China Finals

I am long overdue for a blog post.

Not only is the semester winding down, but I am closing the book on my time as an English teacher in China. The former offers plenty of fodder for laughter and frustration, but the latter has not yet provoked reflections that I could put clearly into words. That may not come until, as Papa Z. says, I am sitting on a windy Himalayan peak.

Fingers are crossed that our Tibet travel permits are approved. There have been new restrictions about group sizes, countries of origin, and modes of entry into the area. I've heard about a few friends being denied. Not to mention that foreigners are getting really bad press in China at the moment.

Hopefully cooler heads will prevail, and hopefully I will be in Tibet 6/8-6/20.

Yellow Mtn.

And while I know I will gain perspective on my experiences and time in China over the coming weeks (and months and years), I can definitely say that I have learned at least two things about myself over the past two years:

1) The more I learn about China, the less I understand; and
2) my greatest pet peeves are crowds and when eating mouths are unnecessarily noisy.

These pet peeves were on display during a recent weekend to Yellow Mountain. Heralded as one of the better tourist attractions in China, Yellow Mountain has unique rock formations and colorful cliff faces. As with all famous tourist attractions and popular mountains in China, Yellow Mountain was annoyingly crowded. After summiting, my friends and I had to wait in line just to see each vista on the peak circuit. While in line, I gave some stink-eyes to a couple of guys eating cake and shrink-wrapped tofu. Their mouths snapped and slurped so much, my personal space felt invaded. Also, food was falling all over this guy's mouth and clinging to his sweaty face to form a handlebar mustache made of cake. Eventually, I couldn't suppress the shivers running down my back; the pain and exhaustion after climbing miles of stairs, the claustrophobia-inducing line, and these guys' mouths pushed me too far: "你嘴很吵."

Spring's Quarterly Report

Spring time on campus

At eight weeks into the term and with just eight weeks left in the academic year, I feel it is time to purge myself of some thoughts and anecdotes related to my teaching experiences.

***

General Class Management:

I am now showing one video out of this ongoing series to each class each week. They love it. I am amazed at how Jessica has corralled her manic personality traits into flawless Chinese mannerisms. Her affect is dead-on though, somehow, more than a little offputting.

Also, I recently discovered that her Chinese name (白姐, baijie, "white sister") is also the title of a popular Chinese pornography novel.

Thanks to DNyks for bringing this series to my attention. Thank you to my students for being well-read on Chinese pornography. (In China, porn is called "yellow" material; perverts, "黄.")

***

As class began one brisk day in March, I found myself lassoing one student's attention: "Sousa, can you please put your nunchuks away?"

One week later, I walked into the same class while Michael Jackson's "Beat It" was playing. My students started clapping [mostly] to the rhythm and shouting: "Dance! Dance! Dance!"

And yet I digress (II)...

Instead of bringing me an apple, one of my freshman students brought me a bag with other edible plants--I would have said vegetables, but I am not sure that seaweed is technically a vegetable. She asked me how to say each one. They were, in order of inquiry:

1) Seaweed
2) Spinach
3) Cauliflower

This student actually asked (about the cauliflower), "This is a muffin, yes?" I then explained the difference between a head of cauliflower and a muffin. Somehow, though, my words were not enough of an explanation. I then used my creative talents to help elucidate the differences between a cauliflower and a muffin. Mostly, the explanation involved the key detail of what happens in an oven.

I suppose a cauliflower could go in the oven...

"Falletin Me Be Mice Elf"

Autumn is a difficult time for me to be away from the United States, from family, and from friends.

I often miss how autumn brings a transition of colors, flavors, and smells. Even though 南京 (Nanjing) experiences cooling temperatures more than 深圳 (Shenzhen), the leaves on most trees do not go through red, orange, or bright yellow phases. They immediately become brown with sickly yellow edges. They do, however, retain the gratifying crunch when stepped-on. Menus do not change, though, to favor pumpkins, apples, and spices like cinnamon, nutmeg, or clove. Pumpkins are popular year-round, and cider is completely absent in China. And I truly miss how the thick air of summer thins and reveals that lush smell of decomposition in the autumn. (Most of China has either the smell of pollution or public defecation.)

And the holidays (from October 14th through Jewish High Holidays, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and into "holiday season") trigger an automatic craving for contact with friends and family. Regardless of my criticisms of celebrating historical imperialism or commercial materialism, I, like most Americans, feel a twinge of longing for those connections we hold dearest.

Checking-In

Tai qi in the campus woods

As much as I hoped my hiatus would inspire creative thought, I have found the break from blogging (and all writing) to be mostly unproductive. I enjoyed challenging myself to reorient my approach to reflection, expression, and observation; but I require the cathartic comfort of organizing my thoughts in writing.

I think part of my frustrations with my writing lay in my undeniably narcissistic tones--I aspire for diminished ego, though. And the remainder of my frustrations lay in the cliche duality of desiring praise and recognition while fending off the pressure of expectations--according to Blogger, I have followers all over the western hemisphere and in Kazakhstan.

Regardless, I have returned with a report (or review) of first quarter academia highlights.

While I was out...

I suppose I should have expected that I would not have been able to live-up to my expectations to have posted at least one entry while on my whirlwind three-and-a-half week tour of the United States. Still, I am disappointed in myself for not writing just once. I barely even wrote in my personal journal. And I find that when I procrastinate [or avoid prioritizing] my written reflections, I tend to forget the pithy phrasings and descriptive language to which I sometimes dedicate hours of internal editing.

Alas! I have forgotten some of the whimsical and some of the refined observations on America and my American interactions that all seemed strangely familiar.

Flatirons, CO

Test: 1-2-Sibalant

On occassion, the brightest students at my school select a French song to begin our semi-weekly (or bi-weekly) English broadcasts.

I do not so much "moderate" these broadcasts (otherwise called "English Time with Mr. Elie"--pronounced "Eh-ree") since a moderator would filter content in a way that I do not. Like any good producer, I am more of a curator guiding the general direction of the twenty-minute radio-show while allowing the students to choose music and movies.

Each week, I curate two twenty-minute long broadcasts over my school's P.A. system. There are about 36 students who are paired-off in couples of one older student and one younger one. I did not do the pairing, and I suppose "Chuckles" created the pairings with the intent of older students modeling behavior and diligence for the younger students; however, the younger students have not yet realized the lameness or the completely self-mocking nature of "English Time with Mr. Elie." This means that the younger students are, more so than the older students, conscientious about practicing their parts, about mastering new vocabulary, and about really infusing emotion into their lines. The older students tend to arrive barely on-time (if at all), and they often mispronounce words without a care for my soft-voiced corrections--soft-voiced so as not to be heard on the microphones.

Assortments

I find it funny...

I cannot summon the time or energy to blog. I can barely write a full page for an entry in my own journal, and I rarely take photos these days. Now that I am drawing cartoons in my Slingshot calendar, have I lost motivation to journal in other ways? Those are but snapshots of absurdities or funny moments. They miss so much--though my more consistent smile may preclude time or mentality for dispatches to the "Traveling Onion" or to my future self (via my journal).

Maybe my daily guitar playing is serving the cathartic purpose [of escape into creativity] that my writing has done for so long. My callouses have not re-formed, so my fingers sting with the burn of shame from abandoning the instrument so long ago and from anything but spartan practice. Madness?!? This is Shenzhen.

So, here are some highlights from my current events:

-A few weeks ago, I paid off the Chinese mob with about US$250 to get a friend out of trouble at a mob owned nightclub;

Kite helper

-One day later, I accompanied a potential tutoring gig to a private party at which I was embarrassingly under dressed; luckily, I am quite used to losing face. After forcing me to drink liquor in excess while introducing me to various local officials (professors, the head of the city's train station, the city's Minister of Culture, etc.), my prospective client brought me to his three-story, mahogany-interiored mansion that is guarded by three St. Bernards. He had me listen to five gorgeous Chinese women in white dresses play music, and then he insisted I eat about twenty fresh Australian cherries. Before the night was finished, I was under the impression that he was either in the mafia or a vampire (or both);
-Classes are going really well; I am impressed with how one man's approachability increases at least ten-fold when he begins sporting a bow tie. The kids are smiling more, which means they are more relaxed, which means they are learning more, and this means I smile more. Smiles go well with bow ties;
-We currently have a couchsurfer from Hong Kong. Her name is Xiao Fay. She shares this name with my favorite hot pot restaurant: Xiao Fay Yang ("little fat sheep");
-I have begun private tutoring to become literate in Chinese. My tutor's mom will soon begin administering cooking lessons to me and a few friends;
-I'm getting to the beach.

Books, Movies, Music, T.V.: Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce, The King's Speech, True Grit, "Glass Figurine" by Andrew Bird's Bowl of Fire, Maximum Balloon, "Eleven" by Thao and Mira, Gold Panda, The King of Limbs by Radiohead, "Apollo Throwdown" by The Go! Team, Junip, Taj Mahal and Toumani Diabate, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Rome, Glee.

Bo-oh-rneo: The Right Stuff

Mes amis! I have returned to technological society from another peaceful foray into off-the-grid living. Much has shifted in my mindset since I wrote my last post, and I have returned from five weeks of vacation (Chinese New Year: 新年快乐) with a relaxed and optimistic mindset.

As per my usual laziness and my routine risk of exploding with thought-peristalsis upon returning from vacations, I will be composing this post and the next (about the Philippines) mostly from excerpts from my [new, leather-bound] journal--thanks Mom and Papa. Prior to quoting myself (i.e. "tooting my own horn"), here is an adjusted itinerary from my original plan:

01/07-09: Kuala Lumpur
01/09-13: Kuching and Batang Lemanak (Sarawak, Borneo)
01/13-16: Bintulu and Similajau National Park (Sarawak, Borneo)
01/16-18: Niah National Park (Sarawak, Borneo)
01/18-20: Miri, Kota Kinabalu (Sarawak and Sabah, Borneo)
01/20- 23: Pulau Mabul (Sabah, Borneo)
01/23-26: Semporna, Kota Kinabalu (Sabah, Borneo)
01/26-27: Manila (Philippines)
01/27-01/31: Sabang, Roxas (Philippines)
01/31-02/05: Borocay (Philippines)
02/05-07: Roxas--Capiz (Philippines)
02/07-12: Masbate, Donsol, Legazpi, Manila (Philippines)

I read eight books and saw way too many low-grade movies during that time. Here are some more thoughts.

01/07:

With my head in my hand, I still don't feel the relief of vacation. Something inside me balks as though I would wake-up tomorrow to be back at the start of today--like a Groundhog Day loop of surreal zeal and distanced hesitation.
*
I'm starting this year, this trip, and this journal as an exhausted version of myself. I'm tired of planning this holiday...of the isolation and alienation I experience at school...of planning my "next step" with only one application submitted for next year...of social stress. The vibrations from vehicular motion lure me into slumber

China Study: Case File SZ019 ("To Teach...")

 This blog post is a continuation of my last two posts.

Maoist salute at a Yao-ist temple

From discussing with other foreign English teachers our respective primary students' level of comprehension and ability, I am aware that my students are far below average. Initially, I viewed this to be a challenge. I had no false premonition that I could be a Superman teacher that would push their English language skills to new heights; I did hope that I could at least be a Clark Kent justly encouraging development and helping ever-so-rarely but ever-so-significantly. Within a month of working at my school, I realized I would be closer to a Jimmy Olson: always on the outside reflecting what is happening through a lens of biased perception and sometimes frustrated with my own inabilities in the face of adversity.

Low comprehension and ability is difficult to address with the vast number of students in a class. And, I only see each class once a week--just enough time to keep plugging away with the limited city-wide (maybe nation-wide) text books (each chapter just long enough to fill a 40 minute class).

In lieu of the past posts (including this one), my personal obstacles in my workplace include: my students' language limits, my inexperience, differences in culture, and my own emotions--whether reactive to the environment (i.e. sadness and sympathy for suppressed students) or lingering from my life outside of work.

China Study: Case File SZ018 ("Students and Discipline")

This post is to be read as a continuation of my last post.
 ***
Each of my twelve different classes has 50 students. I teach only three of the six grades at my school. I am teaching at only one of at least five primary schools (1st-6th grade) in my village of Yantian district. There are several other villages in the district, and there are several districts in the city. The point? There are lots of kids in China.

Of course, this means that funding beneficial education for all those students can be a bit of a headache. One way that China helps this economic quandary is to not make high school mandatory. High schools recruit students, and every prospective high school student needs to pass an absurd amount of tests to have their applications considered. This is high school. Not university.

Ubiquitous Chinese Picture Pose

The sad side of this solution is that the majority of Chinese children are essentially channeled straight into factories. There is not much they can do as one fish swimming in a school headed straight for the net. In many ways, the Chinese economy (and society) depends on this channeling of humanity. A good friend acknowledged how easily the tragedy of one doomed life (inevitably headed to an impoverished life of labor and pain) can be lost in the grand scope of the entire Chinese population.

Especially in regards to humanitarian pursuits (e.g. becoming a teacher), Western thinking precludes loosing sight of of an individual's tragedy. And so I cannot lose sight of how this tragedy reiterates itself hundreds of times in my students.

There are many comparable circumstances around the globe. I spent much time at The University of Michigan learning about and advocating against the prison industrial complex that leeches out many forgotten and derelict youth--a brief plug for a friend and esteemed professor's book.

Some may argue that these youth (American or Chinese) are just lucky to get any education as compared with the millions deprived as much around the world. To me, this justification is cruel, dismissive, and offensively illogical. Apples and oranges.

China Study: Case File SZ017 ("Colleagues")

Why won't you love me?

To many of you, the ensuing discussions of the hardships at my school will read as repetition for what I have already communicated. Still, I think certain clarifications and elaborations are necessary to explain why I struggle (on a near daily basis) to get out of bed and go to work. I hope to communicate my struggles in such a way as to appropriately reflect upon how challenging they are without sounding depressed or hopeless. I do enjoy aspects of my job, and I am thrilled with my life in China--when viewed on the whole.

First though not foremost in my school struggles, I need to debunk any notion that I have a shred of support from my colleagues.

My program ensured that there would be a provision of our  contract that guaranteed a "contact teacher" to act as a liaison between the English teachers and their respective schools (administrations, faculties, students, and communities). Prior to even being assigned schools, I learned that relationships between my program's past teachers and their "contact teachers" varied from close friendships to mutual abandonment as the "contact teacher" goes M.I.A. A.S.A.P. Somewhere in between lays my relationship with my contact teacher, "Chuckles."

Shick-shick-Shenma? (Whick-whick-What?)

I love communication. It's one of my passions. So, learning Chinese is an absolute blast for me. Here I am gaining the knowledge of how to communicate with 1/5th of the world. More, probably. With my Spanish abilities (and my barely remembered Hebrew skills?), I may soon be able to have a casual conversation (if not a more intense one) with half (if not more) of the world. I am as happy as a little girl!

Speaking in Chinese is difficult. I am not the first to say as much, but I will elaborate on the difficulties I perceive. N.B. I have observed Chinese people even have issues communicating with one another.

Take a look at my life, I'm a lot like you were.

Caught-up in "Maybe's"

Maybe I feel lighter.

In lieu of the recent slew of necessary questioning and searching I have conducted, I have spent some [also necessary] time contemplating the Chinese "maybe." Anyone who has held a conversation with a non-Native-English-speaking-Chinese-person knows that their individual uses of the word "maybe" are confounding, seemingly incorrect, and easily mocked. Here are some examples:

Me: There is no-one supervising that classroom and a boy just bit another boy.
Chinese Colleague: Yes. Maybe they are disobedient.

***

Chinese Colleague: Maybe you should come to the flag ceremony at 6 a.m.

***

Chinese Colleague: Maybe the school van will be there at 4:30 p.m. to retrieve you and your friends.
Me: Wait. But they are supposed to be.
Chinese Colleague: Yes. Maybe they will be.
Me: But they are contractually obligated to be there.
Chinese Colleague: Maybe they are obligated by contract. Yes.
Me: But...Um...Maybe.

***

What is to be expected? What is to be expected.

Fish don't tread water.

I would be the first to profess how foolish it is to begin a journey or even to begin most tasks with set expectations of how the journey and/or task will unfold and/or culminate. Without a certain amount of flexibility to the whims and uncontrollable forces of the world (especially in China), failure is a constant potential; disappointment, a guaranteed outcome. I know this.

Unfortunately, I am bearing witness, these days, to how knowing something and experiencing it may be stark differences that leave one questioning one's own ilk. As detailed to many of you at various points, I am enduring some trying times. Whether I am at school and facing indifferent students or abusive colleagues, or whether I am at home and elsewhere attempting to distract myself as methods of licking my recently opened wounds. There is no need to detail these trials any further, but my kind readership should be aware that I experience insecurity and stress no matter where I go and nearly no matter what I do. The stress in my life is inescapable because of how profound it is. I wish I could, as I say to myself, "Take it one thing and/or day at a time."

Teacher Learning

This past week was my most challenging week of teaching thus far. I am no longer too worried about lesson planning, and I have grown accustomed to the scaffolding of my own lesson plans as well as the mystery of whether or not my students will comprehend the topic(s). No--instead the challenges of this past week centered upon my ability to discipline children. Early on in a Monday afternoon class, I was presented with a teacher’s rite of passage: breaking up a fight.

Granted, this duty is a little more stressful and trying with older students who present more of a threat to a fight mediator. I still feel like more of a teacher on this side of that incident.

A particular child in one of my fourth grade classes was not paying attention. Instead of helping to recite the months of the year and instead of demonstrating knowledge of ordinal numbering in dates, he was using a compass and protractor to crush what I think was pencil lead but looked like it could have also been terra cotta—children will always have their mysteries. After the fleeting thought questioning what the hell he was doing passed through my head, I confiscated the protractor and the ground led/terra cotta. As I was returning to the raised podium at the front of the class, another child (sitting directly in front of the one crushing the mysterious substance) said something in Chinese and handed me The Crusher’s compass. I took it and attempted to resume class by throwing a ball to yet another student and by asking, “What day is your birthday?”

Before an answer, The Crusher had gotten out of his seat, assumed a look of ire, and had seized the lapel of the student who had gotten The Crusher’s compass confiscated as well. (The second child’s self-appointed name, by the way, is Bobo: “Like the clown!”) For a few milliseconds, I bemusedly reflected on how traditional of a way this was to start a fight. For a few more milliseconds, I expected to hear The Crusher shout something like: “You swine! I challenge you to a duel, you nefarious fiend.” And for a few more milliseconds, I placed internal bets on how quickly the fight would end given the fact that The Crusher was one of the smaller children in the class (maybe 4’ and 40-ish pounds) and that Bobo was one of the heftier children in the class (maybe 4’ 5” and 80-ish pounds).

Still, not a second passed before I jumped off the raised podium and began pulling The Crusher off of Bobo—who was barely exerting effort to resist The Crusher’s challenge. The tenacious Crusher through a punch that landed right on Bobo’s left ear; still seated, Bobo pushed The Crusher into the desks across the narrow aisle. I stepped up my intervention a notch, seeing that my restraint of force for the sake of not accidentally hurting the students may actually result in them hurting themselves through an escalation of force.

I pried The Crusher’s hands off of Bobo’s lapel and lifted The Crusher by his own lapel with my right arm while holding Bobo back with a stiff-left-arm. As The Crusher thrashed futilely while dangling in the air, the class laughed at his expense. The Crusher punched me in the chest.

The Zen Pedagogy [Dammit!]

I have found that being a foreign language instructor who does not speak the native language of his pupils has reduced me to two forms: reflecting shifter and aggravated grump. When I am the former, I picture myself like this; when I am the latter, I picture myself like this. Sometimes I transition between the two within one class period.

The zen side emerges when I encounter some success in teaching my students through a series of steps:
1) Awareness that I must reduce my speech to a basic level;
2) Passively slipping into a comfortable, concise, but very simple form of speech;
3) Seeing a glint in their eyes as they seem to have received a subconscious transmission from my brain to theirs--a transmission that imparts meaning where once there was none for the word "tired."

And it is in these moments of cosmic brilliance that I am optimistic for my current occupation. I become all the more reflective on the process by which I have created meaning in someone else's head. But, this, I believe, is where I fall out of the zen-like line of pedagogical communication.

I become too conscious about the process instead of letting it wash over me; maybe I am too resistant to remaining in an extended negation of my own education just so I can communicate with my students. To appropriately communicate with them (as they are just starting to learn a new language), I must respect them as adults, treat them as children, and teach them words as if they were babies. To do this appropriately, I need to think of what language is useful to a baby (or young child) just learning to speak. To do this appropriately, I need to, sort of, think what is useful to a baby (or young child) linguistically and pedagogically speaking.

Sometimes when I am lesson planning or [trying] to speak with students, I become all-too-aware of how simplified the language I am using is; then, I fear I am belittling the student. But, I see his or her lack of comprehension. So, I smile and continue repeating a phrase or word--all the while trying to encourage them to not worry about the 49 peers staring at him or her and, often, laughing at him or her. As I repeat the phrase or word, I see a look of pained fear and angered irritation cross their eyes (it washes over them just as easily as that aforementioned look of comprehension). Then, I become aware of how terribly annoying and cruel I must sound: I am verbally hammering a word into their face ("Mad. Mad. Mmmmmm-aaaaa-d. Mad. Mad. Mad. MAD. MAAAAAD.") while increasing my volume to compensate for the increasing volume of the classroom behind me. This poor kid must feel like I am yelling at him or her while his or her classmates are pointing and laughing. I sense someone behind me is goofing-off. I have so many reasons I want to escape this spiraling situation; I can only imagine how this kid feels. I start sweating. Or, at least, I become conscious of how much I am sweating. I smile and accept the kid's shaky-voiced attempt: "Blad."

"Blad."

Recallibrating My Settings: Nowist waijiao

I have gotten so used to moving and being in limbo this past year that I feel as though I am a robot when it comes to shifting my expectations: Peace Corps conundrums leaving me without plan (and without home), job searching in a relentlously baren job market, moving to Portland, moving back to Ann Arbor, moving to China, and, within the span of four days, moving from Beijing to a hotel in northern Shenzhen (via train) to my new apartment in eastern Shenzhen. Why should I expect anything other than more shifts in expectations?

The real kicker question: If I expect that I will have to shift my expectations, am I really shifting my expectations ever? Then, what am I actually expecting?

After I successfully "defend my honor" in a futbol match with other teachers from my school (Shenzhen Haitao Primary School), C calls me to let me know that the Shenzhen Bureau of Education has scheduled our apartment to be remodeled starting the next evening; we have less than 24 hours to move-out, and we will do so on the day before school begins. C'est la vie. The following conversation occurs between my contact teacher (Charlie) and me.

BeiDa Express

Now that I have been in China for four full weeks, the first two weeks (which, as they were happening, passed as a blur) are becoming all the more granulated as they seep into the sands of my time. There is much to be discussed, but I feel so overwhelmed with the details and anecdotes that I also feel any attempt at including all that should be included will be an inadequate attempt. So, I'll be more dilligent with my layers of thoughts and experiences.

Here was a typical schedule of my two weeks in Beijing.

(5:00--Jog around a park near Haidan Sports Complex; try to do some basic calisthenics using pull-up bars and parallel bars; brush-off stares from old women on non-electrical, outdoor ellipticals while I brush-off sweat accumulating at a pace on par with my sweatiest sauna experience--the dense air pollution in Beijing only exacerbates the fatiguing summer humidity and heat; try not to laugh as ping-pongers grunt and sing during morning training sessions without ping pong balls on the park's ping pong tables; consider the spiritual and physical benefits of those walking and performing tai chi clapping exercises; stretch, shower, bemoan the inescapable scent of backed-up sewage)


7:00--Wake C; get dressed for a day of classes and teaching; and leave the hotel for a jian bing (a street vendor produced breakfast crepe that costs US$0.50 and features egg, chili sauce, scallions, and garlic); grab a cup of coffee at a bakery--I only realize a week after ordering coffee without cream that I had been ordering coffee without breast milk; review Mandarin flash cards or finalize the details of the day's lesson plan.