Unexpected Encounters

About two hours after arriving at the banquet, my energy level was starting to fade. It wasn't that the conversation around my table hadn't been enjoyable or that the first portion of the presentations weren't inspiring. I did enjoy meeting the other people seated at my table and I had been uplifted as I listened to the director of IFI talk about the mission and vision of this volunteer organization, created to meet the needs of international students studying in the U.S.  Still, as I sat among 700 other IFI partners, with a full belly after a delicious meal, the fatigue that I had been combating with caffeine all week resurfaced in a powerful way. My eyelids began to droop and I felt a twinge of guilt as I tried to discreetly glance at the program to determine how much longer the banquet would last.  

“One more speaker left,” I thought, reading the program. Thus far, I estimated that each person who took the stage had spoken or performed for about 15 minutes. “We’re almost finished, then" I concluded.

But when the man on stage started to introduce the next speaker, I realized that I was wrong.

"And now for our keynote speaker... " he began.

“Keynote speaker? I thought the speech from the program director was the main event. This banquet is going to last much longer than I thought…”  The fight against my fatigue was getting harder and harder. I tried to telepathically plead with the serving staff to offer some after-dinner coffee, but it was to no avail.  Then, suddenly, the gentleman on the stage continued introducing the keynote speaker with one simple phrase that jolted me more than even a shot of espresso could have.

“L is a professor at P University, one of China’s most prestigious institutions…” he announced, as he listed many of her accomplishments.

Instantly, I perked up. My husband, sitting in front of me, must have felt the same burst of energy. He whipped around and stared at me with wide eyes and a look of disbelief, as if to say, “The keynote speaker is from P University? The P University? The very campus we have walked and biked on hundreds of times? The school where we celebrated our first Christmas a married couple, and the place we met with both Chinese and American friends on a regular basis for three years?”

Miraculously, every ounce of tiredness dissipated. My attention was now fixated on the Chinese woman standing on the stage facing a ballroom full of people.  I hung on her every word as she described the life events that brought her to the U.S for college several years ago, her experiences with IFI as an international student, and her life now as a well-known and respected professor at P. University. I sat in awe as she described her M.O. and ultimate purpose, which were so similar to what mine had been as a former teacher in China. My eyes filled with tears as she cycled through a series of pictures of her and her students on their university campus. For the rest of the banquet attendees, the background of these pictures portrayed unfamiliar Chinese buildings. But for my husband and me, they were pictures of a place that had been our home for three of the best years of our lives.

I have no idea how long she spoke. Thirty minutes? Forty? I couldn't tell you. However long it was, it wasn't enough. I wanted to hear more.  

The crowd of people that circled around her at the end of the banquet was worth wading through just to have a few more precious moments with L. A burst of glee erupted within my heart when I discovered that we shared a handful of mutual friends. Though L and I had never met on campus, even though we may have unknowingly crossed paths, she knew some of my best friends!

As we chatted briefly about common connections, I could feel the crowd of people around me growing impatient, as they slowly, but noticeably, inched closer to L. Sadly, I realized that my individual time with her had to come to an end. But I would see L one day again. Of this I was certain. We were, after all, sisters, connected by our spiritual like-mindedness and the sharing of a place we have, at one point, both called “home.”

Flashback

January 12, 2012

As our boat slowly made its way back to Tonsai Pier, we breathed in the fresh air, admiring the breathtaking limestone cliffs and the jade-colored ocean waters that surrounded us. It was day 6 of our long-anticipated "Trip of a Lifetime," and we were relishing the beauty of Ko Phi Phi, Thailand. On our snorkeling tour that day, we swam and kayaked among a myriad of brightly-colored aquatic creatures in the crystal-clear Thai waters.

In less than a week, we would be required to tell our boss definitively if we would commit to teach in Beijing for yet another school year. It was a decision we had discussed, analyzed, prayed about, and toiled over for months. Should we return to the U.S. to pursue graduate studies, or should we stay in Beijing to teach students we loved in a place we had considered "home" for the last 3 years?

We huddled closely to keep warm as the sun set and the air cooled around us. As we did, M (my husband)  looked at me seriously and announced that he was "ready to take the plunge" by telling our boss that we would be leaving Beijing at the end of this school year. For several months, we had been pretty certain that this would be our decision, but the gravity of it struck us as our boat continued its journey back to the pier.

Returning to the U.S. meant leaving a land and people we had come to love. It meant abandoning security and the place we had called "home" for our entire married life. It meant willingly entering a lifestyle vastly different than the one we had be living, and a significant drop in the amount of time we could spend together. It meant subjecting ourselves to what would inevitably be an intense 2 years.

Something in that moment made us cherish our time together on that boat. We were 1/3 of the way through our "Trip of a Lifetime," and we recognized that when we returned to Beijing after day 21, our life would begin a journey down a very different course. It was the beginning of the end of "The China Season" of our life.

Feeling emotions of both sadness and anticipation mingle in our hearts, we decided that at the end of the next phase ("The Grad School Season"), we would go on another "Trip of a Lifetime." We committed to saving our pennies (and our airline miles) and excitedly began to dream about the places we could visit. Trip of a Lifetime #1 took us to Thailand, Malaysia, and Singapore. Where would Trip of a Lifetime #2 bring us? Part of me wondered if this "Trip of a Lifetime #2" would ever truly become a reality, or if it was just a way to make us stop thinking about the massive life changes that awaited us upon the conclusion of this wonderful adventure. Either way, it was a welcomed distraction.

March 16, 2014

Our dream is becoming a reality! The trip that began as a dream on a small snorkeling boat more than two years ago is starting to become a reality. Piece by piece, it is coming to fruition! Our plane tickets have been "purchased" (with miles) and our itinerary is almost finalized. We have poured over hundreds of pages of travel guides and have found lodging we can "pay for" (with points) for 15 of the 18 nights we will spend on our second Trip of a Lifetime. The "countdown clock" has been set: 83 days until we officially declare an end to The Grad School Season of life and embark on our Trip of a Lifetime 2.0.

A midst my excitement, questions linger in my mind. What will we name the next season of life? What landmark events will characterize this upcoming stage? And will we one day embark on a Trip of a Lifetime 3.0?

Saying "Hello" After Already Saying "Good-bye"

"I have made my final decision and am going to accept the offer of OSU these days..." 

Joy filled my heart this morning as I read these words in an email from a former student.

Q's first year of high school coincided with my first year of teaching (at the same high school). We both learned how to navigate new waters that year.

At first, Q was a very quiet student. He seldom spoke up in class and disliked most lessons that involved class participation. Most of that was due to the cultural differences between the Chinese and American teaching style and the fact that I was probably his only teacher who encouraged class participation to such an extent. This was, after all, an Oral English class. How were the students going to learn if I did most of the talking?

Q eventually warmed up and it wasn't long before he was not only participating in class but had become an "Office Hours Regular." Soon, he was excitedly signing up for our English Club Parties and coming over to our apartment with his friends to sample Mr. M's famous hamburgers and try his first bites of Mexican food. We learned that he loved anything with cheese. Oh, did he love cheese. He consumed it with such glee that it made those bike or subway rides to the import store completely worth it.

My husband and I got to know Q quite well during our three years at that high school. Our first year was Q's first year; our last year was Q's last year (high school is only a 3-year experience in China). When we attended that class's high school graduation ceremony, we watched with glassy eyes as thoughts about how hard it would be to say "good-bye" to so many beloved students raced through our minds.

And now, my heart can't quite contain its excitement as I learn that I will, once again, get to say "hello" to Q! My husband and I will likely pick him up from the airport in August after his first painstakingly long journey from China to the U.S. At the airport, we will welcome him with smiles (and of course, a glittery sign) not just to this country, or to this state, but back into our lives.

=)

Update: After posting this blog, I checked my email and received a message from another student to share her news that she, too, was accepted to OSU! If I can't go back to Beijing anytime soon, maybe I can just convince all of my students to come here.

Missing My China Life

Every now and then, there's one thought I can't quite shake. It lingers with me all day and directs my daydreams. Perhaps I can't shake it because I don't want the thought, and the warm sentiments it brings, to leave. What is it?

 I miss China. 

I lived in Beijing for three of the best years of my life, working as a "foreign teacher" at a Chinese public middle/high school. I've been back in the U.S. for about a year and a half now, and while there are many comforts that come along with life on this side of the ocean, there are so many elements I miss about my life in Beijing. This morning, my heart is heavy with a longing to return, so I thought I'd write down some of the things I miss about my China life. Maybe it will be therapeutic. Or maybe it will just make me cry. 

I miss my students.
I miss my students terribly. All of them (that's about 250 students each year). I still keep in touch via email with many of them, but I miss seeing and talking with them every day. I miss hearing about their lives, their worries, their dreams. I miss helping them practice and improve upon their English. I miss watching their eyes light up as they accomplished a task or gave a speech that they never thought they could. I miss the hilarious comments they often made or the antics that were inevitably present in certain classes. I miss hearing them insert our "Phrase of the Week" (an idiomatic expression) into their conversations...sometimes using it correctly, and sometimes finding "unique" ways to use it that just had to make a teacher smile.

I miss being a "real" teacher. 
Spending the last year and a half as a full-time grad student/part-time substitute teacher has been rewarding in many ways but it has also left a big gaping hole in my life in other ways. Oh, how I miss being a "real" teacher...seeing the same students each week...developing relationships with them...watching the progress in their language use....having my own classroom.

I miss hearing my last name shouted out classroom windows, from basketball courts, down hallways, and along pathways.
By the end of three years at our school, either my husband or I had taught basically every child in the entire middle/high school. And it was a big school. Combine that fact with our students' tendency for extreme excitement, and it often resulted in hearing our last name (only the last name...no "Mr." or "Mrs.") shouted in glee every time we walked outside. We called the lunchtime walk to/from the cafeteria our "walk of fame," as we passed by almost every student and heard a chorus of children singing a one-word song that happened to be our name. I loved it.

I miss teaching students and colleagues how to bake cookies, decorate cupcakes, and cook American meals. 
As the "foreign teacher," everything I did was intriguing to my students. They were particularly interested in American food. So, on Saturdays when I wasn't hosting a themed English Club party in my house, I often spent the afternoon teaching students (and some colleagues) how to measure ingredients (something they don't do in Chinese cooking), use an electric mixer (oh man, what fun they had with that...), follow a recipe, and then enjoy snacking on our finished products.

I miss the look on my students' faces when I would randomly respond to something they said in Chinese. 
There is nothing quite like shocking students by eavesdropping on one of their conversations (which they had assumed you didn't understand) and then saying something about it...in Chinese. Gleeful cries of, "Laoshi ting de dong! (Teacher understands!)" would fill the room. So. much. fun.

I miss biweekly "Office Hours," when I never knew quite what to expect but I always left with a smile on my face.  
Would we play hours of UNO or Headbanz? Would we talk about books? Would we chat for hours about life and school? Would we help students who were considering applying to universities in the U.S.? Would there be 25 students there, or just 1? We never knew what our "Office Hours" would hold...but it was always a good time.

I miss coming together with other "foreign teachers" on Sundays and swapping stories of our most recent teaching escapades.
There is something good for the soul about knowing that as you have daily crazy, hilarious, frustrating, inspiring, and sometimes unbelievable experiences, your friends are going through the same things. When you share your stories with them, they "get it." When I taught in China, there were 40-50 other teachers from my organization at other schools scattered throughout the city. On Sundays, we all got together to share a meal and have a church service. Inevitably, our meal time was spent swapping stories about our recent teaching escapades. I miss those Sundays...

I miss my daily visits to my Chinese merchant friends. 
The owner of the local fruit stand...who always gave me secret deals on my purchase and wanted me to try samples of random pieces of fruit;
The lady who served lunch at my favorite line in the school cafeteria...and always seemed to dish out slightly bigger portions for me than she did for anyone else;
The shop owner who sold us our lunchtime Coke Zero...and thought we were insane for drinking so much soda;
The worker at the checkout line at our grocery store... who always seemed intrigued by what "the American" was buying.

I miss the relationships I had with all of these people. When I first arrived in Beijing and couldn't say more than "Ni hao" in Chinese, our "conversations" were limited to smiles and gestures. As time progressed, though, our conversation expanded. In the U.S., I bring my own lunch to school and only do grocery shopping once a week. I miss those daily interactions.

I miss how much time I had with my husband. 
For three years, I had the exact same schedule as my husband. We taught the same classes at the same school and we did everything together. In fact, in our entire first year of marriage (which also happened to be my first year teaching in China), we were never apart for more than 6 hours at a time. Even that only happened once or twice. Most of the time, it was a rare day when I went more than 2-3 hours without seeing my husband. Everyone always asks if we got sick of each other or got on each other's nerves, but we didn't. We loved the borderline excessive amount of time we got to spend together. Perhaps it had something to do with dating long-distance for a year (I mean really  long...as in, the distance between China and the U.S. long). Either way, it was wonderful. We knew everything that happened in each others lives. Now that we are back in the U.S. living more "normal" lives, we just simply don't see each other as often. We still carve out time to spend with each other, and the time we do have is more precious because it is limited commodity, but sometimes I miss the days of 24/7 husband/wife bonding.

I miss those random moments that tested my flexibility. 
It's two days before the first day of a new school year and my husband asks the school officials if there is an update about which classes we'll be teaching. No? Ok...how about tomorrow? Maybe? Ok...

The bell just rang and there isn't a single student in my classroom. Ten minutes later, a Chinese teacher walks into my room and informs me that, due to a schedule change, I will not be teaching this period. They forgot to inform the "foreign teachers" of the change.

My entire lesson involves the use of technology. I unlock the computer desk and press the "power" button...nothing happens.

My phone rings at 7 in the morning on a day when I normally don't teach until 10. Oh, I'm teaching a class in twenty minutes? Wonderful...

Before I taught in China, I was not a flexible person. I always had a plan and always followed it. China beat that right out of me. I still like to have a plan, but my ability to be flexible and "go with the flow" has improved dramatically.


There are so many more things I miss about my life in China. I could go on for hours, but I've already written far more than I ever intended to, so I'll leave it at that. Now, I need to go grab a tissue to wipe my eyes.