On That Note...

Male student 18 years old turns to me in class the other day, whispers in my ear (audibly enough so the whole class could hear)..."Teacher, I need to toilet."  (What did I just teach them?)   The student then proceeded with "Do you have paper?"  I'm right in the middle of my lesson here, for crying out loud.  I scrambled in vain for some tissue. Since the whole class was in earshot, another one of the students thrust some tissue at him.  "Xie xie," he said as he started to leave the classroom.  'Wo you la duzi.'  Gross.  This would qualify as TMI--too much information.  Aiyo, what kind of classroom culture have I created where everyone is free to discuss their 'business?'

Bathroom Humor.

You know if a conversation diverts to bathroom humor, it's somehow a conversation gone wrong, or perhaps just not a conversation for the refined.  So what if it happens in the classroom?  As teachers we're taught to capitalize on 'magic moments' that are unplanned for but yield significant moments of teaching.  So, when my student yesterday evening returned from the restroom and asked, 'Sherise, what's the difference between restroom and toilet?' I seized the opportunity to deliver to my students the cultural know-hows of labeling where we do our business. 

First, I asked the students all the words they use for the bathroom in their native tongue.  The most common is the English translated 'toilet,' which is reason for the misused 'Teacher, I need to toilet.'  Now, I may be wrong, but do any of you say in English that you're going to use the toilet?  (I think it a bit crass)  Granted, we see signs for 'Public Toilet,' but if you were to ask someone where the toilet is in the States they might raise a quizzical brow before pointing you in the right direction.  I then asked them why they don't more often say the more refined version 'washroom' in their native tongue.  One of my students said it's a bit qi guai (strange).  Then my students explained that back in the day, and even today there aren't exactly sinks to wash your hands.  Hence the more crude label, 'toilet.'  Washroom is reserved for those more uppity bathrooms, like in a hotel.  'Oh right,' I replied.

Now on to English versions.  I taught them the commonly used 'restroom' and 'bathroom.'  I had to explain the whole 'WC' label, so off I went into more British versions.  I then nixed the whole 'toilet' idea out of their heads and went on to more informal ways of nomenclature.  The 'can,' or the 'potty,' and oh wait, I forgot 'the throne room.'  I also explained squattie potties as ubiquitous around these parts and forgetting the Ch. way to say squattie potty I opted to draw a telling picture on the board.  I was about to squat and demonstrate but then I remembered, 'oh wait, I belong to the refined...' 

Hehe. 

If You're Happy and You Know It.

My mother asked me over the phone the other day if I was doing 'alright.'  The tone of her voice seemed to imply as if I wasn't, so I probed further.  'Yeah, why do you ask?'  'You don't sound so happy in your updates,' my mother replied.  I didn't quite know what to say to that.  After all, mother knows best.

I don't mince words.  That is, I know I sometimes don't paint a rosy picture of life out here.  Perhaps I'm too honest, and even brutally so at times.  Am I hard on myself?  A thousand times, yes.  I love this description of me: "INFJ is a perfectionist who doubts that they are living up to their full potential. INFJs are rarely at complete peace with themselves - there's always something else they should be doing to improve themselves and the world around them."

So yeah, that's me.  And...

"INFJs hold back part of themselves, and can be secretive."  That's also me.  Don't judge a person by her xanga.  Despite how honest I am, there's a lot still I don't disclose.  It's reserved for that deep inner world that the introvert in me loves to retreat.

Oh right, and back to my mom's question.  Am I happy?  Well, sure.  If you mean the kind of happy that doesn't always wear a smile on her face and is still human kind of happy, then yes...because ultimately, there's something Superhuman behind all of this .

Can You See Him Now?
excerpted from Prince Caspian by C.S. Lewis, Chapter 11: The Lion Roars

And so at last they got on the move.  Lucy went first, biting her lip and trying not to say all the things she thought of saying to Susan.  But she forgot them when she fixed her eyes on Aslan.  He turned and walked at a slow pace about thirty yards ahead of them.  The others only had Lucy's directions to guide them, for Aslan was not only invisible to them but silent as well.  His big cat-like paws made no noise on the grass.
....

Halfway down the path Edmund caught up with her.  "Look!" he said in great excitement.  "Look! What's that shadow crawling down in front of us?"  "It's his shadow," said Lucy.  "I do believe you're right, Lu," said Edmund.  "I can't think how I didn't see it before.  But where is he?" "With his shadow, of course.  Can't you see him?"  "Well, I almost thought I did--for a moment.  It's such a rum light."
...

"Peter, Peter," cried Edmund.  "Did you see?"  "I saw something," said Peter.  "But it's so tricky in this moonlight.  On we go, though, and three cheers for Lucy.  I don't feel half so tired now, either."
...

"Lucy," said Susan in a very small voice.  "Yes?" said Lucy.  "I see him now.  I'm sorry."  "That's all right."

Greatness Hangs by the Edge of a Blade.*

I love ice skating.  To some it is mere spectacle, a sport that cherishes the prima donna who somehow winds up the darling of an entire nation.  I don't know why I've always been so fixated by it.  I mean, why should I uphold a sport that judges greatness by the edge of a blade?

There must be a part of me that empathizes with the sport.  Only I skate not under the banner of Olympic glory, but this stage called Life.  The judge?  My Father, who--talk about scandal--is quick to award a perfect 10.  Even if that triple triple combination doesn't quite work out.

Important thing is, I have to keep getting up.  And sometimes, darn it, I fall hard.  I lose confidence.  But I have the Judge's favor.  And there's no other applause that can top that.

*inspired by Torino 2006

What Do You Believe.

That's a question that prods a desire for long discourse, but as of now, only manages a clumsy answer.  I believe in the True One, do you know who he is?  'Why, yes,' replied the plumber who came to our rescue today to fix our kitchen sink.  'You're like us.'  Well, not really.  I believe in the Ransomed Son.  Well, that ventured another guess that wasn't quite right.  After a few more tweaks with the kitchen sink our plumber man declared, 'Oh, I know.  You're shenme shenme.'  Well, I had to look up what that shenme shenme was since I didn't know.  I giggled when I found out.  Well, that wasn't quite right either.  But oh how I wish that he knew.      

Say My Name.

It's perfectly alright that there are still lingering cultural stresses, even six months into being here.   A part of me say 'haven't I gotten over this already?'   Not completely.  And not perfectly, either. 

I went to go pay my phone/internet bill the other day and the lady behind the counter asked me in a mutter whose name the bill was under.  Course, I didn't catch what she said at first.  Eventually I did, and I started guessing my name, AC's name, then another person's name until I was clear out of names.  Each time I blurted out a name I was met with a 'bu dui!'  Literal translation 'Wrong!  Wrong again!  Still wrong!'  What happened to the 'customer is always right?'

Today I went to the bank.  Another American friend told me that the only place that makes her cry around here is going to the bank.  I wasn't near that today (thank goodness), but I had to stand up in defense of my name.  Apparently, the passport page with my middle name confuses them.  I told them I don't go by my middle name and they told me I didn't know my name.  I retorted with a 'I think I know my name.'  Finally after a few giggles on both sides, they processed the transaction.

Since both these incidents have to do with names, let me bring up the issue regarding the pronunciation of my name around these parts.  Locals know me as 'Sure-reese,' and doggone it, I'd really like my name pronounced correctly for once.  The 'sher' is pronounced like the pinyin 'shi.'.  I don't even care what tone you use.  Aiyo! (my new favorite means of expressing anguish).    

Recipe for Love?

Now, if I really had such a recipe, would I share it?  Haha.  Valentine's Day (or, as I've been corrected, 'Single Awareness Day') has come and gone here in the motherland.  I decided that we ought to rightfully celebrate, even if AC and I are without qing ren. Below are recipes I whipped together (okay, adapted) for the occasion. Click here for some engaging dinner conversation questions

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Carrot Soup
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) butter
4 medium carrots, peeled, chopped
3/4 cup chopped onion
3/4 cup chopped green onion (white and pale green parts only)
2 garlic cloves, chopped
1 tbsp mixed herbs (Italian Seasoning)
5 cups (or more) chicken bullion mixture

Melt 1/4 cup butter in large saucepan over medium-low heat. Add carrots, onion, leek, garlic, 1/2 teaspoon thyme and fennel seeds; stir to coat. Cover; cook until onion is translucent, stirring occasionally, about 15 minutes. Add 5 cups broth. Bring to simmer. Cover partially; simmer until carrots are very tender, stirring occasionally, about 40 minutes. Cool slightly. Working in batches, purée soup in blender (or mixer, as that was what I had). Return to pan. Thin to desired consistency with more broth. Season with salt and pepper. Bring soup to simmer. Ladle into bowls.

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(Qing Zhen) Jambalaya
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter
2 yellow onions, chopped
5 green onions, chopped
1 large green bell pepper, chopped
1 tomato, diced
4 garlic cloves, finely chopped
1+ tablespoons Creole Seasoning
1 teaspoon Mixed Herbs (Italian Seasoning)
2 tablespoons tomato paste
¾ pound chicken breast, diced
2 14 1/2-ounce cans chicken bullion mixture
3 cups long-grain rice 

Melt butter in heavy large pot over medium-high heat. Add onions, 4 green onion, bell pepper, garlic, Mixed Herbs, and Creole Seasoning. Cover and cook until vegetables are tender, stirring occasionally, about 15 minutes. Mix in tomato paste. Add chicken, tomatoes, and rice. Bring mixture to simmer. Reduce heat to low, cover and cook until rice is very tender, stirring occasionally, about 1 hour. Garnish with remaining green onion and serve.

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One Bowl Almond Brownies
4 squares Baker's brand unsweetened Baking Chocolate
3/4 cup butter or margarine
2 cups sugar
3 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
1 cup flour
1 cup nuts (slivered almonds are what I had)

Melt unsweetened chocolate and butter.  Stir in sugar.  Add eggs and vanilla; mix well.  Add flour and almonds; stir until well blended.  Spread into greased 13x9 ince baking pan.  Bake at 350F (177C) for 30 to 35 minutes or until toothpick inserted in center comes out with fudgy crumbs.  Do not overbake.  Let stand until set.  Makes 24 servings.

Last Thoughts on T-Land.

I've returned from my sunny paradise to a world less aesthetic.  Outside my window I can barely make out the view because of the surrounding fog.  Thinking of where I was only a few days ago, I would let out a huge *sigh* except I'm reminded of the call that He's placed on my life, and oddly enough, there's no other place I'd rather be (even if I did drag my feet in coming back here).

Here are some thoughts from my trip:

• Sitting first class is everything that it's pumped up to be.  Due to a flight mishap on the way to T-land, a few of us got bumped up to first class (see below photo).  I remember sitting right behind first class on my flight last Sept, dreaming of a reality that was so close at hand yet so far away.  You can imagine that after experiencing the curtain separated clinking of silverware, a dainty doily to rest my orange juice, hot towels a-plenty, slippers for a cozy ride, and personal attention to my needs, I was a pretty grumpy coach seat passenger on the return journey home. 
• Charm is everything. I love getting what I want, and usually that's not the case here in the motherland.  But in T-land, charm works like magic.  All I had to do was flash a smile and I had the T people in the palm of my hand (well, at least when it came to bargaining).  I think I do well in polite societies.
• Stand up for the national anthem in the movie theater.  Good thing I was told this beforehand otherwise it would have been a case of bu hao yi si.  Apparently the king of T-land gets the utmost respect, and when the national anthem starts playing, all must stand at attention.  And I was in the middle of stuffing a gummi bear in my mouth, too :)
• T-land food portions are small.  Food is cheap, but in small portion.  Is that how these people stay so thin? Luckily for me we mostly had resort/hotel buffets for two weeks.  All you can eat, baby.  And oh, can I list some of my favs?  Banana chocolate roti, mango sticky rice, fried banana, green curry, coconut ice cream...
• I'd rather cross the street here.  In T-land the roads are reversed, and even with the traffic light, I couldn't figure out how to cross the street.  I never thought that I'd say this, but crossing the streets here is almost easier.  While I'm on the subject of streets, I couldn't quite figure out why the sidewalks were so narrow.  I guess it beats seeing spit on the ground everywhere.
• Elephants can draw better than I can.  Just how do you train an elephant to draw?  Beats me.  See elephant drawing below. Who says that an elephant's brain is the size of a peanut?
• Them bee hives were huge.  If you read my previous entry, the below picture should shed light on why I was screaming (I don't just scream willy nilly, you see)...   
   
  

Hello from T-Land.

I've shed my winter layers for suglasses and flip flops and I'm lovin'it.  This is the closest thing to paradise that I can think of...and mind you, my vantage point is a bit skewed having lived in the motherland for five months...

Despite some drama in getting here I've settled into this tropical lifestyle.  But let me first recount to you some of our earlier drama.  This is an entry to document bees, and by bees I mean the incident that happened to AC and I in our first evening at our tropical accommodations.  On the way back to our room we were discussing how we had quickly taken a liking to our new surroundings.  Palm trees, flowers...heck, I was just glad to see green again.  We proceeded up thte stairs to our room and along the way, saw a black object squirming on the ground.  A bee, we declared as we realized what it was.  Not thinking a whole lot about it, we went on.  Another bee.  Oh, and another bee (all squirming on the ground).  On the final few steps to our floor, we heard an eerie frequency of buzzing up ahead.  I looked up and saw a combined sight of geckos and bees sprawled across the patio ceiling.  Aaah! I screamed.  AC screamed after, in an almost reflex response.  We got to the top of the stairs and looked down our hallway to our door.  There lay a whole swarm of bees twisting about on the floor and swarming overhead.  Aaah!  I screamed again.  In fact, it was aah all the way to the door as we made our way through.  I fumbled with the key in the lock as my hand shook with fear...a moment straight out of a horror movie.

Well, we made it through with me slamming the door behind us.  Reflecting afterwards, I thought...I'm such a wimp...I can handle nightly cockroach hunting (as my fellow MOT2Kers know :) but I can't handle bees.  Worse yet, when recounting our story to our tmmate, he declared...you realize [the bees] are just committing suicide...they hit the lights and then they hit the floor.  Oh right.  That's why they're twisting about on the floor.  I'm scared of half-dead bees.

Life isn't always dreamlike and fantasy.  Even in a tropical paradise.  But being here has proved refreshing to my soul.  Turning another year older means that I'm not so easily flung into simple delights, but I have to say I love where He takes me, and this is a great adventure :)