One Week

I realized last night that I may have become a formalist.

But you in all likelihood do not care about that, so let's move along. I'm running out of time here! (Oh God!)

We will move backwards in time (forward is going quickly enough) unless I forget things and have to skip around.

Lunch today at the Chinese Host Family's house. My Chinese brother Daxin came to the dorm to pick us up. I didn't recognize him, because last time he had hair like a member of an 80's hair band (the 80s are big here) and seemed about eight feet tall. Now, somehow, he's my height, and lovely. I will be frank: I do not know how I am going to readjust to life in a country where beautiful Chinese men are so scarce. Before college, I think I had only ever met three Chinese people, one of whom was my first ever crush, when I was eight (I told you we'd be going back in time).

Daxin got us a cab and we went to his house. The last time I was there was Chinese New Year, in February, but I knew we were close when we passed the enormous rainbow adorning their street.

Conversation was awkward, but it always is, and considering how dreadfully things could have gone, I'd say the afternoon was a success. My Chinese father did not talk about how bad my Chinese used to be; we had a nice lunch, I understood everything they said, and when the silence grew to awkward Daxin turned on the TV. We watched part of my favorite Chinese show, Family Has Children, which is basically the Chinese Brady Bunch, except that there are only three children. But this is China and that's SO MANY CHILDREN - the first time I watched it I was baffled at how they came to have so many children. I assumed they were Taiwanese until I saw the one where the ex-spouses come over for Chinese New Year and there's a mild-mannered custody battle.

Family Has Children is one of the things I'm going to miss.

Last night, one of our teachers, Zhu laoshi, invited all the 4th years over for dinner. Unfortunately only four of us could make it. As we entered her apartment building, I was amazed at how fancy it was - how could she afford a place like this on a teacher's salary, I wondered. We took the elevator up to the 14th floor and it became clear: Zhu laoshi lives in an office.

Their living room is full of cubicles. The dining room contains over thirty plastic-wrapped chairs and a whiteboard. "Where do you sleep?" I asked. "On the sofa," she replied.

The office belongs to her brother's company, and since they're "too busy" to find a house at the moment, they are living there: Zhu laoshi, her brother, and her brother's girlfriend. The latter two prepared a million dishes for us while Zhu laoshi showed us pictures of when she was younger. She is extremely beautiful, but doesn't quite fit the Chinese standard: she's got to be at least 5'10" and therefore often has to wear men's clothing.

She mentioned that when she was younger she always wished she were a boy (and who doesn't?) and showed us pictures of herself with a crew cut. She told us about her grandmother, who had bound feet, and how she met her husband through a matchmaker. Her brother told us about the first time they saw a foreigner, and how their grandmother had shielded her eyes. Could China have come any further in two generations?

We stayed at Zhu laoshi's until almost midnight, being pressed to eat things, and were finally sent home with peaches and sunflower seeds and, in my case, a new understanding of a teacher with whom I have had some issues.

To the orphanage on Friday (see an earlier post), where I was simultaneously delightened and saddened to see several familiar faces. In particular I remembered Wei Kangqin, a two-year old little girl. The last time I came, she had just had her cleft palate surgery, and now she can already sit and crawl by herself. "I remember you, yes I do," I told her softly, patting her back. "You are a very special girl!"

Visiting this particular orphanage is not as depressing as it might be, because these children will almost all be adopted eventually and are in the meantime receiving very good care, but it's certainly sobering.

And now it's only a week. Went to the Silk Market yesterday to get presents for people, and I'm glad to think that I'll never be ripped off there again.

And I'm a formalist! Damn it, how does this happen?