My life in China, Part 21- Why China?

I can’t believe this is the 21st post of the My Life in China series, and I haven’t overtly addressed this question! Sure, I’ve hinted here and there, and hopefully, the love of my experiences shines through, but this series requires a bit more. It is a complicated question with an answer that is probably ambitious to capture in a blog post, but I will do my best. 

But first, I just wanted to start by thanking all that have been accompanying me on this journey. My following is small by most people’s standards, but it brings me unmeasurable joy if even one person reads my posts (that is not a member of my family). I am an introvert by nature and a private person. I am not generally comfortable being the center of attention or promoting and talking about myself. It has been a lifelong struggle, and as someone who wants to be an Author, a constant one. Thus, sharing these stories hasn’t always been easy. It has helped when people let me know that they are enjoying them. I’ve appreciated the comments some have left, and the “likes” have kept me going. I’ve found I have a bit to offer in the collective space of experience, and I’m glad others agree. I think many who know me and interact with me daily would be surprised by all the adventures I’ve had. I don’t talk about them often. Even my family is learning a lot about my experiences through these posts. I only wish that I got to this sooner.  

Some of those that have been following this series have suggested that I write a memoir. It’s tempting, and I would be lying if I said the idea hadn’t crossed my mind. This experiment has been to see if I have enough material, and we’re at the tipping point. Ultimately, writing a book would require becoming even more intimate with my reader, and I am not sure I am ready for that journey. Some things are better left alone, but we’ll see. Also, as I’ve mentioned in past posts, we are talking about memories from 15 or more years ago. I’m 40 now, and things aren’t as clear as they used to be. Primarily, I started this journey to get my memories down before they’re lost, but although I am a fiction author at heart, I may travel down the memoir road eventually. It wasn’t until starting this series that I realized that people might be interested in what I had to say! So again, thanks!

In thinking about turning these blogs posts into a book, I suddenly realized I’ve only briefly touched on “why China?” and this is a crucial question. There are 195 independent nations in the world. Why did I pick this particular one to devote so much time and energy? It wasn’t at random. When young, some people look at the prospects before them and say, “why not?” or perhaps they carelessly hop onto the wind to see where it takes them. Some of the other foreign teachers I met in China were indeed there just because that is where they ended up. They didn’t “know” China or care about its culture. It was only an exotic location for an adventure. They could have just as easily found themselves in Africa, Europe, Taiwan, Japan, Korea, or South America. I am not one of those people. I chose to go to China. The actual “let’s go” decision was a bit forced and on a whim (see my earlier posts for more), but it was always China where I would end up. 

I think it’s poetic that my fascination with the country began with a fiction book. When I was probably 12 or 13, I went through a box of my mother’s old things in our attic and stumbled upon The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck. The work is rather famous, and some of you may be aware of this remarkable story. Buck won both the Pulitzer Prize (for this book in particular) and the Nobel Prize for Literature (she is the first US woman to do so), so she certainly had some chops. Although first making an appearance on the Bestseller list in 1931 and 1932, The Good Earth made a reappearance in 2004 when Oprah included it in her book club. 

Buck published this incredible astute snapshot of pre-communist China in 1931, but this particular copy was the 68th printing published in 1969. My mother would have been around 18 when she acquired it, and I am not sure how she would have seen China at that time. It was a very tumultuous period in Chinese History. It was right smack dab in the middle of the Cultural Revolution, and Chairman Mao was working hard to erase the history and culture portrayed in The Good Earth. While my mother was probably thinking about going to college, my wife’s mother, on the other hand, had been sent to the countryside and forced to work on a communal farm. In the evening, and after working a 10 hour day, she and her sister would head out to steal peanuts and sweet potatoes so that their family wouldn’t starve. The fact that China in The Good Earth and the China of 1969, just over 30 years later could be so different is part of the pull to learning more about the nation’s history and its importance in understanding how quickly things can change. 

I still have this book, and I am looking at it now. I have read it more than a dozen times (twice while traveling in China), and subsequently, it lost its cover probably a decade ago. When I first discovered it, there was a picture of a Chinese farmer hoeing a field on its front (picture above, the only one I could find). I’ve designed my fair share of book covers and have spent considerable time researching the area, and it was not an enrapturing cover in any respect of the word. I don’t miss it, and without it, the book has a well-thumbed-through appearance. Therefore, I find it strange that this small book with the ugly cover would resonate with me enough to start reading it as an adolescent, but I am so glad I pulled it from that dusty box. It ignited a flame that has kept me warm for almost 30 years. 

Pearl S. Buck wrote many books dealing with life in imperial and nationalist China, and I have read a handful of them, but I think this one is the best. It is simply worded and not overly complicated but captures the essence of Chinese culture beautifully. Being the daughter of a missionary and spending a good portion of her life living in China, Buck knew what she was talking about, and I highly recommend grabbing a copy if you can, even if you have no interest in China. I could go on about this book and its author, but this is only the first step in my China journey. Needless to say, the flame this book sparked required more fuel o make such a dramatic leap. 

I think everyone has that one particular teacher (ideally more) who truly impacted their lives. Mine was Mr. Vossen. I took two courses with him in High School- Psychology and Sociology and World Civilizations. His impact on my formation should be clear, considering my degrees are in Psychology, History, and Sociology (Intercultural Relations to be precise). In Mr. Vossen’s classes, I first started to learn about Chinese civilization in a formal academic setting, and Mr. Vossen was a teacher that knows how to make a kid learn. He expelled his passion for history and the social sciences in every action, and it was contagious. Peers that had given up on school actually tried in his classes. Those tough kids with a chip on their shoulder shut up and listened, and it was inspiring. He wasn’t an easy teacher, which makes this all the more impressive. He pushed you, encouraged you, showed life and interest in the subject, cared about your success, and strived to connect with you outside the classroom. He stimulated a love for knowledge that I have grown to cherish more than almost all else. Most importantly, he dared to teach history outside the mainstream, and I am forever grateful for that. In his classrooms, he fed the flame, and it blazed brightly. 

But although Mr. Vossen wetted my Chinese history whistle, there was still much more to learn. China’s culture is one of the oldest in the world and dates back to the neolithic period. Thousands of years of history, with unnumberable religions, wars, people, ideas, events, art, and dynasties, are out there for discovery. It was like being a chocoholic and finding the door unlocked at a chocolate factory for someone with an eagerness to learn. It is just an infinite reservoir of new and different things. So, imagine my excitement when I entered college and discovered they offered courses purely on Chinese history and culture taught by a faculty member from China. My major was Psychology, but that didn’t stop me, and I doubled my course load purely because the topic was irresistible. It would lead me to earn an un-planned minor degree in history. 

The courses I took with Professor Huang included Chinese Culture and Civilization (a general Chinese history course), Asia and the West (an examination of interactions, mainly through the silk road), US and China (a closer inspection of US/ China relations), and finally, a travel course to the Middle Kingdom where I got to experience China in the flesh. The rest is history, and I’ve examined the circumstances following this travel course already in prior posts, so be sure to check them out! Professor Huang introduced me to another fiction book that has become a favorite: Rickshaw Boy by the Chinese author Lao She.

But the choice wasn’t just China because of academic intrigue. There was something more, something visceral that pulled me to the Middle Kingdom. The more I studied history and culture, the more I envisioned mysterious temples bleeding through the mist, strange smells and sounds, weird food, and adventure! I needed to experience all of this to see how reality compared with my imagination. The real China would not disappoint. My need to learn pulled me out of my shell and tossed me into my fair share of difficulties, uncomfortableness, embarrassment, and just pure and utter joy! I found love, and most importantly, I found myself! 

I am not famous and just successful enough to be reasonably comfortable. You probably wouldn’t “see” me if I passed you on the street or cared for that matter, but at least I had these experiences and can share them with you now! I know what China smells like in winter. I’ve tasted salty and fragrant donkey meat, just greasy enough to moisten the roll to perfection. I’ve felt the wind of the steppe on my face as I overlooked vistas that would warm your soul. I’ve been woken from an afternoon nap by the ding and call of the junk and cardboard peddler. I’ve seen those temples bleed through the mist, sure it may have actually been pollution, but it was just as magical in its own right. I’ve been scared, I’ve hurt, I’ve learned, and I’ve lived in a country most will never experience other than in the words on this page. 

Our world seems to get increasingly smaller, but it grows more distant. When we ask my mother-in-law why she doesn’t like to travel, she says that she can see it all on TV, and, in her opinion, it doesn’t look much different. When we ask my parents why they don’t want to travel internationally, they say there is too much of the US they haven’t seen yet. These are endearing answers but still frustrating, and indeed, they are not alone in these notions nor at fault. Regardless of culture, many are choosing to stay safe and distance themselves from the “other.” For my in-laws and parents, it is innocent enough. But for some others, those that see the world polarized, this separation can take a sinister turn, and over the last few years, their path has become crystal clear. Being a lover of history, I know that for some, this distance leads to fear, and fear leads to the nasty side of our shared memory. Those in power and position then latch onto this fear, and before you know it, people are ostracized, discriminated against, and dehumanized. These are not empty statements. Racial assaults on Asian Americans continue to rise, and even my wife has felt the harsh sting of racism and discrimination.

What is so disheartening is that lashing out in fear doesn’t make their life safer. In fact, it pushes them closer to precisely the danger they most fear. If pulled into a war (even a small one) with China, it would be devastating in more than just human life. It would spread and fester until it was uncontrollable and only end when everyone is either dead or too tired to go on. If we survived as a nation or a species, we would all look back on how stupid it was and say, “never again,” just like we did at the end of WWI, only to find ourselves in an even worst war, a mere 20 years later. Evidence is clear that the only ones that benefit from this path are the unscrupulous few who need this fear because they don’t have the substance to obtain or maintain their power without people being terrified. The US is not the only guilty party here. The Chinese Communist Party also rattles the bell of conflict, and the masses have been blindly getting into line. 

I guess it all comes down to this. The discovery of the “other” is the true answer to “why China?”. It is the clarity that the China “they” teach us to fear is not the real China. The real China has a vibrant culture, deep history, and beautiful people that want to live comfortably and be happy just as much as we all do. It is a slow realization that this seemingly exotic country is only so when it is unknown, and once known, it is human, and it is us. 

So, as this world comes out of the miasma of this terrible pandemic, I implore you not to fear. The lesson we should learn from this shared catastrophe is not to hunker down and cast blame. Instead, it should be that life can be short, and there is a lot of awesomeness out there left to experience. Face your fear and learn. Meet the “other” and make them familiar. Grow and live a life full of beautiful memories, not one of regret of opportunities (and time) lost. So, why China? Why not? If I impart anything from these posts it should be that the willingness to learn and step out of the box has brought me nothing but enrichment of the mind, body, and soul. Sound pretty good? It is. Until next time.

Cheers!