There's this sweet stray dog that lives on campus that seems to turn up whenever I'm feeling down or lonely.
She seems young, with yellow lab-colored fur. She's got these sweet pointy ears that flop and a face somewhere between a chihuahua and a terrier. She’s a little taller than a terrier, but mostly because she has longer legs and a longer neck, and a slightly curled long blonde tail. She’s pretty slender, and her most defining characteristic is that her hind hips seem a little out of alignment so that she swivels her back feet a little when she walks. She sits funny too, with her two hind legs pointed to one side below her. But the best part is that when her tail wags, her whole rear behind goes crazy.
So i’ll be wandering around feeling a little down and then I’ll see her somewhere. And if I call her...usually with “Baby!” She comes running, or more like wobbling, her tail a wagging and shaking her behind all over the place. She doesn’t seem to do this to just anyone either. I’ve never seen her run up to another person. She comes and nuzzles against my legs and I scratch her neck and back while she tries to lick me (which I try to politely avoid by letting her lick my jeans and sweatshirt). She will sit herself down next to me and will continue to sit there nuzzling my jeans until I decide I have to go.
And she’s dirty too, no doubt. Whenever I’m done petting her, my fingertips are black with dirt and who knows what else. She’s a stray dog and probably ends up in the garbage more often than not...but I figure as long as I wash my hands thoroughly afterward I am basically safe. Afterall, the same stuff that’s on her is also on my shoes too, and all thought I don’t pet them, I for sure handle them all the time.
There’s just something so soothing about having a warm fuzzy creature who enjoys your company. She has a way with me that calms me and reminds me of the simple lovely things in life. I think it is in return for the scratches.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Halloween is coming
I think Taigu is probably the only place in all of Shanxi that will celebrate Halloween.
We've all been teaching our students about the American holiday in class. Each class gets to celebrate differently, some of us hand out candy and tell ghost stories, some of us talk about what we are afraid of, some of us share American superstitions in exchange for Chinese ones.
We will also have a Halloween party on Friday for all of our students. That's about 600 students. It's in an old classroom building. It is going to be crazy. These Halloween parties have a history of being crazy in Taigu. They all have to be in costume too.
I'm still trying to think of a costume. If you have ideas, you should tell me.
But my favorite thus far is that Ben and Nick have both had their classes carve pumpkins. (The pumpkins here are green on the outside instead of orange.) And they are awesome. Much more creative and clever than a lot of pumpkins I've seen in America. Some are faces, some are patterns, some have English carved on the side, and some of them are smoking cigarettes.
Nick has put them on our porch. And the best part is watching other students walk by the outside of our house and stop suddenly and stare at the strange carvings. Some smile, some step closer to get a better look, some look confused, some seem to shake their heads, others point to show their friends, most have never seen a carved pumpkin in their life.
We've all been teaching our students about the American holiday in class. Each class gets to celebrate differently, some of us hand out candy and tell ghost stories, some of us talk about what we are afraid of, some of us share American superstitions in exchange for Chinese ones.
We will also have a Halloween party on Friday for all of our students. That's about 600 students. It's in an old classroom building. It is going to be crazy. These Halloween parties have a history of being crazy in Taigu. They all have to be in costume too.
I'm still trying to think of a costume. If you have ideas, you should tell me.
But my favorite thus far is that Ben and Nick have both had their classes carve pumpkins. (The pumpkins here are green on the outside instead of orange.) And they are awesome. Much more creative and clever than a lot of pumpkins I've seen in America. Some are faces, some are patterns, some have English carved on the side, and some of them are smoking cigarettes.
Nick has put them on our porch. And the best part is watching other students walk by the outside of our house and stop suddenly and stare at the strange carvings. Some smile, some step closer to get a better look, some look confused, some seem to shake their heads, others point to show their friends, most have never seen a carved pumpkin in their life.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
My students are my saviors
I love Nong Da University students. Why? Because they are so sweet. And so eager to learn. And so willing to do silly things. And so dorky, but in the coolest and most love-able way ever.
For example, there was today. It was a dreary rainy day, and many of them looked really tired, until they looked up at me when I walked in. They started cheering and clapping when I walked in today. I had worn an absurd amount of clothes to class including a brightly colored stripped skirt on top of jeans that they claimed was pretty. The theme of the class was pretty obvious--clothes. I had gotten the idea from Beth and Ben who had used a fashion show in previous classes. I had my students say the names of everything as I took them off. (Don't worry I still had a t-shirt, sweater, and jeans by the end. Most of the stripping was accessories and jackets.) They were clearly tired still, some of them were nodding off after the initial show. But even their nodding off was more respectful than the nodding off in America. It consisted of a subtle closing of the eyes followed by a quick opening and determined stare in my direction and a wild writing down of the name of some article of clothing I was listing.
The fashion show, however, was what made my life. At first when I explained that pairs would have to do a fashion show, with one person as the announcer and the other as the model, the girls giggled and the guys grumbled. But as soon as the fashion show started, the cheers and clapping overflowed. The modeling and announcing was amazing. Male students, no matter their level of cool or awkwardness, were seen strutting down the classroom aisles convincingly tousling their hair, throwing off scarfs, pulling off sunglasses to flash a dashing glance at the audience and throwing jackets over one shoulder. Ordinary young women flaunted them selves as movie stars, with the confidence to match. The imagination and acting ran wild. It was great to see.
American students are sometimes too cool to have such fun. A group of American students, besides perhaps an acting class, would never be able to pull off such a stunning performance as my students presented.
Our classes seem to be one of the few creative outlets these Graduate Agricultural students have. And they live it up.
I'm gonna follow their example, live it up too while I can, and enjoy these wonderfully enthusiastic students.
For example, there was today. It was a dreary rainy day, and many of them looked really tired, until they looked up at me when I walked in. They started cheering and clapping when I walked in today. I had worn an absurd amount of clothes to class including a brightly colored stripped skirt on top of jeans that they claimed was pretty. The theme of the class was pretty obvious--clothes. I had gotten the idea from Beth and Ben who had used a fashion show in previous classes. I had my students say the names of everything as I took them off. (Don't worry I still had a t-shirt, sweater, and jeans by the end. Most of the stripping was accessories and jackets.) They were clearly tired still, some of them were nodding off after the initial show. But even their nodding off was more respectful than the nodding off in America. It consisted of a subtle closing of the eyes followed by a quick opening and determined stare in my direction and a wild writing down of the name of some article of clothing I was listing.
The fashion show, however, was what made my life. At first when I explained that pairs would have to do a fashion show, with one person as the announcer and the other as the model, the girls giggled and the guys grumbled. But as soon as the fashion show started, the cheers and clapping overflowed. The modeling and announcing was amazing. Male students, no matter their level of cool or awkwardness, were seen strutting down the classroom aisles convincingly tousling their hair, throwing off scarfs, pulling off sunglasses to flash a dashing glance at the audience and throwing jackets over one shoulder. Ordinary young women flaunted them selves as movie stars, with the confidence to match. The imagination and acting ran wild. It was great to see.
American students are sometimes too cool to have such fun. A group of American students, besides perhaps an acting class, would never be able to pull off such a stunning performance as my students presented.
Our classes seem to be one of the few creative outlets these Graduate Agricultural students have. And they live it up.
I'm gonna follow their example, live it up too while I can, and enjoy these wonderfully enthusiastic students.
Monday, October 20, 2008
难过 and 过了 （sadness and getting through)
China, for me, has a perpetual, essential sort of sadness that permeates everything in the countryside.
There is a sense, especially when a Chinese person finally gets close to you and starts opening up, that people here have a lot of difficult things that they deal with and have to keep hidden. And so I think the earth, building and streets start breathing sadness instead.
I’ve had a number of students already ask for leave to see doctors for various surgeries and conditions. It is not as easy to be open about having a disease here. The U.S. is sometimes rough for sure, but here, students often won’t even tell their close friends that they are suffering from a serious chronic illness. A chronic illness can prevent people from getting the job they want, and word about it will spread like wildfire on a college campus. A few people have opened up to me about their illnesses because I am foreign and they know we have different standards about such things. To suffer from an illness and not be able to ask for the support of your friends seems crazy. As does the number of 20 year old students in this small population that I've already found out are dealing with some chronic disease.
That doesn’t begin to talk about the sadness of young women who have given up playing basketball because they are girls. They now sit on the sidelines and watch the handsome boys make the shots instead. Or the sadness of young women who are afraid to be outspoken in class because they believe that the men really are smarter. Or the sadness of the young men and women working on the streets serving all the young students street food because they never graduated high school or never passed the Gao Kao (the College Entrance Examination). Or the sadness of the man old enough to be my grandfather who sells fruit on the corner and who probably has his whole life and probably will for the rest of his life.
Then there is the sadness that you feel when you walk out on the streets in Taigu. It is written in the dust, the faded plaster on the houses, the lines on people’s foreheads, the tired way the waitresses toss the dishwater out on the street, and in the wobbly slow way the bicycles make their way down the street. Beth and I talked about both having felt it—this common sadness that seems have a presence all over the countryside.
And the Chinese version of "sadness," like many emotional words in Chinese, is much more specific than its equivalent in English. The usual translation in Chinese is 难过 （nanguo) which literally means hard going or hard to go through. That is the kind of sadness that permeates everything here.
But then, as clear and present as the sadness is the persistence, calm, acceptance and even joy in the face of it all. People continue, people 过了. People don’t seem to complain about their work, they just do it. Women don’t complain much about their status, they just keep doing their studying and all the things they are allowed to do. And there isn’t a student who isn’t proud of China. Their faith in their people and country, in spite of their knowledge of fraud mines causing mudslides into villages, failed milk that has poisoned children, and knowing first hand of all the poor people still struggling in the countryside, is incredibly strong. Even my friends struggling with illness, who sometimes explain to me their frustration with Chinese cultural norms, continue to impress me with their pride in their country. There is a patriotism and faith in family and country here that is stronger than anything I’ve met in the U.S. It’s pretty incredible.
And then there’s the friendliness here. The average American would not think to be half as friendly as the ordinary Taigu person is to us. In spite of the stares and comments about us wherever we go, I feel really welcomed and completely safe here (well except maybe from the traffic). People here are by and in large honestly curious and really tolerant of our differences from them. I find that I can sooth any stare with a friendly smile. I’m so grateful that smiles and laughter are international. I’m really good at those. And they are accepting of me playing basketball with the young men (I even got a few of my female students to join me), of me as a teacher, of me talking with the storekeepers and ordinary folk on the street. There’s an interesting line that I walk that has them viewing me with something between tolerance or respect, between viewing me as just crazy or acceptable. I rather like it actually. And I’m pretty grateful the people here allow me to walk it. It’s a privilege I’m willing to accept.
I have also realized that part of what drew me to the people in China this ability—this extraordinary ability to face a country and history of sadness and continue to smile and hold their heads up. I’m still always amazed. Our young, proud country could learn a lot from these people.
There is a sense, especially when a Chinese person finally gets close to you and starts opening up, that people here have a lot of difficult things that they deal with and have to keep hidden. And so I think the earth, building and streets start breathing sadness instead.
I’ve had a number of students already ask for leave to see doctors for various surgeries and conditions. It is not as easy to be open about having a disease here. The U.S. is sometimes rough for sure, but here, students often won’t even tell their close friends that they are suffering from a serious chronic illness. A chronic illness can prevent people from getting the job they want, and word about it will spread like wildfire on a college campus. A few people have opened up to me about their illnesses because I am foreign and they know we have different standards about such things. To suffer from an illness and not be able to ask for the support of your friends seems crazy. As does the number of 20 year old students in this small population that I've already found out are dealing with some chronic disease.
That doesn’t begin to talk about the sadness of young women who have given up playing basketball because they are girls. They now sit on the sidelines and watch the handsome boys make the shots instead. Or the sadness of young women who are afraid to be outspoken in class because they believe that the men really are smarter. Or the sadness of the young men and women working on the streets serving all the young students street food because they never graduated high school or never passed the Gao Kao (the College Entrance Examination). Or the sadness of the man old enough to be my grandfather who sells fruit on the corner and who probably has his whole life and probably will for the rest of his life.
Then there is the sadness that you feel when you walk out on the streets in Taigu. It is written in the dust, the faded plaster on the houses, the lines on people’s foreheads, the tired way the waitresses toss the dishwater out on the street, and in the wobbly slow way the bicycles make their way down the street. Beth and I talked about both having felt it—this common sadness that seems have a presence all over the countryside.
And the Chinese version of "sadness," like many emotional words in Chinese, is much more specific than its equivalent in English. The usual translation in Chinese is 难过 （nanguo) which literally means hard going or hard to go through. That is the kind of sadness that permeates everything here.
But then, as clear and present as the sadness is the persistence, calm, acceptance and even joy in the face of it all. People continue, people 过了. People don’t seem to complain about their work, they just do it. Women don’t complain much about their status, they just keep doing their studying and all the things they are allowed to do. And there isn’t a student who isn’t proud of China. Their faith in their people and country, in spite of their knowledge of fraud mines causing mudslides into villages, failed milk that has poisoned children, and knowing first hand of all the poor people still struggling in the countryside, is incredibly strong. Even my friends struggling with illness, who sometimes explain to me their frustration with Chinese cultural norms, continue to impress me with their pride in their country. There is a patriotism and faith in family and country here that is stronger than anything I’ve met in the U.S. It’s pretty incredible.
And then there’s the friendliness here. The average American would not think to be half as friendly as the ordinary Taigu person is to us. In spite of the stares and comments about us wherever we go, I feel really welcomed and completely safe here (well except maybe from the traffic). People here are by and in large honestly curious and really tolerant of our differences from them. I find that I can sooth any stare with a friendly smile. I’m so grateful that smiles and laughter are international. I’m really good at those. And they are accepting of me playing basketball with the young men (I even got a few of my female students to join me), of me as a teacher, of me talking with the storekeepers and ordinary folk on the street. There’s an interesting line that I walk that has them viewing me with something between tolerance or respect, between viewing me as just crazy or acceptable. I rather like it actually. And I’m pretty grateful the people here allow me to walk it. It’s a privilege I’m willing to accept.
I have also realized that part of what drew me to the people in China this ability—this extraordinary ability to face a country and history of sadness and continue to smile and hold their heads up. I’m still always amazed. Our young, proud country could learn a lot from these people.
Monday, September 29, 2008
The American Team: or when Anne, Nick, Ben and Yue get to pretend they are super 厉害（lihai)
(For those of you who don't know, lihai sort of means really amazing or awesome at something. Basically it doesn't have a really good English translation, which is why I used it.)
So we heard there was a large martial arts event being held at a High School in Taigu. It was for a special kind of marital arts, similar to Taiqi that had been started in Taigu. (I believe it is called Xingyi quan.) Ben, Nick, Yue (my Chinese teacher and new friend), and I all decided to go see the opening ceremony.
At the gate to the field, everybody was crowded and pushing and nobody was being let in. But the moment the guards saw Ben and Nick’s face, they asked what country they were from. “America” they responded, to which the guards let them in and pointed to a side of the field. Yue (my Chinese teacher and new friend) and I quickly yelled that we were with them, and with my foreign-looking face and Yue locked on my arm, we made it in too. The organizers pointed us to a series of High-school aged girls dressed in pink, sparkly short dresses holding signs with names of countries and Chinese provinces on them. We were pushed behind the United States sign. Ben and Nick were smiling, Yue and I were horrified. They thought we were participants! We got to march around the stadium representing “The American Team.” Yue hoped that no one who knew her was in the audience, I reassured her that she spoke English well enough to be an ABC (which was true) so she might as well march with us. It was entertaining, until we had to stand in front of the bleachers and listen to 5 officials give speeches about the significance of the event. Then things got exciting again as the fireworks went off, hundreds of students did a large performance on the field and the competitions began.
It was fun, for sure, but it felt really strange to have the doors wide open to us just because of the faces we were born with, when the people who grew up in the city were not allowed into this exciting event unless they had special invitation. I wanted to take the almost one hundred patient, ordinary Taigu people standing with their faces pressed against the fence and tell the guards they were American so they could also use the strange backseat passes our faces allowed us.
So we heard there was a large martial arts event being held at a High School in Taigu. It was for a special kind of marital arts, similar to Taiqi that had been started in Taigu. (I believe it is called Xingyi quan.) Ben, Nick, Yue (my Chinese teacher and new friend), and I all decided to go see the opening ceremony.
At the gate to the field, everybody was crowded and pushing and nobody was being let in. But the moment the guards saw Ben and Nick’s face, they asked what country they were from. “America” they responded, to which the guards let them in and pointed to a side of the field. Yue (my Chinese teacher and new friend) and I quickly yelled that we were with them, and with my foreign-looking face and Yue locked on my arm, we made it in too. The organizers pointed us to a series of High-school aged girls dressed in pink, sparkly short dresses holding signs with names of countries and Chinese provinces on them. We were pushed behind the United States sign. Ben and Nick were smiling, Yue and I were horrified. They thought we were participants! We got to march around the stadium representing “The American Team.” Yue hoped that no one who knew her was in the audience, I reassured her that she spoke English well enough to be an ABC (which was true) so she might as well march with us. It was entertaining, until we had to stand in front of the bleachers and listen to 5 officials give speeches about the significance of the event. Then things got exciting again as the fireworks went off, hundreds of students did a large performance on the field and the competitions began.
It was fun, for sure, but it felt really strange to have the doors wide open to us just because of the faces we were born with, when the people who grew up in the city were not allowed into this exciting event unless they had special invitation. I wanted to take the almost one hundred patient, ordinary Taigu people standing with their faces pressed against the fence and tell the guards they were American so they could also use the strange backseat passes our faces allowed us.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Adventure Run #1
When I am in a new place I feel that part of my way of figuring out where I am is to get lost in it. Running is usually my mode of transportation.
So one morning before my classes, instead of my usual route around the border of the campus, I decided to step outside the walls. (The entire University--like almost every other school in China, from Elementary school to University—is surrounded by a large cement wall). I could just feel the excitement under my feet as I headed out of the gates under the curious stares from the guards, the taxi cab drivers waiting at the gate and every other person who walked or biked along the dirt road that went by the entrance. I headed around the wall, followed it a ways just to see where it went, found how to get to North Yard (the small neighborhood full of restaurants and shops right next to the university) without going through the gates, ran along through the corn fields, past stares from farmers and bikers and the large group of people constructing a house. I ended up on a main road that I hoped headed back towards the campus, but as I followed it, I realized that the tall apartment buildings where the teachers stayed were sinking further and further to my left. I realized that the train tracks on the bridge above the road were headed in the right directions so I ran up some stone steps built into the wall and ended up on a small path running next to the railroad. I followed the path for a ways and was pleasantly surprised by how alone I was, until a train went by and got some good stares from at least a hundred Chinese people. Suddenly Nong Da was again moving slowly to the left as I ran and I had to find a way down. The tracks took another overpass over a road that I knew was really close to the entrance, but there were no convenient steps this time. I followed the top of a cement wall that led down from an overpass, got barked at by a small dog that came up to my mid-shins and only got one surprised stare from a woman who happened to be looking up from her bicycle as I was walking down. I made it back safe, tired, contented and extremely excited that I had finally been comfortable and brave enough to have had a run by myself outside the walls in Taigu. I realized that I didn't have to go very far outside of campus to find a little adventure.
Terror set in though when Zhao Hong, the teacher in charge of us foreign teachers here gave me a call soon after I came back. “I need to see you in my office” was the approximate translation of what she said. Oh no, I thought, someone who saw me on the train or the lady who was on the bike knew her, or maybe the guards mentioned that I had been outside the gate running for almost an hour. I was in trouble. I went into her office and she began, “Anne, there are certain traditions in China revolving around teachers...” Alright, I thought, preparing myself to be yelled at, here comes the explanation of why teachers are not allowed to be out running all over the countryside. “...and one of them is Teachers Day. Here’s your bonus.” She handed me 200 yuan. I must have looked a little stunned because she reassured me, “Take it. All the teachers receive the same amount.” I couldn’t believe how well the morning was going. I thanked her and left to finish getting ready for my first class.
So one morning before my classes, instead of my usual route around the border of the campus, I decided to step outside the walls. (The entire University--like almost every other school in China, from Elementary school to University—is surrounded by a large cement wall). I could just feel the excitement under my feet as I headed out of the gates under the curious stares from the guards, the taxi cab drivers waiting at the gate and every other person who walked or biked along the dirt road that went by the entrance. I headed around the wall, followed it a ways just to see where it went, found how to get to North Yard (the small neighborhood full of restaurants and shops right next to the university) without going through the gates, ran along through the corn fields, past stares from farmers and bikers and the large group of people constructing a house. I ended up on a main road that I hoped headed back towards the campus, but as I followed it, I realized that the tall apartment buildings where the teachers stayed were sinking further and further to my left. I realized that the train tracks on the bridge above the road were headed in the right directions so I ran up some stone steps built into the wall and ended up on a small path running next to the railroad. I followed the path for a ways and was pleasantly surprised by how alone I was, until a train went by and got some good stares from at least a hundred Chinese people. Suddenly Nong Da was again moving slowly to the left as I ran and I had to find a way down. The tracks took another overpass over a road that I knew was really close to the entrance, but there were no convenient steps this time. I followed the top of a cement wall that led down from an overpass, got barked at by a small dog that came up to my mid-shins and only got one surprised stare from a woman who happened to be looking up from her bicycle as I was walking down. I made it back safe, tired, contented and extremely excited that I had finally been comfortable and brave enough to have had a run by myself outside the walls in Taigu. I realized that I didn't have to go very far outside of campus to find a little adventure.
Terror set in though when Zhao Hong, the teacher in charge of us foreign teachers here gave me a call soon after I came back. “I need to see you in my office” was the approximate translation of what she said. Oh no, I thought, someone who saw me on the train or the lady who was on the bike knew her, or maybe the guards mentioned that I had been outside the gate running for almost an hour. I was in trouble. I went into her office and she began, “Anne, there are certain traditions in China revolving around teachers...” Alright, I thought, preparing myself to be yelled at, here comes the explanation of why teachers are not allowed to be out running all over the countryside. “...and one of them is Teachers Day. Here’s your bonus.” She handed me 200 yuan. I must have looked a little stunned because she reassured me, “Take it. All the teachers receive the same amount.” I couldn’t believe how well the morning was going. I thanked her and left to finish getting ready for my first class.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Yelling English, Military Training and Losing Weight
Today was really cold for the first time. It was raining this morning and instead of getting warmer as the day went on, it got colder. By the evening it was cold enough that I was wearing a scarf and 3 shirts when going outside. (It wasn’t actually that cold--I’ve just been spoiled with nice weather.) Outside, “Crazy English” (as I discovered the groups practicing English by yelling every night are called) continued to go on in spite of the cold. Only this time, the students were all dressed in camouflage military uniform. To a person who wasn’t familiar with the Universities in China, it was pretty intimidating looking—a large group of young people dressed in military uniform repeating loudly after a single leader: “If!” “IF!” “I!” “I!” “were!” “were!” “WERE!” “WERE!!”....
But to those of us who now knew how things worked, we saw that the entire group, based on their military uniforms, was made of freshmen who had just arrived at the University. All the freshmen were required to have a week of military training before starting school. So we would see them all for a week or so, all dressed in their camouflage uniforms, starting from early in the morning yelling chants, marching in time, and sitting on little stools listening to some speaker yell something through a loudspeaker in Chinese. Even at 10pm they were all walking around in their military clothing. Most of them are a fair amount smaller than I, but that didn’t stop me from being spooked when I went around a dark corner and a person dressed in camouflage comes striding around the bend. I had to remind myself that they were the same students who when I was running in the morning, parted a path for me, called out a timid, Hello? and then whose faces broke into big, smiles and laughter when I smiled and said hi to them. They all looked really young and quite in wonder at everything, including the exotic foreigner running by them.
Later tonight at the underground supermarket I ran into one of my English majors. Another side of these young people’s lives was exposed when I asked her about what she was up to tonight. The slender girl replied cheerfully that she and her roommates were going running because she needed to lose weight. I almost gagged, but I held it in, “But you are so skinny!” I exclaimed instead. “Maybe in your eyes” she said with a smile, looking my body up and down, “but in Chinese people’s eyes, I am fat.” Oh, I thought, well in that case, I am obese by Chinese standards. But I said nothing, smiled and listened to her finish talking about running being good for losing weight. I was happy when she changed the subject to the upcoming vacation.
I have realized that everyone thinks I’m running because I want to lose weight. It seems like the idea of running for fun is quite foreign here. Just like me and my body type.
But to those of us who now knew how things worked, we saw that the entire group, based on their military uniforms, was made of freshmen who had just arrived at the University. All the freshmen were required to have a week of military training before starting school. So we would see them all for a week or so, all dressed in their camouflage uniforms, starting from early in the morning yelling chants, marching in time, and sitting on little stools listening to some speaker yell something through a loudspeaker in Chinese. Even at 10pm they were all walking around in their military clothing. Most of them are a fair amount smaller than I, but that didn’t stop me from being spooked when I went around a dark corner and a person dressed in camouflage comes striding around the bend. I had to remind myself that they were the same students who when I was running in the morning, parted a path for me, called out a timid, Hello? and then whose faces broke into big, smiles and laughter when I smiled and said hi to them. They all looked really young and quite in wonder at everything, including the exotic foreigner running by them.
Later tonight at the underground supermarket I ran into one of my English majors. Another side of these young people’s lives was exposed when I asked her about what she was up to tonight. The slender girl replied cheerfully that she and her roommates were going running because she needed to lose weight. I almost gagged, but I held it in, “But you are so skinny!” I exclaimed instead. “Maybe in your eyes” she said with a smile, looking my body up and down, “but in Chinese people’s eyes, I am fat.” Oh, I thought, well in that case, I am obese by Chinese standards. But I said nothing, smiled and listened to her finish talking about running being good for losing weight. I was happy when she changed the subject to the upcoming vacation.
I have realized that everyone thinks I’m running because I want to lose weight. It seems like the idea of running for fun is quite foreign here. Just like me and my body type.
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