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.

One day in November, when only 2 elevators in my 40-storeyed apartment worked (which is often the case), I decided again that descending 11 flights of stairs is not a strain. However, when I reached the dark stairwell around floor 2, I almost stomped into a  huge pile of shit.

Seriously? You’re almost home. I understand the urgency associated with having to wait for the elevator, but–excuse my description–if it was still a recognizable mass, it really couldn’t have been that bad, could it? And let’s not mention the time in Harbin when I saw a grown woman crouching at a bus stop during rush hour doing you-know-what. Oops, I just did.

Public urination and defecation should really be censured and discouraged. If not by the government, then at least by passersby who I am sure find it just as uncomfortable to watch as I do. This applies to other nasty habits that Chinese people exhibit, from public spitting to cutting in line to smoking inside the elevator. It’s not Western cultural imperialism, it’s basic respect for other people.

Though on the positive side, their knowing no limits means they can replicate sections the Great Wall in chocolate and likely pull it off in a kitsch-tastic manner , and like my coworker demonstrated earlier this week, they can come into work immediately after the last final exam of their undergrad career. They can erect buildings with cunning speed, they can they persist and maintain positivity through tumultuous times, all while remaining relatively modest about their achievements.

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, ? (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 ??, 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, ?? (Laotian), would introduce me to other swimmers.

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

Him: ?????????????????I am scared of immigrating to the U.S., because I am scared of discrimination against me because I am Chinese.
Me: ??????????????????????????????????????????????????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: ??????????????????????????????????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: 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.

This is the most ridiculous piece of journalism I have encountered in a while. That people still label countries (or parts of countries) as “exotic” is beyond me. Granted, much of Asia is still a mystery to many Westerners, but that is no excuse to call a culture exotic.* If anything, it a) just proliferates the need among Westerners to “understand” a supposedly mysterious and remote culture by infiltrating or dominating a foreign civilization (a la imperialism, colonialism), and b) perpetuates the notion of “Orientalism,” a European concept invented to label Asia as a place of exoticism, romance, and ancient mystique (see, for example, Edward Said’s Orientalism).

While there is a need to understand different cultures, and while a great way to understanding those cultures is to immerse yourself within it, it is not acceptable to frame those cultures as “the other,” something so profoundly new and in contrast to ordinary Western customs. The colonialistic/taming-the-exotic-for-the-West actions that follow this mindset that this article suggests we (as Westerners) do should not be spread, but countered.

Any thoughts, comments, critiques, counter-arguments welcome.

*I admit, Chinese people also exotify Westerners to some extent. To many Chinese, they are all blonde-haired, blue-eyed moneyed beauties. However, in my experience I have yet to encounter a Chinese person who has wanted to explore the free West and debunk their mysterious, rich, contemporary lifestyle.