At the Center of the World, V. 15
(originally written on December 14, 2003)
Hello, and many, many greetings.
Today is the beginning of my 24th year into life. Before you ask, no, I do not feel any older. I do feel wiser, and that is a good thing.
I now have a computer, on which I have gleefully installed my first Chinese games. Although one of them is entirely in Chinese, the other two I have had fun playing with during my free time this weekend. No doubt they will save my sanity, at some point in the future.
This issue of ACW is a special one, because I am going to give you a glimpse into a week of Ben. You see, the ancient Norse had a unique way of celebrating birthdays, which was not to receive presents, but to give them. And since I rather like that, this is my present to you.
Sunday, December 07, 2003 - Wooden Dolls and Disco
The room is dark, save for the red light in the corner. The red haze is painted across the walls of the little room.
I relax on the couch, folding one leg under my other, pulling my hood over my head, trying to visualize what happens in here at night.
The girl who brought me is speaking with her friend, who owns the disco. I can't help but wonder if they are going together, even though as soon as I think it I chide myself as being over anxious and sligtly silly. I tell myself it's a thought, anyways, and it's already happened, so there's no need for further negotiation with the forge of my mind.
On the table, between the couches, is my gift from a friend in Beijing. It's a little wooden doll: two coconuts, with one coconut cut in half so that it looks like a person. The inside is hollowed out, and a sprig of what appears to be broom material is tied at the top to look like hair. I'm told it is called a wei wei. I'm slightly amused.
Monday, December 08, 2003 - Number Seven Bus
My hood is drawn up again. It seems everywhere I go, this hood covers me, hiding me. People are never surprised to see me anymore, for even when they look into my face, they probably only see the cold wind. The surprise of a blond-haired, blue eyed young man has worn off, and been replaced by the reality of winter.
Chunks of blackened snow are thrown in a pile on the sidewalk. The winter wind burns. Behind me (I cannot see because of the hood) is a potato steamer, with her bicycle cart, her steam barrel, and seven steamed potatoes arranged on the edge of the barrel to show her expertise. A few people are crowded around the barrel, money withdrawn.
Two women stand next to me, waiting for the number seven bus. They look at my face, and then begin to talk. I do not understand what they are saying, but I know it is something about foreigners.
The purple bus arrives, and droves of people who one moment ago did not exist, shuffle from behind me, pushing past my big coat and onto the bus. I realize what is happening, and hurry, stepping in front of a young woman, my money withdrawn.
Tuesday, December 09, 2003 - The Child Within
They stand around me. They pull my untucked shirt, and then tug on my pants. They cling to my legs. They are laughing, and crying out "yingwen laoshi, yingwen laoshi!" I can hear the joy in the voices, and I wonder what it is that brings it out - is it me, some strange facet of my smile that makes them so happy, or it is the knowledge that I allow them to tug on my shirt? Or it is something more mysterious, something deeper that I could never understand?
I look around for their chinese teacher, but she has disappeared. I break away from the children, and find her sitting in a dark corner, trimming her nails. She looks up at me, palely smiling, and then turns back to her nails. I shrug, run back to my seat, sit down, and say in a loud voice, "Good morning!" And the children echo in response. I am delighted.
Wednesday, December 10, 2003 - Feasting the Mind
I listen to him speak.
He says that cartilege should be exercised, and he tells me that the best way to exercise cartilege is to do stretches in the morning and at night, for about ten to fifteen minutes. There is a Greek named Pilatus who makes exercise videos which are excellent, he says. And you can buy these videos at most American video stores.
I pick up a clump of mi fan with my kwaidze, and then use my spoon to dish up some of the peppered dofu. I worry about the sweetbread on my plate, because I forgot to dry the bottom of the dish before I put the bread on, and I worry that the sweetbread is going to be soggy on the bottom.
I ask him if cracking your knuckles is bad for your cartilege, and he tells me it is not. He explains that when you crack your knuckles you are releasing gas pockets in your body, much like popping bubble paper. He laughs when I suggest that it is bad for the body, and he reaffirms that to exercise the cartilege is the best thing you can do for your bones, in order to prevent the onset of arthiritis in old age.
Some of the teachers walk in the kitchen. They look at us sitting at the table, and I know they are thinking that we are slow eaters, because we are sitting at THEIR table, the one they usually sit at. But they smile, gather their bowls, and begin lunch.
Thursday, December 11, 2003 - Generally Speaking
She speaks to me and says, "Good evening."
I turn my head, a bit surprised, and wander into the store. She's never spoken to me before in English. Curious. I look at her, dressed in her all red supermarket uniform, and she smiles at me, and then looks away, back to what she was reading, one of the Chinese newspapers.
As I browse, a new supermarket worker follows me, eyeing me. He is a boy, which surprises me, because all of the other workers were female, at least, for the past two months. He seems to take his job very seriously, and his eyes are like two hawks circling a roving herd. I suppose then, that that makes me the herd.
I change aisles, and he steps away like a cat, avoiding to bump into me.
I try and move to the other side of the little store, but he follows me. I walk faster, but he follows. I finally resort myself to the ice cream freezers, purchase my food, and step back into the freezing air.
Oh well.
Friday, December 12, 2003 - Hanging with the Boys
My hands are freezing. I know I should run back to my room and get my gloves, but I am much too caught up with what I am doing. I can see the red on the tip of my skin, but my bones feel anything but cold.
I hold a sign in my hands. At least, it used to be a sign. The letters have been taken off, and the backside of the sign is filled with snow. I am running forward, one of my new friends at the school having hooked a shovel onto the sign. He is also running forward, dragging the sign, along with me.
We pile the snow we just shoveled into a gigantic mountain of dirt and ice. I shake my hands and try to get the warmth back in them, and then grip the wooden stick again for another round.
The men are speaking to each other, complaining that the work is so hard. I concur with them. This is hard work. I can hear them talking about me, saying "meguoaren," but I say nothing. I have learned that although it's not a complement when they speak behind my back, neither it is an insult, even if it is an insult. It would only be an insult if I recognized it as such.
And since I can't understand what they are saying, I really have no idea if they are saying anything demeaning. So I assume the best, and go for another round. The ice proves to be somewhat of a deterrant, but one of the men takes his shovel and cracks the ice, and then pushes it away with his foot.
Saturday, December 13, 2003 - The Chicken Who Crossed the Road
The little boy stares at me. I look forward, out of the window, watching the people stroll by the street, trying my best to look mysterious and wise.
I take a bite of my chicken sandwich.
The mother and her boy next to me stand up, and walk out of KFC. One of the workers comes by immediately and picks up the tray, and then disappears.
I recall that while in line two people cut in front of me, to get free food from their prize coupons. I, of course, did nothing. After the first lady stepped in front of me, I was a bit surprised, but I did not say anything. After the little boy cut in front of me, I decided that I would make this into a cultural experience, and experiment how many more people would cut in front of me while I was standing next to the register. No one did, but I think my experiment worked out just fine.
I move seats to get the glare of the sun out of my eyes. I look over to the boy, and his mother smiles at me. I smile back, and the two whisper something to each other.
I take another bite from my sandwich. It is good, but the mayonnaise is different, sweeter, and thicker than what I've known.
Sunday, December 14, 2003 - Cleaning
The machine rumbles like a rock tumbler. I know it's the American jeans inside. The plastic tub jumps and shakes, and then begins to whirr.
I hang some socks on a heater, next to a white button-up shirt and a grey sweatshirt. I look at my watch.
3:15pm. I remember starting this ordeal at 12:20pm. At home, it's so much simpler. Just toss your clothes into the big scary box, turn it on, and go out and rent a movie. After the car pulls into the driveway, you walk back into the house, pop the movie into the player, and start folding.
My hands have shriveled up from the cold water inside the washer. I breath on the tips of my fingers, suddenly imagining I am braving the cold at ten thousand feet, clinging to a pole that is pitched into the side of an ice cliff.
And then I realize I'm just washing my clothes.
And so, once upon a time...
These little images were taken from a new website of mine, which I call my "Travelogue," which is located here: http://www.greatestcities.com/users/seeberger/ There are more than that week on the website, and if you check it from time to time, you will notice that I am attempting to write one image per day. Note the word: attempting. So far, it has worked like a charm, and I have had beautiful results, and that is my plan, to continue as done.
Until next time,
Benjamin Seeberger
http://cultured.fishspeaker.com
The People's Republic of China,
Heilonjiang Sheng, Mudanjiang Shi,
Fuminjie dong xiao liu tiao Lu,
Dong an qu,
Jia Mei You Er Yuan
Cell: 011-86-1384-539-6271 (currently not working)
--
If you are going to reply with a request to be removed from my friend's list, then please read my user info first.
Hello, and many, many greetings.
Today is the beginning of my 24th year into life. Before you ask, no, I do not feel any older. I do feel wiser, and that is a good thing.
I now have a computer, on which I have gleefully installed my first Chinese games. Although one of them is entirely in Chinese, the other two I have had fun playing with during my free time this weekend. No doubt they will save my sanity, at some point in the future.
This issue of ACW is a special one, because I am going to give you a glimpse into a week of Ben. You see, the ancient Norse had a unique way of celebrating birthdays, which was not to receive presents, but to give them. And since I rather like that, this is my present to you.
Sunday, December 07, 2003 - Wooden Dolls and Disco
The room is dark, save for the red light in the corner. The red haze is painted across the walls of the little room.
I relax on the couch, folding one leg under my other, pulling my hood over my head, trying to visualize what happens in here at night.
The girl who brought me is speaking with her friend, who owns the disco. I can't help but wonder if they are going together, even though as soon as I think it I chide myself as being over anxious and sligtly silly. I tell myself it's a thought, anyways, and it's already happened, so there's no need for further negotiation with the forge of my mind.
On the table, between the couches, is my gift from a friend in Beijing. It's a little wooden doll: two coconuts, with one coconut cut in half so that it looks like a person. The inside is hollowed out, and a sprig of what appears to be broom material is tied at the top to look like hair. I'm told it is called a wei wei. I'm slightly amused.
Monday, December 08, 2003 - Number Seven Bus
My hood is drawn up again. It seems everywhere I go, this hood covers me, hiding me. People are never surprised to see me anymore, for even when they look into my face, they probably only see the cold wind. The surprise of a blond-haired, blue eyed young man has worn off, and been replaced by the reality of winter.
Chunks of blackened snow are thrown in a pile on the sidewalk. The winter wind burns. Behind me (I cannot see because of the hood) is a potato steamer, with her bicycle cart, her steam barrel, and seven steamed potatoes arranged on the edge of the barrel to show her expertise. A few people are crowded around the barrel, money withdrawn.
Two women stand next to me, waiting for the number seven bus. They look at my face, and then begin to talk. I do not understand what they are saying, but I know it is something about foreigners.
The purple bus arrives, and droves of people who one moment ago did not exist, shuffle from behind me, pushing past my big coat and onto the bus. I realize what is happening, and hurry, stepping in front of a young woman, my money withdrawn.
Tuesday, December 09, 2003 - The Child Within
They stand around me. They pull my untucked shirt, and then tug on my pants. They cling to my legs. They are laughing, and crying out "yingwen laoshi, yingwen laoshi!" I can hear the joy in the voices, and I wonder what it is that brings it out - is it me, some strange facet of my smile that makes them so happy, or it is the knowledge that I allow them to tug on my shirt? Or it is something more mysterious, something deeper that I could never understand?
I look around for their chinese teacher, but she has disappeared. I break away from the children, and find her sitting in a dark corner, trimming her nails. She looks up at me, palely smiling, and then turns back to her nails. I shrug, run back to my seat, sit down, and say in a loud voice, "Good morning!" And the children echo in response. I am delighted.
Wednesday, December 10, 2003 - Feasting the Mind
I listen to him speak.
He says that cartilege should be exercised, and he tells me that the best way to exercise cartilege is to do stretches in the morning and at night, for about ten to fifteen minutes. There is a Greek named Pilatus who makes exercise videos which are excellent, he says. And you can buy these videos at most American video stores.
I pick up a clump of mi fan with my kwaidze, and then use my spoon to dish up some of the peppered dofu. I worry about the sweetbread on my plate, because I forgot to dry the bottom of the dish before I put the bread on, and I worry that the sweetbread is going to be soggy on the bottom.
I ask him if cracking your knuckles is bad for your cartilege, and he tells me it is not. He explains that when you crack your knuckles you are releasing gas pockets in your body, much like popping bubble paper. He laughs when I suggest that it is bad for the body, and he reaffirms that to exercise the cartilege is the best thing you can do for your bones, in order to prevent the onset of arthiritis in old age.
Some of the teachers walk in the kitchen. They look at us sitting at the table, and I know they are thinking that we are slow eaters, because we are sitting at THEIR table, the one they usually sit at. But they smile, gather their bowls, and begin lunch.
Thursday, December 11, 2003 - Generally Speaking
She speaks to me and says, "Good evening."
I turn my head, a bit surprised, and wander into the store. She's never spoken to me before in English. Curious. I look at her, dressed in her all red supermarket uniform, and she smiles at me, and then looks away, back to what she was reading, one of the Chinese newspapers.
As I browse, a new supermarket worker follows me, eyeing me. He is a boy, which surprises me, because all of the other workers were female, at least, for the past two months. He seems to take his job very seriously, and his eyes are like two hawks circling a roving herd. I suppose then, that that makes me the herd.
I change aisles, and he steps away like a cat, avoiding to bump into me.
I try and move to the other side of the little store, but he follows me. I walk faster, but he follows. I finally resort myself to the ice cream freezers, purchase my food, and step back into the freezing air.
Oh well.
Friday, December 12, 2003 - Hanging with the Boys
My hands are freezing. I know I should run back to my room and get my gloves, but I am much too caught up with what I am doing. I can see the red on the tip of my skin, but my bones feel anything but cold.
I hold a sign in my hands. At least, it used to be a sign. The letters have been taken off, and the backside of the sign is filled with snow. I am running forward, one of my new friends at the school having hooked a shovel onto the sign. He is also running forward, dragging the sign, along with me.
We pile the snow we just shoveled into a gigantic mountain of dirt and ice. I shake my hands and try to get the warmth back in them, and then grip the wooden stick again for another round.
The men are speaking to each other, complaining that the work is so hard. I concur with them. This is hard work. I can hear them talking about me, saying "meguoaren," but I say nothing. I have learned that although it's not a complement when they speak behind my back, neither it is an insult, even if it is an insult. It would only be an insult if I recognized it as such.
And since I can't understand what they are saying, I really have no idea if they are saying anything demeaning. So I assume the best, and go for another round. The ice proves to be somewhat of a deterrant, but one of the men takes his shovel and cracks the ice, and then pushes it away with his foot.
Saturday, December 13, 2003 - The Chicken Who Crossed the Road
The little boy stares at me. I look forward, out of the window, watching the people stroll by the street, trying my best to look mysterious and wise.
I take a bite of my chicken sandwich.
The mother and her boy next to me stand up, and walk out of KFC. One of the workers comes by immediately and picks up the tray, and then disappears.
I recall that while in line two people cut in front of me, to get free food from their prize coupons. I, of course, did nothing. After the first lady stepped in front of me, I was a bit surprised, but I did not say anything. After the little boy cut in front of me, I decided that I would make this into a cultural experience, and experiment how many more people would cut in front of me while I was standing next to the register. No one did, but I think my experiment worked out just fine.
I move seats to get the glare of the sun out of my eyes. I look over to the boy, and his mother smiles at me. I smile back, and the two whisper something to each other.
I take another bite from my sandwich. It is good, but the mayonnaise is different, sweeter, and thicker than what I've known.
Sunday, December 14, 2003 - Cleaning
The machine rumbles like a rock tumbler. I know it's the American jeans inside. The plastic tub jumps and shakes, and then begins to whirr.
I hang some socks on a heater, next to a white button-up shirt and a grey sweatshirt. I look at my watch.
3:15pm. I remember starting this ordeal at 12:20pm. At home, it's so much simpler. Just toss your clothes into the big scary box, turn it on, and go out and rent a movie. After the car pulls into the driveway, you walk back into the house, pop the movie into the player, and start folding.
My hands have shriveled up from the cold water inside the washer. I breath on the tips of my fingers, suddenly imagining I am braving the cold at ten thousand feet, clinging to a pole that is pitched into the side of an ice cliff.
And then I realize I'm just washing my clothes.
And so, once upon a time...
These little images were taken from a new website of mine, which I call my "Travelogue," which is located here: http://www.greatestcities.com/users/seeberger/ There are more than that week on the website, and if you check it from time to time, you will notice that I am attempting to write one image per day. Note the word: attempting. So far, it has worked like a charm, and I have had beautiful results, and that is my plan, to continue as done.
Until next time,
Benjamin Seeberger
http://cultured.fishspeaker.com
The People's Republic of China,
Heilonjiang Sheng, Mudanjiang Shi,
Fuminjie dong xiao liu tiao Lu,
Dong an qu,
Jia Mei You Er Yuan
Cell: 011-86-1384-539-6271 (currently not working)
--
If you are going to reply with a request to be removed from my friend's list, then please read my user info first.