"GUESS WHO CHRISTINA LOVES!"

"Z LAO SHE!"

This is one of my best New Year’s ever and it’s not even over, though I’m about ready to call it a night.

So, because this is China and all "3 Day Holidays" are really, "You work for the weekend and we’ll give you Monday through Wednesday off," I had to work today. However, I only really had to teach two classes and they weren’t even what you would call "class." It was more that the kids and I hung out and they tried out their English on me. And, as my work life is really my community, it wasn’t exactly torture to have to spend the day with all my friends and my babies. We had class, lunch, one of the teachers played some Chopin on the piano for Yente and I and then I went home for my siesta.

After we all had our rest, the partying began. I started the partying in one class and after about a half hour bailed to go visit the class I had earlier promised to visit (my little monkeys’ class). As I came through the door, the entire class erupted into a deafening cheer. Forty 8-year olds then proceeded to launch themselves at me. As is the standard whenever I enter a room at work that I’m not teaching, I am treated as an exalted, honored guest. I was ushered to the special, comfy chair; lavished with delicious and sweet foods; and doted on by all the children who made it their business to personally feed me and fetch everything I could possibly need. There were performances of ass kicking Kung Fu, remarkably sensual belly dancing (especially for 8 year olds) and general dancing periods. My monkeys all took up residence on me and I was beyond the moon.

At one point, towards my time to duck out, I got up and was dancing with all the children. It was such a joy to be prancing about with the little ones as they all fought to be my dance partner. It was silly and fun and lovely. However, I needed to duck out because I had to see my boss, so I bid them all a fond farewell and was on my way.

I headed to the Middle School to see my boss but I could not find him anywhere. As I was looking for him, my gay found me and bid me to visit his classroom. I did and was immediately welcomed with open arms. I was given the honored seat, lavished with food and entertained. Between the students’ performances, I became aware that many of my girl students were so overcome with emotion that they were openly weeping in class. In a class of forty students, twenty of whom are female, easily ten of them were openly, gut wrenchingly sobbing at different times. Each of the girls would take turns consoling the weeping one and then become consumed by emotion herself. No one else seemed to pay their tears any mind and so I was a bit perplexed about what to do. I offered one of the girls who had calmed down a bit a tissue but she declined. She then explained to me that the girls are so hopeful about the promise of the New Year that they are completely overcome by emotion. I thought it was a sweet notion if not a little jarring to realize the intimacy one must feel here in order to allow one’s self to cry.

As I was mulling over my thoughts on the girls’ capacity for raw emotion, my boss’s boss poked his head in through the window of the classroom, looked at me, smiled and pulled the teacher aside. Quickly, the teacher made an announcement and every student popped up, cleaning the room and setting up the traditional Chinese lap harp (I don’t know either its English or Chinese name but it’s the long, flat harp-like string instrument often seen in period piece Chinese films) in the center of the room. The teacher came straight over to me and spoke.

"Please stay seated here." She rested a hand on my shoulder and I watched the students fly about the room and ready themselves.

My gay, who had assigned himself the position of my court eunuch of sorts, took my purse, jacket and scarf and placed himself in the nearest seat off to the side of the room. He typed away on his digital, pocket dictionary and then showed me that the head of the school system my private school is a part of would be making an appearance. The head honcho was led into the room and everyone clapped. Of course, he was led to the seat next to me as my mere provenance puts me at the very top of the very alive and well Confucist hierarchy. One of my more naughty girl students (dear god she’s fabulous) sat down at the traditional lap harp and after the head honcho made his speech, she began to play.

It was a transcendental moment. The beauty of the music obliterated the various noises in the room as, in a Chinese room, there is always a cell phone ringing or a person chatting quietly. For the second time today, I was completely transported while listening to classical music.

As all good things must come to an end, my girl finished up her playing and the head honcho left. I had to head out and try – in vain- to find my immediate boss.

Once I gave up on trying to find my boss, I left the administration building and bumped into one of my fellow Primary School teachers. She invited me out for Beijing (Peking) Duck with she and her boyfriend. I’m a New York girl. I was raised on Beijing Duck. How could I say "No" to tasting the original?

So, we went out to find a taxi and I was swarmed with girl students, all of whom cuddled me and doted on me. The boy students all passed by, being silly and flirting. It’s been hovering for a while but the sensation of being a real part of this community has finally sunk in. I may be exalted but I’m no longer "other."

My fellow teacher, her boyfriend and I piled into a cab after a long wait and we were off to even further North of Xi’An. We arrived at a massive restaurant packed with Chinese folks. Clearly, I am the first Westerner the elegant establishment has seen, at least in a very long while. As it is remote and no public transportation infiltrates that area, the only people who go can afford cars or the friends of people who can afford cars.

I have grown accustomed to going where no foreigner ever does. I have grown accustomed to the stares, the extra attention and the curiosity from young and old. It is strange to see just how comfortable I have grown in accepting that part of my life. Before, I would have completely withered under the glare of such attention and I was always self-conscious about the Chinese speaking English to me. However, now I see their English as the eagerness at the moment their teachers in school always told them would come when they talked about not wanting to learn English. I do my best to reciprocate their gesture and smile as warmly as possible. Tonight was no different and I did my best to be friendly with everyone who had the courage to approach me.

My fellow teacher, her boyfriend and I sat down and I was immediately handed the menu. It is the gesture of generosity that the guest of honor gets the (one) menu the table receives. You can be assured that if your Chinese dining partner hands you a menu, you’re not paying. However, I’m not comfortable ordering on other people’s dime, so I always announce helplessly, "Can bu dong." (effectively "I’m illiterate" which is a bit of a lie because I can actually read food characters but I can read them like a 4 year old would read; super slow, furrowed brow and lips moving) As a woman, it works especially well if there’s a man at the table as it is his public duty to rescue me from the humiliation of illiteracy. I suspect as a male, the counter to that would be to whisper helplessly, "Can bu dong" to one of the women at the table as it is a woman’s private duty to rescue a man.

So, I announced, "Can bu dong. Sorry," (the Chinese understand "Sorry" as we understand "Sorry" in the "please excuse my ignorance," "oh well," or "I offer my condolences" sort of way; "Dui bu shi" is only to be used when you commit a violation) shook my head and looked helplessly at my fellow teacher and then handed the menu to the boyfriend. (As a part of the sisterhood you must acknowledge her possession of him before you approach him directly.) I handed him the menu, they debated for a moment and then he did what I knew he’d do; handed her the menu. However, I was quite relieved that I thought to do the non-emasculating thing of giving him the menu first.

They sorted out what they wanted to order and I resolved myself to eat everything I was given. My coworker grew up without enough food and I knew that it would be an insult to her not to finish almost all of what she gave me. Granted, I knew I was in for a painful night of indigestion but it was more important to me that she know that I value her friendship and generosity.

Now, the thing about the Chinese is that they like their food and they like it fast. I don’t really know why that is but I do know that if they must wait for more than ten minutes for food, everyone I’ve ever eaten with gets really irritated. Then, the food shows up and they scarf it down. I think it might be a reaction to the nobility’s languid eating style or something. Whatever it is, it’s not a lack of manners, merely a difference in priorities.

However, Beijing Duck takes 45 minutes to cook and so from the time you put in your order to the time you’re wrapping your pancakes, you’ve got a long while to wait (by Chinese standards). You order some appetizers and there is a duck broth with chives and cucumbers that comes while you wait. I did my best to always have food either in my chopsticks or on my plate as the job of the host is to make sure the guest of honor always has food. If you are a Westerner, the host takes familiarity into consideration and debates having an extra set of chopsticks to serve you. If you are considered close, the host uses his own chopsticks. My boss (who is, effectively, an older brother) and Z serve me with their own chopsticks, the boyfriend got an extra set.

I was served constantly and did my best to maintain the balance between keeping room for the food to come and not insulting my hosts. We talked about all sorts of things like the restaurant she wants to open with her boy and then my colleague got the most wicked smile on her face.
"I know your secret," she purred.

"What?" I asked, befuddled because I’m slow to catch on and generally out of the loop.

"You have a secret," she nudged.

I’m pretty clear that in China, if one person knows it about me, everyone knows it about me. The price of being the exalted member is that I can have no secrets. Consequently, the notion of "secret" has completely vanished from my daily lexicon. Granted, everyone here is incredibly sympathetic to the fact that I am a human being and they haven’t really judged me in a way that Westerners are accustomed to. They are intensely curious about why certain things are they way they are with me or my country but once the discussion is over and the curiosity satisfied, the matter is put to bed. In other words, all the reasons one needs to have secrets in the West don’t really exist here for me. While I have no real need for secrets, it’s strange and remarkably liberating to live knowing that I am what I am and that’s just fine by all these people who have no real points of reference for someone like me.

"I don’t think so," I said, quite sure that I don’t have a one.

"The PE teacher?" She asked sweetly.

I laughed hard. This is the second time that someone has accused me of having a secret and it is the second time it is about Z. "He’s not a secret. I’m just shy." Under no circumstances do I want him thinking he’s something I would be ashamed of.

"Yes, Ms. S (another coworker in the primary school) asked us (the office of primary school English teachers) who you were in love with. She said, ‘Guess who Christina loves!’ We all said, ‘[Z] lao she.’ We all knew."

"Really?" I asked.

"Yes. You and he are always talking quietly together so we all think, ‘They are in love.’"

I blushed and smiled. It’s true. We are together as much as possible and I must have been incredibly naÔve to think that I could hide that from anyone. "He makes me blush."

"Good. He is a good man. He is my good friend and you are my good friend. I am happy that you are together. When we first met him, we all said we would find him a girlfriend but he said he did not want that. He said, ‘No, I am too busy for a girlfriend.’ He is trying to make money now, you see. He is a good man. He is very helpful."

"I know. He is so kind." I gushed.

"Yes, very kind."

She then shared the news with her boyfriend and we stuffed ourselves silly with the duck. She asked all about our date and I asked all about the fact that while Z feels like my complete equal, he is in fact, over three years younger than I. I don’t know if that combined with my not being Chinese will be a deal breaker. My colleague assured me it was not and I hope she’s right.

We then rolled ourselves out of the restaurant and into a cab, heading home. I was beyond full and the food coma started to hit me hard. I barely made it through my apartment door at 6:30 when I collapsed into bed, exhausted by so much food in my system. I woke up at 9:30 and thought how much I wanted Z to call me and wish me a happy New Year.

Then it occurred to me that he’s shy too and as we’re currently doing things in my language, I think it’s my responsibility to reassure him. So I called the boy and he was eating but the first thing out of his mouth after "Hello" was, "Have you eaten?" or the literal English translation of the Chinese sentiment of, "Hi sweetheart. How are you?" (A good rule to follow is to not ask if someone has eaten [as a greeting] if you wouldn’t call them "sweetheart," "baby," "love" or "honey.")

"Yes, I did. Have you eaten?" I could hear him finishing his mouthful on the other end but that’s more or less the literal English translation of "I’m fine, baby. How are you?" Like I said, translation is not arithmetic.

"Yes."

We spoke for a moment and he said he would call me back later, clearly needing to finish his dinner.

I was unsure if "I will call you back" meant tomorrow or tonight but either way, I was now too giddy to get back to sleep. Lucky for me, it meant tonight and we talked a little about how he’s out with his friends in the South and having a good time. I told him that I went out for Beijing duck and he was excited that I got to try it.

All in all, it’s been the best New Year’s a girl could hope for.