storiesfromchina

The Forthcoming Olympics

storiesfromchina — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 20:45:13 -0800

(Written by a computer science teacher in China.)

This week I'll tell you about Beijing's Olympic Games again. They'll start on August 8th and last until the 24th. The theme - "One World, One Dream" can be translated into Chinese like this "Tong yi ge shijie tong yige meng". Beijing is the headquarters for the games and Shanghai, Tianjin, Qingdao, Shenyang, Qinhuangdao, and Hongkong are secondary places. Sailing will be in Qingdao, equestrian events in Hongkong, and all the other cities will have football. (It's called soccer in America.)

Cartoon figures of five children are the mascots for the games. They are very lovely. I remember that I sent a picture of them to you a long time ago.

Beijing is an ancient city. It had been the capital of five dynasties - Liao, Jin, Yuan, Ming, and Qing. Their basilica called The Forbidden City is the largest in the world. There are many things to see in Beijing - the Yihou Park, the Great Wall, SiHe Yard, the Gongking Mansions and many others. The guidebooks list 200 travel sights, and there are 7300 ancient buildings.

Shanghai (where I live) is a beautiful, modern city. There are 56,000 seats in our Palaestra where football will be played. It's 50 km from the Pudong airport and 20 km from the Hongqiao airport.

I'll be watching the games on television with my family. I prefer diving, swimming, and volleyball, but my husband likes football and basketball. We're expecting to have a wonderful basketball match with the American team, and I think America will win.

My Grandchildren

storiesfromchina — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 20:59:45 -0800

(Written by a Chinese/American who formerly taught physics in China)

My grandchildren live in Shanghai, and I miss them very much, as I only see them about once a year. When I decided to visit them this year, I took toys and homemade food they were fond of. The pastry I took is called "nanna's cake" by my granddaughter, and it's one of her favorites.

I arrived at their home at midnight, and the next morning they went to school and I went to my home so we barely saw each other.

We finally got together as we began our trip to Guilin two days later. At the airport, my granddaughter had wanted me to tell her stories so I told her two very short ones - "A Little Price" and "The Secret Garden". She liked them, but said that the last one she had heard before; her mother had read it at bedtime.

When we were in the plane, we talked about this being the year of the rat according to the lunar calendar, and she told me that she had been born during the year of the horse. She said that she had a lot of horses, as they're her favorite toys, and I told her that I had also been born in the year of the horse, too.

She was happy that we were both horses according to that calendar, and I counted up to four from the last year of the horse and couldn't believe that was her age. I asked, "Are you four years old?", and she replied, "No, I'm five.

I was confident that I had calculated correctly and told her that I had counted backwards from my present age of 88 and figured out that when I was 84 she was born.

Her parents told me that I was confused about my age - that I wasn't 88, I was 77. I thought she was wrong and said, "No, I'm 88."

My daughter-in-law smiled and repeated that I was 77 and said that subtracting her daughter's age of 5 would mean that I was 72 when she was born.

It was shocking to heard that I'd been wrong, and I was quite embarrassed. I wondered how I'd made the mistakes, but then suddenly remembered that back in America there had been other times when I had thought I was 88.

During the whole conversation, the children thought I was only joking.

My granddaughter likes to buy key rings and has a lot of them. Her mother says that she has become a collector. While we were in Guilin, we'd take walks after dinner, and each time - regardless of where we went - my granddaughter would buy them - sometimes two or three.

One day when she and I were out walking again, I said to her, "You are fortunate to have so many toys. I had none in my childhood." I added that her parents were very generous, but my parents had refused to spend money to buy such things. Children just didn't have as many toys then. She started to think that my parents must have been poor and said she would give me some money when we got back to Shanghai for she had a lot of it. That brought tears to my eyes, and I hugged her tightly - told her how much I loved her.

The day before I left Shanghai, she played on her scooter in the garden of the apartment building for awhile, and when she came inside, she told me about her school life and her friends. She's in an international pre-school program, and I asked if she spoke English there, as she only uses Chinese at home. She said that she speaks English so I asked her how to say "flowers", "trees", and various parts of the body. She had no trouble doing that and told me that communication with her classmates wasn't a problem. I was pleased that she was becoming so fluent in English.

We talked about a lot of things. When she said "one foot", I asked how many she had, and when she responded by saying "two foots", I said "You have two feet". She didn't think that was right and looked suspiciously at me. I said that "feet" was a very special word and that she could ask her teacher about it. She still looked confused, so I told her that I was once a teacher, but that I'd taught students much older than her classmates. She was interested in hearing stories about them, and we talked for a long time. Even though she didn't fully understand about high school and how I'd taught there, she was very proud of her grandma.

My grandson is 8 years old and had his first Holy Communion while I was there. It was on a Sunday in May, and there were 40 children in the church. Most of the boys were dressed in black suits and each girl wore a white dress with a veil.

My grandson is quite grown up now. He looks like a little man. His parents, grandparents, and I were happy to attend that special Mass. It was also my birthday, but our celebration was for him.

One of the afternoons I visited there, my grandson played a guitar for me. I wa surprised and happy that he had made so much progress. He said that he liked playing it and when his teacher came, he worked seriously with him.

That night he wanted to know how to play Scrabble, a game I'd given him, and I explained the rues. I also told him that I hadn't given him Lego because he already had lots of them and now that he was grown up he could learn to spell better by using Scrabble. He agreed with my opinion and then showed me some of his homework. That gave me a chance to read some of the stories he'd written, and see some of his drawings. He has an active imagination - just like his father.

I'm proud of my grandchildren and happy that their parents are providing them with such a good education.

Time flies so quickly. I was in Shanghai only one month; much too short a time, but when I left, I carried their happy faces in my mind back to Portland.

My Sister's Funeral

storiesfromchina — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 20:24:38 -0800

(Written by a former resident of Shanghai who now lives in Portland, Oregon)

I decided to return to Shanghai in April, and the news spread quickly among my relatives and friends. They were all informed that I would be visiting with my son's family in Guilin first and would then see them in May.

Before I left Portland, I got the bad news that my good friend Yao had just died, and I was very sad that I hadn't returned earlier. I had known she had cancer, and I couldn't help thinking that it was fortunate that my sister and brothers were all in good health.

The last two days of our visit in Guilin I didn't travel with my son and his family but stayed alone in the hotel, as I was very tired and had a slight fever. When we got back to my home in Shanghai, my eyes were filled with mucus, and I had a very sore throat. I still went to church the next day, as I wanted to meet one of my friends there and have lunch with her.

I found that I was having pain in both eyes. It was very uncomfortable, but I decided to go to my brother's home, as I'd be able to get his granddaughter to solve some problems I was having with my computer.

When they saw my red eyes - filled with secretions - and could hardly hear my voice, my brother suggested that I should visit a doctor immediately. My nephew accompanied me to the hospital later that night.

My son insisted that I live with his family so that I'd be taken care of, but I declined. I didn't want to infect anyone with cough and the problems I was having with my eyes. His wife brought a lot of food to my apartment when she visited, and my friend was there to cook for me. I was very tired. All I wanted to do was sleep.

As I was having those problems, I couldn't visit my sister. Our get-together was postponed until the following Monday, but on Friday I suddenly got a call from my sister's son informing me that she had died that morning. The funeral would be held at noon on Sunday.

I almost fainted when I heard that unexpected news and was surprised that my brother hadn't told me of her sickness. When I talked with him about it, he said that she hadn't wanted me to know even though she was anxious to see me. She thought I'd see her in April when I arrived. How I regretted that I'd postponed my visit with her.

As my sister was much older and didn't live with the family when I was growing up, I can remember only five times when we had conversations though I've always thought of us as being close friends. When we got-together, I'd always wanted to talk about the histories of our parents and the family, and now that she has left us, that information is no longer available.

Her son heard how hoarse I was and said that I didn't need to go to the funeral home. I was quick to agree with that, as I had sworn when my husband died that I would never go to one again. I did, however, go to her funeral.

My sister had two daughters and they were also there with one of my sister's sons who brought his family and the wife and children of another son who had died a long time ago. All of the members of those families came from Beijing and Nanjing. I had met the two daughters about 50 years ago, but I met the sons' wives and the grandchildren for the first time. We all talked together before the service began.

My sister's son said a few words during the service about things that had happened in her life and how much she had been loved by all the relatives. There wasn't a funereal atmosphere that day - no sobs, no tears. That's very common when someone has led such a long life, and my sister was 93 years old when she died.

It's a tradition in China to use white and black as the colors for funerals in China. An exception is made, however, when one has had a long life so the room was decorated in red because it was considered to be a joyous occasion.

At the end of the service, the usual procedure is for the members of the family to watch as the body of the deceased is removed for burning, but in this case, all of us surrounded the casket in which she was lying and her sons and grandsons used nails to seal it. Both the coffin and my sister would be consumed by fire, and I guessed that she would have been happy to know that a coffin was used. One hadn't been used when my mother died.

When we left the funeral home, everybody crossed over a pile of burning paper. I didn't understand what we were doing, but had to follow the other relatives. My niece explained that it was one of the traditional activities after a funeral, but I hadn't been in agreement with it. The service had been very satisfying, as we'd all had an opportunity to say our final goodbyes. Moving backward into superstitions seemed pointless.

I feel strongly that society should always continue to move forward.

A Musical Dream

storiesfromchina — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 20:25:35 -0800

(Written by a former physics teacher in Shanghai)

While listening to a special English program yesterday, the thought occurred that I should record myself practicing that strange language, but unfortunately, I had loaned my recorder to a friend that morning.

I then tried to record it on my iPod, but couldn't do it.

It was late at night, and I wanted to hear a song so I changed the iPod to a music station and began listening to the strains of Ave Maria. I hadn't heard it in a long time, and it has always been one of my favorites so it caused me to relax and before two shakes of a lamb's tail I found myself in dreamland.

Everything seemed so real. My son had just brought me some sheets of paper and asked if I'd make copies for him. My printer hasn't been working, but I copied out everything by hand. It turned out to be the words of songs that he was fond of. He had borrowed them from a friend and was happy when I gave him the copies.

That evening, he sat at a table with a book propped in front of him. He wanted to give the impression that he was reading, but I know him well enough to know tht he wasn't. Something was bothering him.

My daughter-in-law entered the room to get something, and I got her eye while shrugging my shoulders and pointing at my son. It was my way of asking if she knew what was wrong. She looked at him and then walked to me and said so quietly that I could barely hear that if I really wanted to know I should ask him. With that, she left the room.

It was suddenly obvious to me - from the way she spoke and acted - that the two of them had had a disagreement about something.

I didn't want to involve myself in their problems, but I wanted to dispel the tension in the room, so I asked him which songs were his favorites.

He sadly replied, "I have none."

That was surprising, but then he quietly told me the source of the problem. His wife had given the copies I'd made to her friend.

I knew the friend he was talking about. She was a very pleasant unmarried young woman who had recently contracted breast cancer. Yet she continued to draw as a hobby and was known for singing as she worked in her apartment. The songs she'd been given would make her happy. You could even say that she needed them in order to concentrate on the good things in life.

I didn't want to express an opinion to my son about what his wife had done but remembered the song we'd sung at the International Day in my apartment building. It's called "Distributing Love", and I sang a few words of it that went like this, "Oh, if only everyone would distribute a little love, the earth would become part of a beautiful world!"

He understood the message, but said nothing. He merely looked at me with a little smile and then walked out of the room. Maybe he was going to talk to his wife.

I found that I was smiling, too, as I woke up.

When I turned over, I touched my iPod, but it was already turned off. The graceful melody of Ave Marie, however, was still curled up in my mind. And then I entered dreamland again.

Sliding Down a Hill for the First Time

storiesfromchina — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 21:01:08 -0800

(Written by a former physics teacher in Shanghai.)

"Have you ever been to Mt. Hood? It was Barbara, the leader of the English Learning Center who asked me, and I responded that I'd been on a mountain near Seattle, but couldn't remember being on one near Portland. She planned on taking two young students from Argentina and wanted me to go, too. I had never tried to ski and declined on the pretext that I had class. That didn't bother her a bit; she said I could ask to have my class cancelled.

When my tutor heard that I planned to cancel in order to go to Mt. Hood, he was astonished. He asked what I was going to do there, and I didn't know what to say, as I wasn't sure. He couldn't imagine me skiing, and asked if I'd ever been on a sled, and I said that I hadn't. He explained how children slide down slopes on a sled and drew a picture of one, but said that he expected that I'd be on a bobsled that can hold up to eight people. I told him that I'd never done anything like that, and he said that I was a bit old to start. He knows that I've been retired a long time.

Before I went to Mt. Hood, I noted that it was Friday, the 13th, and that wasn't good news. I've always been a little superstitious and worried about having an accident, but hoped that nothing bad would happen.

Upon arrival at the mountain, we decided to have lunch first. A restaurant was near the parking lot , but we had to get up quite a slope to get there. Walking was a little difficult, and it tired me out as I followed the others to the restaurant. On the way up to the second floor, I thought to myself that I certainly didn't want to give everyone the impression that I was weak, but I noted in a mirror we passed that my face was unusually pale. That was probably a lack of oxygen from the increased altitude.

Our table was beside a window, and I could see people skiing on the slopes above us. I had no idea what we would do.

When we finished lunch, I had recovered my usual amount of energy and felt comfortable, but I was conscious of the fact that I'm starting to feel like I was a but old for all of this.

Barbara took us back to her car to get ready, and she had brought ski pants for the two students and a pair of gloves for me. All of us had warm jackets.

It was then that I learned we weren't going to ski; we were going to slide down a hill on plastic saucers. Three of them were round and one was oblong. I chose a big circular one with handles so I'd be safe.

Walking on the road covered with snow was difficult, but when we finally got up the hill, I saw that it wouldn't be dangerous as it wasn't very steep. I carefully sat on the saucer and feeling very happy and comfortable slid to the bottom of the slope.

I then did it a second time, and even thought about a third, but decided against it for it took so much energy to walk up the hill each time. The snow was very deep, and as I lifted each knee in turn to find a place for my foot, it was hard to keep my balance. I finally solved the problem by using my saucer as a cane, and I managed not to fall.

The students slid down the hill many times even though one of the two fell several times. They made a snowman after we'd been there quite a while, and afterwards I search for a safe way to walk back to the car.

It was an interesting activity, and I had a lot of fun. I was appreciative of Barbara's generosity in inviting me. It was the first and only time I had ever used a device like the one I sat on to slide down the hill. It made me feel so brave that I thought that if given the opportunity I'd like to try parachuting. In spite of my age, I don't feel all that old, and I'd like to try many more activities that I've never done.

History of Dragon Boat Races

storiesfromchina — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 20:41:56 -0800

(As Dragon Boat races are held every year in Portland, Oregon, it's interesting to learn more of their history.)

The Dragon Boat Festival, also called the Duanwu Festival, is celebrated on the fifth day of the fifth month according to the Chinese calendar. For thousands of years, the festival has been marked by eating zong zi (glutinous rice wrapped to form a pyramid using bamboo or reed leaves) and racing dragon boats.

The festival is best known for its dragon-boat races, especially in the southern provinces where there are many rivers and lakes. This regatta commemorates the death of Qu Yuan, an honest minister who is said to have committed suicide by drowning himself in a river.

Qu was a minister of the State of Chu situated in present day Hunan and Hubei provinces during the Warring States Period (475-221BC). He was upright, loyal and highly esteemed for his wise counsel that brought peace and prosperity to the state. However, when a dishonest and corrupt prince vilified Qu, he was disgraced and dismissed from office. Realizing that the country was now in the hands of evil and corrupt officials, Qu grabbed a large stone and leapt into the Miluo River on the fifth day of the fifth month. Nearby fishermen rushed over to try and save him but were unable to even recover his body. Thereafter, the state declined and was eventually conquered by the State of Qin.

The people of Chu who mourned the death of Qu threw rice into the river to feed his ghost every year on the fifth day of the fifth month. But one year, the spirit of Qu appeared and told the mourners that a huge reptile in the river had stolen the rice. The spirit then advised them to wrap the rice in silk and bind it with five different collored threads before tossing it into the river.

During the Duanwu Festival, a glutinous rice pudding called zong zi is eaten to symbolize the rice offerings to Qu. Ingredients such as beans, lotus seeds, chestnuts, pork fat and the golden yook of a salted duck egg are often added to the glutinous rice. The pudding is then wrapped with bamboo leaves, bound with a kind of raffia and boiled in salt water for hours.

The dragon-boat races symbolize the many attempts to rescue and recover Qu's body. A typical dragon boat ranges from 50 to 100 feet in length with a beam of about 5.5 feet, accommodating two paddlers seated side by side.

A wooden dragon head is attached at the bow, and a dragon tail at the stern. A banner hoisted on a pole is also fastened at the stern and the hull is decorated with red, green and blue scales edged in gold. In the center of the boat is a canopied shrine behind which the drummers, gong beaters, and cymbal players are seated to set the pace for the paddlers. There are also men positioned at the bow to set off firecrackers, toss rice into the water and pretend to be looking for Qu. All of the noise and pageantry creates an atmosphere of gaiety and excitement for the participants and spectators alike. The races are held among different clans, villages, and organizations, and the winners are awarded medals, banners, jugs of wine and festive meals.

Distributing a Little Love

storiesfromchina — Fri, 06 Jun 2008 18:44:13 -0800

(Written by a former physics teacher in Shanghai)

Last month in my homeland, many people were victims of one of nature’s unexpected disasters – an earthquake. A lot of families were affected as parents lost children, boys and girls lost their parents and became orphans, widows and widowers were created, and even whole families disappeared. All of that happened in just a few minutes. All day long we listened to broadcasts on TV, and many of us burst into tears upon hearing the sad stories.



When the disaster occurred, I was in China, and it was the only subject that everyone was talking about. It was hoped that paramedics would rescue as many victims as possible.

            Everyone was concerned, and many of those of us who were still alive wondered what we could do to help all those who had suffered so much. We weren’t thinking of gaining prestige in that way; we understood the meaning of love and wanted to be of service. In a way, it was fortunate that the earthquake occurred, as it awakened people’s consciences, they voluntarily went to the disaster area to help others, they donated money. The evil that had happened became a source of good deeds.

I wasn’t at all certain what I should do. I’m older now, and it’s difficult to decide what is possible. Though I’m still quite busy, I frequently think that when I’m really old and unable to work, I’d rather die.

I never did think of a way I could help the earthquake victim, but it was while having such thoughts that I remembered an old American woman who lives in our apartment building, and I want to tell you her story.

My friend is over 90 years old, but she seems to be in good health and can walk without a cane. She is very careful in what she wears each day, and when we see her sitting in the lobby, we frequently comment about her beautiful dresses. She’s very pleasant to everyone and always seems to have a smile on her face.

One of my Chinese neighbors named Wu told me that she was fond of the old lady and wanted to invite her to have lunch in a Japanese restaurant. That was a pleasant thought, and I wish that I had encouraged her to do it. I regret now that I reacted by telling Wu that the lady might catch cold if she went outside. I suggested that she should invite the lady for tea in her apartment, or, as an alternative, - if she really wanted to take her to a restaurant - she could ask the woman’s relatives if it would be okay, as they were responsible for her.

As a result, Wu finally gave up and did nothing. It was the old lady who kept giving by sitting in the lobby, smiling, and greeting each of us. When I’d come home from class, her presence would warm my heart just like my mother had done when I came home from class every weekday when I was young. I appreciated her greeting everytime I received it. It made me happy to be headed back to my apartment even though I lived there alone.

Receiving a smile and a greeting is important to all of us. It seems to be such a small thing, and it’s not easy to do it every day though we should, for it makes everyone happy – the person who smiles and those who receive them.

This translation of a Chinese song tells you how I feel:



                    Distributing Love

Oh, if only everyone would

distribute a little love,

The earth would become part

of a beautiful world!

This is a call from our hearts,

For a redistribution of love,

Like a spring breeze among

human beings –

It would be a new source of life.

There is no desert when hearts

are full,

      There is no wasteland in love,

Dead gods shrink back at the sight,

And good luck flowers bloom

everywhere.

Oh, if only everyone would

distribute a little love,

The earth would become part

of a beautiful world!

The Earthquake in China

storiesfromchina — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:16:15 -0800

(Written by a student at a university in Macao.)

          The earthquake that happened on May 12th in Wen Chuan left a deeper impression on me than all of the disasters that have occurred in China. In just minutes, 70 thousand people lost their lives, and countless others became homeless. The disaster reminded me once again that continuation of life is not guaranteed, that at times - when one is perfectly healthy - death cannot be avoided.

          Unlike those who have just unexpectedly died, the young men at the university with me will have the option upon graduation of choosing to enjoy their newly-found freedom for a period of time or entering directly into the work force. Some of them will marry and as they become fathers their role as sons will diminish and they'll begin the struggle for profit, power, and prestige.

          How pitiful it is that all the things that we work for can so instantly disappear.

          That thought has been resonating through my mind during sleepless nights. While staring at the ceiling, I've tried to sort out why it is that some people die at a young age while others are able to live long lives. Why is it that those who have been good to others have their lives snuffed out while criminals manage to stay alive?

          When I was a child, I asked my mother for answers to similar questions and didn't get a clear explanation. Perhaps that's because there isn't a strong religious sense in our country; people feel uncomfortable talking about destiny or life after death. They'd rather that we concentrate on education, as it is reasoned that anything can be accomplished if one is persistent enough.

          The problem in such thinking is that those of university age who died in the earthquake cannot continue their education. Babies and young children who died didn't even have a chance to begin school. The desire to persist is quenched when one dies unexpectedly.

          The thought that man is virtually helpless when natural disasters occur was recited frequently durig newscasts of the event. That's undeniable, and we should add it to the list of things we don't understand about why some lives extend into the nineties (or beyond) while others are shortened unexpectedly.

          Once again I've come to the realization that life isn't fair - not even easy much of the time. No one has a guarantee that they will live forever so it behooves us all to live our lives to the fullest and make the best of each day as it comes.



A Trip to Jinshan

storiesfromchina — Sun, 20 Apr 2008 09:26:01 -0800

(Written by a student in Shanghai)

          I went on a trip to Jinshan last Thursday. It was organized by a school where I used to teach. There were forty-two of us, and because we hadn't met for three months, there was a lot of excitement as we offered greetings to each other and talked with our friends. The two-hour trip from Shanghai went by very quickly.

          The village of Jinshan is famous for the painting that is done there by the peasants. Many of the families have been painting since 1973. One of the couples told us that they were the fourth generation to be involved in it. They paint with watercolors on rice paper and their style is very colorful - very showy with interesting patterns. I took some photos and have attached them for you.

          When we arrived at the village, we had been greeted with yellow flowers wagging lightly in the spring breeze. They were from a plant called "rape", and it was beautiful sight. There are small bridges on their river, and on the outside wall of some of the farmhouses there are large paintings. The people living there are painters; their homes are their workrooms.

          Upon going inside of one of the homes, we saw many paintings on the wall, and a woman was painting at a desk. The people who lived there had created the designs and done all the paintings themselves. All of them were for sale.



      After we had lunch, we visited the Donglin temple. It was rebuilt in 2007 and is very grand.

Tomb-Sweeping Day, Peonies, and Paintings (from Student Letters)

storiesfromchina — Sun, 13 Apr 2008 09:38:26 -0800

(Written by a student in Shanghai.)

          It's a quarter of the way into April, but it's snowing up north in China today. We're enjoying the spirit of spring, but the weather needs to improve.

          The date for Tomb-Sweeping Day in our crop year is established by the solar system, but the government regulates our holidays, and we only got one day this year. That holiday is also called our Memory Day and most of pay our respects to our deceased relatives at their tombs.

          We want them to know how much we miss them, and afterwards - as we walk through a park or the countryside - we see how spring is proceeding and try to put ourselves back in a good mood.

          A total of 2.7 million people did that on April 4th. That was the official Tomb-Sweeping Day - and there were eight hundred thousand the next day.

          My parents left us six years ago. I think of them often - not just on that special day.

                                    ***

          The peony is our country's flower, and it blooms in April with large, variously colored flowers. The two cities that always come to mind when we think of peonies are Leoyang and Heze, but Leoyang is also famous throughout the world as the former capital through nine dynasties. I don't need to visit the two cities to see the peonies; I can view them in the Guji Garden or a nearby park.

          Guji Garden, built during the Ming dynasty, is famous for its beautiful, ancient buildings. It's one of five very old gardens near Shanghai, and it has a peony that is one hundred years old. I saw on TV that it recently bloomed with one hundred flowers, all of them red with a light, flowery fragrance.

                                    ***

          Shanghai and St. Petersburg have been friendship cities for twenty years, and I went through an exhibit of paintings about St. Petersburg's spring yesterday.  There were more than seventy of them, some of them representational, others quite modern, with a few in the impressionist mode. I'd worked on gaining skills as a painter with my father as a mentor for about a year, and then had to give it up when I moved. The exhibition reminded me of how happy I'd been. I haven't painted for a long time.

Amateur Haircuts

storiesfromchina — Sun, 06 Apr 2008 19:01:08 -0800

(Written by a former teacher from Shanghai)

          My friend Mrs. Wang came to see me last Friday. She looked unhappy and talked about how her husband has been complaining about a lot of things, but there was just one topic that interested me - his hair cuts. She had been cutting his hair since the 1970's, and he was rarely satisfied. Most of the time, he complained about the way she did it. That's not surprising, as she has never been a hairdresser. I tried to make her feel better by relating this experience:

          My son had never entered a barber shop until he came to America, as I had always been his hairdresser. He was a high school student, and one day when I returned home, he told me that he hadn't gone to school that day. He looked very unhappy, but didn't say anything more. I started to worry that he might be sick or have some terrible problem so I asked him several times what was wrong. He finally pointed at his hair and said that he couldn't go to school with hair like that, as all of his classmates would laugh at him.

          I tried to make him see that his problem wasn't that bad, and after patting his shoulders, I told him that if he'd wash his hair he'd probably feel better about going to school the next day, and we both laughed about it.

          That night I told my husband how our son felt about his hair. He responded that it was very common to feel that way and gave me a mysterious smile. I didn't understand why. I had always cut his hair, too, and though sometimes he wasn't satisfied, he'd always said that it wasn't a problem.

          "Then why do you give me that strange smile?" I asked, and he slowly respoded with another smile, "Because I wear my hat all day."

          I had just finished telling Mrs. Wang the story when she burst out laughing, and I did, too. She said that my husband had had a good sense of humor and wished that her husband did, too. Then she'd have an excuse for doing such a bad job.

          I told her that I was slowly becoming more skillful by watching how the hairdresser cuts hair every time I'm in a beauty shop. My husband had rheumatoid arthritis and his spine was rigid. That made it difficult to have his hair cut in a barber shop so I did it for him.

          My neighbor wouldn't have that problem if he went to a barber shop, so I advised her to let him go there. That would solve the problem, as she knew that she really wasn't a hairdresser.

          She was happy when she left my apartment, but I felt a bit lonely thinking of all thoseyears when I'd been so happy cutting my husband's hair.

          I cheered up a bit, however, when I remembered what he'd said about the hat.

A Response to the Article Below

storiesfromchina — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 09:57:56 -0800

(Written by a former teacher in Shanghai)

          Ive just read the blog article entitled "Giving is Better than Getting", and it touched my heart. The author is obviously young, but he already has a golden heart. He may have been alone at times, but he will never be lonely because he always thinks of things to do for others. His pleasure is in making his friends happy. He is to be praised.

          I associate his story with one of mine. I, too, like to help others, but I don't like to talk about it very much. I was a teacher for a long time at a school where no lunch was served. Teachers who lived near the school went home at noon, but I stayed there and had steamed bread and a salt egg every day. There were four other teachers who decided to order their lunches from a cook in the neighborhood who would deliver them to the school. When she brought them, she'd place the hot dishes on a table in our office.

          In China, most people like their food to be hot, and while eating my lunch one day in the winter, I worried that their food would be cold by the time they finished their classes. Each of the dishes had a cover, but they'd cool off quickly, and I couldn't think of a way to keep them warm until my raincoat caught my eye, and I used it to try to cover them. I couldn't get it over all of them so I piled some of the dishes on each other so the raincoat would be big enough.\

          After the teachers' classes were over, they entered the office to enjoy their lunch, and I sat in a corner - near my desk - reading a book. One of them picked uip the raincoat quickly and the top dish fell off. Then another one fell, and finally they all collapsed. The food splashed all over the table and the scene frightened me. I didn't know what to do, but kept silent even though one of the teachers was very angry and kept saying, "Who did this?"

          Another teacher in the room recognized my raincoat and figured out that I'd probably done it. She told me to keep calm and not do anything.

          I don't know how they had lunch that day because I continued to read my book, but the next day I told them that I was the culprit. I was deeply apologetic and tried to give them money to pay for the food that had been lost, but they said it wasn't my fault. They knew that I had been trying to help them, and they appreciated what I had done.

          A person may have a good purpose in mind when helping others, but sometimes there is a bad result. That's very common. At first, I blamed myself for what had happened, but later on I decided I'd continue to do what I could for others and put what had happened out of my mind.

          I feel more comfortable when I'm helping others.

Giving is Better than Getting

storiesfromchina — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 11:45:16 -0800

(Written by a student at Macao University)

          Many people fail to realize that "it is more blessed to give than to receive", and I have found those words from the Bible to be true; I've had that experience in my life.

          I've always tended to help others when I believed that I could. I've helped in many ways such as bringing lunch to those who don't have time to buy it or tutoring those in trouble with their studies. When a person succeeds, I celebrate, too, and when people complain, I lend a friendly ear. As a result, I felt that I had made a lot of friends in the apartment building where I live.

          Most of the time, I only get a quick "Thanks" after my mission is complete. I assume that they even forget completely the help I've been after a couple of days have passed. They sometimes make jokes about of what I've done by saying that it isn't right to be a good person today. In response, I generally just look at them and say, "I never expect to get anything in return".

          Even though I didn't change my behavior, my spirit of giving began to fall into the shadows. I asked myself, "Why aren't people friendlier? Why are there gaps between our hearts?" I was consoled by the fact that I knew a small group of human beings who continue to donate their time to change what can be an unfeeling world.

          I played basketball a few days after those thoughts had been going through my head, and in fighting for the ball I fell when I lost my balance, and my right ankle was badly sprained. I screamed and rolled over toward the sidelines. When I finally got up, I wasn't able to put my right foot down. I had to hop on the left one.

          At the hospital - while sitting on a chair in the crowded waiting room - the most pain I felt wasn't in my ankle; it was in my heart. I could see through the window the darkness outside, there was a textbook in my hand for tomorrow's class, but not one of the people who call me their friend was there. It was depressing to think that all of them could be so blind to my need for companionship right then.

          I was surprised a few days later to discover the experience had helped me become more mature. It came to me that I never really wanted to get angry with anyone; I wanted to live a life in which my soul would always be at peace. I'd just make a practice of staying calm - even when problems arise, and I knew that I'd continue volunteer work as I'd learned once more that the old axiom is true: "It is more blessed to give than to receive".

A Promise That Would Be Good for my Soul

storiesfromchina — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 10:24:19 -0800

(Written by a student in Macao University.)

          The new semester began on February 18th, and everything is going well. I am studying much harder than I did last semester as I hope to become an entrepreneur one day. The factor that pushes me to earn money came to me in a dream during my last vacation. It has now become a personal goal.

          Receiving pocket money in red envelopes from adults is a tradition that benefits Chinese children during the lunar New Year. I was already over 18 years of age when I returned home from Macao, but I still found that money flowed toward me.

          I wanted to reject the cash, but couldn't get it stopped. Every one of the elder members of my extended family was excited as they showed their care and love in that way. My pockets eventually became filled with money.

          That night - when I got myself calmed down in bed - I reviewed what had happened that day. I couldn't get out of mind the fact that it's really an unfair world. Wealth comes easily to some children while others live in poverty. Who knows how many children got an abundance of red pocket money and enjoyed sweet dreams that night while at the same time others wandered the streets tasting only snow on their lips, as they had nothing in their pockets.

          Most of us appear to be the same. Why do some of us have to confront the huge gap that exists between us.

          I closed my eyes as I made a promise that I vowed to keep:

          I'd donate.

My Favorite Food in Xi'an

storiesfromchina — Sun, 23 Mar 2008 10:05:38 -0800

(Written by a Chinese physician as practice in the use of English)

          The city of Xi'an, renowned all over the world for its historic glory, was the capital of 13 dynasties and its tombs and historic ruins as well as its multiracial dishes appeal to thousands of tourists who come from many countries to visit each year.

          It's my hometown; I was born and raised there, and there are many things I'll never forget. One of them is Yang Rou Pao Mo, my favorite dish. It was originated by Muslim people who came to Changan, the old name for Xi'an, in the Tang Dynasty. At that time, the city was an economic and political center - sort of like the position of the U.S. today. There are several large and quite famous Muslim restaurants serving this dish today, i.e. Tong Sheng Xiang and Lao Sun Jia, but they treat mainly guests from other places and foreigners. Xi'an natives like to go to small restaurants where they can serve themselves. Each restaurant has its own recipe and also serves the so-called Hundred Years Soup.

          Just writing about it makes me hungry, so let's go and have lunch. This favorite dish of mine is usually eaten at noon, as it is more difficult to digest than other food. When we enter the restaurant, we'll order the soup and a pancake. You can choose to have a machined pancake; that's one that has been formed into very small pieces. I always prefer doing that by myself like the other aficionados. It usually takes about an hour, as the pieces you make should be about the size of a soy bean. The process is hard work, but the smell of the food in the restaurant will increase your appetite.

          When you finish, an assistant will come to number your dish so it won't get confused with what others have made. The assistant will put some potato noodles or lamb or beef with it, add some vegetables, and then put the soup on to boil. When it reaches the right temperature, he'll pour everything into the pan where it'll cook for several minutes. Then he'll drop some lamb or beef oil into it with some spices, and when it's served, it'll be accompanied by sweet garlic and paste.



          It's delicious. If you have it in winter, you'll sweat somewhat, and in summer, you'll look like you just came out of a sauna, but you'll be very comfortable.

          At the end of the meal, you'll be given the special soup. Don't pass it up. Drinking it will help you digest what you've eaten.

          This dish will be my favorite forever. If you have the opportunity to visit Xi'an, you should try it. The Chinese say that not eating Yang Rou Pao Mo and not visiting the terra cotta horses and soldiers is the same as not going to Xi'an.

A Fortune-Teller's Tricky Prediction

storiesfromchina — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 17:14:51 -0900

(An old story recalled by a Chinese man who recently emigrated to the United States)

          Once upon a time there were three young men who planned to go to the national capital to take an examination that would enable them to become officials. At that time - in old China - it was a method intellectuals used in order to live a good life and bring honor to their families. There had always been a beauty in having books, but it had been discovered that there was also gold in them when used for self improvement.

          To qualify, a man had to pass a county test and be named "xiu cai". Then a second test had to be passed in the province to get the title jin shi. If successful in passing the national exam, a man could become a low level official - perhaps a county leader.

          The three men heard there was a famous fortune-teller whose predictions always came true so they went to see him. They wanted to know what their futures would be.

          When asked, the fortune-teller raised just one finger and said, "God knows". That confused the men, but they decided to take the examination anyway.

          Several months later, one of the three returned to thank the fortune-teller. He had passed the examination and would soon be an official. He asked the man, "How did you know I would pass? And the seer said, "I didn't know".

          "Well then, why did you hold up one finger when there were 3 of us?"

          The man answered, "If there are less than five people asking me that question, the reply would always be the same. If there is one person, I know ONE will pass or ONE will fail. If there are two, one finger shows that ONE will pass and ONE will fail or no ONE will fail. If three people ask the question, the answer is the same. If there are four, ONE finger shows ONE thing more: ONE half will pass and ONE half will fail. If there are five people, it can be concluded that ONE will pass, ONE will fail; no ONE will pass; no ONE will fail; or ONE more will pass than will fail; or ONE more will fail than will pass.





Who Will Celebrate Chinese New Year with Us?

storiesfromchina — Sat, 23 Feb 2008 09:34:52 -0900

(Written by a student at Macao University)

          Heavy snow made it impossible for thousands of Chinese to be able to celebrate the Chinese New Year with their families as transportation lines were paralyzed, but the enthusiasm for the holiday didn't die out. It followed its usual track of eating, watching CCTV programs and setting off fireworks. Without relatives around, feelings obviously weren't perfect here at the university, but almost everyone enjoyed themselves with a few friends.

          I leaned back on my sofa - immersed in the happy times our family had had with the grandparents on my father's side. My father's little brother had also usually been there on the evening before the holiday.

          Glancing at the clock as I sat up, I noted that it was already 10:30, and I began imagining another scene in the home of the grandfather on my mother's side of the family. Grandmother had passed away nine years before, and festivals had become the roughest times for the 78-year-old man. Each of his two daughters celebrated that holiday with their husband's families as was the custom. Only his son was there for him on some of the years. It would have been better if my uncle had married so that more warmth could have been provided grandfather as he aged.

          It's true that the rate of increase in the national population is decreased by the strategy of permitting only one child for each family, but how will people deal with its negative affects. It's unknown how many grandparents and even middle-aged couples will have to eat and watch fireworks on CCTV by themselves. It's apparent to me that personal happiness will decrease and the harmony and balance of the society may be broken.

I Wasn't Alone!

storiesfromchina — Sun, 20 Jan 2008 11:38:41 -0900

(Written by a student at Macao University)

          On the day final exams were over, I decided to walk to downtown Macao. That was because the semester was over, and the days seemed to be kind of empty.

          I was soon among a flood of people. The cars to my left could only move slowly along the narrow road. There was the typical smell of a busy city.

          After walking along the modern buildings for awhile, I felt that I'd go back to the university; it was boring walking in a crowded city without having someone with whom I could talk. I lost the rhythm that I'd used when starting off and started shuffling along, and it was then that I was swallowed by a flood of people so I eased back into the flow.

          Suddenly I paused, as I thought I recognized students on the other side of the road. As I'd stopped without giving a signal of any kind, the man behind bumped against me and got angry.

          I used body language to express my apologies, but my eyes were still focused on the people I'd seen, and I was sure they were my friends - students who lived on the same floor at the university. I took a deep breath and nodded my head as I made a calculation. One, two, and three - ah, there were about half a dozen guys I knew.

          My heart b eat faster, and I suddenly felt very warm inside. I raised my arm and shouted to them.

          I wasn't alone!

Thinking of Home

storiesfromchina — Tue, 08 Jan 2008 11:10:52 -0900

(Written by a freshman at Macao University)

          Young people are easily affected by changes in circumstances. They may feel lonely when their friends are not around them and miss home when they live far from their families.

          On the first day of the Christmas holidays at the university, there were only five guys left on the sixth floor of Block Three, as most of the students had gone home. We gathered on the balcony around a wooden table on which nothing had been set. We could feel the icy wind from the sea and the color of the sky had turned from deep orange to purple. It was time for dinner, but no one seemed to want to go to the university's awful restaurant. We stayed right where we were - waiting for something to happen.

          One of the guys said that he really missed the times when he ate with his family. "My parents bought a house in the country when I was a kid. It has two floors and a small garden. We live in the city most of the year and only go there on vacations. On those days, we used to go fishing all morning at the river nearby, and in the afternoon we'd go back home to cook the fish. My father would set up a baker in the field in front of the house, and my mother would prepare the condiments. When they finished, the air was filled with a wonderful scent that really made you hungry."

          A few seconds later, another guy began a complaint: "The food in my hometown is much cheaper and more delicious than it is here. I could have a perfect meal there for around 3 yuan, and since I've come here, I haven't been able to get full even though I've spent as much as 30 yuan."

          A third guy told us about his dog, and when he finished, another one started to talk as I leaned backward in my chair and let it touch against the wall. I was so filled with emotion that it felt as if my throat wouldn't let me say anything if I told them what I was thinking. The floral design on the surface of the table seemed blurred, but then it cleared as my mind continued its journey back home through my memories.







Peichen's Breakfast

storiesfromchina — Thu, 03 Jan 2008 10:06:25 -0900

           Though many of us in the West have only orange juice and cereal for breakfast, here is what Peichen had on a recent morning:



          Shredded pork (a dried product that had been cooked - song1), cucumbers pickled in a kind of soy sauce - jiang4), pickled turnips (da4 tou2 cai4), bean curd (a kind of tofu), peanuts and porridge made from rice

Holiday Greetings for 2007

storiesfromchina — Thu, 27 Dec 2007 13:17:28 -0900

               亲爱的朋友们

(qin1 ai4 de peng2 you1 men2)



               Dear friends:



                 圣诞快乐！



       (sheng4 dan4 kuai4 le4)



           Merry Christmas!



          新年好！



            (xin1 nian2 hao3)



           Happy New Year!

The Joy of Helping Others

storiesfromchina — Tue, 27 Nov 2007 17:14:35 -0900

(Written by a freshman at the University of Macao)

          With the help of a friend of my parents, I made contact with a volunteer tutor in America almost three years ao and began to practice writing articles. We communicate by e-mail, and most of the time I write on weekends. One or two days after I send an article, I receive a response with corrections and advice. During those years, I published an article in an American multicultural magazine named Skipping Stones and was also able to practice speaking in English during the conversations we had by phone.

          During this process, I found that it was becoming much easier to express myself in English, and I always wanted to share my excitement with my family and friends. I told them that I'd found a good tutor who was making my writing skills boom. Sometimes I'd talk about my stories with them to get their advice, and invariably they'd say something like "Are you really writing all this in English?"

          From their surprise, it was obvious that the classmates I talked with needed help. Students in China study English, but they don't read enough English articles, and it's very difficult for them to write freely about what they're thinking. As that was the case, I began talking with them about what they might do in order to begin writing sentences in English, and they were so serious in the way they went about it that I began having the wonderful feeling called happiness.

          It was challenging to squeeze in that work in my busy life at the university. I have to read a great deal in all my courses, and helping others meant that I had to reduce my study time. In addition, it wasn't just a matter of telling them about my experience with a tutor, I had to help them improve their writing so that their grades would improve.

          My mother suggested that I should be paying more attention to my own studying, but I continued to work with other students. In order to provide the time for it, I listed learning strategies for each course and got up an hour earlier. I found a quiet restaurant at the university where I could do necessar reading in the early morning and a corner of the library where I could review my courses every evening. My times for studying became more effective so that I would have time to work with others.

          Recently I helped a classmate get a good mark on a presentation at his English class. He had drafted an article about touring abroad, and over three days we spent four hours editing it. In order to help him feel the pride of authorship, I encouraged him to tell me in English what he wanted to include in his article, and then we corrected the sentences and improved the vocabulary. I did all of this with him in the same way that my American tutor had helped me.

          When his presentation in class was followed by applause, both he and I were very pleased, and I knew I hadn't wasted my time.

          There must be some kind of fantastic power within me that forces me to help others. I've probably always had it, but it has become much stronger through working with my American tutor.