When I took Chinese in college, we were instructed to buy Oxford's Concise English-Chinese Chinese-English Dictionary. I hated it; it was totally worthless. It was a short, squat book that fit poorly in a knapsack. It was paperback and easily bent. And all the new words we had to learn were in the textbook. What was the point?
Now I love my little dictionary. I carry it everywhere. It does not always help in conversation (in fact, it rarely does), but it has helped me pick up a few new words every day. When I was without it for a few hours yesterday, I felt naked. It is my only weapon against ignorance.
Speaking of language, Wang Rui told us a fantastic little parable today:
---
A mother rat had a litter of baby rats. As they grew up, they noticed that their mother went and talked to the other animals a little bit every day. "Mama," one said, "why do you waste your time? We're rats. We need to speak rats."
"You will see someday," said the mother.
One day a cat came sniffing near the rats' house. When the mother rat heard it, she began to bark like a dog. "Woof. Woof woof woof!" she said. The cat became very scared and ran away.
The young rats were very impressed. Their mother turned to them. "Now you understand the importance of learning a foreign language."
---
Indeed. I shall miss Wang Laoshi. He has been an excellent guide.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
It is morning. There shall be no dawn.
There is no sun in Chengdu. Or in Ningbo, where I am tonight. The humidity and the coal-burning power plants blot out the sun. There is light, but it is never sunny. It is my understanding that I shall not see the sun except when we are in an airplane.
I miss the sun. When we saw it today in the plane, I waved to it.
I miss the sun. When we saw it today in the plane, I waved to it.
At the watchtower of Amon Sur...
In our last day at Chengdu, we visited a Daoist temple. I am not one for religion*, but I have a very respectful attitude towards visiting another person's church as a tourist site. For starters, running, pointing, staring, or reacting in any way that one would not react were one in her own church is strictly forbidden. (I chastised the girls on this several times. That's not smoke, kids. Those are somebody's prayers.) Second, I try not to understand what each of these symbols means. However good your interpreter/guide/tourist attraction finder might be, he is incomplete. You're getting the watered-down version of the story. Just take in the sight in reverence and keep moving.
Finally, once, and just once, I must perform a ritual that I see a native worshipper perform. Nobody else may see me do it. It is a sign of respect** to acknowledge that one is in the presence of the divine, even if one does not believe that there is a divine in whose presence one can be.
*Assuming, of course, that it is not worshipping me. I am all for religions centered around me. The more, the merrier!
**Today, I bowed low three times, got on my knees, and focused on one of the twelve lesser dieties of Daoism. It is not only a sign of respect; it is also a hat tip to Pascal's Wager, but in multidimensional religious space.
Finally, once, and just once, I must perform a ritual that I see a native worshipper perform. Nobody else may see me do it. It is a sign of respect** to acknowledge that one is in the presence of the divine, even if one does not believe that there is a divine in whose presence one can be.
*Assuming, of course, that it is not worshipping me. I am all for religions centered around me. The more, the merrier!
**Today, I bowed low three times, got on my knees, and focused on one of the twelve lesser dieties of Daoism. It is not only a sign of respect; it is also a hat tip to Pascal's Wager, but in multidimensional religious space.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards…
Because they can blow fire and change their faces a dozen times and do a quadruple backflip and a hundred other things I know I’m forgetting.
We just returned from the oldest tea house in Chengdu. In the tea house, you take tea while watching various performers. We saw several musicians, two scenes from Chinese opera, a shadow puppet master, a Chinese puppet show, fire breathing, and masters of the mask.
They were amazing. The shadow puppet master created images with his hands that I did not think possible. A wolf and rabbit chase, ending poorly for the rabbit. Bunnies and horses running, though not at the same time. A dove. A pair of doves. An owl. A kitten.
Wow.
The musicians and opera pieces were interesting, but they were longer than I would have liked. This may be due to my mental state (see the previous post), or due to my 15 hours awake at the start of the show. Or because the pieces build to too many climaxes. Once you’re banging on every blessed surface on the stage, call it a day. Please.
The fire breathing was fire breathing. Very cool, not anything new, but always fantastical to see. The masters of the mask were amazing. A flick of the wrist and BANG! New face. They even came out into the audience so we could see them up close. I was less than ten feet away, and I’m still not sure how they did it.
Rivendell magic was the manipulation of the matter of the universe. Earthbound magic is the manipulation of expectations, the diversion of attention. I wonder where I was supposed to look.
We just returned from the oldest tea house in Chengdu. In the tea house, you take tea while watching various performers. We saw several musicians, two scenes from Chinese opera, a shadow puppet master, a Chinese puppet show, fire breathing, and masters of the mask.
They were amazing. The shadow puppet master created images with his hands that I did not think possible. A wolf and rabbit chase, ending poorly for the rabbit. Bunnies and horses running, though not at the same time. A dove. A pair of doves. An owl. A kitten.
Wow.
The musicians and opera pieces were interesting, but they were longer than I would have liked. This may be due to my mental state (see the previous post), or due to my 15 hours awake at the start of the show. Or because the pieces build to too many climaxes. Once you’re banging on every blessed surface on the stage, call it a day. Please.
The fire breathing was fire breathing. Very cool, not anything new, but always fantastical to see. The masters of the mask were amazing. A flick of the wrist and BANG! New face. They even came out into the audience so we could see them up close. I was less than ten feet away, and I’m still not sure how they did it.
Rivendell magic was the manipulation of the matter of the universe. Earthbound magic is the manipulation of expectations, the diversion of attention. I wonder where I was supposed to look.
He hates and loves the Ring, as he hates and loves himself.
Kina is sarcastic and quick to pick up on things, but she is also easily bored. She gets irritated when the simple answer she devises is insufficient. For example, we were at dinner without Rui and Caitlin wanted some soy sauce. Despite what you may think, soy sauce is not just sitting on the table like salt and pepper in China. Far from it. When I didn’t know the Mandarin for “soy sauce”, Andrea noted that she didn’t even have the words to describe it (neither did I). Kina chimed in. “Duh. It’s BLACK.”
Thanks, kid. Because no other sauce in the world is black. I’m sure they’ll understand.:-)
Caitlin acts like her mother a great deal, often to the consternation of her parents. She likes to boss Kina and Victor—really, just Victor—around. She speaks much more loudly than is necessary, given the size of the room and the closeness of the listener. She likes to chime in when she knows the answer, often before a question is asked. That said, she is the same little girl I fell in love with five years ago, just a little bigger.
Victor is a little slow, but very observant. His slowness may be in large part attributable to his difficulty with the language; a function of his time in the orphanage, his adoption, and the City School’s inadequate treatment of him. He cannot stop moving; I often have to grab him around the shoulders to keep him from wiggling or wandering into someone. He is also sweet and loving, and begins most sentences, whether declarative or inquisitive, with “Okay. But I have a question.”
I mention all this, these factoids about the children that I love, because right now I want to eviscerate Caitlin and Kina in the worst possible way. They are so mean to their brother. Savagely mean. Unbearably mean. It tears at what’s left of my soul.
An example: on a vehicle ride at some point so far, Kina, Caitlin and I developed an “electric handshake”. I hold Kina’s hand and Caitlin’s hand, then when they hold each other’s hands, we all shake and make a noise like we’ve been shocked. Well, in the elevator on the way back from playing some games in the “game room” (read: billiard hall), I grabbed Kina’s and Victor’s hands. Kina asked what I was doing. I told her and Victor to take Caitlin’s hands, to make a four person electric handshake. Kina immediately dropped my hand, and Caitlin crossed her arms. “We’re not doing that with Victor,” Kina said.
I have two types of mad. One of them is the fly-off-the-handle, shout-and-jump, hafling-barbarian rage. It is terrifying (and sometimes comic) to behold. In it, I would drink the blood of my enemies out of their recently severed heads. This type of mad, however, pales in comparison to the steely cold, I-will-make-you-obey, power-is-my-boot-on-your-neck-forever mad. If I get this type of mad at you, go dig your grave. Now.
That is the type of mad I got at those girls.
I lowered myself to eye level, and with the wrathful, quiet voice of a vengeful diety, said:
“Look at me. You will never exclude Victor. Ever. He is your brother. Do you understand me?”
They wilted in my gaze. They did not respond.
“Do. You. Understand. Me?”
They nodded.
Later Andrea informed me that they walked straight into her room and began to sob. They hated their brother, because hating me was inconvenient. Victor had come between us. If only he could go away.
Once a speaker came to my university, the guy they based “Remember the Titans” on. He talked about integrating the football program in Alexandria, Virginia, in the late 1960s and early 1970s. I remember only one thing that he said:
“You can’t legislate love. Ask your Senator! No, for love, you gotta have a dictator.”
And so my first impulse is not to let it slide, as Andrea suggested. She thinks the best answer is not for me to keep forcing the girls to include Victor, since that will only further alienate them. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, but I think it’s something like maintaining a friendship with two sides of a divorce.
My first impulse harkens back to the history of the land of my adventure. To call upon those that united this land into one nation. Do you know the writings of Xiang Yu? That is my first impulse.
I love those girls. And I hate them. I hate them because I love them, and they are so mean to Victor. I hate them because I love them, and they act as I know I would to a slower, unwanted sibling. I hate them because I love them, and they bring out my will to dominate, to force obedience to a reign of kindness. And I hate them because I love them, and they bring out that which I hate in myself. Because I know the writings of Xiang Yu.
I could have written them.
What does one do with such feelings? That I do not know. But my first impulse, that will not avail me. That I know.
Thanks, kid. Because no other sauce in the world is black. I’m sure they’ll understand.:-)
Caitlin acts like her mother a great deal, often to the consternation of her parents. She likes to boss Kina and Victor—really, just Victor—around. She speaks much more loudly than is necessary, given the size of the room and the closeness of the listener. She likes to chime in when she knows the answer, often before a question is asked. That said, she is the same little girl I fell in love with five years ago, just a little bigger.
Victor is a little slow, but very observant. His slowness may be in large part attributable to his difficulty with the language; a function of his time in the orphanage, his adoption, and the City School’s inadequate treatment of him. He cannot stop moving; I often have to grab him around the shoulders to keep him from wiggling or wandering into someone. He is also sweet and loving, and begins most sentences, whether declarative or inquisitive, with “Okay. But I have a question.”
I mention all this, these factoids about the children that I love, because right now I want to eviscerate Caitlin and Kina in the worst possible way. They are so mean to their brother. Savagely mean. Unbearably mean. It tears at what’s left of my soul.
An example: on a vehicle ride at some point so far, Kina, Caitlin and I developed an “electric handshake”. I hold Kina’s hand and Caitlin’s hand, then when they hold each other’s hands, we all shake and make a noise like we’ve been shocked. Well, in the elevator on the way back from playing some games in the “game room” (read: billiard hall), I grabbed Kina’s and Victor’s hands. Kina asked what I was doing. I told her and Victor to take Caitlin’s hands, to make a four person electric handshake. Kina immediately dropped my hand, and Caitlin crossed her arms. “We’re not doing that with Victor,” Kina said.
I have two types of mad. One of them is the fly-off-the-handle, shout-and-jump, hafling-barbarian rage. It is terrifying (and sometimes comic) to behold. In it, I would drink the blood of my enemies out of their recently severed heads. This type of mad, however, pales in comparison to the steely cold, I-will-make-you-obey, power-is-my-boot-on-your-neck-forever mad. If I get this type of mad at you, go dig your grave. Now.
That is the type of mad I got at those girls.
I lowered myself to eye level, and with the wrathful, quiet voice of a vengeful diety, said:
“Look at me. You will never exclude Victor. Ever. He is your brother. Do you understand me?”
They wilted in my gaze. They did not respond.
“Do. You. Understand. Me?”
They nodded.
Later Andrea informed me that they walked straight into her room and began to sob. They hated their brother, because hating me was inconvenient. Victor had come between us. If only he could go away.
Once a speaker came to my university, the guy they based “Remember the Titans” on. He talked about integrating the football program in Alexandria, Virginia, in the late 1960s and early 1970s. I remember only one thing that he said:
“You can’t legislate love. Ask your Senator! No, for love, you gotta have a dictator.”
And so my first impulse is not to let it slide, as Andrea suggested. She thinks the best answer is not for me to keep forcing the girls to include Victor, since that will only further alienate them. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, but I think it’s something like maintaining a friendship with two sides of a divorce.
My first impulse harkens back to the history of the land of my adventure. To call upon those that united this land into one nation. Do you know the writings of Xiang Yu? That is my first impulse.
I love those girls. And I hate them. I hate them because I love them, and they are so mean to Victor. I hate them because I love them, and they act as I know I would to a slower, unwanted sibling. I hate them because I love them, and they bring out my will to dominate, to force obedience to a reign of kindness. And I hate them because I love them, and they bring out that which I hate in myself. Because I know the writings of Xiang Yu.
I could have written them.
What does one do with such feelings? That I do not know. But my first impulse, that will not avail me. That I know.
Strider
Our guide’s full name is Wang Rui. He studied English and Law at Sichuan University, and is about 30 years old. He had difficulty finding a job as a lawyer, and thus is our interpreter, storyteller, and local travel agent. As a child, his nickname was Xiao Hu, or Little Tiger. His older brother (Da Hu, or Big Tiger to Rui) is a musician who plays the drums and accordion all around the country. I suspect he is a starving artist, which would be a rough life in a country where a whole lot of non-artists are already starving.
I have taught in a university and advised statewide candidates for office, while Rui explains his province’s historical treasures in simple, digestible bites to tourists and adoptive parents. He is no less talented than I; he is likely far more talented. But he will lead a very different life than I do because of an accident of birth.
If somebody with some clout is reading: open our nation’s borders. Open the god damned borders now.
I have taught in a university and advised statewide candidates for office, while Rui explains his province’s historical treasures in simple, digestible bites to tourists and adoptive parents. He is no less talented than I; he is likely far more talented. But he will lead a very different life than I do because of an accident of birth.
If somebody with some clout is reading: open our nation’s borders. Open the god damned borders now.
What the dwarves have wrought in stone...
Today we went south of Chengdu to Leshan to see two of the UNESCO cultural sites. They are two representations of Buddha, the Giant Buddha and the Sleeping Buddha. The latter is a natural phenomenon such that, when looking down the coast of one of three rivers that meets in Leshan, you see what appears to be a human body in repose. Obviously, this is the Buddha; who else would it be?
The other Buddha is simply phenomenal. It is the largest representation of Buddha in the world (and yes, we asked if it became so only because the Taliban destroyed those other Buddhas. Nope, this one was always bigger. Take that, Afghanistan!). It was built in the eighth century, and I mean all of the eighth century. It took 90 years to complete. It’s massive, at 71 meters tall and 27 meters high.
[Who was paying attention when Rui explained everything? Me, that’s who.]
We boarded a boat to go see it, as it sits at the intersection of three of the four great rivers after which Sichuan is named (“si” being four and “chuan” being rivers. This is one of the few things I could figure out without being told). I was under the impression that we would take the boat across the river, then walk to the Buddha. So I was shocked—there is no other word—when we came around a bend in the river and face-to-face with Siddhartha himself. He was truly awe-inspiring. I don’t know if he calms the intersection of the rivers, as he was created to do, but he had a calming effect on our boat.
There was also the opportunity to hike through the hills and stand at the foot of Buddha, but I don’t think anybody wanted to do it but me. There are 333 (I asked. Twice.) steps to the top of the Buddha. An auspicious number.
The other Buddha is simply phenomenal. It is the largest representation of Buddha in the world (and yes, we asked if it became so only because the Taliban destroyed those other Buddhas. Nope, this one was always bigger. Take that, Afghanistan!). It was built in the eighth century, and I mean all of the eighth century. It took 90 years to complete. It’s massive, at 71 meters tall and 27 meters high.
[Who was paying attention when Rui explained everything? Me, that’s who.]
We boarded a boat to go see it, as it sits at the intersection of three of the four great rivers after which Sichuan is named (“si” being four and “chuan” being rivers. This is one of the few things I could figure out without being told). I was under the impression that we would take the boat across the river, then walk to the Buddha. So I was shocked—there is no other word—when we came around a bend in the river and face-to-face with Siddhartha himself. He was truly awe-inspiring. I don’t know if he calms the intersection of the rivers, as he was created to do, but he had a calming effect on our boat.
There was also the opportunity to hike through the hills and stand at the foot of Buddha, but I don’t think anybody wanted to do it but me. There are 333 (I asked. Twice.) steps to the top of the Buddha. An auspicious number.
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