White Privilege: Not Just for Americans

Before coming to China, Jason and I were hoping to teach English in Korea.  Of course, now we know that it was simply not in the plans for us to avoid going to China, but I had a hard time grappling with the reasons for why we couldn't find a position teaching English.

"Hi, you are Korean American, right?" the girl at the teaching agency asked.

"Yes, I am.  But I was born in America and I've lived there my entire life."

"Yes, but it is very difficult to find a school that will take a teacher who does not look like an American."

To which my next question should have been, "Well, what the hell does an American look like?"  I suppose people everywhere are ignorant of the fact that different countries contain a diverse range of physicalities.  I'll admit that it still surprised me just a little bit (ok, maybe more) when I met a Chinese-South African, or when I realized that there is a huge Asian-Australian population-- a group of people who look a lot like me but speak with a way cooler accent.

Does it get frustrating when I walk into a class full of students fully expecting a "foreign-looking" teacher whose disappointment is clearly written all over their faces because I look Chinese?  Yes, and the whole explanation about not being from Korea, and having not much of a Korean national identity, is never easy to get out.

But what is more infuriating than having to explain myself a hundred times a week to taxi drivers, restaurant workers, office workers, sales clerks, and nearly every other person in China is that I could never get the job in Korea, or the job posted here on the blog, simply because I don't enjoy white privilege.  Not only that, but the job very well may go to some idiot whose Modus Operandi it is to sleep with as many unsuspecting Asian women and get as plastered as possible every night while still being able to show up to class the next morning, just to play a pirated DVD of Friends and sleep off his hangover at his desk.  But it doesn't matter.  Because he is white.

So what do I hope to gain from my little rant?  Really, nothing.  I'm as little of a fan of white guilt as I am of white privilege.  Am I saying all Chinese people are ignorant for thinking that I look Chinese?  No.  Because frankly, so would Dave Chapelle.

I suppose I'd like to say just this: WAKE UP.  It's no surprise that the world is a diverse place, and thankfully, the media is just starting to catch onto it.  Racism is still a problem today, but namely because of things like this advertisement and the people who perpetrate the problem are those who assume that one's ability is based on the color of their skin.  If the Chinese continue to believe that because "we all look the same," racism is not a problem in this society, they are sorely wrong and will continue to fall short of the social advances of their world power neighbors, who are just now learning to embrace their diversity as an asset.

'marshawu,' you should seriously start reconsidering the wording on your advertisement.  And I'm not your friend.

Direct Message

Sometimes, we get subtle, gentle reminders of bigger things that happen around us.  Things like hunches, feelings, or "movement in the spirit" that lead us down one path or another.

Other times, we get hit right over the head with something so direct and undeniable, it takes your breath away.

Case in point:

from our weekly church bulletin

Staring at me right in the face was a question that I had a hard time answering.  Am I still amazed, or do I still take His grace, mercy, and power for granted?  After living in a foreign country for a while, the challenges of getting through daily life become commonplace, and the work I do starts to become routine.  It becomes so easy to lose sight of the fact that the work I do, the life I live, the marriage I am a part of, the relationships I've been blessed by, the food I eat, the joy I feel, the sorrow I share-- are not simple coincidences.  In every facet of even the simplest life are opportunities to be amazed by how He loves.  As simple as the perfect cup of coffee (although, that's not so simple where I am) or a blue sky in the middle of a cloudy week.  Or as complex as a divine appointment or situations that unfold and seem to defy all scientific or logical explanation.  Yet, how easily we pass over the beautiful ways that we are reminded of His unending love and vastness in favor of mundane, circumstantial explanations!  

I could say that this was just a funny coincidence-- that my name happened to appear on our bulletin.   Printed with such urgency and accented by an exclamation point that just seems to express a cross between excitement, frustration, and perhaps final resorts at getting my attention.  Anxious to stir up the fire and wonder I once experienced when we were closer, the title simply asks if I've lost my sense of amazement.  

Sure, it's just the title of a sermon.  

But I'd rather not see it that way.  Instead, I am dumbstruck, overwhelmed, and amazed.

A Humble Return

I've been absent for quite some time.  While I'm sure it was an absence not deeply felt, I can't attribute it to unbearable busy-ness, mundaneness of daily Beijing living, or even laziness.

This semester has been extremely long for multiple reasons- difficult students, boring curriculum, and adjustments to married life, being among them.  At the end of the semester, I had a bit of a meltdown when I realized how I'd let myself down in nearly all capacities.  I hadn't kept up my first home, or cooked enough, I didn't spend enough quality time with Chinese friends and students, I hadn't been the teacher my students deserved, I didn't exercise enough, and as we all know, I didn't keep up the blog.

I've started this blog entry about eight times.  Each time I did, the entry felt inadequate.  Who would actually be interested in reading about a new recipe I'd tried or the new oven we finally got, or my first disappointing trip I took to the ocean?  Who was interested in my photos when there are thousands of blogs out there brimming with DSLR gems and impressive angles?  And as I kept thinking about how overwhelmingly average I was, I found just another reason to delete my drafts.  And while this blog isn't truly an extension of my entire being, it seems that the inadequacy I felt about my blog stemmed from feeling inadequate myself.  Why would anyone be interested in anything I had to share when it would simply be disappointing?

Well, here we are, eight drafts later, and somehow I found something to write about.  Today, I was singing in the shower (Jason is away for two weeks, teaching at an English camp, so I indulged myself), and the song that kept coming back to me was one by David Crowder.

"He is jealous for me.  Loves like a hurricane, and I am a tree, bending beneath the weight of his wind and mercy... He loves us, oh how he loves us."

I've heard and sung this song hundreds of times, but this time, I was struck by the amazing juxtaposition of those first two lines.  Overwhelmed by a love that is more powerful, wider, and weightier than anything I could possibly imagine, I am simply a sprout in the ground encased in the typhoon of his greatness.  His power transforms lives and maintains galaxies.  The creator of love, justice, mercy, and goodness.

And yet, he is jealous for me.  

He feels pain when I reject him.  He longs for my company when I am caught up in the little, meaningless things in life that too easily become so important.  In my underdeveloped sapling state, he fights for me, and finds me absolutely adequate.  More than simply adequate.  He finds me precious.

All this to say, life hasn't been especially interesting.  Yes, I do have a few things I'd like to share from the past few months that I haven't managed to post up on this blog.  But this necessary reminder forgoes any sort of China-anecdote or rant that my experience on this world could offer.  Because the experience of being pursued relentlessly by the Author of Love is certainly enough to get me to start writing again.

Because it's by His grace and love that I am adequate.

Art & Film

"These are a few of my favorite things."

I'm back today with a few more images from Cathy Lomax, whose work I wrote a little about yesterday.  Here are a few more images that Ms Lomax has generously shared with me to post of her favorite pieces from the series.  The names of each painting is written at the bottom corner of the canvas.

All images used with permission from Cathy Lomax

Here is what Ms Lomax writes about her inspiration and thoughts on the project:


The boredom of everyday life is punctuated by episodes of escapism. The most easily accessible escapist experience for most people is provided by film – 90 min slices of someone else’s life. 

I decided to keep a diary of all the films that I watch, selecting one image from each to make into a small painting titled with a perfunctory explanation of what is happening in that image. This record of what drew me in and kept me rapt could be viewed as one of those arbitrary un-scientific exercises that artists indulge in. But as with any recording of everyday events the choices that I make say something about me and probably define me at this moment as much as anything could.


This certainly makes me think twice about the pivotal moments I chose to feature from some of my favorite films yesterday.  Some are purely sentimental while others are moments that are burned in my brain for their quiet significance, and yes, I do suppose that this does say something about me and what is can be considered pivotal in my life outside of consumption of film.  In my relationships and daily life, it is often the quiet, understated acts of kindness or what is silently spoken through subtext that get me thinking, move me, or keep me up at night.


What do you think?  What do your favorite movie moments say about you?

On Being "American"

On a daily basis, I find myself having to argue with a Chinese local that I truly am an American.

"But you don't look like an American.  You look like us.  Like an Asian."

Pushing my heavy sighs aside, I try to explain that America is a diverse place where there are all sorts of different people.  "In fact," I remind them, "people of Asian, African, and Latin descent have been in American longer than you've been alive.  Not to mention the real native Americans.  So really, 'Americans' don't look any certain way."  Usually, they're confused because "Americans" are all supposed to look like Cameron Diaz or Julia Roberts or this young woman here:



and move on with their day convinced that I'm just nuts and all Americans still look like a moving Eddie Bauer advertisement.  On occasion, I'll meet someone who is truly perplexed by this whole idea that an entire country couldn't be populated by a bunch of people who share similar physical characteristics.  It takes a while to explain to them that most Americans don't live the way Ross and Rachel do on Friends, and that you can't depend on television or movies to determine what you believe about an entire country full of people.  (Same goes for the Americans who assume that all Chinese know kung fu.)

You can imagine how upsetting it is to see a video like this circulating the net when I spend hours explaining to my students that not all Americans are racist (though many still are), that somehow we manage to find a way to live together and respect- or even appreciate- our differences, and that things like being polite or non-confrontational aren't solely traits of Chinese culture.  It's not worth it to go into the many ways in which this young woman is misinformed in her thinking and in need of some serious diversity training.  I know we've still got a long way to go, but one hopes for something far greater from the educated youth of America, especially in a place as diverse as LA.

As a teacher, my goal is to broaden the scope of my students' understanding of an ever-shrinking world.  As an American, my goal is to break a stereotype about who I am and what I am not.  Both are difficult here, and it's so disheartening to see how it's still such an uphill battle back home.  With great hope, we shake it off and press on. 

C'mon America.  You're better than this.

Japan

Of course, the world is at a standstill today watching in horror at what has happened in Japan.  It is difficult to put into words a response that is appropriate for the magnitude of what so many people are facing in Japan.  Instead, I'll leave you with a few illustrations by Kate T. Williamson from her book, A Year in Japan, which is filled with beautiful images from her time in Japan.  We pray for restoration, healing, and redemption.

 

All images from Amazon.com, copyright by Kate T. Williamson

Lightening Your Burden (plus, some wedding photos)

The husband and I in Bernal Heights, San Francisco

Since I was a kid, I've envisioned myself settling down comfortably in a Victorian townhome in San Francisco-- after traveling the world, winning an Oscar, and marrying Jonathan Taylor Thomas, of course.  

Childhood dreams aside, the Bay Area is a truly unique place, full of diversity, life, and an amazing balance of cityscape and natural beauty.  So it seems logical that over my entire life, I would develop such a deep, James Joyce-ian affinity for my hometown.  And while some grow weary of returning to the place where they grew up once they've seen life in "the big city" or "the real world," my love for the Bay Area grows with every visit back home.

The husband and I still in Bernal Heights, San Francisco

This past stint back home made my childhood dream seem even sweeter.  Driving through all the different districts of San Francisco, the East Bay, and down the Peninsula portion of I-280 made me long to forgo my world travels (and my Oscar, and Jonathan Taylor Thomas) and settle anywhere in the Bay forever.  To finally feel "at home" in my favorite place in the world.

 

Bay Bridge Pier on Embarcadero, San Francisco

Yet this idyllic picture of my future weighed heavy in my heart, and I couldn't understand why.  After getting married, isn't settling down the next logical step?  Is it so wrong to desire to own property, to have a place to hang my hat and kick the boots of my feet?

Then it hit me.  No, it's not wrong to desire to settle down, or to love my hometown, or to know how awesome the Bay Area is.  But it is a burden to have my mind set on something that may not be in the plan God has prepared for me.  It is a burden to feel that I have a right to the privilege of a comfortable home.  And it is a burden to think that I actually need to own property to take off my hat and boots when I can just do it anywhere.

In less than a week, I will be returning to China-- a place that I have a love-hate relationship with.  People keep asking if I plan on living there for much longer, to which I reply that I certainly hope not.  But what I really should say is that I really have no idea, simply because it's not up to me.


And living with this mentality of not knowing is also living without the burden of trying to figure out how I'd manage to be able to afford a Victorian townhome in San Francisco, what district I'd like most, where I'd find a job to pay my impossible mortgage, and if living in San Francisco was the right move for my husband and me at all.

I can't say that I feel completely free of my desire to stay in the Bay Area, or in the United States for that matter.  Leaving home has never been easy, and I don't expect that it ever will be.  But I look forward to the day when leaving home is marked also by the great expectancy for what is to come, rather than the burden of fulfilling my expectations.  I am grateful that we've been called to a place I really don't like at all, because I know that God will be faithful in showing me how small minded I am in the midst of His great plan.  And I know that He has long prepared for me a home that far exceeds anything I could find in San Francisco.

Photos by the illustrious Emily.

Downfalls

I have many, especially here in Beijing.  Some of my ugliest moments have come to fruition here in Beijing.  When you see what's coming next, you might understand why.

There's not much that I want right now more than this...

courtesy of scanwiches.com

Look at the fat marbling through the appealing pink of slow roasted pastrami.  The generous slabs of meat that are probably oozing with fatty, buttery, oily goodness and seeping its way gradually into flavorful, chewy bread... not that air-filled, useless white bread that can never NOT be sweet that you find here in China.  The dramatic pop of yellow that calls attention to your eyes and your tastebuds.

I'm drooling all over my keyboard.  And being in Beijing means there's absolutely.  Nothing.  I.  Can.  Do.  About.  It.

Jesus fasted for 40 days and was tempted to turn stones into bread, and he withheld.  And here I am.  Ready to throw in the towel for a Pastrami sandwich.  How meek the human spirit can be! 

Reinforcing Complacency

As I write this, I am also writing my midterm project for my Advanced Speaking class.  The project is to create a group presentation based on different topics given to them.  As I go over each of the topics, I find myself deleting and then re-typing anything that I anticipate would wedge my students into the corner of complacency.

I've often given my students topics to discuss that force them to think about their own sense of political efficacy.  Things like the sickening amount of electronic waste (or other waste, for that matter) that pollutes the poor rural areas of their own country and the corrupt officials who pocket the money meant to assist in alleviating these problems.  Or the fact that many more Chinese citizens are waking up to the fact that a press controlled by a higher power is no press at all.  Or that their boastful monuments to Cartier, Louis Vuitton, and increasing joint ventures of Audi in the city centers are quickly warping the humble simplicity found in Chinese tradition and history into a massive consumerist society obsessed with the quickest way to make money-- the very same bourgeois lifestyle that could've landed you in prison not so long ago.  And don't even get me started on the fact I need a VPN to keep up this blog... most likely visited primarily by my parents.

In most cases, my students explain to me-- sometimes with defiance, other times with a crippling helplessness-- that my discussion topics are often "too political."  There's nothing, they explain to me, that they can do, or that the common person can do, to change the situation I lay before them in simple chalk and instruction to discuss how to address the problem using the present perfect or in conditional sentences.  Perhaps they are right-- maybe mixing grammar with politics in China is not a good idea.

But my idealistic mind likes to believe that I am not just an English-speaking parrot spitting out grammar rules and vocabulary without making my students think.  Sure, that is what China would like for me to be.  Unfortunately for them, it's something I simply won't do.

"And therein lies the rub."  At what point do I simply give them a break and let them live in their continued existence of bending to a certain rule for the "harmonization" of a country they love?  When do I throw in the towel and just hope that they have retained some ability to think on their own?  When is it time to just be an English teacher?  When will I realize that striking the delicate balance between taking advantage of teachable moments and knowing when it's time to shake the dust is an art that very few have perfected?

I'm still not done with my midterms, and I fully expect to hear a chorus of moans and groans when I pass it out to my students tomorrow.  Little will they know that inside, I am moaning and groaning right along with them.  For different reasons, though, of course.

The Father-Daughter Dance

The Father-Daughter Dance has been a topic of some debate between my Pops and me long before I was even engaged.  A few years back, my dad had this crazy kick where he was only listening to country music and insisted that he'd found the song we'd dance to at my wedding.  It was country.  The lyrics are very, very literal, and whomever wrote it penned it- I'm sure- with the intention of selling millions of singles to soft-hearted dads with daughters on their way to the altar.  And... it's COUNTRY!  The one form of music I can't stand listening to!

His gentle suggestion was met with some severe protests from me that were probably insensitive to my dad's vulnerability.  Even though my sister keeps insisting that I just "let him do what he wants," something still doesn't sit well with me with the idea of dancing with my father at my wedding to a song I can't stand.  Maybe it won't matter, but wouldn't it be so much better for us to have found a song together?  One that is significant to the both of us?

We still haven't settled on one.  The one I thought of was the song "One of These Days" by Neil Young, which my dad sent to me via email last year when I first came to China and my dad mused to me about how the song reminded him of me.  But today, I think I finally found it.

When I was a little girl, I watched The Sound of Music everyday for a year.  And when I say "everyday," I really mean it.  My aunt has told me about when she'd come to visit us and I'd be sitting there very faithfully in front of the television watching Julie Andrews rescue the Von Trapp family from eternal cold-heartedness, and then we'd re-enact the "I am sixteen going on seventeen" dance by jumping from sofa cushion to sofa cushion.  I'd totally forgotten that the first time Captain von Trapp melts his icy exterior was when he sings Edelweiss for the first time with... his eldest daughter, Liesel.

Courtesy of threshold.vox.com

I love this scene.  The children all look up at their father adoringly as he reconnects with a lost identity that was buried under years of grieving, politics, and one very glamorous woman.  I love the unspoken gesture he makes towards Liesel to duet with him, a hidden secret that only the two of them know about.  It's a lovely song, and a familiar one, too.

Courtesy of solarnavigator.net

Not to mention, the song isn't so stinking long.  There's nothing worse than hearing the chorus for the fourth time while the father and daughter are still up there swaying awkwardly. 

Something we can all look forward to

Larry King irritates me.  Maybe it's the seemingly cold way that he asks questions that often seem to cross the line without even flinching... but then maybe that's why he's been on the air for as long as he has been.  But perhaps the thing that I dislike most about Larry King is that I always end up getting sucked in to watching the full hour of his show.

Today, though, I had a good reason.

Snoop Dogg has so much to say when given the chance to say it.  On this hour of Larry King, I learned about Snoop's brief stint on the soap opera "Another World" and about his future plans to record with Susan Boyle.  I also learned about his plans to venture into...

...supermarkets.  Or rather, "Snoopermarkets."  Ahh yes.  Snoopermarkets.  Like a beautiful marriage of WalMart, the Dollar Tree, and Soul Plane, Snoopermarkets will sell "everything" and "everything will be under $20."  "Clothes?  Food?" Larry King asks incredulously.

Without missing a beat and with that cool, smooth tenor that caught the West Coast's attention with its first utterance of "...laaaaid baaaack," Snoop replies, "Everything, Larry.  Everything."

Yes, everything.

I could turn this into a sociological observation about the decadence of American life.  I could talk about the changing face of hip-hop, or its humble origins and the irony of Snoop Dogg (literally) breaking bread (cornbread and fried chicken from Albertson's) with Larry King before the masses.  I could... but a pun like this is so good it deserves its own post.

Snoopermarkets... rollin' through to a hood near you.

Blog Shout-Out: Being in Love with the Urban Sinner

I only had the privilege of working with my buddy Phil for my first super-short year at BLCU, where I'm still teaching.  Since last year, he's returned to his home in the Philippines (yes, he's Phil from the Philippines), where he's been working and living and figuring out life.  Even though our time together was short, it was rich with laughter and memories, and he's still my hands-down favorite colleague.  We'd get together for lunch and dish about our students, wonder if they gossiped about us, and swapped stories of our past sinful, and often regrettable, escapades.  I miss him whenever lunch time rolls around because- although my new colleagues are wonderful- it's simply not the same.  

Sometimes you meet those people with whom you are instantly comfortable.  Old souls who still know how to tell a good dirty joke and throw back a few beers before it's time for lunch.  People who aren't ashamed to admit that going out to bars and clubs is getting tiring and pathetic and perhaps we're prematurely submitting ourselves to the dooms of middle-ageism.  Phil is one such man.  And even if the distance gets to us and we aren't able to keep up this international friendship of ours, I know that I will always remember him as the best lunch buddy a girl could ask for in a strange land that we're awkwardly trying to make homes in as single people.


So, I hope he doesn't mind, but I simply had to share this post that he wrote on his blog, aptly titled The Confessions of the Urban Sinner.  This one post, which is about an evening he spent with his parents on their 52nd wedding anniversary, made me miss him more than ever before, and reminded me of the one struggle I also face every time I turn my back on my parents when I climb back onto that plane headed to wherever it is I am going.  Don't get me wrong- living internationally is amazing and an experience I've never regretted.  But there are times when I am back home and wonder if I've shot myself in the foot by leaving behind loose ends and missing all the wonderful little moments that turn familial bonds into the memories you cling to when you feel like killing each other.  Those horrible holiday experiences where one second, we're enjoying a meal together, then yelling at each other, crying, then moving onto dessert and karaoke without missing a beat.  Man, what can replace that?


I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that Phil would be the one to remind me of this poignant little point.  Still, I miss him.  If you have a chance, please read his post.  He is an incredible writer, and I think there is much we can learn from his observations and experiences. 


I miss you so much, Phil.  Be well.

The lunch crew on one of our legendary lunches in Beijing: sweet Lulu, me, and dear Phil.

English Corners Gone Wrong

Today, I hosted my first English Corner of the semester.  English Corners are when your students come to practice their English with you in a smaller, casual setting, and usually involves snacks and some sort of conversation-inducing activity.

I scheduled our Corner for 6:30 and ordered three large pizzas that put me out a heft fraction of my humble monthly salary.  I enlisted my wonderful friend and educator extraordinaire, Frieda, to take on one of the small groups, since Chinese students get so excited at the prospect of talking with a "Native Speaker" who isn't already their teacher.  I rearranged my furniture.  Jason generously helped me to clean my place up, go grocery shopping, and carry all the heavy stuff on our way back.

6:50 rolls around.  Frieda and I are sitting on my couch waiting.  Pizza is getting cold.  I'm getting hungry and therefore cranky.  No one shows.

I could have gotten upset.  I could have complained about how my students-- all in their mid-to-late twenties-- are incompetent and incapable of doing anything without their overbearing mothers.  I could have... easily.  I almost did.

Instead, I had a lovely evening with my wonderfully wise friend.  I now have a week's worth of food  which I can feed other hungry mouths with.  I have a clean house and no dishes to do.  I went grocery shopping, which I would have put off until I realized I was out of toilet paper (and we all hate that).  I got to experience a glimpse of lifelong partnership with a generous man who will become my husband. 

Not all flukes are failures.