Wk 1
Only one week later and Beijing feels so distant, both literally and figuratively. There's plenty not to miss in theory about the city, but the familiarity of my routine there, the sorts of people you see and interact with, the ways of interacting ... I miss it all. While it's nice to have birds chirping down a tree-lined street of rowhouses, free performances at the Kennedy Center each night, or easier access to cafes and bookstores in English, it sucks not being able to start up random conversations with people (and give them meaning); not being able to blend into the masses (SE DC is mostly, if not all, black; and in general, there are few Asians anywhere around town); not being able to talk in Chinese; the list could go on. I've been cooking a lot, which has helped with the transition. Because I cook the same way wherever I go, that helps Boston, Winter Park, Beijing, and DC have something in common.
Standards are different here, a point that hit me last week when I attended a brown bag conversation on discrimination in the shelter system. The speaker was describing how terrible it was for some shelters to subject guests to communal showers and bathrooms without doors, which was met by gasps of indignation in the audience. Not that I ever got my share of communal showers, but I sort of wanted to share how I peed in front of way too many people on a not-infrequent basis in Beijing. It's great that the US system is advanced to the point where we can be so concerned about personal privacy, but frankly, I don't think a lot of people realize how good they have it here.
Well, that was self-righteous, wasn't it? Didn't mean for it to come out that way.
As for meeting people around town, I went to a Shabbat dinner with my Jewish co-worker, where I met some folks in their Jewish service corps program. They were generally nice, friendly, and they made great food; but the likelihood of re-connecting on my own (or their) initiative is probably slim. There was a blonde from Berkeley, who was a bit trying to interact with -- we came across each other again yesterday by semi-chance after a documentary viewing on L.A. garment workers. Imagine her outside the theater: "O my god, that was like, the best movie ever; I like cried through the whole thing. Seeing them lead those lives, like, really makes me want to get involved and do something." This coming from a girl who delights in stalking her ex via the Philippines Craigslist during work. Then there was another girl who would shove her head into another's armpit while clutching her waist; or a very Jewish-looking guy who decided to play the "Do you know [insert person's name] at Harvard" game with me at length. When we discovered that one of my freshman entrywaymates was a mutual acquaintance, he proceeded to share how she fell to #3 her senior year after three years of being #1 in the class. And, he wondered whether E. still wears "those really short skirts? We were always like, wow" (not the good sort of WOW).
This will all take time. Ann tells me to be patient (in general). I recently came across Peter Hessler's _River Town_, which is a travel memoir of his two years teaching for the Peace Corps in Sichuan. I remember Shelley saying once how good books made her sad in knowing that they would end, and I feel very much that way about _RT_. It has, in addition to my cooking, been a good transition tool for me as of late.
I just get lost in nostalgia sometimes. Funny how things always seem better/less bad in retrospect.
Standards are different here, a point that hit me last week when I attended a brown bag conversation on discrimination in the shelter system. The speaker was describing how terrible it was for some shelters to subject guests to communal showers and bathrooms without doors, which was met by gasps of indignation in the audience. Not that I ever got my share of communal showers, but I sort of wanted to share how I peed in front of way too many people on a not-infrequent basis in Beijing. It's great that the US system is advanced to the point where we can be so concerned about personal privacy, but frankly, I don't think a lot of people realize how good they have it here.
Well, that was self-righteous, wasn't it? Didn't mean for it to come out that way.
As for meeting people around town, I went to a Shabbat dinner with my Jewish co-worker, where I met some folks in their Jewish service corps program. They were generally nice, friendly, and they made great food; but the likelihood of re-connecting on my own (or their) initiative is probably slim. There was a blonde from Berkeley, who was a bit trying to interact with -- we came across each other again yesterday by semi-chance after a documentary viewing on L.A. garment workers. Imagine her outside the theater: "O my god, that was like, the best movie ever; I like cried through the whole thing. Seeing them lead those lives, like, really makes me want to get involved and do something." This coming from a girl who delights in stalking her ex via the Philippines Craigslist during work. Then there was another girl who would shove her head into another's armpit while clutching her waist; or a very Jewish-looking guy who decided to play the "Do you know [insert person's name] at Harvard" game with me at length. When we discovered that one of my freshman entrywaymates was a mutual acquaintance, he proceeded to share how she fell to #3 her senior year after three years of being #1 in the class. And, he wondered whether E. still wears "those really short skirts? We were always like, wow" (not the good sort of WOW).
This will all take time. Ann tells me to be patient (in general). I recently came across Peter Hessler's _River Town_, which is a travel memoir of his two years teaching for the Peace Corps in Sichuan. I remember Shelley saying once how good books made her sad in knowing that they would end, and I feel very much that way about _RT_. It has, in addition to my cooking, been a good transition tool for me as of late.
I just get lost in nostalgia sometimes. Funny how things always seem better/less bad in retrospect.