IT’S MY PARTY AND YOU’LL HOST IF YOU WANT TO

My boss had been on my case about being invited over to my home. In fact, all the bosses had been. It would appear that my predecessor had been less than welcoming and so methinks everyone is a wee bit nervous about what I’m trying to pull over on the school. Ultimately, I am in the position of power in that I am the only English speaker they’ve got, I am the reason the parents are happy to send their students to my school and as you may or may not have noticed, Americans are not exactly banging down the door to take these jobs. My predecessor was so well aware of this fact that he felt it exempt him from doing his job at all, much less properly to say nothing of the fact that he feels it exempts him from normal, acceptable societal behavior. (ie. “creepy, old, lecherous white dude” is creepy, old and lecherous in any society; some societies are built less well to ostracize him than others) Consequently, when my boss doesn’t see me for a day or two, he freaks out that I’ve left (no joke, he fears I hopped a flight back to NYC) or that I won’t be going to class or some other doomsday scenario… none of which include the fact that he and I have conflicting schedules (that he created) and so we might only bump into each other on a Tuesday morning or Thursday afternoon. His aggressive, paternalistic attention can be a bit tiresome but if you consider what your average Chinese woman would be experiencing her first time a million miles from home (and the way the men would anticipate her falling apart), it’s understandable. He’s doing his best to understand where my head is and for that I am infinitely grateful but what is beyond his grasp is that this is not only not my first time away from home but I come from a multicultural society and so being the “outsider” isn’t a role I’m entirely unaccustomed to. In fact, being “normal” and “of the group” as is the custom here is so abnormal in America that we tend to idealize people who’ve managed to create such a world for themselves. (Case in point: the Amish.)

All of these factors have conspired to make my boss, his boss, his boss’s boss and all the underlings more than a little nervous about my mental and physical wellbeing (if they only knew) and how that will affect my (and therefore their) ability to perform. I often think of the Twilight Zone episode where the spoiled little boy can, through telekinesis, cause anything to happen. Being a small child, he does not hesitate to kill anything that displeases him. Everyone in the town resents and worries about him because ultimately, if he’s not happy, everyone else has to pay for it.

I decided I had enough of the nervous patronizing and figured I’d throw a birthday party for myself in order to invite them all over, show them how well adjusted I am (shut the hell up; it’s relative) and show them how much I enjoy being here. I figured, if they see how much I’m willing to open up by welcoming them into my birthday celebration like family, they’ll understand I have no intention of abusing my position and as my birthday is but once a year, they cannot overextend the invitation or shift it to another day (as has a tendency to happen here). In other words, you can’t reschedule my birthday. And, I would be lying if the fact that the Moon Festival (a week in which it is expected that everyone be home with their family and therefore less available to the American) was this week didn’t make me feel more comfortable in sacrificing my birthday. As an American I don’t really feel a serious kinship with my colleagues by default, which means that while this party was a well-calibrated offering, it was a total sacrifice nonetheless.

On Tuesday (10/3), I called my Brazilian Angel and told her of my plan for my birthday the next day. She was very excited and immediately she started planning everything. We strolled to the supermarket (two blocks away from the compound but a half-hour walk because blocks are that big out here) and picked up her groceries as well as nibblies for my party. We decided we’d get the fruit more locally the next day. As we were checking out, her husband (le Francais) called, said he’d just gotten out of work and that he’d be over to pick us momentarily.

We piled into the Subaru Forester (gotta love that) and drove home. It was so cute watching my Brazilian Angel and le Francais. I had forgotten just how dependent men can be on their wives. My Brazilian Angel definitely knows her own mind and le Francais (an important international businessman) takes her lead on all the home tasks. Frankly, without a feminine influence, he’d be rather lost at home but he’s not resentful of her power. In fact, he maintains a healthy respect for all she does for him and takes her lead while maintaining lovely levels of chivalry.

We made it back to the compound and I hurried up to my apartment to invite my Chinese friend (of massage and tea fame). My Chinese friend is a wealthy self-employed businessman who has certain levels of show that must be attained or he’s disinterested, consequently, I knew he’d hate my home-grown party. Nevertheless, he knows everyone in the compound and the important thing was that I offered the invite in case he heard about the party. So, I called him and he told me to come over immediately.

I went over to his house and, once again, I was shown off like a new acquisition to his company. (Most people think of my friendship as the ultimate newfangled acquisition to impress their friends with; like some sort of on-demand-Femmebot) His company was an older gentleman and the gentleman’s teenage son. As I am the ultimate opportunity to experiment with English (and speaking English is seen as the key to a future in business), the son was commanded to speak English with me. Teenage boys are always beyond eager to speak with me, as I am considered very attractive but too old for teenagers to legitimately have to worry about courting, so I’m the best of both worlds (to say nothing of the fact that most teenage boys are about my height while the women are still as teeny tiny as the previous generation; I don’t know what it is about boys and a girl who can look them in the eye but that sexual thing seems to transcend all cultural boundaries). Teenage boys are so eager to speak with me, they often physically stop me in the streets to talk to me. The only caveat to the teenage-boy-motor-mouth is when their father is around. Their fathers are quite comfortable making ego-crushing comments and if the boys don’t speak well enough with me, they risk their fathers being ashamed of them. Consequently, whenever a boy is forced to speak with me in front of his father, I do my best to be utterly fascinated and entertained by any and everything he tells me. I even often stop to say to the father conspiratorially, “You must be so proud” especially if the father does not speak English (invariably the boy can’t translate the word “proud” as it is too conceptual a word for most teenagers and someone else around will translate for him making the boy look modest). It has been my personal experience that the largest impediment to learning a language is the abject humiliation of trying to speak with a native and in China where a man’s pride is everything, losing face in front of your father is the absolute worst. Details and fine points can be learned, what I can (and try to) offer is the broad notion that all that work actually accomplishes something with pretty “Western” (read: White) girls (the likes of which is so desirable, people bleach themselves and now ship their children off to Beijing for “Western Finishing School” in a society where it is unusual for any unmarried child, regardless of age, not to live with their parents). If you can charm me, my male (read: high powered businessman) counterpart cannot be far behind.

So the poor kid did his best and I was monumentally fascinated by the fact that he was studying business. We spoke a little more about sports and then the boy had to go. His father and my Chinese friend continued to speak for a bit and then the father left.

Once they were gone, I invited my friend to my birthday party and he did exactly as I expected. He started questioning how I was going to host so many people in my rather unfurnished home with a kitchen that has no working stove. I explained it would be an informal party and then he insisted we change the time and location to his house. He then invited me out for dinner with his mahjong friends and I begged off, explaining I had to meet up with my students for basketball.

I retuned to my apartment to call my Brazilian Angel and all my invitees to let them know about the change of plans. Fortunately, all of my “official” invitees had to beg off with familial commitments (as I had hoped for) and all the people I really wanted to attend confirmed.

Wednesday morning (10/4) was my birthday and I was awoken bright and early with a call from the Jude. She wished me a happy birthday and I said I thought there was something I should be wishing her as she is the one who did all the work. I was just along for the ride and haven’t died since; doesn’t seem like a lot of work for a big party. She told laughed at me (probably rolled her eyes) and we talked a little more. She hung up and then the phone started ringing off the hook.

My Chinese Boy Harem (as my friend Brett has dubbed them) called me, one at a time to wish me a Happy Birthday and pass along the happy wishes of their parents. My predecessor even called me because his “precocious” student who is now my friend had called him and told him that it was my birthday and so he needed to wish me a happy birthday. Several of my colleagues called me from their rural homes to wish me a happy birthday. It was really touching.

And then my boss started calling. He was utterly panicked about missing my party. He called, spoke with me to apologize and hung up. He called back to apologize again and then go cut off. He called again and promised to send me various items, asked which teachers were going to my party and then got in touch with them. My Chinese friend’s wife called me and we went shopping for the food for the party.
After the shopping, the phone continued to ring with well wishes. I tried to get ready for the party and what is usually a 15-minute process barely fit into two and half hours for all the calls.

Eventually, I made it out of the house and was only a few minutes late to the party. For all the people I invited, my friend invited twice as many. Fortunately, I had my Brazilian Angel there with me to hold my hand as I was, once again, turned into a showpiece. Teenage boys were commanded to speak with me. Teenage girls did their best to talk with me. Businessmen studied my “exoticism” and pronounced that their daughters would only study English with the “Great Beauty.”

We all settled down for lunch and we were served homemade mien-tao (“me-an tao”). Mien-tao is noodles and “mien” means “long.” (Mien-bao is “bread”. “Mien” has to do with the kneading process and how you pound out the dough into long strips before you shape the noodle or bread) So, on your birthday, you are supposed to eat “mien-tao” for a long life. As it was a traditional Chinese meal, we had a massive array of starters with everything from tofu to pigs’ ears to chili peppers and peanuts. Though I was not brave enough to try the pigs’ ears, I had some lotus root, shrimp, tofu, peanuts, cucumbers and some sort of meat sliced into dried, thin strips and soaked in chili pepper oil. (Like I said, if you’re not accustom to spice, do build a tolerance before you come to Xi’An.)

During the meal, my Brazilian Angel and I spoke rapid French to quietly talk between the two of us. I was lavished with presents (a broiler/stove from my Brazilian Angel, a box of the best pomegranates ever, tea, cigarettes[?], free massages, and the largest bouquet of flowers I’ve ever seen that wasn’t a funeral wreath) and compliments and then we left to stroll about the compound as the men collected to drink tea and play mahjong.

My Brazilian Angel and I returned to my apartment and chatted about the party. She commented how strange she found it that I was for show like that. She said she thought it was too bad that there weren’t other Westerners teaching in my school so I wouldn’t be so alone. She told me about all the Westerners who hung out in the city she had been in last year and how fantastic it had been for them to have each other.

I explained that being the show dog is the downside to the situation I specifically wanted. I never wanted to be trapped in a Western ghetto. If there were enough Westerners to provide me a community, the locals would be jaded enough and tired of Westerns. I wouldn’t be welcomed into homes. In fact, they would be tired of showing the new guy the ropes long before I got there. I wouldn’t have had nearly as much exposure as I’ve had to such a different culture. I didn’t come in to this looking for an extended vacation. I wanted as authentic an experience as could be provided a six foot plus honky girl. No bubble, thank you.

She eventually understood what I was seeking and she said as I was pushing 30, I would soon be facing serious questions and having quiet time alone to reflect would be good for me instead of going out to party. At that point I was too tired to explain that many of those questions have already bounced around my head (there’s a reason almost all my friends are in their forties) and the answer to “what am I doing with my life that is worth any value” doesn’t really exist because the question is bullshit. My life is what it is. There are things I wish were different about my life and there are things I wouldn’t trade for anything but, ultimately, I feel trapped by nothing (ie there is nothing in my life that doesn’t return more than it takes). My sum total is positive. I think that’s the best you can hope for in life. Period.