Good Friday, 2021.

Trudging up the slope in the midday sun
to Spion Kopje, the Alpine National Park. 
Someone else climbed a hill this very day,
two millennia ago, I mused. 

Instead of a pack, he carried a cross. 
We are four friends; he had none. 
We struggle with our dehydrated food
and branded camping gear,
He shouldered the weight of the world
and its sin. 

We go to stargaze,
He to be slain. 

To die,
that we might live. 
Live life to the full; Life eternal 
A life with the Creator of this beauty - 
That includes sweaty socks, hiking tents, re-hydrated mash, chocolate eggs
and stunning views atop this mountain. 

Because he climbed,
So I will live

Mountains

Aug 2019, Sichuan Province, China. 

I love mountain tops. Could spend my life there, I say.
Fresh air and freedom. Adrenaline from the ascent. Sun on skin.
Glorious

But mountain tops are not for dwelling.
When the sun has gone and the chill creeps in
They are brutal, exposed, lonely places.

What goes up must come down:
The village is where we live.
In the valley shadows are long. It is cramped and cold. It is mundane.

But in the village there are people.
Creativity and colour. Feuds and fiestas.
There is life.
Nobody mourns a mountain like they do a mother.

Mountains may be breath taking
The village is life-giving.
Though I dream of one
I am content with the other.
Though I love the peak
I need people.

at 5200m, Siguniang Mountain, 

红包

2 Feb 2020

Its Chinese New Year, when traditionally, the family gathers, we squeeze into red clothing, lions dance, we eat like there's no tomorrow (even though its just the start of the year) and the older married people give 红包* to the young and single.

As I unashamedly collected my 红包 (what a great incentive to not produce grandchildren...) it got me thinking. And perhaps its a question for all of us to consider.

Money is nice and makes the world go round. But aside from material wealth what else is important for older generations to pass on to younger generations? And not just once a year, but every week, every day, every moment (driving, eating, being on devices) they're together?

And what about me? I may not be dishing out cash or raising kids. But what do I have to give (time, a listening ear, life skills...can you add to the list?) to those younger than me, here and now?

Fig 1. Unashamed single specimens showcasing 

*hong bao - red envelopes containing money 

Journeys

Its Christmas morning and Esther is at Melbourne Airport reflecting on her group Christian Backpackers Meetup Melbourne. 

The tagline for Christian Backpackers  is ‘We’re all on a journey’. As well as pointing out the common ground for travellers, the more artistic of us might realise its metaphorical reference to other journeys. Our personal journeys. Our spiritual journeys. Everyone’s trying to get somewhere right?

But the path is oft not easy. The way is winding, confusing, uneven. They say God is love, but he sure seems distant sometimes. 

And so this is Christmas. Mary, Joseph and their little donkey, little donkey made the trek to O little town of Bethlehem. Shepherds left their flocks by night to confirm the great news and bundle of joy. Them three kings from orientar*, bearing gifts, travelled afar. And then there me: 6am at the airport, already tired from the trip home and there’s still 2 hours til take off.

We think of Jesus as the Holy Infant, so tender and mild. We think the travels centred around him, but in fact, he was a weary traveller too.  How long is the trip from eternity to earth? And how long is the road to calvary with a cross?

We struggle our way to him, but he’s already come down to us.
He places heaven on the horizon and walks with his hand in ours.

We’re all on a journey –
O traveller, walk with him.

*come on, didn’t you think it was one word when you sang this growing up?

Far from home

If you’ve ever travelled, you'll know the what its like to spread your wings: the thrill of adventure; the satisfaction of independence. You’ll also know what it’s like – at times – to miss home and all that home entails. As we approach the festive season, the distance is more keenly felt.. 
  
Someone else was far from home for Christmas once. 

His name was Jesus..

Jesus is considered by many as a good man, a good teacher, a prophet, even. Christians believe him as the Son of God himself, which means he always existed in the heavens with God the Father. 

Until Christmas.

‘Will God really dwell on earth with humans?’ Solomon, the wisest man in ancient times, marvelled*. Answer: Yes. And we sing about it now, sometimes at shopping malls: ‘Hail the incarnate Deity’ ‘Pleased as [a] man with man to dwell, Jesus our Immanuel**’. ‘Word of the Father now in flesh appearing’ 

If you’ve ever been to a foreign country and felt out of place, imagine the step (down) Jesus took in coming to earth. Yet you wouldn’t have guessed - he seemed so… natural.

Christmas is significant to Christians for many reasons, one of them being that it shows God as a relational God. Our relationship with him was broken - yet he cared enough to send us not a script, a sign or an app, but his Son to show us the way back. To be the way back, even. It follows, then, that if we are made in the image of God, then we too are relational beings. Could it be that pangs of homesickness are evidence of this?
If you are far from home this year and feeling it, take heart. Jesus was far – incredibly far – from home that first Christmas. 

He left his home so he would never have to leave you.

*2 Chronicles 6:18

**Immanual = 'God with us’

No Idea

1 Nov, 2018. International Departures, Málaga Airport, Spain:

‘To Shanghai, via Helsinki’, I said, heaving my backpack onto the conveyor belt. She smiled and took my passport.
‘Oh…’ she said, her smile disappearing, ‘You don’t have….( and I thought she would say ‘a visa’ but no, she said)…. a Japanese passport?’
‘A what?’ I replied. I sounded confused but knew exactly what she was thinking.
‘A Japanese passport, she repeated, ‘This one if from…’ she flicked through the pages and turned it over, ‘This is from New Zealand’.
‘Yeah….Cos that’s where I’m from,’ What do you think? I bought this at the Mercardo?
‘But, you don’t have a Japanese passport?’ she asked me for (no kidding), a THIRD time.
‘Why do I need a Japanese passport?!’ I demanded.
‘For…’ she sounded like a little kid grasping at straws ‘For Shanghai.’
 Last time I checked, Lady, Shanghai was not part of Japan. 

‘I’m not from Japan!’ was all I managed.

She began to type furiously at her computer and scroll through some lists. Fed up, I then switched to Spanish. 

‘Que esta buscando?’ (What are you looking for?)

'Una visa', she replied. It didn't seem strange to her that I could speak her language, only that I didn't have a Japanese passport. I told her I didn’t need a visa as I was only in transit in Shanghai; I'd checked this already. She seemed surprised that Shanghai wasn’t my final destination (?But I’m from Japan right? Shouldn’t I have a flight to Tokyo?). 

If I wasn't so worried she wouldn't check me in, I would have scolded her, in Spanish*. I mean, I’d expect this kind of misunderstanding at the market, or on the street, but not at a FinnAir (yes, I will name and shame) check in counter .  I don’t blame anyone if ‘Kiwi’ isn't the top of their list when they see me. But surely proof is in the passport, and - this is what bothered me the most - why should it matter if I was/wasn’t Japanese in this particular situation?

Though it's related to race, I’m not labelling it as ‘racism’. Perhaps… Poor judgement? Naiivity? Stupidity?

It actually took me back to another airport incident, this time with my family. We were at the AirNZ check in counter, Napier. Us 3 girls must have been standing together at the front because the lady asked us ‘Are any of you over twelve?’
‘….We’re all over twelve’, we replied.
‘Oh! You’re ALL twelve?!’ she was genuinely surprised. (And I guess, seeing the stature of my mother, you might be too).
‘No, we’re all OVER twelve’, we repeated. And again, why should it matter, our age? We were travelling with our parents. Was she going to give us a toy or something for the flight?
She turned, and addressed me, only. ‘ARE YOU OVER TWELVE?’ she spoke not loudly, but slowly and clearly, so that, if needed, an 8 year old could understand.
‘I’m 21’ I replied with no emotion, no argument,

No idea

*I once did this to the tour guide in Bolivia. Poor guy. But after months and months of being asked weekly – nay, sometimes daily – if I was Japanese, he was the last straw.

A cross in my backpack

I have a cross in my backpack - I put it there long ago

Some days its glorious and gold; I feel I should wear it close to my chest and indeed I would need nothing more as I travel the world.

Some days its dark and heavy; a burden I wish to leave behind thinking without it I would travel unhindered, truly 'free'.

But I have journeyed long enough to know that
        I don't really carry a cross
        It's the cross that carries me

It steadies my feet, comforts my soul,
Has bought me a home and will lead me there
At the end of this road

Water

We tramped* 20 km along the Young River today. Everyone raves about water in NZ and, having spent 2 years now in Australia, I echo their praise. One foreign tramper once told me he never tramped with a bottle in NZ, only a cup, so ample and potable the water is. Yes, today was one of those days where I remember his words and ask myself why I am walking along a river, carrying
water in my bottle upstream.

The water is strong, cold and clear. The noise and sight induces continual thirst (and urges to relieve oneself, my sister added), so I indulged myself (in both) frequently.

Is this a picture of God and his abundance? I thought, after a swim. Surely his grace and blessings are not unlike this powerful body of water we follow. There is enough - much more than enough - to go around, but we can only consume one cup at a time. Throw even a cubic metre at us and we would be consumed. So in His wisdom he sustains us

    step by step
         sip by sip

and oh how refreshing it is.

'Whosoever drinks of this water [from this well] shall thirst again. But whosoever drinks of the water that I give him.. in him shall be a well of water springing up into everlasting life'   
                                                                              ~Jesus to the Samaritan woman, John 4v13

Young River, Mt Aspiring National Park, New Zealand 

*'tramping' is the kiwi word for 'hiking'

Last bits and pieces of China

excperts from my report home, Feb 2016

A little bit cold 

So with the completion of my (not very difficult - we're international students come on!) exams, Wei-Yan and I set off on a little adventure. We went north - so north we almost bordered Russia - to a city called Harbin. We went to see the International Ice and Snow Sculpture Festival - well, that is what we tell everyone. The real (or at least other half of the) reason was to see what temperatures of -20 to -30 deg are like.

 I can personally verify that is it is cold. 

Everything, well, freezes. Our hair froze, our breath-saturated masks froze, the water in my bottle in my backpack froze, our eye lashes froze. Our internal organs, however, fared suprisingly well, thanks to the (yes, maybe over 100) nuan bao bao's we had bulk bought online. The nuan bao bao  is an incredible asian invention - large teabag-like packets filled with charcoal like powder which spontaneously emits heat on exposure to air. They come in various forms - to stick to your torso, your toes, to put in your pockets or gloves. We even stuck them to our phones as we found electronic devices don't hold charge in those temperatures (how do people survive??). The only inconvenience was that the nuan bao bao  needs to be changed every couple of hours, much like a baby needs its diaper changed. 

A little bit dissapointed

This year, Yan and I joined the 'mass internal migration' during Chinese New Year,  bussing to our relative's hometown. Because of the crowds (and, perhaps, our 60+ kg of luggage we were lugging (Yan was flying home straight after)) we couldn't physically get to our bus in time to board. When we got to the gate and  realised the bus had left without us, we couldn't back out, for the crowds pushing up against us, and so stayed squashed against the counter for an hour until we got seats on another bus. 

Now this didnt really suprise me but something else did:

Since young, Chinese New Year has always been a time where we've tried to be really chinese.  It usually consisted of us raiding the wardrobes to find chinese clothing (I always got the cheong sam Mum had tailored for her fathers birthday, Wei-Yan would find (and still fit into) some chinese kids pyjamas and poor Wei-Lin always seemed to end up draped in a chinese table cloth), donning red lipstick and white foundation and strutting round the house with sunbrellas collecting money-filled red packets from our bemused parents (and other unsuspecting guests). 

So, come the very important New Year's Eve family reunion dinner,  to my dissappointment, nobody dressed up. My aunty came straight in from the kitchen and sat down, still in her apron. My cousin wore track pants, my uncle looked like he was in those acceptable-to-wear-outside PJs and even Yan and I (at the call to dinner at 4.12pm!!) found ourselves still in our jeans, 5 layers of thermas/Merinos and puffer jacket we had been wearing every day during our travels (it was so cold inside the house I'd have worn my beanie, gloves and mask too if I could eat in them). And we only scored one red packet each.

What didnt dissapoint, however was the food: we lost count of the dishes at number 23 (no wonder my aunty didnt have time to do her hair!) which included delicacies such as goose, embryonated chicken eggs and dog (yes, its true, Chinese do eat dog....)

Sometimes reality is far from our preconceptions.    

A whole lot of satisfaction

But then again, is that not what we discover every day in our travels?  My year in China was - of course - fun... but not so much fun as it was interesting -  deeply interesting not so much for the things I did or saw or ate, but for the experience of living as a banana in the Motherland. At times I was an undercover Westerner with glee, at others I just wanted to go home where people would understand and accept me (!!). Although I will never be (nor ever marry*) a zhong guo ren (Lit: 'chinaman'), I feel I have a very much deepr understanding of this incredible country and the strange (and seemingly socially inappropriate at times) habits of her resilient people. And, I can speak chinese, which is 100% non-useful for my career as a vet. Still I would deem it all one of the most worthwhile things I have ever done 

 

A little bit frozen

*I couldnt hack a chinese mother-in-law

当老师

For a semester in Hangzhou, every Wednesday afternoon I donned a skirt and stockings(wow, China has really changed me, you say) and (illegally - part time work is prohibited for students) took the title of Lao shi (teacher) at a (not very local) high school. It went like this: first a 40 min bike ride to the train station, 45 minutes on the gao tie (high speed train), followed by a 20 minute (hair-raising) taxi ride to Yuyao middle school. I would teach two 40 minute classes, inconveniently separated by a 70 minute dinner break. And then this 2+ hour commute would be played out in reverse. My pay was 180RMB (~50NZD) per class, and (net) transport pay 170RMB. To my Chinese friends this is more than they could dream of (my poor friend in Xi’an had a weekend job trying to sell (of all things!) Zespri Kiwifruit at a fruit stall, each day she would earn 100RMB...) , but for foreign teachers, especially for one teaching TOEFL english under the above circumstances, I think its considered a 

bit of a bad deal. But you know, I its not like I came to China to earn money or anything, I came to learn, that I did. What these three brave boys taught me far outweighed anything I tried to teach them. 

Chinese uni students will tell you that that uni years are so ‘relaxing’. Come to NZ (where one goes to school to eat his lunch), and you’ll know the definition of ‘relaxing', I think,  as I watch them rush between class and the library, scoff their food at the canteen, be back in their 4 person dorms by 11pm and study till after midnight. Its only after my glimpse into the life of a high school student that I begin to understand. 

At the Yuyao High, 99% of the (about 1000) students are boarders, not because their parents live out of town, but because they can study ‘better’ by living in. Breakfast is at 6am and ‘free time’ until 7.30am. What do you do in your ‘free time’? I asked Kevin, my star student. ‘I usually study’, he said, ‘that way if I get everything done before the weekend I can relax when I go home’. ‘Weekend’ is a bit of a misnomer really, they go home around 8pm on Saturday evening and are back before Sunday noon - less than 24 hours at home a week (and their home may just be around the corner!). What do you do when you go home? I asked. ‘Sleep, and play computer games’ was the reply. (of course! What else would you do?!) One of my chinese friends said in her final year study pressure was too high for her to go home so her parents came to visit her instead. Other than this their days are filled with classes - either teaching classes or ‘supervised self study’ classes. I thought about just turning my classes into parties to give them a bit of a break, but alas even I wasn’t exempt from pressure; ‘your students must achieve’ I was firmly told in my interview... 

So instead of parties, I showed them pics of my travels and tried to set interesting essay topics. One was 'Is it better for parents to spend time with their child or buy them things?' For me, the 'right' answer was obvious, but to my dismay, two out of three supported the latter. OK, it wasn't really a statistically sound survey. But was it a reflection of Chinese students' experience?

Make no mistakes, I'm not a cheerleader for NZ's education. And I'm not completely naiive to the rat race of Chinese society. But no matter how many maths whizzes a system like this may produce, if students lose sight of what's 'right', I'm just think somethings wrong.  . 

The left behinds

The Generation Gap, Wuyuan Villages, Jianxi, China.

'The Generation Gap'. That is, the noticeably missing generation between the elderly and children in the Chinese countryside. The elderly and the children are also known as the 'left behinds', and the numbers are staggering.

Being in the city, its also noticeable. Take my flatmates for example. Their daughter is 3 years old, she lives with her grandparents in his hometown. He's a 'kuai di' (courier) driver, works 7 days a week and is lucky if he can take one days leave a month to rest, or make the 8hr return train ride to see her. Or take my second cousin for example. She and her husband are designers, running their business in Hangzhou, her 5 year old son is/has been raised by her parents in her hometown, Zhuji. Zhuji is just 80km from Hangzhou, but last time I spoke with her she said she's been so busy, she hasn't been home (and he hasn't come to visit) for more than 2months. In fact, with all my running to and from Hangzhou and Zhuji for chinese festivals and visiting aunts I think I've seen more of him than she has. The left behinds.

With the Kiwi Mission team in Xi'an I had the privilege of being 'sent' to a countryside school to teach two days of english. The photo describes what it was physically like (yes those are the toilets...yes it snowed that heavy in November!)  but conversations with kids can never be captured by a camera. Forsaking my served lunch in the 'staff room', I joined the kids in the canteen as they scoffed their noodles.

 'Ayi', they addressed me (lit 'aunty'!!) 'are you going to be our teacher from now on?' (oh breaks my heart!) 'No, just until tomorrow. I need to go back to my country' 

'Where do you live?' (groan, did we not just spend the whole morning talking about NZ?)

 'Very far away. I need to take an aeroplane to get there'.

 'Ayi, does your country have aeroplanes!!?? they marvelled.

 'Yes, and you know, China does too!' 

 'Waaaaa! they screamed - it was like the most brilliant piece of information they'd gained in a long time. 'Ayi,' their eyes couldn't contain their delight like I couldn't contain my laughter, 'how many aeroplanes does China have??'

 The majority of these kids live with their grandparents - their parents are in the city mostly 打工 - doing seasonal/temporary work on construction sites, in restaurants, etc. I asked them how often their parents come home - not very often, maybe once or twice a year. And when they finish primary school, I guess they go off to live at high school and then university.... I'm not sure if its just my privileged family upbringing or narrow minded western mindset, but I look at this picture and think 'why bother having a kid??'

Countryside school, Shaanxi, China.

Quiet Asians

All my life I have fought against the stereotype of the 'quiet asian'. I get to China to discover that I have been seriously mistaken. Oh yes, Chinese (if I may stereotype here) are quiet (especially if you ask them if they speak English), but that doesn't mean they don't find hundreds of other ways to be heard.....

You won't last two days in China without being asked about what you make of the air pollution. But to me,  there is a bigger, or at least louder, problem that I struggle to deal with:

Noise Pollution.

Now this is a new term (like 'PM2.5', a measure bad air quality) that I hadn't come across in NZ, possibly because I'm uneducated and ignorant, or possibly because we don't have any.

So there is the noise of traffic, which isn't unexpected in any big city. Added to this, though, is the frequent and sustained sound of the horn, which screams 'yes I know its a red light but I'm coming through anyway', and the shrill whistle and shouts of traffic police, indicating they have seen red-light-runners but are powerless to stop them.

The bike is an  indispensable mode of transport here; in NZ I would want one with good gears and mudguards, but here what you really need are a basket and bell. The other day I proudly negotiated a basket and a lock into the price of my 2nd hand bike, but somehow forgot about a bell. I felt terribly naked and vulnerable as I pedaled (OK, on the wrong side of the road, against the flow of bike traffic) home. I don't hesitate to use my bell when necessary, but there are those who don't follow this pattern of thinking. I have seen many an old man riding along with not a car/bike/pedestrian in his way, ringing his bell constantly just... ? for entertainment? to be heard? who knows. Old (and also not-so-old) men also like to walk/bike along with big radio-like music machines attached to their hips, (who needs an iPod?) blasting Chinese opera or pop music to the world. The other day a grandfather pedaled along ringing his bell in time to the music.Well I'm glad for him that he was enjoying is little ride but for the sake of the rest of us and our precious ear drums....

On the surface, Chinese, (despite, (or perhaps because of) the slight disorderliness of traffic) seem to be very concerned with safety. Riding an escalator, its not enough to just plaster signs saying 'hold the handrail' all over the place. There must also be a audio recording playing the same message over and over again, just in case you are blind or illiterate. Boarding the buses (or subway), a lady's voice (seems to be the same lady on every bus) will welcome you aboard, state the bus number, urge you to move towards the back of the bus and, of course, pay attention to safety. Before reaching every stop, she will again be broadcasted: 'We are arriving at bus stop X. Please exit from the rear doors. Be careful when doors are opening and pay attention to safety'. This message is repeated about 4 or so times before actually arriving, such that if you have sat through 10 stops to reach your destination, you have been reminded to pay attention to safety no less than 50 times. The volume is set so high so that its not just bus passengers who get to hear her, but pedestrians, those inside cars and yes, me, as I lie in bed, my 5th floor apartment on the corner of a main intersection.

Groping around for my earplugs one night I foolishly thought 'oh to be living back on campus!'. I quickly retracted that wish, remembering that every morning without fail I would be woken at 6am to the next door sports area chants of 一！二！三！四: students participating in military-style drills; the traditional hymn-style music which old ladies holding something which resembled badminton rackets danced to  (the first Sunday I heard this I thought there was a church service next door....), followed by some group exercise pop music.

As a kid, the sound of the tinny Greensleeves music wafting closer closer could only mean one thing: Mr Whippy was near, and if we were lucky mum would let us buy an ice cream. So who could blame me for thinking the same (well, OK, I'd use my own money) when I heard the same tune here? To my dismay the music was emitted from nothing other than a big truck spraying water onto the road - to settle the dust, I think, or when its been raining, to 'wash' away the water on the flooded streets (!!). This type of truck circulates round and round the city; every time I hear it I hate it even more for corrupting my childhood memories. Why can't it just spray water in silence??! (or sell ice creams out the side window, at least?)


Go to any lively market anywhere in the world and vendors will be calling, crying out what they have to offer. Chinese efficiency, coupled with their love for microphones/loud speakers have improved on this, either by attaching a McDonalds drive through 'can-I-take-your-order-please?' -type microphone and portable speaker to their bodies (leaving their hands free to handle the money/meat etc), or, even better, by pre-recording what they have to say (after all, its only 1 sentence, right?) and blasting it from a standing speaker: 'Watermelon! One kuai yi jin!' 'T-shirts! Buy one get one free!'. Shops have also taken to this method, sometimes employing some poor, poorly paid worker to stand at the door with a mic advertising their promotion, other times just playing the automatic message through a speaker. I once asked a shop assistant if he got annoyed at hearing 'everything in store 9.90RMB!' repeated non stop from morning to night, and he just looked at me as if he hadn't heard me (well, I wouldn't have blamed him....), or didn't know what I was talking about.

One night I was busking with a guitarist and the police/street security made us move locations 3 times - the reason being that we were 'too noisy'. Now, I would gladly move if we were obstructing foot traffic, on private property or blasting inappropriate music (how a violin could ever be inappropriate I don't know). And yes, it was a busy street (we're not going busk in a rice paddy). But its a sad day, friends, when, given the un-tuned orchestra of everything mentioned above, its a couple of street buskers that are labelled as:

Noise Pollution.

Have our ear drums lost their sense of beauty?

A semester in Xi'an

Excerpts from an email home. 25 June 2015.

Well, Ive finished a semester Xi'an. I must say Ive gained a bit of insight into the (at least international student's) education system here.
Its not that great.
Its not that the quality or content is lacking, rather (something closer to my heart..): morals and ethics.

For all of China's restrictions and regulations, the international student's department is incredibly laxed. Cheating is not only rampant and obvious, but, it appears,  perfectly acceptable. Take weekly '听写 (lit:listen-write) tests (think of primary school spelling tests) for example. I think they should be re-named ''写写' because half the class will have their textbooks open and be copying the words. The teacher strolls around the room and turns a blind eye. She strolls because shes not allowed to sit whilst teaching - thats the rules. She's not allowed to sit... but we're allowed to cheat??

One day during '听写  I got so fed up that I took out my camera and started taking pictures. Some classmates gave me amused looks - I smiled and snapped their photo. I snapped people playing on their phones, people wit textbooks open, people sharing answers.

Cheating is one thing, punctuality and class attendance are another. Our class had 20 students.. these last few weeks we would start at 8am with 5-6. On a good day, this number would swell to perhaps 12 or 15 over the next few hours, on a bad day it would remain at 5.

On a positive note, my chinese is improving to the state where I think I am not longer mistaken for retarded, but from Taiwan, Kunming or Hong Kong (?is their chinese so bad in those places, I wonder..?!)


I managed to do a bit of hiking as the days got warmer (and are now too hot!), the most notable being 'Mt Hua Shan' - unlike any mountain you've seen (the crowds are also unlike any you've seen (or want to see)). There was even an ATM at the summit! (only in China!) On the way down I couldnt restrain myself and (jumping the 'no swimming' sign), had a little swim in the river (the cleanest water Id seen so far)... my chinese friend was shocked and said it was the 1st time she'd seen a girl 'bathing' in natural water...

The day of my exam one of our scungy dorm cats cut its leg - deep enough for me to dream about stitching it up. No such luck (opportunity! Exams come first!) - in the end I brought back some supplies, and on the kitchen bench (with girls cooking pancakes in the background!) me and A Yi (dorm mother) cleaned and injected this unappreciative patient, whose howling nearly turned the pancake girls nauseous.

So whilst I'm not sure about the pancakes, both the cat and my exams turned out fine. The cat because (as every vet knows) animals will heal with/without/in spite of treatment, and and exams because they were a bit like glorified homework without the use of a dictionary.  I did, however have trouble reading the exam regulations listed at the top of each paper....I have sat many an exam where l have not understood the exam questions, but never until now been in one where I haven't been able to read the rules!

And as such continues my strange life here...

Ｃｈｅａｔｉｎｇ　ｉｎ　Ｃｈｉｎａ　

A Banana* in China

Disclaimer: My perfectionist self is 100% dissatisfied with the formatting, but my computer literacy skills and time are lacking to make it... perfect....
  
12 May 2015

Learning the language of my blood is something I've
 always wanted to do before I die (preferably

 before I hit 30) and so here I am in China for the year, 
studying Chinese at Shaanxi Normal University, Xi'an. If I were to sum up my experience so far in one word it would be this:  
Humbling. 

Life in China is, as you can imagine, very interesting. Even more interesting for me, given the fact that I am

 a ‘hua yi’ (overseas Chinese) now living China. Sometimes I find it so amusing that I feel I am a fly on the 

wall or a bird overhead, watching my life go by. The best thing by far is that I blend in!!! Think about it -

 not since I was 2 years old being carried around the streets of Kuala Lumpur have I lived in a place where

 I look like everyone else. In far contrast to being the only chinita running around rural Bolivia, here I’m just

 one in a million - and I love it. (Perhaps for the first time in my life) I love that I have a Chinese name - 

 樊维真**   one that people can not only pronounce properly  (better than I pronounce it myself)   but 

also ‘spell’ correctly (also better than I can myself). 

 The flipside, of course, is that everyone treats me like a local. Shopkeepers will speak to me not only in 

Chinese, but often in Shaanxi hua (the local dialect). Depending on my mood and time on hand I will either 

nod/shake my head, mutter something and quickly leave (leaving them wondering if I’m retarded or

 something...) or explain that I ‘ting bu dong’ (don't understand), which invariably leads into an unfolding 

of my whole family history . This rather strange phenomenon (for both parties) has also led to me being 

addressed as (chinese) ‘teacher’ on more than one occasion or ‘translator’ (for my foreign classmates...

 whose chinese is often better than mine and so they end up translating for me). Shame. 

Its also a humble experience being an undergraduate again. The language department has enough mature

 students, but many of my classmates are my juniors by many, many moons. Apparently, even for a Chinese,

 I look really young (must be the clean NZ air I’ve breathed all my life) and so, since I’m new, everyone 

assumes I must be a freshman (sigh, I was a freshman a decade ago...) One teacher (a 23 year old masters

 student) asked if I was 19 yet (cringe...). On finding out my age, she exclaimed ‘oh we should call you ‘jie jie’

 (literally ‘older sister’ - a term of respect). Shame. 

The international student's dormitory on campus is also a humbling honour. There are no single rooms  so I have a (18year-old!) room mate. The (squat) toilets are communal and outside,

 the (also communal) showers have side.partitions but no doors.  The compound gates are locked between 

11pm and 6am (curfew!!!!!) but thankfully.we can (and do!) jump the gate if we’re locked out. We are the only

 dorm on campus with a jumpable gate, and a kitchen. The kitchen is basic and a bit scungy (especially with the  gross, cats that live behind the hot-water machine (admittedly I did clean the wounds of an injured one one on the kitchen bench one evening (a vets got to do what a vets got to do))).

All sounds terrible and restrictive, but compared to Chinese students we live in paradise - they have 4-8 

students per room, no hot water dispenser, the showers are a 5-10 min walk across campus and you  need to pay, doors also locked 11pm-6am (NO breaking in or out....) (at other unis I’ve heard  the  electricity  also cuts out at 11pm!!.), signing  in an out for visitors, a weekly  Sunday evening roll call,  no washing machine  (that’s what hands are for)  and ( I should have known,  but only found out yesterday)  that its compulsory for all Chinese students to stay in campus dorms for the entire duration of their study. 

Class is really fun, but really, sometimes (no, daily) I feel like I’m back at primary school. The roll is called 

every period, we have homework which is marked with  red pen and graded, and have to write ‘essays’ of at

 least 80 characters (!) for example entitled: ‘My best friend.’ The latter I wrote on the overnight train back

 from Beijing (as it was due that morning).....half the carriage took great interest in this (retarded?) Chinese girl 

primary school homework and helped correct my grammar. Like I said, it is fun...but you know, I’m a

 veterinary doctor for heavens sake....and from my fly-on-.the-wall position I often look down and wonder

if this Banana is a little over-ripe... . 

Spot the Banana

Spot the Banana 

 * A colloquial term used amongst Asians living in Western countries: ‘yellow on the outside, white on the inside'’ 

 

**Fán Wéi Zhēn.  In contrast to the rest of my classmates who have chosen

 Chinese names for themselves (much like Chinese immigrants in NZ choosing names such as ‘Cherry’, 

 ‘Rainbow’ (or ‘Esther’)), this name was chosen by my grandfather I never met...  

Beautiful Bricks

Tuesday 13 January, Eluru Children's Home, India

I enjoyed sifting through the broken bricks and the orphanage today. The midday sun had no mercy, it was mundane work and dust clung to sweat. Nevertheless I was happy.

'What a beautiful brick,' I commented, placing it in the sack. One of the girls agreed. Though isn't it strange, I continued.  Arriving three hours earlier at the work site - a pile of rubble that would eventually be a church - we didn't gasp 'oh what beautiful bricks we get to sort!'. We probably didn't think much at all - except for 'When is lunch?'

But after a while at work, something happens. Bricks become beautiful. The subject of excitement. What's changed? The bricks? No. The rubble? No. Nothing but our perception - and that is everything.

Is this not our story of India, I thought. Arriving  3 weeks earlier - we didn't think much of the place. The rubbish, the smells, the primitive conditions - made Boot Camp look like paradise! But now we see things differently. India hasn't changed (India's barely changed from when I was here 9 years ago!) - we have. We begin to see beauty. Beauty in the sunrises; in the smiles; in the simplicity..

..in bricks, even.