洗澡 Shower

Dear reader,

Today was the third time this week that there was no hot water and the first without any electricity. Showing in the dark is a little difficult, but your eyes and body adjust once you realize there is no other way to go about cleaning yourself. I suppose I didn’t really need to take one — it rained so hard during the morning that even my raincoat was soaked through to the inside! All my clothes are hanging on a small hook dripping onto the floor. It’ll probably take about two full days until they are dry again.

 

Yesterday, I climbed the local area’s tallest mountain: Qishan (pronounced: Chee-shahn). It’s a 2,000 step climb directly upwards. Although the stairs are positioned steeply and the rain was pouring down, I only slipped once or twice. I could tell when we entered the rain clouds because Lincang city was no longer visible. In fact, by the time my friend, Wang JiaHui, and I reached the 1/4 mark, we could only see 20 steps in any given direction. I think some climbers might have been bothered by the feeling of not know how much farther up the stairs led, but my friend and I had no other plans that day. We climbed slowly, but steadily, pausing multiple times to catch our breath. Although we were sweating, the rain was cleansing and refreshing. When I took a shower after the climb, I was surprised to find that the usually shocking-cold water felt a little warm.

 

I’m into my second week of teaching right now. My 7th graders are exceptionally well-behaved and incredibly shy. Perhaps they are well-behaved because they are so shy and can’t do anything else but follow my instructions. This contrasts heavily with those of my colleagues, whose kids often hide under their desks to surprise other students, pick chalk off the ground to chuck at one another, climb out the un-screened windows, and squabble. Two days ago a fight broke out in one teacher’s classroom between two students. Recently, another teacher had to phone a student’s parents because of hitting another student. None of my students are very tiaopi (naughty). Ironically, the students in my class barely even talk with one another in Chiense. Usually if I direct questions to the entire class, students are much more willing to speak up, as opposed to going around one by one privately. Most days, though, it feels like I’m talking to a stone wall–even when I speak in Chinese. It’s been difficult to gauge the classes level of English. Some of the students are very bright and understand longer dialogues in English, while others require a lot more guidance for simple sentences. Two of them are studying English for the very first time. All of my students work hard. I feel like I’ve been handed a very special, delicate gift that’s very much underserving of a xin laoshi, a beginning teacher.

 

I’m hoping that tomorrow I can get my students to march around the room, shouting out our lesson. I have a plan that just might work.

 

Best,

Fran

 

Yunnan’s rain

Dear reader,

Right now, it is Yunnan’s rainy season. The view of the local mountain range is obscured by a dense and dark fog both in the early morning and in the late afternoon. Only at midday can I make out the steppes, which are covered in neatly planted tea bushes and unfamiliar pines. Although the mountains themselves are not very tall, the fog hangs low to the ground, enough so that even their midsections are veiled. Pre-dawn rain and light daytime showers leave the air misty and saturated.

Still, the overcast weather does not seem bother anyone. The main street out of Lincang’s Teacher’s College (ShiZhuang) is bustling until late into the night. Vegetable and fruit vendors display boxes and boxes of fresh mango, lychee, cauliflower, zucchini, apples, and other local produce. Workers crack jokes at one another while putting in roofing on some of the dorm buildings. Pairs of middle-aged women walk up and down the area’s main street, surely equipped with a laced umbrella. Male students enthusiastically play basketball, even in the puddles made by uneven dips in the court’s concrete.

I have not yet been caught in the rain. Much of my training, which compromises the majority of the day, takes place inside the college’s main building. Throughout my day, I rotate classroom to classroom. My schedule is packed. There is a lot of learning to do before the first day of practice teaching, which begins next week Monday. However, TFC fellows’ spirits are soaring. We are all very excited to meet each other, and learn about each other’s stories of why they chose to be a part of this non-profit. Even without these activities, many fellows are bold enough to introduce themselves to another. The classrooms and cafeteria are full of the same loud din that can be found on the city streets outside the campus. Many of us have left our nervousness for our upcoming teaching position back in our rooms for times of quiet self-reflection.

 

-Fran

A brief synopsis of this blog

Dear reader,

Tomorrow, I leave for China. Specifically, I will be flying to a small city called Lincang (that is, small by Chinese standards, which means that it has about 2.2 million people living in it). I know very little about the city other than what Wikipedia has told me. It will not likely be my permanent 2-year home; rather, one of the universities located there will be the place for training this year’s Teach for China fellows. After six weeks, I will be transferred to a new location and begin the Chinese academic year as an English instructor of 40+ students. Where I will be placed, what age my students are, who will be with me, and what my schedule will be like remains a mystery. More about the program and who these fellows are will be written about in posts to come. Instead, in this post, I want to provide a brief synopsis of the purpose and importance of this blog.

Some of you may have heard this story and its lesson before, but I feel it is worth repeating. I once attended a lecture where I heard a famous political activist, Wu Qing, speak about the lack of government recognition given to its citizens in need. She said that everyone needed to 聽 (pinyin: ting1  English: to listen) better and more often. Her meaning is drawn from the traditional character’s smaller characters–its ‘radicals’: to truly 聽 means that one must use one’s ears, ‘ten-eyes’, and heart to understand what someone else is telling you. Basically, a good listener not only has more than 100% focus, but must also be able to empathize with the speaker. These basic components are necessary to fulfilling the true meaning of  聽. No one is exempt. Not even, as one radical suggests, if you are a king.

I have found Wu Qing’s message to be important in many different situations: being around a friend in need, learning more about my family, coping with someone who makes me unhappy, and so on. Still, even after my three trips abroad, never have I found listening more important than my days spent in a nation and culture removed from my own. During those times, listening was the most difficult. Chinese people, if one can generalize, have a different way of expressing their thoughts and feelings than Americans. Interpreting words and gestures becomes a tedious process. But even so, to listen (that is, with the full extent of its meaning) to political problems that are not yours, about holidays you never celebrate, about difficulties you will never have to face and overcome, to people who do not share the same values, and to persons of whom resemblance is not even skin deep is an arduous undertaking. It may not even seem worth your time or concern.

My journey seeks to take on this challenge: to just listen to Chinese people and foreigners in China. This blog is an accumulation of what I find worth sharing. I can only hope that even if you do not find the time to read this blog, this message carries over in some meaningful way to your own life, to your own situation. But, if you do find the time, I welcome all and any suggestions, interpretations, questions, or other thoughts you are willing to share.

Best,

Fran D.