Life in a Chinese classroom

Sitting in the back row of classroom six at Gao Xin No. 1 high school, a silent ocean of blue and white cotton separates me from the teacher who stands on a podium at the front of the classroom. Slowly, I notice that the ripples in the cotton are outlines of bodies. The ocean has morphed into a group of sixty students, all sitting attentively and writing furiously as their teacher lectures them on ancient Chinese literature. A thick black ponytail distinguishes girls from boys, but otherwise everyone appears to be the same. Clearly communism has worked its magic in China’s school systems; the students have lost their identities and have become one.
I feel like an outsider. My tight jeans, leather boots, and ruffled shirt look like a Halloween costume next to the baggy jumpsuits of my classmates. I feel as if my shoulder-length brown curly hair reaches down to my toes, whose red nails burn through my heavy socks. I am tall and gangly next to my female classmates, whose short legs scuttle around the aisles during our five-minute breaks. 120 eyes glance in my direction.
As I stare off into space, unable to understand the characters written on board and our teacher’s rapid speech, I notice the boy sitting in front of me glance down into his lap. I straighten up in my seat and stretch my neck forward; what I discover is priceless. In his hands lays a portable play station; Donkey Kong and his teeny car zoom across the screen. A smile spreads across my face.
The next day, a petite, pony-tailed classmate of mine approaches me, and begins to speak the same broken English that I encounter every day. I nod and smile as I have the same conversation I had with another student yesterday, and will probably have with yet another student tomorrow. As she begins to ask me about American music, I notice a shiny piece of plastic poke out from the nape of her standard blue and white sweater. That plastic slowly reveals itself, and becomes a pink necklace embedded with rhinestones.
One week later, I’m reading a book under my desk when I hear the boy sitting next to me whisper to the girl directly in front of him. She hands him her exercise book, which is overflowing with notes and completed fill-in-the-blanks, and returns to her own work. His stubby fingers slip up and down the pencil as he quickly copies down the girl’s answers into his own spotless exercise book. He types a series of characters in his electronic Chinese-English translator and slides it into my desk. “I copy,” the translator reads. He proceeds by asking me to do his English homework.
Our fourth week here I’m moved up to the front row of the classroom. Here the teacher is more imposing, the pens scribble faster, and the smiles are fewer. The girl on my right takes a break from her notes to tell me that she’s ranked number three in the class. I learn that sitting next to her is number two, and on my right is number one. I hear a series of snickers and snorts from the rows behind me.
It’s our sixth week here and I’ve returned to the back row of classroom six. When I raise my eyes and gaze ahead, I see the class clown, the goof, the nerd, the slacker, and the “cool” girl. The ocean has turned into a roomful of people, who have the same quirks as teenagers in high schools across the U.S. The jumpsuits, ponytails, and lack of chatter have hindered the visibility of individual personality traits, but have failed to make them invisible.

Funny Translations...

Yunnan Trip

I just got back from Yunnan at 2am this morning. Here's a journal I wrote for Ms. F- pictures will be up on picasa in the next couple of days.

From the second we land in Kunming until we depart one week later, we are surrounded. Hoards of Chinese, some wrinkled, others caked in makeup and almond-colored from the sun, close in on us and seem to glue themselves to our sides. They push us down stairs as we visit the same hotspots, get in the way of our pictures, and stare at us in bewilderment as we eat our rice. Even the shortest rests are interrupted; in their eyes, our periods of relaxation are their best opportunities to get a photo taken with us. Nighttime becomes a sanctuary, for our hotel rooms are the only place we are able to escape to. Before the sun rises their screams wake us up; “Fu Yuan!” rings through the hotel halls.
I could easily continue on about our trip Yunnan in this fashion. Everything about what I’ve just described is true; each push, shove, grunt, and stare could undoubtedly yield pages of complaint. As the ten of us, eight students and two teachers, spent each day together, I witnessed each of us, including myself, roll our eyes or issue a comment of dissatisfaction regarding our aggravation towards our fellow tourists. After reflecting back on our trip, however, I’ve decided to take a different stance.
From the second we land in Kunming until we depart one week later, we are surrounded. A countless number of mountains, some lush with bushy trees, others speckled with new snow, form a ring around us, their beauty impossible to avoid no matter where we choose to look. During the day we cruise through spindly roads, slowly climbing higher and higher into the fresh, crisp air. The sun seems closer here, and its rays tickle our skin. We buy fresh fruit from local stands at breakfast and lunch; the mangoes are juicy and the apples tart and refreshing. When visiting the Stone Forest, we are in a maze of gigantic raggedy rocks. They seem to sprout from the ground like the wispy grass they are atop of, and peer at us as we try to identify shapes in their formations. We grab onto some of the rocks for balance as we walk; they are soft as baby’s skin from years of being rubbed for good luck. At the top of a staircase, standing tiptoes and looking above the heads of fellow tourists, I believe the rolling hills and tree-like stones to be never-ending. Later we watch the Naxi people, dressed in hides and furs, perform a traditional song and dance. Their only scenery is the Jade Dragon Snow Mountain, powerful and almighty. A sole Naxi man sits on his small horse, a string of high notes flowing like water out of his mouth. He is on top of the world, and so am I.
I’ve come to discover that in traveling to Yunnan, it is incredibly easy for one to drown in their own frustration. The crowds, rudeness, and obnoxiousness are exceedingly apparent, and after awhile begin to taint one’s mind with negative thoughts. While it is difficult to avoid these thoughts, it is not impossible. With a simple tiptoe, and maybe even a push or a shove of one’s own, Yunnan reveals its undeniable beauty. In the end, how one sees this southern province is a complete choice. After careful thought, I choose to forget the crowds and see Yunnan for what is was made to be: stunning, unique, and a much-needed breath of fresh air.

Twenty-four days. Twenty-four days. I keep repeating this phrase to myself, trying to get a grasp for just how long we’ve been in China. I’m right, it has been exactly twenty-four days since we zoomed over the top of the earth, leaving behind the familiar, but what I’ve come to discover, is that I don’t know what twenty-four days mean.
Rewind to two months ago. I’m in Boston, and in the past twenty-four days, I’ve done the same things I’ll do in the next twenty-four days. I’ve taken my dog on twenty-four walks, studied for two math tests, gotten an extra rotation on my backspin, and gone to a birthday party. Maybe we’ve had a snowstorm, or I’ve moved my bed to a different side of my room, but for the most part, things are the same as they’ve always been. If asked, I can recite my schedule for the next week, maybe even predicting what I’ll eat at each meal.
Stop, fast forward, and return to the present. To tell what I’ve done in the past twenty-four days would require hundreds of pages and dozens of pens. I’ve become a daughter to a new set of parents, a granddaughter to a woman half my size, and the older sister to some of the cutest, sweetest girls I’ve ever met. I’ve learned a new language/culture, been the new girl at school, embarrassed myself in front of hundreds of watchful eyes, battled my way through three colds, and have gotten used to sleeping on the thickest, hardest mattress I’ve ever encountered.
Volunteering in an orphanage, I’ve held hands, fed, and laughed with some of the smallest babies I’ve ever seen, seemingly perfect in every way besides the small fold in their lips. Baby formula’s sweet smell has wandered into my nose, its warm liquid has been spit up onto my jeans, and its nutrients have flown from my hands to the mouths of quivering bodies. I’ve seen coughs resembling small earthquakes shake chests the size of a deck of cards, and have believed my presence to be more important than ever before.
In the past twenty-four days, my life has become a complete jumble of East and West. The Motrin I take for my colds is washed down with a drink of boiled coke and ginger, and for breakfast I eat rice porridge with imported Swiss yogurt. Next to my Marc Jacobs sweater hangs a traditional Chinese chipao, and under my Rubix cube is a book of Mao Zedong’s quotes, published in 1967.
What I’ve come to discover is that twenty-four days means nothing when it comes to time. Most of what I’ve accomplished in Xi’an would have been next to impossible to accomplish in Boston- even in a period of twenty-four years. I truly believe my life has changed, something that would take hundreds of snowstorms, dog walks, and math tests had I remained at home. If all of this can happen during a twenty-four day stay in Xi’an, I predict that a four-month trip may very well turn into a lifetime.

A Few Observations About China

1. Pedestrians never have the right of way. When crossing the street, make sure to run because if you are in the way of a car, they will run you over.
2. When describing a conversation with a Chinese person, always add "or something" to the end of the description; you can never be sure what was ACTUALLY being talked about.
3. Everyone gossips. Expect to hear your host sister's friend's mom telling her husband what YOU ate for dinner last night.
4. Eating cold food will cause a stomach ache which can be cured by drinking boiled coke with ginger (theoretically).
5. Stay away from cafeteria food...it's the same no matter where you are in the world.
6. Toilets are not toilets, but holes in the ground (I thought it was a joke before I arrived).
7. Tissue paper serves multiple purposes and is absolutely necessary to have at all times.
8. Talent shows on school buses are completely normal.
9. When trying to get a waiter's attention at a restaurant, it is completely acceptable to belt, "Fu Yen" (waiter in Chinese) until they come.
10. You can buy American movies that are still in theaters for only $1.50, but a small latte at Starbucks is nearly $6.
11. At least 10 times a day you hear yourself saying, "Only in China".

I never realized how hard it was to feed a baby with a cleft lip until today.
On Sunday, my host sister Lily took me to one of the high rises neighboring our own, telling me that we were going to the house of a woman named Amanda. This woman, she told me, had nine children. As I walked through the door to what looked like every other apartment I've seen since my arrival, I quickly discovered that I was in a very different place. As it turns out, Amanda has about 25 infants, none of which are her own. This seemingly normal apartment is, in actuality, a tiny orphanage for children with health problems. Their ages range from one month to four years, and their health issues from cleft pallets to down syndrome (and I had thought that the zoo was heartbreaking).
Despite its small size, the orphanage is horribly understaffed, and after speaking to Amanda, who is European, I discovered they are willing to take any help they can get. I went back today after school, and was immediately handed a baby with a cleft lip to feed. She was lighter than a bottle of water and her mouth struggled to grip the nipple of the baby bottle. Body shaking coughs arose from her throat nearly every time she managed to get a drop of formula between her lips. I now find myself both fascinated and upset by what I've seen, and fully intend on going back to help as often as I can.
I was told before I came here that each of us, the exchange students, would find at least one thing that would intrigue us like nothing before. In the fifth floor of a building in Feng Ye Xin Du Shi, I have found that one thing.