Worst Kept Secrets

For the most part, I’m pretty calm about living in China, but every once in a while I remember how completely bizarre the whole thing is - for example, it’s just odd that successfully using western union was an occasion for confidence boosting and a genuine sense of accomplishment.

After six months, doing things like that by myself is still a pretty nerve-wracking experience. If I’d been in Mexico for six months, I guarantee I’d speak passable Spanish, but Mandarin is slow, slow, slow going. I’ve noticed that I’ve gotten better at retaining words, but I’m still very far away from Speaking Chinese (although I’ve got killer McDonald’s vocab - that’s the one routine language thing that’s no hassle whatsoever). It gets pretty frustrating, since I don’t think I’m going to be capable of a very deep understanding of this culture until I can speak its language, and sometimes I worry that if I’m not being exposed to that there’s really not much of a point in being here. It’s possible to exist in Nanjing without a word of spoken Chinese, but I don’t think it would be very enjoyable.

I’m incredibly lucky to have friends here. I’m not sure I’m gutsy enough to live here without a support network, and it’s really nice to know someone who’s been here for three years (Chris once sweet talked an employee into giving us a free coat check, and while that may not be fluency, it still impresses me an awful lot). Even without his language skills and general know-how, though, daily life is just easier with someone else around. Even if no one has a clue what’s going on or what they’re supposed to do, it’s a lot less stressful with backup.

Which is why I tend to avoid doing things by myself. I get scared that something will go horribly or even moderately wrong - a cab driver won’t understand me and will yell for a few minutes until I just panic and leap out of the cab and have to walk for several hours to get home (happened more than once), I’ll get lost and have absolutely no idea how to ask for directions, or someone will ask me a question that I’m supposed to answer and I flat out can’t and have to pull stupid “wo bu hui shuo zhongwen” (”I don’t know how to speak Chinese”) and look apologetic. I stopped saying “ting bu dong” because I read somewhere that it was a little rude. I don’t know if that’s true (any information welcome!). Also, “I don’t know how to speak Chinese” is a better sentence than “I hear but don’t understand,” and it’s about the longest sentence in my limited repertoire. It also puts the malfunction on my shoulders and not on the speaker, which I think is more considerate of face. Once again, though, I’m only guessing. Anyway, the upshot is that every time I do manage to Accomplish Something on my own, it makes me feel great. So I’m trying to make an effort to get more comfortable alone on the streets.

So today I went to Western Union to transfer some money home, and I was bracing myself for having to look really stupid, and possibly having to flee in the face of questions I didn’t understand, no matter how loudly or slowly they were put to me. It was totally fine, though. I walked into the China Everbright Bank on Beijing Xi Lu, and there was a table with a huge Western Union poster over it with a man in a uniform and a girl with a lovely smile who spoke enough English for me to explain what I wanted to do (it was still Christmas in the bank - so many Chinese establishments put up decorations for the holiday and in May, they’re still there - we went out to dinner one night in early April and they were blasting Bing Crosby Christmas carols). I filled out some forms, gave them my passport, and waited for a very long time for them to type my weirdo foreigner information in, then I gave them cash and they gave me a receipt. Easy!

I felt so good about having Successfully Completed a Totally Mundane Task that I headed to Times Grocery to buy myself presents. Times Grocery is the foreign foods store a couple of blocks from the school that’s been positively eating my paycheck. It opened a few months ago, and it may sound strange, but I nearly fainted when I saw pop-tarts, marshmellows, campbell’s soup, tortillas, deodorant, sour cream, and many other items I hadn’t seen in months. They even had cherry coke (but I bought it all and they haven’t restocked it yet). I got there and bought some shampoo and shaving cream and a frappachino, and gazed longingly at the Hagen daaz cooler before sternly reminding myself that I was about to go on vacation and shouldn’t spend that kind of money. So I went to the German bakery and bought a strawberry cake instead.

Then I stopped by the photo store on Ninghai Lu (just outside of the school) to buy a photo card. I pleased myself immensely by managing to ask the guy behind the counter if he had any with more storage capacity than 64 MB (well, I actually said something like, “you have this one big?” but he got my meaning). And he understood me and checked the back room. They didn’t have it, but I still felt good for having Successfully Asked a Totally Mundane Question to a Stranger. And he told me my Chinese was very good, and I used very good etiquette by politely denying his polite lie.

The most important thing China has taught me is that I don’t know anything about anything. In the past, I might have expressed that sentiment in an effort to appear humble and wise, but now I really mean it. Take me out of the country that apparently shaped my brain and I’m a bumbling idiot. I had no idea that my nationality was such a huge part of my personality until I came here, but it still blows my mind how different the world is from Arkansas. I know that sounds really trite, but I’m completely sincere.

And I’m also hungry, so I’m going to stop typing cliches and start shoving handfuls of that cake into my face.