LOVE DOESN’T CONQUER ALL
BUT IT DOES CONQUER MORE THAN MOST

So, I had been busy trying to articulate my great frustration in not having more partners in my life. I have my Chinese Angel and my Brazilian Angel and J and frankly, I should be entirely grateful for that plethora alone but my spoiled, selfish self has wanted more. My position in this society simply isn’t understood by anyone except Chinese men and Chinese men, by default, don’t understand my position in Western society. Frankly speaking, sex cannot be obliterated from any conversation and though Chinese men maintain a very healthy respect, bordering on reverential fear, of me while others are around to hold them accountable when I am alone with Chinese men here, they revert to what they know of Western style seduction; all of which has been learned (by default) via Girls Gone Wild-type videos, porn and Hollywood. And, when the best image being presented of your “kind” is what Hollywood has to say about you, you know you’re fucked… especially as a blonde girl with a (comparably) large rack.

I was feeling particularly cranky about this because I had received my umpteenth lecture about how Chinese men are “traditional” and “always thinking of marriage” except this time I got it from my Chinese Angel. The truth is, Chinese men are like that with Chinese women. They are not, however, like that with me. The vast majority of the people I am surrounded by truly believe that the spectrum of humanity is different with me because the vast majority of people surrounding me truly believe that “Girls Gone Wild,” Jenna Jameson (fabulous though she may be) and Hollywood are the norm for my brand of sexuality. This notion that you need only get me in a room and call me a “dirty whore” to unleash the sexual beast that lies within me is practically universal. My Chinese Angel doesn’t quite understand that the men she finds so traditional and respectable are flesh and blood men who see me a ravenous, all-powerful siren who will consume them and then toss them out upon my next whim. Consequently, when she shares with truly respectable men like the history teacher that I quite enjoy his company, she doesn’t quite understand why it is that he backpedals at the articulated thought of a Western woman interest, despite the fact that when we’re together, he sees me as human and perfectly lovely.

And, my Brazilian Angel has grown tired of my occasional anti-social behavior. She finds it a weakness that I am swayed by the ideas of those around me. She also does not understand that she goes home to a man completely taken with her, undone without her and a universe in which she is respected as a fully realized and sexual human being and not a mythical succubus hell bent on feeding her vagina dentata. She is so irritated in fact that she insists my mood is due to the idea that she thinks I’m on my period and not that I’m going through things she might not understand.

And J is fantastic and wonderful but J is a boy and for the first time in my life, that makes a difference. I find myself in a world where regardless of how much I adore and respect someone, their gender makes a difference. It is stunningly difficult for me to have to realize that but nevertheless, I find myself standing at the edge of the gender gap for the first time.

Nevertheless, life marches on and I do my best to keep going out despite my cranky moods as the only way to meet people to lift yourself out of the crankiness is to be out and about. However, I started to completely close off this week as I was really fed up with being trapped in this virginal tower while being perceived as nothing but a succubus. The ravenous, unending stares I get at the gym or anytime I step outside were really starting to accumulate. So, for the first time (excluding the food poisoning fiasco) in a long time, I didn’t go to the gym. As much as I hated to, I gave up on the universe. I tried on Wednesday (5/16) to go to Tank’s class but he wasn’t teaching his class. However, all my male fans were there and the women in the class have grown so accustomed to me in their class that now they all go to the front of the room immediately, knowing I’ll be taking a bike in the back. As a result, I am surround by the crush of thirty men all vying to get the bike nearest to me and stare at me as I sweat. Tank’s attitude and pounding music usually lifts me out of that space and takes me elsewhere but the girl teaching the class was simply too cute for her own good and she kept turning off the music to be heard. Consequently, I left early, disappointed in myself and in the class.

Thursday, I was just too much of a mess so I stayed home. While I was home, a man who found me on Myspace started chatting with me. As he was born in China and raised here until he was 18 and then moved to LA with his family but is now back in China, he has the broad spectrum and similar values. He understands that non-Chinese women have humanity too and he was just so easy to talk to. It was really nice and it served to lift me out of my funk a little.

Then Friday, J and I went to a West Egg party. It was really fun to hang out with J, listen to him speak Spanish and generally have a partner in crime around all the business people. As always, he was lovely and accommodating and the best date a girl could ask for.

In one of my offices, there is a female teacher who truly sees me as a person. In fact, that whole office sees me as a real person. Granted, most of them are intimidated by me but I’m a real person nonetheless. My fiasco with Z seems to have truly humanized me to them and I think seeing me get really hurt by a Chinese man articulated just how much like them I am. Everyone has had their heart broken. A scarred heart is the sign of a human being and the idea that I could be scarred by a Chinese man really turned them around on their idea of me. However, the woman who sits directly next to me really sees me as just her super-cool friend. To her, I’m glamorous but I’m like an old friend who has made good; not someone who has descended from Mt. Olympus to grace them with my presence.

So she invited me to her wedding on Saturday (5/20). Granted, I have been invited to 4 weddings this week alone but she wanted me in her house for the ceremony, not just to be there for the photo op of the banquet. However, in accepting, I did have to get up at the ass crack of dawn to be ready by 7:30.

I rolled out of bed about 5:30 this morning because I’m very slow to wake up and need a lot of time, not just to get ready but to pull myself out of the haze of sleep. As the universe has quite the sense of humor, the later I go to bed the early I have to get up because it takes me that much longer to engage in consciousness. Consequently, I got about four hours of sleep between the West Egg party and my alarm going off.

I rolled out of bed, ate breakfast and just as I was about to begin my lengthy process of getting ready because I was explicitly told to dress nicely and wear a “pretty dress,” my phone rang.
“What the fuck? It’s only 6. They’re not supposed to call until 7. I guess something happened.” I thought as I picked up my phone.

“Hello, Christina? We’re on our way now, we’ll be there in a half hour.”

“What?” I said, still pulling myself from sleep haze to consciousness. “I thought you said 7:30” I spoke with my second closest friend from the office (the first closest being the bride and the second closest being the maid of honor).

“Yes, we’re early. We will meet you at the school gate. Hurry!”

“Uh, okay.” My mouth said as my brain let loose a whole lot of common expletives.

I threw on my skirt and custom made Chinese-style silk top as I hurried into the bathroom and did the fastest, best makeup job I have ever managed. Thank god I have so many gay boyfriends back home or I never would have gotten through all that.

Ten minutes later my phone rang again. “What the fuck!” I shouted at the top of my lungs, briefly forgetting that it wasn’t even 6:30, that I live in an apartment building (not a private house) and that everyone on the planet knows the word “Fuck.”

“Hello?” I answered cheerfully after my mini blowup.

“We will be there in five minutes. Meet us at the primary school gate.” The Maid of Honor explained the incredibly pushed up timetable.

“Uh, okay. I’m putting on my shoes right now. I’ll meet you there.” I said, despite the fact that the primary school is a good 10-minute brisk walk from my apartment. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Yes. Hurry!”

I hung up my cellphone, slid out of my first slipper into my first slip-on and as I was stepping out of the second slipper, my cellphone rang again.

“We will meet you at the East Gate” The Maid of Honor said.

“Okay. I’m just trying to get on my other shoe!” I explained.

“Yes, the East Gate is by your house so come quickly.”

“I’m coming now” as I wriggled into the shoe, grabbed my purse and fled the building.

Two minutes later I was at the East Gate and the minivan was parked across the street. I crawled into the front seat of the minivan and we were off.

I turned around to my girls and we started to talk. The Bride was understandably nervous as she is my age and still lives (as all my unmarried friends do) at home with her parents. I can’t imagine never having lived away from home and then having to make a whole new home with my husband, literally overnight. I don’t know how you can shift from child to parent in the span of a single day. I would be having a complete meltdown.

It was also in the car that I noticed that while I was advised to wear a pretty dress and dress nicely, no one else was going to be adhering to that dress code. In fact, the Bride even made a sweet comment to the fact that I would be more beautiful than she. Granted, I told her she was crazy and I expressed just how otherworldly-beautiful she looked.

We got to her house and, though she was in her veil with full hair and makeup, she was not in her dress yet. Her parents welcomed me incredibly warmly and her father set about bringing me candy as we got her dressed. At her home, was her “sister” (either a cousin or a life-long neighbor) who helped too. The Bride’s sister was clearly nervous about me, so I did my best to make her feel comfortable by touching her and treating her like Chinese girlfriends treat each other and soon she was gracious enough to try her best to speak English with me as I muddled through my terrifically bad Chinese.

We put the finishing touches on my girl as her extended family and the rest of the girls from our office started to arrive. And, my girl being the lovely and caring woman that she is, took her toddler niece (the daughter of another “sister”) and made her up to be beautiful. Frankly, I could think of nothing more like my friend than that. Her love of children and her kind nature caused her, in a moment of great stress, to focus on providing affection and attention to this little girl who was overwhelmed and a little scared at the thought of her auntie being married off.
As my girl was running about her home, I helped her not sit on her veil or tear the hem of her dress or get it dirty. Essentially, I did what all girlfriends do with their bride girlfriends but somehow it became a big to do within her family about how “careful” and “gentle” the foreign girl is. We were all fussing over her but, of course, my fussing was singled out because I chose my parents well.

We finished up in her bedroom and then we went into the master bedroom to begin the wedding ceremony proper. We set about hiding her shoes. One we placed out on the balcony off her parent’s bedroom and then the other in a purse that I was to carry so it wouldn’t be found.
At about 9 there were loud explosions outside as a cheer erupted in the house. The groom had arrived and his caravan of friends was setting off the fireworks to announce them. The front door to the house, that had been so freely open with people casually coming in and out to inspect the goings on was shut tightly and locked.

The girlfriends and siblings all piled into the master bedroom to prepare for the invasion. At that point, the little niece started saying “Guan mer” [“Close the door”] over and over, clearly not happy about the men coming to take away her auntie. She sat on the bed with my girl and held the hem of the bridal gown protectively.

“Xiao xin! Guan mer!” [“Be careful! Close the door!”] one of her male relatives, larger and taller than I shouted as he barreled into the bedroom.

As we were all wondering what was taking the boys so long, the front door was suddenly set upon by a hoard of young men banging and yelling “Open up!”

The extended family then set about the ritual of refusing to open until four envelopes of money had been slid under the door. Essentially, the family forces the groom to haggle for access to the house.

At the banging of the door, we closed the bedroom door and the largest of us piled against the door as my girl squealed with anticipation on the bed.

A cheer erupted from outside the door and then all went quiet. I was about to ask, “What’s going on?” when the door I was leaning against exploded with shoving and banging and screaming.

“Let us in” the men screamed.

The maid of honor started screaming something in Chinese that equates loosely to “Oh hell no! Let’s see what kind of money you’ve got!”

They proceeded to haggle as the first envelope was slipped under the door.

The little girls who were the equivalent of “flower girls” took the first envelope and checked it for money.

“Too little!” the maid of honor hollered. “How about a second!”

“Or a seventh!” one of the bride’s “brothers” hollered as they banged on the door and we banged back.

They continued on this way until four envelopes of money had been slipped under the door and we opened it.

In poured six men, a Wedding Host (a justice of the peace meets game show host meets Wedding Singer of the Bobby Bouchay ilk who narrates the whole thing and explains the significance of each action), a camera crew and the groom. I would be lying if I didn’t mention the fact that it felt a bit like one of those reality shows where the cops have been running an undercover sting operation and they finally bust down the door.

The groom immediately went to the bride and fed her a peanut candy from his mouth; one of the few ways he gets to kiss her before he has officially taken her to be his.

The best man then set about trying to find her shoes as the Wedding Host was very quiet for the first and only time all day. He just watched me like the sight of me was like being hit by a Mack truck. In fact, the first thing out of his mouth was how beautiful I was, which, let’s be honest, was incredibly awkward and I was infinitely grateful that there was a lot of distraction with the searching for the shoes.

Apparently, the best man has had some serious experience with finding shoes as the first place he looked was the purses of all the women. Granted, his instinct was right however, as we gals had been betting, he would not dream of searching “my” purse. Quickly he found the first shoe and simply couldn’t find the second.

Consequently, the bribing had to continue. The first people he bribed were the little girls. However, I am the English teacher of the flower girls, so they weren’t about to sell me out. And then he got to the little niece and gave her an envelope. She opened it and said “Tai xiao le” [“Not enough!”] which made everyone laugh.

The Wedding Host then recommended that they bribe me, which the groom did.

“Check it!” the maid of honor informed me.

I nodded, confirming there was money and then said, “Tai xiao le” which got a laugh as the men protested. “I’m American!” I shouted back.

“You want dollars!” The men teased the power hungry foreigner. “Dollars” in China isn’t just what Americans think of as currency but it is also the essence of power. In China, a single dollar is worth far more than its exchange rate would suggest. As it is near impossible for the Chinese to have a dollar (exchanging Yuan for dollars is more or less forbidden for all but the most elite Chinese), the word “dollar” holds with it the elusive “streets paved with gold” dream that we in America are too jaded to believe in.

“Where is the shoe?” the men demanded.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Do you speak English?” I teased.

“Shoe! Shoe!” The men hollered in Chinese.

The Wedding Host, overwhelmed with having to work without language grabbed the shoe that had been found and pointed frantically to it.

I feigned comprehension. “Oh, I get it, I get it.” I said in Chinese. “Shoe” I said in English. I nodded, leaned over and took off my right shoe. I stood back up and handed it to him.

He looked completely flabbergasted as he shook his head at the sight of my shoe. I did my best ‘confused’ girl look and then said. “Oh, I know. You have a right one. You want a left one.” So I took off my left shoe as the group laughed again and the Wedding Host again was completely flabbergasted.

“It’s okay, you can give it to him now,” the maid of honor said as the laughter died down and I looked to her for a cue as to what to do next.

I nodded and smiled and took out the shoe, handing it over.

The ceremony continued as he put her shoes on her feet and then her mother brought in some dumpling soup for the two of them to eat. The groom then took her off the bed and carried her out into the living room where her parents gave a short speech and wished them well.

As the bride started to cry, all the women started to cry. It was just so moving and sweet.

They then posed for pictures and we descended to the awaiting cars. While we were in the stairwell, the groomsmen set off more fireworks to announce that the groom had finally gotten the bride and, frankly, in cement space, the echo of explosions were bone rattling. I covered my ears after the first major explosion but could still feel my very skeleton rattle with each explosion.

My girls and I piled into one of the cars and we were off… sort of.

The stretch limo that the bride and groom were in kept stalling out and completely stalled out trying to get up the steep hill exiting the apartment complex. So, in the usual Chinese way of helping out whenever there’s a problem, all the men passing by on the street and in the apartment complex rallied together to pushed the limo up the hill and onto the flat street.
While we were waiting for the men to get the limo up the hill and I was enjoying the breeze coming though the open window of the car I was in.

“Oh, it’s a wedding!” People exclaimed as they walked to the market just inside the apartment complex and then, “And look! A foreigner’s attending!”

After the twentieth declaration of “Look, a foreigner’s attending!” and the gathering of a crowd around my open window, I decided to close my window because I wasn’t the bride and I hate the notion that I might be of more interest than my girl on her wedding day.

“Do you understand what they’re saying?” One of my girls asked as I closed the window.
I repeated the phrases relevant to my presence and nodded. We then got into a discussion about whether or not the generic word for “foreigner” is offensive. I was honest and said it didn’t really bother me (I don’t care what they call me, it’s the attention that bugs me) but there are plenty of foreigners for whom it does.

From there, we went to the couple’s new home and, my god, it was beautiful. The bride decorated it herself and it was just the combination of blues, purples and grays that I relate to. It amazed me how similar our aesthetic is. We wandered about the first floor of the apartment and then my girls and I decided to wander to the second floor. However, we were a bit late in making that decision as everyone else was already descending the narrow stairway and so we had to wait an eternity and a day for everyone to file down. Perhaps forty people made their way down as we waited.

“I think there’s a people factory upstairs. They just make people.” I said as my girls exploded in laughter.

“Do you want to give a speech?” the maid of honor asked.

“Uh, what?” I asked flabbergasted. I fucking hate that I steal the thunder of everyone I care about by simple virtue of showing up.

“We would like you to give a speech later. We would like you to say something for the bride and groom?”

“Oh, uh, I hadn’t prepared anything.” I stammered. I never know when this sort of thing is being offered to me because it’s supposed to be offered and then declined or offered and then accepted. Either way, I really hated the idea of taking any attention off the beautiful couple and, frankly, placing my blonde ass on a stage with them was guaranteed to take away some of their thunder. Granted, by proximity, they become more worldly in that they have managed to make a foreigner appear in their wedding procession (something so rare that I became the focus of the attention and not the stalled out limo carrying the stranded couple) but I’m still just uncomfortable with that hazy area.

“You will ride in the limo with us to inspire words!” It was decided and suddenly, I had been promoted to immediately relevant to the wedding party.

“Really? Uh, really?” I asked. It just seems so strange to me that convention, tradition and custom is so easily bent by the presence of all things I was simply given at birth.

“Yes!” and then we piled into the limo.

As the limo in dire need of an overhaul was trying to get going, the Wedding Host started asking questions about me like where was I from, how long had I been here, how old I was and what my life was like in New York.

We hung out in the limo making small talk and it was established that we’re both the same age (we’re both horses) and that I understand a fair amount of Chinese... for a foreigner.

He would ask the basic statistical questions and I would chime in with answers to the simple questions or offer clarification to my girls who were fleshing out larger notions. Every time I would respond in Chinese, he would jump with surprise and say, “You really do understand!”

“A little” I would say.

“Does she have a husband?” he asked.

“No,” the entire limo replied in unison, including the best man, whom I have never seen before in my life. I wish I could say that surprised me but at this point it doesn’t.

“Does she have a boyfriend?” he asked.

“No” I answered, looking up from my text messaging to my Brazilian Angel.

Flabbergasted, the Wedding host just said, “You really do understand” for the umpteenth time. They all chatted some more and I continued with my text message.

It was a long car ride. It took over an hour to get the hometown of the groom to visit his home and the limo kept stalling out so it took even longer. The Wedding Host spent most of the time chatting and filling the silence with entertaining commentary.

“He wants to know what you like; rice, porridge or noodles” the maid of honor translated something I didn’t quite fully understand.

I laughed and decided to use the “fat” interpretation of me to my comedic advantage. People in China are ferociously protective of the single answer they have to that question and I just like them all, which is incredibly odd. “Well, I’m fat, so I like them all!” I said as I put my hands out to indicate my large belly.

“She likes them all” the maid of honor translated.

The Wedding Host looked at me suspiciously, turned back to the maid of honor and mimicked my gesture, asking what I meant by the ‘large belly’ hand gesture.

“She said she is fat,” the maid of honor translated.

To which, his suspicions were clearly confirmed and he got very cross with me. “She is not fat. She is strong!” and the maid of honor translated.

Frankly, it was a really nice of him to say and then he said something about himself in Chinese that eluded my comprehension.

“He likes strong,” the maid of honor explained as he looked at me squarely and nodded.

“I’m getting picked up in the limo of my girl on her wedding day by the host of the whole thing. My life is just super duper surreal right now.” I heard my inner-self telling my slightly-less-inner-but-not-quite-outer self.

He said something else I didn’t understand and I looked to the maid of honor.

“Yes. He said when he first came through the door, you surprised him.”

“Surprised him? I don’t understand.” I thought back to earlier, trying to sort out what exactly I had done that was so strange. “Oh, because I gave him a hard time?”

The maid of honor looked at me squarely, laughed and shook her head indicating, “No.”

“Oh.” I thought as it dawned on me that it was the sight of me that rendered the loquacious man speechless.

“Do you know Chinese jokes?” was translated for the Wedding Host.

“No.” I replied. I neither know nor understand much of Chinese humor so it seemed a safe bet to go with “No.”

“On the ground is a $50 bill and a $100 bill. Which one do you pick up?” He asked.

“Which one is cleaner?” I asked. I had already summed up the shaved-headed, “Fo”-bracelet-wearing, spiritual Wedding Host as a Buddhist so I was clear it wasn’t about the value of the money but a riddle. And, coupling that with the fact that the ground here can be super filthy with the garbage left out to rot in the hot desert sun, I’m very conscious of what I pick up from the ground of late.

My question obliterated his answer of “Both.”

“I take my best gun to go hunting. I find a tree filled with birds and I shoot one. How many are left in the tree?” He asked.

“None. The sound of the gun scared them all away.” I answered. I grew up on ‘lateral thinking’ puzzles and it’s going to take a little more than these party versions to throw the likes of me!

“Do you regret leaving your home to come here?” The unspoken question in that question is, ‘Do you regret leaving a world filled with money to come and slum it with us?’ Granted, I don’t get always asking “Which is more important; money or happiness.” It’s like saying “Which is more important: air or water.” They’re not the same thing, they’re not mutually exclusive and choosing one over the other assures that at some point, you will see precisely how unhealthy your choice was. However, the thing is, I can get the physical resources I need; I’m resourceful like that. The active choices I make in my life are about finding satisfaction and pleasure.

“No.”

“As long as you are happy money doesn’t matter?”

Considering that I fully acknowledge it takes a certain base of money to liberate me to be happy but no, I am not someone who constantly is consumed by desire of bigger and better things, I figured I could answer, “Yes.”

“Yes, you are American.”

“What does that mean?”

“Americans do what they want.”

“Then yes, I am very American. I am very stubborn. Stubborn is a good word for me.”

“Chinese are not like that. We do not do what makes us happy.”

“Well, in a family you must do for the family but I don’t live with a family so I am free to do what makes me happy. In America, we leave our homes before we get married and spend some time doing what we want before we become a part of a family again. But, inside a family, Americans are just like Chinese; we work very hard for the group.”

He seemed to like that answer very much and the whole car started explaining how different Chinese values and Western values are. The greatest irony to me is how fervent the Chinese people are about the timeless quality of the 5000 year old culture despite the fact that, politically speaking, their country is currently younger than mine. That whole “revolution” thing truly severed a link to the past out of disgust with said “timeless culture” and frankly, the people who had to flee to Taiwan and now are not really a part of China know the 5000 year old culture far more intimately than the highly edited version here on the mainland.

Then my car-mates explained how much the people in China view the Chinese who marry Westerners as arrogant, wealthy snots and so Chinese/Western weddings are always a huge affair to remember.

“Actually, Western values are a lot like Chinese values. The Chinese only think they are so different from Westerners.” And with that, I had a chance to lance the boil that had been festering all week. “I think it’s strange how different the Chinese think we are from them when our lives are really more the same than different.”

“When do you want to get married?” the Wedding Host asked.

“When I meet the right man.” I replied in English.

As the maid of honor translated, the Wedding Host used the same words she used to translate, indicating he knew my answer without me having to answer. It’s always nice to be understood even if I am insufferably obvious.

While we were riding through the hometown of the groom, the Wedding Host’s window was open and people stopped in cars next to us, would look in and see me.

“Look a wedding! Look, they’ve got a foreigner!” they would all say and then all the people piled into the cars would plant themselves at the open windows to gawk at me.

“Ni hao!” I would call out to all of them. Though all I want to do is retreat into my own world at such treatment, to do so is only perceived as arrogance and that was the last thing I needed to be projecting on behalf of my girl.

We made it to the groom’s parents home and I was immediately given the seat of honor as everyone oohed and aahed over the foreigner in their midst. I was give the guided tour by the mother of the bride and shown the master bedroom of the home and how it was decorated as a marital bed for the new couple.

I must admit, the only thing I found unsettling about the whole day was how comfortable everyone seemed to be with the idea of having sex in their parents’ beds. Call me a prude but frankly, the idea of combining sex and my parents just never really sat well with me. Granted, I have plenty of friends in America for whom it was one of the biggest turn ons in high school but even then I never got it. It’s like the phase so many of my girl classmates went through in adolescence of thinking of having sex with their fathers. I just never got any of that. Parents + Sex = Ew, empirically speaking.

After our brief visit and more photos, we were on our way to the banquet lunch… sort of.
The limo officially died and so those of us in the limo got split up and put into various cars. We got to the hotel with the restaurant and the Wedding Host led me in while lots more pictures were taken.

He led me into the banquet hall and told me where to sit.

Unfortunately, though I understood what he was trying to convey (where to sit) the minutia of his directions was lost on me.

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand. Where is my seat?” I said in Chinese.

He opened his mouth to clarify, looked at my helpless face and simply gestured for me to follow as he smiled. As I glanced up, I saw Z watching me from one of the nearby tables and I was infinitely grateful to have male company as I had to make the long march from the back of the restaurant to the front by the stage.

He led me to a seat and said, “Sit, please,” in English.

“Thank you,” I said gratefully in Chinese.

He smiled and shook his head, indicating it was nothing and then hurried back out.

And there I sat for an extensive period of time, alone. The banquet hall was practically filled but I had been led to one the table for honored guests, namely the honored employers of the couple… which also meant that when her employers showed up, so did mine. Which is fun.

So, there I sat, knowing Z was watching me while my employers sullenly watched me, as this is umpteenth one of those things they’d been to that week. The pre-lunch festivities began and the Wedding Host managed to keep the entire room in stitches. I have been to several weddings but he was the first host who managed to actually engage the room and entertain everyone.

Of course the Wedding Host finally introduced me and as he was introducing me he asked if he could hold my hand. It was strange to be there holding his had through the introduction as he declared what a lovely woman I am and how fortunate he and the rest of the people involved in the wedding were to have such a good friend. He then gave a little information on my background before giving me the floor and the microphone. As nervous as I was, I managed to muddle through something horrendously bad about the beauty of the day, the beauty of the couple and wishing them all the best on the beginning of their life together.

I finished my speech and the maid of honor translated for me. Once I was done (and having been the only non family member/non government official to speak) they exchanged rings, formally introduced themselves as the children of their in-laws, the maid of honor and the best man did the requisite flirting and marriage proposal, the feasting began.

Then the toasting began and I was toasted individually by every single member of the family; groom to mother of the bride. So once that toasting was done, I toasted my bosses and sunk back down into my chair, desperate to not make an ass out of myself by saying or doing something stupid. I slapped my friendly, light smile on my face and made small talk with my friend, the principal of the primary school.

While I was doing my best not to make an ass out of myself, one of my girls from our office showed up and hauled me off to a more plebian table filled with my friends. It was so wonderful to be rescued like that.

“You looked so lonely. You had no one to talk to up there.” She said.

“Yes, it’s true. Thank you!” I gushed.

“Not at all,” she said smiling.

At the new table, I sat with lots of my friends and had a good time. The toasting made its way back to us and as it was a more plebian table, the whole wedding party toasted the whole table once. The loud, messy gaiety was refreshing from the somber neatness of the honored table. Everywhere on the table were crumpled napkins and spilled food. Everyone was serving everyone else and children were poking about in the way that children do. The honored table was an elegant place to be with waiters and waitresses hovering over you to meet your every need but the formality of work obliterated the warm friendly nature of extended family.
I was so happy to be at the table that it didn’t bother me one bit that Z was at the next table over. We took lots of pictures and made lots of jokes. It was lovely.

And then it was time to leave and we all filtered out and hopped onto the awaiting bus. As I had started the day very early, it was still very cold so I had worn a wrap sweater. However, it’s the desert and we’re getting into summer weather, so I ditched the sweater not too long into the day.

My sweater got put with all the changes of costumes the bride makes between rounds at the banquet. So, I was told to get on the bus and the maid of honor would bring me my sweater.
Consequently, I got on the bus going back to the compound and waited, doubtful I’d see the sweater again today. I figured I’d just type a text message and have the maid of honor bring it to work next week. No worries.

However, one of the female gym teachers came around the corner and got on the bus. As she’s Z’s coworker and with her was his male friend/coworker, I immediately got a bit anxious about whether or not Z was coming. It’s just so fucking awkward being around his awkwardness.
As they got on the bus, I presumed there had been enough lag time that Z couldn’t possibly be coming. Why would he be so far behind?

I watched them board and then turned to a girlfriend sitting with me.

“Christina. You sweater.” The female gym teacher said, proud she managed to get out her English.

“Thank you.” I said, reflexively in English and smiled my sweetest smile on automatic pilot, a little distracted that right behind her was Z doing his best not to look at me.

Z wriggled his way around his coworker and handed me a bottle of water. “Gae” [“Here”] he said as he passed me the water.

It took me a moment to understand that he was talking to me and was in fact giving me the nurturing gesture of water in this desert community. He had been so far behind because he had stopped at the vendor to buy me a bottle of water.

However slow I may be, I usually catch on eventually. I took the bottle of water and nodded my head, “Thank you.”

He shook his head and then Z and his two coworkers got off the bus to catch their ride elsewhere. It was very strange.

Nevertheless, we were off for the hour and change ride back home. I quickly fell into that twilight space between asleep and awake, constantly pulled from the brink of sleep as the small children sitting not three rows ahead of kept chanting things about the foreign girl, the American girl, the strange language she speaks and “Good morning.”

I played possum and simply refused to acknowledge them as they were wired enough without my prodding.

As we made it back to Xi’An and my girls got of the bus a little early to catch a public bus home, the kids reached a fever pitch with their mockery of all things foreign.

So, I spoke to them in Chinese, which shut them the hell up. They asked me some questions in Chinese and then started to tell me how funny my stupid language sounds.

“I speak Chinese but do you speak English?” I asked in Chinese.

Which shut them the hell up again.

“Can you understand me? I understand you.” I said in English, allowing another teacher to explain.

To which they responded like all my naughty students caught in being lazy do; they started singing their English songs.

I finally made it off the bus without losing my cool and met up with one of the disembarking passengers; a close girl friend of Z’s and fellow teacher who has always been interested in talking with me but is clearly intimidated by me.

We made small talk solely in Chinese while we walked home to our respective buildings about where we lived, who we live with, how long I’ve been in China and so on. It was cool to be able to manage better in Chinese than she could in English. I like being able to meet people more than half way on occasion.

The whole day was exactly what my anti-social self needed.