a wal-mart fiasco

To those who complain about the crazy shoppers during the day after Thanksgiving: You've never been in a Wal-Mart two days before Spring Festival, the Chinese New Year celebration. It's times like these I'm reminded of the overpopulation. Upon entering The Mart, Nate and I transformed into players in a video game, dodging in and out of the crowd, hopping over baskets, squeezing past granpas. When we accumulated all the hidden treasures on our list, we slowly shuffled towards the cash registers, losing time and points. To increase our chances, we split up choosing two separate lines. I lined up behind a woman of perhaps 50 with curly hair, pushing a cart full of goods. Many pushed past us, having already made their purchases. One woman, short and plump with a long ponytail trailing down her back, seemed indecisive in choosing one line or the other. At first she followed a woman sporting her offspring on her back but then changed her mind and cut in front of the curly-haired lady. The cutter, who operated on the Chinese pretense that lines are relative, wore make-up like a 13-yr-old in a low-budget 80's film: hot pink lips and racoon eyes.

Curly-hair was perturbed by Racoon eyes' presumptuous move and told her so. After a few bickering words among the newfound enemies, Nate said his line was obviously faster, so I scooted two lines over, not diverting my attention from the building tension. "Those two women are fighting," I said, nodding my head towards the two. As though on my cue, Racoon pushed Curly's basket. Much shuffling and clanging of items ensued, each trying to put theirs first under the undisturbed eyes of the cashier, who looked like she would blow away with a gust of wind. Right when I thought the fighting had subsided, Racoon spit in Curly's basket, which floored the two gaping foreigners. Curly shoved her basket into Racoon's side. Racoon shoved it back. Back and forth. Back and forth, yelling and shouting who-knows-what. To my delight, during this fight of all fights, I was a front-row witness to the action. Racoon took her sack of eggs, swung it over her shoulder and *SMACK* right across Curly's face, busting both sack and eggs, yolk flying everywhere. Curly retaliated by throwing produce at Racoon. And then, to my dismay, the store manager approached the scene: two women, over-the-hill, standing like statues ready to pounce, fuming in anger. As Nate and I finished checking out, the same though crossed our minds: ONLY IN CHINA.

the kindness of strangers

One year in college my friend Julia and I had a memorable conversation about the life lesson we are being taught by the Father. Julia's is to learn not to rely too much on others; whereas mine is to learn how to give up my pride and depend on others. This solo, independent vacation of mine turned into a new step in my life lesson of depending on the generosity of others.
I am forever indebted to the Chinese. In every new city, I usually found myself hopelessly lost at least once. One time, when looking for a hostel, I met a graduate student with excellent English who not only walked me there but carried my bag as well. In another city, I was on a bus headed in the wrong direction. When I asked a fellow passenger if this bus would take me to my destination, he got off the bus with me at the next stop and told the bus driver of the correct bus that he should tell me when to get off. In Shanghai when desperately lost, I heard those comforting words sent from above: "Do you need help?" I am always reminded He is watching over me. A college student and his uncle missed their bus to walk me to the subway station. When I showed concern about this, he replied, "We'll just take a taxi." A taxi can be considerably more expensive than a bus, especially in bigger cities. In Beijing while perched on the floor of the main train station awaiting the "midnight express," I glanced at my train ticket. My neighbor, being Chinese, naturally inspected my ticket. He asked me if I spoke Chinese, then proceeded to tell me my ticket was for the Beijing West Railway Station. Fortunately, I was four hours early for my train, providing plenty of time to reach the other station. And I could continue my list of those who helped.
My favorite story of the many regarding the good Samaritans of China is when I was adopted by three uncles: I boarded my last solo passage on the nicest sleeper bus in all of China. Usually, a ride on a sleeper bus is a fight with germs and gravity. You press your head into the questionable "pillow" while holding on for dear life as the bus rocks back and forth with every pothole. (In central China, the roads are really an extended metropolis of potholes. This is a place where the term "off-roading" does not bear the same meaning as in America.) Another casualty of the sleepers is your bladder and kidneys. There is no toilet on board, which means you must hold it and/or not drink any water for 12 or more hours. The sleeper bus of southern China was a different story altogether. The sheets were white, the mattress soft, the roads smooth...and there was a toilet! Oh, what bliss! I had enough room to fully stretch my legs and I could even roll over on my side. It was smooth sailing, and I was headed towards the company of friends. I had an "unconversation" with one of the drivers who offered me water and some baby oranges. At our pit stop for lunch, he made me follow him into an eating place for bus drivers. "I'm not hungry," I said. "Just sit down," said my new uncle. "I'm not hungry, really, I'm not." He filled my bowl with soup. "I don't eat meat." "Don't be polite. Eat!" And that is how Kayla ate her first pork chop in 8 years. Then we had another unconversation with me attempting to answer questions only to end with my most spoken phrase in Chinese: I Don't Understand. He kept trying to force me to eat more and I kept staring at the huge mole beneath his lower lip. He left to clean the bus, telling me to wait with the other two, as though they might lose me. One thing I've learned in China is that I can't do anything by myself or without anyone watching...apparently. They made me eat dinner with them but didn't force me to eat meat. Later on in the evening, through writing and the assistance of my trusty bi-lingual dictionary, I learned that my newly-ordained uncle believed it wasn't safe for me to be alone in the dark so I was to stay overnight at the bus station, sleeping on the bus with my three uncles and a couple with a baby. In the morning, my uncle told me I should wait for it to get brighter. Apparently 7:30 in the morning wasn't safe enough. I had to wait for the cleaning girls to finish the bus before I was allowed to leave with my escort. I'd like to note that beneath my mattress was a wrench, a screwdriver and a pool of rusty wetness, which is why the bottom of my mattress was moldy. I obviously don't pass for a princess since I can't feel tools, let alone a pea.

where angels fear to tread

"For the barrier of language is sometimes a blessed barrier, which only lets pass what is good. Or--to put the thing less cynically--we may be better in new clean words, which have never been tainted by our pettiness or vice." -E.M. Forster

Chinese Proverb

Dark clothing and chalk dust should never mix.

Nanjing

I spent New Year's Eve in a hostel in Nanjing, the first leg of my two-month journey. Before departing for the said destination, I read a book entitled The Rape of Nanking by Iris Chang, which documents the atrocities committed by Japanese soldiers against the civilian population during the occupation of Nanjing in 1937. Between December 1937 and March 1938, at least 369,366 Chinese civilians were killed, either in group massacres or individual murders. An estimated 80,000 women between the ages of 11 and 76 were raped; many of them were then mutilated and/or murdered. Though the book was uncomfortably gruesome in detail, as many truths of the world often are, it is hoped that a growing awareness of this horrific event will help to prevent such madness from occurring again. As the ancient Chinese proverb says, "Past experience, if not forgotten, is a guide for the future." Accordingly, the Chinese built a memorial hall of the "forgotten massacre" to honor the victims and educate the world.
This massacre is the root of the resentment passed down through the generations of Chinese, the animosity they continue to harbor towards the Japanese people. My students, whose parents weren't even born during this time, connect all the negative adjectives with the Japanese. This prejudice is ingrained in them during childhood. Because they are not brought up to question authority, most never think otherwise (this includes many more subjects which cannot be mentioned at this time). We, as teachers, try to pry their minds open to the idea that there are good and bad people not good and bad races.