...back in the States, and back on the blog. Sorry for the six month absence. Blogspot is blocked by the Chinese government, so when my internet proxy died back in February, I could no longer access Blogspot.
I'm returning to China in September to begin my second year of teaching. I think I've found a proxy that will allow me to keep posting when I get there.
I do still plan to post the last of my journal notes from the Southeast Asia trip -- Southeast Asia Journals, part 3, is coming soon. In the meantime, here are some brief thoughts I wrote during my second semester in China.
3.22.10
As the second semester flies past, I find my students more comfortable and more honest in their interactions with me. I can ask their opinions in class now, and get answers. We’ve talked about cloning, about whether or not the Chinese should be banned from eating dog meat, and whether, as Christopher McCandless said, “Happiness is real only when shared.” Last week we talked about inventions. Our textbook unit was titled, “I Like This Machine!” It gave a lot of outdated scientific discoveries as conversation topics and suggested I have students practice labeling the parts of a computer. Instead, I gave them play-dough, and asked, “What invention do you think will be created in the next twenty years?” They presented flying cars, UFO’s, time machines… my favorite was a machine that records our dreams at night, and transmits the memories onto a TV screen so that we can watch them when we wake up in the morning. Food, clothing, or mechanisms that would allow us to live forever were quite popular, or inventions that would free us from any kind of labor. A robot that does all our work for us. A machine that fixes our writing mistakes. Edible books that, when consumed, fill our minds with knowledge that we could otherwise only attain through reading. Many suggested a chewing gum that would allow us to never go hungry – chew a piece of gum and be filled.
I am enjoying the change of atmosphere. Last semester I felt restricted to simple, objective topics. This semester, class feels much more real.
“Life Forum” was an activity suggested to me by the other freshmen teachers: for large classes, split the students into groups and have each group choose one question to ask their teacher. Today, the first time I tried the activity, I told my students they could ask me anything – questions about my life, culture, travels… whatever subject they were interested in. Some groups asked the questions that I expected to hear: “Do you have a boyfriend?” “Do you like China?” “Tell us about your hometown.” Others asked questions that were more meaningful then I expected, especially since their class has a much lower level of English than others.
One group asked, “Why did you come to China?” Thirty students looked at me, waiting for my answer. This class has behavior issues, the worst of any of my classes. Usually I can’t get them to keep quiet, but the room was silent for this question.
“Well, I wanted to learn how to live in another culture,” I said. “I wanted to see what life was like here. And I wanted to become friends with college students like you.”
A few faces brightened -- the few that understood what I had said.
Then came the question I wasn’t ready for: a member of the last group stepped forward and asked, “Do you love us, and why?”
She had to repeat the question for me. She’d said it perfectly the first time, but I thought I had heard wrong. I hesitated to answer. Last semester, due to their low level, behavior issues, and large size, I dreaded their class more than any other. Now, they were waiting for me to offer some proof that I cared about them. I felt challenged – the tone of the question was unmistakable. These students had seen my worst moments of frustration and impatience, had watched me stumble through poorly crafted lesson plans. A part of me was not surprised that, when given the opportunity to ask me anything, they chose to ask me if I cared about them. They must have been wondering.
I stalled at first, tried to think. Somehow the first few words that came out sounded more like an apology. I told them I knew that sometimes I make mistakes, but that I do want to know my students, and that the more I know my students the more I love them. Their looks told me that either no one understood or no one was impressed by my answer.
“Yes,” I said quickly. “I love you.” But that was easy to say. They wanted me to give them a reason. I had to prove I was telling the truth.
“I don’t know all of you very well,” I said. “But I like to talk with you.” I still wasn’t giving them a reason. I finally gave in, and stated the simplest, most tangible reason that came to mind.
“Well yes… yes, I love you. I love you because you are much better students than I know I would ever have in America.” I didn’t have to wait to make sure they understood. The room erupted in applause. After class, four of them came to me, assured me they loved me too, and asked if they could visit me.
The Bribe
Parents, apparently, don’t need encouragement to be open with me. Last Monday, a student made her first appearance of the semester. Halfway through class, I noticed that she was limping. She came to me afterward and said she’d been missing class because her leg was hurt. She wanted to visit me, and catch up on all the material she’d missed. I wasn’t thrilled at the thought of a private tutoring lesson, but I figured she had a good reason, and I was happy to see that she wanted to catch up.
I scheduled a meeting with her, and just as we finished talking, another woman entered from the hallway. I saw the resemblance immediately. She carried bags of food. I introduced myself. She took my hand. She had better English than her daughter, and asked me to sit down at one of the desks and eat lunch with them. She offered me a spoon in place of the chopsticks, punctured a bag of yogurt with a straw, gave me tissues, and kept repeating that I should “Eat much.” I didn’t really want to eat. I knew it would be a mostly silent lunch. She insisted, and I thought maybe it was good for me to stay.
I sat sideways in the row in front of my student, reached over the back of the chairs and picked rice, tofu, and sprouts from the bags that sat on the built-in desk. The mother told me I was beautiful and young, that I could learn Chinese very quickly. I didn’t know how to respond, but to keep telling her she was kind, and to obey each time she pointed to a bag and said, “Eat this, eat this – very delicious.” Her daughter sat quietly the whole meal, and looked at her mother for help each time I asked a question.
When I convinced the mother that I was full, she insisted I take the food home with me. She gave me more napkins, took my empty yogurt, and tied each plastic bag.
The student will come to my room this Friday, and I will spend an hour reviewing the lessons and practicing pronunciation with her.
