More like H2-NO!

Sorry for the recent radio silence (is there an internet-equivalent for that phrase?). I have been really really busy lately as the end of the semester approaches, and I had to ban myself from using VPN-powered internet in order to keep focused and productive. I am going to take a break from the backlog of posts in order to tell you about my life in its current state.

That… and because irony never escapes me.

Last week, I didn’t have water in my flat for three days. I have been without water for that long before, and it wasn’t too bad because I was warned about it beforehand. I was prepared. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday—I was without water without warning. I know what you’re thinking: “But Mike, you’re an awesome Boy Scout, and a resourceful Peace Corps volunteer. Why on Earth would you be unprepared? Also, I’m glad to see you’re growing your hair out again. I always loved your long hair.”

Well, thank you. I just wish my hair would grow faster; it’s stuck in that in-between stage where it never really looks great. But, more importantly, that is a good question. Typically, I am the most prepared; I fill my washing machine with water when it is idle—just in case. However, I had just done laundry on Sunday, and forgot to fill it.

For the record, I did technically get a warning about the water going off. I received a text that read: “Store water. It will be off for 3 days.” Unfortunately, by the time I got that message and raced to fill my washing machine, I was already without.

It was a rough three days, but the worst part was it rained nearly non-stop for those three days. It rained more in the three days than it has the whole time I have been living in Lanzhou. It wasn’t all a downpour. Sometimes it was no more than a mist. Regardless, it was still more water than I had in my flat.

After Wednesday, it was on most of the time, with random four-hour blocks of nothing.

For clarification: the reason for such water interruptions is the colossally gargantuan amount of construction going on in front of my university. Many people have written about the speed in which construction changes China. I have seen it first-hand as construction evolves on the major road in front of my uni. 

Then last Friday, I got an email informing me I wouldn’t have water this week either. This time it would be off from Monday until Thursday. Speaking with other volunteers, it seems that the ENTIRE CITY will not have water this week…

Which brings me to now. Monday. I considered taking screencaps of my Lanzhou friends’ facebook statuses. All of them are bemoaning, lamenting, or otherwise cursing our lack of water. It is quite frustrating.

My goals for this waterless week: One, grade 350 free-writing/journal entries. Two, focus on getting ready to run a half-marathon in two weeks. Three, try to organise a group of my students to compete in a frisbee tournament on Saturday. Four, stop focusing on the fact that my birthday is a month away (and the existential crises that accompany it). Five, keep grading those free-writes.

China and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Let me tell you about my day…

I was supposed to observe one of my Chinese colleagues at eight this morning. I awoke at 7:15 to a severe la duzi (拉 肚子) fit—so I cancelled that. Regardless, I wanted to make the day worthwhile. I worked through the morning: washed a load of laundry, ironed my trousers, graded midterms, organised and tidied up my flat and even found a website to watch the last episode of The Walking Dead.

Other than cancelling to spend too much time on the porcelain throne, I would have to say all in all, a great morning. Then I left for a lunch date I had made with a couple of PCVs and another foreign teacher at my university. I successfully ordered some zi ran tudou pian (孜然土豆片) over rice, and it was delicious.

At this point, China turned on me. It was no longer a good day...

After lunch, I returned to my flat about an hour before my 4:30 class, only to discover that I did not have my keys. I left them in my flat when I left earlier that day.

After calling my lunchmates to make sure I did not leave it anywhere, I called the Waiban (the persons responsible for taking care of the foreign teachers) and asked if they have an extra copy. She told me she did not know if there was an extra key, but I could meet her at five to look for one.

Well, that’s not going to work…

I explained the situation with my afternoon class—now about 30 minutes away—and she said I could come to her office right away, then. I ran down my seven flights of stairs and across campus to her office. As I got in the lobby and keyed the elevator, she called me back. Some other person would meet me at the storage room in twenty minutes.

Good thing I’m not in a hurry…

After getting directions to this mystery storage room, I walked across campus, stressing. I waited. I called the class monitor and explain the situation. I did not want to cancel class just yet; they were only taking the midterm, which took the previous class only an hour of the two-hour class.

The class monitor informed the class, and they were going to wait. I paced in front of this storage building for what felt like an eternity. As the clock struck 4:30, an old woman teetered up and laughed at me with a thick Gansu-accent. We entered the storage room, where a multitude of keys were hung. None of these keys were marked with my room number.

Good news…

The woman asked me for my room number again as she looked through a key ring for the fifth time. It had other keys for my building, but none belonged to my room. She decided to take the entire ring, plus a couple random unmarked keys. Now, we were walking back to my flat.

We were walking back to my flat at an elderly-China pace…

I do not usually mind people who amble along at a promenadingly slow pace, but at this point in my life, I was stressed about the predicament I put myself in, and was in a bit of a hurry. She was the most plodding of amblers. We made it up my seven flights of stairs—after she took a break from being winded—to discover my hypothesis was correct: none of those keys are for my door.

Calling the Waiban back, she decided that she could succeed where this other woman has failed, so it was back to the storage room. (Here, I like to imagine this happened with one of those old Batman sound effects; then I can pretend another half hour had not passed.)

I wish…

My Waiban arrived to discover the same thing I explained to her over the phone—there was no key. She called another man who works in the Waiban office. No answer. She sent him a text. At this point, another foreign teacher walked past, who apparently had a package in the Waiban office.

He wanted to go retrieve it immediately; he said it was from his father, and he was excited to receive it. We get a text message saying there should be another key to my flat in a box—a box located in the Waiban office.

So we are returning to where this all began…

This walk, I openly discussed my situation with the other foreign teacher, expressing copious amounts of stress at the time crunch I had found myself in. These oh-so-subtle hints went unnoticed; again we amble.

Taking the achingly slow lift to the seventh floor office, we found the box. We located a ring marked with my room number. I pulled the key off. I thanked her graciously and tore out of the building faster than the little coat on Chris Farley.

The next question: is there enough time…

As I sprinted across campus, I noticed it was 5:20. I could get back to class with the tests with just an hour for my students to complete them. This was not an ideal situation, but still better than trying to reschedule a class—probably the most recent labour of Hercules.

Also, as I sprinted up seven flights of stairs, I sent a text my class monitor—not easy to do while climbing stairs in a fury—informing him of the situation. I asked him to arrange the students in testing seating, with space between each student. I threw open my door. Luckily, when I was straightening up earlier in the day, I put all of the things I needed for class in my bag.

Maybe my luck has turned, and this will work out…

I flew back down the stairs. I sprinted back across campus. I made it to class at 5:35. I hurriedly apologise and open my bag. My heart sank. Apparently my luck had not changed. The answer sheets for the test were missing-in-action. My students gasped at the look of anguished frustration on my face.

Still wanting to avoid rescheduling as time ticks by, I improvised. I decided I would just give them the test papers and tell them they can write on them. Sure, it will be more difficult to grade, but then I can save some face and they can still finish the test.

I passed out the tests, only to discover I did not have enough. The day before, I threw some of the tests out because students wrote on them after I told them not to. I was short ten tests.

Clearly, my luck would not turn…

My class monitor, without missing a beat, jumped up to go make the copies. He came back with them in a short enough amount of time, but given the already tumultuously delaying event, some of my students would only have twenty-six minutes to complete the test.

I stayed about twenty minutes after class was supposed to end while a few students finished. It was the least I could do after creating such a stressful test day…

Hours later, as I sit and write this, I’m still upset. I can’t believe the series of unfortunate events that caused such a day. I skipped dinner, irritated.

***

That was 1 November 2011.  Notice, I didn't write anything from the first day of the semester, 5 September, until this monstrosity of a day (a couple published updates aside). I wasn't kidding when I said writing is hard. 

Anchorman Reference.

I wrote this on 5 September, right after teaching my first class.  Enjoy...

I have a confession to make: I love teaching.

I had to tell someone. My first class as a teacher at a Chinese university went dreadfully, but I don’t even care. I love teaching. I don’t know if there’s a greater feeling than being an educator.

I guess I’m getting ahead of myself…

I’ve been in Lanzhou four days now (I think). I got my schedule and have been going nuts stressing out about my classes. I don’t think I’ve ever been nervous about being a teacher before. Nothing at all like this.

Seriously, I’ve been going stir-crazy, absolutely terrified that my classes and my teaching would be a disaster. Any and every bad scenario has played out in my head at least twice.

Then I got in front of my students.

Then everything was okay.

The class, in retrospect, didn’t go well logistically. And the book I’d created my curriculum from, as it turns out, is not the book that my students have. It turns out I’ve been misinformed.

But it doesn’t matter. What matters is I was in front of my students. I got my first opportunity to interact with them, connect with them. That’s what education is about for me. Even if they don’t remember every last thing I taught them—not that I know what those things will be, given this book situation—they will still walk away with a great deal of knowledge.

I think, more so than anything else, the Peace Corps and its mission really allows for that to ring true.

I knew this is what I wanted to do.

En Route Reflections

As frustrated as I was during PST about not having the ability to post my blogs, this exercise of posting them months later has been quite delightful. I have enjoyed being able to look back and review/reflect on what I was going through. Even if the post was nothing more than a snapshot of the instant when my fingers were on the keys, it has been interesting to compare my thoughts and feelings from then to now. The following is one of those snapshots—digitally scribbled as I transitioned to the toughest job I'll ever love. 

And, as a blogistic note (you see what I did there??), the backlog of blogs is nearly finished. I'm ashamed to admit that I did not write a lot during my first semester of teaching. In the coming weeks, expect those blogs, then the most recent blogs about my travel and vacations. Hopefully, I'll be posting in real-time before the semester is over. 

***

It’s nearly midnight. I rock back and forth with the train. I cannot sleep on trains, I’ve learned—even though the two babies below have finally fallen asleep. Now seems like as good of a time as ever to take some time and reflect.

I am officially a Peace Corps volunteer. I am on my way to Lanzhou to settle into my apartment. My apartment. After two long months of a travelling, transitional limbo, I no longer have to live out of my suitcase. I said goodbye to my host family, and will be saying hello to a vacant apartment. My apartment.

My apartment? Other than a dorm room, I’ve never really lived on my own. Now I have my own apartment in China. But I guess all college professors live in apartments if they don’t own a house.

I am technically a professor at a university—Lanzhou Jiaotong University, to be specific. (Ed note: I realise I'm not actually a professor. They don't use that word here; I'm just a teacher. However, I can dream, can't I?) I don’t know my schedule yet. All I know is that I’m going to be teaching a class about culture to post-graduate students. How often do 24 year olds teach post-graduate students?

I realise age doesn’t really matter, but it has been on my mind a lot. At my training site, which from my understanding was one sorted to be full of teachers with lots of experience, I was the second-youngest trainee. Humbled to be there with so many great teachers, I guess I have been pretty conscious of my age since coming to China; I am “the young one”.

Young or old, the people at my training site have become some of my greatest friends. I realise it’s much easier to bond when going through mutual stress—like moving to China or the like—but I just revel in how awesome my fellow volunteers are. For every odd quirk or preference I have, I’ve met someone who shares it: things like listening to NPR, reading poetry, doing crossword puzzles, obsessing about Frisbee and Scrabble. I’ve played more Scrabble in China than I typically play in a year.

I just finished a game of Scrabble; it was probably the best game of Scrabble I will ever play. They turned the lights out on the train, and so I decided to play the AI on my Kindle (my friends on the train decided to turn in early). I usually lose to the computer; it’s tough to beat.

For fear of people accusing me of telling a
Scrabble tall tale, I documented the board;
my score is in the top corner.

I start the game with a Bingo. I couldn’t believe my luck. I played really well after such a stunning beginning. I can proudly say that I never scored a round in the single digits. It was double-digits the whole game. I even managed another Bingo later in the game, and I landed that Bingo on a Triple Word Score. I ended the game with a score of 406. I rarely score in the 300s, let alone breaking 400. Although, I was playing by myself, so no one will believe that it ever happened.

I haven’t had time to do anything by myself in a while. These last weeks of PST have been chaotically busy. Ever since Biden’s speech, I have been hella-busy. This is the first time I’ve really had to sit down, write, remember and try to process things.

The busyness has affected my ability to remember things. One thing in particular I could never remember was my camera. It seemed like I forgot to bring it to nearly everything, which is such a frustrating feeling. My friends have been taking tons of photos, so I am going to try and get some from them. However, it’s just frustrating not to have my own.

Emerging from the frenzied ending to PST, I find myself with so many stories to tell—my own observations and experiences. Lots of them are random anecdotes: silly things I witnessed or ridiculous things I’ve done. I wonder how and to whom I should tell these stories. They’re just little snippets of my Chinadventures.

Would people read little, random paragraphs about things I have done? If they were short, more people probably would; although, I tend to overwrite everything—especially when I tell stories, because I have a tendency to provide more detail than is necessary, then litter it with commentary.

I assume that is why I’ll never be a successful writer. However, as of now, I’m far more worried about being a successful teacher. I don’t know why I am nervous. I’ve never been nervous about teaching before. I love teaching.

PST, in its conclusion, brought with it many more emotions than I ever expected. Some of them I could explain, others will probably never make sense to anyone but other volunteers.

Sorry this ended up being as wordy as it did; you can blame Scrabble. I just needed to get some things off my chest, I guess. There’s always more to say, I just hope I can find the words to say it. 

Powerless in China

Below is a blog I wrote on 24 August. At the time, it was meant to be a smattering of updates about what I had been doing. Now, I guess you can read it as a smattering of highlights from my last couple weeks of training. 

***

I’m currently listening to “Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)”. I always love this song, but it is, at the moment I write this, appropriately topical. The power is out.

My host father is the only one home. He and I ate dinner together with what natural light was still present on a cloudy day at 6:30 in the evening. He speaks no English, and I speak so little Chinese, I should default to none. Other than the rain and thunder outside, it was a silent meal.

After dinner, with a cool breeze coming in, he and I played a game of Chinese chess. I am slowly learning (or he is just taking it easy on me because I’m such a novice). He beat me. He always beats me.

Training has been remarkably busy this week. It’s only Wednesday, and yet I am at a Friday level of exhaustion.

You can tell by our smiles, we're all
pretty excited to see the Veep speak.

Sunday, I saw Vice President Biden speak at Sichuan University. I sat direct centre, second row. I don’t mention that only to brag, but for my brother. Tim and I got an opportunity to see Obama speak while he was campaigning, and we sat second row, centre.

I was caught zoning out
before the swear-in started.

Monday, I was technically sworn in as a volunteer? The newly appointed Ambassador to China was still in Chengdu because of Biden’s visit, and he could not make it back for our swear-in ceremony in a couple weeks. We have had part of the ceremony, and will have the other part at the end of training, as scheduled.

Tuesday was a long day. We had our official security and safety sessions about sexual assault and rape. Things were hypersensitive because of the recent media coverage of PC assault cases. After a draining, serious day of that, we partook in what could only be described as the most epic Ultimate Frisbee extravaganza China has ever seen.

So many people were playing.
It was great.

I despise the hyperbolic use of the word epic, so trust me when I say it was epic. About 32 of the 78 volunteers (and a few staff member) turned out to play after the long day. We played for nearly two hours. Big teams, small teams. Every iteration of teams. Each person playing was fantastic at frisbee. No person was carrying their team. Epic, indeed.

***

Below are some additional photos taken during these weeks. Some are mine, others are from my friend Amanda and Zhou Xiang, our site manager at Sichuan Normal University.

We were not allowed to have our
camera during Biden's speech, but
we got to stand on stage afterward.

My friends Amanda and
Nick are clearly excited.

On the way to our swear-in,
I had to teach my friend how
to tie a tie. 

Swearing in...

Ambassador Locke

Group photo!

My friend Amanda (seen above) took
quite a few frisbee photos, so I
thought I would include them here.

China is making me fat.

Even if this was taken on a different
day, frisbee in China has been pretty
epic.

Blink

Editor's note: I wrote this blog on 22 August.

Nearing the end of PST feels like I’m reliving the last month of college. Everyone is coming to the realisation that these times we cherish will not last forever. PST is only the beginning of our Peace Corps journey, and like the colon blinking on my alarm clock, every moment is gone in an instant, another taking its place. Every laugh, joke, memory: blinked away—the blinking of my clock no different than the blinking of my eyes...

Watching our language teachers blink away tears after laughing at my inspiring interpretive dance... My laughter later joining theirs when they ask me if I’ve ever had dance training—they noticed I pointed my toe really well...

Amidst various levels of singing, we blink through squints, trying to read the words on the KTV screen while belting like a karaoke champion...

Blinking astonishment from friends as I rap the entirety of Eminem’s “Without Me”, only looking back at the words once...

Cutting a moment’s blink in half, I flash a wink at a friend staring at me...

My computer is on the blink every time I attempt to send an email...

Blink.

Our group hangs on every second. I lose myself in thought, watching the blinking of my friend’s digital-faced watch. He never wears it in class—only leaves it sit on the table if he’s not spinning it around his pen.

With each blink, we get closer to saying goodbye to the friends we’ve made. Friends forged through like-minded aspirations, lengthy safety sessions and waiting... lots and lots of waiting...

Can you count how many blinks exist in a single day? Can one count the number of cultural interactions—somewhere on the spectrum of failure to success—we have faced? Each one helped us grow as individuals, but more so as friends.

Like eyelids, we were brought together. We have connected and bonded, but like each blink, we will now be separated. One cannot see with their eyes closed.