圣诞快乐

This Christmas, my mom had to be back in the States with her family due to her mom's health problems. Christmas just isn't the same without the woman of the house to bring Christmas goodies - I mean, cheer.

My dad, brothers and I managed to get up for caroling at the school, attempting sugar cookies while being indecisive about Christmas music, and then decided to go out to eat. Turns out, one Christmas meal is all this motherless family choses to handle.

We made a cultural discovery today. Turns out, Christmas Eve is date night in Beijing. We meandered our way over to the foreign side of town, and eat at TGIF. We attempted Tex-Mex, but when we entered, we were informed that they only had two meal options - turkey and steak, and it would cost an arm and a leg. My dad informed the waitress that this was a mexican restaurant, and she seemed truly shocked as if she had never noticed.

Once we got to TGIF, we were met with couple after couple dressed in their club clothes. It's interesting to see how the materialism of Christmas is capable of sinking into other cultures and yet they fail to grasp the full meaning of what they're celebrating. I'm sure we do the same thing in the States.

New goal: Learn more about holidays I celebrate.

Ice Cream Perspective

Earlier this week I was given the opportunity to speak to my Gateway class about the importance of having a global perspective. While I may seem like an expert on the subject, and certainly have a slew of global stories, I had never stopped to think about why it was so important.

Here is what I decided.

Having only experienced one culture is like only reading essays about why chocolate ice cream is the best kind of ice cream there is. Sure, there are a million reasons why chocolate ice cream is amazing and the authors of those essays may have some very valid points. Chocolate is an aphrodisiac, it can cure a sweet tooth, and goes great with some caramel.

But if you take their word for it and are never willing to try other flavors, you’ll be missing out on a whole lot of joy. (I recently had a pumpkin pie blizzard that was seriously fall goodness in a cup.) If you take the time to learn about other flavors and take the time to experience them, you may find you enjoy all of the thousands upon thousands of them out there. Although, personally I’m not sure how anyone can enjoy green bean ice cream; not because I think it can’t taste good to people but purely on the principle of the matter.

Each culture has unique values and advantages. Each culture expects different things from those participating. Each culture even has its own rate of acceptance. We shouldn’t discount another way of doing something simply because we are used to something else. There is nothing actually better about the left or the right side of the road, we have simply created a preference for that location.

Unfortunately, conflict makes people uncomfortable. Personally, conflict is usually physically painful for me. Conflicts between cultures creates culture shock and ethnocentrism. We experience something different and we haven’t quite learned how to process it yet, because it may vary from our own values and beliefs, and so we act out against it. I used to hate having nuts in my ice cream, that crunch mixed with the smoothness of the cream and all that healthy stuff was ruining the experience. I tried an ice cream a little while back that I didn’t know had nuts in it, and was actually surprised by how it tasted. I’m no longer afraid of having nuts in my ice cream. Culture can take a few taste tests to get used to, and maybe you’ll never quite be able to swallow it without washing it down. But at least you will have tried it, experienced it, found out why others may enjoy it, and learned a little something about the taste buds your culture has developed in you.

再见, 亲爱的

Choosing Fleas

Some days I wish I was more creative, more mysterious, more complicated.

Other days I wish I was more content, more open, more simple.

I had the privilege of getting up on a Saturday morning simply because I had something I desired to do with someone whose time I frequently crave. No work, no service Saturday, no homework, just the choice to spend a Saturday morning with my boyfriend.

There’s such a joyous freedom in doing something by choice.

Which has made me impatient for the day I no longer have an extensive list of required readings and can simply enjoy a book again.

Back to my story.

Matt and I decided to go to the Sweetwater flea market. World’s longest indoor flea market.

I feel as if a flea market has been established as a judge free zone where you are allowed to come as you please and the “pet friendly” guarantee is taken very seriously. The moment we turned into the parking lot we found ourselves waiting for a lady with eight dogs, each dressed in a print outfit. Laughing over this sight quickly turned into the jaw dropping and glances of “you better be seeing this” as an old man took his precious time crossing the gravel. Although, if I were walking with a cane, smoking a pipe and wearing a civil war uniform I would feel I had the right to take as much of everyone else’s time as I pleased. Of course our jaws quickly started moving again as we returned to laughing and came to the realization that today was going to be a truly great day.

Along the side of the parking lot were a few stores filled with Communist medals, swim suits, saddles and the typical creepy antiques. You know, the ones that couldn’t possibly be purchased by anyone but the creepy cat lady who has multiple cabinets filled with an array of collections. (Either that or the indie chick who fancies the creepy cat lady cute.)

Once inside the flea market, the variety of merchandise continued to expound, with a surprising amount of socks being sold. I suppose fall is upon us and we must keep our toes snuggly. I shall refrain from judging.

How pleasant it must be to be so comfortable with a place and a culture to show up however you like. Dogs in strollers. Spoon jewelry. Deep fried moon pies. Long scraggly beards. Old books. Country music. Sweet, roasted cashews. Confederate lamps.

It was a simple day, sprinkled with fall rain, and I loved it. =)

再见, 亲爱的

Freshman Autobiography

For our freshman orientation class at Lee, we are required to write a two page autobiography. Now that I am a teaching assistant for one of these classes, I decided to go back and read how I viewed myself during that transition period.

Here is what I wrote:

"Something about walking into a room full of people I don’t know makes me put on the mask of someone who is shy. My eyes dart around the room for a seat on the outside, I slowly sink into my chair hoping to remain unnoticed, I search around to see how everyone is sitting in order to mimic their actions, and I nervously laugh at jokes. But I don’t act that way because I am shy. I act that way because I know I’m an outsider. Being a [P]’s kid, a [M]’s kid, and a homeschooler has shaped me into someone who will never quite fit in – at least on the inside.

My first shove towards the outside of society was being born to a pastor and his wife. Although my dad only pastored a church until I was six he still does a lot of pastoral work and I still receive the pressure to be the perfect Holy Ghost filled PK. While there are a lot of pressures and expectations, living under a pastor has placed a lot of characteristic in me that I hope I never let go of. Ever since I was little, whenever I would go anywhere without my parents, the last thing they would say to me as they said goodbye was “Be a blessing,” and I still haven’t let go of that phrase. My parents have instilled in my brothers and me a desire to encourage those around us and propel them towards God.

By the far the biggest and most significant shove was my parents’ decision to move to China as [M]s when I was six. If there was ever a place to be an outsider, it’s as an American surrounded by 1.3 billion Chinese. China’s word for foreigner is “wai gua ren” which literally means “outside country person” which I think fits me perfectly. Between being in China during the school year and America in the summers, it felt like there was never really a place to call home and to this day I have to pause to think before I answer someone when they ask where I’m from. Living overseas taught me a lot of things about fluidity, transition, tolerance, flexibility, and the value of having a global perspective. I’ve learned how to be a respectful outsider – someone who can insert themselves into a culture without making a huge wave in the lives of those around me. While I have learned to understand anything in motion, I have trouble understanding stability sometimes. I expect constant change and new places.

But if there ever was a stereotypical outsider it would be the homeschooler. As soon as anyone hears I’ve been homeschooled my whole life they expect me to have no social skills, sleep in all day, and be the next Albert Einstein. I can guarantee none of the above apply, especially the last one. Homeschooling has given me a great love for my family. When you’re around your family twenty-four seven you learn a lot about bonding, personal space, and how to drown out noises. You also learn how to search out places and people who fit you best because you’re not constantly surrounded by people your age. Unfortunately there are a lot of homeschool stereo types I have to live down, and I will have to admit, it feels nice when people tell me I’m pretty cool for being a homeschooler.

From being a pastor’s kid, to a [M]’s kid, to a homeschooler, I will always feel a little like an outsider. I will always have parts of me that no one will understand, and expectations I will always have over me. But all of the lessons I have learned from being those things have shaped me into who I am, and although who I am has a twinge of weird to it, I would never trade it for all the feelings of being someone who completely fits in."

再见, 亲爱的

The China Kid Excuse

It’s sometimes difficult to keep being a TCK from being your excuse.

I think it’s just human nature to want to be the exception. We desire to stand out, rise above and fight against the current. Whether coming from a desire to better yourself, achieve great things or just keep your head above the water, we all have this general feeling that we can’t settle for average. As soon as a person can claim they have lived in another country or speak another language (especially fluently), they automatically stand out. Suddenly, everyone wishes to hear about an experience that varied drastically from their own. They ask questions, gasp, and have a face of bewilderment plastered to their face.

Once this fact is known, you’re special. You have unique insights. You have a connection at the local Chinese restaurants.

While people knowing this fact about you can help others understand you more, it can also become an easy excuse.

“Oh, I don’t recognize that. Guess we didn’t have it where I grew up.”

“You wouldn’t understand what I’m going through. You’re not a TCK.”

“I’m not good at making close friendships. All the friends I’ve ever made have moved away after a few years.”

There is an endless list of lines we can use to get out of something.

But having been enriched with the privilege of growing up overseas should never distance you from others, but instead give you a more in-depth understanding of people and how different life experiences create diversity. Instead of using our experiences to separate ourselves from others, we should use it to draw others in. Standing out should come from what we chose to do with the characteristics being a TCK has given us, and not just give us a cop out answer when we have to give an interesting fact about ourselves.

My challenge for myself is to come up with a list of characteristics which make me who I am, without putting down the words “China” or “TCK”. China helped shape me into who I am, but I am so much more. No more excuses. It’s time to own up to what I’m made of, and not where I’ve lived.

再见, 亲爱的

Grid Locked in a Language Barrier

Taxi rides always provide the most random opportunities for interesting conversations.

I’ve met taxi drivers who are convinced all Americans are rich.

I’ve met racist taxi drivers.

I’ve met taxi drivers who wish to discuss 9/11.

Recently I was able to ride with a driver who wished to discuss the differences between Chinese and American families. I was humored by the fact that his knowledge of American families came from American movies.

I quickly became frustrated with my lack of vocabulary, as I failed to be able to express the American value of independence and the difference between an independent and interdependent culture.

But even with the language barrier, I tried to explain to the driver how important it is for parents to instill independence and give the child an opportunity to make it on their own.

He was not only confused, but also shocked.

We’re not given huge sums of money on our wedding day. The grandparents aren’t there day to day to help raise the kids. It’s not guaranteed that the parents will give you money if you need to make a large purchase, such as a car.

It took a lot of work to explain why this doesn’t make American’s heartless parents.

The driver then decided it was time to talk politics and informed us how much he had dislike Bush. Great ending to a conversation. Haha

再见, 亲爱的

"This Magnificent Edifice"

Dear Chairman Mao,

It was a pleasure to finally see your glowing face on Thursday. I’m sorry it has taken me so long to visit. I’ve heard so much about you! While I probably will not have the chance to visit you again, I can assure you I will frequently see your face and will continue to hear of your influence and power.

好运

Sara

My mom and I decided to go and take the pilgrimage to see the leader of Chinese Communism. I went in expecting hours of lines, heat exhaustion and simply have another thing to check off my bucket list and instead only waited in line for 30 minutes for one of the most typical Chinese experiences.

As we stepped up to get in line, a man holding an umbrella and a megaphone informed my mother and I that we first must go across the street, go through two security checks and a list of questions about the contents of our bags, and pay five yuan to drop off our purses. Chinese response: Mei wen ti! American response: Forget this.

My mom and I made out way back to the line, at which point we were shuffled onto the area of sidewalk inside the yellow lines painted on the ground, accompanied by a yellow rope to guide you even better. When I say we made our way back to the line, I should probably clarify and chose to instead refer to it as the river of people who happen to be headed the same direction we were. There was no sense of placement, and instead, everyone wiggled around each other, constantly cutting and then falling behind and yet constantly moving in unison towards our destination.

It was in this line that my mom and I discussed the difference between Chinese and American mentalities. In America, no one would put up with cutting in line. There’s a strong sense of personal space and placement. I’m first in line, you’re second, you’re third, and you’re standing a little too close. There was a point while standing in line, when I felt one person behind me bump up against me, and as I turned to glance back the person took advantage of the extra space and about ten people squeezed through the middle of the horde of people towards the front. Having been already thinking about the differences, I was amazed by how no one around me seemed to care. Yes, they may have to wait a moment longer somewhere along the way, but to everyone around me… we, as a group, were moving and that’s all that mattered.

After hurrying through yet another security check which included an ID check and being prodded by many a short lady’s umbrella, we finally reached Chairman Mao Memorial Hall. Flowers were sold outside to be placed in the “splendid North Hall”, not near his body, but instead in front of a marble statue of Mao. Even though everyone was “shhh”ed by the lady at the front door, there were men pushing people along and shouting at those who attempted to stop as we entered the “solemn Hall of Last Respects”.

And then, just as quickly as we had entered, we were back out in the bustling Tian An Men square searching our memory for the quick glimpse we were allowed of the wax figure plastered to a crystal coffin which hold the leaders remains.

Adventure complete. Checked off the bucket list. Experienced. Examined. Processed. And now written about. And after all this…..

…. I’m still left wondering if his remains were really in that room or not.

再见, 亲爱的

Brown haired, blue eyed Asian

I wish I had a quarter for every time someone has asked me what is different between America and China. Where do you even begin to answer a question like that? Yes, the government is different, the language is different, and the food is different; but it’s so much more than that. Even if every one of the 1.3 billion Chinese listed a difference, I’m not sure every difference would be covered.

Moving back to the States has taught me a lot about Asian culture, because I’m suddenly realizing how much it’s a part of me.

I grew up assuming I was the typical American. I looked and dressed like all other Americans. I liked the basic dishes all other Americans liked. I enjoyed a good North Fake jacket. I enjoyed going to the DVD store when a new American movie came out. I got excited when a store had Dr. Pepper. The whole works.

But now, in contrast against Americans, I suddenly feel strangely Asian. Perhaps not so much on the most obvious level – I’m not communist and I will still take a Dr. Pepper every chance I get – but then again, apparently even the way I motion with my hand for someone to come is uniquely Asian.

I think the hardest to adjust to is the way I interact with people. I grew up very other’s oriented. I look to see what the group desires and then decide what I want. I am willing to keep my opinion on the down low in order to save myself or someone else face. I’ve somehow acquired the ability to help others compromise and be the peacemaker in stressful situations, and yet I have no idea what to do when I’m in the middle of it. As an American, I’m supposed to be independent, have an opinion about everything and be able to stand up behind it. Most of the time, I really just don’t care. I also believe it’s the job of the host to figure out what I want to eat. Haha

I always assumed these things about me were just simply me. But the more they’ve come up, I’ve talked with other people, and even through school research papers… I’m learning it’s not just me. Well, it is. But it’s me having been influenced by an interdependent culture. A culture focused on how the group looks and functions and remains harmonious.

I love having to weave through people.

I love when the bus is so full you have to shove to get off.

I love eating my jiao zi with soy sauce and vinegar.

I love street food.

I love Chinese instruments.

I love Chinglish.

I love that senior citizens are still out dancing and exercising every morning.

I also love that pale instead of tan is beautiful. It works well for me.

I’m thankful China has been a part of my life and become part of who I am

再见, 亲爱的

Using God to Obtain Coffee

Yesterday, my dad and I decided to head out on an adventure.

What we knew: The coffee shop we were looking for was next to the North cathedral.

What we thought we knew: How to get to the North cathedral.

What we learned: How to get to both the North and South cathedral.

South Cathedral

(the North Cathedral was hidden by trees and closed by the time we got to it.)

Soft French music. Old wood. Soft seats.

Decent food. WiFi. Coffee.

Awesome coffee shop.

Then today, my mom and I walked over to get a blind man massage. After realizing how tall I was and how long my fingers are they became rather disappointed I don't play basketball or piano. Knowing some ballet seemed to have gained me some points back.

Now I'm off to watch The Last Station.

再见, 亲爱的

3D Experience

It takes half an hour of internet research and traveling to three separate movie theaters to secure five tickets to Toy Story 3, just in case you were wondering. Totally worth it, just in case you were wondering.

While a picture may be worth a thousand words, I feel this one deserves some explaining.

Having spent so long in Beijing, while we may look like foreigners, my family likes to pretend we've earned the title of residents. In order to secure this title, we try to avoid looking like the stupid tourist as much as possible. This means not standing in front of the subway map for more than thirty seconds, not pulling out a translation key for typical Chinese dishes, giving a knowing smile to those who call us lao wai (foreign devil) behind our backs, and just trying not to stand out in general. Although my family was being rather American by taking pictures of ourselves in our funny 3D glasses, we tried to remain quiet. In the midst of this, my dad decides to stand up, and ask all of the people (whom we have to sit through an entire movie with) to all place their glasses on so he can take a picture of them. It took a lot of prodding to get Ben to crawl out of his chair for the picture. My dad sacrificed a lot of face to capture this moment.

The men in my family have recently discovered they all missed their calling in life and should start a Swedish electronica band. If they can pull off an album cover in the amount of time it took me to say "Look over here, guys", it must be what they're meant to do.

再见, 亲爱的

Gan Bei to New Outlets

Everyone seems to be an artist of some sort. I’m trying to remember something doesn’t have to go on paper or have been threaded to have details, a concept, beauty, and a desired outcome. Sometimes, that outcome is simply trying to meld all the pieces of yourself together, learn to appreciate a trial, or just find out why on earth everyone in America is so wrapped up in American Idol.

I have taken it upon myself to find those details in my life, no matter how small, which make it sparkle. Perhaps by show casing those small details and archiving them if only for myself, I will learn to appreciate the sparkles which will make up my neon sign in my life to say “Look here! This kid, despite being tangled up in cultures, has a few additions to make to this world also!”

Here are my first two culture confused additions.

Somehow, this looks slightly familiar. Oh, I remember where I've seen this.

Was there nothing else they could come up with that comes in red?

And finally...

I bought this at the Zoo Market today. It was simply too good to pass up.

再见, 亲爱的.