Tuesday, July 24, 2007

DIGGING MY OWN GRAVE

"You're very Asian. With women," my new Belgian girlfriend broke the flow of the break-from-class conversation the group had with this. She was speaking to the Korean guy and, as our class is filled with Westerners (there is on retired Japanese gentleman but he's not interested in socializing with us) there was no question to whom she was speaking. While the half-Chinese, half-German is seen as Chinese in China, he's seen as European in our circle. Korea is firmly alone in his "Asian" roots among us.

I have spoken a fair bit with Korea and merely by his speech patterns, I already know (and it was confirmed later) that he learned the basics of English in Korea and then moved to Australia to immerse himself in the language during his teens or early twenties. I know this because his basic English vocabulary has an English accent and as the English teacher in Korea are primarily English and expensive, it's clear his parents were doing their best to provide him with a strong base. His conversational English and flow is clearly Australian. His physicality with women is clearly Australian. His grasp of English is incredibly high and he clearly wants to be seen as a Westerner from Korea as he made such a serious effort as to even learn humor in English. Most people, even if they become fluent in a language, don't understand the humor in each culture. Humor is the absolute last concept to come, as it is entirely cultural and has nothing to do with a classroom. My humor is very dry and cerebral. You must have a pretty good grasp of English to understand my whacked-out sense of humor. He gets it. He not only gets it, he can give as good as he gets. He has clearly adopted the idea of being a hybrid of cultures. And, well, it takes a cuckoo to see a cuckoo.

Now, one must understand the subtext of that comment from my Belgian friend to understand the true power of alienation behind it. We had all just spent two hours discussing sexual relationships and how they differ from China/Asia to the West. Everyone in class is in quite a lot of agreement that Asian cultures are incredibly chauvinistic and several women even said how horrible it must be to be a Chinese woman... to our female Chinese teacher.

Fortunately, Korea and I were doing most of the talking and we had a really interesting discussion fleshing out the word "like" in Chinese is used as we use the word "love" and the word "love" in Chinese is used like we use the phrase "the one." We then tried to explain how cohabitation is not unlike marriage for us.

"90% of men in China get married [only] because they want to have sex," our teacher explained trying to explain why it's bad to cohabitate without marriage.

"Horrible" I whispered in English under my breath so that she wouldn't hear me.

Korea was sitting in front of me and he turned around, shrugging sheepishly. "Well, it is a natural urge," he tried to defend the faultless idea of lust.

"It's natural to get married because you want to get laid? What sort of marriage is based on getting laid?" I asked, clarifying my "horrible" statement.

Korea went quiet for a moment and thought. "That is terrible. You're right." He thought some more. "That's really awful," he muttered, clearly disgusted.

She then asked what stopped men from cheating on women if they weren't married, because, as you well know, extramarital affairs don't happen in China.

"Living together isn't serious." She said.

I couldn't respond to that because I'm not a man and so my voice wouldn't hold much weight on this matter to her.

"You live together and he can go and have sex with anyone."

"No!" Korea answered reflexively, upset at the notion of infidelity. "No, if you live together it is serious."

"What a lovely, upstanding young man." I thought.

So, given two hours of this subtext to our conversation, to equate Korea with all men "Asian" when it comes to "women" is more than a little heartbreaking. As a consequence, when he finally understood what the words my Belgian friend had spoken, the normally loquacious boy went uncharacteristically quiet. He understood and was hurt.

In a circle of "We're on vacation!" kids and young adults, suddenly he was pointed out to be the freak. It's stunningly alienating to feel like you're part of a group and then suddenly have the curtain pulled back to reveal that you're the circus freak the group has been entertaining for its own enjoyment. And, in case he had any doubt what the women in the class think of "Asian" men, we had just spent two hours articulating just how freakish "we" find "them" to be. Though he clearly is on the "us" side of things, because of things he has nothing to do with, he was clearly being placed back with what "we" perceive to be the more antiquated side of things.

"Yeah!" all the other women followed suit and the men hung back as the girls laid out all the funny things he had done to be "so Asian." With each context-free anecdote, the girls giggled at how funny he was. What the girls didn't understand was that he didn't understand that chivalry is, primarily, dead in the West. From his perspective, it was clear that he had been perceived as silly, trite and probably offensive but I'm pretty sure he didn't quite know why.

I could see the great divide growing swiftly and so I decided to rephrase what had come across as a rather unpleasant notion.

"Yeah," I agreed. "You take care of women... of us." I explained quietly. That raised his defeated, ground-oriented gaze to my eyelevel, as he finally understood the divide. I had reached him through his alienation and offered him a little something, or so I like to think that naked look he gave me indicated.

I completely forgot myself in the look he gave me. "It's nice," I said far more earnestly than I thought I was capable of. I smiled honestly and the self-revelatory truth never felt easier.

He smiled and I literally felt his anxiety dissipate like mist.

When he opened his mouth and inhaled to speak, I realized that we were standing in the midst of a bunch of people and his words wouldn't be for me. We had said all that needed to be said. As reality settled around me, I tried to hide my gasp. My nudity was there for everyone to see and in my embarrassment I watched the ground.

The women picked up on my sentiment and started explaining the things like how Western men wouldn't even mention the car coming, much less guide you away from it.

And then the conversation bloomed. Korea understood the perspective from which we were speaking. We were not laughing at the trite, petty chauvinistic behavior he clearly thought we were discussing but rather our amazement that a man with no reason to, would take care of us.

"But your perspective on relationships is decidedly Western" I said, attempting to further clarify.

"Yeah, I guess I'm a hybrid of cultures," he tried to explain. "There are good things and bad things from Korea and there are good things and bad things..." he trailed off, losing his nerve and clearly a bit rattled by all of this.

"Yeah, there are good and bad things in every culture." I agreed trying to keep the conversation going. Everyone else simply watched him. There is nothing like dead air in a conversation you want to go away when you feel fucked up. "Except America," I joked. "Our contribution to the world has been McDonald's, KFC and Pizza Hut. We're just offensive."

Korea laughed at that and jumped on the idea but tried to consol me by telling me how much he likes Burger King.

"And you're forgetting the wondrous cultural gift that is Hollywood," I added as we headed inside, laughing, to continue our class.

We finished class and as I was leaving with Belgium, Korea spoke up.

"Bye," he said directly to me as we left the post-class chat circle.

"Bye," I said.

"Bye!" he yelled after my receding figure.

"Bye," I repeated myself.

"Bye," he said to me, once again but now making me laugh.

"Bye" I called out, laughing a bit harder at the silly back and forth.

"Bye!" he yelled out one last time as I turned around.

I let him have the final word but raised my hand to the air to wave behind my back.

I know he headed back to the hotel and he and the Italian girl he's fond of are staying at and I know that they're most likely together but that doesn't stop my godforsaken gut from wanting what it wants. My conscious brain has absolutely no desire for a man in my life and I loathe the idea of ever dating again but he's managed to splinter his way in and my reflexes certainly aren't stopping him. If I hadn't opened my mouth to clarify "Asian," I probably wouldn't have even occurred to him but now he really wants to make friends.

Bloody hell.
BLOODY HELL

Enough already! I want off this fucking ride!

I've started Chinese class and there are two lovely boys in our class. Actually, there are several boys but there are two I find notably lovely. One is Korean and one is half-Chinese, half-German. I had been doing my best to ignore them but they're both really lovely in their own way and I'm only so human.

I sat next to the Eurasian for the first class and behind the Korean for the next. The Eurasian is shy but interested in talking to me. When he works up the nerve to look me in the eye, he smiles shyly and warmly. When he had to introduce himself to the class, he turned and spoke to me and no one else. He is beautiful and shy and he looks to me for camaraderie. It's a strange predicament, as I made the conscious effort to make no overtures to him. It's becoming distracting and I loathe the perking up the hormones. However, I'm not particularly concerned as he seems to lack the nerve to ever really approach me.

The Korean lad is a bit more of an issue. He's highly flirtatious, very outgoing and very interested in making friends. He's not interested in me romantically as he's clearly hooking up with one of the Italian girls in our class but, dear god, he's really attractive inside and out. We clicked and our senses of humor align frighteningly well. As he's spent some serious time in the past living in Australia, his English is excellent and he's wonderfully funny. He makes me laugh and he laughs when I give him a hard time. But, the worst thing is that he does that thing of looking me in the eye when he speaks to me and then loses his train of thought. He forgets which language he's in (when not in class we all speak English as it's the only common language we all have a decent handle on). Z used to do that and I loved that. I'm a sucker for a boy struck dumb around me. Also, Korea's the spokesman for our class (if we're all lost, he speaks up as his Mandarin is the best) he always turns to me to confer. A man asking for feedback and consent is also unspeakably appealing.

However, it's distracting and it's infuriating because it's a dead end. If he would just leave me be, I could ignore him and fantasize about violating his lovely body. Howeer, he puts in serious effort to be friendly with me (as well as several others in the class) so I can't ignore what a lovely person he is. I don't want to have to like him. I just want to lust after him and forget about him the moment he leaves the room.

I'm so fucking tired of being jerked around. I wish he'd just go away. I can't and won't have him, ever, and I'm just so tired of that eternal fucking hope poking its head out just long enough to get caught by the speeding bullet.

Saturday, July 21, 2007

ACADEMIA

I’ve been avoiding writing because I’m feeling amorphous again. I’m exhausted by the emotional toll of the year. I’m exhausted by the disappointments and the joy. I’m exhausted by my own humanity and I’m exhausted by always having to ignore the role of “freak” I am constantly, actively given.

The simplest of tasks has become monumentally difficult. The joy of teaching my classes to interested students has abated and to reveal dread at the thought of yet more hours of my life purchased by the highest bidder. I have begun to feel like a high-priced whore. I loathe meeting new people because it invariably means having to calmly, tactfully remove myself from the inevitable wooing for a favor. They will buy me an inordinately expensive meal in return for the ability to ask if I might be so kind as to simply exist near them, making them more desirable to those around them. Frankly, I am most often, socially speaking, little more than an escort. I’m even exhausted by going to the gym, though the social payoffs of Tank and several other trainers with whom I am friendly is large enough that I’m willing to deal with being gawked at like a circus freak in the locker room by every single woman. My particular favorite is being stared at for minutes on end, mouth agape in a neutral fashion of awe (but would be interpreted by most Westerns as horror) while the stare-er fails to finish changing her sanitary pad because watching me for minutes on end is more important than her own dignity. That my nipples are pink and not brown is far more important than her menses flowing freely. I wish I could say that was a singular event but it occurs with surprising regularity; at least once a week.

Nevertheless, as much as I fight it and as much as I disagree with the assessment, I am consistently called an “academic” and an “intellectual” by those who know me best. And, the truth is, while I’m not built out of academic stuff, I do adore the learning process. It is precisely what cheers me up when I’m in a funk; like I am now. Granted, I loathe fighting for a grade or concerning myself with the opinions of a professor about my worth as a human being but I adore learning. I love the process of fleshing out new space, new ideas and forcing myself to wield the unwieldy. To me, learning is the equivalent of life; the end of learning would be death to me.

Given my current situation (no full-time work and no close friends currently in China as my Brazilian Angel’s back home in Brazil) I’m languishing. I’ve got nothing to challenge me and nothing to work towards. I teach one, three-hour class a week at one of the more prestigious universities in the area and the students are good enough that I start them on talking and they simply go. I loathe that I am considered a good enough teacher, a fine enough instrument, that I am not given any sort of curriculum. The fact is that, once I understand a language, I am highly talented with it but I need structure of some sort. I can come at language from an infinite number of ways because I am, at first, so infinitely bad that I learn all the mistakes there are to make. Given that bulk of knowledge, frankly, I need to be limited. I’m slowly learning the mindset behind the Chinese’s English lexicon but I’ve grown bored with that struggle as it has very little rhyme or reason because it is primarily a hodgepodge of native French speakers informing the Chinese of what English is and what the Chinese dictionaries tell the Chinese “experts” “real” English is. (I cannot begin to express how frustrating it is to be told what your language is by people whose only exposure is limited to an electronic dictionary; I have long since given up.)

So today (7/22/07) I woke up bright and early on a Sunday morning and headed to the South of the city about an hour from my home to take my entrance exam for my Chinese class. Out of ten students, I was far and away the worst student there and none of them live in China. Most of the students are Western European and have been intensively studying Chinese in their respective countries for at least a year. This trip is for them to refine their already-excellent Chinese. Frankly, after a year here, my Chinese is embarrassing.

It’s inspiring.

I feel like I’m waking up. I feel like I’ve been resurrected. I feel like the gauntlet has been thrown down and I, at last, really have to work for something valuable but nothing of great importance is on the line. When I first got to China, everything was of essential importance. Frankly, it was sink or swim time and if I messed up, my well-being was at stake. It was unbelievable pressure to be under but I’ve made it through. The Westerners I know that live here are amazed that I managed to survive at all much less as well as I did. I know I can get around and live in China with no problem on the minimal Chinese I speak, read and write. I have the confidence to deal with my life here. I know the bus system, I know the colloquial speech and I know the accent. The other Western students, I can see, do not. In many ways, Xi’An has become a home-away-from-home and there is something to be said for that unquantifiable way in which I have come to understand, not really the language, but the life here. I’m so excited to begin studying the language because I know it will enhance my experience. I know it will offer me shades and subtleties to my life here that I didn’t have before. The ability to exist will not change because I’ve won that through hard work already. No, what will change will be the quality of life.

I cannot express how excited I am to be getting back into a classroom as a student. I’ve had enough of being the teacher!
IT’S RAINING, IT’S POURING

So it’s been raining for most of the end of June and the first half of July here in Xi’An. Normally, I would embrace the break from the sweltering weather. However, as I’ve discovered, it’s not really a break from sweltering weather, merely the addition of unbearable humidity. China has been having record-breaking rain and all around us is flooding. Fortunately, I live in a stratosphere (both economic and physical) that is untouched by said flooding.

However, it does mean that I can’t do my laundry (because if I hang it out to dry, it will not dry, merely get mildewed) and my hair simply does not dry after each shower. There is also the small issue that I am completely exhausted everyday. I hadn’t really noticed anything exceptional about the exceptional exhaustion as it has truly been unspeakably hot and humid here and I figured such levels of exhaustion were par for the course. What did catch my attention was the unshakable headache I’ve been suffering with for the past week.

I did everything in my power to keep up my fluids, to eat properly and to take painkillers but the headache simply would not leave. Soon, my joints were achy and I had developed the slight tremble I get when I am not sleeping enough. I couldn’t sort out if it was really bad PMS or a light flu.

“Not so good.” I thought, upon finally recognizing the unshakable slight tremble. As I went to bed thinking about what in the world was I going to do about the possibility of a neurological disorder in China, I noticed my back was super itchy. I didn’t think anything of it at the time because I’ve got a leak to a world of mosquitoes that just pour into my apartment, so I figured I had yet one more bug bite.

That was last Thursday. Since then I have come to realize that I have developed a mild case of shingles and that all my neurological symptoms can, most easily, be blamed on that. The virus that first causes chickenpox and then shingles, as you may or may not know, is a type of herpes. Granted, it seems like most viruses in the body are some type of herpes or another the way that most growths in the body seem like one kind of cancer or another. Fortunately, the fact is that the chickenpox/shingles virus is not the genital brand but nonetheless, to know that I have an outbreak of Paris Hilton on my back is just mortifying. Stigma aside, it could be infinitely worse.

My case seems to be a very mild case and it is easily disguised beneath clothing or even a bathing suit. Often there are outbreaks on the face and neck, often they are much larger and on not-too-rare occasion the outbreaks are painful, itchy and generally horrible. Mine is located just below my bra strap, small and only occasionally painful, itchy or numb. It is little more than a nuisance and an embarrassment. Also, I am not contagious except to anyone who hasn’t had the chickenpox and even if they have no immunity then they must touch the rash to catch chickenpox. No matter what, I can’t give someone shingles.

My blessings counted, it has not lessened the stress of this week.

Wednesday of last week, I met up with le Francais at the gym. We happened to bump into each other and we spoke for a bit.

“Oh, and [Bill] is coming.” He mentioned, knowing my interest in Bill.

“Really?” I perked up at the thought of seeing Bill.

“Yes, next week. Monday, Tuesday and Thursday.” He said, watching for my reaction.

I smiled pleasantly, as it was a bit sudden and the reality of the man I like coming to visit hadn’t really sunk in.

“But it will be all work. He won’t have time to visit.” Le Francais said, perhaps covering for his friend.

Which leaves me here. I’m certain that if Bill is interested in me, he will ask me to dinner Tuesday night, the only night of the week I have class to teach. Even if I could get out of that (which I can’t) or if he asks me for another night, there is the small matter of feeling like a leper. I can’t even do so much as kiss him without having to ask if he has had the chickenpox and I certainly can’t be naked in this state.

Six damned months and maybe he’ll show up and maybe he won’t. And, even if he does, I am guaranteed that very little, if anything will happen. The only man to touch me in over a year couldn’t stop confessing the romantic notion that, “Raping you isn’t fun for me. I don’t want to have to rape you.” Frankly, I’d simply like that whole thing struck from the record and now this!

When it rains, it pours!

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

RANDOMNESS

I thought I’d begin my official summer (7/3) by going to Starbucks and using my Mac on a weekday. Granted, as I have no full-time job (I’m teaching a single, 3-hour oral English class every week for 5 weeks for more than most Chinese will ever see in a month but it’s not full-time employment) and am technically unemployed (with my contract having run out and not yet signed the new one) I thought I’d return to my New York writer-ly roots and nestle into a Starbucks with my Powerbook, reveling in my naughty hooky from life.

I was flipping through the gossip pages and happened to click upon a link that led me to Wikipedia. I had no intended to go to Wiki, nor had I any idea that the link would take me there. You see, Wiki is verboten in PRC and I’m not particularly interested in raising trouble while I’m in China, so I have avoided courting trouble.

However, the link worked.

Wikipedia actually works in PRC. I checked out the general PRC entry as well as Xi’An’s and a few random entertainment figures’. Granted, I have not clicked on the more sensitive “T” “N” “Ah” “Men” “incidents” links as I have no interest in raising the attention of the filters that Wiki is up and running but how cool is it that Wiki is about? I love that.

But then again, I have no been able to get onto the official Blogger sites (or personal blog sites in general) for weeks now. My access has come and gone in the past year to personal blogs but of late, they’re really not working. I can still post, edit and peruse my blogs, I just can’t read the final product.

So random.

Monday, July 02, 2007

GOING OUT ON A POSITIVE NOTE

It has come to my attention that god wants me to be a lesbian. Unfortunately, I was not born gay. However, if you can be “therapy-ed” into being straight, why can’t I therapy myself into being gay? I don’t mean to make light of disgusting practices in the states but I truly have come to a turning point in my attitude towards the more appealing gender in China. I have spoken to the Jude about my decision to be gay and she fully supports it. “Like the women in prison. They’re not gay but they don’t have any other option for comfort. I totally support you.”

On Sunday (7/1) I went on my peer pressure date. More than anything, I did not want to go on my date with my masseur, not because he was going to hit on me but because I was going to lose a good masseur. However, all my married, Western girlfriends here have been giving me a hard time about not being open enough to dating and generally being “too hard on men.” They all saw my masseur as god’s gift to women; sweet, sensitive and thoughtful. They felt we were a perfect match; he would domesticate me and I would culture him, despite the fact that we don’t have a common language and I feel absolutely not a moment’s lust towards him. He and I have the opposite of chemistry; I neither hate him nor desire him. I simply don’t care.

So, I went on my date and did my best to make small talk in Chinese. He was edgy and not really participatory in any way. It was strange to share such a newfound space with him. In the massage room, he’s really inquisitive and I wish he would shut the hell up and just give me a rub down. I was not particularly fond of his newfound silence and felt, “Ah, here’s my punishment for not listening to my gut. He won’t talk and this once calm gentleman has turned into a cranky, temperamental date.”

We walked to the restaurant, I tried to squish my dread at having to masticate an entire meal in his presence and promised myself that I would get a nice, long nap after this obnoxious ordeal. We sorted out what we wanted to eat and as the “conversation” died, he handed me a note. On the bottom of the note, written out by him in Chinese and on the top was the translation (by another person) in English. “Dear Christina, Will you take me to your apartment? Yours, [Your Date]”

It took me a moment to collect myself. To go back to my apartment meant to have sex. To have sex meant to get married. To get married means to never get divorced. I have spent less than 6 hours with this man in my whole life and am completely unable to communicate with him.

The first thing that went through my head was, “Well, it’s more romantic than, ‘I don’t want to have to rape you. Raping you is no fun for me so save me money on a hotel by taking me home because you have to trust me,’ but somehow this just isn’t the romance I’m looking for. I mean, I know you’re supposed to compromise to make a relationship work but this still seems a bit too much compromise.”

Still stunned, I said, “Uh, no.”

“No?!” He asked, furious. Angrily, he picked up his chopsticks and stabbed at his food. Astonished at his rage, I looked at him, questioningly but he refused to make eye contact or speak for the rest of the date.

“Perfect” I thought. “This is the perfect end to the perfect fucking year. I’m in a position where I’m surrounded by people who are all only children and spoiled only children at that, and all 1.6 billion of them don’t understand why I can’t make an exception for just them. Each one of them fully believes that they are special beyond all others and clearly should be given license to abuse me as they choose. It’s getting on my last damned nerve.”

And, as I’ve been walking around Xi’An in these few days between the end of being a teacher for the year and the beginning of being a student, I watch parents and children and realize that there is no way that relationships as I understand them could possibly exist on a large scale here. Parents love their children purely; it is a love and a doting that exists nowhere but within the parent/child relationship. For the most part, parents don’t care for each other and ignore each other. For the most part, friends merely spend their time gossiping about the other friends who aren’t around for that mahjong game. Adults have had the ability to love (because what is more revolutionary that love and passion?) and adore each other beaten out of them to such an extent that most romantic relationships are merely a financial transaction of sex for money and most friendships are merely convenient fair weathered friends.

The only source of love (as I know it) that a child around here will ever see is the one from their parent and so it is no surprise to me that even within adult marriages, the in-laws and the bank account numbers have a stronger pull than the spouse.

To be honest, I wish money was an aphrodisiac for me. I have been proposed to by a great number of wealthy men looking for a kept, blonde mistress. Things would be much easier if I had a boyfriend who simply wants to keep me. However, the sexiest thing anyone has done in Xi’An is forgo his obscene wealth and power to instead choose to make me roses out of paper napkins and refill my water glass to prevent a hang over.

It’s funny but all of this makes me miss both Bill and Z. Bill, I miss for obvious reasons I won’t reiterate. However, Z is a new case. Not that I would take Z back or that he would have me back but I miss our friendship. Our major problem was that I’m very comfortable with men and he’s very jealous. I did everything I could to curb myself and my male friendships when we were together but it was simply not enough and I couldn’t continue with someone who went so far as to make things up to be jealous about. When our relationship was devoid of outside interaction, the intimate, personal stuff was really lovely. He never pressured me or took advantage of me; he respected me as a human being. Despite our incompatibility, I think he’s a good guy. In fact, he’s the reason I keep being pulled back from the edge of racism and furious thoughts about the idea that “all Chinese people” are a certain way when I get overwhelmed by the naïve, self-absorbed, high-school drama that is so pervasive here.

So, I had hoped to go out of the school year on a high note or at least, not a crappy note, but it looks like that isn’t going to happen. Everything that should have been worked out with the school before June 30th (when I ceased to be an employee of the school) has been delayed indefinitely, the technical issues I was having have gone unsolved and my bosses still treat me like I ought to be grateful for being graced by their presence despite the fact that my contract has already expired. Even the weather sucks. It’s rainy and that horrible temperature that’s too cold for a t-shirt but too hot/humid for more.

I wish I could say that I learned more than survival and shared anything but I have my doubts. At least next year I’ll know what I’m doing and the learning curve shouldn’t be so great.

Perhaps upon further reflection, I’ll have something more interesting and more poetic to say about my first year here. However, for the time being, consider this the end of my first year in China.