quelquefois

In thirty-three days, I will be boarding a flight back to California, and I don’t know when I will be back. Though I have endless memories, both happy and sad, I still feel as if I hadn’t written down as much as I’ve wanted, I hadn’t taken enough photographs, I hadn’t seen enough things, made enough friends. Between finishing up my Fulbright grant, studying for the GRE, applying for graduate school, and starting full-time work, the past few months have melted away without a chance for reflection or relaxation.

While I am ready and excited to start the next chapter of my life, a part of me is sad to leave China. Luckily, once I get home I’ll have more time for myself (and graduate school applications!!), for photography, for fast and uncensored internet, for all the other things I enjoy in life.

One thing I’ll miss about China: women in pajamas and hair curlers on a
public street playing with dogs (and naturally with 10+ people
crowded around taking pictures and gossiping)

With all that’s been going on in April, I haven’t yet had the chance to reflect on everything I did in March. My roommate and I set off for Shenzhen on March 2, after not sleeping a single wink the night before. It always makes sense at the time (and believe me, I do this 90% of time I have flights in the morning), but I am also always wrong. We checked in, found our gate, thanked our lucky stars that Beijing International Airport does not have armrests between its seats, and passed out for XX minutes until the plane was ready to board. Everything that morning was fuzzy. I managed to clock out of consciousness the second passengers were allowed to put their seats back.

Almost at the gate!

Passed out.

The Hong Kong leg of our conference was spent trying to balance spending time downtown (e.g., Hong Kong Island) and sleeping, as our dorms (yes, dorms) were way out in the New Territories. Despite being in the middle of nowhere, Fulbright did treat us with by arranging dinner and cocktails one evening at the U.S. Consulate General’s House.

The view was stunning. Can I live here? Please?

Oh my god. Nomnomnom.

Macau was a memorable experience, though it was unfortunate that it was raining the majority of the time. The Macau Tourism Board gave every Fulbrighter a red hat that said “MACAU” and had a stitching of the Ruins of St. Paul on it. Though it provided insufficient protection against the rain, it painted an ironic picture (we had become one of those tour groups with color-coordinated outfits) and a few laughs with it, too.

Torrential rain
Soaked through

The Red Sea

We listened to an innumerable amount of droning, monotonous lectures about history, politics, culture in Macau. Despite the many hours wasted spent listening to these lectures, we were given ample time to explore Macau. What better way to explore Macau than to eat Macanese cuisine and go to casinos? Macanese cuisine (Chinese + Portuguese + seafood) was delicious, and I have to admit, their egg tarts are the best I’ve ever had. I was able to wander around the Venetian, the world’s largest casino, though I didn’t gamble. There was an actual man-made canal inside the casino with artificial lighting that made it look like it was daytime. It was ostentatious and over-the-top, but how can it be a casino if it weren’t?

The Venetian

I think this woman’s expression exemplified our lecture series well.

All-in-all, a successful conference. I was able to catch up with many other Fulbrighters whom I haven’t spoken to or seen for a while. It was inspiring to see and hear what everyone was doing with their projects, as well as any happenings and developments–personal and professional—outside of research.

On March 18, Yang Yuanyi finally left work at Pingod and went home, an hour away from Xi’an in Shaanxi Province. We still keep in touch by sending the occasional text message, but I’d like to see him again in a year or two. Just to see how he’s changed since I last saw him.

I always have these fantasies of revisiting people I met years ago. For example, I often think about the Uyghur men in Yarkant, Xinjiang that I spent the night with in a desert. I wonder if they are still there, if they’ve grown, or if they’ve lost any more teeth since I last saw them. It’s like the ancient version of Facebook stalking.

March 2 was the last morning I saw Yang. When he told me that I’d probably never see him again after this day, I was almost certain that he was bluffing. Every other time he’s said he was quitting (e.g., in January, February), it never materialized. Though I am sad he’s gone, I am happy we parted on good terms. It was certain to me that his willingness to come back at 4 a.m. after he left at 2:30 a.m. on March 2nd was a sign that he considered me his friend.

It may be weird when I head back and he won’t be there anymore, but, like with all other things, life moves on.

This photo was probably taken at some ungodly hour in the morning.

Goodbye, Yang.

Julia: I need to sleep earlier because I have class tomorrow.
Chang: Yeah, I should sleep earlier, too. *stuffs an Oreo into mouth*
Julia: Which also means we need stop eating so late.
Chang: Ugnghampppphhh

Wang Zhiqiang (王志强) is the other one of the guards I became friends with. I’m unsure of whether he takes his job less seriously or, because his status is a tad higher than Yang’s, he has more freedom, but he is much more willing to speak to me [while working] than Yang was.

He first started talking to me after I gave Yang my mobile number. He said, “Hi! I do not mean to disturb you. You may not know who I am, but you remain fresh in my memory (记忆犹新)! Can we be friends?” and “I am Yang’s friend, I also work at Pingod. I’ve seen you a few times, but you don’t know me! You gave Yang a brownie to give me, do you remember? Although I was able to eat it, I was not able to see you!” We continued to text each other, though sometimes it would be hard to maintain a conversation, as I know what he does every day from 3 p.m. to 11 p.m., and know that he doesn’t go far when he isn’t working.

* * *

One day I went out with him to get noodles and he told me his personal story.

His mother first married a taxi driver and had two daughters with him. Her first husband left her after he had an affair with a mistress. Wang’s mother kept one daughter and the other one went with the father. After a while, ahe remarried and had two more sons, one of which was Wang Zhiqiang. Wang’s father died when he was 8 from lung disease. At the age of 8, there was no one to make money in the house or 劳动力 (laborforce, manpower) so he and his brother (then 11) worked in the fields instead of going to school (though at one point he had finished middle school).

After a few years passed, a friend told Wang’s mother that there was a man whose wife left him for another man. He was looking for a new wife. Wang’s mother asked her children if it was okay that she marry him. They agreed, and she moved out. A year later, Wang’s sister married and moved out. Wang and his brother had the home to themselves, and couldn’t make enough money with the crops, and had to sell their cows and soybeans. They had nothing left, so they decided to go out and find opportunities elsewhere.

Wang has, since he left, worked in factories making pants, been a waiter, worked at the front desk of a hotel, been a guard at a ski resort, and now, at 21-years-old, a guard at our apartment complex.

Wang watching fireworks

Wang and Yang playing with fireworks

He’s a sensitive and caring person, but naive beyond all hell. But it’s hard for a man like that to grow emotionally when, at such a young age, he had to take on such responsibilities and forgo living a child’s life. I am unsure of whether he has ever had a girlfriend, which is probably why he took on to liking me so suddently. While, I applaud his bravery in taking the initiative to speak to me when we first met, and tell me his feelings as our friendship developed, the reasons are too many why we aren’t more than friends.

* * *

Just as I thought I would still have a friend at Pingod, Wang told me on Thursday that he may be leaving soon, too. A new group of guards-in-training arrived at the apartment complex this past week, and apparently they’re there to take over all of the current guards, who will then be placed in other security jobs across Beijing.

I asked him what he thought about the change, and he said he was ready and welcoming of it. The situation that he’s in is truly despicable, and he hopes that things will improve with change. (Sounds like he just endured 8 years of George W. Bush). I wish him happiness as he transitions to his new job, and hope that he and I will continue to be friends.

I try to befriend those who work to keep my life clean and safe, including 服务员 (servers), 保安 (security guards), and cleaning ladies. They have interesting stories and share nuanced viewpoints you cannot get from Chinese students or books. I am unsure how many Americans living in China know how underpaid and overworked they are, but I try to make it so that their job is more bearable. The last thing they need is another douche expat to deal with.

We live in a pretty upscale building, and I have made it my goal to befriend the security guard, named 杨远益 (Yang Yuanyi), who works from 3 p.m. until 11 p.m. every day of the week. He stands all afternoon and evening, because he is not allowed to sit. A draft usually pours through the double doors as residents flow in and out, drenching the first floor with a bone-chilling cold. He wears an oversized guard coat and guard hat, that, despite his young age and the obvious ill-fitting, still manage to look incredibly flattering on him. While his co-workers wear sneakers, he even has sleek black shoes to match his outfit.

One evening, Julia and I baked brownies and brought them down with glasses of milk to share with him. He responded that he could not eat, so he just drank the milk. Our conversations always fall dead after a few minutes, not from running out of things to say to each other, just because it gets so awkward that it becomes too uncomfortable to continue. We left two pieces of brownies with him, though we never knew if he liked them. He never said anything.

* * *

Most of the time I speak to him, he is so shy he cannot even look me in the eye. One day we were talking, and he asked if I’ve ever been to 紫禁城–Forbidden City. I replied no, and Julia and I proposed we all go together sometime. I gave him my phone number and we started to text each other. I told him we wanted to play with him. From what I got in his text, he seemed happy, excited, even.

The next morning I received a call asking if we’d like to go to a market. I hadn’t woken up by then, and neither had Julia. We declined.

The guards who went to the market got in trouble. They weren’t supposed to freely walk around, even though they weren’t working at the time. I deeply regretted turning him down that morning.

* * *

He’s a different person in his texts, on the phone. His voice is more animated and he speaks with confidence. His texts are more truthful than anything he ever says to me face-to-face.

Yang: 土豆白菜 (Potatoes and cabbage)
Me: 是你最喜欢的菜吗？(Is that your favorite dish?)
Yang: 不是，是我最讨厌的两个菜，因为我天天都吃那两个菜吗！(No, they are two of my most hated vegetables, because I only eat these two things every day)
Me: 有天我们一起吃别的菜吧 (One day we’ll eat different dishes together)
Yang: 好吧！希望我能等到那么一天 (Okay! I hope I can wait until that day)

Julia, Yang, and myself after setting off sparklers for the Lunar New Year (25 January 2009)

About to set off more fireworks (30 January 2009)

* * *

Our friendship has, relatively speaking, grown leaps and bounds since the last week of January. Yang (and a few of his co-workers) has been up to our apartment a few times, and stayed for a while to watch TV or log on to QQ (a chat program similar to MSN or gchat)–a luxury they haven’t been able to enjoy. They’ve eaten curry, rice, northeastern Chinese sausages, and dumplings at our place. We even try to hang out after they get off work at 11 p.m. by making plans to go to the local noodle stand and eat a steaming bowl of 刀削面 （dao xiao mian, knife-shaved noodles).

* * *

He’s clearly unhappy, and it’s readily apparent in his expressions and texts. He can’t do anything; he’s sheltered in a small living community when there’s the whole world to discover. He’s leaving on the 15th to go to home before he finds another job in the south.

I wish him the best. I hope he finds happiness.

I got this in a message today:

i miss you too amy. u know i used to kinda like you back in the day.

Kinda? Why would you even tell me that?

Today I will be throwing out all of my dairy products. The melamine milk scandal just continues to spiral deeper and deeper into trouble. Not long after I posted about melamine in milk and yogurt products, I went on a rampant search to find what exactly those “eight out of 30 [Yili] products” were. I searched English news websites, Chinese news websites, the Chinese Ministry of Health website, all to no avail.

But then all of Hong Kong’s supermarkets started to recall all of Yili’s products. When precautions made on behalf of a government are that intense, something’s gotta be up.

I have to wonder, why does China not take preemptive measures so that events like this don’t have to happen? It is only when it it’s too late (i.e., people die, are hospitalized, etc.) that the government takes action. Talk about losing face. But that’s how China works, and something tells me that unless major government reforms are implemented, it’ll stay this way.

I love deleting things for the sake of consolidating. Recently I’ve been deleting Wall posts on Facebook, which has proven to be tedious, but also reminiscent of the good ol’ days of immaturity. That is not to say I’m no longer immature, it will just no longer be apparent on social networking sites. I started off with about 1,700 wall posts, but now I’m at 951. Oh, it’s been a long journey.

Walking with a great friend through the Thayer Street bus tunnel at 2 a.m., singing, laughing, and temporarily blocking out the laundry list of tasks I was destined to face at 2:22 a.m.