At the subway station, I walk up to a stand that sells drinks. I notice they have some bottled water and so I walk up to the young girl who works there to ask her for a bottle of water. I am parched since I just finished taiji practice.
"What kind of water do you want?" she asks me.
I don't get it. Behind her are about ten different kinds of drinks and only one of them is water. Did I miss the "beverage" lesson in my Chinese textbook?
"Well, do you have several different kinds of water?" I ask.
"Yes," she says.
I look again and start reading to her. "Well, you have orange juice, oolong tea, green tea, jasmine tea, milk tea, Pepsi... "
She starts laughing at around "jasmine tea" and pulls the water off the shelf.
I always like it when Chinese people laugh at my jokes.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
The Market Near Dongbaoxing Station
I am walking to taiji class today and I am on a quest to find cashews (腰果; yaoguo). When you are hungry but can't have a big meal, what hits the spot more than a bag of cashews?
I decide to take some side streets (actually, I have no choice--I can't find any convenience stores anywhere) on my quest. I thought it would be a quick affair and that I would have time to go to a cafe to study Chinese before my class, but it was not meant to be. No, I was meant to walk around the side streets near where I practice taiji. Suddenly, I stumble upon an outdoor market.
There are many fish vendors. They keep their fish (which are still alive, floating in water) in clear plastic boxes, all of which have plastic hoses going into them to aerate the water so the fish don't die. There are all kinds of fish, and I stand in front of a fish vendor, just staring at all the different kinds. They look like they are dead, but then I see their gills are still moving. They're very cramped and can't swim around. They've resigned to their fate, what else can they do? Try to escape?
I still feel sad for them, although I know the tasty fish dish I ate a few weeks ago, well, contained fish. We live in a world of limits and I know the poor fish lady can't buy big aquariums with toys in them for the fish.
I notice there are some frogs a couple boxes over. They're big and deep, dark green. I say to the lady, "Hey, you have frogs, too." She says they aren't regular frogs, but niu wa (牛蛙). I think "cow frogs?" Then I realize that they are bullfrogs.
I continue through the market and notice all the other things for sale, mostly vegetables. There's a burly sugarcane woman and her knife, which looks like a butcher's knife. She's shaving the rind off and cuts off two pieces for her customer. Then I see the two water chestnut vendors and I notice the skill of one them as he deftly uses his small knife to peel the skin off the brown vegetables, leaving white buttons.
The market it pretty packed. There aren't any foreigners there and so people examine me, the only laowai, as I walk by them. I try to smile at people, and one guy, another vendor, gives me a big smile back. I like being away from the city center, where people aren't used to seeing so many foreigners, and no one is trying to scam me or sell me a fake Rolex.
There's a young girl of about 18 selling something up ahead. Her skin is darker than most girls in Shanghai, and I think if you saw her, you would describe her as pretty. She's squatting down, focused on whatever she's doing. She's got something in one hand and scissors in the other. I notice her hands are bloody. If you are squeamish, I suggest you stop reading here and go check your email or something.
As I get closer, I realize that she is selling small chicks the size of your fist. They are all brown-colored, and they are alive. She's got a bag of them and customers come by and tell her how many they want. She pulls them out one at a time, and, using her scissors, first pulls off the skin and feather. The bird is squirming in her hand. Then, she cuts off the birds feet and wings.
She's a pro, and it's like watching that guy process those water chestnuts, excepts that what she's holding in her hands is alive.
I am looking at this with astonishment. I wonder what does this do to your soul if you do this kind of thing every day. I know that the girl probably has no choice, and that if she could get a job working in an office, she probably would. Maybe this is what her family does to make a living, and she is helping out. I feel compassion for that chick, and I feel compassion for the girl, too.
I see a nut vendor, but he doesn't have any cashews. After I leave the market, I chance upon a convenience store, where I am finally able to find my cashews.
As I get closer,
I decide to take some side streets (actually, I have no choice--I can't find any convenience stores anywhere) on my quest. I thought it would be a quick affair and that I would have time to go to a cafe to study Chinese before my class, but it was not meant to be. No, I was meant to walk around the side streets near where I practice taiji. Suddenly, I stumble upon an outdoor market.
There are many fish vendors. They keep their fish (which are still alive, floating in water) in clear plastic boxes, all of which have plastic hoses going into them to aerate the water so the fish don't die. There are all kinds of fish, and I stand in front of a fish vendor, just staring at all the different kinds. They look like they are dead, but then I see their gills are still moving. They're very cramped and can't swim around. They've resigned to their fate, what else can they do? Try to escape?
I still feel sad for them, although I know the tasty fish dish I ate a few weeks ago, well, contained fish. We live in a world of limits and I know the poor fish lady can't buy big aquariums with toys in them for the fish.
I notice there are some frogs a couple boxes over. They're big and deep, dark green. I say to the lady, "Hey, you have frogs, too." She says they aren't regular frogs, but niu wa (牛蛙). I think "cow frogs?" Then I realize that they are bullfrogs.
I continue through the market and notice all the other things for sale, mostly vegetables. There's a burly sugarcane woman and her knife, which looks like a butcher's knife. She's shaving the rind off and cuts off two pieces for her customer. Then I see the two water chestnut vendors and I notice the skill of one them as he deftly uses his small knife to peel the skin off the brown vegetables, leaving white buttons.
The market it pretty packed. There aren't any foreigners there and so people examine me, the only laowai, as I walk by them. I try to smile at people, and one guy, another vendor, gives me a big smile back. I like being away from the city center, where people aren't used to seeing so many foreigners, and no one is trying to scam me or sell me a fake Rolex.
There's a young girl of about 18 selling something up ahead. Her skin is darker than most girls in Shanghai, and I think if you saw her, you would describe her as pretty. She's squatting down, focused on whatever she's doing. She's got something in one hand and scissors in the other. I notice her hands are bloody. If you are squeamish, I suggest you stop reading here and go check your email or something.
As I get closer, I realize that she is selling small chicks the size of your fist. They are all brown-colored, and they are alive. She's got a bag of them and customers come by and tell her how many they want. She pulls them out one at a time, and, using her scissors, first pulls off the skin and feather. The bird is squirming in her hand. Then, she cuts off the birds feet and wings.
She's a pro, and it's like watching that guy process those water chestnuts, excepts that what she's holding in her hands is alive.
I am looking at this with astonishment. I wonder what does this do to your soul if you do this kind of thing every day. I know that the girl probably has no choice, and that if she could get a job working in an office, she probably would. Maybe this is what her family does to make a living, and she is helping out. I feel compassion for that chick, and I feel compassion for the girl, too.
I see a nut vendor, but he doesn't have any cashews. After I leave the market, I chance upon a convenience store, where I am finally able to find my cashews.
As I get closer,
My Taiwanese Mandarin
I visit Yufo Si (玉佛寺; Jade Buddha Temple) again today and go to the second floor above the main gift shop, where there are beautiful things like Buddhas and dragons made of jade and wood. The man who paints landscapes with the side of his hand is there and he recognizes me from last week and gives me a smile.
There's a beautiful wooden low table for tea behind him, and he invites me to sit and join him. He compliments me profusely on my Chinese, although I know I am still just a beginner. I am humbled every day by this dragon of a language. But he isn't used to seeing laowai who speak Chinese. His coworkers join us, and as we talk, hen kaixin (很 開心; very warmly), tourists who don't speak Chinese walk in to browse.
The girl who works there gives me an English blurb about Pixiu (貔貅) the big-bellied dragon that they display in the store, and I am happy to translate it from Chinglish to English. So, we continue our exchange, and I work on editing the paragraph in between drinking tea and speaking with them. I learn that it is good luck to rub the dragon's belly.
A middle-aged man wearing a motorcycle helmet walks in with his kid, a boy of around eight, who is also wearing a helmet. He watches as we all talk. Then he looks at my friends and says, "His Chinese, he learned it in Taiwan."
I turn to him and tell him he is right. We all talk for a while longer, but after I leave the temple, I am still tickled by the guy's observation and I call my Taiwanese friend Chi up and we laugh.
There's a beautiful wooden low table for tea behind him, and he invites me to sit and join him. He compliments me profusely on my Chinese, although I know I am still just a beginner. I am humbled every day by this dragon of a language. But he isn't used to seeing laowai who speak Chinese. His coworkers join us, and as we talk, hen kaixin (很 開心; very warmly), tourists who don't speak Chinese walk in to browse.
The girl who works there gives me an English blurb about Pixiu (貔貅) the big-bellied dragon that they display in the store, and I am happy to translate it from Chinglish to English. So, we continue our exchange, and I work on editing the paragraph in between drinking tea and speaking with them. I learn that it is good luck to rub the dragon's belly.
A middle-aged man wearing a motorcycle helmet walks in with his kid, a boy of around eight, who is also wearing a helmet. He watches as we all talk. Then he looks at my friends and says, "His Chinese, he learned it in Taiwan."
I turn to him and tell him he is right. We all talk for a while longer, but after I leave the temple, I am still tickled by the guy's observation and I call my Taiwanese friend Chi up and we laugh.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
The Temples of Shanghai
Today, I had the urge to visit a Buddhist temple, and so I went to Yufo Si, which means "Jade Buddha temple". There are two main temples in Shanghai--Jing An Si and Yufo Si.
I visited Jing An temple a few weeks ago during the New Year and found it to be touristy. Of course, Chinese New Year is the time when the masses throng to the temples. Kids and adults were playing a game of throwing money in ceremonial pots, and everyone (including me) had a camera.
My initial impression of China, from my quite narrow view of it from here in Shanghai has been that it is quite un-spiritual. As everyone knows, Shanghai is all about money and bling. As my Chinese friend (who's not from Shanghai) says, everyone is in a rush to achieve success and get rich quick (急功近利).
And for those of you who need a short lesson on Chinese history, 60 years of communism and a cultural revolution haven't been kind to Buddhism, or any religion for that matter.
Nevertheless, I was happy, nay, amazed, to see Chinese people praying, lighting incense, and bowing at the temple. It reminded me of my old home, Taiwan, which is full of temples and people bowing in them.
Yesterday, I was reading a book about Buddhism in present-day Chinese, and the author said that when he went to see the large Buddha on Leshan Mountain in Sichuan, his impression was that it might as well have been a statue of Mickey Mouse--the Chinese tourists with their cameras didn't come to worship, only to take pictures and say that they had visited this famous sight.
Just as I did at Jing An Si a few weeks ago, I paid the 20RMB (which is steep for China) fee to enter Yufo Si. Upon entering, I was again moved to see Chinese people devoutly bowing with incense. Yufo Si is smaller than Jing An Si, but it actually is a monastery (Jing An isn't). I could feel something special there. Maybe it's not just a tourist trap, I thought.
I walked around to the different parts of the temple, seeing the many different Buddhas, but mostly paying attention to the people, old and young, who were there. I didn't really pay attention to the foreign tourists there. I want to know who comes to temples in Shanghai to pray. I was curious.
As I was walking, I came to a small shop within the temple where they were selling statues and other Buddhist supplies. Lest I forget that I am in Shanghai and not Taipei, as soon as I walked in, I was accosted by a professional calligrapher, a performer and salesman, who offered to do calligraphy for me. When I told him I was American, he started talking about America (in English). When I mentioned France, he started saying a few word in French. I walked away to continue exploring the temple and a few seconds later could hear him continuing his spiel in English to the group of tourists just behind me.
After finally seeing the Jade Buddha, I ended up going to another of the shops that are part of the temple complex. I spoke to the girl who worked there in Chinese and began to look around. There was an incredibly intricate carving from a large slab of a tree trunk showing a whole village, probably a whole myth. There were jade marble bracelets. More Buddhas. And at the other side of the room, a bunch of Chinese men sitting around drinking tea.
One of them, upon seeing me, got up and started painting mountain scenes in ink using the meaty part of his hand. He tried speaking English to me until he was interrupted by the girl, who said I can speak Chinese. So, we started talking, and all the guys at the tea table behind us started listening, surprised that a laowai like me can speak Chinese.
His friend joined the conversation and asked me where I learned my Chinese. I said in Taiwan. I mentioned that in Taiwan, there are quite a lot of temples. He nodded his head. He asked if I am here on business, and I told him that I am here to study Chinese.
We had a fun conversation and I even cracked some jokes that made everyone laugh. They told me to come back, and I think I just might do that.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
The Future of China
I get in the crowded subway this morning. A young mother is holding her four year-old daughter's hand and the little girl looks up at me. I give her a big smile. She is precious and keeps looking at me. I smile at her and keep eye contact with her. We're all about to get off the train at People's Square, and I wave goodbye to the little girl. I see her little pink and white knitted gloves starting to move. As her mother's leading her out of the train, she is waving to me.
There is hope for China, perhaps a long time from now.
There is hope for China, perhaps a long time from now.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
China is a Nightmare
I haven't written in my blog for a while for the simple reason that I know that if I write about my experiences in China, they'll inevitably be negative. Why do I want to share that with you, my dear fans? You want me to inspire you, to help you see the beauty and magic of life. Right?
My friend Michael in Seattle, who is also an acupuncturist, wrote me an email recently. He noticed that my blog entries in China haven't been as full of magic as those I wrote while living in Taiwan.
Well, I'm sure you will all be happy to know that I finally have an answer. "There ain't no magic here, that's why!"
Ahh, that feels good to get off my chest. Oh, I'm tingling.
Yeah, after living in Taiwan, if you are interested in Chinese culture, living on the mainland is almost a practical joke. It's almost as if your girlfriend's tatooed, phlegm-spitting, asshole twin sister suddenly takes the place of your soulmate, the woman you've waited your whole life to be with.
I'm sitting in Starbucks studying last week and having a good conversation with a middle-aged guy. He tells me his car was just in an accident, and he's admiring the Chinese characters I'm writing in my notebook.
"Your Chinese is pretty good," he says.
Recently, I've made a resolution to see the good in China, to not be so negative. I feel that if I can change my attitude, that somehow people will suddenly be "good", that I will find the "magic". And so I engage this guy in Starbucks in a conversation.
After my study session, I go downstairs and walk out to my bike. Suddenly, the guy is calling me. "Excuse me, my friend," he says. He's got a whole little act for me, but I'll spare you. To cut to the chase, he asks me for 20RMB, about $2.50.
I am incredulous. All that conversation, for this? In China, you better believe that, yes, all that conversation was, in fact, for the purpose of this punchline.
I'm not going to give him money, and I tell him "no way" (不行) in Chinese.
"You're so cheap," (那麼小氣啊!) he says, and walks away.
I am even more incredulous now. I immediately ride my bike home and call my Taiwanese friend Chi on Skype to ask for her help.
"What do you need?" she asks curiously.
"I need to learn how to say 'Get the fuck out of my face, you asshole' in Chinese."
Chi is cracking up. As you may or may not know, Taiwanese people are experts in the ways of people on the mainland.
In Taiwan, I never needed to learn such profanities, but I feel that I might need to use such sentences here in the mainland. Lest you think I am on a downward spiral here in the PRC, I also think of funny responses (in Chinese) to such requests.
Perhaps I'm still getting used to China. Perhaps I need to just get settled here, get in a groove, and slowly, things will come together.
Don't get me wrong. There are good people here. They'll be embarrassed about the guy in Starbucks. They'll shake their heads and tell you you need to protect yourself a little more from the bad people who are just part of society. And if you are lucky, they'll tell you China needs to evolve.
In a way, China is my teacher. I see this impatient part of me that I've never seen before, and I get to examine it, witness it, maybe even grow. And every day, I get a chance to practice compassion, to be good instead of reacting in a normal, conditioned way.
This afternoon, I go to a bookstore, which is pretty much my favorite thing to do in the world. I get stuck reading a book by some Westerners on how to do business in China.
They mention how Taiwan is one to two generations ahead of China in terms of mentality. Tell me about it. They also say how the failure of communism here, although it led to the deaths of millions, also had an upside, which was to point out to the world quite clearly the flaws of communism and preventing us from repeating them. Living here, I agree.
I come home and do a YouTube search on Taiwan. I watch a video made by the government to promote tourism there. I am practically in tears.
Okay, okay, I'll admit it. There are a few tears.
I eat dinner in my apartment, and then it's time to study. Fortunately, while I am enduring "China", there is the Chinese language, which I love, which keeps me going. It's creative, it's poetic, it's beautiful. I figure I'll go to Starbucks again to study more. Who knows, maybe I'll make another friend, maybe even one who won't ask me for any of my renminbi.
On the way there, while thinking of what I'll write in my blog tonight, I am disturbed by one of the hawkers on the corner near my house. He wants to sell me a fake Rolex or LV bag. I always tell these guys that I am a student and that I need their help to help me practice my Chinese. And so they usually run in the opposite direction. Fortunately, most of them know me already, and so they don't usually even bother me.
But I've never seen this guy. He is persistent, and I don't get upset at all. I just tell him that I need him to help me with my Chinese. He suggests we go to his shop to look at fake merchandise. I ask if he can help me practice my Chinese and teach me a cheng yu, a Chinese proverb, for the day.
After thinking for a second, he says. "Would you like a little maiden?" (姑娘,你要不要?), which I guess, because he uses the word for "maiden" is supposed to sound profound and educated.
I want to learn some advanced Chinese, and this guy is most probably trying to find me a massage parlor.
I think back to my many experiences in Taipei, sipping wulong tea in the mountains and having civilized and warm, friendly conversation with new Taiwanese friends about Chinese culture. I even learned a few cheng yu.
Instead of wanting to leave China on the next plane to Taipei (via Hong Kong), I am curious to see how my journey here will unfold. Will the magic finally appear?
I remember an old Zen teacher of mine. He would say that the magic has already begun.
I say goodbye to my new teacher (the one with the fake Rolexes), and head to Starbucks to write more characters.
My friend Michael in Seattle, who is also an acupuncturist, wrote me an email recently. He noticed that my blog entries in China haven't been as full of magic as those I wrote while living in Taiwan.
Well, I'm sure you will all be happy to know that I finally have an answer. "There ain't no magic here, that's why!"
Ahh, that feels good to get off my chest. Oh, I'm tingling.
Yeah, after living in Taiwan, if you are interested in Chinese culture, living on the mainland is almost a practical joke. It's almost as if your girlfriend's tatooed, phlegm-spitting, asshole twin sister suddenly takes the place of your soulmate, the woman you've waited your whole life to be with.
I'm sitting in Starbucks studying last week and having a good conversation with a middle-aged guy. He tells me his car was just in an accident, and he's admiring the Chinese characters I'm writing in my notebook.
"Your Chinese is pretty good," he says.
Recently, I've made a resolution to see the good in China, to not be so negative. I feel that if I can change my attitude, that somehow people will suddenly be "good", that I will find the "magic". And so I engage this guy in Starbucks in a conversation.
After my study session, I go downstairs and walk out to my bike. Suddenly, the guy is calling me. "Excuse me, my friend," he says. He's got a whole little act for me, but I'll spare you. To cut to the chase, he asks me for 20RMB, about $2.50.
I am incredulous. All that conversation, for this? In China, you better believe that, yes, all that conversation was, in fact, for the purpose of this punchline.
I'm not going to give him money, and I tell him "no way" (不行) in Chinese.
"You're so cheap," (那麼小氣啊!) he says, and walks away.
I am even more incredulous now. I immediately ride my bike home and call my Taiwanese friend Chi on Skype to ask for her help.
"What do you need?" she asks curiously.
"I need to learn how to say 'Get the fuck out of my face, you asshole' in Chinese."
Chi is cracking up. As you may or may not know, Taiwanese people are experts in the ways of people on the mainland.
In Taiwan, I never needed to learn such profanities, but I feel that I might need to use such sentences here in the mainland. Lest you think I am on a downward spiral here in the PRC, I also think of funny responses (in Chinese) to such requests.
Perhaps I'm still getting used to China. Perhaps I need to just get settled here, get in a groove, and slowly, things will come together.
Don't get me wrong. There are good people here. They'll be embarrassed about the guy in Starbucks. They'll shake their heads and tell you you need to protect yourself a little more from the bad people who are just part of society. And if you are lucky, they'll tell you China needs to evolve.
In a way, China is my teacher. I see this impatient part of me that I've never seen before, and I get to examine it, witness it, maybe even grow. And every day, I get a chance to practice compassion, to be good instead of reacting in a normal, conditioned way.
This afternoon, I go to a bookstore, which is pretty much my favorite thing to do in the world. I get stuck reading a book by some Westerners on how to do business in China.
They mention how Taiwan is one to two generations ahead of China in terms of mentality. Tell me about it. They also say how the failure of communism here, although it led to the deaths of millions, also had an upside, which was to point out to the world quite clearly the flaws of communism and preventing us from repeating them. Living here, I agree.
I come home and do a YouTube search on Taiwan. I watch a video made by the government to promote tourism there. I am practically in tears.
Okay, okay, I'll admit it. There are a few tears.
I eat dinner in my apartment, and then it's time to study. Fortunately, while I am enduring "China", there is the Chinese language, which I love, which keeps me going. It's creative, it's poetic, it's beautiful. I figure I'll go to Starbucks again to study more. Who knows, maybe I'll make another friend, maybe even one who won't ask me for any of my renminbi.
On the way there, while thinking of what I'll write in my blog tonight, I am disturbed by one of the hawkers on the corner near my house. He wants to sell me a fake Rolex or LV bag. I always tell these guys that I am a student and that I need their help to help me practice my Chinese. And so they usually run in the opposite direction. Fortunately, most of them know me already, and so they don't usually even bother me.
But I've never seen this guy. He is persistent, and I don't get upset at all. I just tell him that I need him to help me with my Chinese. He suggests we go to his shop to look at fake merchandise. I ask if he can help me practice my Chinese and teach me a cheng yu, a Chinese proverb, for the day.
After thinking for a second, he says. "Would you like a little maiden?" (姑娘,你要不要?), which I guess, because he uses the word for "maiden" is supposed to sound profound and educated.
I want to learn some advanced Chinese, and this guy is most probably trying to find me a massage parlor.
I think back to my many experiences in Taipei, sipping wulong tea in the mountains and having civilized and warm, friendly conversation with new Taiwanese friends about Chinese culture. I even learned a few cheng yu.
Instead of wanting to leave China on the next plane to Taipei (via Hong Kong), I am curious to see how my journey here will unfold. Will the magic finally appear?
I remember an old Zen teacher of mine. He would say that the magic has already begun.
I say goodbye to my new teacher (the one with the fake Rolexes), and head to Starbucks to write more characters.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Ron Mardigian: In Memoriam
My friend Caroline is in China for a business trip and she emails me to say hi, to tell me she's in Beijing. "I forgot you are in Shanghai!" she writes. It would have been nice to see her, but at least it's good to hear from her.
Caroline and I used to work together at Bio-Rad, a company that makes research equipment for researchers in biology and medicine and where Caroline still works (and where I used to be a high-powered HR professional). We are both of Sephardic Jewish background, and even have the some of the same friends, which we discover after we hang out for a while.
Caroline tells me why she's in China, where she's staying and then she tells me that a coworker of ours, Ron Mardigian, has died.
I am in shock. Ron was in his forties. Forty-nine to be exact. He was older than me, but he always felt and looked around my age, not "old" by any stretch of the imagination.
I don't get it. I email Caroline again. She tells me that Ron went to Tahoe, went to sleep one night, and didn't wake up the next morning. They don't know what happened.
I am still in shock. Ron was not an old man. Actually, he was a very young, and alive, man. Just to give you a little taste of Ron, when he started working for Bio-Rad, which is right on the San Francisco Bay, he would go windsurfing during lunch (that is, until someone told him that he couldn't).
Ron and I would hang out at in between cubicles, chatting about backpacking. Ron was Armenian, I am half-Moroccan Jewish, and I felt we also had this connection somewhere way back in the East. Ron taught me some bad words in Armenian, but I forgot.
Whenever I saw Ron, we would talk, crack jokes together, and laugh. Ron made the corporate world at least 28% more bearable. Little did I know, but in less than two years, I would be leaving it to start my journey as a Chinese doctor, something that Ron thought was cool.
Despite the fact that I would be abandoning the world of computers, reports, email, office politics, and performance reviews, I found that there were many really good people at Bio-Rad. People who were human. And then there was Ron. I would say he was a Boddhisattva, which just means someone with a deep, kind heart who cares a lot about others.
After working for Bio-Rad for a while, Ron had an idea to bring biology to classrooms, and asked the president of Bio-Rad if he could help biology teachers teach kids biology by using kits the company would produce, kits that schools would never otherwise have access to.
Fortunately, the president said yes, and Ron's job changed.
Here is what one teacher said about the program that Ron helped create:
After completing my biology course, featuring your Explorer Kits, a student asked me what she needed to do to go to college. Up to the point of seeing and doing genetic engineering, she had no reason to pursue her education beyond high school. There wasn't a single person in her family that had ever attended college and she had no idea where to start. What she did have was a passion to learn more and a sense of purpose for her life. Over the next two years, we worked together to get the necessary perquisites completed, including an independent research project using one of the Bio-Rad kits. I am writing you today, because I just attended her graduation from UC Berkeley, where she earned a degree in Neurobiology. This fall she will start a graduate program at Johns Hopkins where she plans to pursue a PhD. It is these students that make my job worth while, but having the Bio-Rad curriculum and the wonderful kits to awaken the passion for exploration makes my job a lot easier.
To me, Ron is not gone. I can hear his voice. Even now, he is inspiring me. He is telling me to live my life with integrity, to be happy, to have fun, to be of service to others. And most importantly to laugh.
Ron, bro, you gave me and others many gifts, and even now, you've given us another. We wish you were still here with us to laugh and bring us your warm spirit, but we know that sometimes you just gotta accept reality and let it unfold in its way.
It's like an old Korean Zen teacher in Berkeley used to say. He used to teach the following mantra to his students: "Don't know!" In other words, we have to be okay with not knowing the reasons for everything.
Ron, I don't know why you've left us, but I can feel you smiling now. I can feel that big heart of yours. I know you loved all of us. I love you, and I know many, many others did, too.
From the bottom of my heart: Thanks. I'm going to do my best, bro!
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
In A Dream, Roni Tries to Save America
There is no telling how many wars it will take to secure freedom in the homeland.
(George W. Bush, speech on August 7, 2002)
I wake up early this morning from a dream, a very clear dream.
I am walking on a path outside, maybe at a hotel, where people are eating dinner. I look at some bulletin boards on the path, and there are some memos. They are all dated 1983.
I look at peoples' hairstyles and their clothing, and I realize that I must have traveled back in time. Oh my god, it's 1983!
I feel a sense of relief. It's a simpler time. Of course, in 1983 I was just a kid, and so I am in touch with my own sense of innocence at that time.
Suddenly, I see David Hasselhoff, the star of Baywatch. He looks quite young, and even skinny. I look at him and realize that he probably doesn't even know how famous he is going to be in a few years. It's quite a contrast to 2008, when he is pretty much over-the-hill.
I walk down the path, into a big dining room that must be part of the hotel. There is some kind of political convention happening there, and I take a seat to listen. To my surprise, a young George Bush the second is speaking. He seems more lucid, more together than he does 20 years later (although, in the 2000s, I do my best to avoid listening to his canned speeches, which I can tell, he doesn't do a very good job of reciting and comprehending, not to mention the ridiculous fascist content).
However, despite being more "intelligible", he uses more profanity than he does normally, I guess trying to appear more "down-home" to all of us. It is not impressive, just embarrassing. He uses the word "bitch".
I see some people protesting outside of the hotel and I know they are Democrats. Maybe this is some kind of Republican gathering. I want to talk to the protesters outside, to tell them to do their hardest to make sure that Bush doesn't get to power, that our country doesn't get off track in the way that it has in the last seven years. But I am afraid they won't believe me or take me seriously.
Bush of 1983 has left, and, suddenly, Bush, from 2008, enters the room. He looks pretty much the same, except his hair is more grey. He talks in the same way he talks on TV these days, trying to be "down-home", but if you pay attention, you can see that he is different from his younger self. Perhaps he's lost a few million brain cells or something. He is trying to convince people that he is the one to support and vote for, perhaps going back in time to ensure that he can take office in 2000.
Where I am sitting, everyone has a laptop. They are more bulky, old laptops, although I don't think laptops were even invented then. I also have a laptop, a sleek Sony Vaio from the 2000s. I open it and see if I can log onto the internet, but of course, I can't. People aren't really curious about my little laptop--perhaps they think it is just another sleek model. Nevertheless, I notice myself trying to hide my screen from others. What if they see the Windows XP interface? They're still using DOS.
I ask the young guy next to me if he has ever heard of the Beastie Boys, but he says that he hasn't. Of course, they're not going to get big for another few years.
I know that I need to leave soon. But since I know I'll never be back to 1983 again (or so I believe), I decide to tell the guy next to me the truth, that I am from 2008.
"Right," he says. He starts making fun of me and trying to make me look like a kook. I want to convince him that I really am from the future. I want him to know that the world is going to change in a big way. I want to tell him that America is going to change in a big way, and that it's not all a pretty picture.
He's still mocking me as he gets up to go. I need to go, too.
"I will just say one word to you," I say. "Remember it."
He stops his mocking for a second and waits for my word.
"The internet." I say.
And hopefully, as the years pass, he will remember me, and perhaps, in another reality, he and others can help change things, so we don't end up in the nightmare that is the United States today.
A Dream
I wake up early this morning from a dream, a very clear dream.
I am walking on a path outside, maybe at a hotel, where people are eating dinner. I look at some bulletin boards on the path, and there are some memos. They are all dated 1983.
I look at peoples' hairstyles and their clothing, and I realize that I must have traveled back in time. Oh my god, it's 1983!
I feel a sense of relief. It's a simpler time. Of course, in 1983 I was just a kid, and so I am in touch with my own sense of innocence at that time.
Suddenly, I see David Hasselhoff, the star of Baywatch. He looks quite young, and even skinny. I look at him and realize that he probably doesn't even know how famous he is going to be in a few years. It's quite a contrast to 2008, when he is pretty much over-the-hill.
I walk down the path, into a big dining room that must be part of the hotel. There is some kind of political convention happening there, and I take a seat to listen. To my surprise, a young George Bush the second is speaking. He seems more lucid, more together than he does 20 years later (although I do my best to avoid listening to his speeches, which I can tell, he doesn't do a very good job of reciting and comprehending, not to mention the ridiculous fascist content).
However, despite being more "intelligible", he uses more profanity than he does normally, I guess trying to appear more "down-home" to all of us. It is not impressive, just embarrassing.
I see some people protesting outside of the hotel and I know they are democrats. Maybe this is some kind of republican gathering. I want to talk to them, to tell them to do their hardest to make sure that Bush doesn't get to power, that our country doesn't get off track in the way that it has in the last seven years. But I am afraid they won't believe me or take me seriously.
Bush of 1983 has left, and, suddenly, Bush, from 2008, enters the room. He looks pretty much the same, except his hair is more grey. He talks in the same way he talks on TV these days, trying to be "down-home", but if you pay attention, you can see that he is different from his younger self. He is trying to convince people that he is the one to support and vote for.
Where I am sitting, everyone has a laptop. They are more bulky, old laptops, although I don't think laptops were even invented then. I also have a laptop, a sleek Sony Vaio from the 2000s. I open it and see if I can log onto the internet, but of course, I can't. People aren't really curious about my little laptop--perhaps they think it is just another sleek model. Nevertheless, I notice myself trying to hide my screen from others. What if they see the Windows XP interface? They're still using DOS.
I ask the young guy next to me if he has ever heard of the Beastie Boys, but he says that he hasn't. Of course, they're not going to get big for another few years.
I know that I need to leave soon. But since I know I'll never be back to 1983 again (or so I believe), I decide to tell the guy next to me the truth, that I am from 2008.
"Right," he says. He starts making fun of me and trying to make me look like a kook. I want to convince him that I really am from the future. I want him to know that the world is going to change in a big way. I want to tell him that America is going to change in a big way, and that it's not all a pretty picture.
He's still mocking me as he gets up to go. I need to go, too.
"I will just say one word to you," I say. "Remember it."
He looks confused.
"The internet!" I say.
And hopefully, as the years pass, he will remember me, and perhaps, in another reality, someone can help change things, so we don't end up in the nightmare that is the United States today.
I am walking on a path outside, maybe at a hotel, where people are eating dinner. I look at some bulletin boards on the path, and there are some memos. They are all dated 1983.
I look at peoples' hairstyles and their clothing, and I realize that I must have traveled back in time. Oh my god, it's 1983!
I feel a sense of relief. It's a simpler time. Of course, in 1983 I was just a kid, and so I am in touch with my own sense of innocence at that time.
Suddenly, I see David Hasselhoff, the star of Baywatch. He looks quite young, and even skinny. I look at him and realize that he probably doesn't even know how famous he is going to be in a few years. It's quite a contrast to 2008, when he is pretty much over-the-hill.
I walk down the path, into a big dining room that must be part of the hotel. There is some kind of political convention happening there, and I take a seat to listen. To my surprise, a young George Bush the second is speaking. He seems more lucid, more together than he does 20 years later (although I do my best to avoid listening to his speeches, which I can tell, he doesn't do a very good job of reciting and comprehending, not to mention the ridiculous fascist content).
However, despite being more "intelligible", he uses more profanity than he does normally, I guess trying to appear more "down-home" to all of us. It is not impressive, just embarrassing.
I see some people protesting outside of the hotel and I know they are democrats. Maybe this is some kind of republican gathering. I want to talk to them, to tell them to do their hardest to make sure that Bush doesn't get to power, that our country doesn't get off track in the way that it has in the last seven years. But I am afraid they won't believe me or take me seriously.
Bush of 1983 has left, and, suddenly, Bush, from 2008, enters the room. He looks pretty much the same, except his hair is more grey. He talks in the same way he talks on TV these days, trying to be "down-home", but if you pay attention, you can see that he is different from his younger self. He is trying to convince people that he is the one to support and vote for.
Where I am sitting, everyone has a laptop. They are more bulky, old laptops, although I don't think laptops were even invented then. I also have a laptop, a sleek Sony Vaio from the 2000s. I open it and see if I can log onto the internet, but of course, I can't. People aren't really curious about my little laptop--perhaps they think it is just another sleek model. Nevertheless, I notice myself trying to hide my screen from others. What if they see the Windows XP interface? They're still using DOS.
I ask the young guy next to me if he has ever heard of the Beastie Boys, but he says that he hasn't. Of course, they're not going to get big for another few years.
I know that I need to leave soon. But since I know I'll never be back to 1983 again (or so I believe), I decide to tell the guy next to me the truth, that I am from 2008.
"Right," he says. He starts making fun of me and trying to make me look like a kook. I want to convince him that I really am from the future. I want him to know that the world is going to change in a big way. I want to tell him that America is going to change in a big way, and that it's not all a pretty picture.
He's still mocking me as he gets up to go. I need to go, too.
"I will just say one word to you," I say. "Remember it."
He looks confused.
"The internet!" I say.
And hopefully, as the years pass, he will remember me, and perhaps, in another reality, someone can help change things, so we don't end up in the nightmare that is the United States today.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Introducing the Enneagram
It's the New Year. People in the States like to make resolutions around this time Gyms are full in January and then a month later people have forgotten their big goal to stay fit or lose weight or stop yelling at their kids.
I have never really understood resolutions. Why do we need a special time of year to think about our lives and work on ourselves? Can we always keep growing? Perhaps our striving for things we don't really need gets in the way. If you are always watching TV, trying to be like the stars, maybe you lose sight of who you are and of your own dreams.
All of the "perennial" traditions, the paths of wisdom and spirit talk about an inner Essence, covered over by a false personality. We all needed our personalities to survive our childhood realities, and hence we became conditioned in certain ways. For example, your dad is distant but smart, so you develop your intellect to create some kind of connection with him. Or you mom is often depressed, so you end up developing a caring, pacifying personality. This, of course, is a simplification (because there are other factors, like biology, culture, etc.) , but you get the idea.
So, I thought today I would share with you a fun personality test I found (click this link to take the test!).
It consists of 50 questions and helps you determine your Enneagram Type. The Enneagram is a system of personality typing as well as a tool for personal transformation. On a fundamental level, the message of the Enneagram is that if we're human, we have personalities, our own personal strategies for coping with reality, and that we can become more aware of these strategies, and perhaps even become a better person.
Here are the Ennegram types:
Which one do you think you are? How abour your friends. The Enneagram is not only enlightening, but fun!Type One is principled, purposeful, self-controlled, and perfectionistic.
Type Two is demonstrative, generous, people-pleasing, and possessive.
Type Three is adaptive, excelling, driven, and image-conscious.
Type Four is expressive, dramatic, self-absorbed, and temperamental.
Type Five is perceptive, innovative, secretive, and isolated.
Type Six is engaging, responsible, anxious, and suspicious.
Type Seven is spontaneous, versatile, distractible, and scattered.
Type Eight is self-confident, decisive, willful, and confrontational.
Type Nine is receptive, reassuring, agreeable, and complacent.
I find the Enneagram helpful in my own life in many ways. For instance, as a Two, I am very amused at how I sometimes forget my own needs and become a little too focused on helping others. It's also very helpful when interacting with others, especially at work or in relationships. For example, it's always helpful (and easy) for me to spot a Four (the Drama Queen), a One (the Perfectionist), a Seven (the Epicure), or an Eight (the Bully), and then I don't get so unnerved by their behavior. It gives me a little perspective and compassion.
Of course, you can't reduce anyone to a number. The Enneagram is simply a tool, helping us to become a little more patient, compassionate, and wiser (with ourselves and others).
Good luck and happy New Year.
Love,
Roni
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
You Must Pay Money for Things in China
Today, after working out at the gym, I am dying to get something to drink, so I go to the Watson's (a chain drugstore) around the corner. As I am about to pay for my drink and a box of band-aids, which in total probably costs about four US dollars, the employee says to me in heavily accented English: "You must pay MONEY!"
He says this to me again. I think to myself, this is probably why I am able to make money as an English teacher in China.
I am thirsty and tired, living in a foreign country. It's late. I want to go home and write in my blog and eat dinner. And this guy is telling me I have to actually pay money.
I don't get it. Isn't that the deal? You go to a store to get something, and you give them money for it?
Has there been a rash of foreigners walking into their store, demanding merchandise without paying for it? Is this employee traumatized by that? It certainly sounds like it.
So, in a very un-Buddha-like way, I say to him in Chinese: "You want me to pay money? Do you think I am so dumb as to think I don't have to pay for these?"
He then tells me that he cannot accept credit cards at this register, and I realize that he meant to say that he can only accept "cash" (not "money") at his register. This realization does not exactly bring a wave of Buddha-like compassion in me. I think to myself, would he tell a Chinese person that he can't use a credit card for a $4 purchase?
I feel like I'm being discriminated against, and I probably am.
I realize, even though his English is bad, he is just trying to help me. I decide to give him some advice. "If you tell foreigners 'You must pay me MONEY!', they will not understand you because "money" is not the word for xianjin (cash)."
The people watching this interchange are not entertained. It's late and they want to get home, too. So, I cut my lesson short, and get on the subway home.
As I am getting on, a man starts pushing me, getting a little frustrated as the car is quite full and he wants a little room to stand. But then he looks at my face and notices that I'm a foreigner. "Sorry, sorry," he says apologetically.
"That's all right," I answer him, in English, happy that I'm almost home.
He says this to me again. I think to myself, this is probably why I am able to make money as an English teacher in China.
I am thirsty and tired, living in a foreign country. It's late. I want to go home and write in my blog and eat dinner. And this guy is telling me I have to actually pay money.
I don't get it. Isn't that the deal? You go to a store to get something, and you give them money for it?
Has there been a rash of foreigners walking into their store, demanding merchandise without paying for it? Is this employee traumatized by that? It certainly sounds like it.
So, in a very un-Buddha-like way, I say to him in Chinese: "You want me to pay money? Do you think I am so dumb as to think I don't have to pay for these?"
He then tells me that he cannot accept credit cards at this register, and I realize that he meant to say that he can only accept "cash" (not "money") at his register. This realization does not exactly bring a wave of Buddha-like compassion in me. I think to myself, would he tell a Chinese person that he can't use a credit card for a $4 purchase?
I feel like I'm being discriminated against, and I probably am.
I realize, even though his English is bad, he is just trying to help me. I decide to give him some advice. "If you tell foreigners 'You must pay me MONEY!', they will not understand you because "money" is not the word for xianjin (cash)."
The people watching this interchange are not entertained. It's late and they want to get home, too. So, I cut my lesson short, and get on the subway home.
As I am getting on, a man starts pushing me, getting a little frustrated as the car is quite full and he wants a little room to stand. But then he looks at my face and notices that I'm a foreigner. "Sorry, sorry," he says apologetically.
"That's all right," I answer him, in English, happy that I'm almost home.
My New Zipper
I have blue jeans and green jeans, so I go to the local discount department store and buy some brown jeans. I go up to the third floor and start looking at jeans when I encounter the woman in the men's clothing department who starts her many sales pitches.
I am starting to get used to this very Chinese phenomenon. Even in the local drugstores there are women in uniforms everywhere who, in addition to making sure you don't steal anything, will also give you the hard sell for things you are looking for, and for some things you're not. The other day, one of them tried to sell me "Essence of Kangaroo Meat", pouncing upon me in the vitamin section. As we say in the States, "Yeah, right."
After trying on a pair of jeans I like, I tell the department store woman I'll take them. I pay her my money, and then she kindly walks me to the tailor next door. My new brown jeans are too long and I need them shortened. I put them on in the old tailor's kitchen and he marks them. In about fifteen minutes, I walk out with my new brown jeans. As we also say in the States, I am a happy camper.
The next day, I notice that the zipper won't stay closed. You need to try a few times, and then it closes, but then if your movements are too vigorous, then it opens again. Shit, I think, they warned me about the lack of quality control in China.
So, instead of heading all the way back to the department store in Xujiahui, I just take the pants to the tailor five minutes from my house, and ask him to put in a new zipper. "Tomorrow," he says in Chinese. "No problem," I answer.
I pick up my pants the next day, give him some money for his time and materials, and can't wait to wear my newly improved brown jeans the next day.
Sure enough, the zipper fails again. "Ha, they probably didn't even put in a new zipper," my Chinese friend says.
Well, I take it back and tell the tailor that the new zipper doesn't work. He doesn't even blink. "Tomorrow," he says. "No, problem," I tell him.
I come back the next day to pick up my jeans and check the zipper to make sure it's new this time. With keen perception, similar to that of Sherlock Holmes (with a specialty in clothing), I notice the zipper's brand name, different from the previous zipper. He's actually sewn in a new zipper.
Not only do I get a new zipper, but the tailor graciously begins a lesson in zipping for me. "You see, make sure you zip it all the way up, okay..."
I stop him before he moves onto lesson two of Zipping 101. "Mister," I say, laughing, "you are teaching me how to zip my pants? You know, I have a lot of experience doing this, since I was a young boy!"
I get a smile out of him, and head home with my new pants and zipper. Just another normal day in China.
The Hard Sell at the Foreign Language Bookstore
I'm meeting my friend Carrie from acupuncture school and her husband at the Foreign Languages Bookstore on Fuzhou St., and we're getting vegetarian food afterwards. But, after I find her, since it's my first time there, I tell her to give me ten minutes to look at the books in the section on learning Chinese. I don't think there's anything I love looking at more in a bookstore, besides, perhaps, the children's books (in Chinese).
As I am browsing, an employee, a peppy young Chinese girl in her early twenties, gives me the hard sell for some "learn Chinese" software. After having been spoiled by the independent bookstores of the Bay Area for so long, I can't tell you how annoying this is. But, instead of getting annoyed, in some aikido-like way, I turn the experience into an opportunity to practice my Chinese, with a passion.
"You know, I think this software is for wealthy foreigners who would like to learn Chinese but don't have time to," I say. "If they really wanted to learn Chinese, they would get a real teacher and start studying their books every day for a few hours instead of buying this expensive software that they'll never use."
The young salesgirl is astute. I think she knows I am not thrilled with her sales approach. So, she tries to one-up me with an even better approach.
"You know," she tells me, "when I started working at this bookstore, my spoken English wasn't so great. But then I discovered that the best way to learn a language is to use it everyday, and that's what I do. I practice my English with foreigners every day here in the bookstore. So, really, that is the best way to improve your Chinese, to practice speaking your Chinese every day with Chinese people," she tells me in her smart-alecky tone.
"Well, that's EXACTLY what I am doing with you RIGHT NOW!" I respond. I don't know, I still might be doing aikido with her.
I don't want to keep Carrie and her husband waiting, so I say goodbye to my unexpected language exchange partner, and get ready for some fake meat and tofu on Nanjing Dong Rd.
I return to the store in a few days when I know I won't be rushed, to look at the plethora of books for Chinese study. Suddenly, my language exchange partner finds me and tries once again to sell me that software. I level with her honestly: we foreigners can't walk six steps on some streets in Shanghai (especially Huaihai Rd., where I live, and Nanjing Dong Rd., not far from the store) without fourteen Chinese people trying to sell us "watch-bag" (meaning fake LV bags and Rolexes). I explain to her that for us, coming to a bookstore is supposed to be a relaxing experience (if I could say it, I would have told her it's a place we can explore new worlds, find new authors, be inspired, and let our imaginations run free, but my Chinese isn't good enough).
She responds by telling me that some foreigners have already told her this. In fact, she tells me that some foreigners, who don't speak Chinese, tell her directly to leave them alone and stop selling shit to them!
I give her a hint and a free English lesson. I tell her that when she sees foreigners, she should just walk up to them and say, "Let me know if I can help you with anything", and then walk away! I explain to her if she can just leave them alone, she'll be able to sell a lot more books. Conversely, the more she annoys them with her hard sell, the more they won't want to come back. They'll even tell their friends not to come because the employees are selling shit to them, I tell her.
I ask her if she has a book with the 3000 characters needed to test the standardized HSK exam. Within thirty seconds, she brings me exactly the book I am looking for, for about $5 US.
That a girl. I tell her that's exactly what we want, and leave to appreciate my find.
As I am browsing, an employee, a peppy young Chinese girl in her early twenties, gives me the hard sell for some "learn Chinese" software. After having been spoiled by the independent bookstores of the Bay Area for so long, I can't tell you how annoying this is. But, instead of getting annoyed, in some aikido-like way, I turn the experience into an opportunity to practice my Chinese, with a passion.
"You know, I think this software is for wealthy foreigners who would like to learn Chinese but don't have time to," I say. "If they really wanted to learn Chinese, they would get a real teacher and start studying their books every day for a few hours instead of buying this expensive software that they'll never use."
The young salesgirl is astute. I think she knows I am not thrilled with her sales approach. So, she tries to one-up me with an even better approach.
"You know," she tells me, "when I started working at this bookstore, my spoken English wasn't so great. But then I discovered that the best way to learn a language is to use it everyday, and that's what I do. I practice my English with foreigners every day here in the bookstore. So, really, that is the best way to improve your Chinese, to practice speaking your Chinese every day with Chinese people," she tells me in her smart-alecky tone.
"Well, that's EXACTLY what I am doing with you RIGHT NOW!" I respond. I don't know, I still might be doing aikido with her.
I don't want to keep Carrie and her husband waiting, so I say goodbye to my unexpected language exchange partner, and get ready for some fake meat and tofu on Nanjing Dong Rd.
I return to the store in a few days when I know I won't be rushed, to look at the plethora of books for Chinese study. Suddenly, my language exchange partner finds me and tries once again to sell me that software. I level with her honestly: we foreigners can't walk six steps on some streets in Shanghai (especially Huaihai Rd., where I live, and Nanjing Dong Rd., not far from the store) without fourteen Chinese people trying to sell us "watch-bag" (meaning fake LV bags and Rolexes). I explain to her that for us, coming to a bookstore is supposed to be a relaxing experience (if I could say it, I would have told her it's a place we can explore new worlds, find new authors, be inspired, and let our imaginations run free, but my Chinese isn't good enough).
She responds by telling me that some foreigners have already told her this. In fact, she tells me that some foreigners, who don't speak Chinese, tell her directly to leave them alone and stop selling shit to them!
I give her a hint and a free English lesson. I tell her that when she sees foreigners, she should just walk up to them and say, "Let me know if I can help you with anything", and then walk away! I explain to her if she can just leave them alone, she'll be able to sell a lot more books. Conversely, the more she annoys them with her hard sell, the more they won't want to come back. They'll even tell their friends not to come because the employees are selling shit to them, I tell her.
I ask her if she has a book with the 3000 characters needed to test the standardized HSK exam. Within thirty seconds, she brings me exactly the book I am looking for, for about $5 US.
That a girl. I tell her that's exactly what we want, and leave to appreciate my find.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
The Angry Customer
It's getting cold in Shanghai, so I decide to go and buy long underwear. I go to a large Chinese hypermarket near Xujiahui that has food on one floor and clothes, electric appliances, and everything else on the other.
After selecting my underwear (I learn the word for "stretchy" when talking to the saleslady), I take the escalator downstairs to pay at the register. The cashier, a young guy, about 30, is scanning my underwear when an older man with dark skin, freckles, and thick-framed black glasses walks up and starts arguing with him in Shanghainese. They argue for the next minute, and as the seconds pass, so does the volume of their yelling increase. After about a minute or two, the front half of the store is watching eagerly. They look extremely entertained, and I am sure they are wondering what the outcome will be. The store manager walks up and takes the baton from his employee, and they start agruing in Shanghainese.
Everyone still seems very entertained. The old man sticks his finger in the face of the manager. The manager is trying to escort the old guy out. But, like the Energizer bunny, the guy justs keeps going and going.
The checker finally rings me up despite the commotion, and I pay. Instead of leaving the store, I walk up to another employee, a guy in his 20s who looks the most entertained out of all the employees watching, and ask him what they are fighting about. He tells me the old guy says that he didn't get the correct change. In the background, the old man is still yelling, starting to walk out accompanied by several other customers and a few employees. The manager has already finished with him, and as he passes me, returning to his office in the back no doubt, he graciously explains to me that the frustrated old man is just arguing over a few pennies.
So, by now, I understand the situation. In China, I've already seen people getting upset like this more than a few times. For example, two guys walk out of their cars in traffic and start yelling at each other near People's Square the other day. I figure that after almost 60 years of communism, including the Cultural Revolution, there is a lot of accumulated tension, and people need some way to let it loose. I would, too.
So, today, I decide I will do my part to help the Chinese people let go of this frustration, to help them move into a new, more laid-back, easy-going era. You could say I want to do a little activism.
As I walk toward the door, behind the old man (still yelling!), I reach into my backpack and find some change. There's a 1 jiao (penny) coin and I tap him on the shoulder and say, "Sir, here, I want to give you some change."
He looks at me and says, "It's not just the change, that guy back there was mocking me before."
"Just ignore him," I say. "Come on, let's go." I like to think that perhaps my listening to his side of the story defuses some of his anger. The locals watch and they are starting to smile as I talk to him. He doesn't take the penny, but I am still trying to get him out of the store, tugging him a little.
I decide to let him go, and I turn around and head for the door, holding my newly purchased long underwear in a bag. As I walk out, at the counter in front of me, there is a woman who is selling tea, and she gives me a smile.
After selecting my underwear (I learn the word for "stretchy" when talking to the saleslady), I take the escalator downstairs to pay at the register. The cashier, a young guy, about 30, is scanning my underwear when an older man with dark skin, freckles, and thick-framed black glasses walks up and starts arguing with him in Shanghainese. They argue for the next minute, and as the seconds pass, so does the volume of their yelling increase. After about a minute or two, the front half of the store is watching eagerly. They look extremely entertained, and I am sure they are wondering what the outcome will be. The store manager walks up and takes the baton from his employee, and they start agruing in Shanghainese.
Everyone still seems very entertained. The old man sticks his finger in the face of the manager. The manager is trying to escort the old guy out. But, like the Energizer bunny, the guy justs keeps going and going.
The checker finally rings me up despite the commotion, and I pay. Instead of leaving the store, I walk up to another employee, a guy in his 20s who looks the most entertained out of all the employees watching, and ask him what they are fighting about. He tells me the old guy says that he didn't get the correct change. In the background, the old man is still yelling, starting to walk out accompanied by several other customers and a few employees. The manager has already finished with him, and as he passes me, returning to his office in the back no doubt, he graciously explains to me that the frustrated old man is just arguing over a few pennies.
So, by now, I understand the situation. In China, I've already seen people getting upset like this more than a few times. For example, two guys walk out of their cars in traffic and start yelling at each other near People's Square the other day. I figure that after almost 60 years of communism, including the Cultural Revolution, there is a lot of accumulated tension, and people need some way to let it loose. I would, too.
So, today, I decide I will do my part to help the Chinese people let go of this frustration, to help them move into a new, more laid-back, easy-going era. You could say I want to do a little activism.
As I walk toward the door, behind the old man (still yelling!), I reach into my backpack and find some change. There's a 1 jiao (penny) coin and I tap him on the shoulder and say, "Sir, here, I want to give you some change."
He looks at me and says, "It's not just the change, that guy back there was mocking me before."
"Just ignore him," I say. "Come on, let's go." I like to think that perhaps my listening to his side of the story defuses some of his anger. The locals watch and they are starting to smile as I talk to him. He doesn't take the penny, but I am still trying to get him out of the store, tugging him a little.
I decide to let him go, and I turn around and head for the door, holding my newly purchased long underwear in a bag. As I walk out, at the counter in front of me, there is a woman who is selling tea, and she gives me a smile.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Using the Library in China
I am looking for a quiet place to study Chinese, and so I decide to go to the Shanghai Public Library. It is a huge structure on Gaoan Rd. near the Hengshan subway station.
I walk upstairs and the lady at the entrance gate to the stacks stops me. "You can't bring your bag in, you need to put it in a locker," she says.
"But, I have my textbook in there. I need to use it to study," I say.
"You can't take it in," she repeats.
"Why?" I ask.
"Because those are the rules," she responds.
Finally, I ask if I can take my notebook in with me, and she tells me that's okay. I sit down and ask the girl across from me why I can't take any books into the library.
"Well," she says, "you're supposed to read the books in the library."
"Yes, I know that," I say. "But why can't you bring in your own, like your school textbook?"
"Well," she says, "if everyone brings their own books, then it will be difficult to tell which books are the library's and which are peoples' own books."
I think for a second. "You mean, there are some bad people who would take books from the library and then claim that they are their books?" I ask. You see, four years of college really did help my analytical skills.
"That is correct," she says.
Oh, I get it. That makes sense. Of course, you can't bring your own books into a library here.
Welcome to China.
I walk upstairs and the lady at the entrance gate to the stacks stops me. "You can't bring your bag in, you need to put it in a locker," she says.
"But, I have my textbook in there. I need to use it to study," I say.
"You can't take it in," she repeats.
"Why?" I ask.
"Because those are the rules," she responds.
Finally, I ask if I can take my notebook in with me, and she tells me that's okay. I sit down and ask the girl across from me why I can't take any books into the library.
"Well," she says, "you're supposed to read the books in the library."
"Yes, I know that," I say. "But why can't you bring in your own, like your school textbook?"
"Well," she says, "if everyone brings their own books, then it will be difficult to tell which books are the library's and which are peoples' own books."
I think for a second. "You mean, there are some bad people who would take books from the library and then claim that they are their books?" I ask. You see, four years of college really did help my analytical skills.
"That is correct," she says.
Oh, I get it. That makes sense. Of course, you can't bring your own books into a library here.
Welcome to China.
Looking for a Book of Cheng Yu
I am always amazed by large stores in Shanghai. There are always twice as many employees working there as is necessary. They stand in their bright orange or green or whatever uniforms, chatting. I approach them with a question and they are always nervous. "I'm not paid for this shit!" they are probably saying to themselves, in Shanghainese.
They are usually not helpful, like they never actually went to the orientation after they were hired and have never really bothered to look over the merchandise in the store. "Soymilk, I don't think we have it," they say, and then a few minutes later I find it myself.
"You want a book on chengyu (traditional Chinese proverbs) for kids? Okay, follow me," says an employee in the largest bookstore in Shanghai, and he picks up one from a display table and hurries away. "There's one chengyu book for kids in this whole bookstore?" I think to myself.
(Unbelievable. Not to compare, but even in the smallest of bookstores in Taiwan, there are ten times that number. I check with another employee, and she confirms that there are actually only two in the store.)
I'm waiting in line in an upscale supermarket and suddenly I notice there's another checker who is sitting in front of a register, totally bored. I must have been waiting a few minutes, before I spot her, no doubt praying to her lucky angels that I don't see her.
China is busy catching up with the rest of the developed world after wasting sixty years of precious human life. If you're here for a few days, you wonder if this is actually a communist country, but after living here for a little while, you realize that old habits die hard.
Tea on Taikang Road
I keep joking with my friends in Shanghai how Taiwan is my second home, my 老家 (laojia).
Today, I am walking with a friend at the Taikang Art Center in Shanghai, a lane full of the kind of art galleries that Westerners love. We enter the lane and ask an old Shanghainese lady who is working a stall there if this is the lane where the art galleries are. "It's a place where foreigners drink coffee," she answers in her thick Shanghainese accent. I laugh to think that she's probably been on the corner there longer than all the art galleries, and she doesn't even know what all the fuss is about.
French people sit around a table at cafes charming bystanders with the melodies and rhythm of their French, drinking wine or espresso. We walk around browsing the shops for a while and I think we've seen enough of the galleries and the French people, too and I want to check out the nice tea shop that we saw on the walk over here. My friend notices that I'm not thrilled by it all. "No, I am, I am," I protest, but she's right--it doesn't feel juicy.
We leave the artsy cafe quarter and turn around the corner to find the tea shop. A half-minute later, we are there. I look in and ask the laoban (owner) and his partner if we can join them for some tea. It looks like they already have a guest. "Of course," he says, and invites us to have a seat. This is the kind of place you would see in Taiwan that I miss. There are a lot of teas, all the implements needed to drink them, old Chinese furniture, and sentimental Chinese music in the background. It's cozy and aesthetically pleasing.
I ask the laoban if he has any gaoshan (High Mountain) tea, from Taiwan. He says he does and he goes to the back to get some. Gaoshan tea is my favorite wulong from Taiwan, fragrant and slightly roasted. It always gets me "drunk", which is what tea connoisseurs say is the effect of drinking a few rounds. They are definitely right.
He comes back with the tea, and then he lays on me the revelation that will make this night: He is from Taiwan. From Taipei. From the Xinyi district. My old stomping grounds.
Let the fun begin.
I don't speak Taiwanese, but I know enough to make Taiwanese people laugh, and so I tell him, "I am Taiwanese, I am not a foreigner! (wa shee daiwan leng, wa um shee adoa!"). We start having a conversation, although I don't really understand.
I tell him that I lived in Muzha (he explains to me that it's makza in Taiwanese) and that I know the Xinyi area well. Being a true Taiwanren, he starts making fun of me. "So you lived near the zoo? Did you live in the zoo?" Everyone is having a good laugh.
I forget the winding paths our conversation took in the next hour or two, the five of us, but like a good hike, it was beautiful and refreshed the soul. That gaoshan tea didn't hurt either.
I tell him I know a Taiwanese song and ask him if he wants to hear it. "Which one?" he asks."望春風," I reply. He asks me to sing it, and then we begin a duet for our friends.
It's time for us to leave and have our dinner. We all give each other hugs and he welcomes us to return anytime, and I finally realize why it is we visited the Taikang Art Center tonight.
Today, I am walking with a friend at the Taikang Art Center in Shanghai, a lane full of the kind of art galleries that Westerners love. We enter the lane and ask an old Shanghainese lady who is working a stall there if this is the lane where the art galleries are. "It's a place where foreigners drink coffee," she answers in her thick Shanghainese accent. I laugh to think that she's probably been on the corner there longer than all the art galleries, and she doesn't even know what all the fuss is about.
French people sit around a table at cafes charming bystanders with the melodies and rhythm of their French, drinking wine or espresso. We walk around browsing the shops for a while and I think we've seen enough of the galleries and the French people, too and I want to check out the nice tea shop that we saw on the walk over here. My friend notices that I'm not thrilled by it all. "No, I am, I am," I protest, but she's right--it doesn't feel juicy.
We leave the artsy cafe quarter and turn around the corner to find the tea shop. A half-minute later, we are there. I look in and ask the laoban (owner) and his partner if we can join them for some tea. It looks like they already have a guest. "Of course," he says, and invites us to have a seat. This is the kind of place you would see in Taiwan that I miss. There are a lot of teas, all the implements needed to drink them, old Chinese furniture, and sentimental Chinese music in the background. It's cozy and aesthetically pleasing.
I ask the laoban if he has any gaoshan (High Mountain) tea, from Taiwan. He says he does and he goes to the back to get some. Gaoshan tea is my favorite wulong from Taiwan, fragrant and slightly roasted. It always gets me "drunk", which is what tea connoisseurs say is the effect of drinking a few rounds. They are definitely right.
He comes back with the tea, and then he lays on me the revelation that will make this night: He is from Taiwan. From Taipei. From the Xinyi district. My old stomping grounds.
Let the fun begin.
I don't speak Taiwanese, but I know enough to make Taiwanese people laugh, and so I tell him, "I am Taiwanese, I am not a foreigner! (wa shee daiwan leng, wa um shee adoa!"). We start having a conversation, although I don't really understand.
I tell him that I lived in Muzha (he explains to me that it's makza in Taiwanese) and that I know the Xinyi area well. Being a true Taiwanren, he starts making fun of me. "So you lived near the zoo? Did you live in the zoo?" Everyone is having a good laugh.
I forget the winding paths our conversation took in the next hour or two, the five of us, but like a good hike, it was beautiful and refreshed the soul. That gaoshan tea didn't hurt either.
I tell him I know a Taiwanese song and ask him if he wants to hear it. "Which one?" he asks."望春風," I reply. He asks me to sing it, and then we begin a duet for our friends.
It's time for us to leave and have our dinner. We all give each other hugs and he welcomes us to return anytime, and I finally realize why it is we visited the Taikang Art Center tonight.
An Encounter in the TCM Twilight Zone
For those of us Chinese medicine practitioners from the West who come to Asia to deepen our understanding of Chinese culture and traditional medicine, we are always living with the knowledge that no matter how much Chinese we learn, we'll be lucky, extremely lucky, if our Chinese gets to the level of a middle-school punk (a Chinese one, that is). And of course, once our Chinese gets to a certain level, we also know that there's a hell of a lot of Chinese Medicine we'll never be able to learn, either.
Nevertheless, we continue. We don't get any real recognition (besides daily encouragement from locals, who, god bless them, are impressed with "nihao" and "xiexie"). We study hard, writing characters late at night, reading books of Chinese idioms. A whole new world opens up to us, and this is what keeps us going. You do it because it is a passion, for the intrinsic rewards.
I walk into a TCM clinic near my house and I notice there's a "Weight Reduction Clinic for Women". I ask a secretary about it and she points me to the woman standing near the entrance to the room where they do the actual weight reduction. She's in her early 30s, pretty, but looks bored and a little tired.
So, I tell her that I have a license in the States and ask her to tell me about the treatment principles involved in helping people lose weight. She tells me more, mostly that they are using needles to do this, not herbs so much. The acupuncture reduces appetite. I'm actually not that interested in helping people lose weight with acupuncture, in the same way that I'm not interested in giving them "acupuncture facials" or "acupuncture breast-lifts" (they do exist, just ask Jolin, the famous Taiwanese pop singer). Just curious.
The doctor has some questions for me. She asks me about the licensing process in the States, about people's perception of Chinese Medicine there. I tell her how I changed careers to study Chinese Medicine, that there is indeed a lot of interest in the States.
She tells me how she finds it curious how others switch from mainstream careers into Chinese Medicine. She tells me of some Japanese classmates of hers who were corporate types in the 20s and then, after burnout, decided to study Chinese Medicine.
"It's so strange. I've been a doctor for ten years and I find it so boring. I don't make much money. And I don't have any marketable skills--I could never work at a big company. It's hard to understand why people would want to do this. I wish I could do their office jobs," she says.
I do not miss the irony of this conversation. Here I am in China, after a four-year program in Chinese Medicine and a year and a half of formal Chinese study, still struggling to improve my Chinese so I can learn more medicine. If I study Chinese for the next years and then study traditional medicine for another five or ten years, who knows if I will approach this doctor's level of medical knowledge. I've given up (with joy, you might say) the six-figure income nice house I would have had by now if I had stayed in the corporate world, and am living like a student halfway across the world to do this.
"I guess I've had the benefit of actually living that life, and then making a conscious decision to let it go and follow my dream of studying Chinese Medicine," I tell her. So, I don't have any regrets. I guess what a friend told me a long time ago is true: "We've all got to kill our own snakes."
I like to think I inspire people. So, who knows, maybe I've inspired this young Chinese doctor here in Shanghai to go to business school so she can pursue her dream of working at an office in front of a computer to make the big bucks.
Nevertheless, we continue. We don't get any real recognition (besides daily encouragement from locals, who, god bless them, are impressed with "nihao" and "xiexie"). We study hard, writing characters late at night, reading books of Chinese idioms. A whole new world opens up to us, and this is what keeps us going. You do it because it is a passion, for the intrinsic rewards.
I walk into a TCM clinic near my house and I notice there's a "Weight Reduction Clinic for Women". I ask a secretary about it and she points me to the woman standing near the entrance to the room where they do the actual weight reduction. She's in her early 30s, pretty, but looks bored and a little tired.
So, I tell her that I have a license in the States and ask her to tell me about the treatment principles involved in helping people lose weight. She tells me more, mostly that they are using needles to do this, not herbs so much. The acupuncture reduces appetite. I'm actually not that interested in helping people lose weight with acupuncture, in the same way that I'm not interested in giving them "acupuncture facials" or "acupuncture breast-lifts" (they do exist, just ask Jolin, the famous Taiwanese pop singer). Just curious.
The doctor has some questions for me. She asks me about the licensing process in the States, about people's perception of Chinese Medicine there. I tell her how I changed careers to study Chinese Medicine, that there is indeed a lot of interest in the States.
She tells me how she finds it curious how others switch from mainstream careers into Chinese Medicine. She tells me of some Japanese classmates of hers who were corporate types in the 20s and then, after burnout, decided to study Chinese Medicine.
"It's so strange. I've been a doctor for ten years and I find it so boring. I don't make much money. And I don't have any marketable skills--I could never work at a big company. It's hard to understand why people would want to do this. I wish I could do their office jobs," she says.
I do not miss the irony of this conversation. Here I am in China, after a four-year program in Chinese Medicine and a year and a half of formal Chinese study, still struggling to improve my Chinese so I can learn more medicine. If I study Chinese for the next years and then study traditional medicine for another five or ten years, who knows if I will approach this doctor's level of medical knowledge. I've given up (with joy, you might say) the six-figure income nice house I would have had by now if I had stayed in the corporate world, and am living like a student halfway across the world to do this.
"I guess I've had the benefit of actually living that life, and then making a conscious decision to let it go and follow my dream of studying Chinese Medicine," I tell her. So, I don't have any regrets. I guess what a friend told me a long time ago is true: "We've all got to kill our own snakes."
I like to think I inspire people. So, who knows, maybe I've inspired this young Chinese doctor here in Shanghai to go to business school so she can pursue her dream of working at an office in front of a computer to make the big bucks.
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