Watchers

I am doing taiji with my taiji teacher in the park. People stare at us. One man walks up to us. He stands about two or three feet about from us and watches. I feel like someone from Chinese intelligence is checking up on me, making sure I am not saying anything illegal to my Chinese friend.

After five minutes, our intelligence officer walks away, lights a cigarette, and heads back to his office to type up a report on the foreigner learning Wu style taiji.

I imagine that my government file has just gotten longer by one line: "RE: Laowai studying Wu style taiji in park. COMMENTS: Movements--slow and precise. Shoulders are a little tight. Nose--big."

Today, I am in a KFC studying Chinese. It's a convenient place to study, although I rarely go there because it is too loud. I find that it is quite a community gathering place. Behind me, a group of Filipina woman are yapping about, teasing each other. In front of me, there is a little play area where kids are laughing out loud.

The oldest girl, probably about nine, is really sweet with the other kids. She always has a smile on her face. There is a little boy of about four who is not a happy kid. He either tries to hit other kids or frowning, moans. The big girl protects the others and she holds little troublemaker's hand.

I try not to focus on the kids and focus on writing characters. I love writing them in my elementary school notebook, which has many little squares where I can write the same characters over and over again, just like elementary school students do every day.

As I am writing, I feel someone is looking at me. I look up and see a fifty year-old guy watching me write. His face is red, like he drank too much bai jiu last night. I'm not going to say anything to him. I'm already used to this. I keep writing, and he keeps staring.

It's a little uncomfortable. I look up at him. I extend my hand, turn my palm up to invite him to sit down. I smile and say to him in Chinese, please sit down, qing zuo. He smiles back at me and politely declines my offer.

His family walks by and they are leaving, their fried chicken gently digesting in their stomachs. Now they all look at me. The bai jiu drinking dad says to his family: "He's using his left hand to write characters." They all look curiously.

One day, I won't be so alien to so many people here in China. In the meantime, I continue to practice my characters and do my taiji, seemingly unperturbed.