. Then, they were gone. 

Panic.

I scooted the same two blocks again.  And again. 

I texted Rachel and she started walking my direction as I walked the route towards her.  Nothing.

Panic. 

“Call your ayi.  That’s what she is there for.  She will come and bring you your extra set of keys”, cooed Rachel.  “It’ll be fine! “

Genius.  I scrolled down the contacts list on my phone to the Zs, Z for Zhou.  No entry. 

Stupid phone.

Problem solving.  Claire. Claire would have Zhou’s number.  But it was midnight.  Claire was surely asleep.  I battled my well-mannered Midwest inner voice that said, “Don’t bother her. It’s too late.” I texted Claire for the number and resigned myself to the fact that I was going to spend the night out. 

For those of you who know me well, you know how much I hate staying at other peoples’ houses.  I hate being ‘in the way’ even if I am not.  Spending the night in someone else’s house is just about the top of my nightmare list, right below losing my house keys.

We started walking towards Rachel’s house, and I slipped into freak out mode. Sobbing, hyperventilating, whining. Rach went into social worker/counselor mode and wrapped her arms around me and walked me to her house. The entire way she repeated, “This is China.  This is not a big deal.  This happens all the time. No one cares that you lost your keys (oh yeah, my office keys were on that key ring as well).  You’ll be fine.” 

At one point she straightforward asked me, “Why are you crying? Really? “ 

“I hate not being in control,” I admitted. “And I have zero control right now.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew she would know exactly how to handle that fragile piece of information.

When I got to her house, she had her daughter’s bed waiting and pajamas set out for me.  After about four hours of fretting, I even got some sleep. 

In the morning, Claire sent me Zhou’s number.  I sent a quick message to Zhou explaining in simple English that I needed my keys.  To which I received the sweetest response. “Ok. I go.”

10 minutes later, Zhou rode up with my keys:  A blessing on a bicycle at 7:30 in the morning. 

Claire took me to get a new set of keys cut and helped me negotiate the price.  She wouldn’t let me get kicked while I was down. 

Four hours later, I received a call from my leasing agent, Connie.  It seems that someone turned in a set of Costal Rose Garden keys to the security guards in my complex.  The super sleuths managed to figure out what apartment they belonged to based on the mailbox key that was on the key ring.  By 1:00 I had my keys in hand. 

At 2:00, I had a man come change my locks.  It took about three minutes and a few twists of his American flag screwdriver. 

And now all is well.

It took a team: Rachel, Zhou, Claire, Connie, Security guards, patriotic screwdriver toting key guy and some unknown good Samaritan.  I guess that is what it takes to pacify Andrea.

Writers Block

First of all, I'm still alive.

It's been a while since my last post and I feel like I need to reassure everyone.  I am fine.  Things are good.  All is well.

I'm busy with report writing or at least I should be.

I have wanted to sit down and write because I enjoy it so much. But I've been stuck.  I haven't had anything of great interest happen lately and the daily life of Shekou is well... rather boring.

So, tell me what you want to know.  Give me something to write about.  Please, inspire me.  My only caveat is that I will not write about my students or co-workers, for obvious reasons.

Looking forward to your suggestions!

Supermarket Sweep

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Do you remember that game show?  It took place in a fabricated grocery store and the contestants had to run around with grocery carts to find items before the clock ran out, or something like that.  I can recall the faces of pure anxiety as they searched desperately for the Ritz crackers.  Sadly, I often feel just like these poor souls when I go grocery shopping in Shekou.

I mainly do my grocery shopping at three or four different shops.  “Why so many?” you may be wondering. I find to make one meal I usually have to go to at least two shops to get what I need. 

For vegetables and basic pantry staples I go to the Chinese grocery store, Ren Ren Le.  After I got over the pushing and shoving, I found it a decent place to shop.  I try to stay away from the meat counter and the live fish corner, but besides that it is an inexpensive place to get basic items.  I really like the yogurt called “Classy Kiss.” For a country that isn’t known for its dairy, this stuff is pretty good.  I especially recommend the Chinese date flavored. 

There is a great shop next door to Ren Ren Le that I call “The Nut Guy.” He offers nuts, seeds and dried fruits in bulk.  They are quite tasty and make the best trail mixes. 

 I get my fruit at this cute little fruit market on the corner near the store.  They are really proud of their fruits and always have REALLY loud pop-music playing.  I kind of love it.  They always offer tastes of their fruit and suggest new things to try.  They introduced me to a melon I refer to as “rugby melon” and I’ve been a loyal customer ever since.  (I call it rugby melon because I don’t know what it is in Chinese. Besides, it’s rugby ball shaped and it was in season during the Rugby World Cup, so rugby melon it is.) 

In order to get “western” items I have to go to a western style grocery store.  Luckily I live very close to a few.  If one store doesn’t have an item I’m looking for, like sour cream let’s say, I go to the next one…then the next… then possibly another… then I get on my scooter and go to a store that’s about a five minute ride away.  It can be very frustrating to try to cook a recipe when you can’t find one stinking ingredient.

Even so, if they have the ingredient in stock, it can be quite the task to actually find it.  Back in the states, the aisles are so nicely organized.  You want black beans? Well, you’ll find them in either the Mexican aisle or the canned foods aisle with the other beans!  Spaghetti sauce? Why that would be found in the Italian section!  Oh, how I long for a grocery store that is organized in a logical way!  Salsa?  You’ll find that next to the spaghetti sauce.  They’re both red.  Logically, they should be next to each other.  Black beans.  Those are made by Progresso, so you will find them in the soup section.  Duh.   Marmite?  Next to the honey. 

But wait; let’s put things in perspective here.  I don’t read Chinese.  Can you imagine the mess I’d make of a Chinese grocery store if I were given the task of organizing it?  I’m sure I’d consider moving the peanut butter out of the soy sauce aisle. And then where would we be? Chaos I tell you.

I dream of the days when I find a recipe I like, I can just go to the grocery store and get the items I want.  And probably even have a few different brands to choose from.  Maybe I should even offer my services as a personal grocery shopper, just so I can savor simple shopping as often as possible.  Watch out Hy-Vee and Price Chopper. I’ve got my eye on you too, Whole Foods!