quelquefois

It’s not easy being a woman in China. In the workplace, women face the glass ceiling phenomenon, but there’s also a sticky floor, wherein women in low-paying jobs get paid less than men of equal skill level. In their personal lives, they are bombarded by images in mass media, telling them they need to be thinner, fairer, taller.

While many societies promote equal political and social rights for women (China being one of them), it’s rare to see it fully implemented in practice. This entry is about when I’ve received some sort of discrimination based on my gender at the pool. I don’t have any specific conclusions or policy recommendations; this is just a story of my life in China.

When I was studying in Harbin last year, I often went to Heilongjiang University’s pool. Every time I went, I stuck out as one of the fastest swimmers in the pool. I befriended the lifeguards there, who welcomed my presence every time with a smile and a wave. One lifeguard, 李 (Li), in his late 40s, single, would often swim with me and race me. He always tried to invite me out to another pool he worked at during his off days from Heilongjiang University, though due to the distance and time constraints, I never made it out.

In order to let him know when I’d be heading to the pool (we became swimming partners), he took my mobile number. Sometimes I received texts that were written to be mass forwarded to friends–ones that wished health and happiness, success in life, and happy holidays. Eventually, he asked me to have a meal with him. I agreed, seeing no problem–friends have meals together, too. We dined, and afterward he insisted he show me his shabby apartment, adorned with tacky posters and trinkets collected from his many years in Harbin. He had a medal and trophy case, for the many times he’s won swim races. We took a photo together and I left. Simple as that.

At one point, he started telling me he loved me, that he wish he could be with me, lamenting the age difference being the only barrier to our being together. I cut off communications then. And then that’s when he would call and text nonstop. I felt sorry for 老李, but never responded. How did the concept of friendship become “love” so fast?

*    *    *

Once I moved to Beijing, I got a gym membership and spent most of my gym time in the pool. Again, the lifeguards immediately noticed me, smiled whenever I came, asked me how I was, and suggested workouts for me. Then, over time, one lifeguard, 老田 (Laotian), would introduce me to other swimmers.

One time, a swimmer, 王 (Wang), and I had a conversation:

Him: 我怕移民到美国，因为我怕受到歧视。I am scared of immigrating to the U.S., because I am scared of discrimination against me because I am Chinese.
Me: 这是免不了的，无论在哪国家，社会不是完全平等的，有些人会在某方面（社会地位、职业、性别等）受到歧视。But this is unavoidable. Regardless of what country you live in, society is not completely equal, you will face discrimination in some respect (be it social status, your profession, your gender, etc).
Him: 在中国我很满意因为我不受到歧视，你在中国应该没问题吧？不会受到歧视？I am happy to live in China because I am not discriminated against. You shouldn’t have any problem here either, right?

I went on to tell him that, in fact, China is a very discriminating place. He did not believe me, so I started giving examples. First, I told him that if I don’t speak Chinese absolutely fluently, I can be marked as an outsider, a non-Chinese. Secondly, I told him that if I were not a woman, but a man, that swam like I did in the pool, he would not have even noticed me. And that’s not even touching on the many other ways women and foreigners are discriminated against in China. His eyes showed a glimpse of understanding, though he never conceded to my argument.

*    *    *

While the topic of “discrimination” is worthy of many posts and debates, how it has affected me personally led me to wonder whether I would have gone without this sort of attention if I were male. I wouldn’t be watched and pointed out to every time I swam when the lifeguard(s) I knew were on duty. I wouldn’t have to defend my right to ride a red and black road bike as opposed to the low bar, pastel-colored, single-gear bikes. Any male friend who swam well has never gotten the kind of attention I have, but is that a result of Chinese females being less forward and confrontational? Are men better swimmers than most women?

Is the attention negative? Never. These men have all been incredibly nice and well-meaning. However, their professions of love, the fact that I cannot swim in peace, and the need to worry about how to turn someone that I might have to see every day down is more than I bargained for when I signed up for the gym.

Cabbie: Men should have two women in their lives. One to be by their side, and one in their heart (he meant in his pants).
Me: Do you have two women in your life?
Cabbie: Yes, of course.
Me: What about women? Can they have two men in their lives?
Cabbie: I haven’t thought about it. 我对这没有研究.

Cabbie: How old are you?
Me: 23.
Cabbie: And you’re not married yet?
Me: I don’t even have a boyfriend.
Cabbie: You don’t even have a boyfriend?!? I think it’s time you put less focus on your work life and focus on finding a husband and settling down. You should let the man take care of everything, then you can stay home and relax. How great would that be?
Me: Actually….
Cabbie: [continues to ramble on about men being breadwinners, women being homemakers]

Cabbie: You know why women would be bad doctors? Because they’re too emotional. Let me give you an example. A woman has breast cancer, goes into a woman doctor. This woman doctor may think to herself, “I want to let this woman keep as much of her womanly features as she can, because I know it is important to her identity as a woman. Thus, I’ll try to remove as little breast tissue as I can.” Men? They’re pragmatic. They think, “Cancer is bad, I will remove any remnant of cancer, regardless of what it takes.” Then just slice off everything. See? Then you never know, cancer may just come right back if a women operated.

Actually, I should have titled it “Being Lectured by a Misogynist Nanjing Cabbie,” because I didn’t really converse with him. It was more him talking at me than with me.

A few days ago, I found out that one of my male Chinese friends has gone to another city in China become a “duck” (鸭子, 男妓). I was actually quite unfamiliar with the phenomenon and even laughed when someone told me he went to go 养鸭 (yang3 ya1, raise ducks, a euphemism for male prostitution), because at first I thought he became a duck farmer.

The name “duck” complements their female counterparts, who are called chickens, (妓女). According to The Observer, more and more Chinese women “buy a duck for a few hours of chatting, drinking and flirting.” While ordering a duck used to only be prevalent among middle-aged women, increasingly more younger women are also finding ducks to accompany them through a night of drinking, karaoke, or more.

I became curious as to the life of a duck in China and searched some blogs and forums.

One 19-year-old said on a forum:

I am a 19-year-old duck. My family is poor. I am a high school graduate, and it is imperative for me to find a woman to take care of me, I can do whatever she wants me to do!…I can visit your home every day to serve you. My information is as follows…

I want to find a woman to accompany me for life, doesn’t matter if you’re older or younger, just love me! I will be with her forever.

And some responses are as follows:

218.28.106.*:

I despise you

6202687:

Fuck!!! There’s no other way! I only have this skill! It’s so sad, it’s not easy being a duck! And I have to take medicine every day, and now I have to change my kidney. I have been a duck for 3 years already. It’s okay when I meet a beautiful girl, but an ugly one…#$@#%!! let’s not talk about it. I once met a 40-year-old woman, looks not too bad, but she wanted too much. One night I didn’t rest, did it 12 times, each time was 1 hour long. The second day I bent my waist, held the wall, and had to go two hours before being able to leave. You think this is easy?

磨力游:

Males and females are the same!

横扫の千菌:

I’m speechless, you cheap embryo, you make men lose face. Don’t think that because of your innocent little face you’re great. So you’re attractive, but can you spend money and use credit cards? Fuck, even selling yourself online now. Shameless!

218.28.78:

I support you!

Other websites have blog-like entries detailing their first experience or their experiences being a duck. Some are drawn in by the prospects of making a year’s worth of earnings in mere months, others feel like they want more freedom in their life. Though it sounds fun to hang out with women and drink and play all night, like any other profession in this field, there are drawbacks as well: sexually transmitted diseases, depression, being tricked/kept from leaving, being stigmatized in society, among many other concerns.

There’s also a video made about [gay] male prostitutes in China:

I texted my duck friend–who hasn’t told me his new direction in life yet–though I haven’t heard back from him. I hope to get some inside knowledge, but I’m not sure whether he’d consider it losing face to speak to me about it. In the meantime, his 叔叔 (literally uncle, but also means older friend, does anyone know if this also means “pimp” in duck vernacular?) called me the morning after I sent the text, and said that he went home for the night, saying “这里没活干了,” “There’s nothing left to do here tonight.”

I really don’t know where some of my ideas come from. For example, in order to keep from growing a resistance to medicine’s effectiveness and subjecting my body to unnatural chemicals, I have adopted the take-if-you-really-need-it approach to medicine. It’s as if my taking a few days or weeks of medicine will change human DNA for generations to come. But seriously, it’s not a bad idea, right?

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.

There’s this man whom I met two months ago named 周杰 (the name is so close to 周杰伦, or Jay Chou, but he couldn’t be further from it). He insists on calling me “小胖子” or “little fatty,” when I’m not even fat, I just (to put it in the words of Vicky Chao) weigh more than 100 pounds. Apparently, he also thinks I’m an idiot. Here is an excerpt of a conversation we had today:

Man: 我吃的是绿色的菜花. (I had a green floral vegetable.)
Me: 西兰花？(Broccoli?)
Man: 哇，对！你怎么知道？我还以为你不知道中文怎么叫呢。(Wow, yeah! How did you know? I didn’t think you knew how to say it in Chinese.)
Me: 开玩笑吗？(Are you kidding me?)

西兰花, xī lán huā: n. broccoli

Who doesn’t know how to say “broccoli” in Chinese? Even foreigners learning their first year of Chinese know how to say it. Is this a jab at my intelligence? Should I be making fun of him for not being able to fit into regular pants (he’s a student at an athletic university in Beijing, and I think his legs are too 粗, thick, to fit into anything but sweatpants)? Should I make fun of him for his st-st-st-stutter?

No, I won’t reduce myself to his level. I’ll just stop picking up his phone calls. I didn’t come to China to have my intelligence underestimated and to feel bad about my body when there’s nothing wrong.

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.

In a strange turn of events, Yang has severed ties between himself and us. I am still unsure of the exact reason why, or whether multiple reasons all came together and prompted him to act this way. It could be many things, but some things aren’t meant to have an answer. It must stem from assumptions made on both sides, and the inability to completely explain oneself due to linguistic and cultural differences.

Yesterday, he texted me and asked me to forget we ever knew each other. Later that night, he said he felt like our relationship had suddenly changed back to being strangers. He started to speak to me condescendingly, “Is what I’m saying so profound that you cannot understand what I am trying to tell you?” Then, as if we were all of a sudden equals again, says “all banquets come to an end,” and that he wants to “end the banquet earlier,” so leaving won’t be as hard, so he wouldn’t feel 依依不舍 (unwilling to part).

It was a weird way to terminate a relationship with someone, and I learned the lesson of being more careful when making friends. I don’t know how willing I will be in the future to put myself out there for people like this. I just hope that I made his life happier, a little more bearable while he worked at Pingod. Maybe one day he will appreciate what Julia and I did for him.

Today I had an appointment at a Western hospital in Beijing. Although I am many hundreds of USD poorer (hopefully only temporarily until insurance pays me back), I finally know what the fuck is wrong with my body. I have sinusitis and bronchitis, and the sinusitis’ post-nasal drip is causing my phlegm. I will take antibiotics and antihistamines. Now, China, was it that hard?

On my way home from the hospital, I found Jenny Lou’s, a western grocery store with inflated prices (haha, kind of like Whole Foods, but dirtier). I thought it would be appropriate to make myself feel better about spending a lot of money by spending more money. So I bought alcohol (rum), cheese (halloumi, cottage), cereal (panda peanut butter puffs), and four loaves of bread (vegetable, pretzel, whole grain, banana). I also went into the local organic supermarket (yeah, I didn’t think they existed in China, either) and found avocados.

Oh, and I come online and find that access to the NYTimes has been restored. Life is complete.

Why, all of a sudden, are so many of you interested in me? In the many times I’ve come to China, I had not spent as much time with Chinese men at all until this fall. But through various interactions with various types of men in the past few months, I think I learned a lot about you.

I understand what the words that come out of your mouths mean. Want to watch a movie? It means you want to make out. Want to drink tea? It means you want to have sex. Want to come see my house? It means you want to have sex. It’s okay for you to cheat on your wife (and your child), because you have money and status symbols such an Audi and a vrooooom gas-guzzling Land Rover. It’s also okay to do anything you want, because you are a man.

You don’t have to get incite a physical fight with another man over me. Don’t bring baristas who work at your cafe along with you for a night of drinking to show your power over other people. And don’t let them do the fighting for you.

Stop being so clingy. You don’t have to call me 40 times a day (literally) and send me text after text. Much less to confirm whether I got your previous text. It does not work when you cry and tell me you love me, you love me, you really really love me. Showing your desperation really just makes me want to play with your emotions (forgive me). And seriously, if you really wanted to see me, you’d find some other way than through the phone.

I’ve had enough of you, kthxbi!

Sincerely,
Girl who needs her space. Really.

French wine, dark chocolate, jazz, sweats，and the feeling that you still got it goin’ on.