Saturday

I was tired because I had to get up at 9:30. I was tired because I never make it to bed before 2:00. I was tired, but I got out of bed and showered and brushed my teeth and drank my tea and got on my landlord’s bike.

It was the first time I have ever noticed the air being fresh. It is usually muggy and hot and very used by the time I get out of my apartment. By the time I turned onto the main road from my little alleyway, the air was muggy and hot and very used. But I enjoyed the morning breeze and the new smells from all of the morning food carts that had not yet traded existences with their lunchtime counterparts. I enjoyed the ride past my normal place of employment, into generally unexplored territory. I enjoyed getting a little bit lost until I only had 10 minutes left.

I needed to be at the bookstore by 10:30 to read oversized children’s books with large pictures in the books and parents and children not in the books. The bookstore was new, or at least newly moved, and had different white people read books every Saturday morning as a kind of promotion. This weekend they were trying me out. I had come to be introduced to Charles, the guy in charge, through Diana.

I stopped riding my landlord's bike, looked around, thought about it, and then rode to the front of the bookstore. I walked in with 5 minutes to spare, but more sweaty than I wanted to be. There were already fifteen or twenty scooters outside. It looked like I had an audience. I walked in, past the gawking children and sat down in the reading room. I made very small talk with the kids, peeked through the books, ensuring I could ask simple questions about the pictures and words, making sure I would not look stupid in five minutes.

Five children’s books later I was more exhausted than I thought I would be, and thankful that if they had me come back it wouldn’t be for at least a few weeks. Charles was not around, but I did want to get paid so I sat down next to the checkout counter. The bookstore was in a new building, in a new part of town with big(er) houses and wide(r) roads. Things were shiny on the inside, too shiny for a bookstore, but all the children rambunctious and energetic for no apparent reason took the edge off. I did not mind sitting for an indefinite amount of time to get paid. I was usually sleeping right then, and didn’t have anywhere in particular I needed to be.

“Okay, just sign anywhere.” The lady behind the desk was now behind me and handed me six hundred and fifty dollars and a piece of paper that looked like she pulled it out of the garbage can. I signed my name on the piece of garbage, gave it back, smiled, and kept the money. “謝謝.”

My attention turned back to the mom and her son in front of me. They had made to leave several times, but had not. I felt like I was included in their group for some reason, like we were one party. Maybe they could not leave yet because I had not said goodbye. They were looking at other books now. “他想看別的書嗎?” I asked. The mom looked up from the books, with a large smile. I do not think she even said anything, but just sat down at my table, sat her child down, and then set the book down. I recognized her now. She had helped me hold one of the oversized oversized books. She had seemed to be able to speak some English, and her son of five years had seemed anxious to turn every page before I was done asking all of my silly questions.

When we finished reading, I said goodbye so they would be able to leave. They walked out the door, but not before bestowing enough drink and snack upon me that it was going to be difficult to ride my landlord’s bike home. I soon followed suit, saying goodbye to the money handling woman behind the counter.

As I was arranging all of my new possessions on my pseudo-rack that sits over my landlord’s back wheel, the mom and her son asked where I lived. “東寧路.” I realized I must have pronounced it horribly because it is one of the largest streets in Tainan and it was only two blocks away and she had no idea what I was talking about. “東寧路,” I tried again. No luck.

We made more small talk for several minutes before she said goodbye. But when she said goodbye she actually said, “Do you want to follow us to our house? It’s very quick.”

“Sure.”

She had a motor and I had legs and pedals. She could not seem to find a comfortable speed for both of us. Rather, the distance between us would grow at a rate of 20-30 kilometers per hour for a matter of seconds, until it started to decrease at about the same rate: just as I had reached maximum pedaling speed, she essentially came to a complete stop. Losing all momentum to come to a stop next to her, or sometimes to avoid hitting her, I would find myself once again trying to catch up just moments later. This continued for the two or three kilometers to her apartment.

Her apartment building reminded me of Korea, probably because, at least from the outside, it resembled the only apartment building I saw in Korea. It was older, and colder than other apartments. It was actually hotter: she did not have air conditioning, but it was more sterile, aside from the dirt. The door was heavier. The halls were darker. I was comparing it to my apartment. It probably should have reminded me of Taiwan, but I had not been in any apartments outside of my own new, clean, bright one.

She did not live in her apartment hallway, though. She and her son lived in their apartment.

She is a small lady, bordering on fragile, except for her strong presence. She is not short, but skinny. She has an angular face, high cheekbones, and kind eyes, if a bit sad. But it would be difficult to describe her without including her son. It was immediately apparent that she lives for her son, in a way I have not encountered before. “This is where he and I live. We live here together.” she said. “Please sit down.” She invited me to eat with them. “I would love to. I am a vegetarian, though.” She is a vegetarian too, and she was thrilled.

She started cooking. She did not once lose track of her son. She continued to engage me in conversation. She told her son to pick up his things and help clear the table. She oversaw the entire operation from her small corner, in the kitchen.

The apartment was warm, but not cozy in the Western sense. It had three rooms, of which I only could see one. The kitchen occupied one corner of the room, a large wooden bench with a heavy lacquer occupied one wall, on one side of a small table, and a large bookshelf and a television occupied the opposite wall. I could see the laundry hanging outside in the sun, through the kitchen window. The fan kept the air from sinking to the ground.

She set food down, dumplings and another dish, impossible to describe. “Please serve yourself,” she said as she served me half of either dish. “Thank you very much,” I replied. I waited for her to sit down, or for her son to sit down. He was now watching a kids' English TV show with Chinese subtitles a couple feet in front of me. We were playing with toy cars on the table until his mom told him to put things away.

She went back and appeared to be cooking more food. He continued watching TV. “Please serve yourself,” she repeated. “Please don’t wait. Please eat.” I obliged. I ate all of what she had served me. It was delicious. Her son came by to have a couple bites before returning to the floor.

“Please serve yourself,” she said again, and served me the rest of the food on the table before refilling both plates.

“Maybe you can live here. There is an empty room next to us. How much do you pay?”

...

I was not sure what to make of this. Taiwanese are all very generous, very friendly, and generally very open. I have often been asked how much I pay for rent. From the reaction I get I have come to understand that I pay a bit above average for the place I describe. “One furnished room in a new building without a kitchen, and internet and TV included.” I am okay with this. I like where I live and do not have any desire to start shopping for a new place yet.

But never has it been suggested that I move in next door to someone.

I avoided addressing the first part of her statement, by answering the second part.

“Oh, that is cheap. We pay $7,500,” she replied. I was surprised at her response. I reiterated that my place was small, and did not have a kitchen, but I did not think she understood.

“Do you like it here? Is the food good?” I told her the food was very good, and I was very comfortable.

A man walked in from the hallway. It was not apparent whether he was expected or not. “This is his father,” she explained. It seemed obvious that they were not together; she called him “his father” and specifically had said “We live here. This is where he and I live.” Still, they were the friendliest separated couple I have seen, and he seemed very comfortable. He sat down across from me, and she served him in the same manner she had me. He and I spoke about politics and economics in very broken Chinese (on my part) and regular translation assistance from her. She refilled the plates again, and I realized it would not stop until I just completely stopped eating, which I did, completely full.

“Maybe you can join our family.” I smiled and said I thought my mom would be sad if I joined her family, and she seemed to sadden slightly at my statement. After a short silence, she asked “Why would your mother be sad?” I explained that my mother would miss me very much if I was not in her family anymore. “Oh, your mother misses you very much?” she brightened. “Yes, I think so,” I replied, relieved I did not have to join her family or make her sad.

His father suggested we go pick fruit in the countryside. I was wearing nice English-children’s-books reading clothes, and voiced my concerns, but it was no trouble at all he assured me. I was curious to get outside of the city a bit, so I let him assure me my clothes were no trouble at all, and we all four went down to his car, but not before she gifted/burdened me with another grocery bag full of food.

I ignored what I knew was his father telling his son to get out of the front seat, and sat down in the back next to his mother. The twenty minute drive to the countryside was comfortable and friendly, talking the whole way and introducing each other to our different lives and worlds and words. But at times his father and her son would be distracted with each other, availing the open space between his mother and me to be filled with our own words. She told me about her son, how they lived together, how she studied English at school but had not spoken it for ten years and how she was studying on her own so that she could teach her son. She explained that he was very shy, but curious. She explained that during his first few years of life, she did not take him out enough, so he was very reserved. Because of this he was shy to practice English, he was shy at school. She offered to cook me lunch whenever I had free time, and I could be friends with her son. She could help me with my Chinese. Maybe I could move in next door.

The entire car ride, she was stroking the lose strands of straw coming unraveled from her sunhat in her lap. It was not a calm sort of stroking, but nervous. I did not see anything to be nervous about, and it was not apparent in her face, but only in her hands. Her hands were detached from whatever was dictating directions to her eyes, mouth, nose. They were motivated by something else.

We picked the fruit, and looked around. We went through an old abandoned house where the pigs lived and slept one wall away from the people. We got stung by fire ants, and we got back in the car.

It was a comfortable ride back, but her hands continued stroking.

I tried to understand my place in this scenario. I was pushing my puzzle piece against all the others, seeing what fit. I was trying to understand the dynamic between the four people in the car, and making a conscious effort not to be unnecessarily wary. Her hands betrayed her face and worked with her words to portray an uneasiness. I felt she was asking me if I would like to fill a void somewhere. If I could be her son’s friend, if I liked to be there, if I wanted to come over. And yet, my thoughts were mostly inferences. I was reading between double spaced lines of language barriers and cultural differences. I zoomed out and looked at planet earth from outer space and reveled in the fact that I found myself in this car in this city on this island with these people I had not known existed just hours before.

When we arrived at her apartment building his dad washed the fruit, and his mom handed me another grocery bag, this one full of the fruit. He had to go, so he did. I had to go too. I had plans to go to a Moon Festival ceremony.

She asked if I needed to be led back, if I could find my way. I declined, thinking I would make better time on my own, avoiding the stop and go pace of the journey there. I also was positive I could find my way back and I was ready to be alone for a bit. She said okay, and led me back anyway.

This time we ended up side by side most of the time, her son staring at me from between her legs on the scooter, as children in Taiwan ride. A number of times I thought one of us would be hit, as our combined berth was twice as wide as it should have been. Halfway to the bookstore, or a sixth of the way home, she told me her son wanted to see my place. I laughed and smiled, and the light turned green.

At the next light he looked at me sincerely and said “我想去.” I smiled and said, “You want to go?” and he nodded earnestly and the light turned green. As we rode next to each other, I heard over the scooter engine, “我想去!” We arrived at the bookstore. I had come there by myself that morning, and there could not be any question of whether I needed help going back to my place. But he looked up in earnest. I laughed and smiled, and he persisted and looked.

I decided not to push against the grain any longer, and asked if she had time. “If you do not mind, then I have time,” she said.

I felt half anxious that I was involving myself too deeply in something I did not understand, and half happy to see her son’s beaming face. When they walked in to see my place, the first feeling dissipated as she commented, “Maybe $5,500 is a little bit expensive. This is not very big.”

I racked my brain for something I could give her son to return the generous gesture of burdening me with grocery bags full of food. I remembered I had been given some dried and salted plums, Taiwanese candy. “你喜歡這個嗎?” He nodded, and smiled when I gave them to him.

She dragged her son out, leaving me to shower and get ready. I waved them goodbye and watched them drive away on their scooter.

What is this? A PhotoMediaJournal?

It is difficult to decide if this internet space of mine is more of a journal or more of a broadcast. It would be easy to ramble, rant, rave and jot down thoughts in general. It would be easy to lose the attention of my readers, too. And that’s just it. I do not even know if anyone reads this but me… Ah, yes. The intricacies of blogging. I think today will lean toward journal.

Tainan is full of single speed bicycles. I thought, at first, they were fixies, as most of them are conspicuously lacking visible breaks. But a late night walk with no one looking revealed the ones without handle breaks have backpedal breaks. Remember the bikes you rode as a little person, where you could skid at will? Yes, those. It makes sense, though. Tainan is very, very flat and I cannot help but miss my shiny red bicycle.

I was thinking about all this while hanging on to the back of a scooter as the night lights of the city wizzed by. I think it’s common practice to hang on to the driver, but retaining my North American personal bubble space, I preferred to grasp not much of anything on the rear of the little moto. Imagine your hands handcuffed behind you, at buttocks level, and kind of digging your thumbs into a rack type thing, rather intensely digging at times. I couldn’t stop thinking how my thumbs would break if we got in an accident. But no accidents had occurred as we approached the night market.

Diana was my driver. She was also in the graduating class of ’01 at my Highline High School. She also attended UW. And she has lived here for two years. Half through chance, half not, our paths have directly crossed for the first time here in Tainan. Bumping through the crowds, we ate stinky dofu (smells like wet dog, tastes great), noodles and Tainan’s famous fruit. We watched people play games, and meandered through makeshift streets full of vendors that would vanish by morning. A carnival like atmosphere, loud colors, bright sounds and aromas that penetrate the thickest of skin watched as we scootered away into the night.

In many ways the night market is a miniature model of Taiwanese culture. Yes, there is so, so much more, but you can see a little representation of the real thing in every vendor, every eater, every sign, every sound, every player, every shopper. It is a good snapshot.

The next day finds me back to my usual antics: sitting on the street in front of tea shops, walking around near the university. I saw five white people on Friday. I saw six today. This is anywhere from six to infinitely more white people than I see on any other given day. Perhaps it signals the start of the quarter.

This is exciting, though a foreigner suggested to me that most of the foreigners who come here come because they couldn’t really make it back home, and here they hold a higher social status by default. As in, perhaps they weren’t able to get a girlfriend, so they came here. Or maybe they weren’t liked, so they came here. Or maybe they were dumb, so they came here… It’s like a “Taiwan is a voluntary Australia” theory. I suppose I haven’t been overly impressed with the white person eavesdropping I’ve done so far, so maybe this theory holds water, but hopefully not universally (i.e. I hope I am not in that category of barrel scrapers).

‘Till next time, journal/audience.

Photographic memories @

http://flickr.com/photos/25753538@N07/sets/72157606966065175/

Getting Adjusted, or Less Travelling, More Living

Yes, Taiwan's starting to feel less like a foreign country, and more like the place where I live. (Though, this morning I woke up absolutely positive I was in Costa Rica.) This may translate into less frequent blog posts, and hopefully a higher incidence of Chinese characters within each post. Or perhaps as I discover the intricacies of this little city (it is smaller than I thought when I arrived) these entries will just become exponentially more interesting.

I don't know if it's the heat, humidity, or lack of a rigid schedule, but I cannot get myself to sleep before the early hours of the morning, and I tend to sleep in quite late. Perhaps I am just permanently jet lagged, but blame may be placed on the internet as well. I still have quite strong ties to some in Seattle, and Seattle just isn't in the same time zone as Taiwan.

Speaking of heat and humidity, I am under the impression that Tainan is experiencing an abnormally mild summer. According to wunderground.com, the humidity and temperature tend to hover around 70-80% and 28-32°C, respectively, as opposed to the seeming norm of 85-95% and 30-34°C. On a recent day Seattle was hotter and more humid (though I'm sure that is an anomaly). Lucky me, I guess.

But what this post is really about is food. I just wanted to share some standard fare with everyone:




This is from one of many 素食 (su4shi3) or vegetarian houses. Basically, to be a 素食 you need a husband at the cash register and a wife cooking hell of food, and two rice cookers always filled to the brim, one with white, the other with brown rice. And then you need a scale, to decide how much money to get from people. And some 白人(white people - you can pronounce that, yeah Roy?) to eat more food than anyone else.

I pay about twice as much as everyone else every time I go to one of these places (every day), not because they're scamming me, but because I eat about twice as much food as everyone else. It's amazing what people subside on. This was a particularly large and expensive (as things go) meal, running me NT$130, or a bit over US$4. I thought about not finishing it, twice. (The picture was taken during one of my breaks.)

That is all. I was just excited about another picture. Oh, and there was supposed to be a typhoon today, but I think it did a bad job, because it was just sunny and a little breezy and I was under the impression that typhoons are not very sunny and more than breezy. Next time, eh?

Wanderings

"Am I lost?"

No you're not lost. You live in that direction, to your left. You went under the railroad, then walked in this direction. But you did take a lot of not right angled turns back there; now it's dark and seems like the ocean could be in front of you, or to your left, or even...

"I am kind of lost..."

No you're not lost, you're looking for downtown Tainan. It will be obvious.

I'll just keep walking on this street, there are lots of interesting things on this street. Look at th-- Holy shit, that's the closest you've come to being hit by a car. Don't get so comfortable. Pay attention.

I am paying attention, there's just a lot to pay attention to... That's a fun looking alley. This is where Taiwanese people live. No right angles here either. Just dark windy little alleyways with windows and doors into people's lives, and, is that a dry cleaners? Matt said there weren't any dry cleaners in China. I guess Taiwan and China are different. No, there must be dry cleaners in China, Matt didn't look hard enough. But Matt wasn't looking, his native friend was asking around and people didn't know what he was talking about. I know but it was Shanghai, there must...

Man I am hungry. What time is it. No you didn't bring your phone with the time on it, just like you decided not to bring that map.

Explorers don't have maps, they just go. That's what you're doing, just going. Just don't get so close to the cars. Look, maybe that food doesn't have meat in it.

"你好。有沒有素的飯？"

"有。"

She's staring at you, and that guy she was talking to is staring at you too.

"不好意思。我吃素。"

I just eat vegetables. Does your food have meat? That's what I said, right? Just smile.

Why are they staring at me, she said she had food without meat. Now she's making a joke with that guy. They're smiling at me; are they laughing at me? Just smile.

"你的鼻子很長."

My nose is long? I think that's what she said, why are they both beaming at me? What does she mean? What if she's asking me something?

"Uhh... I'm sorry, I don't understand. 你可以再説一次嗎?" Could you please say that again?

(At my request, she pointed to her nose, once again said bizi (nose) and then pushed her flattened hand against it. She then drew her hand out away from her, indicating a degree of leangth. She finished with a thumbs up. The gentlemen next to her raised his thumb in agreement.)

She sold me two pieces of bread.

Friends

I was standing, waiting – no, not waiting, just watching, maybe enjoying – the friendly street vendor lady prepare my food. I had just left the school and it was a bit after ten in the evening. Louis introduced me to the vendor lady. She has a vegetarian cart off the main road, Dong-ning 路, that opens late and closes late. The cart is always cast in a fluorescent glow from the large signs above and around. But it’s not a harsh fluorescent; it’s a tainted red, blue fluorescent. It adds a kind of warm, nostalgic quality to the narrow side road. So I was standing there, watching, with the usual two or three other people standing there, watching or waiting, when a nice looking young lady rode up on her bike. I suppose at first glance she looked a bit Western. I usually try not to stare at people, and I made no exception here, but I did glance at her as she rode up, and then again as she was picking her food from the glowing cart with the nice lady and the frying pan behind it. And then she walked up to me.

“Are you a vegetarian?” she asked in near perfect English.

“Um, yes… Are you?” I wasn’t quite sure what was going on. People here have been consistently friendly, but not particularly outgoing. Someone riding up on their bike and asking if I was a vegetarian just because I was at a late night food stand is definitely not part of my daily routine.

“Oh, yes. It’s always great to meet other vegetarians. Do you recognize me from the restaurant earlier?”

So there is this restaurant across the street from school that I frequent, the one with the meal on page two, second one down (although I have tried other things there now). I had been there for lunch that day, and apparently she had been there too. I absolutely did not recognize her.

“Oh… That one?” And I pointed vaguely in the direction of the restaurant, which received a nod. “No, I guess not.”

I was thinking in my head, “Every time I go there the menu and the characters receive my exclusive attention as I hope they morph into something a bit more intelligible,” but I didn’t want my really very poor Chinese to become the topic of our conversation, so I didn't make excuses for my not recognizing everyone in the restaurant.

“Yes, I saw you there earlier. Where are you from, what brings you to Tainan?” and so on, and so on. She did an exquisite job of keeping this conversation going, as well as tactfully finding out that I lived alone, didn’t know many people, just arrived, and didn’t speak Chinese very well (though, this last point is probably pretty obvious, despite my efforts).

“I lived in Florida for a year, and I know it’s very difficult sometimes moving to a completely different place. If you’d like I could help you with your Chinese or introduce you to my friends, or maybe just show you around Tainan.”

I said any one of those would be really nice, and that it was very kind of her to go out of her way to introduce herself to me. Of course it was no problem, her pleasure. After I gave her my email address, and we exchanged some more words, she got on her bike to ride away. We had both received our meals some time ago.

A bit giddy at the prospect of making my first real Taiwanese friend, I went to pay the food vendor. As I did so I heard from behind me, “Oh, I gave her some money for your dinner.”

I thought, "You mean you just bought my dinner."

Just a real first rate lass, that one.

Teaching English

I'll write about the three younger-kid classes, because I have them every day and they are the trickiest. So right now the classes are kind of small: a lot of people are vacationing, etc. The youngest class has two girls in it, which is a horrible combo. They seem to like the female Taiwanese teacher who teaches right before me, but as soon as i get in the classroom things usually start to go downhill. Louis said he had trouble with them too and they didn't like males. Usually as soon as I enter they start moving all the desks and "building a house". the first couple times I just kind of let them, and "taught" through the whole thing. Yesterday I stopped them a quarter through by moving the desks back. They really didn't like that at all, and the day was pretty hard. At the end, Betsy said, "We want to build the house. We'll do (whatever it was) if you let us build the house." Well, I was pretty sure that wouldn't work, but I said, "You can build the house after (whatever it was)." So we did the thing, then I let them build the house and tried to talk to them in English as much as I could while they were doing it. It seemed to work ok.

So today, I moved the first desks back as soon as they started to do anything. I told them they could build the house after we did everything we needed to do. Betsy seemed ok with this compromise, though Amanda wasn't really having it. Class was touch and go, with Betsy being much more cooperative than Amanda, but much better than previous classes. I had brought down a Clifford (big red dog?) book, because both girls seemed to like reading with me outside of class. When I opened that up Amanda still wasn't really having it, and just kind of pretended to read while Betsy actually read, but that was fine or whatever. Finally, Amanda was like "WHEN are we going to get to BUILD the HOUSE???" so i picked a point about three pages later in the book and said "when we get to here." Then I had full cooperation from both of them for about 5 minutes, while I asked them questions about the pictures, etc. and they both actually came over and sat in my lap (at that point I had succumbed to sit on the floor with them). They were even relatively cooperative with me while and after they built their house. So that's working out. I need to tell them tomorrow that when more people join the class we won't be able to build houses anymore; I don't think they'll like it, but i think it's best to prep them now. we'll tackle that when it comes around.

The other class just has 9 kids and is hectic as hell... there are usually a couple points in any given class where I have to chase kids around and grab the ball from them. The only time I can get much done is when Steven's wife comes in (i need to learn her name) and "observes". she's really really nice, doesn't speak much English, but a little, and can read along with the kids, etc. She teaches Chinese at a local high school. I think that lends her an aura of authority that I just don't possess yet, because the kids are all perfect when she's there. Yesterday she came in as I was physically moving Luke outside the class room as some sort of punishment. Luke and Samuel are brothers. They are in the same class and they usually make 7 other kids' time there pointless. Well, I had a gut reaction to stop picking-Luke-up-and-setting-

him-down-in-the-hallway when Steven's wife walked down the corridor, thinking that perhaps that wasn't appropriate in Taiwanese culture (or in any culture?) but I stuck to my guns, and followed up with a "You can stand in the hallway, or be quiet and sit down in class." Of course, with the real teacher in the room, I didn't need to do anything but teach, as all the kids magically appeared in the center and stopped talking and answered everything I asked them. Luckily, I had prepared what would have been a complete excess of material on any other day where I spent a third of the time trying to get anyone to pay attention to me.

side note: After the next class, which I will write about below, I went upstairs and sat down at my desk. Steven's wife came up and sat down at the desk next to me. I thought she was going to give me some suggestions, or tell me that maybe I shouldn't physically apprehend the children. She said she thought I was really a very good teacher. Nothing more. I was dumbstruck. I did my usual thing, which is to deflect the complement in as many directions as possible, which I think is not too well received at home. I think I usually end up convincing people that I didn't deserve the complement in the first place, then I feel like an idiot. "Oh no. They're a hard class, they were really well behaved while you were there..." yada yada yada. In Chinese/Taiwanese culture, where you receive compliments by saying "where" as in A: "you look nice today." b: "where?" this went over a bit better. Also, like I mentioned, she doesn't really speak English. anyhow, it was really very nice to hear.

The last class is four boys who seem to like me quite a bit. They are the most advanced of the younger kids, so it's a bit easier. That, compounded with the fact that any threat of not playing the inevitable game (basketball, soccer, dodgeball, baseball, etc. all played with a soft, cube pillow dice using desks as props) makes class pretty enjoyable/easy. It's a nice way to end the day.

Everyone should have to teach some level of children before owning a child, I think. I'm talking below 14 here. It gives one an idea of parenthood, and also would probably ease the burden on teachers, who I hear feel stretched thin between parents and students. Shit ain't easy. It's not all bad, though, either. It can be really, really rewarding. I've been doing it for like ten seconds and I can already tell. So here's to the teachers! 加油! (add oil, or fill your tank, as in Go for it!)

I also had a really great chat with Steven after work today. He talked about how thankful he is he had such a great opportunity to study in Japan and New Zealand with many scholarships, etc. and how he tries to impart that sense of gratitude on his children, one of whom has a full ride to Wesleyan. It's nice to work for someone you have respect for and agree with. He told me to tell him if I have any problems at all (maybe his wife talked to him :). He told me to work hard and "master" Chinese. And he told me 加油!

大家加油!

Sincerely,
Jonathan