I recently stumbled upon this video of my grandparents’ 80th birthday celebration from May 2009. At the time, I was based in Beijing on my Fulbright, and my parents were visiting China from the U.S. to visit my mother’s side of the family in Nanjing. We had an elaborate dinner at a nice hotel by 玄武湖，Xuanwu Lake, several blocks from my grandparent’s home on 中央路, Zhongyang Lu, one of the main thoroughfares of the (now rapidly expanding and increasingly unfamiliar) city. It was the second time in my lifetime my entire mom’s side of the family had congregated under one roof.

The atmosphere was festive: it was loud; there was storytelling and laughter; there was an overabundance of food, drink, and cake (most of which had to be taken home, as pictured below). The dinner also featured the typical birthday customs for celebrating longevity and honoring elders: long life noodles, peaches, and a gold thread hand-embroidered character for “longevity,” 寿 (shòu). It was the classic Chinese dinner party.

While the birthday celebration brought everyone physically together, and despite having visited Nanjing numerous times over the years, I had never felt close to my China-based family. Tried as I might, I could not relate to them. I cannot remember a single time that I’ve hugged any of my Nanjing relatives. Sometimes, I would get a handshake. Two of my male cousins were obsessed with video games that consumed their after-work lives (how they have girlfriends is beyond me), thus hindering any chance of human-to-human interaction. My younger (also male) cousin, who tested into a university in Hainan, dropped out because he couldn’t bear to be so far away from home. Now he’s studying logistics at a vocational college in Nanjing and going through the typical middle-class urban teenager angst-against-the-world phase, albeit a several years later than the average Western boy. I rarely saw most of my aunts and uncles, who had moved to the suburbs to be closer to work. Bottom line: I didn’t know them well enough, and they didn’t know me either. I was an elusive presence, related by blood but completely different in demeanor and outlook. While I don’t know them well, Nanjing has and will always be associated with them, as if their presence were a constant.

It came as a surprise to me when my grandfather passed away on February 23 of this year. How could he be gone? Every time I visited, we went through the same routine. He was always sticking his head out the window or pacing around the neighborhood as he awaited my arrival from the train station or airport (or my return if I had stepped out to wander the streets). Upon reuniting with my grandfather, we would reenter the gate of their apartment complex and bump into neighbors lounging in an old La-Z-Boy or preparing vegetables for dinner. Every time, my grandfather would smile at them, point to me, and say, with his chin proudly cocked towards the air, “This is my granddaughter. She is from the U.S.” Upon climbing the three flights of stairs to their home, his usual routine would be to point at photographs of me as a young child that were placed under the glass tabletop, and tell me that was me, as a young child. Then he would ask me if I remember sitting on the back of his bicycle as he navigated the complex and intertwining neighborhoods when I first visited in 1990. Unfortunately, the conversation never veered too far from that.

Now, upon rediscovering and watching the video, I was reminded of each of my relatives’ unique personalities—however vibrant or dull—and I wished that I had been able to experience more, so that I had a deeper impression than my extremely superficial knowledge of their lives. With three out of four of my grandparents gone, I feel immense regret to have failed to hear and understand their stories, opinions, and points of view. I hope this is the last time I let memories and stories slip away before I have a chance to hear them, remember them.

Rest in Peace, 公公.

My last day in China, Saturday, September 4, was fraught with goodbyes-that-aren’t-really-goodbyes (we all hate finality), frustrations and sadness. In the morning, my friends came over and cleared out my electronics, blankets, sheets, cookware, silverware, dishes, spices, bicycles—anything that wasn’t going in my suitcase. In the afternoon, I cleaned out my Chinese bank account, exchanged everything to USD, and closed the account. Then came the challenges.

Challenge #1: Getting my rent deposit back from the landlady

Ah, the landlady, someone who is defined by her difficulty to understand and communicate with her tenants. Originally I was going to get my deposit back on Friday, but then she took it back. “What if I give you the money back, and by the time you leave Sunday, the apartment will be broken in half?” I reassured her that if I had lived in the apartment for 9 months without burning the place down, she could trust that I wouldn’t do it in the next 48 hours. Despite my efforts, she refused, citing that upon returning the deposit, I must return the keys and find somewhere else to live until I fly out. “This is how it is done in China. This is how it is always done in China.” I told her I could gladly wait until Sunday if she would like to come over to the apartment at 4am in the morning. We finally agreed on Saturday.

Despite promising to return my deposit around 3pm on Saturday, she procrastinated until 5:30pm, when she finally went to the bank to withdraw my cash. I told her that I needed to go to the bank to exchange the money into USD, and now it would be too late (banks close at 6:00pm). I asked her to do it for me: 1500 in RMB, 2880 in USD. She retorted, “What is this 2880? Why this number? You can’t make things difficult for me! I’m just going to exchange 2500RMB, if you have a problem with it, deal with it.” I told her 2500 is fine.

Five minutes later, she called, asking, “Do you have any more RMB? The bank just gave me 2500 in USD instead of changing 2500RMB into USD.” She refused to exchange it back into RMB because of the unfavorable exchange rate. I replied, “I’m sorry, I have no RMB. I already exchanged everything into USD.”

Karma?

Challenge #2: Getting the deposit back on my water tank (for the water cooler)

I called the water company at 3:00pm asking to come over and return the deposit on my water tank. He said to call at 6:00pm, when they’d be less busy. So I called then, and the employee there refused to come over to return the deposit, saying, “The boss isn’t here, I have no money. We can come on Monday.” I told him: a) I leave the country tomorrow so there are no other opportunities to come and b) it’s impossible for a business that works with cash transactions to not have money, and c) to scrounge up 50RMB for reimbursement when the boss returns. After 10 minutes of bickering on the phone he hesitantly agreed to return my money between 6:30 and 8:00pm. I told him that I do not have time to sit around and wait, and he basically told me to suck it up.

By around 8:00pm, I had already left the apartment and gave the water bottle and deposit receipt to the front desk. I then called the water company, who did not pick up (must be caller ID). I proceeded to call the water delivery man, who was saddened by my departure and was there within 10 minutes to return my deposit to the front desk. He called again, asking if we would ever see each other again, and wished me endless success and happiness in life. After this exchange went on indefinitely, mission: accomplished.

Challenge #3: Proving “Customer is the emperor”

For dinner, a friend and I went to a restaurant for a free meal due to points on a benefits card. Since we had just had a free meal last week with the same set menu, we asked the waiter if we could choose other things on the regular menu, such as sandwiches or salads or other entrées. He said yes, and I chose sea bass and a chocolate dessert (instead of red snapper and carrot cake).

By the end of the meal, he came over and brought over a check for 128.00RMB. He came over and explained, “You had only asked if you could exchange for a sandwich or salad, not another entrée. So this is why I am charging you.”
We asked, “Why didn’t you tell us you would charge us when we ordered the dish?”
“I am sorry about that. If it would be any better, you can pay for half of the price and I will use money out of my own pocket to pay for the other half.”
“Please bring the manager over.”
“Please, let us handle this between us. You can pay half and I will pay the other half, is that okay?” (Does this ever happen in the U.S.?)
“No, please bring the manager over.”
After, again, much bickering, the manager came, apologized for the mistake, and excused us from paying.

I am lucky that in the end everything worked out, but I wonder if it was worth the price of wasting so much time dealing with it. There is no doubt in my mind that I needed a break from living in China, but there is also no doubt that living there has taught me so much.

However, this last event has changed the way I look at promises made by Chinese people forever. While searching for a new apartment, I stumbled upon a little 50sqm gem right between 东四十条 Dongsishitiao and 东直门 Dongzhimen. I asked the agent whether there was a couch and other furniture included, and he replied, “Yes, of course.” The next day I went in to sign the contract, and asked the landlady when she could move a couch in.

She responded, aghast, “I never said there would be a couch!”
“But the agent told me that you would provide one? Where am I going to sit?”
The bickering continues for several minutes. To which the agent interjects and says, “I will buy you a couch, okay?”

My situation was complicated. I was originally leaving China, but received a job offer that would keep me here for a little longer. By the time I realised I should find a new place before I went home, the pressure was on to find a new place and move everything in in less than 72 hours (yes, it’s possible). Thus, I signed the contract, moved in, took his word, and left for two weeks—in theory giving the agent ample time to secure the right couch.

I return to China and call him after settling in. ”Oh, hi,“ he begins, “I will work on it, it’s been busy here, I’ll get back to you later this week.”
He did not.
I called him on Friday, and asked, “So…how’s the couch search coming along?” He said he needed some extra time. Fine.
No word from him all weekend. Then I call six times on Monday and he does not pick up. I call him ten times on Tuesday, then switch phones and call. He picks up immediately. I say, “Why are you ignoring my calls? Do you not have any respect?” To which he responds, “Hello? HELLO?! Hello?” And hangs up on me. I proceed to frantically call him back-to-back-to-back until he finally turns his phone off.

Consider this lesson learned.

Karma will get him back, and I may expedite that process through one or more of the following:

• Post his number on personal ads as a beautiful single Chinese woman wanting to marry a rich, white male;
• Advertise “special services” with his phone number;
• Make stickers advertising the purchasing of your unwanted pharmaceutical drugs and post them everywhere ;
• Or find out where he works and punch him in the face

Yes, I am working with limited resources here (his phone number, his name), but if the 人肉搜索 human flesh search engine has shown me anything, the power of Google can never be underestimated.

But recently, I have found that bad things (be it sickness, bruises, or men) don’t go away by themselves. I thought I could trust my body or time to heal blemishes and wounds, but I was wrong.

I. Sickness
Last winter in Harbin, I made my third trip to one hospital (fourth trip overall) after the doctor made me take a CAT scan and a breathing test. I was suffering from breathing problems. She told me that I needed to spend at least one week living in the hospital to get medicine administered via IV for my sickness. Excuse me, what? Are you just trying to milk me for my money? I refused to pay exuberant amounts of money for something that can be solved without needles.

Upon arriving in Beijing, I saw a special Ears, Nose, and Throat doctor at a private hospital. He reviewed the x-rays, CAT scans, and breathing tests from Harbin and said, simply, “You have bronchitis and sinusitis.” Was it really that easy? How come my disease was a complete mystery in Harbin? Then, upon taking three weeks of antibiotic prescriptions and starting antihistamines on a daily basis, I was almost back to normal.

II. Bruises
In November, I went snowboarding and, not realizing that snow in China (did I say snow? I meant ice) is nothing like the snow at Lake Tahoe, bruised my knees pretty badly. In fact, in retrospect I’m pretty sure that I had ruptured a blood vessel. I left it alone and hoped that, like all bruises, it would improve with time. However, last week, there had been no noticeable improvement in my legs. In fact, the bruise had spread to other parts of my leg.

In December, I went to a special doctor that deals with fracture wounds. They deemed nothing wrong with me, warned me to be more careful, and stuck a smelly herbal compound they created on my knee, told me to keep it on for five days, and that was that. The bruise faded, and the swelling subsided.

III. Men
Men (and women) also don’t go away without medicine. Sometimes that medicine is “ignore” or truth (e.g., “No, I do not want to be your girlfriend.”).

So, I have learned that medicine–be it a [smelly] homemade Chinese herbal remedy or a dose of truth–can do lengths, and there are certain circumstances when they are welcome saviors to dire situations.