I'm One of a Kind! (Especially in Wuhu, China)

I have arrived to the surface of the sun! I mean Wuhu, China! (Yeah, yeah, get all the jokes out now people, I have two months here and I guarantee there is only so much you can do with that name.)

I left Shanghai around 9:30 and had a pretty peaceful four hour bus ride. To my amusement they played Kung Fu Panda (in English with Chinese subtitles) the first half. As I love this movie (and its sequel even more) I appreciated it. But for the most part I watched Shanghai turn into the Chinese country, which looks as one would think it would.

I did take some pictures, but there was nothing that really screamed "SHARE ME!".

An adorable little Chinese boy who introduced himself as Alex sat behind me and we played a little poking game. He was so cute and in the last hour became really brave and would talk to me. Unfortunately, due to my very, VERY limited Chinese, I was only able to say that I spoke English and that I didn't understand him. From what I COULD understand is that he was going to Wuhu to visit his father and that he was four years old.

He also knew his numbers in Chinese AND in English! I dare anyone to find a four year old child in America (whose parents speak only English) who can do that. (My children will be able to do that.)

And then I arrived in Wuhu. One thing that I was very much aware of on the bus ride over and even more so at the bus station at Wuhu was how much of a minority I was.

I was a minority of 1. People would stare at me (and I would adamantly look everywhere but where people were) because I was not only the only person not of Asian decent, but my blond hair and blue eyes made me stick out like a sore thumb.

In Shanghai, I had two random strangers (a boy and a girl both I would guess in their twenties) come up and ask to take a picture with me. In my very brief experience with Wuhu public, someone like me is ten times more rare.

It's almost humbling. While it's not negative attention, my looks plus the fact that I can barely communicated with these people really help drive the alienation home. It's very intimidating, although some people went out of their way to say "Hello" to me and I try my best to say "Ni hao" (hello) and "xie xie" (thank you) as much as possible.

These little things seem to remove some of the awkwardness that comes with a language and cultural barrier. And if there are any rude Chinese people, they have not attempted to contact me.

Four more of my fellow teachers arrive soon and I am attempting to accomplish some laundry in the very, VERY tiny washer before they arrive (but seeing as how it has this nasty habit of stopping, it's taking longer than I would have liked). I'll probably dedicate an entire entry to my apartment (that I'll be sharing with one person). While it's not living in a dirt hut, it is very humbling for an American who can keep a house at comfortable 77*F. (It's HOT AS HADES in Wuhu! I have never been so appreciative of a fan in my life!)

Luckily I do have internet access so I will keep you updated every step of the way.

So, here's to two months in the middle of China!

An Explanation... Kind Of

Many people have called me brave for going to the middle of China essentially alone for two months. A lot of people ask me (sometimes more than once, as if expecting my answer to change) if I'm anxious/nervous/etc. Not really, I may feel excitement but nothing so negative as those other feelings.

And I also have to disagree with the people that call me brave. What I am doing doesn't require a lot of courage. At least, not for me.

I'm used to being in an environment where I don't know any one person. Growing up, I went to two elementary schools, four middle schools and two high schools. So the idea of (temporary) alienation doesn't scare me. (Besides, at least ten other people will be in the same boat and that will give us some common ground. A luxury not usually found when transferring schools half way through the year.)

As for being so far away from family/friends, I was the kid who begged her parents to send her to an overnight camp. I was the young woman who woke up the day she move would move to college and have the car packed before her family members even got out of bed. I've never experienced true homesickness. Maybe a little bit of nostalgia or a fleeting moment of wishing, but then I revel in my independence and freedom and rarely look back.

The only thing that I would agree is disconcerting is the culture that I am immersing myself in. Having only spent less than a week on the other side of the world, I can say for certain that it is VERY different in the U.S. And yet...

I'm not entirely shocked. (True enough I've only experienced two major cities that can be very tourist friendly and have yet to experience TRUE China.) I came expecting the worst. And while some things HAVE shocked me (i.e. - toilets in the ground and bare ass babies), it is nothing that other people have not warned me about.

So... no I'm not brave. In fact, I've always found people who can stay in one place, live with the same people for years and years who know them to a fault brave. It's very difficult to imagine someone knowing enough about me that they can pick me a part. In fact, to me such a relationship leaves one vulnerable to the point where it's scary.

I've rarely been positively rewarded in such a relationship (the exception being one or two current best friends), so to me it takes a very strong and brave person to open themselves up to people like that.

In comparison, being some place where you can be whoever you want to be in a strange but exciting and interesting culture where you're encouraged to learn and experience new things? That's easy.

Hong Kong: The Tour and the Typhoon

Okay, I am FORCING myself to at least begin this entry. It is now the beginning of my third day in this harbor and I really do want to share what I've been up to.

The first day was a bit tough. But even after traveling and losing an entire day and my Dad and I not really on the same internal schedule, we wanted to see the city.

I was actually surprised at how Westernized the city was. I had forgotten that it had been an English territory until 1997, so I wasn't expecting for the cars/buses to be English, or that they would be driving on the left side of the road.

Also what struck me was how English translation almost always came before the Chinese characters. In America, Europe and (as far as I know) most of South America, if there needs to be an English translation, it comes after the dominant language in the country. But not Hong Kong. (I suppose it is due to being an English territory.)

So around 1: 25, Dad and I caught a half-day tour of Hong Kong/Mt. Victoria. But not before negotiating for a tailored suit and meeting Bono:

The tour itself had its high points and low points. The first two stops I liked very much, the first being the Temple of Man and Mo and the second being Mount Victoria.

The Temple of Man and Mo was beautiful.

The Temple of Man is also the temple of Literature, Intelligence. Students often come to pray for better grades. The Temple of Mo (like General) is the temple of Power and Justice. The Hong Kong people often go to pray for health, intelligence and wisdom, writing them on red sheets of paper and/or lighting incense and placing them in bowls of sand in front of the statues.

We also ran into a very familiar street name.

Mount Victoria's view was breath taking. Though it didn't lack modern amenities.

However, the tour also stopped at two different types of markets, encouraging us to buy things. I learned from my Chinese classes that this was common practice, but was still disappointed.
The last thing we did was take a small boat tour around the Hong Kong harbor and it offered some incredible sites. One being the largest floating restaurant (appropriately named: Jumbo Floating Restaurant), owned by one of the richest men in Hong Kong/China. It can seat up to two thousand people at once.

The second day was more of a vacation. There were plans for a boat tour of Hong Kong junk boats at night (supposedly artfully lit up and gorgeous with the backdrop of the Hong Kong skyline). But due to a typhoon less than 800 km away, the trip was cancelled.

So I treated myself to a massage and got some reading done.
Now, I am in Shanghai (it took me a few days to get this entry done) and have so much more to tell you! But for now, I have to take a break. I leave for my job in Wuhu in less than 48 hours! I cannot believe it's almost here!

Hong Kong: The Journey

My last American meal.

And so, 11 a.m. EST, the journey began:

Sustenance for the harrowing journey.

And then, like a great epic, we had to pass through three gates.

We passed the gate keepers with nary a problem.

Heck yeah! Window seat!

The third gate was the most worrisome. Did our bags make it? Would we make it? So close and so much could go wrong!

But all the worry was for not as our bags and us made it in one piece.

Our hotel was a welcome site after 12+ hours of traveling in very uncomfortable airplane seats.

(Arrival time 11: 30 p.m. HKT, June 20, 2011)

The traveling was one of the more testing things I've ever done. It was the excitement of going to a country and continent I have never been before that made it bearable. I'll hopefully get to come back and do a full entry on my first day in Hong Kong (not just pictures with captions). Until then, I'll be roaming!

"Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother" Part 2

Last night I finished Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother and slept on it... and now what I was going to say is mostly out of my head. (Probably fell out of my ears while I was tossing and turning last night.)

I won't ruin the story for you (much). But Chua does eventually make peace with her daughters and the tiger.

Over the course of reading it, I talked about it to many people. A lot recognized the story of the tiger mom and usually followed that with "that horrible mother!" (Most of the time, this was someone who had only heard the rough outline, not actually read the book.)

The thing is, I don't think she was a horrible mother. A lot of the book was Chua comparing Chinese and Western philosophies and raising children. And truthfully, she points out a lot (if not most) of the flaws with Western parenting. Not to say that hers is flawless.

There is no such thing as a perfect parenting technique. Or at least, that's what I got out of it. Each person, each child is different and so is each parent. In the end, it was the acceptance that there is no one way, for Chua. Who has this to say on her website:

Jokes aside about A+s and gold medals (much of my book is self-parody), in the end for me it’s not about grades or Ivy League schools. It’s about believing in your child more than anyone else – more than they believe in themselves – and helping them realize their potential, whatever it may be.

My book has been controversial. Many people have misunderstood it. If I could push a magic button and choose either happiness or success for my children, I’d choose happiness in a second. But I don’t think it’s as simple as that; it can be a tough world out there, and true self-esteem has to be earned.

I genuinely believe that there are many ways of being a good parent. We all want our kids to grow up happy, strong, and self-reliant. But different cultures have very different ideas about the best way to do that. And we should all be able to learn from each other.

If you are interested, Amy Chua also has a twitter. Her eldest daughter, Sophia, has a blog and twitter as well.

It's easy, at least it was for me, who grew up with Western ideals and thinking, of how horrible it was for this woman to push her daughters so hard. But in the end, I don't think she wrote the book to show how her methods worked (or didn't). I think she wrote the book to show that a parent's job is a choice and how it effects the children. Chua's unapologetic about how she did it, and even says she'd do it all over again.

She was still able to salvage a good, healthy relationship. And I think that's what matters. To be able to admit when you're wrong. To be able to grow. And to be able to compromise.

At least, that's what I got out of it.

Days till China: 8

'Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother' Part 1

Today (or rather yesterday, since it is now almost 1 a.m. in the morning), during dinner, my mom gave us some belated gifts. My brother's was to celebrate his graduation from high school and going off to college (appropriately one of my favorite books: Dr. Seuss's Oh, The Places You Will Go!). Mine was a bit of a going away present before China: Amy Chua's Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother.

Apparently my mom's friends (either from work or from Bible study) strongly recommended this book once hearing that I was going to China to teach English. Curious and excited, I read the summary inside the book flaps and my interest was piqued. The book is about how a mother decided to raise her Chinese-Jewish daughters the "Chinese way".

In fact, this is how the book opens:

A lot of people wonder how Chinese parents raise such stereotypically successful kids. They wonder what these parents do to produce so many math whizzes and music prodigies, what it's like inside the family, and whether they could do it too. Well, I can tell them, because I've done it. Here are some things my daughters, Sophia and Louisa, were never allowed to do:

• attend a sleepover
• have a playdate
• be in a school play
• complain about not being in a school play
• watch TV or play computer games
• choose their own extracurricular activities
• get any grade less than an A
• not be the #1 student in every subject except gym and drama
• play nay instrument other than the piano or violin
• not play the piano or violin

I already was aware of the gaping divide in philosophy concerning how children were raised/educated between Chinese and Western cultures. All of my Chinese language classes have been taught be graduate students from China and one of my favorite parts of class was when they would impart some knowledge of their culture.

One of the things I remember from my first semester of Chinese was our teacher telling us how you couldn't date until you were in college. If your teacher found out, i.e. - seeing you holding hands or kissing, they would hold a parent-teacher conference to fix everything right away.

Another thing I remember, this time from my second semester and a different teacher, is when the kids are asked "What do you want to be when you grow up?", the kid who puts artist or teacher will get a lower grade than the kid who wrote doctor or lawyer.

There are two things about me that make this last piece of information particularly striking to me:

1. I am very passionate about education, and
2. I am very passionate about free will and creativity.

So while I can understand the want for a child to succeed and achieve their full potential, I also think that a child should be able to make choices and have fun.

I started reading the book around ten o'clock and am already half way through book. I am fascinated, horrified and (on some level) empathetic to this woman who is describing how she raised her daughters in a Chinese fashion. I can't put it down. (Which is unfortunate since I have a dentist appointment at 8 a.m., my internship at 10, and then lunch with my mom and her friend at 1.)

When I read about this woman's choices, I can't help but be a little horrified and know one thing absolutely: If Amy Chua was my mother, I would without a doubt hate her.

There is never a day, birthday, sick day, vacation or otherwise, that she does not have her daughters practice their instruments (piano and violin) one to three hours a day. When her daughters get less than an A, than first place, she buys practice books and flash cards and drills them till they are absolutely perfect. And when her daughters (usually the younger one) fight back, it's screaming, yelling, punching, biting, until Chua usually wins out in the end.

There are times when she describes the fruits of her labor, and they are beautiful. Her daughters by the age of seven, nine, thirteen, are accomplished, praised, have multiple awards and titles for their talents and knowledge. And I must admit, they are enviable.

I could go on how this brought up thoughts of my own upbringing and accomplishments, but the minutes keep going by, so I will save it for another time.

The last chapter I read, though, was about Chua's mother-in-law and her death. The mother-in-law, Florence, is a woman that I can definitely say I would have loved her. An established art critic who was the life of the party and loved life and color and experience and encouraged her granddaughters to explore and rebel and be creative, much more soothing. The girls obviously adored her. But Florence became ill, an acute case of leukemia and sadly passed away. The girls gave their own small eulogies at the funeral, and from the snippets provided I could tell that both speeches were both beautiful.

Of course, Chua shared the secret behind this. It started with a tangent of one of Chua's birthday, where both her daughters presented her a card each of her own hand. And these were what you might expect from elementary aged kids. Kind of sloppy, maybe a little rushed with a simple "Happy Birthday" written in the fold. And Chua rejects both cards, shaming her children for their mediocre gifts and asking for better ones.

When the eldest daughter says how she wanted to make a better one but she didn't have time between school and practicing the piano for three hours, Chua merely says "You should have gotten up earlier."

I was actually sick at this point. I couldn't imagine saying something like that to a child. But connecting this to the grandmother's funeral, Chua had told Florence about the event and Florence laughed in astonishment but warned Chua, "But they'll be mad at you."

Chua shared this story in order to tell the reader how she rejected her daughters' first attempts at their eulogies.

Sophia's first draft was terrible, rambling and superficial. Lulu's wasn't so great either, but I held my elder daughter to a higher standard. Perhaps because I was so upset myself, I lashed out at her. "How could you, Sophia?" I said viciously. "This is awful. It has no insight. It has no depth. It's like a Hallmark card--which Popo (Florence) hated. You are so selfish. Popo loved you so much--and you--produce--this!"

For the record, Sophia is thirteen.

Sophia took none of my suggestions. Slamming the door after I left, she locked herself in her bedroom and rewrote the speech herself. She refused to show it to me, wouldn't look at me, even after she had cooled down and changed into a black dress and black tights. And later, at the service when sophia was at the podium speaking, looking dignified and calm, I didn't miss the pointed lines:

Popo never settled for anything--a dishonest conversation, a film not quite true to the book, a slightly false display of emotion. Popo wouldn't allow people to put words in my mouth.

It was a wonderful speech. ... I could just imagine a beaming Florence saying, "I'm bursting."

On the other hand, Florence was right. The kids were definitely mad at me. But as a Chinese mother, I put that out of my head.

I couldn't imagine even having this mindset. Emotion is such a part of who I am and what drives me, that pushing away people's feelings in order to perfect a eulogy just seems... heartless to me. And to ignore her daughters' animosity.

Even though none of this should surprise me, from what I gather from class and Chinese natives describing similar situations, the glimpse into this mindset chills my blood. To me it's so cold and machine-like, no human or loving qualities at all. While Chua does reference some times when her daughters seem grateful, I can't for the life of me remember one instance as clearly as I do others.

I have hope for the second half of the book, since the cover does read:

This was supposed to be a story of how Chinese parents are better at raising kids than Western ones.

But instead, it's about a bitter clash of cultures, a fleeting taste of glory, and how I was humbled by a thirteen-year-old.

So, I think I will head to bed, and continue this when I've read more of, possibly even finish, the book.