My Birthday Poem

In the city of Dandong

two train rides away

a couple of foreigners

celebrated a birthday

 

 

 

 

Finding an Italian-Japanese sushi place

DA3 cried, "let's stuff our face!"

and Hailan agreed

for some food she did need

 

 

 

Happily they did pass the night

munching on fish and slurping up noodles

when they looked out the window

and saw lanterns gal-oodles! 

 

 

 

So the river they sought

and a purple one they bought.

They wrote some sweet words

in 3 languages, the nerds

 

 

 

The wax was attached

and a fire was lit

for some seconds it heated

while on the boardwalk it sit

 

 

 

When the time came to fly

it rose in the night sky

the foreigners looked on

another birthday had gone

 

 

 

Happy birthday to you

and to you a goodnight!

 

The Color Run

After a month of contacting different friends, I finally convinced one, a Russian named Stazia, to join me for Shenyang's Color Run in early July. We took the high-speed train early in the morning and found ourselves part of the thousands congregating to a park in southern Shenyang.

 

 

 

All pristine white--ready to get dirty!

 

 

Stazia and I at the starting line

 

 

 

 

Interspersed throughout the 5k course are "color stations" where we all get together to throw color in each other's faces and roll around the street in the name of fun. 

 

Blue color station

 

Orange color station

 

 

Yellow color station

 

 

Pink color station (our favorite!)

 

 

Slowly camouflaging myself

 

 

 

 

The course was designed around a large lake. From the street I could see people running through water coming from gigantic fountain heads. After our pink foray, Stazia and I went down to cool off.

 

 

Taking a yoga break before going back to the pink station

 

 

Pink eye

 

 

A group of guys blasted me in the eye with a packet of pink powder! Stazia gasped and they threw powder right in her face, too. As we each doubled over trying to get the powder out of our eyes and mouths, the guys asked us repeatedly, "Can we take a picture with you?.....No problem, right?....So, can we take a picture together?"

 

Finish Line

 

 

Stazia, who got blasted every 10 meters thanks to her height, finally found someone taller than her. He was so sweet, too, requesting a picture.

 

Flea Market or Free Market?

 

Every year since I've been at NENU, I've witnessed graduating students line the avenue stretching from the cafeteria, past the volleyball courts, to the administration building, to sell their unwanted goods before packing up and going back to their homes. In Chinese we'd say the scene is very "re-nao," or quite lively. Although I'm not graduating until next year, I did some spring cleaning and took my goods to market.

 

 

 

 

In a moment of self-consciousness, I dressed up for the occasion. I figured as a white foreigner I'd be just as much on display as the items I wanted to sell--better to take advantage of it. Meanwhile, I practiced my best bargaining language, making note of what vendors have said to me in the past. For once I'd be on the other side of the transaction!

 

 

 

 

I was supposed to meet my friend, Dandan, who said she had a classmate that also wanted to sell some things. They wouldn't arrive until later, however, so I headed out on my own. Luckily I found Caixue, my friend from the International Students' Association. Without hesitation, she stopped hawking her shoes and helped me get set up, asking me how much I wanted for each item. Most of what I wanted to sell was jewelry. She loaded her fingers with my rings and dangled bracelets on her wrists. With a loud cry, she wailed to passersby, "Ten kuai, ten kuai! Foreigner's jewelry, ten kuai!" 

 

 

Dandan and I watching the buyers

 

 

Like a school of fish to a piece of bate, people began to migrate to the sound of Caixue's voice. For the next hour, all I saw were fingers, long and short, fat and slim, male and female, rummaging through my jewelry. I soon discovered I had grossly overestimated my asking price.

 

 

Dandan's friend and her suitcase of clothes.

 

 

Despite the market being on a university campus, the majority of visitors were grandmas and grandpas, middle-aged people, and some families. They were out for a morning stroll on a Saturday morning, although I'm guessing they knew to pass through the university campuses at this time of year for some great steals. I soon cut my asking price in half. At only 5 kuai (not even 1 USD), people were still asking 3 kuai for decent jewelry. I was reminded of the time I participated in a garage sale after graduating from ASU. I ended up selling textbooks that had cost me $20-30 to people who wouldn't part with more than $1. It was a comfort to me knowing that whether in a front yard or on a sheet on the street, all people want is to pay as little as possible for as much as they can carry.

 

 

 

An interested customer.

I stayed until lunch time, a total of about two and a half hours. After lunch I came back to find that Dandan and her friend were packing up because of the dark, looming clouds overhead. I only had a couple of pieces of jewelry left, plus a pillowcase that everyone kept saying was too big. So I packed up and went back to my dorm. As I counted my earnings, I considered the exchange of value in which I had participated--the bargaining down to less than fifty cents, the return of seeing someone pleased with their purchase, the letting go of items associated with memories or comfort, the experience gained of having bought used jewelry from a foreigner, also that of having sold second-hand jewelry as a foreigner in China--it is all relative. With my practically free money, I treated DA3 and I to dessert at Mr. Suger (yes, that's how it's spelled) and enjoyed every bite.

Fortunately

Sometimes things just don't go your way. Sometimes it's not just a one day thing. But whether it's by the minute or by the year, things always turn around. Inspired by one of my favorite books growing up, Fortunately by Remy Charlip, here is what's been happening with me since we last met.

Unfortunately, someone was not very nice to me.

Fortunately, I found a new place to exercise. I had to pay a little money, but now everything I want to do is all in one spot not too far from home. I go five or six times a week for an hour or more each time. I figure with every workout I burn at least 500 calories. In the last three weeks, I've lost almost three kilograms, about five pounds. My goal is to lose six more kilos before I go home in November. Six more weeks!

Unfortunately my neck and shoulder are on the fritz again. 

Fortunately the doctor is still seeing me. Adding stretches and yoga is helping. Also, I've learned that it might be a symptom of gallbladder issues, which may seem like an "unfortunate," but I'm actually happy to know the connection. As I've experimented with some suggestions on what to eat, I believe I'm feeling a difference. The biggest help so far? Fresh ginger juice! Mmm, spicy!

Unfortunately, I didn't do my yearly tradition of buying a nice, fancy box of mooncakes for the Mid-Autumn Festival. 

Fortunately, for once I was given a box of fancy-shmancy mooncakes! Giving and receiving the tasty treats is typically done in Chinese society. I look at the fact that I received some as achieving some sort of clout among my local friends.

Unfortunately, tutoring has been canceled a lot lately, which means my funds are considerably lower than I would like.

Fortunately, this has given me the time I needed to do more in-depth research for my thesis. I'm feeling good about the direction it's heading. 

Unfortunately, it took DA3 two months to get his new passport.

Fortunately, with its arrival we could get his U.S. visa application started! Wish him luck for his interview!

Unfortunately, due to a dumb mistake on my part, I'm unable to listen in on a particular writing class for Chinese.

Fortunately, I have been writing anyway. Just this week I started writing a short story in Chinese. Hopefully that can get finished in the next 10 years. I'm only slightly joking. There's no deadline and I am notoriously inept at keeping my own. However, I had a breakthrough while brainstorming for it and the more I write, the more excited the story makes me. On a side note, I usually read and write while riding the bus, and although I ride the bus often enough, it is still a contributing factor to why this might take a while to get finished. 

Unfortunately, in the last couple of weeks I had a few bad days. I lost some sleep and felt bodily pain. 

Fortunately, things are looking up. Why, at this very moment I am making whole wheat, tuna-olive bread. Later, I'm making Borsch. Life is fine.

What do you think? After reading my list, do you think it might all be connected somehow? Also, did you run into some bad luck this week? How have you seen it start to turn around?  

Passing Scenes

Walking home one day, I pass the same woman I passed the day before on the exact same route, the exact same sidewalk. Only, I never see her face. The whole of her head, including her eyes is covered with a black jacket. She looks like the headless horseman without her mount.

As long as I leave the house I am guaranteed to pass by hundreds of faces a day. I see students, studious boys and girls who use the time walking to class or back to their dorm for socializing. I pass the elderly, perched on minuscule stools playing card games and chess under shady trees. Grandpas and their young charges walk from home to school and back. At night, husbands take their pregnant wives and cherished puppies out for after-dinner strolls. I can walk the same street at the same time every day, passing up to a hundred people, yet only spot maybe a couple that I have seen before. Some days I find myself at an intersection where each crosswalk has at least twenty people waiting at any given moment, and I wonder, "After three years here, how many different faces have I passed?"

All these foreheads, noses, and bodies usually coalesce into one body, one hair color, one word: Chinese. I don't think anything of it, except when something sticks out as particularly Chinese or especially Other. That's why today as I leave the dorm there's only one thing on my mind. Jog. 

I've already done some yoga this morning, a pumped-up version in preparation for running. Despite the yoga, I'm off to a choppy start. But I'm in no hurry. I've given myself an hour, set by my own body's clock. I head to the park with the hope to gather some energy from nature. I start out slowly, just focusing on getting a rhythm and regular breathing pattern. Oh, look at those trees. That's a nice distraction, I think, and continue with that train of thought for a whole stretch. Black squirrel I've never seen before! Wow, the things you notice when you just open up. I start to look deeper into the woods and higher up into the sky. My breath is regular and I'm coming up to a downhill stretch. Energies are flowing.

I'm not alone, as is always the case when one is outside in China. People doing lunch-break exercises walk in my direction. We pass and continue on our ways. I'm not people watching on this run, which is why I don't know what kind of person said it, except that he was an older man pushing a wheelchair. As he passed me he deliberately shouted, "Xiao chi dian!"

TRY EATING LESS! His loud, public words--that I understand--punch me in my chest. My breath catches. My face flushes. Tears pool in my eyes. Miraculously, I'm still jogging. I keep going, but his words, biting, stinging, sonant thoughts, keep up with me. Reason tells me to use them to push myself harder. "Overcome them!" she presses. Anger is digging around for his boxing gloves. Humiliation urges me to find a small tree in a deep clearing and cry. Ignorance wants to believe it didn't happen, that we didn't hear it right. Compassion, that mother of all those riled up emotions, lovingly listens to each cry. As she does, she gives strength to my lungs and my legs. I do keep running, still clocking in four kilometers.

A part of me still wants to shout back at him, something like, "Cut it down to one pack a day, why don't you!" But just as he knows nothing about my diet or habits, I know nothing about his. As tough as it was today to get outside and run in the first place, that man put a spotlight on the obstacle that's constantly in front of me: my own mind. It was with a lot of self-control that I did allow myself to cry, but that I also made myself continue to run. There's no other way around it. I had to let it pass.

Readjustment, Ramadan, and Release

The cervical vertebra in my neck is in the process of being readjusted. So is my life. The thing is, it's really painful. 

 

The discs in trouble are flat where they're supposed to be round. Consequently, they've herniated and begun to pinch the nearby nerves. The pain has radiated down the whole of my right shoulder down into the arm and elbow, even at times to the fingertips. I can barely turn my neck. I feel the bite in every step. Lying, sitting, or standing I feel constricted in my movements and experience a constant pulse of pain. Sometimes I can sense my posture correcting itself, as the pain is too much to slouch. The worst part is waking up from sleep. I often want to turn over but I cannot turn without my shoulder sending me its signal of disagreement. 

 

My doctor (or rather, his wife) tells me that it must be my body readjusting itself to its natural position. It's so used to the old, wrong ways that it can't handle going back to how it's supposed to be. What's compounding the feeling of helplessness and constriction, I'm sure, is that the same thing is going on spiritually and emotionally. My life in the last year has not been ideal. Many choices were made that did not need to be made, and the few that were necessary left their share of scars, too. In the meantime I oscillate between the two emotional paradigms of guilt and defiant resolution. Again and again, the choice has been to either push away progress, which has the tendency to bring it crashing down upon you like a monster in a bad dream, or to jump into it, the effect often being that your energy is more wisely and efficiently spent.

 

In April I met my friend DA3 (pronounced Daa). Like I reported in another post, he is from Tunisia, which means that he is Muslim. While he's not particularly devout, his brand of faith is simple and straightforward. Spirituality is about you and God. Religion is a means to an end, but it's also a cultural and human construction on many levels. I add that there are divine, useful, practical, and spiritually significant principles and that's where the month of Ramadan enters the picture. Fasting is one of those principles that major religions all over the world emphasize. The idea is to let go of what you think you depend on, learn to lean on God, learn that those things we consider "basic" desires are actually not as basic as the calm and peace that one needs in order to live a balanced and free life. This peace doesn't come from routine or food or sex or money or anything that our simple physical bodies can provide us. It comes from our spiritual core, which is connected inherently to our Creator.

 

This idea is the same in all the big religions. It's what DA3 believes and it's what I believe. After meeting DA3, I concluded that this year I would fast during Ramadan with him. It looked like just the kind of opportunity I needed at this point in my life, so on July 9 I joined him in his preparations. For a month we made sure to prepare Iftar (breaking the fast) together. We made healthy, really delicious food. I, personally, tried to make a conscious effort to eat in moderation, reminding myself that there was no need to binge, that I would not starve during a fourteen-hour period of fasting every day. At first I wanted to exercise at night, do yoga, and follow all the other great tips for a healthy Ramadan that I read on various Muslim women's blogs. 

 

Then my neck just gave out on me. I couldn't move and was in constant pain in any position. Pain does something to your brain. It brings out negativity. It reminds you of all the reasons you have to hate life. It tells you constantly that you make bad choices, that you aren't a good person, that everything that's wrong in your world is your fault. To put it simply, it stomps you to the ground. I already couldn't move my body in a normal way. Suddenly, I also couldn't escape the emotional pain still present either. All of my escape tactics were useless once I found myself attached to an IV four hours a day for three weeks. With only my thoughts for company, the resulting potion turned into inner commotion. I would cry. The nurses would ask, "Does it hurt?" What could I say? "YES! It all hurts! I can't find a place that doesn't hurt!"  

 

Keep in mind that all this is happening and I'm fasting. The doctor said it wasn't a good idea. Perhaps not, but I had already committed myself to it. More than wanting to eat to make the pain stop, I wanted God to see that I could do something for Him. Yet there in my hospital bed, I couldn't figure out why nothing seemed right. All of the anger, pain, and fear that I was experiencing just wouldn't leave, no matter how calm I tried to make my mind. I prayed and prayed. I prayed for help, for forgiveness, for answers, for calm, for my neck, for the pain to go away. I prayed and prayed until one day I couldn't take it anymore. "I give it to Thee," I said. "I can't handle it. I'm giving it to Thee." Specifically, I gave "it" to Christ. When I did that, and each time I did--do--that, I feel released. It feels like coming off of the Gravitron or a roller coaster. You can walk again. You just look around and continue walking, aware of the rush and its accompanying hormones, but not unconsciously affected by them.
 

The last day of Ramadan was yesterday. DA3 and I ate our last Iftar together. We each blessed the food in our own language and in our own way. This month has shown me just how special of a person he is and I think it's been the same for him. My neck is slowly improving. I don't have to be hooked up to an IV every day anymore. Readjustment, of either the body or the mind, is not a quick or easy process, I'm discovering. I'm understand that if this neck pain is the pain I have to experience in order to recorrect my spine, the core of my being, then I should welcome it. I ought to be its nurse and caretaker, keeping the faith and the hope that at some point it will be released. The same goes for any and all kinds of feelings I let myself get carried away by. 

 

Lastly, while I had fasted before, I had never done it for a number of days consecutively. To do it in this way has taught me that all those memories, physical ailments, and emotions that we imagine are critical to our being can be let go of. A person can start anew. It can all be released if we just give it away.