An American in America

September 1^st, 2011.

It’s been exactly six weeks since I got home.  This last week was a bit strange for me; my facebook feed filled with farewells from friends (I like alliteration today, apparently) headed back to China. They’re starting their second year now. I could be too, if I wanted to, but instead I’m here.

‘Here,’ at the moment, is my parents’ house, and ‘here’ will likely remain my parents’ house until January or so. When I got home, my plans for this fall were unclear. My friend and I had planned to live in Virginia together, but unfortunately the housing didn’t work out, which left me with a choice to make. I looked into heading up to DC, and I thought about spending this whole year in Berkeley, but ultimately I realized that what I really wanted, more than anything, was family time. For the last six years, I’ve seen my parents and sisters about once a semester, and after I begin grad school, there’s no telling where I’ll be or how often I’ll be able to get home. So I’m here now, and, for the most part, glad of it.

Of course, I’m still processing China. Not a day, or an hour, I think, goes by without me thinking about my students, my TFC friends, my old Heqing stomping grounds. I wonder what Pengtun is like now and how much it will have changed by the time I see it again. And yes, sometimes I wish I was still there. But mostly I don’t. Mostly I just find myself grateful for the time I spent and for the time I’m spending here.

Here is singing in a choir again, meeting my Dad for coffee, going to the gym with my Mom, going shopping with my sister, cooking for everyone. Here is bike rides, like the ones in China but longer and far less beautiful but somehow still deeply satisfying. Here is scrapbooking a year’s incredible experience, studying econ so I can take the foreign service test, keeping up with Mandarin. Here is still unemployed (for now), but here is a research project at the museum, volunteering as a Hebrew School teacher and musician at the synagogue, helping with an interfaith youth group my sister’s a part of.

It would be pretty great if I could say that all my pre-Yunnan inhibitions and social awkwardness were vanquished by a year where I was always out of my comfort zone and got used to it, but alas, I fear that my constant exposure to risk in China made me crave even more comfort than usual. I think that’ll change though. Ultimately, I think that, although I am an American in America, I’m also an American in flux. I don’t have both feet on the ground quite yet. And, for now at least, I’m ok with waiting. I’m ok with taking time to figure things out. Yunnan taught me nothing if not patience.

So, this is it. The last entry. However, I do intend to start posting on my food blog soon. So, for anyone who’s interested: Em Bakes. I’ve been cooking up a storm down here in Georgia. Stay tuned, folks. And thanks for listening. Your constant support, through email and skype and comments and facebook and everywhere, meant the world to me.

Over and out. 

Home Again

I live in paradise.

No, really, I do.

So many little things make life so very lovely. I can take showers any time I want to, and they’re always hot. If I wake up in the middle of the night and find myself thirsty, I can go get cold, clean water (and ice!) from the fridge in the kitchen. Actually, I’m guzzling water these days, because hydrating is so much simpler and going to the bathroom no longer necessitates getting dressed, walking outside for 2-4 minutes, and chancing the possibility of sharing with a dozen tweens. Indeed, there is a bathroom right next to my bedroom.

When I’m not marveling over the wonders of hygiene I’m marveling over the wonders of food. Y’know what’s good? Cheese. And cookies. And chocolate chips. And frozen yogurt. And milk. And non-instant coffee. And non-Chinese bread. And…

I’ll admit that I miss the mountains. In Pengtun I lived in a beautiful neighborhood but not the most beautiful house. Here it’s the opposite. I have hardwood floors and walls that aren’t white. I find myself surrounded by the wonderfully familiar—the desk dresser in my room that I’ve had since I was a child (Seriously. There are Wishbone stickers on them), embarrassing pictures in the hallway of my sisters and me as little girls, coffee tables and dining tables and sofas and chairs that I know so well.

Aside from the mountains, and the lack of fresh tofu (I bought some earlier this week, in its typical plastic packaging, and found it so comparatively spongy and tasteless—still perfectly serviceable but no longer yummy before being cooked) I don’t miss China yet. I will, I know, but a week ago I hadn’t even arrived in Chicago, so I’m still in utopia.

My last few days in China were mostly quite nice. Two of my students came to the bus station to see me off, and Yiming and I traveled together to Kunming. We got in at 6 AM, and, as neither of us had places we had to be, opted for breakfast at KFC, because there’s a decent bathroom there and they’re often open 24 hours. We sat and talked for quite awhile, Pengtun already in the past tense for us both, neither of us really wanting our fellowship to truly end. But we parted ways. I got on my first plane in quite awhile and whisked my way up to Beijing, then eventually grabbed a train to Tianjin. The reentry into urban life was jarring, but, at the same time, I found myself far better equipped to handle this jaunt through Beijing than the one I endured my first night back in China last July. I had a better idea where I was going and was far more capable of asking directions.



My friends’ wedding in Tianjin was super fun. I got to meet both the bride’s and groom’s families and explore a city I’d never been to before. I was so happy to be able to spend time with my friends, whom I know only from Georgia, in their home. Plus, we stayed in an amazing hotel. Seriously, I jumped for joy when I got to my room.

After two days in Tianjin, I had two in Beijing. I traded my 5-star experience for my typical hostel, which was unfortunately not nearly so charming as many of the hostels I enjoyed in Yunnan and southeast Asia. Still, it was a really great location, a short walk from Tiananmen, and I spent most of my time just strolling around, exploring neighborhoods both near and far from the hostel. The new subway lines are amazing—you can get to so many places so very quickly and easily. When I studied abroad, subway service was far more limited. Since I’d already lived in Beijing during study abroad, I didn’t feel a need to go back to the city’s main tourist attractions, but I took a morning to go out to the Olympic Village, even forking over 25 RMB to enter the Bird’s Nest. It’s an awfully cool stadium.



The other highlight of my trip was a dinner out with a good friend from study abroad whom I’d not seen in over three years. The experience reminded me of just how lucky I am to have so many friends in so many places around the world.

Before I knew it, I was on a plane in Beijing, then wandering through O’Hare—staring awkwardly every time I saw a non-Asian person—and munching a bran muffin from Starbucks. The sound of English in my ears threw me off even as I relished in its simplicity. I called my parents from my American cell phone, which felt strange to hold after the cheap Chinese cell I’d used for the past year.

The flight to Atlanta seemed like nothing after the 14-hour stretch over the Pacific, and I was doing so very well in speaking only English to everybody. But then, when we were disembarking the plane, an older Asian gentleman gestured for me to go first. Out popped a “xiexie—thank you. Oh.” I hope he didn’t hear me.

Unexpected Wanderings

(This is a chronologically out of order post that I started writing before my school departure post but didn’t get a chance to finish until just now, sitting at the Beijing airport. But enjoy!)

Around June the 30th, we the teachers of Pengtun Middle School were informed of a 9-day break, from July 3rd-11th, coinciding with the administration of the high school entry exam for the ninth graders and some sort of test for the eighth graders.

Had it been earlier in the year, I would have chilled, gone somewhere for a few days, and chilled/prepped some more. However, the combination of just how soon I’m moving back to the States and just how much I’m trying to keep myself busy instead of staring at my computer led to me going happily for broke.

So it was that, after taking Saturday to relax and grade, I bussed out on Sunday with a couple changes of clothes, showering supplies, school stuff, my journal, and a novel.

First stop was Dali, where I wandered up the now-familiar stone sidewalk from the parking lot on the DaLi Lu up into the touristy clutches of the old town. It was strange. I hadn’t been to Dali since mid-May, at which point there were tourists but not that that many. Early July was a very different story, and more than just feeling a little surprised I felt a little uncomfortable. I didn’t know how best to interact with all the white faces, which set of manners to use. Hearing American English from sources other than Colin, Mark, Arianne, and Hallie threw me off.

Luckily, the German Bakery remained the German Bakery, and I plopped down at a table with a slice of raspberry cake crowned with real whipped cream and fresh berries. It was a quick trip. Less than a couple of hours after arriving I dashed off again, this time into the city of Xiaguan, Dali’s modern counterpart.

I met up with Mark, Arianne, and Arianne’s mother (who’s visiting China for a couple of months), and we got rooms in a hotel near the bus station in preparation for the morning’s journey.

The first leg of our journey, from Xiaguan to Yunxian, was a bus ride we’d actually taken once before, going the other direction, on our way back from the English Teachers’ conference in Lincang. I thought then that I’d never be in Yunxian again, but so it went. The awesome thing about Yunxian is that it is possessed of a most excellent handcut noodles shop, and, as our bus got in around noon, we got to indulge.

It’s a small world in rural China, because as we sat chewing our delicious lunch, who should walk in but Laura, on her way down to Lincang. After sharing pleased hugs, she joined our table, and we walked together to the bus station, where we got to see Kristen and Sean before all three of them jumped onto their bus. I’m super grateful for the random rendezvous, because I didn’t think I was going to get to see those two ladies again before heading back to the states.
The ride from Yunxian to Gengma was a pretty one, southern Yunnan revealing itself in flowing, rich greens—sprawling plant-life filling almost every non-sky inch of space beyond the road. The mountains rose, it seemed, taller than they are up here, although Heqing itself is at a higher elevation than Lincang.

Gengma itself, unfortunately, didn’t exactly impress.

There’s this thing with Chinese cities of a certain size—namely that they’re all organized in a very, very similar fashion. It’s the sidewalks that really get me; they’re all paved in exactly the same way. Yellow dotted tiles, guides for the blind, run down the center of every single sidewalk. Gengma was pretty to walk about, with palm trees and very warm weather, but it was the fields I found, when I wandered to the very back of the town and kept going, that made me happiest. I traipsed, largely ignoring the confused glances of the farmers, although I did get into one conversation with a local who told me that Pu’er Tea (which can be really expensive and generally considered good quality) was not at all good and that I should only drink the stuff from Gengma. We did, in fact, buy a whole lot of really nice smelling, really cheap tea.


Cangyuan, where we went the following afternoon, was not too much more exciting. Because it’s only six or so miles from the Burmese border, we expected a city steeped in Burmese style food and culture. Instead, we found a mostly Chinese place with a few Burmese accents. Certainly there were little things that were different from my part of Yunnan, but on the whole it was in every way a Chinese city. So we wandered, wilting in the heat but pleased by the mountains surrounding, eventually finding ourselves in a grocery store where we purchased ridiculous Chinese sweets with the intention of making ourselves a 4th of July “cake” later. This did not happen but was nonetheless fun.

In the morning, we hiked. Hiked, in this instance, ought to be taken as as loose an interpretation of the word as may be, for by “hike” what I actually mean is bushwack, and by “bushwack” what I actually mean is a pleasant enough trudging through a farmer’s hillside corn fields, followed by not at all pleasant crawling up a muddy slope towards a pine forest. It was really pretty, to be sure, and we enjoyed wandering through the woods.
However, when it was time to get back down to the road again, we basically ended up sliding down a severe slope and ending up covered in mud. It was very exciting indeed. A couple locals strolling alone stopped to watch and pronounced us incredibly badass (as the term 厉害 would perhaps be best translated).

The next day, Mark and Arianne went back to school, but Arianne’s mother, Jean, and I went on up to Shangrila (thus named by the Chinese), a Tibetan area of Yunnan. I hadn’t really experienced any Tibetan culture since my brief but powerful trip to Lhasa in 2007, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. In fact, I was a bit nervous that, because this is more or less a designated tourist spot, the government would have made it a little Tibetan theme park.However, while there were certainly kitchy touches, on the whole it was easy to see a core of organic Tibetan culture. Monks walked the streets, there was a large, active monastery, and the villages just outside the town were entirely different from those in Heqing and reminded me really strongly of the ones I’d seen in Tibet itself. While it was a short trip, it was so relaxing, and I’m really glad I was able to go. I also bought a small yak wool blanket for myself, woven with Tibetan motifs, that makes me really happy.


By the time I got back to school, almost a week after I’d left, I felt incredibly alive and rejuvenated and more than ready to jump into my last week of class.



(I think the sleepy baby yaks helped)

Moving On

Last night, I lit a candle, as I often do on Fridays. Actually, normally I light two, as it’s Shabbat, but last night there was only one, and its makeshift candlestick was a few drops of wax dripped onto Mark’s old hard-drive. My real candlesticks are wrapped in socks, which have been nestled in a knit hat and then deposited into a knit bag currently residing in the top of my suitcase.

I have less than an hour remaining at Pengtun Middle School.

My room is as bare as it was when I moved in—far more so, in fact, as I’ve essentially cleared it out but for a corner of the kitchen in which resides a spattering of items to hand down to next year’s fellows. I’m actually taking less than I’m leaving. I organized our last class as an “auction” where my kids could use their class points to bid on such exciting items as notebooks, bags, American money, and “Miss Emily’s Tea Mug” (which went for a frightening $800). And last night I gave my coat hangers, some bowls, and a lot of school supplies to my few students not at home for the weekend.

So, other than one small box of books I mailed last week, everything I’m carrying back to America fit into one suitcase, one briefcase, and the backpack I took with me for my new year travels. Packing, which always seems such a formidable task prior to commencement, always seems to manage to happen quite quickly once the first step is taken.

There’s going to be a lot of travel over the next day or so. A bus ride to Heqing. A night bus to Kunming. A cab to the airport. A flight to Beijing. A subway (actually three, I think) to the south train station. A train to Tianjin. Once I arrive in Tianjin, I’ll have two or three days there and a couple in Beijing before getting on the biggest plane I’ll have seen in over a year and experiencing the longest 7 minutes (4:03 on 7/21/2011 to 4:10 on 7/21/2011) of my life. Then it’ll be a short little O’Hare to Atlanta hop—a trip I’ve taken probably half a dozen times en route to Mac.

For now, there’s me and my couch and perhaps 40 minutes of stillness. Stillness has been a rarity of late, so I’m trying to enjoy it. This is, in fact, the first time I’ve written more than a couple of paragraphs (this “final” Pengtun entry has been started and interrupted at least three times). Hopefully there will be time enough to finish and post prior to getting on the road. And once I’m in Beijing I hope to finish a half-completed entry about the travels of last week’s break.

The last few days have been full of 3+ hour farewell dinners, visits from my kids, and lots of lesson planning. On Tuesday evening all the TFC fellows shared dinner and drinks and silly awards. Mine was for “Culinary Excellence” and involved two cookbooks, which’ll be fun to play with. We also got gifts from both the elementary and middle school administrations, so I now have beautiful silver bracelets that I’ll never be able to wear without thinking of this year.

This morning I finally got a chance to zen as I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast of mango-chocolate chip pancakes (a dish that would be at home in any American kitchen but for the fact that it was prepared in a wok and consumed with chopsticks). It was quiet, most students at home, the pitter-patter of what seems eternal rain competing ever so slightly with the music I was streaming.

I biked into town to drop off some pictures I’m printing for my kids, then met up with Arianne and her mother for lunch. We actually went to the same noodle place all the fellows ate at on our very first trip to Heqing, back last August. I hadn’t been since. It seemed like a nice bit of closure.

Then I went to empty my bank account and rode home with the equivalent of well over $1000 dollars in my raincoat’s inside pocket. This huge sum of cash was made even more dramatic by the fact that the highest value bill in China is 100 kuai, which means that I had many, many, many bills. I sure hope I don’t get robbed between here and Atlanta.

The rest of the day’s been quiet as I finished packing, scrubbing down my room, and making several trips to the trash pit. A couple of my girls who stay on campus most weekends called me up to the classroom, so I went to sit with them for a few minutes. I hadn’t expected to feel anything related to the space, but as I walked through the nearly empty room, seeing each student in his or her seat, I came close to tears. It was almost a relief—knowing that, despite its challenges, this year’s work has had enough positive impact on me that its end carries mourning as well as joy.

There are lots of things I need to process, and luckily once I’m home (in 6 days!!) I should have time to do just that. And I’ll probably have things to say about Beijing, and about reverse culture shock once I’m back Stateside, so this is by no means goodbye to the blog. It is goodbye to Pengtun, to Heqing, to the world that’s formed my life for the last year. As much as I’ve looked forward to this day, actually walking out of that school gate suddenly seems a heavy task. Change, even when desired, is hard. But it’s time to go.

The Village of Silver

About a 10-minute bike ride from Pengtun is the village of Xinhua, a rather unremarkable town in most respects that, two years ago, was transformed into a tourist destination. (Note the awesome Chinglish). Groups of Chinese travelers going between Dali and Lijiang often stop by Xinhua to watch ethnic dancing and buy insanely expensive, locally produced silver jewelry. Apparently, international travelers also visit from time to time. It’s a rather strange place—totally built up in some areas and looking exactly like every other village in others. There’s a lot of wealth—some homes make Americas McMansions look modest in comparison—but there are also houses that have doubtless been around for decades or even centuries.

The kids from Xinhua go to my school, and my class has three kids from the village. Yesterday, Mark and I went to hang out. We biked over on our own, and then I called Levi, who guided us to his house.

Levi is one of my troublemakers. He’s way more physically mature than a lot of my other boys—tall and possessed of facial hair—and he’s actually my only student who’s ever made me feel physically uncomfortable. A couple weeks ago I saw that he wasn’t doing whatever he was supposed to be and plopped down next to him (a relatively common tactic when kids are off task). I faced out to give some instruction to the rest of the students, and he slid up behind me. Not cool, Levi. He’s also the kid whose can of beer (pulled from his desk a month or so back) is sitting in my room as a constant blackmail threat. Nonetheless, there are some kids you can just tell have had decent upbringings, and he’s definitely one of them.

The Levi that I visited with yesterday was nothing like the Levi I know from Class 82. In fact, it made the visit a little awkward, because I didn’t know how to interact with this polite, demur teenager who wasn’t joking around or being a bit of a jerk.

When we arrived at his house, it was clear that we were Expected. We put our bikes in the courtyard and smiled at the folks making fake silver knives and the like for the souvenir shops all over town. Then he brought us into the sitting room found in most homes around here—benches or couches lining the walls and facing each other, a table in the middle, the TV at the far end. Fruit and other snacks were already laid out, and Levi’s little brother poured us tea. Levi gave us huge hunks of watermelon, which there was really just no graceful way to consume, so we munched as politely as we were able.

I didn’t interact much with his mother, but Levi’s father sat with us for awhile, and we chatted about the importance of education, his own educational and family background, and the ways that Xinhua had changed over the years. Like many of my students’ parents, Levi’s dad is from the area (in fact, he and Levi’s mother grew up in Xinhua in houses very close together), but when Levi was young he spent much of the year doing business in Sichuan, coming home only over the New Year. When Levi’s brother (now 11) was very young, Levi's father managed to get a business going in Xinhua instead and was able to return home full time. Coming from a large family, he had a few older siblings who were forced to leave school and start working at a very young age. He was able to continue studying until halfway through eighth grade. It’s difficult, he told me, to support Levi and his brother’s studies, when he and his wife didn’t go to much school themselves, but they’re trying to emphasize the importance of education in today’s world. Even if it doesn’t lead to more money, he said, it’s better to be educated than to leave school when you’re young.

Levi’s a smart kid, and if he decided to apply himself, I’ve no doubt he’d do well, but he doesn’t, most of the time. I tried to convey this to both him and his father; we’ll see what happens.



After leaving his home, we biked around the village, stopping by Ginny’s house and trying to track down Johnny, who wasn’t around. Then I asked about silver, since I wanted to buy some local souvenirs for my mom and sisters. Levi’s father came out to meet us and brought us to a shop run by a woman he’d grown up with. Bracelets, my initial plan, were a bit out of my price range, but I found some nice earrings, and because Levi’s father was there, I didn’t have to spend 20 minutes bargaining the price down. She just gave me a good deal. The importance of 关系 (connections) cannot be overstated in China.

I haven’t visited all my students, but I’m grateful for the ones whose homes I have been able to see, and I’m especially grateful to have been able to experience the village of Xinhua behind all the touristy glitter.

The Process has begun

By “The Process,” I of course mean the absolutely insane amount of organizing, throwing away, giving away, mailing, and packing that stands between me and my night bus to Kunming on July 16^th. This time frame is slightly complicated (mostly in a good way) by the fact that we were informed this week of a 9-day-vacation, beginning yesterday and extending to next Saturday night. This is bad for two reasons: 1) it cuts way down on review time, and 2) they told us late enough in the game that flying anywhere isn’t really a possibility. However, it is also great for two reasons: 1) there are plenty of places to visit that don’t involve flying, thus allowing me to take a “bonus” trip here in Yunnan, and 2) being away from school for a few days will leave me far less likely to be staring at the calendar on my computer, compulsively counting down the remaining days of class, days in Heqing, and days in China (7, 14, and 19, for the record). I’ve decided to go down south with Arianne, her mother (who’s visiting from the states), and Mark. We’ll be hanging out in tea country for a few days. I’m very excited. Apparently there are nicely sized blocks of really good tea available for very cheap. I’ll leave today and get back probably on Friday, after an overnight in Dali on the way up.

We found out a week or two ago that Pengtun isn’t going to be a TFC school next year. Since Yiming and I are both leaving, Malijun is moving to an elementary school, and the school isn’t really dealing with a teacher shortage, the admins of both the school and TFC decided it’d be better to move Mark to another school rather than move 2-3 new fellows in. Well, that’s the official reason. There are others, I’m sure, like our test scores. TFC fellows in schools down south have had their bans (classes) taken away from them because of poor grades, and they spent this semester teaching oral English to most students in the school. There’s nothing wrong with that—in fact, I think in many cases oral English instruction would be a much more appropriate use for TFC teachers than being in charge of a ban’s complete English instruction—but it does show the natural frustration some schools are feeling with our less-than-stellar results.

But enough of that. What all of us meaning Pengtun means is that I will not be able to treat my room as a college house, as it were. My last two years at Mac, I lived in homes that had been inherited from and were subsequently passed on to Mac students. It was a pretty great deal, because we got each place mostly furnished and were able to take and leave whatever we wished when we moved out. This year, however, will be more like my first two years in college, when I lived in the dorms and a move out meant that everything other than school-provided furniture must go. We’re still not entirely clear on what belongs to the school and what doesn’t, since when we got here we already had quite a bit remaining from last year’s fellows, so that complicates things.

Packing will be a slow process, not least because I know that the more I take my room apart the more I’ll be fixated upon getting out of it. Yesterday I mailed a box of books and cards (padded with winter socks) that I’ve received over the course of the year. It was less expensive than I thought it might be, which was a relief, but as I sent it by freight who knows when I’ll get it? I also threw away a bunch of papers and other miscellaneous stuff, including my 10-month-old box of really expensive and really disgusting pork mooncakes (a gift from the school) that I smuggled out to the dumpster in the dead of night. I organized my desk drawers and collected a bag of clothes to give away. Clothes to throw away will be dealt with later. I’m paring down my pantry, trying to use up stuff and pass along/toss things I don’t think I’ll ever end up eating. There are a whole lot of decisions to be made concerning such questions as how much of my pharmacy to try to take home with me, whether or not to hang onto clothes that I like but that aren’t in fantastic shape, etc. Most of these decisions will need to be made post trip, but I’m glad to at least have gotten things going.

Anyway, not to harp entirely upon the leaving on Heqing, I share here a few stories of recent life.

Why did the chicken cross the road?

I contemplated the timeless question as I braked on my bike, then swerved to the right so as not to hit the two roosters casually bobbing their way across my path. When I bike to town, I go over a mix of cement, dirt/mud (depending on the amount of rain), cobblestones, asphalt. The way I usually go, I pass through most of Pengtun, dip out onto the DaLiLu for a minute, and then cut back in to villages closer to town. I am as likely to run across a cow as I am a car, likely to see more tragons than tour busses, and not at all surprised when I find myself needing to slow in order to keep fowl alive. The other day, I also became an impromptu horse whisperer, when a foal somehow traipsed its way out of the field and onto the Pengtun village road, a few meters from the DaLiLu. While its mother neighed in what I’m sure was a most potent combination of exasperation and fear, I got off my bike and tried to coax the little horse back down. It didn’t quite work, but he at least moved farther away from the big road.

Commie Party

As some of you fine folks might know, the CCP celebrated 90 years on July 1^st, and, as such, there was a bit of hoopla around here. All of the teachers at Pengtun, and all of the teachers from other schools in the area, were required to participate in a local singing exposition/talent show. Mark and I got out of this, somehow, which is probably a good thing as it’s possible I’ll run for office some day, and Mark’s Chinese side of the family fled to Hong Kong in part because of that whole communism thing. The other teachers were required to rehearse before evening classes a few times a week, and, I must say, they were good. It’s not entirely unheard of for teachers in American schools to be drafted into singing during talent shows or other events, but I feel like the spirit there is always one of light, slightly embarrassed indulgence. There is no harmony, no solemnity.

As Mark and I watched the teachers perform, I found myself subject to the rather furious pokings of an old woman who, for some reason or another, reaaaallly didn’t like me. I could not understand a word she was saying, but she poked me for a few minutes.

On Friday night, the actual 90 Year Celebration day, I got a text from one of my very sweet and not very intelligent girls that read something like this (forgive my translation skills):

“Burning hot weather, burning hot happiness, I wish you with the Party constant good fortune, I wish you with the Party constant good luck, I wish you with the Party constant happiness, I wish you with the Party constant luck in love. On July 1^st, be happy happy!”

China Birthday

I’m 24 years old. I’m in my mid-twenties—no longer a fresh-out-of-college 22-year-old but a 2-year veteran of the “real world” (whatever that means).

As with so many other stages in life, I’ve reached this point only to realize that “wait, I still don’t know what I’m doing.”

I have a clear memory of little 2^nd-grade me walking up the stairs of Mary Munford Elementary School, gazing at the gargantuan fifth graders up ahead, and knowing, without a lick of doubt, that these kids understood what was going on. They had everything all figured out.

Only, then, one day, I was a fifth grader, and there was still a lot I didn’t get. But middle schoolers, they were sure to understand it all. …Nope.

Well, perhaps once I was in high school and knew how to drive, or perhaps once I got to college, or got to be a senior in college, or graduated from college, or went to live on the other side of the world…. Oh. So all the wisdom and knowledge of adulthood doesn’t just show up one day?

Shucks.

Anyway, I’ve celebrated my last several birthdays away from my family, but this was my first time celebrating abroad, and, because I have a summer birthday, it was also my first time celebrating on a regular old workday. Hence, much of my day didn’t feel all that birthday-like. I’d told my students that I wanted my present to be good behavior, but for my first two classes that was apparently too much to ask. I got to skype with a friend for about ten minutes during the afternoon, and Malijun gave me a beer, but but frankly, I was pretty mopey until after my 3 o’clock class.

I still had a couple of hours before my evening marathon class, so I decided to bike into town for bubble tea and also pick up a bar of chocolate to supplement the ghiradellhi Mark was kind enough to bring me back from America. I made a rice cooker cake. Specifically I made a mint mocha cake (chocolate with hints of mint and coffee) with a thin coffee frosting/filling between the two layers and a bailey’s (again, courtesy of Mark) chocolate glaze over top. It was, unfortunately, rather ugly when done, so no pictures. But it was darn tasty.

The first half hour of the evening class was its usual self—reviewing vocabulary and the like. Then, after the five-minute break, we went outside and spent the next half an hour playing basketball against Yiming’s class.

Class 82 has major troublemakers who happen to be talented basketball players. Despite a rule stating that only two of my class’s top five players could be on the court at any moment, we crushed the opposition. Meanwhile, I took pictures of my kids (whether they wanted to be photographed or not). Here we have Mike and Zach, and Laura and Sam (Samantha, she now insists, after the mortifying discovery of Sam listed in the textbook as a "boy's name").

Yiming’s class went in at 7:30, and we stayed out until 8. (I’d decided over the weekend that I might have an evening class on my birthday, but I was not going to spend the whole two hours fighting my students into being quiet and listening while we covered real content.)

Some of my kids opted to keep playing basketball, and a few asked if they could go back to the classroom and do homework, but I managed to corral the rest into learning all about the very important American staples of duck duck goose, octopus tag, and red rover. It was silly and fun. After I shepherded them back inside, I saw that the trustworthy girls I’d allowed to go in early and start their homework had,

in fact, decorated the entire blackboard with birthday wishes. The

class sang me happy birthday in English and Chinese. I got presents from two students and notes from a few more (see pictures of presents. They are epic things, they are). Touched, I thanked them profusely. Then it was homework time. Most kids were tired enough from all the running around that they either buckled down into work or at least kept quiet so their classmates could. All in all, it was a lovely class.

After the bell rang, I headed back to my room. Mark had candles leftover from Malijun’s birthday a few weeks ago, so I stuck them in my cake and got the gang over. Yiming’s girlfriend, who was visiting from Hong Kong, made a small fruit salad, and Yiming gave me a plant that’s currently sucking up sunshine on my windowsill. We ate the cake (sadly for me, no leftovers remaining), and just relaxed for a little while before splitting up so we could all get work done for Tuesday morning. It was not a typical American birthday, perhaps, but that doesn't mean it wasn't memorable.