Okay I am going to try using this post-by-email feature that blogger has because going through VPN is just not happening anymore. Good news is that my sick is going away pretty quickly it seems, maybe this afternoon I'll actually be able to make use of my 400rmb gym membership. (Most PIB students go to Pulsation Fitness, which seems to be the only nearby option if you need a treadmill, weights, etc. although there are a few outdoor weight machine things and tracks open to students.)
This Friday afternoon, after all tests and important work, some friends and I went to Houhai for a visit. It was a nice if slightly foggy day and on the lake were small electric boats that visitors had rented and were driving. Watching them bump into things as the sun set somewhere out in the distance made for a pleasant walk.
After sundown saw yet another one of my awkward linguistic slip ups. As more and more people began to crowd the streets, we finally sat down on the roof of a bar. Each of us ordered a minimal amount of alcohol to justify our existence there, and each time the waiter would arrive to ask if we'd like anything else, I'd just reply "I think we're okay." So when the waitress came and asked us something, I thought she'd meant if we'd like to order anything else, to which I replied "I think we're okay." Her asking "what do you mean you're okay?" and seeing the look on her face let the awkwardness quickly sink in -- she'd wanted us to pay.
Awkward encounters like these, though minor, seem to nicely reflect what it's like to be Chinese-American here. On the streets of Beijing, everyone assumes you're Chinese. Haven't-even-boarded-the-boat Chinese. Nobody asks to have their picture taken with you, or wants you on their TV show (these things actually happen). Bus operators look at you funny when I can't read schedules. And you can't always explain my (lack of) background, that you grew up in a mostly-white neighborhood in a suburb of New York and almost exclusively spoke English at home.
But of course I can only speak for myself. There are a lot of other huayi students in my classes (well of course since I'm in the Chinese-American track but also at PIB in general), and plenty of them speak, write, and read a lot better than I do. A few probably rightly think this kid should spend less time whining on his Beijing blog and more time doing his homework.
In the end, (and this is something of which I sometimes need reminding) it's not about what's impressive. Whether or not you're a huayi, I still think it's worth it. It's worth it to experience China in Chinese, to get to know your relatives beyond language barriers (for those to whom this applies), or even just to develop the alternative perspective that a second language brings. It's worth it to get out of the American bubble (sort of like the Yale and Princeton bubbles but larger and with fewer salmon-colored pants), and take a look at the rest of the world.
And there are advantages to being a Chinese American in Beijing. Whether you grew up in a bilingual household or lost your command of Chinese by age 3 (me), it is easier to pick up a language if you spoke it even a little as a kid. You have a feel for the grammar from those pre-12-language-sponge days, a bit of vocab, and a family's worth of people to practice with. You don't get stared at on the streets or accosted for pictures. It's a different perspective, but a worthwhile one as well.
Blah blah blah,
---
Last week's Chinese Table had us eating at this innocuous two-story restaurant on campus. The English translations on the menu were absolutely marvelous though, including classic dishes such as "Demolition of Flesh and Blood," "Dishes Beef," and "That Autumn Eggplant." Also, "Red Army Liver," and "Dismantling of Chicken Legs." If that weren't sassy enough, they also include a fine-print message on each page reminding guests that "the pictures on the menu are for your reference only, please taste the real food."
Last week's Chinese Table had us eating at this innocuous two-story restaurant on campus. The English translations on the menu were absolutely marvelous though, including classic dishes such as "Demolition of Flesh and Blood," "Dishes Beef," and "That Autumn Eggplant." Also, "Red Army Liver," and "Dismantling of Chicken Legs." If that weren't sassy enough, they also include a fine-print message on each page reminding guests that "the pictures on the menu are for your reference only, please taste the real food."
Demolition of Flesh and Blood
That Autumn Eggplant
---
Houhai
This dog thing though.
I love cylindrical animals
After sundown saw yet another one of my awkward linguistic slip ups. As more and more people began to crowd the streets, we finally sat down on the roof of a bar. Each of us ordered a minimal amount of alcohol to justify our existence there, and each time the waiter would arrive to ask if we'd like anything else, I'd just reply "I think we're okay." So when the waitress came and asked us something, I thought she'd meant if we'd like to order anything else, to which I replied "I think we're okay." Her asking "what do you mean you're okay?" and seeing the look on her face let the awkwardness quickly sink in -- she'd wanted us to pay.
Houhai at night.
--Awkward encounters like these, though minor, seem to nicely reflect what it's like to be Chinese-American here. On the streets of Beijing, everyone assumes you're Chinese. Haven't-even-boarded-the-boat Chinese. Nobody asks to have their picture taken with you, or wants you on their TV show (these things actually happen). Bus operators look at you funny when I can't read schedules. And you can't always explain my (lack of) background, that you grew up in a mostly-white neighborhood in a suburb of New York and almost exclusively spoke English at home.
But of course I can only speak for myself. There are a lot of other huayi students in my classes (well of course since I'm in the Chinese-American track but also at PIB in general), and plenty of them speak, write, and read a lot better than I do. A few probably rightly think this kid should spend less time whining on his Beijing blog and more time doing his homework.
But as Zhou Laoshi (the author of our textbook) said, your commitment to learning a language is often longer than your marriage, especially in the United States. And everyone needs a good reason for studying Chinese (because it's hard). Up until college, I didn't think there was a point in my studying Chinese. Even though I could barely spin a sentence in Mandarin, it seemed that the linguistic proficiency (among other things) got assumed in the shape of my eyes, and that it was never going to be "impressive" if I became fluent in this language.
In the end, (and this is something of which I sometimes need reminding) it's not about what's impressive. Whether or not you're a huayi, I still think it's worth it. It's worth it to experience China in Chinese, to get to know your relatives beyond language barriers (for those to whom this applies), or even just to develop the alternative perspective that a second language brings. It's worth it to get out of the American bubble (sort of like the Yale and Princeton bubbles but larger and with fewer salmon-colored pants), and take a look at the rest of the world.
And there are advantages to being a Chinese American in Beijing. Whether you grew up in a bilingual household or lost your command of Chinese by age 3 (me), it is easier to pick up a language if you spoke it even a little as a kid. You have a feel for the grammar from those pre-12-language-sponge days, a bit of vocab, and a family's worth of people to practice with. You don't get stared at on the streets or accosted for pictures. It's a different perspective, but a worthwhile one as well.
Blah blah blah,
令鑫
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