Anastasia Taber

(Haven’t read “Conversations with Chinese Part One?” Start at the beginning.)

“All done,” he said. It was over. We talked about what I was doing in China and Andrea’s relation to me. “She is quite an amazing person,” he said. I agreed. He asked me if I could speak Chinese and I said yes. We then had a conversation in Chinese without me making a mistake (quite a feat).

I was sent home with Ibuprofen and Andrea walked me to my apartment. She explained the situation to my very worried host mother and her very worried sister-in-law. They fussed over me (as per usual) and immediately started to care for me.

“Have you taken medicine?” my host mom kept asking me. No matter how many times I told her I had, she never seemed to believe me. I had missed dinner, so the sister-in-law heated up some homemade jiaozi (dumplings) for me. We sat and watched the Chinese news, and I impressed my host mom with a few idioms I could remember. My host mom told me for the 10000000000^th time that I should drink “warm things” and that Americans always drink “cold things,” even though “warm things” will go down to your belly and “make you feel very comfortable.” (Body temperature is extremely important in traditional Chinese medicine.)

Sitting on the couch, I couldn’t believe the evening I had experienced. I had experienced so much pain, so many tears, but I had been meet with so much unexpected kindness—the cab driver, the young girl, the doctor, Andrea, Andrea’s boyfriend (who gave up an evening to escort us), my host mom and her sister-in-law.

Over the course of the semester, it’s hard to describe, but I’ve felt removed from Chinese people. There’s always that divide between Chinese people and foreigners. Last semester I was so distracted by how fascinating everything was. But this semester was different. I learned so much about Chinese history and culture last semester, so much so that my Chinese friends often comment to me, “You know more about China than Chinese people do.” Without realizing it, this knowledge has made me felt further removed from my Chinese counterparts.

In some ways, studying China has taught me to be cynical. Vendors see my white skin, and they want to cheat me. Everyone is always out to make a quick buck, and most often at the expense of others. People spit in China. Little kids have slits in their pants and pee in the streets. The pavement is uneven; the bathrooms are smelly. Walk along a street next to a poor neighborhood, turn the corner and become surrounded by shiny high rises. Drive past a playground for the rich in the middle of the Beijing dust. These sights used to invigorate my senses, but now they dull them. “Of course there’s a fancy gated community surrounded by poverty,” I tell the new students. “Oh look, a bunch of black Audis parked outside a luxury hotel,” I say without fanfare.

I find it hard to contribute to the discussion in some of my classes. Everything I think of sounds obvious to me. I’ve read too much, I’ve thought too much. “Western media is biased when reporting on China,” “Social media gets opinions out there in a way traditional media never could,” “The government always has the final say: Don’t fool yourself.” Sometimes I wonder if I’m really gaining as much as I hoped I would this semester.

One of the older TBC students, a very wise man, told me that he sees a difference between the yearlong students vs. the semester only students. “You approach China differently than the others,” he told me. “It’s a more mature outlook.” I told him I had no idea what outlook that was. “I can’t explain it,” he told me. “It’s just something that I can tell very easily.”

I’ve carried this strange feeling along with me all semester. I know there is still an absolutely incredible amount about China that I as of yet do not know, but I also feel jaded from certain knowledge I’ve gained. I wish I could go back to the “everything is new and exciting” stage. That stage was fun and easy. This stage just leaves me uncomfortable—in place but out of place at the same time.

I understand Chinese people but feel removed from them. I think about a scene from John Pomfret’s book, Chinese Lessons. If a U.S. plane accidentally bombed part of a Chinese embassy and killed a few Chinese people, like it did back in Belgrade in 1999, would my Chinese friends still talk to me? Or would they shun me for being from the country that killed Chinese people? Is there a divide between us, or have I just imagined it? I’m not sure if I will ever find out. I hope I never find out.

But just then I’m reminded of how fantastic Chinese people are. There are many things to make me cynical, but there are just as many things to make me optimistic. I miss Georgetown, but after last night, I realized that I have less than two months before I leave this magical place, this fantastic culture, and I have no idea when next I will return.

Before I left the hospital, the doctor told me to stay in China. I laughed, “I have to go back and graduate first.” He told me, “Okay do that. But where else can you use your Chinese? Yes, you must come back.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Did I mention that I went to the U.S. Embassy yesterday and met Gary Locke, U.S. ambassador to China? He said–and this is no surprise to me but it’s relevant to the post–that the U.S.-China relationship is the most important in the world. If China and the U.S. could just work together, he said (much like a diplomat would) then they could solve the world’s biggest problems.

There’s so much distrust between the two countries, and that’s not helped by either countries’ medias. How do you start to remove this distrust?

One conversation at a time.

Coming in on the end of this reflection?
Read Part One, Part Two, Part Three 

Andrea told me she was studying at Loyola Chicago this summer and would make a short trip to DC. I told her I would be in DC in July and we agreed that we should meet up.

I was so surprised by our conversation. I had written Andrea off long ago for reasons now unknown and not worth remembering. Yet this entire time she had kept a stellar opinion of me, but I had never taken the time to understand her.

I don’t know why I keep forgetting this. This undeniable life truth that everyone invariably has an interesting story worth listening to. Even the “boring” people have interesting stories—for how did they end up to be so boring? (Joking, a little) It’s easy to write someone off when you don’t immediately gel with his or her personality. But then again, it’s boring to always get along with people. Just like life is boring without a little slips and stitches, pain and tears. If I hadn’t fallen, I wouldn’t have found out that Andrea was exactly the fascinating person she is.

“This needs stitches,” the doctor told me, and I freaked out a little inside because I have never gotten them and the idea completely grosses me out. “Will it hurt?” I asked. Everything was setting me on edge. Andrea comforted me with stories of other TBC students who didn’t feel the stitching when they got them. I was skeptical.

“Sing for her,” the doctor said. “I can’t sing,” said Andrea. “I only sing twice a semester, and it’s really bad, but I will sing for you,” she told me. I smiled nervously as the doctor unfolded a towel and I caught a glimpse of several sharp pairs of scissors. “So many sharp objects going towards my knee right now,” I said and focused my wide eyes on the ceiling.

“Hold her hand,” the doctor told Andrea. “It will help.” Andrea grabbed my hand. “I’m here for you,” she told me. “Tell her stories,” the doctor said. Andrea told me about a friend who had a turtle. One day the turtle’s eyes were red so she asked people on Renren (Chinese Facebook) if they had any “turtle eye drops.” Andrea laughed at her story and I couldn’t help but join too, laughing as nervous tears clung to my eyes. The doctor himself chuckled. “That’s a good story,” he said.

The doctor (Chinese) asked me where I went to school and I said Georgetown, which is in DC. He said he lived in Baltimore and I commented on how strange an interesting connection that was. We had lived in around the same area and now he was stitching up my leg in China.

The world is small.

Continue reading…Part Four

(Haven’t read the “Conversations with Chinese Part One”? Click here)

We entered the United Family Hospital, which is a fantastic hospital in Beijing where the doctors speak English (Western medicine with Western prices). Andrea tried to push me in a wheelchair but couldn’t tackle the hill, so her fiancée took the reigns and ran me up to the entrance. We wheeled down the hall to the emergency room and everyone stared, probably because they had never seen a young woman in a wheelchair (it felt weird).

The nurses asked me the basic information while I tried not to cry. A young girl (guestimate: 10 years old) spoke a European language into a phone and then walked over to me and asked me in perfect English, “Does it hurt?” She told me her sister had broken her ankle and was in the other room. I had no idea who this girl was, where she was from, and how many languages she spoke, but she made every effort to console me during our short two minute conversation.

I was wheeled into a room and I very carefully placed myself on the bed. I essentially cried (off and on) for three hours last night because I’m a baby and can’t handle pain. The nurse cleaned the wound, and her light touch was enough to make the tears rain. I cursed my low pain tolerance. The doctor came in and touched my knee a little too hard. I cried some more.

I waited a long while for the next step, and Andrea came and sat with me for a bit. We talked about Chinese culture and how I felt spending the whole year here. “I felt like everything was new and exciting last semester. There was so much I didn’t know about China,” I told Andrea. “I still think coming back for a second semester was the best decision. But I miss Georgetown. I miss my friends.” Andrea smiled and said that everyone she knew who came here ended up feeling that way. “By the second semester, nothing is new so they think China is boring.” One of the TBC directors had stayed for seven years. Andrea told me, “By the end of it, right before she left she told me that she wanted to burn down Building 6.” (The foreign student dorm where TBC’s Student Life office is housed) Andrea and I laughed.

We talked about how expensive the tuition is at Georgetown and how intense the students are about academics. Then we talked about how Andrea had wanted to study classical Chinese, but her parents told her she had to study finance “for the money.” “Finance is so boring,” Andrea told me. “I can’t stand Accounting. In three years I have not a single record of my expenses. I just don’t care.”

Andrea was studying part-time to get her masters in Investment. “My dad offered to pay my tuition but I don’t want him to,” said Andrea. “Why?” I asked. “Because if he pays my tuition, then my parents will tell me what to study, who to date, how to spend my money.” We commiserated over the pitfalls of being financially dependent on your parents. Though I thanked my lucky stars that I was given parents who respected my decision to major in English (never mind that my chances of having to live underneath a bridge are exponentially higher).

Andrea’s dad is a lawyer. “What’s the most respected profession in China?” I asked. Andrea though about it, “Professor. I think they are the most respected.” She thought some more, “Or any job that can earn a lot of money.”

Lawyers were pretty respected though. “My dad used to practice on his own but now he works for the government.” Andrea mentioned the cases where people sued the government for demolishing their homes. “Oh, like the hutongs in Beijing,” I said. Andrea nodded. “So your dad represents the government in these cases?” “Yes,” Andrea replied.

Continue reading…Part Three

(Originally I was just going to write about my stupid knee injury. But as I wrote it, it turned into a reflection on my stay in China so far (seven months). I had so much to say, so I broke this post into four separate ones. Enjoy!)

At first this post was going to be an all sad and “happiness is fleeting” type of thing. I woke up this morning and thought, “Everything is going my way. I’m so incredibly lucky. Life is fantastic.” Then I slipped during my evening shower and landed on the divider, cutting my knee open. Every time I bent my knee, a world of pain shot directly to the primal area of my brain.

I was alone for an hour. I cried and comforted myself. “It’s fine, Stacy. Stop crying.” I called the emergency phone. No answer. I called again. No answer. I looked at my leg, tried to bend it, and cried some more. The knee was swelling up. I googled “fractured knee” but had to stop reading the article because it freaked me out so much. “That doesn’t help, Stacy.” I was talking to myself. I didn’t care.

I finally got ahold of Andrea, my program’s Chinese student life assistant, and she took me to the hospital. Her fiancée tagged along because he was worried about our safety. I was ruining their Friday night after I had already ruined mine.

When I got into the cab with them, I burst out crying. I had bent my leg to get in which was a huge mistake. I sat in the front seat and Andrea reached around the headrest to rub my back. “It’s okay,” she said, as I sobbed into my Chinese Kleenex. I’m not even sure what the cab driver thought of me at that moment, but there was too much pain to care.

Andrea made conversation with me on the way over, and I realized she was asking a lot of questions as a way to take my mind off the pain. And it was working brilliantly. Five minutes before we arrived, she stopped asking questions and I started tearing up, remembering the pain. “The questions were good. Why can’t I have more of those?” I thought. We had talked about my brothers and how she thought it was so strange that my parents weren’t paying for them to also come visit me when they arrive in May. “Chinese culture is so different from American culture,” she said.

We arrived at the hospital and Andrea directed the cab driver to pull up right to the building. Andrea and her man got out while I paid, but the cab driver drove a little further with me still in the front seat. I was confused, but kept silent. Then he pulled into a side space, and I reached for the door. He told me to wait a moment, and turned the car around and pulled it with the passenger side this time facing the hospital. He had turned off the meter, and it was so rare for cab drivers to continue to drive you after the meter was off. He did this so I had even less of a distance to walk.

The unexpected kindness from a stranger, especially a cab driver, threatened to reignite the waterworks. I was moved.

Continue reading…Post Two