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The year is coming to a close. Austin and I have finished our year of teaching, the GaoKao (college entrance exam which haunts nearly every 17 and 18 year old in China) has come and gone, some of my international friends have already left for their next adventure, and I am desperately trying to figure out just how to say goodbye.
As I sit down to write this, my final quarterly report, I try to imagine where I was this time last year and how I thought my year in Nanjing would be. I remember feeling that the task of imagining Nanjing was so overwhelming I resigned myself to know that it would be unpredictable, challenging and rewarding in its own way, but I would just have to wait for the specifics. Unpredictable was certainly correct. Even now, with exactly two weeks left in China, I continue to be surprised. My notions of self, America, China, and Chinese people are still challenged regularly.
Just a few nights ago I witnessed a raid on the street food vendor who has dependably supplied the students of Xi Yuan with dumplings every night for years. The "Special Task Force for Street Vendors" came rolling down the street in their large truck with about 10 men dressed in blue uniforms. As soon as they were in sight, the street vendors scattered, trying to hide what little they could so that the task force wouldn't confiscate it. Unfortunately, the dumpling man was caught and his cart taken. He would have to return the next day and pay a 200 RMB fine ($27) to get it back. Later I learned that street vendors throughout the city bribe the special task force about 2,000 RMB each month to leave them alone, which our dumpling man did. Unfortunately, the tenants in the apartment above the street, annoyed with all of the students drinking and causing a ruckus at all hours of the night, bribed the task force more to take the dumpling man's cart. I had heard of bribery, I had heard of the police
confiscating street food carts, and I had heard how difficult it can be to keep a business like the dumpling man's going, but to actually see it was an entirely different matter. I knew in that moment, that I could live here for years, learning all the mandarin I could take, and I would still not understand this country. That, of course, is why this year has been so exciting and yet, at times, so frustrating.
Nan Da Fu Zhong
I have come to love my school: the distant sound of boys playing basketball and ping pong when I arrive at lunchtime, the look on the Junior I students' faces when they see Austin and me, the way each class doesn't cease to surprise me. I have even grown to love our classrooms, which seemed so uncomfortable at first. The thin walls and windows certainly didn't protect us much from the heat and cold, but they did allow me to hear (and sometimes interact with) Austin's class, which always seemed to liven things up.
Before nearly every class, Austin and I would stand outside our classrooms watching and talking with all of the students as they climbed the stairs up to the 5th story. The Junior I's and II's would usually go crazy for about ten minutes, treating the classroom as some sort of magical playground, pounding on the walls, yelling to the other class out of the windows, drawing on the blackboard, even jumping over chairs. Perhaps if I had been their teacher more than once a week I would have done something to remedy this. But, as it was, I figured they needed to let some energy out, and I'd rather they do it before than during class.
We played BINGO with the Junior students for our last class. They were all so excited that the room was constantly filled with sporadic shouts of "Yeah!" or "B-12!" or "Oh my god!" Needless to say, Austin and I were hoarse by the end of the day. We gave them our e-mail addresses and asked them to please write to us. They seemed excited about it at the time, but I think one of the harder lessons of teaching is that, come the end of the year, you have to let your students go. I can only hope that they learned something from me this year - not just English, of course, but a little about how to think and how to live. In my classes, I really tried to emphasize creative thinking and questioning. So often, Chinese high school students seem to be suffocated by their studies. Endless memorization and reproduction of information makes school a difficult and often dull place for a teenager. While it's nice for NDFZ to boast having foreign teachers, I have come to believe that the most important part of Austin's
and my job has been to show our students a different way of learning. If just one of my students can tell me that he or she actually enjoyed learning English and became an active student because of us, I think Austin and I will have been successful.
I am happy to leave these students to Maggie and Logan next year. I know they will be excellent teachers and will develop their own relationships with the kids. Learning how to teach has been one of the most exciting experiences I've had. From those terrifying first classes to the final, somewhat emotional classes, I have grown so much as a teacher and individual and gained an entirely new level of respect for all of my past teachers. I would also like to take this opportunity to apologize to my high school French teacher for always talking, passing notes, and trying to get away with speaking English in a French accent when I didn't know the answer. I now know how it feels. Maggie and Logan, I wish you the best of luck next year, it's a trip. Just be sure to watch out for Chester (Senior II.1 next year) and Billy (Junior II.2 next year), they might be too awesome to handle.
The Life I've Led
I've come to measure my non-teaching life by playing music. In the past three months especially, my nights have centered around Behind the Wall, the Mexican restaurant where I perform twice a week. I've befriended another Minnesota native who began singing there in March. Between supporting her on Wednesday and Friday nights and me playing on Thursday and Saturday nights, plus hanging out with friends on Tuesday nights for good measure, I'm there a lot. I have become very close to the owners and their group of friends, an interesting mix of Chinese and foreigners. Conversations at Behind the Wall are always conducted in a combination of Chinese and English, one freely flowing into the other. My favorite recurring Chinglish phrase is "I drunk badly," most often said by Adela (a Chinese TV producer) after a night of Teppanyaki (all you can eat Japanese BBQ and all you can drink sake).
Behind the Wall has been one of the most important parts of my life here. It has not only been a vital outlet for me to continue making music, but has helped me grow as a musician and performer. Since early October, I have performed twice a week and encountered nearly every kind of audience - nearly empty to over capacity, attentive to belligerent, students to successful business men, and countless nationalities. I've come into my own there, becoming more comfortable and taking more chances with every performance. I have been incredibly lucky to play with a few exceptionally talented Chinese musicians. I am continuously amazed at how easy it is to communicate with the guitarists who accompany me when we're playing. Of course, as soon as the show is over, I resort to stammering in broken Chinese and pantomime. As my days here quickly pass, I find myself counting the number of performances I have left at Behind the Wall and do not want my time there to come to an end so soon.
I have been incredibly lucky to have led such a rich life here, and I have the people around me to thank for it. Austin and I have become very close with the two Wellesley teaching fellows, as most Grinnell Fellows tend to do. They are here on a similar English teaching fellowship at the all-women's Jingling College. From Thanksgiving dinner to late night dinner parties to crying about home to fawning over the guitarist at a local music bar, Rachel and Eleanor have been amazing and dependable friends, and I couldn't have asked for more. It has also been great to have Felix Zhu '05 here this year. Not only is he from Nanjing, but he's also a Grinnell grad giving him automatic points. I will admit I am a bit jealous that Rachel, Eleanor, Austin and Felix will all be here next year without me. But my time has definitely come.
Life in Nanjing can feel so transient. My students grow so much in a year. I'm surrounded by university students- the foreigners are here for 4-10 months and the Chinese students for 4 years. The other foreign teachers generally stay for one or two years. New people are constantly entering and leaving this strange community. My Chinese and ex-pat friends have lamented this on many occasions, and as my date of departure approaches, I have to admit, I feel a bit guilty. So many people have been good enough to take me under their wing, knowing that I would be leaving soon. I used to think that the people you meet and love in your life will stay with you forever even if your time together was short. Thus, we should not be too concerned with the length of time we have together, but instead cherish the time we do have. However, as I say goodbye to so many people who are staying here, I am beginning to wonder if maybe that's not enough. Justin Riley '06 told me of his theory of "cool people in cool places"
around graduation time last year. Basically, he says you will see the people you love again somewhere, someplace. While this might be true for us globe trotting Grinnellians, I wonder if I will ever meet these Nanjingren (people from Nanjing) again. And, somehow, when I'm the person leaving, the burden seems to feel a bit heavier. Of course, that's the price we pay as teachers, as travelers, as explorers.
"A piece of the Cake" (as written on the Junior II class blackboard)
Life is so much easier than it was that first week of September. I remember struggling with the numbers. "How will I ever be able to understand this language?" I thought. Buying dumplings was a momentous accomplishment. Memorizing my address was daunting. And the confusion of doing laundry (which involved weighing your clothes, getting a ticket, going to the front office to pay for your laundry and get another ticket, returning to the laundry room with the new ticket, and then asking what time the clothes will be ready) was overwhelming. And now, I breeze through these everyday occurrences with confidence, proudly exclaiming, "Wo yao yi fan jaozi" (I want one meal of dumplings). While my Chinese is quite far from fluent, or even sufficiently broken, it's enough. I'm proud of the way I've been able to live independently here, continuing to discover new parts of the city and life in Nanjing.
Coming Home
I'm not going to lie, the thought of returning to the United States scares me. As each month passes, the distance between China and the US grows just a bit. I'm beginning to understand why so many of me ex-pat friends here have staid for so long - it's hard to go home. As challenging and frustrating as living in China as an obvious foreigner can be, I think returning home is even more so because the challenges and frustrations are more personal. Here, if I am tired of people yelling "Hello" at me, ripping me off, or yelling "Ta ting bu dong" (She doesn't understand) and laughing, I have a lot of friends who can sympathize with me. Similarly, if I have a surge of joy for the amazing people I've met here and things I've seen here, I don't need to explain myself. Everyone knows how I feel.
As much as I miss my family, friends, and the incredible convenience of America, I'm worried that returning to such a big yet dispersed country will, quite frankly, be a lonely endeavor. Here, life occurs outside. People walk, bike, or take the bus. They buy their food in vegetable and fruit markets, outdoor bakeries and outdoor meat shops. The elderly sit on the street corners or in the parks playing cards and Ma Zhong. Parents let their children run around outside knowing that almost everyone around them is a part-time babysitter. This is one of my favorite things about China. There's a sense of security and vibrancy that comes with this way of life. The large and mostly empty thoroughfares of suburbia, the endless and empty supermarkets, the well-air conditioned/heated buildings, the large lawns and housing developments, and the lack of curiosity in those around you are all parts of life in America that can make life lonely.
Of course, I happen to be writing this on a good day. Ask me on another day, and I'll tell you that I can't wait to return to a place where I understand everything - language, politics, people's motivations, cultural cues, etiquette, music, film, etc. How I miss having a problem or question and getting it fixed or answered right away. I miss blending in with a crowd. I miss live music. I miss fresh air. I miss driving a car, hell, I miss riding in a car without a feeling of terror. I miss not feeling like a complete moron 50% of the day. But, mostly, I miss the people I said goodbye to last year.
I think feeling torn about coming home and leaving Nanjing is a sign that my year here has been meaningful beyond my expectations. I've accomplished what I wanted to here: befriending amazing people, trying to be a successful teacher, and interacting with China in my own unique way. While I am certainly ready to come home, I will hold on to a little piece of Nanjing for quite some time. The memories will fade, as they do, but the impression will remain.
Finally, I would like to thank some of the people who have helped make this year so successful. Austin Lewis Dean, I couldn't possibly imagine China without you. Don't let those university students of yours fall in love with you too much next year. Doug Cutchins, your continuous hard work for the Grinnell Corps programs has helped so many students have incredible post-graduate experiences. Felix Zhu, I'm so glad I ran into you on Shanghai Lu back in September, you have been an amazing friend, plus your cat is pretty cool. Fang Laoshi, the best Chinese sister a girl could ask for - helping Austin and I with the slightest of problems from buying bikes the first week to harassing the dormitory management about my perpetually broken toilet. Lao Dong and Shelly (the owners of the restaurant where I play) who took my under their wing, brought me to dinner once a week, taught me so much about China, and helped me discover myself as a musician and performer. And, of course, my incredible family and friends who
have called and sent me mail - even Gina Tarullo, who didn't actually answer my phone calls until two days ago.
See you soon.
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