Happy Thanksgiving, Everyone.

I'm going to miss celebrating thanksgiving stateside.  Just thinking about a nice plump turkey with all the fixin's makes me long for home.  And the turkey jook that comes after (an annual tradition in my family).  That's like my FAVORITE.  Ooh, topped off with a nice pumpkin spice latte. Yum.  Did I mention that I don't even get the holiday off, either?  Boo.  Ungratefulness can really eat at you.  And moreso, it diverts from Him who is the Giver of all good gifts.  Perhaps this Thanksgiving I have more to give thanks for than ever before.  That may seem like an odd statement following how I started this entry, but it's totally legit--as I've been here, there is not one thing I lack.  Not even Starbucks :) 

[For the record--AC and I made our first trip to Starbucks only yesterday.  Caramel macchiato in the motherland?  You bet.]

I Miss Them Already.

   

 

The 'Rents Have Arrived.

My mom and dad are here!  I feel like a little girl again, and I'm not at all ashamed.  Picture me waiting at the airport amongst a throng of others for my parents...in the motherland.  All I could think of was how unreal this all was.  Me welcoming them to my new home and a life that is so different than what they know.

I almost cried, but didn't.  I felt a knot of anticipation as I desperately scanned the crowds for my parents.  When I finally spotted them, I was overjoyed.  I quickened my pace to greet them and hugged them tight.  Running into the arms of your mom and dad is such a comforting thing.  For all these years they have guided, protected, and shielded me.  More than once here I've wanted to cry 'mommy' or 'daddy'  when situations have gone awry.  Instead I've had to rely on the strength of my Ultimate Father more so than I've ever known. 

It's been so good to have them here.  I think I do not express enough how much of who I am is because of them.  I don't think that they quite envisioned for their daughter to be here, doing what I'm doing.  But I *think* they're proud of me. 

Little do they know that I'm proud of them.  I'm proud of them for taking this journey with me.  I'm proud that they are willing to trust Father for my life.  I'm proud over the little things, too--for them crossing the street with me here, breathing the city air, braving the crazy taxi rides, meeting the locals, and doing what I never imagined they could do--to be here, right by my side, experiencing it all with me.

Fog.

I'm no stranger to the fog being a native San Franciscan.  But boy did I have a new experience with it here this week.  I woke up Friday morning thinking that it was the middle of the night because it was still dark (no daylight savings around here).  But my alarm soon buzzed and when I got up to look out the window I saw that I was staring at nothing but white.  I thought I was seeing things incorrectly so I looked out from the other side of the apartment.  Nope...still nada (on the visibility).

Thinking that visibility was better at ground level, I headed downstairs after breakfast.  I was wrong.  I hesitated getting on my bike, but realized that I still needed to get to school.  So off I proceeded...with sometimes only five feet of visibility.  You could either applaud my bravery or shake your head at my stupidity (there were still lots of people biking...Ch. people are amazing, what can I say). I couldn't tell when I was about to cross the street, much less what color the light was.  I don't think I've ever gripped my bike handles that hard, bracing myself for whatever would emerge from the midst.  Shao lan did not fail me.

I arrived at the intersection across the street from my school and spotted another teacher (after getting real close).  I had my face mask on, which I probably made me even more unrecognizable.  He remarked, 'are you cold or something?'  To which I said 'not really' (I hadn't noticed being cold because I was so scared of just making it to school okay).  He continued, 'because your eyebrows have ice on them.'  I don't think it was really ice, just condensation from the fog.  Great, I thought to myself.  At school I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and realized how horrible I looked...something akin to a wet dog look.

I shall not bemoan the fog in SF again.

Back to School.

I've now had the opportunity to sit in two separate university classes here with some local friends that I've made (an English Lit class and the other an Art History class--how fitting is that?).  Of course, I tuned in and out of both classes since I couldn't understand everything to a "T."  But it gave me time to put on my observer hat and make some mental notes about education in the motherland.  Namely, I began to think of who I am as a teacher and my expectations of the whole teaching and learning endeavor.

I was abhorred in the first class that I observed that students continued to talk throughout the hour and a half lecture.  My local friend described it as a 'market' (i.e., a lingering buzz of noise that at times overshadowed the instructor's own voice).  My interpretation = RUDE.  At several points the instructor informed them to quiet down, but no one seemed to comply.

Maybe Ch. teachers have thick skin, but for me as a teacher if I even have a hint of rebellion I lose all confidence.  Props to the instructor for continuing with her lecture--sporting a smile nonetheless.

Second class I observed I passed by the back row of students smoking on my way in.  It reminded me of the 'back of the bus' phenomenon in the city where the bad people tend to congregate.  There was also a lingering chatter, but this time the teacher stopped it by banging on his desk.  Twice.  He then reprimanded them in a lecture which I didn't quite catch.  But even after the lecture my local friend (whom I accompanied) answered her cell phone in class!  Yeesh.

So after these observations I figure that I'm some sort of educational snob.  Regardless of culture, I demand from students their full participation.  Or is it too much to ask for people to pay attention?  Granted, this comes from someone who never even cut class in her life, so maybe I'm demanding too much...or am I?

Making a Scene.
Now you already know that I'm already experienced in this area...only the last time I made note of it in the world of xanga I was left in tears.  This time, however, I'm laughing.  And laughing is good...I realize people don't do enough of that around here...the kind of laugh that still makes you smile 10 minutes, 3 hours, the next day after.

So on to the story...I'm exiting the supermarket, going through the merchandise detectors that guard the doorway when *BEEP*BEEP*BEEP* Okay, so nothing unusual...I've actually set off the detectors the last several times through...something to do with my shoulder bag, though I'm not sure why it does that.  Usually I just get waved through pretty quickly, but this time the employee at the door wanted to do a more thorough check through.  I opened my bag of groceries, and he began to swing my different purchases through the detectors, which gradually started causing a crowd of onlookers.  Why people are intrigued by another's misery around here I'm not so sure.  Anyhow...I thought it was sheer comedy.  I explained that my bag was from the States and the employees suggested I check in my bag next time.  By the time I was done with that I estimate that a crowd of 20-30 people had surrounded me.

I decided that I really needed a McDonald's apple pie after that one.  So we swung next door to good 'ol mickey d's--but they ran out of apple pie and so I had to get taro.  Oh well.  Still satisfied my craving and topped off another day here =)

Meet Shao Lan.
        
My previous set of wheels.   My new set of wheels. 

I refer to 'shao lan' often enough with such fondnes that I thought I ought to give him a proper introduction (xiao is actually the correct pinyin I think...but I like the 'sh' because it's the same first letters in my name). 

Shao lan (or, 'little blue') is my bike.  Shao lan makes me brave.  Against the madness of cars, motorbikes, and people, shao lan keeps me going, encouraging me to keep pedaling or stopping me right in time.  Shao lan is a faithful sidekick.  I don't think I could bear to lose him.

This week I had to take shao lan to get several repairs.  He had a flat tire, which allowed for an interesting exchange between me and the bike guy on the street.  I think I saw him sneak in a grin when I asked him to help me (he probably was thinking...aiya, this girl...doesn't know what's wrong with her bike...).  Shao lan's basket also had issues, as well as his bell (it was broken).  But we took it in to the bike barn to get a new basket and a new bell--and afterwards I beamed with pride like a mother beams over her children. 

*Sigh* You must think I'm crazy.

      
The proud mother and her 'bike.'    See what shao lan can do.

(In)directly Speaking.

It still befuddles me how people here can be simultaneously direct and indirect.  Of course in American culture we're the same way--direct to speak out about our opinions on freedom, democracy, justice (our RIGHTS)--and cautious to reveal our true feelings, lest we be considered rude, or in some cases weak. 

Living here the direct/indirect-ness runs a bit differently.  I remember during our first week here AC and I went to purchase a router and while we waited for the storekeeper to help us, AC remarked how warm the weather was.  The young man immediately lept to his feet to turn on the air conditioner.  Translation-- 'The weather is warm,' = 'Your store is too warm inside.'  Oops--mental note--your words will be translated for an indirect meaning.  Too funny.

Now the whole directness bit has proved to be a bit difficult at times for me, sometimes even the source of tears.  But with my students I find that I'm generally laughing (mostly on the inside) from things that they tell me.  The other night I was subbing for a teacher and one of the students commented to the other teacher as I was leaving that 'she is a beautiful teacher.'  Of course, 'beautiful' carries a ton of connotation in the States, but here for second language learners they throw that term around as if beauty is ubiquitous.  Just to give another example, my sister loves it when street vendors in HK beckon her to look at their goods by shouting "pretty girl, pretty girl come here!"  It is, of course, flattering.  But then you realize--hey she just called that person 'pretty girl,' too.  Oh well...it still feels good.

My Home Away From Home.
Welcome to mi casa away from home :)  Follow your gaze up to the highest floor, and there you have our little 'penthouse' suite.  Okay, not exactly, but I'm grateful for our elevated view from atop, even if the view is only of nearby smoke stacks.

I like how my place is nestled away from the craziness of the nearby road.  I like how when I turn the corner out of my complex I have to swerve to avoid running over free wandering chickens.  Life is simple here.   No one says anything about the obvious inefficiencies (obvious to the American in me).  I ride a bike to run my errands and instead of throwing things in the trunk like I do in the States, I have to carefully calculate what I can manage--just me and shao lan (my bike).  People barely raise an eyebrow when the water is shut off or when a foul stench permeates the air.  Nobody scoffs at the trash in the stairwell or how public property is just that--public and therefore, no one is responsible for its cleanliness.  Personal hygeine is also an issue--I still shudder when a person clears their throats of phlegm and hacks one on the street.  Or blantantly picks his nose. 

I've come to grips that I live here now.  Granted, I haven't fully embraced it yet, but I'm here.  And though far from home, the Ruler of the Universe is still in residence here.  But there is work to be done.  We are not home yet.

Learning to Speak.

By all means I should be this second language learning guru, given that this is what I do as a 'profession.'  But when the tables are turned and I'm forced into the role of 'learner,' what emerges is this rather delicate language ego. 

This delicate language ego is compounded by my already fragile self-esteem and penchant for perfectionism in a most horrible way.  I find that I am often reduced to mere grunts here, or just saying nothing when spoken to (until I realize that 'oh--did that person just ask me something?').  I'm also finding that the little Canto that I know is serving as an interference with my acquisition of the main dialect around here.  I often catch myself speaking some wierd concoction of Canto, English, and Ch.  Since all languages are located in the same area of the brain, sometimes I'll also start thinking about the word in German.  Aiya, I'm so confused!

Part of learning a language is also developing an identity in the 'target' language.  I'm not quite sure who I am when I speak Ch.  I don't quite feel myself yet when I speak.  I think I come across as a more kind and gentle self in Ch. just because I'm trying so darn hard to be polite and in so doing, appeal for bit more gr'ce. This contrasts greatly to the ruffian-brand of the language spoken around these parts.

Empathy for my students?  I have tons.