All right, it’s been weeks since I’ve returned from China and I said I was going to blog about it.
I tried and tried to blog about it on my off nights of not doing anything, but I haven’t been able to get anything down that I liked. I wrote and wrote and uploaded pictures and commented on pictures, but I wasn’t able to come close to finishing my blog about China. Not even close.
I guess that I tried too hard to make it worthwhile. I tried too hard to make it something important, because in my head, it was important. I plotted it with witty titles and anecdotes and thought provoking observations I had about the trip, and about China in general, that when I finally sat down to write it, it could never never live up to the expectations of the blog that was in my head.
There was too much thought involved. There was too much plotting involved, and I guess when I blog, I don’t blog that way. I just write a stream of conscious rambling and bumbling to find the words to express my thoughts about the subject at that moment.
So let’s just start with my ramblings and see where it leads too.
My trip to China was an experience that I don’t think I’ll ever forget. Not just because it was my first time there or that it was my first real vacation in my grown up life. No, it is because it was a pilgrimage for me. China is my Mecca. It is where my roots lie.
Again, for some reason last year, July 2006, I got in touch with my roots again. I became more and more comfortable with my “Chinese” roots. I started to listen to Chinese music again, trying to read books by Chinese authors, even talking to Pickles in Chinese.
So, this trip to China is another step in my reconnection to my roots. I know I’ve said this before and to many people that asked me how was my trip…it was just fucking amazing.
China is a beautiful country. It is a country so rich in history and culture, you can’t escape it. Everywhere you look, you see history. Luckily, I was able to visit during a special time in China, their time of change, there economic revolution, their facelift.
That is one thing that I don’t think I can get out of my mind; the constant construction that the country is in. It is in a constant state of change and growth. Ever since China changed to an open free market, it never looked back. The country has an average of a 9% growth every year for the past 10-15 years, and it shows.
The infrastructure of Beijing changing from an old ancient city to one of the modern cities in the world. High rises stretch to the skies. It’s just exciting to be able to witness something like that in person.
The beautiful cityscapes and sky scrapers of the “developed” China.
Growing up in America, I never got the pleasure or the chance to experience or to see firsthand a change like China is experiencing now. America was growed-up already, changed to what it is now today ever since I was born.
China on the other hand, it’s still in its infantile youth of growth, not even reaching its adolescent stage in life.
But with the great growth that I see in the big cities like Beijing, Shanghai, and Nanjing, I do notice the other side of the proverbial coin…the country side.
The downfall of the economic growth, the tattered dreams of farmers.
It wasn’t until the second leg of our tour that I really noticed it. It wasn’t until the bus tour after our stay in Beijing that I noticed this. The division between the “haves” and the “have nots” is so clear and in your face, you can’t deny it. You can’t help but see it.
Riding in the bus, looking out the window as we drive between cities, looking out at the country side, all there is is poverty. There are these large houses that were once new and beautiful, but now tattered and beaten. They’re broken, dirty, and neglected.
I’m sure the tenants, owners of these houses, didn’t mean to let their homes, their once beautiful dream and pride and joy, become run down. They just couldn’t help it. They have no money to keep it up. Struggling to make the ends meet by working the fields and hoping that this season’s crops can help sustain them to the next season.
It is sad to see the ugliness of economic growth; the ugly step child that no one wants to talk about. They only care about the star athlete in the family but not the black sheep nerd that gunned down his classmates.
The other side of the coin, the not so developed countryside of China.
That is the biggest thing that I noticed as I looked out the window, as I was the only one that looked out the window. Everyone had their curtains closed to block out the glaring sun as they chat amongst themselves or sleep or listen to the KTV that was playing. I was the only one that looked, because I just can’t tear my eyes away from it.
In a way it makes me sad to see something like that. Maybe it is the idealist in me, but I do genuinely think things can be better.
Those who know me well, those who were able to talk politics with me know deep down inside, I’m a fascist socialist commie. I’m an idealistic communist. To me, communism makes perfect sense. It is the perfect utopia.
Everyone is equal. Everyone is working together for the greater good of the republic. Our growth and wealth is shared with everyone else, as is our deficit and loss. What is mine is yours and what is yours is mine. It’s perfect…only on paper.
Again, those who know me well know I’m an idealist, a dreamer, a communist. I believe in a communism that Chairman Mao once believed in.
But again as we all know, the problem with communism is that it doesn’t account for one major flaw; it doesn’t take into account that humans are selfish and not selfless.
Ahh, but there is a part of me that still believes that we will reach that peace in our world one day. One fine day, it will happen.
We will put aside our differences and break down our imaginary borders of Nations and race and religion and look at each other as members of one race, the human race. We are all people who are no different than the other. We are all people who strive to live a better life, a peaceful life.
But we can never do that because humans are fundamentally flawed. Our environment and people that we interact with shape us to become who we are and think the way we think. We create divisions between us all because we all want to stand out from the rest of the world. We all want to be on our own, different from everyone else so that we will be noticed. Take that to the group level, the sociological level, and we have divisions among different races, religion, nations.
Our religion is better than yours. Our country is better than yours. Our race is better than yours. Why this sudden close-minded need to be better than everyone else? Why can’t we all just be who we are and understand and realize that there are other people, other religions, other races, nations, creeds in this world that is no different than ours. Why can’t we be more open-minded and accept them and their differences and embrace these differences; learn from each other?
If we did, the world would be a much better place.
I’m not Christian, I’m not white, I’m not black, I’m just me.
I’m just a lonely person trying to make it in this world. I’m just a person who needs to work to pay the bills and put food on the table and a roof over my head. I’m just a person who wants to find that special someone to spend the rest of my life with. I’m just a person who wants to start a family and provide for my posterity. I’m just a person. I’m no different than a CEO of a Fortune 500 company or a farmer in China. We all want the same thing, a good life, a happy life.
Again, I’m an idealist. I do believe in Communism that Mao believed in. It makes perfect sense on paper. I’m in love with the ideal. I’m in love with the romance of change for the better, social change for the better, a world change for the better.
But again, we are all too different, too selfish to allow for that change. We are all too self-indulgent to think about anyone else but ourselves. This is the world that we live in and will always live in. And this makes me sad.
* * *
1989. I was only 10 at that time; a kid with not much to care about but school. 1989, I was either in the 4th or 5th grade at that time, I don’t remember, but life was very small to me. Life was just my family and not much more. School, family, uncles, grandparents. That was my world.
I didn’t understand politics or much of life in general. I had very little to care about but what’s for dinner and how easy the homework is.
June 4, 1989. To me, at that time, I didn’t know what it was about. Even when I visited China recently, I really don’t know much about what happened in Tiananmen Square but a violent protest, a massacre by the Chinese government against some student protestors. I really didn’t understand what they were fighting about or why things happened.
During the tour, on our second day in Beijing, we were going to go to Tiananmen Square. Our Beijing Tour Guide, Tony, brought up the point that China is still very very sensitive about the Tianamen Square Massacre and that there are always undercover guards around listening for any talk about what happened. They have guards all around making sure that another protest like that will never happen again.
Standing there at Tiananmen, I can only recollect images of what happened, but I really didn’t know much. All I know is that these students wanted a political change, an end to Communism and the beginning of Democracy. They want their freedom, but I really really did not fully understand why such an atrocious act happened.
It weighed on my mind as I thought about writing my blog. It weighed and weighed and I couldn’t tackle how I should write about Tiananmen. Going there, it was just a beautiful square with a tainted history. I see the famous portrait of Chairman Mao that hangs outside of the Forbidden City. I knew nothing, somewhat ignorant of what these protesting students died for.
I googled the incident. I wikied the incident. I youtube the incident. I read and watched and consumed as much information that I can get about the incident and it’s just sad, yet inspirational. These people, regular people, students, rising above their governments to protest, fight, and die for what they want and believe in. They want a better life, freedom, a utopia that was promised to them by a blind idealist.
During my research, I came across many youtube videos about the incident and also an excellent excellent Frontline documentary Frontline: The Tank Man.
Watching the documentary, listening to these eye witness accounts of the massacre and hearing about the sole mystery man who stood in front of a brigade of “marching” tanks, I was speechless, brought to tears. Again, it was sad, yet inspirational to see these people fight for this ideal that we all know will never exist. But, as an idealist, you will never give up the hope that there’s a possibility of it happening. You can’t give that up. I watched that documentary twice. I highly highly recommend it for those who want to learn about the incident.
I don’t know why, but seeing something like this; watching the “everyman” stand up against a nation for freedom, it just gets me going. It inspires me to do better. It inspires me to try and see if I can make this world a better place. It inspires me to be more political, take more action to achieve this “greater good” that everyone wants but no one knows how to achieve.
Even watching a narrative drama like Aaron Sorkin’s The West Wing, I would get the same feelings. It’s inspirational to see a world leader who actually tries to make the world a better place; a world leader that tries to live up to the ideals that he holds dear. He wants the country, the world, to change for the greater good.
Maybe it is because I’m getting older in my life and I’m tired of seeing the world, our nation, our people stuck in this horrible state of hunger, famine, war, and poverty. Our world is just full of injustice and a hierarchy of rich and poor and not much in-between.
I would get excited debating politics, religion with my friends and family. I would jump for joy arguing points and counterpoints on ideals and ideas that can change the world; punching out solutions that may or may not work to project our world forward to the better place that I KNOW that it can be. Throw away our IMAGINARY BOUNDARIES and just focus on being human.
Before moving on to another subject, I would like to pose this question to all. It’s an age old hypothetical, but it’s a good one. If our world, our existence as we know it, is to end in two weeks, would we still be fighting a pointless war, be petty and selfish? What would matter to us? What does our existence really mean if we know that it is going to end in two weeks?
The Iraq War. Would we still be there fighting for oil or to overthrow an old regime to bring in a new government where the citizens don’t even want us there? Would we still have this air of elitist entitlement, this bourgeoisie class of the haves, and the peon proletariat class of the have-nots? Would money matter anymore?
Just strip our existence down to the essential, our life, our friends, our family, and our happiness, and look no further. That is what really matters in the end. It’s not about the car, the bank account, the material goods that we can buy or sell to show off our status. In the end, all of that doesn’t matter because we can’t take it anywhere else. Just because you are rich, doesn’t mean people will remember you when you’re dead. Just be good and thoughtful and realize that there are other people out there that is no different than you are. There are other people out there that wants the same thing as you. That these other people have different backgrounds, different beliefs, different cultures, but yet they are all the same. They are people. Citizens of the HUMAN RACE.
* * *
One thing that I was disappointed in not being able to do more of during the trip was to interact with the locals. One of the reasons was of course that we were on a tour and that we had to go go go, but another reason was the language barrier.
I’m the type of person that wants to try to understand the culture and be able to speak the language, for the most part, when I go to different countries. I don’t want to be one of these “rude American” tourists that only speaks English and expect the locals to cater to my needs. I want to be able to make an effort to fit in, or be respectful to the nation that I’m visiting and the locals.
Months and months before the trip, I downloaded tons and tons of Mandarin lessons for itunes. They were very helpful in the most part, but I just didn’t have time to really listen to them. Even though I listen to my ipod everyday at work, this type of listening requires focus, which I can’t give because I need to work. The only time that I was able to listen to these lessons were during my long driving trips to Fresno, and it wasn’t enough.
Fortunately, I was able to pick up some Mandarin, but anything pass the simple stuff, I’m SOL; tough bananas.
There were two moments during the trip that really showed how poor my Mandarin is during the foot massage and then later during the gift shop fiasco.
On our last day in Beijing, we were treated to a foot massage by the tour group. It was done by the team of masseuse that massages the Chinese Olympic team.
The tour sat in rows and rows of chairs, and my family sat together, with my brother and mom to my sides and my aunt besides my mom. We all had one masseuse each.
The masseuses that did my brother and I were around my age, 28. And it’s just awkward sitting there having them massage our feet and not being able to talk to them. Honestly, I did want to be able to converse with them, so on and so forth.
They were trying to make conversation in Mandarin and I did my best to respond, but I just didn’t know enough Mandarin to carry a conversation. If it was Cantonese, I would be able to carry on, but with Mandarin, it was a no go.
I understand more than I can speak. I understand some of what they were trying to ask and what they were trying to tell us, but overall, most of it was lost. We had to find a translator, my mom.
Honestly, I never knew that my mom ever spoke Mandarin that fluently. It really took me by surprise. I guess all those years of watching the Mandarin TV shows on ATV, International Channel, AZN, CCTV, etc. really did pay off.
My masseuse complimented me on my buzzed hair, which he really liked, and also my little hoop in my ear. For some reason, they kept going on and on about how “big” my brother is, in the muscular sense, and that he should be a boxer.
Just weird.
Eventually, it came to the point where they asked if my brother and I have girlfriends, which the answer is a big NO. Then they went on talking with my mom and aunt about it. They know girls etc. etc. and the Mandarin became more and more complex and beyond my understanding. They were going on and on, laughing and talking, and I can only pick bits and pieces out from the conversation. They were still talking about us.
Eventually, it just ended up that masseuses talk among themselves, whispering in their foreign language as my brother and I whispered in our own foreign language.
It just saddens me that I wasn’t able to connect with them, to speak with them. They seemed like really cool guys.
The other instance…still haunts me. It was during our mandatory gift shop stop in Nanjing, at their famous bridge.
We’ve been in the gift shop now for what seems to be an eternity and no one is leaving. I roam alone, with my camera bag, wasting time. I came upon this section of the gift shop that no one was. I walk in, scan the area. There about five, count them, five girls there, waiting for a sale, waiting for a prey. I was the unlucky lamb.
I was looking at something and then this tall girl came up to me and started “aksjf oiejwaojfldksja lfkjdalkjfl sjaoif wjeiajfklsa jf” in Mandarin. I’m sure she was telling me the price of the items that I was browsing at. I thought I could handle myself in that situation; I thought I can hold my own, but I was way out of my element.
I looked up at her, eyes wide, a blank “huh” look of “oh shit” on my face as I search my mind on how to say “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” I know that line so well. Even now, I have no problems repeating it, but I was just gone.
All I can manage was a weak, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand” in English. Another girl stepped up, and told me what the price is for those items in her broken English. I nod at her, smiled, and thanked her and went back looking. The embarrassment and the dread that I was feeling. I felt like a dork.
As I was turning around to browse some more, as if on cue, the remaining three girls all swarm the scene and started to giggle. I distinctly heard the words, “He’s American” in Mandarin, and they start giggling some more.
Great, they are giggling at me now in their coded language, knowing that I don’t understand. I wonder what they are saying, even till this day, I still wonder. Were they all giggling at me because of the whole “uhhh” fiasco or are they like..”hey, he’s cute..let’s fuck with him some more.”
The haunting echoes of their giggling still echoes in my ears.
I told my friends that I could have came back with a wife…if only I understood. Darn.
Overall, I felt that the people were really nice there. Of course there were a few that would come up to you to sell you fake Rolexes and what not, but they are just trying to make some money.
They seem no different than any citizen in the States.
Going in the country, and understanding that it was a Communist country, I thought that the people would be a little more oppressed. Growing up within the Chinese culture, seeing how my parents act around each other, I thought that the Chinese people would be the same, but they weren’t.
I guess it is more of the younger generation that I notice this with more, but they are very…how do I say this…like any typical American teen.
They would dress to the nines with their own fashion sense. Their hair long, short, colorful. They seem no different. What really surprised me was seeing them out on the streets. PDA, affections, hand holding, kissing.
I was very very surprised to see that they weren’t oppressed. I really do guess they’ve grown up way differently than their parents and grandparents before them. But, maybe I’m just generalizing and being ignorant of how China and its citizens are now.
* * *
As any photographer can tell you, keep taking pictures. Just take and take as many pictures as you can. I took tons and tons of pictures on my trip.
There are little things or projects that photographers do when they take pictures. They pick a subject and take any pictures that reminds them of this subject. I took it upon myself to create a few series of pictures during my trip. They are below.
A series of parking lots.
A series of phone booths.
A series of toll booths.
One thing I did notice about the more developed cities is how beautiful their infrastructure is. It’s not the steely cold gray that I’ve come to know growing up in the States. There’s a sense of art and green and landscaping that comes with it. Maybe it is just the cities that I’ve lived in, but it’s no unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
I know that China is a new country when it comes to roads and streets, but the newer ones do look pristine. Most of them are new. It just makes me wonder what they will be like in 20 years. Would the many many toll booths spread throughout each city and throughout China pay off in the long run to help maintain China’s million miles of road?
I know something like China’s infrastructure, with their many toll booths, will not fly here in the states. We feel, as tax payers, that we are entitled to drive on these streets. We of course paid for them with our hard earn money that is so heavily taxed. But in China, they believe in a different philosophy. I’m not clear how their tolls work, but, they do have many of them. In the long run, I do think tolls are a good idea, even though it just means more money out of our pockets.
It punishes those with cars and automobiles; having them pay the premium for having a car. It just makes sense, but it will never happen here.
A little bit of home.
* * *
I so want to write more about my experience in China, but I don’t think I can do it anymore. I’m itching to write about something else. Maybe in my future posts, I’ll reminisce about my experience in China some more.
Again, I wanted the blog to be so different, recounting everything that I’ve experienced, but it just didn’t happen. Even with this blog, I wanted it to be something more, something more important. It just doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen. And with that, I’m going to end it at that.
Mumblings of a Hermit 隐者 