The Apple of Katie's Eye

Cross-cultural Cuisine: This One's for You, Mom

"Four more bites, and stop crying."  These are the words that so many loved picky eaters hear growing up; And I was no exception.  OH, those blissful times sitting at the dinner table by myself, after everyone else has left, glaring at my meatloaf while contemplating the best moment to slip the last 2 out of 4 bites to my dog (I was always too chicken to actually do it.)  Eventually, my merciful mother, feeling sorry for this stubborn, skinny 7-year-old, comes out and softly coaxes me into taking another bite, while trying not to laugh. Soon, I'm skipping off to watch Nickelodeon, unaware that you, Mom, YOU were making me a better, stronger, more open-minded person.  Yes, you were.  And now, this ex-picky eater must admit, Meatloaf March potlucks are now my favorite!

Last term I made a goal to take each of my students out to dinner at some point throughout the year to get to know them better.  Chinese students--never to miss out on an opportunity to practice their English-- always willingly oblige. And a lot of great things have come from these outings.  It wasn't long, however, that I learned to fear these words: "Traditional Food."

Let me tell you about the first time this phrase was used in a conversation with me: A sweet girl with excellent English, Teresa, tells me how excited her parents are that she is eating with her English teacher and they've instructed her on a traditional specialty that she should introduce to me.  "OK!", I say energetically.  And so on the way to dinner we make a stop to try a famous local beverage that's been around for 130 years. (I may, or may not have made this fact up.)

"Oh, a drink", I think. "Well, this can't be so bad."  As we near the window I see some strange pieces floating in the beverages being served.  Teresa's friends politely decline a cup, and although this makes me a bit concerned, I know there's no backing out on the hospitality being offered me.  

I take a sip and feign a smile that I'm afraid came out as a grimace.  

"Do you like?"  Teresa asks nervously.

"Mmm! So, what's in this?"

"Sperm."

~Moment of silence as I ever so deliberately finish swallowing.~

"Reeeally... Fr-from an animal?"

"Yes, do you like it?"

"It's interesting! So, it's umm, sperm. From an animal."

"Yes, from in the sea."

There are two choices at this point in time. Either, I throw the cup of sperm into the trashcan and, thus, throw away any chance of friendship with these sweet girls, or... I drink it.

"Oh."  And... I sip... and actually swallow. (All modesty aside, I deserve a medal.)

I've seen some pretty bizarre dishes on menus.  So, I didn't doubt it right away.  Endurance my friends.  This is what gets you through.  In my last 8 months in this fine country I have sat through many a meal chewing and swallowing without grimacing.  I have mastered the technique of scooting food around my plate and popping the occasional tiny piece of tofu, cow's stomach, or meat gelatin into my mouth in order to satisfy the gracious host.  You see, there's something called "saving face" in these parts.  If you make it clear that you don't like the food you've so generously been given, you would be forcing your host to lose face.  And, well, that just isn't nice.

I must urge you not to assume that I don't like Chinese food; really, I have come to love just about anything any street vendor will will dish out.  It's these "famous foods" that I am occasionally graced with that pose the ultimate challenge. 

As we continued our walk to the restaurant, I grasp at one last semblance of hope and turn to Teresa, "You know, are you sure you have the right word? For... this?"  Teresa promptly digs out her phone to reference her Chinese-English Dictionary.

A moment passes and I watch the realization flush her face.

"Shrimp.  I mean to say Shrimp." And she looks at me, mortified, and I look down at my half empty cup, and I can't help it-- I laugh. Hard.  I can't stop laughing.  Finally, she laughs.  And then we're all laughing.

I couldn't have done it without you, Mom.  One small bite of meatloaf for picky eaters, one giant cup of shrimp juice for friendships between all eatingkind.

Saturday.

Well, I just had one of the best two hour conversations of my entire life!  One of my friends left just a few minutes ago and t's now 11:37 PM. I was worried that I was going to fail on Day ONE of my new blogging endeavor. We're cuttin' it close, people!

Allow me to fill you in on a typical Saturday in the life of Jessica.  Today, I woke up... erm.. let us just say, ridiculously late.  Usually one of my students comes on Saturday mornings for my Chinese lesson, but he had called me last night asking if we could switch to Sunday afternoon.  So, I enjoyed my shameful amount of sleep, thank you very much.

The afternoon past swiftly, I practiced the guitar a little, downloaded some lessons from Chinesepod.com (learning Mandarin? Check it out! It's awesome), did some dishes (pause for Katie to remember why she loves me), and yelled at our obese rabbit that jumps on every surface available in our apartment about... 235 times (approximately).

Every other Saturday, I host a singing devo. at our apartment.  So, I grabbed some rice noodles mixed with egg and lettuce for dinner at Sogo (our local super cheap food spot), then bought some snacks for the group at the nearby little corner store, where I'm pretty sure I provide the owners with 90% of their income, and awaited the peeps.

Being that we Americans stay pretty busy with special studies among other things these days, I ended up being the only American and the only believer able to be present at the event. Despite being the only one who knows the songs, we had a great time!  About 10 friends showed up, and I ended up singing a few partial solos.  Upon finishing a Chinese song that we sing just about every Sunday with the Family, all of my friends applauded~ They are easily impressed and just sweet~ but I'm not so sure that they get that reading Pinyin is incredibly easy compared to their memorization of thousands of characters.  Anyway, after an hour or two, everyone left, except for one of my friends, Alexander.

Alexander has been studying regularly with Zack for quite some time, and has been searching for answers for a while, as well.  Under Zack's tutelage and his own dedication, his knowledge of the Good Book is nothing less than impressive.  Somehow we ended up in a long conversation about all of his doubts and concerns about the faith.  I can't remember ever feeling so pumped after a two hour conversation.  I was actually trembling.

Strange, isn't it, that when talking about someones doubts and fears it can make you feel more self-assured in your own beliefs?  I have no doubt that HE was with me throughout the conversation.  Answers flowed from my mouth so easily, it amazed me, and I knew I wasn't alone.  We had long moments of silence and contemplation, and at one point I even allowed myself to let the words that we believers so often fear admitting more than anything, "I don't know." I believe that Alexander had asked something about why miracles don't still happen, and why, in light of his sacrifice, it all had to be the way it was, instead of another way.  I gave him a few theories, talked about how the plan seemed, in many ways, to be perfect, but, in the end, I told him I couldn't fully comprehend the mind of the Almighty.

I don't know all of the answers.  No one does.  But I believe that more than sufficient evidence has been placed before me, to lead me to believe what I do.  And my admission surprisingly seemed to spur one of the most logical and evidence-driven people I've ever met towards positive interest rather than cynicism.

At the end of our conversation Alexander was quiet, "I need some time to think about all of this." And as he left, "Thank you, I know something from you."  And I looked at him and realized as I said, "I know something from you, too."

Light the firrrreee... on my behiiiinndd

Ladies and Gents, it is time.  Time for an intervention.  Yes, I am intervening on behalf of myself.  Too many wonderful things have happened. Too, too, too many wonderful things have happened and have not been recorded.  My first year in China is coming to a close in no time at all!  And so few tales have been told.  It's a travesty.

From now until June 20, 2010 (the day before I fly back to the US for summer Holiday) I will write a blog post every day.  That's right EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

It might not be magnificent.  It might not be more than a few sentences.  But it will be a post.  And that's better than no post.

For it is time to reflect on the beautiful things in life, right here in Yichang, and to share them with my readers.

Until next time.... (Tomorrow : )

COMMIT *gulp* MENT

Hello,

Are you planning to stay for the next year. I hope you can, the student loves you, and the teaching office gives you good appraisal; that makes the university offer you a second year contract, and you will get raised in the second year.

If you are planning to stay for the second year, please let me know.

Cordinally,

Jian Qiang

I got this email recently.  It sits unanswered in my inbox.  It breathes down my neck and makes me sweat... no rhyme intended.  I was so preoccupied with the terrifying stench of commitment upon first read, I didn't even chuckle at the precious spelling of cordially.  I see it long after I've closed my internet and shut down my computer. The words dance inside my eyelids as I drift off to sleep.  Choices, choices.  I once begged an English professor at Harding University to choose a paper topic for me.  "Why?" he replied.  "Because I'm so indecisive! I drive myself crazy."  I said pathetically.  A slow smile crawled across his face, "You sure about that?"

For those who haven't heard, after weeks of painful "pro" and "con" list writing, prayerful consideration, and begging just about anyone to make my life decisions for me, I've decided, Lord willing, to come back to China for the Fall term after summer break.  I'm not sure if it's a serious case of cold feet, or what, but I've been kind of freaking out about this decision.  You may be thinking, "Honey, we are talking 6 months here, not eternity" and to this I would respond, I am turning 25 this fall! Next stop THIRTY, hello!!! Who will be here to tell me I am being ridiculous on my birthday, and my forehead wrinkles don't look that bad. Besides, pick the plank out of your own pupil!

OK, where was I before I started arguing with myself? Ah, yes- I trust that He will take care of me, but with my three closest friends here, leaving for good, I find myself becoming more keen on the idea of staying in Florida, kissing on nephews and nieces, being able to drive a car, turning on the television to find people speaking English, going a day where I eat food devoid of heaping amounts of oil and MSG. . . . you know, things like that.  I'm not going to round this post off with a moral, or the way I've come to realize I shouldn't worry about tomorrow, for today has enough worries of its own.  (Although, I know this to be true.)  Rather, I will ask you-  Pray for me.  And while you're at it, consider joining me in China, OR ELSE. Just kidding. (But seriously.)

Recall

Do you recall when I chatted with you

As I combed my Barbie's hair?

You were like my super imaginary friend;

Intangible, but I knew you were there.

 

Remember when I made a deal with you

After school on the bus?

I said if you gave me a boyfriend

I'd still (mostly) focus on us.

 

How about that time I sat in the dormitory,

Lost in confusion of where you were?

Hot tears, accused you of not listening,

Not hearing a single word.

 

Should I remind you of the time,

My trembling hand signed that contract?

I dared you to follow me,

Bit my lip, and apprehensively packed.

 

Why is it only after I've choked down humility,

And with a raw throat, sung your song,

That those lyrics, I finally recall?

I AM here, will be there, and was all along.

I AM here, will be there, and was all along.

Another week has come and gone.

Just one week ago, two members of our small family abruptly move to Wuhan. Their arrival into our lives the term before had been a gift, a sign that the work we were doing was wholly good, and so we begin to doubt. The night we find out, I fall asleep whispering pleas to Him for encouragement.

The next morning, a sister is born.

Days ago, that same sister abruptly finds out the job she has applied for, has a position ready for her. We try to keep our heads high, still excited for the new life she has chosen, and glad for her success in finding work. So, we say our goodbyes and she moves on.


This morning, we meet with our Sunday Crew, trying not to notice who isn't there. No extra chairs have to be pulled forward, no one needs the lesson interpreted. And then a friend tells us he wants to be our brother. And I look around the room at the rest of my Yichang family soaking in the elation of the moment.

You know, what's funny? Going in, he hit his head. Hard. But he's ready to give it another go. And so we try again. This time he tilts his head forward, and is finally fully immersed in His commitment. And we sing and hurriedly swipe at the tears, knowing full well the wonderful joy that comes despite the bumps. And quite inexplicably, the room is full, again.