Woah...

Back in Taigu after 2 months of life-changing travel.
Back here in my little room with a little white cat (who was put here because apparently, while we were away, the rats took over the house) in my lap and looking outside at the hazy air and the saffron-tan tint over everything, I wonder just how far away I am from all that I just left behind.

I found out recently that my Chinese zodiac sign is the Ox instead of the Tiger, because I was born just before Chinese new years in 1986. All my life I thought I was a tiger. A week or two makes me a year older in China. I am 24 years old by the lunar calendar and Chinese tradition. And this New years, 2009, is special for me they say, the year of the ox too--my year.
Strange, because, all of a sudden, I feel as though I am much older than I should be.

Going back to the U.S. was important to do. Back to the world that hasn't changed, back to the people who haven't aged, to realize that I have. Back to realize that when people asked me where I was living, I said China. (At which I would laugh because it seemed like it should be a joke, but wasn't.) Back to where the tap water was drinkable, where I could eat food off the table (and sometimes off the floor), where I could rely on the electricity, and hot water, and water pressure to not give out, where the grocery stores were stocked with over 50 kinds of cheese and 20 kinds of butter, where everyone spoke my native language, where I my chest didn't hurt after a run in the outdoor air, and where nobody had any idea what rural china was like and how it had become such an intricate part of my understanding of the world. And back to public protests, police violence, news about all the horrors of the world, free speach, controversial movies, and an inspiring, newly elected president. It was all rather overwhelming.
And at the same time, I was back to realize how many people my age were jealous of the opportunity I had snagged. It made me awed at the opportunity I had been given. I appreciated all the luxuries and rights the U.S. provided, but didn't feel like I belonged in the U.S. anymore. I belonged in China.

But perhaps part of why I feel so much older is that every Chinese person I ran into on while traveling in China (my Chinese family included) was surprised that I was a single, young (and really so very young, they all seemed to believe) woman traveling and teaching on my own in a strange country. Did I really come by myself? Didn't I have someone meeting me at the next train station? Wasn't I afraid of getting lost? Wasn't I afraid of bad people? Weren't my parents worried about me? What about my boyfriend? And as soon as I explained I didn't have one, the next series of questions would come--shouldn't I have one, and shouldn't I be finding one, and what about finding a Chinese one, and shouldn't I be getting married soon?

Only, in Chinese, especially from people much older than I, these statements were not questions. In English it would be polite to ask these things as questions, so that is how I translate them. But in Chinese, they are statements or "shoulds": you are so independent to come on your own, there are many bad people, you should be careful, you are very brave, maybe you should find a Chinese boyfriend, or you should go back to the states after you finish teaching and find a boyfriend to marry. It is not meant to be rude, it is meant to show you are concerned or care. So I smiled and nodded to all of their observations of me.
But mostly it just really entertained me. And reminded me that there were not many young, single women who had this opportunity. Or who took advantage of it.

They must see me so strangely, I thought--an independent, stubborn, unafraid, adventurous, friendly, educated but almost stupid, foreign young woman. Or, probably more accurately, just a strange young woman.

Perhaps strange, but loving it.


( I will write more entries about the travel, but gotta go lesson plan now.)