Adaptability
It seems only fair that I would have had a complete meltdown by now.
I haven’t, though this has been a strange week and yesterday I acted terribly immature and out of control. I’m getting ahead of myself, but before I discuss my ridiculous behavior from yesterday, I want to talk a little bit about adaptability.
How is it possible that I had a full-time job, an apartment, a car, a LIFE in Seattle just 4 short months ago and now I’m living in a country where I can’t speak the language, the writing system is completely foreign to me (where even numbers are sometimes written in characters), and every normal, simple act of life has become a challenge? I suppose the only answer is that human beings are versatile and adaptable. If we weren’t, we’d be extinct like all the species that have petered out before us. Before I go off on some sort of philosophical rant (it IS 2am and I HAVE been alone with my thoughts for seven or eight days now), I’ll tell you a little about yesterday. I’ll also go into some detail regarding the perils of shopping and taking the bus.
First impressions can be deathly. My first impression of my new neighborhood included the following adjectives: noisy (without the bustle of a city – noise generated by all sorts of old, giant vehicles rumbling back and forth on huge streets without traffic signals), dusty (grit in my teeth and hair and under my nails after walking to and from the super market), widespread (the main road is 8 lanes for goodness sakes!), empty (empty of character, devoid of trees, lacking the things that make a neighborhood a neighborhood).
But, once I had to leave my apartment for food and water – I was in here for at least two days without really seeing anyone or doing anything – I took a closer look and although the above adjectives still very much apply, there are some pretty interesting nooks. And, Christina, the lovely woman sent to take me around on Friday, showed me what buses to take and where to take them to for some more city-like views of Wuhan.
For any of you who have been nervous, afraid, freaked out, or unsure in a strange city in the States, please know this, nothing is as bad when you know the language. Simple daily tasks have become a terrible challenge for me. My only explanation for this is that Shanghai is a city catering to foreigners. Even though things were still in Chinese there, it was very easy to get around (by foot of Metro) and ordering food was not a problem as there were pictures of everything or even English menus. I feel like an idiot, really. If I get on a bus and it is going in the wrong direction, I have no idea and don’t even know where I’m trying to go so wouldn’t be able to figure it out. If I try to buy rice in the grocery store and am supposed to have it weighed in the back of the store because clerks don’t have scales, I have no idea and cause a huge line of people behind me to get super-annoyed and stare, stare, stare. Usually, I’d throw my hands up and be the “stupid foreigner” who doesn’t understand the way things are done. But suddenly, and this is where the meltdown comment comes into play, I just can’t handle being that visible anymore. In the store last night, people started as I tried to decide which kind of paper to buy for my cupboards and drawers. Whispers were audible when I was choosing between 84 kinds of soy sauce and when I was collecting rice in bulk, no one was around to stare and tell me I needed to weigh it at the rice station before trying to buy it up front. Of course, as I read what I’m writing, I realize what trivial matters these are, but I think that is just the point. Strangers that don’t speak my language are analyzing every trivial detail of my life. I don’t want to care, but for some reason, I can’t help but get frustrated.
It doesn’t help that everyday, work men still try to come crashing through my front door and the only thing that prevents them from entering is the lock I requested be placed on the inside. It starts at 8am – which won’t be a problem when school starts – but it is very disconcerting and I always feel like I need to then open the door to see what they need to do and EVERY time I’ve opened the door, people flee as if they were just trying to open the door because of some nervous twitch that causes them to open closed doors.
Yesterday, Christina called me at 11am and the following conversation ensued:
C: Do you want to have cloth on the grounds?
L: I’m sorry, what? A carpet? On my floor?
C: What is a carpet?
L: It is made of fabric and it covers the floor.
C: What is a floor?
L: It is the ground.
C: Yes would you like to cover the grounds?
L: Um, okay. Sure. Whatever needs to happen is fine.
C: What please?
L: YES, I want to cover the grounds.
C: The workers will come right now.
L: Okay.
Three hours later, someone tries to come in the door. I open it and two half-naked work men point their hands at my furniture with lit cigarettes flapping around the room and they start hollering what I can only assume are insults that the room is furnished. I call Christina. She tells me that the workers will arrive in 30 minutes. Then, I try and explain for a good five minutes that the workers have already arrived. She tells me to wait, to not move, that she will come and see if the workers have arrived. (!!!) Christina comes with seven women in tow. She tells me everything has to be moved out of the room so the wall-to-wall carpeting can be installed. Women start moving everything, but not before staring at my stuff, commenting on it, talking with each other about it, staring at me, commenting on me, talking with each other about me. This is the point where I BEGIN to lose it. I walk into the bathroom, sit on the tub and stare at the wall. After everything has been moved, the women stand in the room for 10 minutes or so waiting for the half-naked workers to return. When they do, they make a quick job of it. Cans of toxic glue come out and that’s when the meltdown really happens. The first day I was in the apartment, some man came in to paint a rectangle 3 feet in width and 6 inches in height with toxic black paint. The smell gave me an immediate headache and I couldn’t open my windows because there weren’t screens on them and the mosquitoes would have eaten me alive. I figured the area covered by the glue was much bigger than the small strip of toxic black paint and asked how I was supposed to get proper ventilation, a topic that was laughed away immediately – DUH, I’m in CHINA! – and Christina started ignoring me. I literally stalked out of the room and went to the end of the hall where I proceeded to breathe deeply, thinking maybe I could wear a wet rag over my nose and mouth for the rest of the day and night, and then Mr. Ye walked up the stairs and into my tantrum.
It was the strangest encounter I’ve had in China since arriving, and that is saying something. He was with two other men. I haven’t seen him in five days. I still don’t know what grades I’ll be teaching or what my teaching materials are or who my teaching assistant is or where my classes are held or what my schedule is or what is required of me or what is expected of me or how the classes work or how the week works and this man walked right past me, said, “Oh, Lili, hello. Goodbye” and turned on his heels and walked back down the stairs. Before he left, I said, “Mr. Ye, I’m worried about the ventilation with this glue” (it was all I could think to say) and he responded with, “It is hot, yes.” And then he was gone.
Now, I know I’ve been alone for a whole week and that strange things can start to happen when you’re all alone, but COME ON! What is going on around here?!?!?! Back to deep breathing. Apparently, I’ve had neighbors since yesterday evening, but no one introduced us and they’re very quiet. Russell came back today and notified me of their existence. A couple from Canada, I think, Lisa and Colin. I haven’t met them yet. I like that they are quiet. I must be quiet too because they haven’t come over to introduce themselves – maybe they thought they were alone last night – or complain.
I bought some food to prepare now that I have a functioning kitchen and that was another exasperating experience. Apparently, the cooker knob stops turning after the heat has been on for a little while. You cannot adjust the temp so it is better to keep it low, but, tonight, when I was cooking the eggplant that I bought, the temp got stuck on high and I had to watch my eggplants like a hawk. It burned anyway, but I bought some chili sauce and a couple of different sauces so I could barely tell. I love eggplant. I really love the way OTHER people prepare it here in China. I’d go out to eat but Russell and I had a terrible time trying to order the other night, so I’ll stick with cooking until I get a better since of what and how to order. No one understands my “Mandarin” here in Wuhan. When I say things I get really strange stares and then words are repeated that don’t really sound like what I said, but I sometimes get what I was asking for, so it must be the dialect.
If you can’t tell yet, I’m having a hard time adjusting, but still, even now, I’m not “homesick” so I must be doing something right. Also, I broke down and bought some Nescafe yesterday. This morning, it was one of the best things I’ve had since arriving in Wuhan last week…
