storiesfromchina

My Friend Andrew

storiesfromchina — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 11:14:00 -0800

(Written by a former physics instructor in Shanghai)

A neighbor came to my door to say that something may have happened to Andrew. When she had passed his apartment, the door was open and she could see his daughter-in-law talking with the administrator of the building. She didn’t know what they were talking about but worried that Andrew was involved. He might have gotten much sicker.

I knew that he had needed help the day before and guessed that it might be sad news so I went immediately to his apartment. His son and daughter-in-law met me at the door and described how Andrew had died in the early morning. He hadn’t been feeling well for several days. The daughter-in-law had eaten dinner with him the previous evening, but then went home after he went to bed. When she'd returned this morning, she found him lying peacefully in bed, but he was no longer breathing.

About a week ago, I'd seen him with his walker in the lobby, and he’d happily shown me photographs of his great grandson. I had asked him about his health, and he had said that he felt fine except for a little pain in his leg. I’d then had to excuse myself as a friend was waiting for me, but urged him to take care of himself and added that I’d see him again for the discussion we’d plan to have about religion. I told him I’d postponed it too many times. I regret now that I didn’t keep that promise.

Even though he was 95 years old, I can’t believe that he has left us.

He usually had good health and was able to do everything for himself. We’d see him in the lobby every day – talking with both Chinese and American residents, as he spoke English very well. He was always willing to discuss the research he’d done on religion and science. Known for his erudition, he also liked literature. He taught me many things including how to go about learning learning English.

I have memories of his having told me a story about a disaster in Taiwan in which houses of many people had collapsed, but nothing had changed in his home, and none of his family had been hurt. After the tragedy, a friend had asked about his family, and he had replied that he’d been fortunate, that everyone was fine. Afterwards, he’d thought he’d been selfish, that he’d just been concerned that his family had been unscathed and hadn’t thought of the tragedy that had occurred in other people's lives.

He had once told me that his research in religion had led him to believe that heaven wasn’t some far off place that one might go after death; it was in one’s heart if they were unselfish and peaceful. He certainly did his best to create a heaven right here on earth by being kind to everyone, loaning his books to anyone interested, and teaching those who wanted to learn. I had great respect for him as a teacher.

His father had been a minister and had raised him to be a good christian. His mother had hoped that he’d follow in his father’s footsteps, but in college, he'd chosen to study engineering, and then became an engineer in the aircraft manufacturing industry. That occupation must not have been satisfying for he then started to study theology and became a minister who won the praise of his congregation with his preaching.

As he was so gifted, one of his friends – who was also a minister – wanted to discuss religion every time they were in each other’s company. As a result, Andrew worked for a year on composing a report of his research on the relationship between science and religion. Included were his thoughts about physics, astronomy, philosophy, and history. He sent the report to his friend and also gave me a copy, as he wanted to discuss it with me. Unfortunately, I only read part of it and never talked with him about it. Now it’s too late.

When I moved to the apartment building in which he was living, we became friends and Ilearned a lot from him. It’s sad to think that I’ve lost a good friend and a respected teacher. I’ll remember him forever.

Climbing a Tianzhu Mountain

storiesfromchina — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 18:50:00 -0800

(Written by a good friend in Shanghai)

          I feel my muscles renewing themselves now after climbing one of the Tianzhu Mountains in the southwest of Anhwei Province. The trip took ten days, and I haven't completely recovered yet. I'll try to describe that day but my English probably won't be good enough to explain how hard it was for us.

          The mountain is one continuous forest, but there was a road at the base, and it took twenty minutes by bus to get us to the starting point - a hotel in park-like surroundings.

          After a good night's sleep, we had two rides on a tram that took us partway up the mountain so we could view the landscape. It was filled with huge rocks among lots of pine trees, and we saw a waterfall and a cavern.

          We spent oer an hour slowly climbing up one of the peaks where we took some photos and felt proud of how far we'd come as we looked down at everything below us. We felt that the other mountains were not nearly as tall as the one we were on. The river - far below us - was like a silver line winding through precious green stones.

          It was exciting to be there, and all 15 of us were in agreement when one of our party suggested that we should walk down the mountain, as that would make it possible to see many more of the sights.

          We had no idea that we were making a very foolish mistake.

          It was quite easy at first, as we were seeing many new things and taking lots of photos. Even after descending for about 40 minutes and coming to an entrance for the tram, we decided to continue on foot.

          What could we have been thinking?

          Someone should have remembered the old adage that climbingup is easy, but it's very difficult to get back down.

          The way was precipitous in spots and within the next hour just about everyone was complaining that their calf muscles just wouldn't take much more. I was having great difficulty. All the muscles in my legs ached and were shaking. I just couldn't control them and had to walk very slowly - step by step - with one hand against the cliff to buttress myself. I finally settled on a pattern of finding a place to sit every 10 minutes so I cold have a rest.

My Experiences with Math

storiesfromchina — Sat, 11 Jul 2009 20:16:00 -0800

(Written by a former physics teacher in Shanghai)

Last Thursday, our tutor read a story called “The Best Accountant” to our Discussion Group, and it stimulated discussion about the abilities of people doing that kind of work. I told a story about a clerk who had difficult determining a discount, but I didn’t mention that I also had a similar problem.

During the Cultural Revolution, there were no classes in schools; however, the teachers had to be there anyway. Some of them played Chinese chess, and others wandered like vagrants, yet the school’s accountant was always busy. It seemed unfair, and I don’t remember who suggested it, but it was suddenly decided that one teacher would help him every day before leaving the school. The teachers did that happily, and it provided the accountant with more free time.

I had no calculator then, but was adept at using an abacus, as I had learned it when I was young. Even though I had never kept accounts, mathematic had been easy for me from primary school through the university, so making the calculations we had to do should have been easy, but I found they weren’t. In fact, they were so difficult for me that you may think that I’m distorting what really happened, but it’s the truth.

The day my turn came, all the teachers had left the school, and only the accountant and I were still there. I make the calculations many times and couldn’t get them to balance. I checked again and again, and didn’t find an error. The accountant kept looking impatiently at his watch as things seemed to be going from bad to worse. The minutes ticked away, and when he finally helped me to check all the bills, he found the mistake right away; I had used 15.30 where I should have used 1.53. I had put the decimal in the wrong place, and that caused a big problem. I was grateful to him for his help but didn’t look forward to helping him again. He laughed as he said good-bye, but I was ashamed for having done such bad job.

What did I conclude from all this? Was it poor math or mere carelessness? It appeared to be carelessness, but it really reflected my feelings about math. I hate adding a long list of numbers and always accept my first total as being more or less correct. That kind of work always upsets me.

On the other hand, I used to like working with my grandchildren to help them learn the four basic fundamentals of arithmetic. When they were little, we played a game called “24”; in which four number have to be used to reach 24 using ＋, －, ×, and ÷. I was never unhappy when they frequently did it more quickly than I. That game helped them in improving math, and increasing their interest in it. Some of them are now in middle school and high school, and they get high scores in math. One of them even participated in the Olympic Math Competition.

Unlike me, they are all very good at arithmetic – even when they do it in their heads, so I’m convinced that heredity has little to do with the process..

Mysterious Happenings

storiesfromchina — Sat, 11 Jul 2009 20:01:00 -0800

(Written by a high school student from China who is studying in England)

To begin at the beginning, it was a moonless spring night, bible black. The mother of the household was upstairs reading a story to her daughter to put her to sleep. Flashes of sadness occurred in the mother’s eyes. Downstairs an aged lady was weeping. She was heartbroken.

Before that beginning, however, it was winter, a bright night, and a family of five was eating dinner. Joy and laughter filled every corner of the house. They were all happy for the man of the house as he was going to a coastal town as part of his job. He was a news reporter. The part of the story they didn’t know was that there would be no glory in it. It would be risk taking…

His boss had promised to pay him extra if he took the job, and he needed the money as his mother was very sick. A daughter had also just been born. But it would be dangerous. No one had ever returned from such a trip – ever. The destination for the journey would be a place that had come to be known as a “ghost house”.

The drive down was bizarre; he saw nothing for he had concentrated on the long, winding road. As he got out of the car, a gentle breeze blew through his hair. The golden sun was setting. He was amazed by its color; deep red in the middle, softly fading into yellow. He could not hear anything except the sound of waves and the sea gulls flying above him.

He had arrived at a lovely beach hotel – quiet and peaceful. Those two words kept echoing through his mind. He had a beautiful view of the sun and the sea, and just outside of the hotel was a gorgeous fountain with 1910 inscribed on it.

Carrying his suitcase, the father entered the hotel, and everything seemed to be simple and tidy, but the lobby had a very strange odor. He couldn’t describe exactly what it was, but it wasn’t something he was used to.

No one was there to greet him, and in looking around, he noted that along the wall there were hangers, but there were no coats on them. No suitcases were there. The place was unusually quiet and he figured that the management must like earthenware pots for he saw them along all four walls.

Deep in thought, he picked up the sign-in register. It was very strange to see that at least twenty people had signed in yesterday, but there was no evidence that they were still there nor had any of them checked out. That was surprising as the hotel was in the middle of nowhere and there weren’t any other hotels available. He couldn’t account for the fact that he seemed to be the only guest.

While trying to figure things out, a pleasant young man of about 25 years of age suddenly appeared and greeted him with, “Hi, my name is Bob; it is nice to meet you.” He had a pleasant smile with decent teeth, light blue eyes and a short hair cut. He smelled of a mixture of kitchen odors and heavy perfume. It was a weird odor.

“Um… Hi, my name is Mr. Jordan, Bill Jordan.”

A smile came across Bob’s face, as he simply said, “I know.”

Mr. Jordan tried to smile in return, but it turned into a weird one, as he tried to cover up an anxiety which was starting to grow, deep inside his heart, as to how Bob would have known that he was coming.

Bob ignored the smile and said, “Come with me.” Jordan followed after him as they went upstairs to a very small, dark room. There were two windows, but they were closed, and when he glanced through one of them, he saw that it was locked from the outside. The room was painted in a color between orange and red – sort of strange for a hotel, and the room had the same unpleasant smell as the lobby.

His good first impression of the hotel had faded away and was replaced by dismay at what he’d gotten himself involved in.

It didn’t help when he heard Bob say, “It can get quite boring around here these days. No one comes here anymore. Well, no one really came here anyway”

Jordan listened, but he felt there was something not rquite ight with what he had just heard. He chose to ignore it, however. Perhaps he was thinking just a bit too much.

“How old is the hotel then?” Jordan asked in a polite manner.

“Not too old; about three years old, I think. It’s a shame it is shutting down already”, he replied with strong emotion but there were something disturbing about his facial expression. Part of his face looked sad but his eyes…his eyes look more joyful than any other eyes Mr. Jordan had ever seen.

“So do you own the place or do you work for other people?” Mr. Jordan asked out of interest, as the answer would give information he could report back to his boss.

“No, I work for myself. I own the hotel; it was only built about three years ago.” Their eyes met and Bob smiled again. There was something about that smile that made Mr. Jordan shiver, so he looked away to the window.

“So, everything in this hotel is new?”

“Absolutely everything”, Bob said as he reached for the door. “I have to go now to get you your tea.”

Jordan let him go - not because he wanted the tea, but something about their conversation made him felt really uncomfortable. It was really weird to feel that way, as it had been just a casual conversation, but he suspected that some of the things Bob had said were not true and he’d need time to sort things out.

Bob came back in with the tea, but this time he didn’t smile. He entered, put down the tea, and walked out. It was as if he had mood swings - major swings in what he was feeling. .

While in bed later, Jordan thought over the conversations he’d had with Bob. He was trying to work out the various mysteries ihe'd encountered. There had been several weird things. First, the pots; they all seemed to be really precious and there were so many of them. If Bob was a pot collector, that could be the explanation for there being so many of them, but he’d said that he’d had no guests so how could he possibly have afforded all those wonderful and expensive pots?

Secondly, the smell that was so weird – sort of like vomit and really disgusting. The conversations had also been weird, and he had a strong feeling that Bob was trying to cover up something.

Suddenly a thought came to mind; it was about the fountain from 1910 - that was almost few decades ago, but Bob had said all the furniture came with the hotel. How could that possibly be if the hotel was only found three years ago?

Another thing that bothered him was that when he had told Bob his name, Bob had replied that he already knew that. That was strange! How could he have known?

The orange-colored room was also unexpected. It was so ugly and wasn’t at all what one expected in a hotel.

The sign-in register in the lobby provided more information to think about. Why was it that there were twenty people signed in yesterday, but none of them were here today. Why was he the only guest?

In turning all these thoughts over in his mind, he felt himself being overcome by the power of fear. It felt as if his whole back was glued to the bed. As hard as he tried, he found that he couldn’t move even though he heard slow, heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.

As the sound grew nearer, he imagined that the person must be tall and muscular – just like Bob – and he tried to call out, but his voice wouldn’t work; the words seemed to stick in his throat – were unable to come out.

There he was; helpless, paralyzed, silenced by fear, and quite unable to protect himself. The window was locked from the outside. He was trapped in a body that wouldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, and yet he could hear things - like Bob coming up stairs, and slowly the doorknob moved.

Jordan shut his eyes and prayed. He prayed that he would see his family again…

His eyes were still closed when the door was suddenly BANGED wide open with a crash that echoed in his ears, brain and heart.

Bob entered the room saying, “Hi, my friend. It’s nice to see you again. How was your sleep thus far?”

Fear gripped Jordan so tightly that he was shaking and unable to open his eyes. Every blood tissue and cell in his body seemed paralyzed until he suddenly felt a great pain in his stomach, and his hand was able to move toward it.

He felt some kind of liquid, and just before he lost consciousness for the last time, he realized that it was blood, and it was his.

No further details will be given of what happened that night except to inform the reader that Jordan had been right about the mood swings. Ever since Bob’s mother had died his moods had changed frequently without warning his short term memory no longer functioned. The following day, he would have no memory of what had happened and Mr. Jordan would never speak again.

No one knows how many times such an act had been performed before but it came to light during the investigation that one part of each body had been kept in one of the pots.

The end of this account is like the beginning: It was a moonless spring night, bible black. The mother of the household was upstairs reading a story to her daughter to put her to sleep. Flashes of sadness occurred in the mother’s eyes. Downstairs an aged lady was weeping. She was heartbroken.

Getting Help When It's Needed

storiesfromchina — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 20:43:00 -0800

(Written by a former physics teacher in Shanghai.)

I had dreamed of having a copier for a long time and was very happy when my children sent me an All-In-One Printer in 2005. It was able to print, copy, and scan.

When I was working as a teacher in Shanghai, there were manual duplicators at my school. The work was arduous and slow, for a steel pen had to be used to write on wax paper that was then put in the duplicator. There was only one person who was permitted to use the pen for all the teachers, so we had to give him test papers we’d designed at least two weeks before mid-term or final exams. It was very inconvenient.

I liked giving quizzes to my students but wasn’t permitted to use the duplicator even though I could write on wax paper. I didn’t like waiting for him to make the copies, so I’d put the wax paper above a blank paper and brush it with ink to get a copy. Although it was hard work, it was quicker to do it that way.

In 1991, I visited a high school in Aloha, and was excited to see a copy machine in their library. I was also attracted by the many kinds of printing equipment they had. They could copy and bind the sheets for a book and could print 50 pieces of paper in a few minutes. How I wished that my school had similar equipment.

The extension of technology into China came very fast, and soon there were copy machines in every school. I was glad when the days were gone in which we had to write on wax paper.

My All-In-One Printer had problems within three years, and I couldn’t find anyone to solve them, so I had to buy a new one. When I went to the store, I got confused about what to buy as there were so many kinds - inkjet, laser, three-in-one, four-in-one, and wireless.

Several days later, however, I made a choice and took it home, but had to return it three times, as no one could figure out how the USB plug could be connected to the computer. The problem seemed to be with my computer, and a friend who worked on it was unable to fix it. He suggested that I buy a new computer or make one for myself.

I decided that I’d make one, as I’d done that before, and my friend helped by buying all the needed parts. A week later – before I’d started work on it - he told me he had already put the computer together so once again I had a new computer and a new printer/scanner/copier.

All of my problems were solved, and I was very grateful for the help that I had received. The young female clerk where I’d bought the All-in-One Printer, had apologized each time I’d returned it, as she felt she’d not been able to satisfy me, and my friend didn’t wait for me to have time to assemble the computer; he’d done it himself.

When I have trouble, people always help me. I great appreciated it as I like living in a world filled with love.

A Visit to the Dai Ethnic Group Water-Splashing Festival

storiesfromchina — Sun, 17 May 2009 18:20:00 -0800

(Written by a computer instructor in Shanghai)

I had a wonderful time visiting the Dai ethnic group. They are good at singing and dancing and like water so much that they try to live by a lake or river. They have a Water-splashing Festival to celebrate their New Year at which they row dragon boats and soak everyone when they go to the market. They wish their guests happiness by sprinkling with a water-soaked branch.

We had planned to stay overnight at Jinghong, but there weren’t enough guest rooms there so we went to Ximao to put up for the night with the idea of returning the next day. When we boarded the bus in the morning, however, we were surprised that so many people were armed with buckets and basins and squirt guns so they could have a water battle.

Upon arrival, there was a lot of water on the streets, but we thought that the sprinkling of water had probably been overstated.

We went to a park by taxi, as there would be no water-splashing there, and we viewed tropical plants and took a lot of photos. As it was very hot, we bought coconuts and while we were enjoying the cool, sweet milk our clothes suddenly became wet, and we heard laughter behind us. It was from the seller who wanted to wish us happiness.

As we were already wet, we decided to go to the streets where people were sprinkling each other. We didn’t have squirt guns, but we got some basins and took part in the water battle like children. We’d really go after people to get them wet. That day we forgot how old we were and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

A Drum Celebration by the Wa, an Ethnic Group, in Ximeng, China

storiesfromchina — Mon, 11 May 2009 11:06:00 -0800

(Written by a computer instructor in Shanghai.)

There are 56 ethnic groups in China – over 20 just in Yunnan – and this article will be about our visit to a group called Wa in Ximeng. There are about 400,000 of them in China, and the ones I'll describe live about 113 kilometers from Simao.

The group expresses their lives with song and dance, and they’re very good at both of them. When one of the men says that he’ll treat you to a drink, he wants to be repaid by your singing a song, and when they finish their work every day, they all want to dance.

They adore the sun and feel that it is alive. They’re also very fond of wooden drums, as they regard them as holy. The head of a buffalo is regarded as good fortune. It’s a very mysterious ethnic group.

When they plant rice every year, they beat a wooden drum and cut off the head of an ox to invoke the deity’s help

The wood that the drum is made of must come from a tree that has been carefully chosen, and the choice is confirmed by a ceremonious ritual. Usually selected is a lofty chestnut, and after killing a cock to please the gods, a hunter fires two shots into the tree. It is felled, a prayer is said, and the women carrying bamboo containers provide drinks and porridge with rice and chicken. Then everyone drinks, eats, sings, and dances to express their joy.

After everyone has had a good time, the tree is dragged to a special room in the village where the drum will be made. Following another ceremony, work starts on creating it out of the trunk that has been gouged deeply and when hit with a mallet, resounds with a deep, rich sound.

We took part in this year’s feast days of the wooden drum. It lasted from April 10^th to the 13^th. It was the planting season and the Wa people began the celebration by killing an ox and some chickens. They welcomed all the guests with drink, meat, and song. The wine was palatable, but very strong. A friend told me that if you drink too much, you won’t wake up for three days. They labored, danced and sang all day, and we had a wonderful time.

She Made Her Dream Come True (Part I)

storiesfromchina — Tue, 17 Mar 2009 20:09:00 -0800

(Written by a former resident of Eritrea)

To fully appreciate Saba today, you have to understand what happened to her thirty years ago in Eritrea. Back then, she passed through a prolonged and bitter struggle for freedom and was brave. She is a living witness today of how much can be done when such intense love is felt for the country in which you live and your family.

After she was graduated from high school, and with the support of her family, she began her first year at a university.  There were six other children in the family, and they were all in school so her father was the only wage-earner.  Her mother struggled with a tight budget to meet the family’s requirements, but there just wasn’t enough money to meet their needs. Saba determined to get them out of poverty. It was her daily prayer that she’d make it through the university and get a job that would make life more comfortable for everyone.

She spent most weekends with the family, as she enjoyed helping her mom prepare meals, assisting her brothers and sisters with their homework, and looking for bargains in the food markets. Her favorite activity, however, was talking with her dad about her classes and her friends. She especially liked to listen as he talked about the bright future she would have. That became her source of power and energy.

Her father was having trouble at work where there was rampant discrimination and even brutality since Ethiopia had taken over the city. Though he was willing to share his thoughts about it with her, he always advised her not to worry about it or get involved in politics. He wanted her to focus on her schoolwork at the university.

In the early seventies, rumors started spreading about rebels appearing in the highlands, and Saba and her friends talked about it frequently for it was very mysterious as to what they were doing there. More and more rumors about them were being discussed in the streets as time passed, and at the dinner table her father would try to explain his understanding of what was happening.

Early one morning, as she rushed to catch the bus for her first class, she saw someone reading the morning newspaper as she boarded and there was a lot of whispering going on. Saba tried to get a peak at a paper, but couldn’t make sense of it, and couldn’t get an answer from any of the other passengers.

When she left the bus, she rushed toward her classroom as she wanted to ask her friends what was happening, but when she started asking question a government soldier appeared and commanded them to stop discussing rumors.

The next day, life in the city went on as usual, but the campus was very different as it was surrounded by soldiers. It was difficult for more than two students to talk or study together, as they wouldn’t permit it. The atmosphere had changed completely, and the students started becoming suspicious of each other. None of this was conducive to study.

When her classes met, it was not unusual for the instructor to be absent, and no explanation was given. None of the students had the courage to talk about what was going on.

Saba kept thinking about some of the things that her father had told her at dinner, and she couldn’t wait for the weekend so that she could meet with him again and tell him of the new developments at the university.

When Saturday finally arrived, they had a long talk. She told him what she knew, and he informed her that were problems at the place where he worked, too. She learned that some of her father’s coworkers had been killed and others had been taken to prison. The government had come to a standstill, and it was clear that the situation would become worse – not only in the city but throughout the country.

Saba had always been an outstanding student, very gregarious and talented. Within the group of her friends, she was always respected and invariably given a lead position.

A few days after that conversation with her father, she and her friends decided to go camping in an area about 40 miles from the city. They wanted to enjoy the natural surroundings so they chose a heavily forested place in the mountains where wild animals lived, and they spent the day swimming in the lake and hiking.

About midday on one of their walks, two men appeared with guns. It was a frightening experience and all the young women gathered together when the men walked closer and one of them said, “How are you guys?”

Everyone was speechless and looked for Saba to say something.

“How do you do”, she said while looking directly at the men. Their faces were dark, but they looked like reasonable people, and when they began to talk, their message was clear and to the point. They weren’t soldiers. They explained that they were freedom fighters, and the things they were saying about the changes they were going to make throughout Eritrea were very impressive.

Though they said they were few in number, many of them were very clever and knowledgeable about political ways of bringing about the needed changes by meeting with groups of citizens to explain their philosophy which was aimed at reinstating freedom and justice.

Saba and her friends were very impressed.

          It wasn’t long after the meeting in the woods, that she and her friends learned that some of their classmates had already joined the freedom fighters. The government was aware of that activity, and countless students including some of Saba’s friends had already been taken to prison even though they felt they'd done nothing wrong.

She Made Her Dream Come True (Part II)

storiesfromchina — Tue, 17 Mar 2009 20:05:00 -0800

(Written by a former resident of Eritrea)

Life on the campus changed even more radically after that. During the day there were soldiers everywhere, and there was violence at night. For weeks, Saba found it difficult to sleep, as she was so disturbed by the sounds of students being murdered or raped by government soldiers.

The situation became intolerable. She actually saw the dead body of a friend lying in the street. There was blood everywhere.  It became so difficult to survive that many students stopped going to class and everyone became intent on finding a way to escape. Every day seemed to get more hazardous, and as she didn’t want to take the risk of traveling on public transportation, she wasn’t able to see her family for weeks.

Incredible numbers of people joined with the freedom fighters, and that created even more areas in the city that were unsafe, as the government soldiers were ruthless. Roads leading out of the city were controlled by the government’s army, and there were check points where special permits had to presented to enter or leave the city.

The permits were difficult for Saba and her friends to obtain, and without them, the soldiers at the check points would demand money. Without it, there was always a risk of being raped or put in prison.

Life had become extremely difficult for Saba that she felt that prayer was her only option.

City telecommunications were disconnected for about a month, and when reconnected, she got a telephone call from her family at midnight. Upon hearing her mother’s voice, she burst into tears, and asked how they could help her get back home. Her mother said she’d provide the money, and Saba was finally able to rejoin her family when her mother bribed a soldier at a check point by placing money in his pocket.

It was wonderful to be home again, but the absence of her father was confusing. She hesitated to ask her mother or any of her brothers and sisters about it, as she was frightened that they would only have bad news to tell her. She guessed that something awful had happened.

The following night was the strangest one yet. Saba and her family were saying a prayer before beginning their dinner when they heard the sound of gun shots in the eastern part of the city. There were only a few in the beginning, but the violence escalated until it seemed that a full scale battle was taking place.

All the family members that were home hid under their beds until the shooting stopped, and it was then that they learned that the freedom fighters had attacked using hit and run tactics like guerilla fighters.

The Ethiopian soldiers had not been able to cope with the attack, and as compensation for their losses, they made life even more difficult for everyone living in the city by murdering people at random and raping even under age girls. They also continued to put people in prison without explanation.

During the weeks that followed, people couldn’t go to work or to school. It was difficult to get enough food and mothers worried about the effect it would have on their children. The situation continued to worsen and the enmity of Eritrean people continued to growth against the Ethiopians.

An era of political consciousness occurred as the governmental armyincreased in size, and citizens worried about the growing number of official restrictions. City life was completely changed with gunmen on every corner, and they seemed to have the right to do whatever they pleased. People were searched from head to toe and robbed of their belongings. It was no longer safe to wear a watch, a marriage ring or anything made of gold. Wallets were taken. All of the women were subject to rape. No one had control over his life anymore; you could be killed in an instant.

After the hit and run attack by the rebels, the following weeks were quiet, but gun shots were heard at night, and the government’s army was everywhere. Every time you left your home, you ran the risk of being stopped for money. Saba’s mother had been finding it almost impossible to even think of going to the market for anything on the way, and she was   afraid to leave the children alone, as the soldiers could kill them as soon as she left her door.   Now that Saba was home, however, the problem was solved, as she could look after the children while the shopping was done.

At other times – when Saba left the house - it was difficult to avoid being confronted by a government soldier, and she was finally caught and taken to prison. It was a dreadful place; dark and evil-smelling, and the first night was unbearable. They took away her clothing and made her sleep naked on the cold cement.

The next day they returned her clothing and demanded that she admit the allegations they had drawn up, and when she wouldn’t, they said that if she would agree to give herself to one of the top authorities of the prison, she would be freed. She felt like screaming at them and held onto her dress tightly. She wanted desperately to be released but was completely unwilling to do as they requested.

They then inverted her body and immersed her head several times in urine until she lost consciousness. When she awoke, they gouged out her finger and toe nails using a pick. She still refused, so they broke glass and made her walk on it with bare feet.

As the days passed and the torture continued, she felt that she had lost complete control of her life and when she decided to refuse to eat in an attempt to gain release, her natural beauty disappeared and her muscles wasted away. She looked like nothing more than a skeleton covered in skin.

Through all of this, she refused to submit and never showed weakness even in the most trying situations.

She Made Her Dream Come True (Part III)

storiesfromchina — Tue, 17 Mar 2009 20:01:00 -0800

(Written by a former resident of Eritrea)

As punishment of prisoners was usually done during the day, the prison was quiet at night except for moans from prisoners who had been tortured.  But one night there was an exception. Some of the prisoners heard the creaking of the main gate as it was opened, and then the door to each prisoner’s cell were suddenly opened. Saba was awakened by all the noise and told they were waiting for her.

She wasn’t frightened because she knew that prisoners removed at night were invariably killed and she was beyond the point of caring, as she knew that her body wouldn’t hold on much longer.  When she left her cell, she was led through the main gate and was forced to get in a minibus with the other prisoners.

As the bus started, and the prisoners started talking, she learned that the others felt much the same way; they all knew their immediate future was in doubt but pleased that the daily punishments were at an end.

The driver drove at twice the speed limit, left the city and headed toward the countryside. The road became bumpy after they had traveled about 30 miles, and it was painful as the prisoners were jolted up and down. It didn’t seem to be a regular road, but the driver continued until there was no longer a surface to drive on.

The four armed guards that had been with them in the minibus jumped out when the bus stopped, and they turned to the prisoners and announced that they were free.

It was unbelievable! The words didn't seem to make sense at first, but then the guards told them that they weren't government guards; they were freedom fighters.

It was explained that they'd been transported as far as was possible, but were still in a dangerous place and would have to leave on foot to get to one of the freedom fighter camps before the sun rose.

Saba and the other prisoners jumped up and down and hugged the freedom fighters and each other, and when they calmed down, they began the long walk, supported by the freedom fighters.

Upon arrival at last - in a safe place - each of them was admitted to the freedom fighter’s hospital. Physical problems were treated and as they regained their strength, each of them was given a choice as to what they wanted to do next with their lives. They were very grateful for being saved, but none of them would ever forget the days of torture in the prison.

It was about that time that the people in Eritrean learned that most of the Ethiopian fighters had been defeated and that many of the towns was now under the control of the freedom fighters. Only a few members of the former Ethiopian government remained, and they were restricted to a few cities.

During the war, the Ethiopian government had received help from all over the world but especially from the Soviet Union, Cuba and Yemen. They’d received sophisticated guns, war plans, chemical weapons, tanks, money and other necessities.

The ratio of government soldiers to freedom fighters had been 10 to 1, but food had attracted citizens to the freedom fight, and that tactic had been successful.

When Saba was healthy once more, she and many of the other ex-prisoners decided to join the freedom fighters.

It took another year of bloody battles before the Ethiopian army was finally defeated, and before they left Eritrea, they bombed and burned many villages and towns. Killed and murdered at that time were women, men, young children, the aged, and infants. People were left without shelter or food, but they’d learned the lesson that you can continue to exist even when tragedy strikes.

The freedom fighter movement gave Saba full political and military training and then assigned her to work in their headquarters. It’s in a dry mountainous area, and at the bottom of one of the mountains the freedom fighters have constructed underground buildings including a hospital, clinics, garages, various factories, academic schools, and large conference rooms. At nighttime it's like a city, but during the daytime there isn't much activity, as everything is camouflaged and quiet to avoid detection by Ethiopian fighter jets that might loom on the horizon.

           Saba was happy to be serving as a freedom fighter, but it was difficult to accept the thought that one day she might be required to carry a gun and attack the enemy. She had been interested in saving lives before, and the idea that she might now be involved in shooting them caused her great difficulty. While she thought through that problem, they involved her in training exercises, she toured many places where freedom fighter resources were kept.

It was enjoyable to be in the mountains, and she was fascinated by their devotion to work, their skills, and willingness to be assigned to any place or activity. It was amazing how many different kinds of people were involved: men, women, doctors, engineers, high school and university students, farmers – all of them worked together voluntarily despite their different backgrounds. They all wanted to end the bloody war that had lasted for a century.

          She was attracted by the friendly feeling of love that emanated from all the freedom fighters, and she committed herself to work for the country in the same way they did. She enjoyed the training and the tours, but started to feel that she wanted to be actively engaged in bringing about change, and the freedom fighters met tht need by having her serve on committees that her education had prepared her for. They also used her to teach not only first aid to the freedom fighters in her area but also academic subjects.

          After thirty years of warfare, the freedom fighters were succeeding in thwarting the Ethiopian government’s attempt to take over Eritrea. Many towns and cities had already been liberated.

          Saba got to participate in one of the final battles and though she was very courageous, it gave her the scare of her life. During the conflict she was wounded twice while providing care to wounded and captured Ethiopian war prisoners, but she was delighted when the war ended, as freedom had been restored in Eritrea.

         The war had been one of the worst in history, as countless thousands of soldiers from both countries had died. Deaths among the civilian population of Eritrea had also been high and the suffering they had endured during all the years of the war will be told for years to come.

How We Reacted to Our First Pay

storiesfromchina — Sun, 08 Mar 2009 18:27:00 -0800

(Written by a computer instructor in Shanghai)

The story “We Got Money” reminds me of my experiences when I first earned money, and I’ve added what my daughter did, too.

Forty years ago, I was sent to Yunnan to work in the field, and I was there for about three years. We only got provisions every autumn from the village storage place. There was a rule that a worker could get more provisions if they worked harder or had more hours.

We never got any cash. Our parents sent us a little money every year to buy the necessities of life. We were poor and worked hard, but we always enjoyed the trip to the post office to get that money.

I had learned to draw in high school and got a job earlier than my associates in the country so I got my first wages while they were still working in the fields. I was paid only 28 yuan a month, but I was very happy and went to the post office to send them 10 yuan. I told them that with the rest of my wages I could live well by myself in Yunnan and that I wanted to help them have better days.

I gave 5 yuan to two of my associates, as I wanted to share with them how happy I was to get my first wages. They went to town and had delicious snacks. The remaining 13 yuan paid for my food the first month.

The lowest standard of living for one person was 8 yuan at that time, and and it's 500 yuan now in Shanghai.

                My daughter Lynn gave me her first wages, but I suggested that it be divided into three parts. The first part would come to me, as she lived with us. The second was put in a bank to start a savings account, and the rest she was to use as her expenses for the month. She was very happy and gave me a beautiful brooch. I still have it and like it very much.

                Lynn uses credit cards now. That’s the way she plans how much she’ll spend for the things she needs. I have nothing to do with the process anymore; she’s completely self-supporting.

Two African Boys in War Zones

storiesfromchina — Tue, 03 Mar 2009 19:16:00 -0900

(Written by a former resident of Eritrea)

War in Africa war is unique. Though it is waged differently in the various countries, there are also similarities. This is a story about how the cruelty and wretchedness of war took away the childhoods of Emmanuel and Ishmael. War left a mark on them as they lost their innocence while serving as child soldiers and discovered that it’s almost impossible to be peaceful while mysterious wars are underway.

Emmanuel’s childhood was a little different from Ishmael’s, as he told me recently, “There was peace in Sudan for the first three years of my life, but unfortunately I have no memory of it.” That was because there had been war in his country ever since.

Ishmael was almost twelve when the civil war that he became involved in began. Before that he had been a student, had enjoyed talent shows and doing fun things with his brother and other friends

Because participating in war had taken away the possibility of having a normal childhood, both young men are now looking for someone who will write up their life stories.

Wars in Africa frequently amount to just a lot of foolishness. Emmanuel lived during the civil war between the south and the north in Sudan. It involved ethnic differences about equality and justice, and the whole country became involved in the dispute.

Ishmael suffered through a civil war in Sierra Leone that lasted for years. The clash was between the government’s army and rebels who wanted change. Both sides, however, became victims. Deaths of whole families were witnessed and the many others who died included innumerable men, women, children, and the newborn. There were many incidents of rape and murder.

Both boys had no way to avoid being affected by the different wars. They considered running away but even the most remote part of their countries wouldn’t be safe. There was no time to think of what to do; they had no alternatives. Both of their lives were guided by civil war incidents.

After Emmanuel lost his family, a rebel took him to a camp near the Sudan-Ethiopian border where he was taught how to be a soldier even though he was still a child. Later, he was forced to join the rebel forces. He thought he was too young to use a gun, but remembers an older rebel telling him, “A gun doesn’t know who is old or young.”

During his first battle, he fought against soldiers from the government of Sudan. The second battle was a murderous raid against people living in an Ethiopian village.

Emmanuel was fortunate that after he fought with the rebels for some time he was rescued by an aid worker. Subsequently sent to England, he became a successful musician, so his story ends well.

Ishmael’s war experience was quite different. When he was still a child, the army of the government made him sign up, and he subsequently found himself in many dangerous situations. It was so frightening that he began taking drugs, and his personality changed to the point where the brutal killing of rebels became a daily and enjoyable activity.

People who had known him before felt that he was no longer the Ishmael that they had known, but fortunately, a friend convinced him to enter rehabilitation and he regained his normal way of behaving.

After enduring all those obstacles, which took incredible effort, he was able to emigrate to the U.S. so he, too, survived the ravages of war.

Both Emmanuel and Ishmael are happy that they are no longer involved in war, and now that they are living in safe countries, they enjoy telling stories of what it was like to be a child soldier.

"I Have Money!"

storiesfromchina — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 12:18:00 -0900

(Written by a former resident of Shanghai)

A birthday was celebrated last evening in our apartment building, but I was engaged in preparing a lesson for class so I couldn’t be there. After dinner I visited Jiang, the birthday girl, and wished her a happy birthday. I also apologized for not attending her party.

          After we talked a while, she invited me to have lunch next Wednesday and said she would meet me at the Japanese restaurant. She was proud of herself and said, “I have money now; my first wages since I came to America.” I knew what she meant by that as I’d helped her get paid by the government for taking her wheel-chaired friend on errands every day. It was pleasant to hear the good news, and we screamed it again in chorus -- “I have money!” We were acting completely crazy.

          That sounded like she had got a lot of money. In fact, it was just a little but she was happy, as she wouldn’t be so completely dependent on her son.

          Her pleasure made me remember my first earnings. I got them when I was a student in high school by tutoring a boy in mathematics. The first time I got paid, I thought I could realize a long-standing dream of learning to play the piano, and after two months, I had enough money for two of the weekly lessons. I really enjoyed them, but didn’t have the money for the 3^rd or 4^th lesson that month so I had to quit. It would have taken me two months to earn enough for those lessons, and it was painful to have to discontinue lessons. My dream was gone.

          When I finally became a teacher, I proudly gave my first salary to my mother. It was exciting to have earned so much money, and I felt strongly that women should stand up for themselves and get jobs so I’d done just that. My mother had always thought that women should stay at home and take care of the family.   Earning money was for men.

          I remembered that when my husband and I had come to America for the second time in 1992, we arrived at the Seattle airport, and my son met us there to help us change to another plane for Portland. He had just started his first job and was so happy that he wanted to buy food for us. He couldn’t stop saying, “I have money; what would you like?” We looked at his happy face and it warmed our hearts.

          While watching my son, my husband remembered how his younger brother felt when he got his first salary. Their father had died when he was 16 years old, and he had four brothers and a sister. Hardly any money had been left for them so my husband had been working to try to support the family, but there were so many of them that they’d been living in poverty.

          When the younger brother finished his studies and got the first payment from a new job, he came up the stairs shouting, “I have money! I have money! ….”. As he entered the room, he was still shouting it, and he waved the money at his mother.   The whole family was so happy; it was like a feast day.

          Everyone has the joy of earning money for the first time. There are many reactions to it - depending on the situation - but it’s almost always an unbelievably happy time.

So Close but Yet So Far

storiesfromchina — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 17:24:00 -0900

(Written by a former resident of Shanghai)

All night it was snowing.

The earth became white.

I had to record it

And reached for my camera.

To the balcony bound

I left my apartment

And looked in the distance,

Saw something moving.

I continued to stare

And saw with amazement -

Pleased, but so breathless;

It was you - my late husband.

You breathed your last breath

Such a long time ago.

It's been years since I've seen you

I've so much to tell you.

Trying to see clearly,

I peered through the lens,

But saw only trees

Where last I had seen you.

"Don't go away now!

Continue to stay there.

I'm so all alone here'

I want conversation.

Back in my condo

I hoped I could dial you,

And asked for your number.

"Not listed", she said.

Email was useless;

You had no computer.

Bewildered, I stood there

Feeling forsaken.

Some paper I reached for

To write you a letter,

But tears began falling,

As I had no address.

Back in the open

Still holding the paper,

I watched the wind take it,

And let my dreams go.

How a Neighbor and I Spent the Holidays

storiesfromchina — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 18:31:00 -0900

(Written by a former resident of Shanghai)

We hadn’t had this much bad weather in Portland since 1968. Snow and ice covered the roads. Traffic and walking were so difficult that schools were closed for almost two weeks. Streetcars and buses were canceled. All activity slowed down.

            My children had planned a three-day family reunion over this Christmas holiday, but we got together only three hours. Two of my children and their families arrived on the 23^rd – my son from China and my daughter from Austin, but another daughter and her family were delayed and arriver from New Jersey on the 25^th. We had a very happy reunion in spite of the short time.

            On those snowy days my son took my arm everywhere we went. It was as if I had a disability, and I felt uncomfortable but didn’t reject his filial piety.

            The snowy weather finally improved, all of my children and their families returned to their homes, and I took up my usual life again.

            The first day on the way to class, I met Jean, my neighbor, at the streetcar stop. In greeting each other, I asked what she had done during the bad weather. She said that she went to church every day to help feed the homeless. I was surprised that she’d been able to get there although I knew it was good that she did.

            Over 80 years old, she is a Catholic volunteer in a Catholic Church and had been making sandwiches and distributing lunch to 130 to 150 people. On those terrible days, she thought only about the needs of others and didn’t consider her own safety.

            Perhaps she was thanked by some of the homeless, but she was just happy to be of service. She continues to give and never expects a reward.

            Volunteers are not concerned about one’s faith; they serve everyone with love. There are lots of volunteers working hard in obscurity in every field.

            I’ve learned about those good examples and their desire to help others, and will try to distribute a little love by being a volunteer just like them.



Snowing

storiesfromchina — Thu, 18 Dec 2008 17:31:00 -0900

(A poem by an ESL student who formerly lived in Shanghai)

       The morning is bright

       As I open the curtain.

     It’s snowing outside -

       All covered in white.

       Cars headed for church

       Make a new pattern

       Of black upon white -

       From my lofty perch.

       I choose to walk singly

       On a strip of my own.

       Well-covered I walk slowly

     To my own special abbey.

       A body approaches.

       We meet face to face.

       A woman. My neighbor!

       I nod as she blanches.

       She likes being lonely

       Since her mate has deserted.

       She never greets people

       But misses them badly.

       In some ways we’re cousins

       I feel the same way

       But fight that old feeling

       As happiness beckons.

       Arrived at the altar -

       The choir singing behind.

       I felt peace with my God -

       A good feeling to capture.

       So I carry some Cacti

       To Laura’s white bedside.

       God’s love will help her

       And I’ll get some shuteye.

A Garden of Friendship

storiesfromchina — Fri, 05 Dec 2008 13:38:00 -0900

(Written by a former teacher of physics in Shanghai)

Rainy days were coming, and Lao Tian reminded me that I should sow fava bean seeds in the garden as soon as possible.   Lao Zhou had already plowed my garden plot. He always does that, as he knows that I keep myself very busy and might not get around to it. I know I should do it, but I appreciate his help. I’m fortunate to have an 82-year-old man managing my garden for me.

I had never asked to have one of the plots assigned to me though I was aware that there were several of them by the parking lot. I had done very little gardening in my life and was surprised when Lao Zhou asked me three years ago to attend a meeting about our community gardens. At the end of the meeting, our manager told us that we could put our names on a waiting-list if we were interested in having a garden of our own, and I was surprised to see that my name had been added to the list by my friend.

Several months later, Lao Wang asked if her name had risen to the top of the list, and she was told that she’d have to wait until one more person got a garden. I was surprised to find that that person was me. I got a garden quite by chance.

I’ve planted fava beans and had a good harvest every year since I got the garden, but I haven’t worked there as much as I should and frequently forget watering. My friends Lao Zhou, Lao Chen, Lao Wang, and a few other people keep an eye on it for me and have spread fertilizer when it was needed.

They planted tomatoes and vegetables after the fava beans were gathered in. Vegetables have also been washed and pickled by two neighbors who recently moved into apartments on my floor. I was really ashamed that they did so much more of the work than I did.

Nowadays, I plant favas when Lao Tian reminds me. When I did it recently, two women passing by, saw how hard I was working, and immediately stopped to help. One of them dug the holes, and after I put in the seed, the other one flattened the soil. We worked together quickly and easily. It was so much better than working alone.

The willingness of everyone to help me with gardening was completely unexpected, and when I started getting far more vegetables than I could use, I shared them with my friends. I started calling my plot the “Garden of Friendship”.

My friends not only worked in my garden, sometimes I’d find vegetables hanging in a bag from my door knob, and one evening when I got home late after translating for Chinese neighbors applying for energy assistance, I found a complete meal right outside my door. I was so touched by their thoughtfulness that tears of gratitude filled my eyes.

They seemed more like relatives than just good friends. I give so little and receive so much!



Then they decided they wanted to give me a nickname, and my friend Wu told me they had settled on “Bodhisattva Chen”. She told me it had been chosen by several friends, and that at first they had thought of me as a volunteer. However, that didn’t seem quite right, as volunteers have schedules, and I was willing to be of help anytime. Then they remembered that a bodhisattva never refuses a request and that made the nickname seem just right even though none of us are Buddhists.

Mr. Li had once used the same term for me, and I told him that it wasn’t accurate. Quite recently, another friend had called me a “living Bodhisattva”, but I’d told her that I was a Catholic and that it just didn’t fit.

I’ve looked it up, and found that such people live an “enlightened existence”.

It’s slightly ridiculous that I should be given nicknames, but another friend said that a better one would be “Mother Mary”, as she knew I was a Catholic. I didn’t agree with that either. The person who suggested it has no religious beliefs and doesn’t understand Catholicism. I’m far from being a truly good person, as I have selfish thoughts. As a good Catholic I strive to have a good relationship with God; to love oneself in unacceptable.

I’m happy to have acquired so many good friends through the operation of my Garden of Friendship, and I’ve vowed to continue to be of service wherever I can be useful.

Two Friends Named Gao

storiesfromchina — Sat, 29 Nov 2008 08:43:00 -0900

(Written by a former resident of Shanghai)

Chen and Wang are common last names in China, but in my long life I’d only had two friends named Gao until several months ago. Now I have two new friends with that name.

One of them is Lao Gao who lives in the apartment next to mine. He visited me recently, as he was learning English and hoped to get a tutor. I took him to The Learning Center at the Presbyterian church, and a tutor was assigned right away, but he found it very difficult to learn the new language. He’d visit me frequently with questions about things he didn’t understand, and then he’d stay awhile and talk with me about his family.

He told me that in China he had been the principal of a primary school, and when he retired, he came to this country. He seemed to be in good health, but he said that he’d had diabetes for years and has to have insulin injections twice a day. His supply of insulin was enough for about three months, but he was worried that when it was about to run out he would have to go back to China to get more.

            I thought he should be getting treatment here and went with him to a diabetes research center in a hospital where he got (at no cost) an instrument he could use to examine his blood sugar level, but what he needed even more was a doctor who would treat him regularly without asking for a fee.

I accompanied him to several outpatient departments, but none of them accepted him. Every place I called, I got the same result but I wasn’t discouraged for I remembered the old adage that God never shuts a door without opening another. And I was lucky; I found a doctor in the Providence Healthcare System who would see him. He has an appointment in three weeks, so we’re hoping that the problem has been solved.

I met the other Gao quite by chance. It happened this past summer during lunch with friends at a place called Loaves and Fishes. We went there often because it’s near our school and class began at 1 p.m.

Every time I was there, I saw a woman who has to use a walker with wheels if she can manage to stand up. The first time we met, we only greeted each other so I didn’t learn her name.

A month ago, I went with another neighbor to see her caseworker at the Disability Service for Seniors. When the worker saw me, she asked me to translate for another woman, and when I followed her into another room, I recognized the woman from Loaves and Fishes right away. She told me that her last name was Gao and that she was disabled, and I translated from Chinese into English and then back again so that the two of them could understand each other.

Before I returned to my neighbor, I told my new friend that I would call her Xiao Gao, as “xiao” means little and at 64 she is much younger than I am.

The next day I saw her again, and she told me about her sad life. Her husband died of cancer several years ago. She had taken care of him for four years, and after he died she contracted rheumatoid arthritis and was bedridden for two years. Her daughter had been of very little help with the arthritis problems, but wanted her to stay in China. Xiao Gao, however, was an American citizen, and felt she’d be better off here.

My husband died of the same condition, but her pain is far worse than his. Her legs, feet, and fingers are all out of shape, and she has difficulty doing anything. She’s in great pain and uses analgesic drugs that her friends get for her.

It was obvious that she needed help so I went to Social Security and got Medicaid and a disability pension for her. Then I arranged for her to visit a doctor for a check-up. Her disability worker gave me instruction on how she could be assisted in all the things we do in our daily lives, and I was very fortunate that the In-Home Services of the Oregon Department of Human Services agreed to provide her with an assistant for 29 hours a month.

She lives in an apartment downtown, and receives help from her neighbors – both Chinese and American. I learned just recently that with her crippled hands she had just made 50 dumplings which she shared with all the people who have given her help.

That’s her way of saying “Thanks” on Thanksgiving.

I’m really the one that should be expressing appreciation for my two new friends named Gao have brought new meaning to my life.

A Childlike Senior

storiesfromchina — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 11:41:00 -0900

(Written by a former physics teacher in Shanghai who now lives in Portland, Oregon)

While I was cooking dinner, the door bell rang, and when I opened the door, my friend Dr. Zhou was standing there mumbling an apology. I didn’t understand and asked what he had done. He looked like a child that had been scolded for improper behavior and I finally understood that his wife had told him that he shouldn’t have left his apartment when I visited them.   He said that he had left, as he wanted to go to the library to catch up on the day’s news. He said that he was very sorry.

I couldn’t help laughing and told him that his leaving hadn’t mattered to me at all. I explained to him that when he had left, his wife and I had had a good time chatting.

He was pleased to hear that as it put his mind at rest and with a smile he returned to his apartment.

            The event he was referring to had occurred a couple of hours previously. He had asked me to go to his apartment for an explanation of problems he was having in listening to English and his wife had been there.    His teacher – Barbara – had taped several exercises for him, and even though he’d played it many times, he couldn’t understand parts of it so I'd explained them. His wife had had some questions, too, and I worked with her.

While that was happening, he had nothing to do so he said that he was going to go to the computer room to read the news on the internet. His wife had immediately said that he couldn’t leave so he asked again, and when she still said that he shouldn’t leave, he left anyway. I had been amused. There was something childlike about the way he asked and then did what he wanted even though permission hadn’t been granted.

     The day after he came to apologize, his wife knocked on my door, as she wanted to talk about the matter. I told her that nothing more need be said, as he’d already told me he was sorry that he had left, but she wanted to tell me her version of what had happened.

     She said that when he'd gone to the computer room to read the news, she had decided that she'd ignore him when he returned.

     As soon as he entered the apartment, he saw that she was unhappy, and asked what the problem was. She told him once more that he shouldn’t have left their apartment while I was there. When she said it that third time, he had finally agreed that he had been wrong and that’s why he had come to my apartment to apologize.

She went on to say that she was angry with him for making such a stupid mistake, as he was almost seventy years old.

In an effort to make her feel better, I said that his leaving that day had been perfectly acceptable to me. I added that I'd always regarded the two of them as being a very happy husband and wife team even though in this case, she had acted more like his mother.

That made both of us laugh for we knew it was true.





Mah Jong

storiesfromchina — Thu, 06 Nov 2008 20:25:00 -0900

(Written by a former physics teacher in Shanghai.)

          One day as my friends and I were chatting, one of them said that I studied too much and the others agreed. They invited me to play Mah Jong with them for they said it would change my life. I told them I knew how to play, but had rarely done so. If I played with them, I added, I’d probably confuse everybody and they’d be unhappy when I discarded the wrong way. They said that they played for fun, not for money, and that it wouldn’t matter what I’d do so I finally agreed to play just that once – for a short time.

          Mah Jong is a popular Chinese game played by four people sitting at a square table. The tiles are made of bone or ivory (and sometimes plastic nowadays) with patterns in bamboo.

          After my father died, my mother played it for a couple of years, as it made her happy, and my brother liked to play it during his lunch breaks, so he taught me the rules.

          My mother was sometimes happy about the results but at other times very unhappy. It depended on whether she won or lost. One of my cousins told me that if I wanted to help my mother win I should plump up her pillow, and I found that to be very efficacious. When she discovered what I was doing, however, she asked me why, and when I told her, she laughed. She thought it was superstitious. Because I was very little and really didn’t understand, I thought she had caught me cheating.

          I regard Mah Jong as a waste of time, and another reason I don’t like it is that sometimes gambling is involved. I’ll never forget an event that happened in our home one night. Mother had been playing Mah Jong with someone, and I suddenly heard some harsh words being yelled. That was followed by someone rushing out of the house.

          I asked her what had happened and she said they had been playing for a little money and the man had lost and then ran back to his house while screaming those bad words. He had been very rude, and I told her she shouldn’t play May Jong with him anymore. My brother then told me that the man was an ambassador. I couldn’t believe it. A government man with a good education shouldn’t lose his temper like that.

          The next day the man returned and apologized. I didn’t see him after that; I suppose he was busy with his work, but I hid the Mah Jong pieces so there wouldn’t be a repetition of that outbreak.

          My mother actually preferred reading books and the daily newspapers. She was especially concerned about the fortunes of war during the Japanese invasion. Everyone hoped that the war would come to an end as soon as possible. Not much thought was given to Mah Jong anymore. The disappearance of the game wasn’t noticed.

          Here in Portland, some of the seniors in our building spend their time playing Mah Jong. I learned recently that one of them became so excited about winning that he collapsed at the table and died immediately. He’d either had apoplexy or a heart attack.

          It’s fortunate that as a result of the man’s death my friends have stopped playing Mah Jong. I’m pleased that they never mention it now.

Did Liu Xiang Bring Us Happiness or Sadness?

storiesfromchina — Tue, 30 Sep 2008 12:04:00 -0800

(Written by a university student in Beijing.)



           At the Athens Olympics in 2004, Liu Xiang won an unexpected gold medal for China. It not only made him into a legend in his motherland, but there was respect for him everywhere, as he had created a new world record.

          At track meets in the following years, one could hear the statement made over and over that Xiang was the best. During that period, the Chinese proudly asked, “Who said that an Asian could never be number 1 in a running event. We have air-Xiang!”

          It was a shock, therefore, at the 2008 Beijing Olympic Games when Liu had to drop out of the competition because of an injury. Everyone’s mind seemed to go blank.

          It was hard to face the situation. Some people just couldn’t digest it; they shouted, cried, and even walked away from the runner they had once loved.

          Xiang apologized to all of us with tears in his eyes, but the response from many was “You’ve hurt us all very badly.”

          Is that fair? Was it his fault? I maintain that it was destiny over which he had no control.

          Perhaps they’re turning their backs on him was caused by the belief that when he had to quit the games, the legend that had been created because of his former success was over, too. They felt that there would be no point in watching the 110 hurdles during his absence.

          People’s resentment had also been fueled by the fact that the tickets they had bought for the event had been very expensive. I have a classmate – one of the crazy ones – who spent over 10 thousand yuan ($1,333) to buy his ticket for that event. He just couldn’t believe that Liu hadn’t made it out of the first round.

          Despite all the complaining, we shouldn’t think of Liu Xiang as being guilty. He had tried his best. It just wasn’t in the cards.

          Dayron Robles, the winner of the race has said, “All of life is not about the hurdles event at a track meet. Life goes on regardless of what happens.”

          We all know that’s true so we should just let Xiang handle his disappointment by himself without our getting involved in whether he was a success or a failure. He shouldn’t have to be concerned about our desires or demands. That’s just too heavy a burden for him to have to bear.

          An athlete becomes great after years of hard work, good coaching, and a lot of polishing of technique. That he should also have to satisfy his fans is too much to expect.

          In four years – at the Olympic Games in London – Liu Xiang will be 29 years old. There is no way of knowing whether there will be a return of the man we have regarded as a kind of king, and here’s my response:

          Let it be.

Guilin's Scenery is the Best under Heaven

storiesfromchina — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 15:42:00 -0800

(Written by a former school teacher in Shanghai)

          Guilin, situated northeast of Guangxi, has an ancient culture, and is a scenic area with green hills, clear waters, fantastic caves and rocks. On the stone below the pagoda in the photograph below, you'll see an inscription that reads, "Guilin's scenery is the best under heaven".

          The osmanthus has been adopted as the city's flower, and when it blooms in the autumn it fills the area with its fragrance. It's therefore appropriate that Guilin's name means "forest of sweet osmanthus".

          The city's cultural history dates back over two thousand years and has been celebrated by poets and scholars who have left behind poems and stone inscriptions that still enrich the area.

          When my son invited me to visit Guilin with him and his family, I felt that it was a dream come true, and we visited first a place called the Longsheng Scenic Spot. It's situated about 100 km to the northwest of Guilin - close to villages known as the PingAn and Jinkeng Rice Terraces.

          The mountain called Longsheng is 1916 meters in elevation, and my son wanted me to use a sedan chair, but I insisted on climbing, as I thought I could make it. It was a little strange that two men carried the chair and seemed to be following us, as we started the climb, and I told them I woldn't have a problem. At that point, I didn't know that I would get so tired that I could hardly breathe by the time we arrived about halfway up. How embarrassed I was when I agreed to sit in the chair, but one of the men said that the two of them had experience in climbing steep slopes, and they both appeared to be strong.

          After being carried for about ten minutes, I recovered my strength and asked my two grandchildren if they'd like to replace me. They were very happy to do so and also used it later when we went down the mountain.

          Other tourists were climbing the mountain at the same time, and the luggage they'd brought was being carried by farmers. Some of them were old women, and they carried the bags in bamboo baskets they carried on their backs. I thought it was terrible that women had to do such work, but admired how easily they did it.

          We passed a village where people from the Yao minority live, and there we saw many women combing their very long hair. It's hard to believe, but their hair was so long that it touched the ground. They'd wind it around their heads where it almost looked like a hat.

          Houses were different on the mountain, too. They had three stories with the ground floor having no windows or doors. It was used for cows, horses, and other animals. The kitchen and living room was on the second floor and the bedroom on the third.

          Terraced field must be seen to be fully appreciated. They were built during the Yuan Dynasty and have been improved over subsequent generations. They wind down from the mountain tops to the riverside and have been in use for about 600 years. Their highest elevation is 1180 meters, and the lowest is 380 meters.

            Viewing them from one of the heights, the terraced fields change direction infinitely according to the season, but the pattern one views is always graceful. A coiling line starts at the top of the mountain and proceeds laterally as it descends toward the river. In spring one sees layers of water glittering in the sun, as the coil winds downward, and in the summer the shimmering is replaced with green rice shoots. Layers of golden rice appear in the fall and are replaced with layers of silvery frost in the winter.

          We had lunch in a restaurant that served a special rice called bamboo tube rice. It's stuffed with some meat and sauce into a bamboo tube and cooked in an oven. The tube is then cut open laterally so that the rice can be eaten. It smelled good, but I didn't like it.

          Elephant Trunk Park is one of the famous parks in that area. It includes two rivers and an island, and there are so many legends about the place that I'm going to tell you one of them.

          "One day the Emperor of Jade came down to earth with an elephant, but when he wanted to return, the elephant refused to leave because he was attracted by the scenery and Guilin and liked drinking the water of the Li River. The emperor becvame very angry and pulled out his sword and killed him. The elephant immediately turned into stone and became Elephant Hill. The emperor's sword became a pagoda."

          The mountain actually does look like an elephant drinking water. His nose seems to be stretching into the river, and so they call that area Elephant Trunk Hill. My grandchildren and I played under the trunk.

          We visited Folded Brocade Hill and many other places with fancy names. The whole area is beyond imagining; you just have to be there. Thinking about it again reminds me of Moon Hill. That's a very interesting place to visit, as it has a natural arch. It's just a few kilometers outside of Yangshuo and 83 km from Guilin if you go by water, 65 by land. We drove there, and when our car passed through the arch, I saw the moon change from half to full and then to half again. That happened because there is a wide semicircular hole in the arch - the remains of a limestone cave.



               The driver told us that when an American president visited there amd saw the moon changing, he didn't believe that the hole was natural. He said that it had probably been made by Chinese people. To prove that he was correct, he even climbed to the top of the hill to take a look, but then he saw the hole. It was easy to understand why he would have thought that the hole was man-made, but then again, maybe he was just joking and climbed the hill because he wanted some exercise.

          When Japan invaded China many years ago, they captured Guilin in only two days, as all of the residents left the city and went to the hill, but then the Japanese found that they couldn't control the city and had to leave. That's an example of how helpful it was for the Chinese to have the surrounding hills in which they could live. It prevented a serious disaster.

          Besides mountains, there are rivers and lakes in the area, and one evening we went by boat to see a place called Two Rivers and Four Lakes. The colorful lights made Guilin appear to be a water city as described in the poem "A Thousand Hills Stand around the City, a River Flows through it". The thirteen bridges that cross the river were made in the same styles as famous bridges throughout the world.

          We took an 83 km trip on a Li River boat that took us between Guilin and Yangshou. It felt as if we were on a jade ribbon as we wound among the thousands of grotesque peaks. Along the river banks there were spectacular landscapes, strange hills and towering peaks. Variegated cliffs and odd-shaped crags reflected in the crystal-clear water. There were wonderful deep pools, bubbling springs and flying waterfalls everywhere. The reflection of the hills in the clear and greenish water created beautiful pictures. It has frequently been said that one hundred miles of the Li River is like an art gallery one hundred miles long.

         We though the caves were fantastic and visited the Reed Flute Cave. It was originally explored during the Tang and Song Dynasties, and its miraculous beauty makes one think of a fairyland. The people who visited long ago included scholars and artists who etched poems and artwork on the rocks in the cave and on the cliffs above. That work was gradually covered with weeds and thick trees, but was rediscovered in 1959, the area repaired, and then reopened in 1982.

          People still remember the story of how the cave was discovered. A long time ago, a cowboy used to graze his cattle in the field above it while playing various melodies on a flute made of reed. One day he fell asleep on the back of an ox who fell unexpectedly into the cave. Within it, he was surprised to find stalactites and beautiful rocks like emeralds and other jewels. It seemed like a fairyland, and when he told others of his discovery, they began calling it the "Reed Flute Cave". Some people think they hear the sound of a flute when they visit. That has become part of a poem called "Listening to the Flute Melody in Serene Land".

          Entering into the cave, we seemed to be arriving in a magnificent underground palace made of jade and coral. The stalmites and stalactites have been formed by the action of underground water as carbonic acid dissolved the limestone. The process that made the wonderful cave included crystallization of sediment for thousands of years, and colorful lighting has been added to highlight interesting formations. Many of them resemble things we all know, i.e. a harvest scene with vegetables and frit piled high from the floor to the ceiling.

          A waterfall flashes down one of the wall like a silvery chain, and that inspried the poet Libai to write "Flowing down for three thousand feet, the Milky Way seems to fall from the sky".

          Two stalagmites hanging near each other were described as having "indomitable spirit", and when you looked carefully, you could see that one was actually connected to a stalactite while the other one was free standing.

          There was one really large open space in the cave, and we were informed that it was 93 meters wide and 18 meters high. A yellow light had been focused on a ceiling rock formation to make it look like a chandelier, and it was referred to as a huge palace lantern. It did actually look like it belonged in a Crystal Palace as in the East Sea Dragon King fairy tale.

          I was so anxious to see the wonderful scenes everywhere I looked that I only took a few photographs, but when I went outside, I found a CD that included everything. I bought one so that my friend could enjoy the trip, too.

          Even though the Silver Cave is different from the Reed Flute Cave, many of the caves are quite similar. It's interesting to visit them and imagine all the things that might have happened there in years past.

          There was a big show called Impression Sanjie Liu in the evening. I was surprised and very interested to see that the mountains and bamboo rafts replaced the usual stage for such performances. The story was traditional. Sanjie Liu was portrayed as a poor woman who fell in love and had many difficulties before she was finally married. There were 600 actors in the play - most of them from the farms. They work in the fields in the daytime and perform in the evening. One of them told us that he liked the variety it gave to his life.

          My son and his children enjoyed floating down the river on a bamboo raft. I didn't go because I was tired after having so many activities in five days. It was enough for me to take a leisurely walk through the park.

          It was wonderful to be with part of my family for five whole days, and we had an unblievably good time in Guilin.





Waiting for the Show to Begin (An Exercise for my Creative Writing Class)

storiesfromchina — Thu, 14 Aug 2008 11:37:00 -0800

(Written by a Chinese girl studying in England)

          As I waited in the wings - just before going on - my nervousness grew, and anxiety took over. Out there the crowd of parents was waiting like a pack of hungry wolves - poised to pounce. Their muttering and occasional coughing, the screeching, scraping noise of chairs being moved back-stage made me more apprehensive. Biting my lips, a stale, chalky taste was left in my mouth. My tight little costume felt itchy on my skin - like ants crawling across my flesh.

          Peeking through the curtain again, I saw the audience in the chairs, waiting like a flock of cultures anticipating the kill. On the stage, they'd stirred up dust that whirled about aimlessly like fairies. Without direction or purpose, those dust clouds seemed to be mocking me as I stood there nervously, filled with tension. I glanced at the star of the show, and he was chewing his cheek in his anxiety - like a camel chewing his cud.

          The muttering of the people out there swelled to a crescendo like the roaring of the sea as they competed with each other to be heard, and behind me members of the c ast were frantically practicing their lines. I could actually hear my heart in my ears as it pounded like a grandfather's clock - tick-tock-tick-tock-tick...

          The tension was growing by the second. It would soon be time to go on, and the audience was quieter now. I could just catch a low susurrus as they coughed, whispered and yawned. There was a humming in the atmosphere, a buzzing like a swarm of hornets in a haze.

          My heavy stage makeup started to cake as one of the stagehands turned the spotlights on, and I could feel perspiration slipping down the cracks as I stood there waiting. I felt caged in my crazy costume - like a chicken in a coop - hemmed in by the rest of the cast as they stood too close to me. My pounding heart was pumping like a piston.

          The makeup upon my lips was unpleasant. It had a metallic tang, and the powder on my face needed to be redone. There were streaks in it now from the perspiration, and when the drops reached my mouth, they tasted salty. I chewed my lip nervously, and could taste warm blood spurting into my dry mouth, as I'd actually bitten myself. The humidity and moisture back-stage was a sharp contrast to how dry I felt inside.

          The twoo sweet aroma of my makeup started to bother me, and I got a whiff of salt and vinegar crisps emanating from the audience. I sniffed my shirt to see if I was okay and instantly drew back, as there was a stench of stale sweat caused by my fears. Quickly I inhaled a lungful of air even though it was filled with dust, and I started to cough and sputter. My dry mouth was finally relieved as saliva poured in when I got the scent of the crisps the people out there were eating.

          As the lights faded into darkness, a moment of silence fell, and then - suddenly - there was a burst of noise on the still air as the band struck up. At the first chords, I took a deep breath and made my entrance.

          The show had begun

August 6th Report on Olympic Games by a Volunteer

storiesfromchina — Thu, 07 Aug 2008 18:10:00 -0800

(Written by a university student in Beijing)

          The most important thing happening in Beijing right now is the Olympic Games, and most of the stations on local television will carry coverage of it. Volunteers are everywhere. It has been reported that 5,000,000 of them are helping. I'm a helpdesk assistant in the hockey stadium and will have to work only if something goes wrong on the web. That means that I have free time to visit many venues. Yesterday I went to the tennis stadium near the hockey stadium and was lucky to see the super tennis star Federer training there. I stood very close to him and that was thrilling.

          The Chinese people have a great passion for the Games. When I watched a game in Greece on TV, there were only a few people there, but in Beijing, most of the tickets are sold in only a few hours. Many people wait all night for ticket windows to open, and when I went to the hockey stadium to buy tickets for my family, the queue was about 500 meters long even though the game is not popular in China. I got the tickets after standing under the sun for two hours in the hottest part of the day. When I left, the queue had not gotten any shorter. I guess that they just had to have tickets to an Olympic competition even though they didn't understand hockey.

          The opening ceremony will be held tomorrow. I am looking forward to seeing the skyrockets, and I want to see the lighting of the Olympic torch. Tomorrow will be an exciting day.

A Chat with Friends

storiesfromchina — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 16:51:00 -0800

(Written by a former Shanghai teacher now living in Portland, OR.)

          One of my neighbors recently invited me to have dinner with her and one of her friends. She said that eating together would make us happier as we all live alone. The two of them had cooked several dishes, and I made a cake and took some other things.

          They loved my cake so much that I suddenly became a capable woman and not the bookworm they thought me to be.

          I told them that I loved to read, but that I'd done some handicrafts such as knitting, crocheting, embroidery, and sewing when I was a little girl. My mother's feet had been bound, and she needed to wear soft cloth shoes. She had all kinds of them - some for the winter, some with embroidery. I'd made all of them for her, and it was always important to get the bottom of the shoes just right so that her feet would be comfortable. I'd always liked sewing, but didn't especially like making shoes.

          I had started to cut and sew things together to make a qipao when I was 14 years old. My mother gave me some material then, and as I didn't have a pattern, I couldn't make up my mind how to cut it. I researched the problem for days, as I knew that the collar was going to be an important part and wanted to cut a perfect semi-circle. It was fortunate that my mother knew a little about dressmaking and she gave me advice from time to time.

          I decided to fold the material from right to left and then folded it again from top to bottom while mother sat at the table and watched. I was a little nervous as I made the first cut of an inch or two with pinking shears, and when I unfolded the material I saw that I had made a mistake. It was awful to look at! Instead of cutting a semi-circle for the collar, I realized that if I continued to cut I'd have a full circle and that wasn't what I wanted.

          Then it occurred to me that I could solve the problem. I'd use only one fold of the material and cut out a quarter circle. That would give me the semi-circle I wanted for the collar.  I'd still have the small cut I made originally, but I could sew that little bit back together again and it wouldn't be noticed all that much because it would be in the back of dress, and I'd still be able to wear it.

          Although my friends were surprised to see my special dress and some of them laughed about it, I was happy to have been successful on my first try.

          The two women with whom I was having dinner laughed, too, but they admired me for my courage.

          The three of us talked some more about how much young people had liked to sew clothes for themselves long ago, and one of my dinner companions related a story that happened when she was a freshman in a university. One of the students had just finished a blouse and started to put it on so she could model it. She put one arm in a sleeve, but couldn't get the other arm in though she tried several times. She couldn't understand the problem, as she knew she had just finished sewing it, but when she took it off, she found that the two sleeves had been sewn to the body of the blouse incorrectly. If she wanted to wear it, she'd have to have one arm down by her side, but the other one would have to be lifted high above toward the sky.

          All of us had a good laugh about the interesting blouse.

          Another classmate had put together a jacket with two pockets, and she was very happy to wear it when she had a date with her boyfriend. At the end of the evening, however, when she returned to her dormitory and wanted to put something in the pockets, she couldnt find them. That was very surprising. How could pockets disappear? She told her roommates about it and one of them started laughing for she had found the pockets. They had been sewn to the back of her jacket!

          We laughed and laughed about such happenings, but then suddenly had the same thought. All of these stories had happened about 60 years ago. If they'd occurr today, the designs would probably be part of a fashion show and we'd all become famous designers of unusual clothing.

          How pleasant it was to have a good chat with friends.

Definitions of Love

storiesfromchina — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 07:24:00 -0800

(Written by a university student in Beijing)

          When I was a little child, one of the sentences I'd say to members of my family was "I love you". Then I'd add "and you?" That's because I wanted to hear them say that they loved me. At that time, the word "love" was a super tool; it could be traded for candies, toys, and many other things that I wanted.

          In primary school, I found that doing well in my schoolwork was more powerful than using the word "love". If I got good grades in my final exams, I could obtain a wonderful vacation. It was very difficult not to be allowed to play before finishing my homework, but I still used the word "love" when I talked with my mother.

          When I entered middle school, I felt shy about using that word, as my peers told me that it's a special word. I was especially careful not to use it when I talked with females.

          The passing away of my grandmother made me feel that much of the love around me had died out. Families all struggle in their worlds at times like that, and my mother told me that I'd have to learn to fight my own battles. For awhile, it seemed that "love" wasn't there anymore.

          It was while I was in senior high school that I realized that "love" was more than a word. My father had left Beijing where he had worked for 43 years and went to a small city in Zheliang province so that he could make enough money to send me abroad to study in the future. He continued to practice medicine there and saved a large part of his salary for his family back in Beijing.

          Love also had a new meaning when my grandfather, a retired division commander, was forced by a navy reassignment to move from his old house in Beijing to the suburbs. He had to adapt to a new life, and I had to say farewell to the place where I'd spent so many hours during my childhood. On the truck holding his furniture, my grandfther sat between my uncle and me, and none of us said anything about how hard it was to move. None of us turned back to see his residence again. I just wanted to keep my eyes closed, as I sat there in the dazzling bright sunshine.

          When I left home and went to the University of Macau, I turned to a new blank page for the word "love". I needed a period of time to understand it - to give it a new definition.

The Forthcoming Olympics

storiesfromchina — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 20:45:00 -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 20:59:00 -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 20:24:00 -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 20:25:00 -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 21:01:00 -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 20:41:00 -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.