A Series of Disconnected Thoughts

Cold: My Uncle shouts at me when he sees me walking around the house without slippers. "You'll get sick! Put on some slippers! Put on some socks!" He shows he cares in unexpected ways. Apparently, in Chinese medicine, getting cold feet is the fastest way to get sick. The coldness will first grasp hold of the feet, if you are not careful, then move up the body as if sucked-up through a straw. It will come to rest somewhere in the upper body, and you will become sick.

Street Food: Fresh-boiled corn (the kernels jump off the cob and melt in the mouth) best eaten while biking, hot-roasted sweet potatoes (so sweet!), sunflower seed cakes, egg-crêpe thingy (street artisans form these in seconds before your eyes. Filled with a choice of veggies, meat and spices). Street food is a way to make a dull walk or moment suddenly alive with flavor. Used strategically, it is the same as happiness (since it's basically free).

Little Sister: I took her out to buy the evening paper (a bit above her reading level, but you gotta start them early), and we stopped by the pond first. This is little-little sis, so intrepid, and completely unaware of danger! She ran back and forth across a series of stones over the pond... it would have been so easy for her to fall in. What goes through these kids' heads? Afterward, on the street we held hands and weaved carefully through pedestrian traffic. Since we live across from the subway station, there are, at all hours of the day, hundreds of people, dozens of taxis and buses, impromptu sock stalls, mobile bookstores and the flavors of street food floating above it all like a tricky ghost.
People stared: 'foreigner... five year old girl... should I call the police? no... is he the father!? no, what's going on here?' We got the paper and made it back in one piece. Additionally (and unrelated), the only word she can say in English is 'banana.' Sometimes I try to correct her on her pronunciation. It's a losing battle.

Traditional China: When an American student comes to China, to Beijing, what are they looking for? It's hard to remember at times the feeling of excitement I felt before coming. But, we travel, inevitably, because we hope to find something different, and some hope to learn something along the way. Sitting atop a mountain on the outskirt of Beijing with my friend, we talked about the search for Chinese culture. We agreed that though there are the obvious things (which I struggle to enunciate) about Chinese culture, we still feel at times that we have to 'search' for it. Beyond political differences, there's a kind of Americanization of China that is ominously, if only slightly, evident. Maybe commercialization would be a more appropriate term.

And though I balance these discomforts against the sentiment that I'm probably overlooking the simple things that separate the Bay Area from Beijing, I cannot shake a premonition: In the future, some strange amalgamation will emerge, some beastly concoction of years of human development and creativity. This, the new world culture, uniform. The 'best of' each country squeezed through the meat grinder of the media. The result, ground chuck. Hamburgers all around.

Hmmm... yes, this is dramatic. I'm generally not given to such apocalyptic fantasy. I'll try to elaborate on this idea more, and give some concrete examples of Chinese culture, and how (from the uterly biased view of the outsider) it relates to this idea of 'tradition.' My glasses are broken, but I'll look and see anyway.

bā lái kè • ào bā mǎ

“And to all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces, to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of the world…”

Big screen projection, basement of the history department in the long-forgotten city of Beijing. Then again, I don’t think Obama was necessarily addressing Americans studying abroad.

I’ve always felt a bit strange when hanging-out with other expatriates. We’ve found life abroad too arduous, turned our backs on China, and instead cling helplessly to our perfectly fluent English conversations. So I usually keep this kind of thing confined to the weekends.

But on November 5th, general rules of engagement were thrown-out the window. We had an election to wrap-up, so I went to hang with the expats. Though I’ve been an Obama supporter, but (almost) always restrained, imagining only a few social improvements sprinkled here and there, with a modest respect for the environment thrown-in to round out an Obama presidency. Maybe some foreign policy improvements, but then no, that’s just getting greedy.

On this day, all skepticism was trashed like tainted milk. We were a jubilant, silly-happy group of Americans. Americans- I like the way that sounds.

My memory’s not so hot, but there’s some things I know I will remember forever: Dad lowering his head in silent disappointment when the first report of the Iraq invasion flashed across the screen in 2003, my first wedgie (date lost to history), and the feeling of ridiculous, unstoppable hope that I finally felt when Barack took the stage (If we met, I’m pretty sure he’d want me to call him Barack).

“I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to. It belongs to you.”

I don’t know why this resonated with me so, but at this point I thought of all the friends and family who worked to make an Obama victory a reality.

My grandma Dorothy in Ohio, who went door-to-door for the campaign in a battleground state and worked the polls on Election Day.

My friend Oki, off somewhere in Florida acting as a ‘regional campaign director.’ Truth be told, I have no idea what he did, but it worked.

Friends back in Berkeley campaigning like crazy.

In short, thank you my fellow Americans.

We’ve got something on the horizon, and I can’t say what it is, but from that moment it seemed that if he promised to put an end to global climate change by late February, I’d buy it. Though that feeling has worn-off, a pride in my country endures. An international symbol that is not wrapped in brand-name packaging, bearing only promises of consumption. A symbol who seems to stand for life rather than war. A man who proves that America can change, if only a little.

Happy trails, Dubya. Without you, America could never have known what the pits feel like, and what looking up to change means. We’ll even let you keep the office warm for us til ’09.

Things to keep in mind- “two wars, a planet in peril, the worst financial crisis in a century,” and a rejection to grant our homosexual brothers and sisters the same rights that everyone else enjoys. After all, America’s still a piece of work.

PS Happy 19th birthday Dan!