Tell Me a Tale of the Orient Gay

Hello, friends and family and anonymous strangers! How are you this fine afternoon? It's sunny and warm and delightfully not humid right now. I think the last two weeks of March are well in consideration as the best-weather time of the year for Guangzhou. Honestly, if it weren't for the lingering mold all through my apartment (it's like an alien invasion. Once they have a foothold, you're fighting a loosing battle) it would be perfect.

Now that's how you deal with mold.

But enough about the weather! Honestly, I feel as though I have a tendency to blather on about the weather or food at quite some length. This is because I have an exceedingly boring life, despite the glamor of living in a foreign country (although there are times, still, when I'll be just walking along the sidewalk and I'll suddenly remember 'Dude, I live in China' and I will be instantly more cheerful). Mostly, I go to work and I sit at home and read. Sometimes I go grocery shopping. Very occasionally I'll do something cool. But, mostly I hang out alone with my glorious glorious internet reading selection (now even bigger and more scholarly, thanks to my college granting JSTOR access to alumni!). So, as promised last week, settle in everyone for a contemplative review of The Romance of China: Excursions to China in US Culture, 1776-1876 by John Rogers Haddad. It's a fascinating look at Sino-American exchange through a period encompassing Lord Macartney's expedition to China and the Second Opium War.

I could also talk about knitting.

And... you all just clicked away to read something more interesting, didn't you? Say, the latest commentary on the Republican nomination race that just won't stop? Yes, don't lie, even that dead horse is probably more interesting to you than reading about my thoughts on the changing American perspectives on China in the 19th century. It's okay.

You look as excited as these guys (8 Nation Alliance)

It's okay because you've been granted a reprieve thanks to a last-minute invite I had earlier this week. Instead of a week of generic nothing, I actually went out and did something on Saturday night. This is doubly surprising because Saturday night is the end of a 10 hour work day, followed by another 10 hour work day, so usually I just go home and watch the Big Bang Theory and go to bed early. However, I couldn't pass up this week's opportunity. So, where did I go? You get three guesses.
1. No, guess again.
2. Still wrong, one more try.
3. Nope. Okay, I'll tell you.

I went to a PFLAG meeting/ English corner! I was super excited (As is everyone who finds this blog by googling "gay orient." Today, the double entendre gets real, people. Also, apologies to everyone who googles "gay orient bears" and gets my post about the Beijing zoo. Really not what you were looking for, was it). I was invited by my coworker and his boyfriend. We spent a lot of fun time walking up and down the street, trying to find the address. We eventually found it around back, and then we spent a lot of fun time trying to figure out how to get the correct floor (turns out, one elevator goes to the odd floors and the other to the even). But get there we did, just ever so fashionably late.

There were about fifteen attendees. My coworker and I were the only foreigners. The lady in charge, a straight ally, and I were the only women. Everyone spoke pretty decent English (well, it was an English corner). We had a lovely agenda which read amazingly like a lesson plan for one of my higher-level classes (it was a little fun to be on the 'student' side). First, we played Fruit Basket as an ice breaker. This is a musical-chairs like game where the odd-one-out calls out something like 'who's wearing blue?' and everyone who is wearing blue has to stand up and change seats, leaving one person standing again. In this case, the person standing had to introduce themselves a little and answer any further questions from the group, then call out the next color/whatever.  After that, we had a little debate/discussion/role-play activity. Here's the scenario: a gay man came out to his parents three years ago, and it didn't go over so well. But now, the parents want to repair their relationship with their son (while not having actually changed any of their views). What to do? So, we were randomly divided into sides (parents/homophobes v gay children/people with working brains) and had some time to prepare our arguments. Guys, I had to pretend to be homophobic. This was really hard. I tried to channel Maggie Gallagher, but I really couldn't keep a straight face. Also, I had the problem of not really wanting to win the argument (but how could I actually win? My argument was based on the speculation that homosexuality is caused by something in the water/mothers who work outside the home/going to a single-sex boarding school. My argument was RIDICULOUS. Ridiculous because there are people who actually believe it, that is). Basically, our side boiled down to 'So, son, you're gay, okay. But if you were a good son, you'd marry a nice girl and have a child, because that's what good sons do and who's going to take care of you when you're old, I just want you to be happy (according to my narrowly defined path to happiness). You can always see that boyfriend of yours quietly, on the side, out of the public eye.'

Gays in Chinese history? SHHH. No such thing.

I'd just like to take a moment to thank my own parents for not being crazy people. Chatting with people at the PFLAG meeting, quite a few asked if I was out at home and how my parents took it. And I got to say yes, I'm out at home, and my parents were pretty cool about it. Actually, I was much more freaked out than they seemed to be. Everyone I told this to last Saturday seemed a little envious. Quite a few of the attendees are not out to family. There are no pictures of people in this post for a reason. As a matter of fact, no one I've ever come out to has taken it badly (well, there is one person who's reaction I will hold near and dear to my heart for the rest of time. Because, really, you can't quite beat the awkward enthusiasm of 'OMG YOU'RE MY FIRST GAY FRIEND'). So, way to be awesome, everyone.

We wrapped up the PFLAG meeting with a game of Taboo-Charades (it's Taboo, but you can act things out). I play this in class all the time, but Saturday night's vocabulary will not be seeing the inside of a classroom anytime soon. Seriously, that most embarrassing miming experience of my life.
 I can't even type the word here (whatever you're thinking, you're probably not too far off).

This is how I felt.

All in all, I was happy to have the opportunity to interact with the gay community in Guangzhou, even if it was only a few for only a short time. It's a completely different world here with completely different cultural beliefs, history, and expectations. I'd elaborate, but you'd probably find that just as boring as a discussion of Chinese-American interactions in the early republic. If you'd like to read more, read this, this, or this.

Wheeling through the Year

Spring again, and the first reference that leapt to mind was e e cumming’s Balloonman. For some reason, though, that seemed familiar, and after a moment, I remembered why. A little less than three years ago I used the exact same poem to talk about springtime in Beijing. Considering the number of poems which talk about springtime, this is a little ridiculous. Ah, well. It’s hard to beat words like puddle-wonderful and mud-luscious.

Actually, today is neither muddy nor puddleful. The humidity is down a bit, and the temperature is holding steady at a lovely 73 degrees. It is so nice, in fact, that I am writing this post while sitting in the courtyard garden.

The garden was one of the major reasons I chose this apartment back in July. I figured once in cooled down a bit, it would be a nice place to sit in my free time and enjoy the outdoors (as much of it as there is in downtown Guangzhou, anyway). But, it was too hot, and then it was too wet, and then it was too cold. So this is actually the first time I’ve actually realized that little dream-idea of sitting in the garden with my laptop, typing away like some sort of modern blogger. Ah, the 21^st century. Across from me are about four young women with their babies in strollers. About twenty feet to my right, there is a man swimming laps in the neighboring gym’s pool (another reason for choosing this apartment).

Strangely, now is when the old leaves fall off.

I was planning on listening to the ambient noise, but after about five minutes, I realized that the major ambient sounds are the two neighboring construction sites, so I’ve given into the antisocial tendency of our modern era and put in my headphones. I’m listening to my new CD, thank you Meg, The Goat Rodeo Sessions. It’s a collaboration between Stuart Duncan, Chris Thile, Edgar Meyer, and Yo Yo Ma. So… basically, it’s Yo Yo Ma playing bluegrass, and it’s awesome. My favorite track so far is called “Quarter Chicken Dark.”

fruit salad for my birthday!

Yesterday, as most of you know, was my birthday. My only plans for the day were birthday cake and Thai food, and I succeeded on both counts. The traditionalist in me wanted a Betty Crocker Best Chocolate Cake, so I spent the morning visiting three different international grocery stores to find the ingredients (baking chocolate was the hardest to find). I don’t have an electric mixer, and I wasn’t about to attempt it by hand, so homemade buttercream frosting was out, but I indulged in some canned chocolate fudge frosting. I also decided to go all the way and picked up birthday candles and writing icing. I’ll tell you, nothing feels quite as silly as writing “Happy Birthday” on your own birthday cake, but I managed it.

I am terrible at planning ahead, so I sent a text message invite to dinner to all my friends at about 11am on my birthday, and seven of them still managed to come, so I was quite pleased. We went to the Thai Garden restaurant on the top floor of Tee Mall. I’d never been, but my flatmate had, and she said it was good. It was. We had chicken baked in a pineapple, Thai fried noodles, spicy mussels, rice-stuffed chicken wings, dragonfruit salad, some vegetarian red curry, and warm pumpkin coconut cakes. Nothing like Thai food in Maine, though, so my craving for American pad thai remains unsatisfied.

 After dinner, we all walked back to my apartment and ate the cake, which everyone said was delicious. I may or may not have had a piece for breakfast today, but if I did, I certainly wouldn’t admit it in a place my mother could read about it. Not when she and my Dad sent me such a lovely birthday card and e-present. I also bought myself a couple birthday presents, but I shall keep that a secret for a future post. The tailor is still working on them.

So, to sum up a rather aimless post, it is Spring, I am 24 years old, and I’m okay with life right now. I just started reading a scholarly work on interactions between China and America in the 18^th and 19^th centuries, and I was going to bore you all with my thoughts on it, but this post is already quite long. Perhaps I’ll save it for next week. Oh, and I got a birthday hug from my friend, so all my birthday wishes came true*.

Thanks for all the psychic hugs. Look how happy they made me.

*Well, except for the one where the Doctor stops by and offers me a ride through time and space, but there’s always next year.

I Need a Hug

March is a month of holidays, anniversaries, and milestones. So far in holidays, we’ve had Learn from Lei Feng Day (March 5), International Women’s Day (March 8), Chinese Arbor Day (March 12), and Pi Day (3.14 – Happy Pi Day!). As for anniversaries and milestones, we’ve had the 242^nd anniversary of the Boston Massacre (March 5) and the 100^th birthday of the Girl Scouts of the USA (March 2012), the beginning of Daylight Saving Time (March 11), the 3^rd anniversary of the beginning of this blog, and the 2/3 mark of my year in Guangzhou (4 months to go). Still to come, we have the Ides of March (March 15), Saint Patrick’s Day (March 17), my birthday (March 20), the Spring Equinox (March 20), and Earth Hour (March 31). There’s probably several more, but consulting Wikipedia would be cheating.

All other events aside, March is my eighth month in Guangzhou. Some days it feels like I’ve been here forever, and other days it feels like I just arrived. Some days it feels like I’ll be home in no time at all, and some days it feels like I still have an eternity to go.

I already have a mental list of things I know I will miss about China when I do go home. At lot of it comes from things I know I missed after my time in Beijing. First on this list is the food. I do love my morning baozi and scallion pancakes. Honestly, though, I can recreate most of it at home. All I lose is the convenience and cheapness I have now. But, that is true about most of the American food I miss. It’s not that I can’t find the ingredients or equipment here; rather, it’s that I have to make a serious effort. My local grocery store doesn’t sell flour, and only occasionally has cereal (and then my choices are Corn Flakes or Frosted Flakes). I have to go to the international groceries for things like baking powder, cocoa powder, spaghetti sauce, or cheese. It’s a heck of a mental shift to think of spaghetti as an exotic food.

I will miss the convenience of public transportation. I love taking buses. It makes me feel cool. There is absolutely no reason for this. On the other hand, I sort of miss driving. Or maybe I just miss my driving music, which is great for cruising down long empty stretches of  I-95 and not really suitable to walking down Shuiyin Lu.

I will miss looking at my bank account on payday and feeling like Mitt Romney. Take a moment and convert your currency into Chinese yuan for a moment (Americans, multiply by 6.5). It makes you look rich, right? Sure, most things you buy are also more numerically expensive, but I’m definitely on the well-paid side of life here. Given the continued poor state of the American economy, I’ll be happy for a job when I get back. Good pay is a dream.

I will miss the opportunity to speak Chinese (as surprisingly rare as it is) and to interact daily with people who have grown up and spent their entire lives in a culture that is not my own. I’m not actually sure I can articulate what it is like to live as the “other.” When we encounter foreigners at home, we have the home field advantage, and the foreigners are in the position of constantly adapting their own perspective to ours. While we are able to share that experience, and find meaningful exchange in that experience, it is entirely different to be the fish out of water.

But, there is one thing I won’t miss at all, and it is this. I haven’t had a hug in 8 months. I’m from New England, where we measure personal space in feet, so riding the subway is all about having people in my personal space, but I haven’t had any intentional physical contact more personal than a handshake since I said goodbye to my parents at the Portland bus station on July 9^th. So I’m a little touch-starved. This isn’t a huge problem. Last year, living alone and in a new place, I also didn’t have a lot of affectionate contact in my daily life. But I got to visit some member of my family or circle of close friends once a month or so. I miss leaning against my Dad on the couch, or playing the guess-what-I’m-drawing game with my tentmate when camping, and trading foot rubs with my sisters. I really miss cuddling my cat (although she probably doesn’t miss the clingy manhandling). The thing about touch is that you don’t really notice how important it is until you don’t have it.

I’m not nearly as homesick as I expected to be. I have quite the history of homesickness. My first time at sleep away camp, I was actually there with my sister, but she was older, cooler, and in a different cabin. Mostly, she was completely ignoring me. On Wednesday morning, I locked myself in my cabin’s bathroom, crying, and refused to come out until someone went and got my sister. When I went away to a four-week summer program a few years later, I called home every day. When I went to boarding school at 15, I kept down-to-the-hour countdowns for each extended weekend home. When I was in Beijing, I could not wait to be home again, it was a physical ache. My year here in Guangzhou is the longest time I’ve ever spent away from my family. I honestly expected to be privately inconsolable by now. But I’m not. I can do this. I just don’t like it. I want to be with my family, because family is important to me. I love China, I love the experience, and I love the self-validation of being able to live on my own. I don’t love being so far from the people I love. Four more months, family. Then it’s free hugs all around.

The Cosmopolitan World of 21st Century China

My senior seminar course back in college was a study of cosmopolitanism in Tang Dynasty China. The Tang was an exciting time in China. The capital at Chang'an (present day Xi'an) was an orderly, walled city of about 1 million people, with another million in the surrounding farmlands. Imperial control encompassed most of China's modern borders. There was steady and brisk trade with foreign lands along the Silk Road, which meandered through oasis cities and mountain passes from Xi'an to Damascus. Followers of Confucianism, Daoism, Buddhism, Zoroastrianism, and even Nestorian Christianity could be found within the empire. Artists and artisans produced an abundance of figurines, scrolls, sancai (three-color) ceramics, and gorgeous textiles of dizzying complexity. Yang Guifei made "pleasantly plump" the standard of feminine beauty (at least until the emperor regretfully had her strangled, but that's a long story). If I ever get my hands on a time machine (Delorean, blue police box, or stolen Klingon warship model, I'm not picky), you can bet I will be visiting Tang China.

But, truly, I don't need a time machine to explore cosmopolitan China. I already live there. We can argue about the definition and criteria of cosmopolitanism, but here are my facts. Last night in Guangzhou, I went to a Japanese restaurant to celebrate a Canadian's birthday and sat next to a Mexican and a German. Also in attendance were a couple Brits, a South African, and an Australian, and Americans of Chinese, Polish, Irish, African, and French descent. Between us, we could speak 9 languages (that I know of). It was a lovely, relatively normal night.

Then, today, after spending a morning bleaching my walls in the hope of retarding further horrifying mold growth (This humidity is insane. My walls are turning green.), I took the bus over to Tianhe to run some errands (like buying new socks, because although I washed mine three days ago, they are not drying). Coming out the shopping center, I spotted a pair of foreigners flipping through a guidebook with a confused looking Chinese person standing with them. I fiddled with my headphones for a moment, then took a step closer and asked if they needed help. I glanced at the guidebook -- it was written in something Cyrillic. We proceeded to communicate in fluent English. As it turns out, they were looking for the place where you can see "cats and dogs for sale to eat." According to tourist guidebooks, that's Qingping market, but I've never been there (having absolutely no desire to see if it's true -- if I want to see a live animal in a tiny cage waiting to be butchered, I can just go to my local wet market and visit the chickens and toads). I relayed this to the Chinese man, whose response was basically, oh, I know where that is, but it's just traditional Chinese medicine (probably mostly true, but again, I really have no desire to investigate). Anyway, once he knew exactly what they were looking for, he was able to help them with directions from their hotel to the market. I wished them luck and went on my way. Just another multilingual, multinational encounter in the cosmopolitan city.

Of course, cosmopolitanism is more than language and national origin. It's art and music and fashion. Perhaps in a large part, to me, it is a degree of openness. It's a willingness to communicate and participate in meaningful exchange. China, as a nation, isn't known for its willingness to communicate. But then again, neither is the United States. Anyway, I have a feeling that cosmopolitanism might exist and be meaningful on a more personal level. And on the level of individuals, I think China is extremely willing and ready to participate in the worldwide conversation.

 This post has gotten a bit high-minded and far exceeded the scope of my ability to speak with confidence, so one last story from last night and I will leave you in peace. I think I've mentioned before the living-in-a-foreign-land language ranking game that my compatriots and I play whenever we go out. It's not really a game. This is how it works. Let's say you, me, and a couple of our fellow ex-pat friends are out and about, and we encounter a situation where we need to speak Chinese with a person who does not speak English (another point to Guangzhou's cosmopolitanism: this situation is relatively rare). The first thing you do is assess everyone in the group for language ability. Then, you look expectantly at the person judged to be the best Chinese speaker. If you're lucky, you're hanging out with a local coworker, who is obviously fluent. Next best scenario, you're hanging out with a foreigner of Chinese descent who happens to speak Chinese. Third case, you're with an ex-pat who has been here a long time and picked up a lot of functional language. Last option, you look around and realize you're the ranking language expert with your academic Chinese. Alas. Time to step up to the plate. Anyway, last night, in our large party (there were 18 of us), we had no major issues. Ordering was mostly a pointing game (yay pictures!), and I swear every foreigner who's been here a week can say "一瓶啤酒" (a bottle of beer). Regardless, we had a Chinese-American Mandarin speaker and a Chinese-Canadian Cantonese speaker so we were set. Our Mandarin speaking friend had to leave early, and then the waitress came over to ask us something/tell us something. She immediately gravitated to our Canadian Cantonese speaker. Alas, she speaks Mandarin, and he does not. It was mildly amusing, actually, because she was very incredulous. At this point, I scanned the group and went "oh, crap. Does anyone else here speak Mandarin?" Luckily, there was someone who spoke better (or equal) situational Mandarin than me, and between us, we managed to communicate (FYI, it was last call). It was quite amusing, though, the image of two foreigners explaining in Mandarin Chinese that their ethnically Chinese friend really couldn't understand her. Cosmopolitanism, indeed.