The Wedding Dress

I recently cleared the air with my mother, who I love dearly, over an incident that resulted in something similar to a cold war. Yes, hell definitely froze over and my mommy got a job at a bridal shop. I understood the need for her to fulfill the desire that every mother wants for her daughter: to be a beautiful bride and have the fairytale wedding but, like, it’s almost 2010 and things are a lot different than they were in 1970.
Backing up a bit, I’m sure everyone can think of year they’ve had up to present day that was “the hard year”, mine started on my 27th birthday and lasted until the new year, 2009. It’s not surprising, 27 is an age that history has proven …troublesome. Just look at some of the rock icons from the 70’s, now dubbed “The 27′s” for their early exists and I don’t mean off stage. I’m a happy girl so times were never that tragic, still, the combination of life, graduate school, work, and the process of becoming an adult but not being too sure what type of an adult I wanted to be, made everything pretty grim for a while. My mother and I have always been very, to steal a phrase, “gilmore with each other” so I’m not sure where I was misunderstood but I do know that when she came home with a wedding dress for me to try on I defintely did not react like Rory.

I was incensed that it was actually in the house and never tried it on despite the many occasions I was asked to. I was so put off about it but now I understand that she just wanted to see me as a bride, for her that right of passage is lacking, oh mom! I think some parents struggle with the fact that marriage doesn’t always happen in our 20s like it used to. I never could have married in my early 20’s and it still doesn’t feel right in my late 20’s. At the same time, I know I’ll be someone’s wife and mother someday but the thought of trying on that dress or even having it in the house for that matter, was nauseating to me.

Flash forward to life in China, it’s like going back in time 40 years and not just with the institute of marriage, it’s with everything; technology, products, PLUMBING! I joke I’m going to come back to America in a year like Marty Mcfly from BTTF. Most women have 5 year olds at my age here, some of them are married and some aren’t but the subject of my love life comes up often whenever my age is revealed, they will say, “excuse me, Rachel, I have to ask you a secret question.” “Okay”, I respond (and at this point I know it’s coming), “do you have a boyfriend? Are you married? Do you find Chinese men attractive?” That’s three, I know, but it’s how the questions fire off, to which I always respond: “yes.”

Don’t Open a Yellow Gun (Think Before You Speak)

Chinglish has increasingly become more of an embarrassment to China as the country westernizes. I always thought Chinglish referred to the mixture of the Chinese and English language for example, when I speak to my non- English speaking students I often use a mixture of both English and Chinese so they can understand me. In fact, Chinglish refers to the mistranslation of English words; there are many words in English that do not exist in Chinese and there are many words in Chinese that do not translate to mean what people want them to in English.

Think of it this way, native English speakers decipher between words that could work in a given scenario but are not best, from words that are better, to words that work best depending on the situation; casual, formal, political etc., the English language gives us a myriad of options with which, depending on the company, only a few often work best. Combine this with a language that does not bridge equal meaning to English, contains over 5000 years of culture imbedded into its alphabet system, and it is not surprising that a country would fall into this language crisis. I use the word crisis because these phrases are not only used in everyday life but also posted on signs, in the media, printed on clothing, in schools and have found their way into the everyday speak of English major students. It needs to be corrected, yes, but can we laugh about it for a second?
I bought a note book to practice writing characters today, it’s a whimsical cover that says:

Happy Time
Beautiful Memory
This communicating of a man’s self to his friend works two contrary
effects, for it redoubleth joys, and
cutteth griefs in half

This is my favorite type of Chinglish in China because it can often move from slightly off to comical poetics. Street and warning signs are also funny depending on your definition of humor, I should warn. Signs that read, “Good for Urinating”, “Deformed Man Toilet”, and “Slip Carefully” can be found in larger cities.
I recently stayed in a hotel that had a button beside the bed that read “Be Born”, it was a nightlight, but was puzzling because neither my roommate nor I could figure out where the mistake occurred?

What was the intention before the translation? How does “light” translate to “born”? If you awake in the middle of the night, does it mean you are born? Are you dead while you sleep? I brought this up with some of my students during my office hours and they use phrases such as; good good study day day of which means, “study hard”; I want to give you colors see see to mean, “I am very angry with you”; and don’t open a yellow gun, “think before you speak”. Students at the University understand that this is “Chinglish”, for them it has come to be the equivalent of slang terminology, they use it similarly to the way Americans use acronyms nowadays but the misuse does not stop here, products have Chinglish printed on labels;  I bought some brown sugar when I moved into my apartment that under the brand name reads, “Delicious Apple Crunchy”. It’s humorous, sure,  but shocking when one considers the places errors of grammar and content meaning do not show up in major English speaking countries, and how normal and widespread they are in China.

That said, I think it’s hilarious, problematic, yes, but they’re working on it and I have a healthy collection of notebooks, tee shirts, and pictures to always remember it for when they finally “Unrecycle The Rubdish”.

Numeric Code 500

I often bring up the concept and use of time here as an interesting cultural difference; sometimes it seems you cannot get an exact estimation of time and other times, when an approximate response seems appropriate e.g.; the herbal shop is about 2 blocks on your left” you instead get, “walk 25 minutes you will see it.” World AIDS Day is next week and I decided to teach all of my students “Seasons of Love” from RENT, a song whose lyrics present the question, “five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes… how do you measure a year?” I smiled when we began singing it because I could only think if I ever dared to ask someone here, “how much time before the end of this year?” He would likely answer some… ‘thousand six hundred minutes, no doubt.

My Culture class just finished watching, 500 Hundred Days of Summer (I promise I did not theme this week in numeric code) the Postmodern, post-fairytale, post-hallmark film that I am enormously grateful to Neustadter and Weber for writing. Finally a film that doesn’t flaunt the lofty, idealistic, grandeur of American relationships and while it rejects the unrealistic expose of love in the modern world, it equally not does characterize it as the macabre death dance; it’s honest and its aim, real. Likewise do the main characters Thomas and Summer break down the assumed roles usually ascribed in films of like kind. For more on this and an interesting twist to last years, “Manic Pixie Dream Girl”, a term coined by film critic Nathan Rabin, see Caroline Hagood’s, Manic Pixie Dream Tramp. Hagood offers an interesting modern approach to Rabin’s term which supports my ideas of the film’s life-like accomplishment.

I like watching my students watch films, they use English subtitles but have a limited vocabulary and are often puzzled by slang terms and sarcastic humor. One scene in the film interviewed the main male characters about what they look for in a woman and one guy responded, “I guess if I had to choose a quality for my dream girl she’d have to have a bodacious rack.” I looked up and saw my student Zach, puzzled, mouthing b o d a c i o u s    r a c k ??? He consulted his electronic dictionary which did not provide him with answers and gave up, continuing to read and watch. I laugh, I know it’s wrong but it’s not time for them to know what those phrases mean, when they develop a better command of the language I’ll let them know. In addition to the honest portrayal of the modern relationship I also enjoyed the multi-cultural cameos in the film, especially the Chinese family scene in the IKEA bathroom, my students loved it and they could relate to its context. Also the film’s lack of over gratuitous love scenes, it could have gone there but it didn’t and if it did I would not have been able to show it.

I am often asked about American style/American culture, a subject I take very seriously and have already spent a great deal of time explaining to students here. This is altogether another post, but showing choice films, as some of their misconceptions of American culture have also come from film, allows them to understand freedoms we have as Americans, as well as the many cultures we share within our own that I believe have come to define what we deem to be “American Culture”.

More on that in a bit.

Reflections from the Other Side

I have been in China for almost 6 months now and I thought I would take this opportunity to reflect on some of the experiences I’ve had, visually, since I really haven’t posted many pictures of my life in China thus far. Just outside Jianzhong hotel we stayed at for training/H1N1 quarantine for 2 weeks after flying in from Beijing. Many of us often return to this area for Peace Corps related training, to visit friends and to get western food from Pete’s just across the street from the hotel. I remember looking at all the bicycles on the street along with the busy traffic and wondering how this traffic system worked, but it does, it’s very functional but scary is you are a new comer. Also, cars beep their horns about 30 times per minute. Just before everyone (but me and another sickling) departed to meet and move in with their host families. The combination of immunizations and new water had me quarantined for an extra few days,

This is inside the cheapest form of taxi service in china. I was a little nervous the first time I rode in one because of the traffic in China but it is very conveinient. The best dumplings I’ve had in China so far. The place was directly acrosss from Chengdu University’s main gate and only 3.50 RMB for 10, they are so delicious!!

Dafoe (Giant Buddha) in Le Shan. A monk began the plans to build the buddha in A.D. 713 in order to safe guard the passing of boats, as a dam. Many men died building it and by the time it was finished several temples were built around it. It is an overwhelmingly beautiful site.

My host parents. I lived with them for almost 2 months, they were very kind and helpful, and sacrificed their love of spicy food so that I could eat.

My host mother and sister and Jackie, a former China 14 volunteer who lived with my host family in 2007, visiting before her departure. My site mate and I were fortunate to see the largest natural cave in the world during our site visit. The Snowy Jade Caves were absolutely beautiful, especially if you love jade!

The bridge of health, wealth, and judgement in Fengdu’s ghost village.

This is outside of the Liaoyang temple in Fengdu. It is a tradition to walk up to the “Fu” 褔 meaning “luck” with eyes closed and touch any part of the character, it brings luck. The little girl was rooting for me, I think =)

One little, two little, three little buddhas. A temple in Fengdu.

A courtyard with a beautiful view of the mountains.

The last weekend trip to Sichuan Normal University for training.

John Huntsman, recently appointed the U.S. Ambassador to China, came to officially swear all Peace Corps volunteers into service. All of us.

The freshman…..

It was a very hot day and the freshman had to stand through all welcome speeches, some students got very sick and and fainted as a result of the heat.

As the formal introductions of September came to a close, things became less “serious”. Me and Kobe at OK!! Restaurant.

Chongqing Hot Pot, very spicy, yet delicious. My students brought me here one rainy afternoon in October for lunch. My favorite is that vegetable that looks white with holes in it, it’s called “ou” it’s lotus root and I love it.

There is something I love about this house, I walk towards it everyday, it is about 10 ft from where I live. There are often clothes hanging on the line, sometimes I see the couple who lives there working outside, I really love it. Mostly I think it is because it off sets the apartment buildings to the left and right of it, which is where I live, clad in bathroom tile and void of any pleasing aesthetic quality.

Glitter? No, That’s Ice

I’ve been a pretty tough Peace Corps volunteer up to this point, moved through a myriad of transitions, lived with people I don’t know, ate foods that look scary, often deal as best I can with lack of anonymity etc. The weather here is so cold and by that I mean it’s that, freezing, wet, dreary cold, it’s constant and it is everywhere. Being cold is not a thing I’ve ever been able to deal with and by the looks of things I’m going to feel this way for a while.
No one really has heat, if anyone does it is a simple space heater that, by the way, I have been waiting to materialize on the street market since October, no site of them yet. My apartment is like stepping foot into the North Pole, what makes it worse is that I keep a fan on to prevent the invasion of noxious mold; I had a lovely tapestry in the living room that began to look lighter in color, I walked past it daily for a month noticing the change and ignoring it before finally realizing it was overtaken by a thick layer of green fuzz. Alas, there does not seem to be a glitter for this dross, save the glistening of ice crystals forming where the mold used to be.
I have many blankets, invested in decent under armor, I boil water religiously; it has become one of my favorite things to do because I can warm my hands over the stove while it’s heating and the steam makes the kitchen feel bearable. What I don’t understand is when I look across the way to other apartments, their windows and doors are wide open! It’s freezing!
My students leave the classroom windows open during class, we’re all cold, I teach in my coat, hat, gloves, basically I’m clad in winter armor from the time I leave the house until I return. So naturally I saw the windows open today and rushed speedily to close them as if poisonous gas was spilling in, and one of the students looked at me in a way that said she wanted it open.
“May I close this, it’s very cold” I said.
“Oh… ok” she responded hesitantly.
??????????????????  It’s freezing!
It’s just so bizarre.
Another example of this strange behavior occurred yesterday when I went to meet my Chinese language tutor, Huang. She said she would turn on the heater but wasn’t sure how it worked; these heaters, incidentally, are actually air conditioners with a heat setting. They do not produce a great amount of heat, the highest setting is 30, enough to take the chill out of the air and even that is pushing it. I told her to put it up to 30 and she replied, “Oh, no, we’d better not that will be too hot and we’ll get sick.” To which I clung tightly onto my Hello Kitty hot water bag, smiled, and began my lesson.

Moon River and Me

Moon River, wider than a mile,
I’m crossing you in style some day.
Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker,
wherever you’re going I’m going your way.
Two drifters off to see the world.
There’s such a lot of world to see.
We’re after the same rainbow’s end– 
waiting ’round the bend,
my huckleberry friend,
Moon River and me.

I have always had a love for the classic Henry Mancini ballad, Moon River, since I heard Audrey Hepburn sing it as Holly Golightly, outside the window of her apartment in Breakfast at Tiffany’s(1961). Nowadays, I prefer Morrissey’s version of the classic, eerily beautiful with added dramatic effect. Despite my love for the song I never imagined that it would end up the number one hit on the proverbial soundtrack to my life in China.

It all began one night in late August, when my students from Chengdu University took my friend Dave and I out for dinner and later to the very popular, KTV. The list of English songs are always very thin, even if you find one, for example, Madonna’s Border Line, which bore zero resemblance to the version I’m familiar with, it is often not what you expected or a different song altogether. I saw Moon River on the list and thought, “well, it’s slow but it’s a classic and I love it,” so I did it. Dave laughed at me, of course, but from that point forward it became the song I would sing whenever told, “sing a song for us” which is often in China. I sang at birthday party, a wedding, and recently at an English Corner event. I took suggestions before choosing to continue with it, friends of mine recommended “The Beyonce,” they mentioned that Chinese students really love her, but well, anyone who knows me knows I’m not much of a Beyonce kind of girl, though I do think Put a Ring On It is fun. During my language classes at the beginning of the summer, our teachers taught us the Chinese folk song, Kangding qing ge about Chinese lovers and the moon, so I wanted to teach something of equal genre and meaning; Beyonce is too sexy, Dylan too political, I thought about God Bless the Outcast from Disney’s Hunchback of Notre Dame but didn’t want anyone reading into the words too much, Moon River was the best option.

My most important use of it came as an oral English tool, on Monday nights I teach a group of 50 visiting teachers that do not speak English at all. Some of them know a word or two, but most of them rely on their electronic dictionaries in class and often do not understand my words unless I mix my English with Chinese. It has been a very challenging class for me to teach because I am used to planning for my University students who, despite grammar, verb tense issues, and a stunted vocabulary, speak English fairly well.

I gave them each a copy of the lyrics and went through the reading of each line and then sang the song for them once through, which made them very happy. I proceeded to go through the song line-by-line allowing them to sing after me, it is an amazing experience to see and hear the way a non-English speaker will imitate sounds, inflections, and the movement of one’s face or mouth, in order to create a similar sound. When we finished, an older man sitting in the back shouted, “practice again and again and again!” I sang through the song about 8 times before they were comfortable singing on their own, which was an extremely rewarding experience. It wasn’t perfect by any means, the word “rainbow” was a disaster and “huckleberry”  a major point of verbal distress, but it was incredible to hear them sing a song which holds such sentimental value to me, that they had never heard before, and hopefully will never forget. I know I won’t.

Orkin’s Girl

My mother me bought a copy of Ruth Orkin’s American Girl in Florence for my 17th birthday after I obsessed over it for many months. It hung on my bedroom wall for years, as it did many a college student’s dorm room, along with Gustav Klimpt’s, The Kiss and The Three Ages of Woman. I used to love the way that the American woman gracefully walked past the crowd of hecklers gawking at her; shy, of course, but strong and independent, after all, it is assumed from the photograph’s vignette she’s traveling alone.
I recently came across the image in a Google search, clicked on it, and realized the story and feeling this photograph depicts bring about a very different kind of sentiment for me in my present place, one of disgust and empathy. I don’t like it, or to be more specific, Orkin is talented, but I don’t look at the picture and think, “wow, how beautiful, a bunch of Italian men staring at this American woman because she’s a long way from home.” I know how she feels and it is incredibly frustrating and uncomfortable to be stared at in the way this photograph suggests, while in a foreign country or anywhere.
I often have to walk through crowded areas with people eating hot pot in the small town of Ma’an where I live, in order to get groceries if I need them, and I know as I approach the crowd that everyone will turn at stare, they always do, and I always just keep walking. Sometimes if there are fewer people and someone makes eye contact, and gives off a warm, open feeling I will look directly at him or her and smile but I rarely respond this way because it is obvious to me that most people do not want to talk or connect (just as the men in this picture) they only want to stare and point and make sure everyone he or she is sitting with sees what they see. It’s very annoying and what’s more, it never stops. I have resigned myself to the fact that any group of Zhongguoren who are not students will react this way until I return to America. Of course, part of my purpose here is to make the “American” less of shock to the natives, so that we create understanding between countries, and so I suppose this is part of what comes with it. Still, I have no way of understanding it myself, their reaction to me, that is. And because I do not understand it I feel as though there is something innately different about them from me, I recall my Postcolonial graduate courses defining “The Other” and I feel terrible about my feelings in these situations but I can neither prevent them from forming nor stop the root of their cause (Don’t worry, I promise not to react to the natives as Darwin did in Origin of Species
I have considered, for my own perspective purposes, the possibility of purple people. Though I know I have a very “American” world view, the thought of sitting in a café and seeing a purple human walk past me would of course cause me to stare, but after I saw that purple person a few more times I would deal with that image the way I deal with anyone who looks a little weird—accept it as something different and get over it. That doesn’t happen here, or it hasn’t happened yet.
I cope with it through humor, whenever a few people pass me on my out of the gate to my apartment I will count the seconds before I hear those sweet words…. wait for it, wait for it…. “foreigner!” or “waiguoren.” It’s a game I play. Sometimes I will make up what they could be saying about me based on their facial expression and other times I’ll respond to them, telling them where I am from so they know I’m aware of their focus. Being culturally sensitive is necessary when living abroad, but it takes a great deal of self control and energy, both of which are a daily battle.

Midterm Performances

My students are currently taking their midterm exams at the University which are, I believe, much more demanding of their time than American midterm examinations. I had made the decision pretty early on after getting a sense of their language strengths and weaknesses and also because they were very shy with me in the classroom, that I would make performance a part of the midterm, I had no idea how much Chinese students love perform.
We studied Shakespeare and Aesop in my “Ameri-Euro” class, interestingly the class is really “American Culture” but when I got the text book there was nothing American in it, it was all British, so I am making it a combo-study of both. The students were allowed to use one of the fables they learned, Romeo & Juliet, or any folk tale from American, British, or Chinese culture, providing there was an English version of the script, of course.

I was very surprised on Tuesday morning when I walked into the class room and saw so many costumes and even more impressed when they began performing and many of them really came to life, their former shyness no where to be found. I think performance is a really great way to get students speaking if English is not their native language and also, I am not sure what it is like in other countries but my students were extremely shy about speaking in class, we’re still working on it, in fact. I explained to them the cultural differences of Chinese and American students, in America you are expected to ask questions in class when you do not understand or if you would like to elaborate or give your opinion. In China, it is rude to ask questions in class (I learned that the hard way while I was taking Chinese classes back in Chengdu a few months ago) and so students often sit in silence, say they understand, and then cheat or ask a friend what’s going on. I’m on to them now. Whenever I ask, “do you understand?” and they say “yes” I will say, “I bet you don’t……..” I joke with them.

One of my favorite students, James Bond, struggles with spoken English but he gets very frustrated and to make it worse cannot clearly articulate to me the problem, he has the confidence, but not the language skill. He came to me a week ago about the TEM4, the English exam (similar to the NYS English regents) that all Chinese English major students must pass, and said,

“I need to help on this exam. I cannot get it”
“I will help you”, I said.
“I cannot get it right!”
“It’s okay, everyone is struggling, we will work on it I promise”
“I MISS EVERY ONE QUESTION!”
“Okayokay.” (I try and use their use of phrases sometimes). 

The subject of the TEM4 is a major point of stress for all English students, if they do not pass it, they cannot graduate with an English degree. I usually do not believe in teaching to the test (in America) but here I plan to throw in TEM4 prep to all lessons American, British, and beyond.

The scenes the students performed this week were wonderful, many of them chose to introduce me to Liang Shan Bo & Zhu Ying Tai, The Chinese version of Romeo and Juliet. They were very excited for me to know about it after I showed them Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo & Juliet and they all fell in love with Dicaprio. His movies are very popular here, the girls always talk about Titanic and often sing “My Heart Will Go On” at KTV (Karaoke). Anything that is very cheesy and unbelievably romantic is popular with the masses, even the boys, granted there are only 2 or 3 in a class, but they were all just as engrossed and glued to Romeo & Juliet when I showed it as the girls, they smiled giddily during the balcony scene and cheered when Romeo ran back to give Juliet one last kiss, it truly is a different culture, duh, I know, but I never thought I would experience this so it’s still surprising. They all disliked Shakespeare’s ending to Romeo & Juliet, Liang Shan Bo & Zhu Ying Tai turn into butterflies and when I had them write responses, many expressed the disrespect to parents the suicide caused and one boy said he would take his girlfriend and run away.

When they performed their scenes some chose to give modern versions of the tale and some traditional. They all included music clips, the all famous Liang Zhu, a traditional folk song (this is played every single day morning and night during National Holiday over the omnipotent loud speaker) gun blasts, and voice overs and their costumes were all hand crafted by the students themselves–they are extremely creative and imaginative. 
I know my students more now because of these scenes, what they struggle with, I’ve heard them speak more because they had to, and I would recommend performance to others teaching abroad, it really creates comfort and trust in the classroom which is crucial especially if you are teaching in China, students are very shy with Americans. My favorite quote of the day is from a modern adaptation of Liang Shan Bo & Zhu Ying Tai: “I will kiss you across the pacific…. I will love you until your hairs is white.” Ridiculously romantic, indeed. 

Revisiting

Friday morning I left my apartment early and headed on the er shi ba to Fuling’s long distance bus station bound for Chengdu. I didn’t really know what to expect, I have been away from Chengdu now for as long as I was in Chengdu, and when I left I was definitely ready to get out.  Bus rides are tricky, I always hope for a middle seat next to a window,  I was once behind the bus’s toilet which wafted scents of waste for 6 full hours, horrifically gross, and then of course there is the awkward sitting directly next to someone you don’t know which rarely happens because the natives would rather stand then sit next to me.  I don’t take offense.

This bus ride seemed longer than it was for site visit, it was a double level bus and I was on top, at its front seat. At first I was really excited about this, great view, no toilet in site, until I realized the leg room provided was fit for a person no taller than 5ft. In America my height is average but in China I am tall, hence, my Chinese name, Gao.

Chengdu was lovely to revisit, from the singing cab driver who drove me from the bus station to the hotel, to the cup of real coffee I had on my way back to what I now call home. Lets talk about that cab driver first:

One never really knows what type of cab driver he is going to get, it’s like Forest Gump’s box of chocolates (please excuse the excessive use of film references ahead of time, DVD’s are insanely cheap here). Mine was a happy man and he really wanted to talk to me. He said all sorts of stuff I didn’t understand and stared at me dubiously, many natives think I’m a Uyghur [wee•ger], the minority group. I learned this after hearing the word shaoshu mentioned repeatedly whenever in company. The students explained it best: like the girls on campus from the Xinjiang province. They always have a something on their head, long skirts, and only hang out together.
Ha.
I told Mr. cab driver I was from America and this caused him to sing for the next 25 minutes. One of the songs I recognized from National Day and began to hum along with him (I do whatever I can in these situations) and then I started to sing Kangding (a Chinese folk song we learned in language class) and he started yelling in excitement and singing with me, but he didn’t know all the words. It went like this:

Me: Paoma liuliu de shan shang/yi duo liuliu de yun yo/Duanduan liuliu de zhao zai/Kangding liuliu de cheng yo
Cab Driver:                                         LA LA LA-A-LA LA/ AHHHHHHH! /LA LA LA-A-LA LA
Can Driver: LALA LA-A-LA LA SHANG/ LA LA LA-A YUN YO

So you get the point, I’m sure, it was very funny. When I arrived to Sichuan University’s East gate I walked around a bit before checking into the Hongwa Hotel, it’s such a beautiful campus and it was a beautiful weekend to be in Chengdu, sunny and cool. The company was delightful, it was nice to see fellow Peace Corps volunteers after being away at site for a few months, we celebrated by eating enough western food and pizza to last us a few weeks and marveled how beautiful the city was, more than we remembered it, and how much “longer” everyone looked. Yes, many of us PCV’s are quite svelte these days for one reason or another but it was the perfect excuse to eat more and more pizza, Peace Corps staff provided.

Training was all day Saturday and Sunday from 9-5, leaving enough time to take advantage of Chengdu’s city life and walk around SU’s beautiful campus.

The bus ride back to Fuling was more comfortable, so I slept until the bus stopped to let a man and his many crates of baby birds that looked to me, as I peered out the window, like a thousand gyrating yellow cotton balls, until I focused my eyes enough to see they had heads. There were about 8 large crates of these–shi shenme? “What is it?” I asked the older woman in front of me, to which she replied, shuijiao, qu shuijiao, “go to sleep”.

Bending Backwards

Prior to Eastern travel I was busy doing many things, some of which included, working 3 jobs, moving through what is the Peace Corps rigmarole, finding research for my Master’s thesis, writing and completing my Master’s thesis so that I could graduate in May, selling any belongings that, well, didn’t actually “belong” to me and rather required a monthly payment, my car, for example, spending time with friends and family and doing a hell of a lot of yoga. The yoga that I did months prior to leaving Buffalo served a different purpose from my usual practice, it was survival yoga, or at least it seemed that way. It really is true that if you carve out the time to practice, you will in turn actually have more time, and I used yoga as a means to do so.

Since I have been in China my practice has changed a lot, as it often does from season to season, but I always find it interesting what postures, arm balances, and inversions, yogi friends of mine are working on at a given time because I know that it is constantly in flux. Interestingly these poses have meaning beyond mere practice, arm balances are very ego centered, they are the asanas that bring a lot of confidence, they’re powerful. Backbends like Urdhva Dhanurasana and Ustrasana (Camel) are very physically demanding but in some ways are the very opposite of arms balances, they are like the “anti-ego” of yoga asanas. These postures move in and out of my life as if I am dating them. When I began my yoga practice I loved them and it seemed as though they loved me too, my body was able to move into the pose easily. After about a year, things changed, I was over it and never wanted to do backbending, the pose always made me feel like I was forcing it, Ustrasana felt like drowning.

I have recently been working more on backbending than I ever have before, I assumed it had to do with living in a warmer climate, 100+ degrees topped with humidity, hell you can make your body do anything! Then I read Dharma Mittra’s explanation of these poses:

There is a much higher reason why we do backbends, they are the hardest postures in yoga, and on another level they are the hardest postures in life. Whenever you bend backwards in life it is always for someone else. It is the most unselfish act you can perform. Whenever you bend backwards in yoga,  you should be aware of the last time you bent backwards for someone in life, or maybe you didn’t and are holding on to it causing energy blockage.

So if I parallel my need to be selfish with ego centered postures it makes sense that I wasn’t able to do backbending during that very “needy” time in my life, we hold tension in our muscles and joints usually without realizing it, and backbending poses require opening I did not have available. Now that I have settled, volunteering to teach at a budget of $6 a day and learning that this truly may (occasionally) be “the hardest job I’ll ever love” it not only seems possible to bend backwards (and is also required!) but it is fascinating to me. Regardless, I do think think our lives have rhythms we are most often unaware of and in this pursuit, backbending is a daily practice.