Quarantine

Hello!

I’m on hiatus from the blog, as you may have noticed.

To update: New Years Eve was like a punch in the face – good night but left me reeling; then I headed out to Shanghai, where I was a first-hand witness to the “third culture kids,” those students/kids who live abroad with their families and go to international school; Suzhou had beautiful gardens; two weeks of partying in Beijing ensued.

I want to develop all of these experiences in written form, but not here yet. I’m developing something on the DL – to be worked on in full between January and February…perhaps a series of vignettes?

Sorry I haven’t been here commenting about Google (does anyone think their potential pullout of China has anything to do with other issues, such as their highly publicized (in China) apology to the PRC Writer’s Union last week?) or other prominent issues. I’ve kind of been in my own world for a bit – focusing on friends before I head out of here.

Saturday, December 26th: 3:19 PM. I’ll be heading out to the Beijing International Airport in an hour to pick up my shuang bao tai. I’ve been looking forward to this day for awhile, and now that it is here, I find myself in a strange stage of panic. Not only does Joe’s arrival signify the end of my self-indulgen lifestyle in Beijing, but it also marks the beginning of the end of my stay in the city that’s been my home for the past four months. I’m not ready to go home yet.

My active engagement with this city has come in ebbs and flows. Over the past week, I have inundated my mind with the images of Johnny Depp, Kate Winslet, James Lipton, Oprah, the films of Jia Zhangke, the words of Evan Osnos, Charlotte Bronte, sundry Times journalists, and the sounds of Antony and the Johnsons, The New Pornographers, Andrew Bird, and – strangely enough – Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young.

And what a panoply it is! Indeed, I’ve barely taken the time to venture out  to the below-freezing middle and east areas of the city. Footage recorded for “the project” has mainly been of foreigner youth culture, national dance classes at the gym, my tutee and his driver, and the Jiaoda campus.

In the past few weeks I’ve only made one excursion into the thick of Beijing sub-culture. A walk down a deserted street, a quick left into a small alley and a descent down an unlighted stairwell led me to the most entertaining drag queen performance of my life, resplendent with Chinese traditional dances, Jay Chou, and glam rock beats. Lithe young dancers and middle-aged men dominated the scene, singing songs and gan bei-ing (downing entire bottles of beer for laughs and money) for over two hours. Men happily snuggled together and fondled unabashedly - a nice break from the homogeneity of Beijing’s heterosexual culture.

Starting at 6:30 PM today, I will essentially be jolted out of what I like to call the “winter daze.” Ah! I’m still here and there is still so much to see – albeit as a consumer of a well-marketed and executed tourist industry. Over the next few weeks, I will take my final exams, tour around Beijing, go to Shanghai, and (hopefully!) go see the ice sculpture festival in Harbin, a city way in the north of China. And I’ve made a pre-New Years resolution resolution: rather than experience Beijing as a newcomer, I’m going to make an effort to document all of the idiosyncratic images I encounter, in hopes of recording some footage/memories of what Beijing is to me, four months later. It’s the only way to keep it exciting; and it’s also the only method to release this city’s inclination to make me a tourist. I just want to resist manufactured histories. Beijing is such a beautiful, vibrant, dirty, dry, large, bustling, empty, and burgeoning city. And I just want it to open up for me. When I go out with Joe to Mao’s mausoleum, Beihai, gugong, and the rest of Beijing’s ming sheng gu ji, I will see a Beijing I haven’t seen before. With my camera in hand, of course.

Seeing again. I have high hopes (and expectations) for it.

And when I go back home at the end of January, I won’t lose it all. I can’t!

When I get back to Asia at the end of February, will the language, my energy/desire to engage grow back like a starfish?

As many of you many know, I have been interested in documentary film for a very long time. And lately I have been toying with the idea of going into journalism/documentary filmmaking. The funny thing is, I have never actually produced my own doc; I’ve done work with development and post-production, but I’ve never put the whole thing together. So I thought that it would be a good idea to shoot some footage while I’m out here and do some editing at home, and actually make a film, before deciding to enter a journalism program or a documentary media studies program.

Long story short, I bought a digital camcorder today. It’s not a great one, but it wasn’t expensive either. And it only required one trip to the mammoth market, Zhongguancun (which is comprised of around 8 buildings), one trip down a scary set of stairs and through a labyrinth of offices and floors, and one bout of flirting with the salesmen (okay, I probably won’t go have that beer with them in Sanlitun tomorrow) to get a good price on it.

No one has ever heard of the brand,Ordro, and the model is from 2006, but it has a lot of nice features. So get ready for a lot of video viewing when I get home. EVERYONE HAS TO WATCH EVERY CLIP.

HAPPY FIFTH NIGHT OF HANUKKAH EVERYONE!!!!

I put a picture of a menorah outside of my room, an action which has resulted in my relating the story of the good ol’ Maccabees a good four or five times.

If you haven’t read about World AIDS Day, please do. This entry is lighter, placed as an afterthought, really.

This week, I took a few photos of my immediate surroundings and meals. Take a look at the photos, then tell me what you think. I’ll leave my comments for later – I don’t want to ruin the images with my chitchat.

Napping on the roadside

Changing a lightbulb

Poster for an upcoming production of Jane Eyre

(Green) eggs and tofu

If you’re wondering what I’ve been working on, here’s a peek at one of my recent essays for Columbia School of Journalism.

China-related: I took a practice standardized test today – the Business Chinese Test – and it was HORRIBLE!!! Talk about speaking quickly about statistics!

Thanksgiving-related: I’m going to the Kapinski hotel tomorrow for a Thanksgiving buffet with Americans and non-Americans. I’m really looking forward to the mashed potatoes and gravy. But, Thanksgiving is all about family – no, wait…it’s all about giving smallpox blankets to American Indians…

Here’s the essay for your perusal (it’s probably the most interesting one…):

Essay A: Autobiographical Essay In a short autobiographical essay, tell us about yourself. You can write about your family, your education, your talents, or your passions; about significant places or events in your life; about books you have read, people you have met, or work you’ve done that has shaped the person you have become. Our only requirements are that the essay be informative, well written, and reflective of your own voice; our only cautions are that you avoid poetry, purple prose, or writing about yourself in the third person. (750-word limit)

            In my junior year of high school, I spent many a night consuming Virginia Woolf’s novels. When I had the chance to study her works in college, I leapt upon it without a second thought. Unfortunately, I had forgotten that critically reading a work of literature requires detachment, not love, and I had found it almost sacrosanct to read The Waves from a critical lens. Yet, when I began to read the work from a postcolonial perspective, I was excited, even giddy. This process, from consuming to critically “reading,” and, hence, contributing, is one that I have had to apply inside and out of the classroom. Four years ago, I began a similar transition at my second home for the past nine years, sleep-away camp.

            On my first day of camp, wide-eyed and smiling, ‘N Sync posters in hand, I greeted all of my bunkmates with an emphatic, “I am so excited to be here!” But despite my desire to meet new friends and climb trees at the ropes course, a lump obstinately formed in my throat, and that night all I could think about was going home. This was common; growing up, most of my sleepovers had ended early in the morning with a desperate call home. Luckily, with the help of my brother, new friends, and counselor, as well as long nights stargazing, afternoons boating on the lake, and those notorious camp dances, I successfully rose out of my homesick funk. Ten days later, I came home with a newfound confidence in myself; and so I went back, summer after summer.

            In the following years, I developed the role of verbose overachiever during the academic year and silly adolescent in the summer. Nothing came in the way of the two until the summer after my freshman year of college. After graduating from an unusually diverse high school, I had entered an institution where students displayed disgust towards “affirmative action students” and only students of color felt it necessary to join diversity clubs. I had begun my studies hoping to pursue finance; two semesters later, my primary focus was on systemic racial issues.

            My new outlook was pervasive. When I returned to camp in the summer of 2006, I couldn’t help but shift my perspective of camp towards its problematic aspects. That summer, “camp” stood in stark contrast to its previous image, and I realized that it was not impervious to its own systemic problems. When giving camp tours, parents asked me about the Caucasian demographics. Within camper circles, the overweight and socially awkward were excluded just as they would be at home; counselors tried in vain to thwart clique formations, but were often unsuccessful. Moreover, the counselors themselves existed within a strictly-bound social hierarchy: the support staff didn’t mingle with counselors, who, in turn, couldn’t comfortably associate with supervisors.

            I left that summer without my usual goodbye tears, and proceeded to sorely tell my friends and family that “camp had changed.” But the truth is that I knew camp hadn’t changed; indeed, I was aware that camp doesn’t cater to adults as it does children. That year, while debating whether or not to return, it became clear to me that the real “truth” was that I hadn’t dealt well with being disillusioned, at camp or in college. With this realization in mind, I knew that I couldn’t make a habit out of turning away from the unsavory. Situations will always come into focus, I told myself, and you’re going to have to deal with them.

            Because camp is a small, intentional community, comprised of no more than four hundred individuals in a given summer, “dealing” was an achievable task. Before returning to camp, I was promoted from counselor to waterfront director; I took the opportunity not only because it came with a pay raise, but because I knew that in my new role I would be better able to actively participate in the camp environment. That summer, by listening to and collaborating with my staff, I made a point of establishing the waterfront as a welcoming and safe space for campers and staff alike.

            Over the last two years, I have continued this process of reestablishment. Even though I do not plan on making a career out of camp, I know that without my specific experience there I may have never engaged in moments of passionate critical thought before making the choice to contribute to an environment that is as malleable as it is constructed.

This entry has been revised to reflect my most recent edit of the essay. (12.09.2009)

Dear Readers,

I apologize for my week hiatus.  I have been putting together my graduate applications, which have been overly time consuming lately. But, I wanted to check in today to write about some hot topics – but not about Obama’s visit, you can read the NYT for that! (Also, Obama’s visit was as restricted as has been reported, so I didn’t have a chance to talk to anyone who happened to see him.)

1. For all the Twilight fanatics out there, New Moon is coming out tonight! If anyone happens to see it, I’ll post on the Twilight craze. Suffice it to say that the series is the most popular in China right now, so I’m sure that there will be a big turnout.

2. One of my goals of this blog is to compare the news in the media – American and Chinese – with my day to day experiences here. Interestingly, Sharon LaFraniere, one of the NYT’s China beat reporters, wrote an article on scholarships that have been awarded to the sons and daughters of Namibia’s elite political figures.  While the article focuses on a global topic prevalent in news about China – its financial relationship with Africa – I feel as though Mrs. LaFraniere should have put  a few more facts about scholarships for African students in the article. Because she writes about China’s larger relationship with Africa, not only with Namibia, she should have also given the figures on how many African students, who are not related to political figures,  do receive scholarships.

But she did bring up a really interesting point: scholarships can be seen as a form of “cement[ing] diplomatic alliances.” At Jiaotong, the majority of international students are from Africa (this may not be the case at every university). I have met students from Sudan, Gabon, Namibia, Cameroon, Rwanda, and several other countries in Africa. And I’ve also gotten to hear a bit about the politics of being a student from Africa in this country. A friend of mine from Senegal had been studying in Taiwan until 2005, when Senegal decided to switch its diplomatic relationship to China, whose government does not recognize countries in alliance with Taiwan. Subsequently, my friend’s scholarship was terminated and he had to apply for a scholarship in Beijing.

Of course, the overwhelming amount of African students on scholarship does point to China’s diplomatic interests, but does it necessarily point to corruption? In the case of Namibia, yes. But after reading the article, Iwas left wondering whether or not all scholarship agreements imply bribery and corruption on China’s part. Thoughts on this?

3. I find the juxtaposition of Mao and World War II documentaries on CCTV quite interesting. Just an hour ago, both were airing on different channels. The Mao documentary featured recreated scenes, with Mao portrayed as a commander-in-chief with a chip on his shoulder. The WWII doc, on the other hand, used primary souces, such as video clips and photos (quite graphic, I should say) of Holocaust victims and proud European and American soldiers. As China was on the side of the Allies for this war, of course it makes sense that they would be glorified. What’s strange, though, was the documentary’s rendering of Hitler as the insane murderer that we, in the States, are used to seeing. Mao, on the other hand, was depicted as a calmer figure. Instead of seeing this as typical, I think it’s more useful to look at these two documentary forms and ask how our pereceptions of the world’s leaders have been formed. Does the style of documentary affect our views? And what do you respond to more, recreated scenes, real footage?

4. If you want to sound cool, here are some words in Chinese that you can nonchalantly insert into conversation:

Jewish person: You tai ren (yoh-ty-ren)

Summer camp:  Xia ling ying (shee-ah-ling-ying)

I love you: Wo ai ni! (wo-ay-nee)

Any other requests?

5. I went to Beijing University – China’s premiere university – with Isabel last week. It was snowing (silver iodide induced (?)), so it was a really picturesque scene. We stopped off at the building where the Chinese literature department is housed and took some pictures over there. The school has maintained many of its older buildings, which makes you feel like you’re walking around the same institution students did a hundred years ago (minus the new tennis courts and behemoth structures along the periphery of the campus). I’m putting some pictures below. Off now to a meeting with my language partner.

1. The NYT reported today that in Chongqing six people were sentenced to death and one to 18 years in prison, after being convicted of corruption. (And some extra: during my first week in Beijing, Scott told me, “They’re all corrupt.” By this he meant that everyone is involved in financial corruption of some sort, but the ones who get convicted have gotten on somebody’s bad side. In this case, it seems as if Bo Xilai needed a popularity boost.)

2. Yesterday, China Daily reported that a 32-year old Russian student at Beijing Hang University died yesterday of H1N1. He is the first foreigner to die of the disease and the eighth overall in China. (My news: our teacher told us about this yesterday and another one told us today. We’ve been warned not to go out of our rooms if we feel sick. Unfortunately, this week everyone in our dormitory is sick, including Bolette, Dario, Renata, Mei Mei, and - worst of all – me. Though I don’t have a fever or any of the main symptoms of the flu, I do have a phlegmy chest cough and an achy body. I went to class today, but I may not go tomorrow, even though I have a small test. In related news, in order to protect themselves from the virus, Chinese students have been wearing masks everywhere over the past few days. The masks are so popular that they’ve become a fashion statement. Vendors are selling masks with different patterns and cartoons on them, so people can get creative if they want to. A few lucky souls will get a mask when I return home…) 

3. The temperature has risen a bit from its frigid below-freezing temperatures on Saturday thru Tuesday to stable, dreary, and cold ones. A lot of people think they got sick from the abrupt change of temperature. I’m sick because Mei Mei was hacking a lung for a week.

I feel a story coming on about the person  – or shall I say (eek!) my driver – who takes me to work every Tuesday at 3:00 pm sharp.

On an average Tuesday at say 3:15 pm you can find me asking a begrudging man how his day was: What have you been doing? Have you had a lot of customers today? What do you and your wife do on a common outing? Do you like the weather? Don’t you like the weather?

Lin shi fu, a perennial dweller of Beijing, husband of one, father of one, chain-smoker, park-goer, spitter, sleeper, and – of course –  driver always answers my questions, and he even asks me some too. Today, he told me a story, and it went like this:

     Melissa: When you were a child, in which area of Beijing did you live?*

     LSF: Tian’anmen

     Melissa: Is that the same as Qian men?

     LSF: No! Tian’anmen. Understand?

     Melissa: Ah, yes! Tian’anmen. Of course! Wow, right there in the middle of the city.

     LSF: Actually, I am part of an old Beijing famiily.

     Melissa:  But you are not old!

     LSF: No, I am part of an old family. We’ve been here since the Qing dynasty. Do you know the Qing dynasty?

     Melissa: The Qing dynasty! Of course I know it. Your family must have been famous.

   LSF: Well, I don’t know about that. My great-grandfather worked for the dynasty.

   Melissa: Wow! What did he do?

    LSF: About that, I’m not very sure. But my father told me that he died at the ripe age of 20.

    Melissa: Oh. That’s young. Killed?

    LSF: Sickness.

    Melissa: Shot?

    LSF: Sickness.

    Melissa: Sickness?

    LSF: Sickness.

*Following conversation is all in Chinese, and should be imagined as such.

The above conversation happens three times at least in varying forms throughout the weekly forty-minute car ride home. (Sometimes, if I’m not sleeping, we talk on the way there, too.) Clearly, there are some gaps in our conversations; maybe I’m not the best at understanding Beijing driver-speak just yet. But I find the conversations helpful and interesting, even though it seems to be at the expense of Lin shi fu’s peace and privacy in the driver’s seat.

Though I may come off as slightly impish here, I actually do try to back off if I feel like I’m asking too many questions. But Lin shi fu always greets me with a warm smile and leaves with one, so I’m pretty sure that I’m not imposing too much. Moreover, we do discuss things of interest to the both of us. Last week, we talked about inter-generational smoking habits; today, we discussed common ages for children to leave home.

In the following weeks, I plan on writing more about my Tuesday interactions with Lin shi fu. Also, did anyone pick up on the fact that I spent the latter portion of this evening reading McSweeney’s articles? Jesus, I’m a chameleon (or a Dave Eggers wannabe – you choose)!

I chose not to update this past week in order to give Lady the memorial she deserved. Thank you, everyone, for your memories.

This past week wasn’t a great one, mostly because my life had to move at a very fast pace, despite my inclination to slow down and take a moment to  grieve over Lady. In order to prepare for this past Saturday’s Cultural Day, I, along with the three other Americans, had to put in hours upon hours of work.

Representing America isn’t easy, especially when there are only four Americans available to represent it. Despite our lack of people, we went to grand lengths to put together an exhibit that could sufficiently embody all that America is about. What we ended up with was a four-themed timeline (American history, US-China International Relations, Technological Development, Popular Culture), two basketball hoops, fake money, educational materials (but not enough, thanks to our holier-than-thou Embassy), music (thanks to Yang, some Grateful Dead was tucked in between the Dylan and Joplin), and Budweiser.

Oh, and did I mention that Canada was also sharing our booth? For some inane reason, an American-Canadian roommate duo decided that it would make more sense for America and Canada to share one booth. So, bordering all of the American history was a beautiful set of Canadian Flags. A Canadian flag also adorned our small table where we presented information about America. And, Canada offered Chicken Soup for the Canadian Soul books, published and printed in the States, of course.

My tone is angry, I know. I really hated preparing for this day. It wasn’t ”voluntary” and it required too many hours of my life. Also, Americans can be volatile, and I really would have preferred working with Swedes or Danes. So, there’s that.

Anyway, despite my rage over the preparation, I must say that the day itself was pretty good. I drank a sufficient amount of beer to man the booth for the required hours, and I did have some time to take a break for a tour around the proverbial world.

Perhaps most enjoyable was my time with the Saudis. Their embassy is quite generous, as it gave them a large tent and all of its accompanying furniture and dress-up clothes. I took a few minutes out of my day to be a Saudi (it should go without saying that there are no women from Saudi Arabia on scholarship here), and put on the required dress. That’s my classmate, Sale, in the picture. We get into fights every day over his lack of classroom manners (he acts like a prepubescent schoolboy – must I say more?), but I thought it would be nice of me to indulge his whims, so I took a picture with him in the tent.

Not much else to say about the day. I did get to speak Chinese all day though, which was a serious plus. (It was really difficult to get the Rosa Parks story out in Chinese.) I now have around twenty new phone numbers in my book, all new language partners….we’ll see how that goes. This week will be better, for sure, even though I have four days straight of midterms.

And here’s a cute picture to keep you going.

Mei Mei in traditional clothes, Melissa in pseudo-bougie post-NYU garb