Opera and conversation

Last night, I attended an opera. I saw The Pearl Fishers by Bizet. It was a joint production by the National Performing Arts Center of China and the Berlin Opera. The production was just okay, but the principal soprano was wonderful, the chorus fantastic, and the orchestra delightful. The designers used projections and almost no set. The projections were sort of strange. One person behind me actually laughed when they first appeared. I would describe them as bizarrely cartoonish. Very odd choice. Anyway, back to the music.

Those of you who know me will not be surprised to learn that I had a conversation with the young man sitting next to me last night at the opera. We chatted for a few moments before the opera began. We exchanged a few basic niceties, “Hello.” “Have you seen this opera before?” “I have seen Carmen, but not this one.” Because I like to ask people questions, it was a good way to spend the time waiting for the opening notes. He was willing to go along.

During the opera, though, I noticed him conducting silently from his seat. It was almost as if he couldn’t resist. He was so moved by the music that it seemed almost involuntary. It’s something my husband does, so I thought maybe the young man was also a musician. During intermission, I asked him about his musical background. I learned several things from this exchange, and they seem important to share.

My conversation partner for the evening is not a musician. In fact, although he didn’t tell me what he does for a living, he told me that “opera is very far away” from what he does at work. He said that he attends symphony concerts and operas as a way to leave his everyday life and to “be a full person.” I am not sure exactly what he meant, but I took it to mean that the music filled a space in his life that needed filling. I mentioned that he appeared to be familiar with the music and he told me that before coming to a performance, he listens to the music and reads about the opera. The opera productions are generally about three to four weeks apart. He studies the opera in that time because it makes him happy. I asked if he has any favorite operas. “No. I like old and new operas. Even if the story is not the same as our life, some things are the same. Friendship and love. They are the same.”

Although the story within The Pearl Fishers seemed worn, even tired, to me, it seems always relevant to remember that we can be connected through music, friendship, and love. It is healthy to find a hobby distinct from our professional lives—reading, sports, crafting, music—that makes us happy. I appreciate my drafted conversation partner for reminding me. I needed that. 

Curtain call

When Mother's Day is complicated

My children are wonderful. I view them the same way many mothers view their children. They are my favorite people. They are, after all, my people in the most personal sense possible. One day recently, I saw a photo of one of my kids and I thought, “I made that person. I do good work.”

Today, on Mother’s Day, I have a few observations to share related to Mother's Day. As an adult, I have come to realize that, sometimes, the people your children become is not only not what you expected but seems to be a contradiction to your personal values. I also understand that not everyone has a mother, has a relationship with their mother, or is a mother. Those situations can be isolating. Mother's Day isn't a great day for everyone.

Some of my friends are grieving mothers. In my own thinking about what makes a mother and what being a mother means, I find shortcomings. Being a mother is more than actively caring for a child. For my friends who have lost pregnancies and children, Mother’s Day is for you, too, if you want it to be. I honor your place as a mother.

I have friends who are grieving their own mothers. Their mothers are not present for one reason or another. Friends, I celebrate you this Mother’s Day. I am an excellent listener and will commiserate about or celebrate your relationship, depending on your preference.

Some friends wanted to be mothers but life didn't present the opportunity. Others are separated from their children. I see you and I feel your pain or disappointment or resolve. 

Like me, some friends have a broken relationship with their mothers. For you, I offer my understanding and acceptance. You are my compatriots on this holiday.

Fortunately, I have children of my own who still tell me they love me. They still tell me about their days. They view me as their mother and an indispensable part of their young lives. I love them and am thankful for them every day.

To my friends who find Mother’s Day difficult, uncomfortable, or painful; you are not alone and I love you.

No respect for air conditioning

Oh, wow. The temperature in Beijing is easing toward the heat and humidity of a typical summer. Today, it was 82 degrees and comfortable outdoors. Indoors, however, there is almost no air flow and the air conditioning either isn’t on or is imperceptible in most places. I have always been a sweaty person. My need for air flow is real and significant. If there isn’t any air, I feel claustrophobic and my sweat level increases dramatically. Really. Give me a good fan or a breeze.

I returned to Hongqiao Market today to pick up some last-minute gifts. A jewelry maker at the Market is my newest friend, and she gives me excellent prices with no haggling and always makes an extra pair of earrings for me to keep. Her name is June. If you’re ever in Beijing, look her up. She will treat you well, friend of friend.

Riding the subway was a treat today. One train was blasting the air conditioning. Everyone around me was wearing long sleeves and multiple layers. They were cold. I, however, was delighted by that particular train. Unfortunately, all others were stiflingly hot. No air movement. None of the people around me appeared bothered at all. Sometimes, I wonder if they learn not to breathe on the subway. That would be an advantage. I may try that.

Only 12 days until I fly home. Until then, I’ll try to stay outside or in my apartment where I can catch a breeze or enjoy my fully engaged air conditioning.

Support from home

As my time in Beijing comes to an end, I’m more self-reflective than usual. This says something because I spend a lot of time reflecting, or obsessing, depending on how I feel about my personality that day. Today, I’ll call it reflection and give myself a break.

Thinking about the fellowship opportunity that brought me to Beijing, there were many times when I considered giving it up and not making the trip. At times, it seemed like an impossible gift and an unreasonable burden. There were significant financial concerns that eventually, through the kindness and herculean efforts of people at my home university, resolved themselves. There were coursework concerns. Could I finish my courses from a distance? My professors and administration in the School of Communication helped me make arrangements to do so. How would I stay in touch with my advisor and committee at a time when I should be making arrangements to complete my comprehensive paper and exams? Again, the people at USM came through for me and helped me continue to make progress toward my degree. As wonderful and fantastic as they are, all of these things are second to the work done by my family during the past three months and, more significantly, the past two years.

When people first meet me, they often assume that I am single with no children. Multiple people, both in Mississippi and in China, have told me so. Their follow up questions are, “How can you do this with a family?” or “Don’t you miss your family?” The answers to those questions are similar but different in significant ways. I can only do what I do because of my family.

Sometimes, people express admiration for me. This nearly always shocks me. When it happens, I deflect to my husband. I can only do what I’m doing because he works full time and spends the rest of his time managing our household and caring for our children. He earns every bit of the praise directed at me. Yes. I do miss my family. Often, I want to go home. Right now. And not return. Staying in Omaha, working wherever will hire me, and being with my family is incredibly appealing every day. But, wait! I’m here in China and entering my final year of PhD studies because my family believes in me. My children are independent when they need to be and have learned to rely on their dad for everyday needs. My husband is exhausted but never blames me. In contrast, he encourages me every day to complete my degree and to do extra things like this fellowship.

Thinking about my time in Beijing, I am thankful for this opportunity that I didn’t always want or value. I am thankful for the people in my professional and personal lives who chatted with me via email, text, Snapchat, Facebook, and FaceTime when I needed encouragement or a message from home. I am especially thankful for everyone at home who made it possible for me to do this. I didn’t do it alone. It was a group effort as are all of my adventures and achievements. The people at home earned the kudos, I am the one who gets to enjoy them. 

The Oddity

When I make the decision to leave my on-campus apartment, I spend at least 30 minutes organizing my backpack and checking my appearance. I worry about being too warm (the daytime temperature is in the 80s here now) but worry more about being stared at because my arms or legs are not completely covered. It is strange to be an oddity. I’m certain that I have expressed these feelings here before. The feelings accompany me everywhere on every day that I’m in China.

Internally, I struggle with the idea that I should be comfortable in my body. At home, I’m pretty comfortable, but some of my in-my-head dialogue is the same. I recently learned that my worries at home are the same as other fat people. Will there be enough space in the booth at the restaurant? Can I eat what I want, or will I feel like people are looking at me? What do the chairs look like and will they hold my weight? Is there a place where I can sit/stand and take up a “normal” amount of space? How can I be as invisible as possible? At home, I can manage these worries. I arrive early, choose an out of the way space to settle, don’t move unless I absolutely have to, and eat when and what everyone else is eating. In China, these strategies have proven ineffective because the difference goes much deeper than just being fat.

A friend spent a year in Nanjing. In the U.S., he is a conventionally attractive man, but he also looks different from nearly everyone in China. He told me, “Just stare back.” So, I do. I usually smile as well, but I return the stares rather than looking away, ashamed to be different. The staring makes me feel like I have more control over my existence.

To clarify, I’m not seeking pity or apologies. I’m just pondering the odd sensation of worrying about my body every moment of every day and wondering how many people feel this in my home country. A Chinese friend who has spent a lot of time the U.S. said that it’s not as isolating in the U.S. because there is so much physical diversity present. He spent most of his time in large coastal cities. He went on to explain that in China, people are relatively homogenous and view themselves as such.

I wonder about the experience of a person who looks different than their community. My youngest aunt was adopted from Hawaii. She is Hawaiian. She’s beautiful, but definitely doesn’t look like a farmer’s kid from the predominantly Scandinavian and German community she ended up in. In 1967, my grandparents moved to a tiny rural community in north central Iowa with a child who looked nothing like any of her white classmates. As a special bonus, she also had siblings who resented her presence in their lives. She grew up to have many “problems” as an adult and those issues have proven generational for her own children. I have often wondered what her growing up experience was like. It is strange to be the oddity. It seems unhealthy to be the novelty in a sea of what appears to be similarity.

As with many experiences during these three months in Beijing, I am leaving with more questions than answers. However, I am certain that I will be extremely glad to be home where I am more insulated from open judgment. I sincerely wish that all people felt that security in their home communities.  

The temperature was nearly 90 degrees. I'm wearing my long-sleeved sweater tied around my waist. Later in the day, I would be asked if I wanted to change my clothes "to look more professional." Except for my shoes, I thought I looked nice.

Building Staff

Okay. So, I have a weird thing about sleeping in my own bedding. I blame bed bug hysteria for this somewhat odd preference. When I was preparing to come to China, I wrote and asked what I would need for my apartment. Would I need bedding? Kitchen supplies? What should I bring from home and what should I plan to buy on arrival? You can guess the types of questions you might ask before traveling somewhere for three months. My contact assured me that kitchen and bath supplies would be available, but I would need to bring or buy my own bedding. Into already packed suitcases, I squeezed a pillow, pillowcase, flat sheet, and a light blanket. If I needed more than that, I could make it through the first week with those items and buy others in Beijing. No problem.

As I mentioned in my first blog post, getting here and my arrival were chaotic and full of unexpected, eh, um, well, I’ll call them “opportunities.” When I reached the apartment, I discovered that bedding was provided and changed by building staff, but kitchen supplies were extremely limited, and there were no towels, etc. in the bathroom. I eventually remedied the kitchen and bath shortages by buying things. It was a relatively simple fix. Having brought my own bedding, I added it to what was already on the bed and was very pleased with that.

Throughout my time here, I have used my own pillow and my sheet and light blanket as additions to the duvet and pillows provided in the apartment. It has worked great and is very comfortable. The building staff and I have also worked out a cleaning schedule for my apartment. They come in on Friday morning to change the provided bedding and to sweep and mop the apartment. They do not clean the bathroom or kitchen or do any dusting. Fine. No problem. I’m happy to do those chores on my own. As part of this routine, I organize and clean the apartment on Thursday, except for the floors, and remove my personal bedding from the bed. This has been the routine since my first few weeks in China. It has worked well, and everyone seems okay with it. Until today.

No one knocked on my door in the morning. I placed my little trash can outside the door, the building staff left me with a clean liner, and I moved the trash can back into the kitchen before I left to meet a friend for lunch. Perfect. Except, I had forgotten it was Friday. I have been working on papers and tests for the end of my semester at school. Frankly, my apartment was a mess. There were clothes on the bed, both dirty and clean, and all the bedding was twisted up together like a rat’s nest. I hadn’t made the bed, opened the curtains, or done any of my usual pre-Friday organizing or cleaning.

When I returned to the building, one of the staff stopped me and asked if everything was okay with my room. It was an odd question. I have lived here for 10 weeks and NOW they want to ask questions? Hm. I said, “Yes. All is well.” She said, “Is everything okay with you? Do you need anything?” So strange! I said, “Oh, yes. I’m fine. Thank you.” She looked me up and down, nodded, and walked away. What a strange interaction! I hadn’t experienced anything like that previously.

I hustled up the stairs to my apartment and opened the door. I immediately recognized that EVERYTHING was clean. My dishes were washed. My clothes were organized and put away neatly. The floors sparkled. Even the bathroom was clean! The apartment smelled like citrus, the curtains were open, and everything was neatly organized. I was horrified. Embarrassed. Truly upset with myself.

I ran back downstairs and found the woman who stopped me on my way into the building. She told me that she goes by “Jun” and asked again if everything was okay. After several minutes of translating questions and answers on our phones, I discovered that the building cleaners had waited until I left to clean the room. They “did some extra” today because the apartment “looked like stress.” I am still embarrassed but am somewhat comforted that the two women noticed that things were different and took their time to make things better. Actually, I’m incredibly honored that they did this for me. It was truly a caring act for a virtual stranger. Amazing. For the next two weeks, however, my goal is to always be ready for Friday.

Tourist markets and air quality

In the past week, I visited both of the most famous and popular tourist markets in Beijing. The Silk Market is the oldest in Beijing with the Pearl or Hongqiao Market running a close second. Today, I am sitting in my apartment avoiding the air pollution. After constantly battling upper respiratory stuff and the flu, I am now paying closer attention to pollution levels and staying inside if possible. More about that later. Now, let’s talk about the experiences that are the Silk and Pearl Markets!

The Silk Market was my first big tourist excursion during my time here. I say that because it is a market for non-Asian people which was recently renovated so that the former vendor stalls are now fully encased in glass. It more closely mirrors a shopping mall than a market. All of the vendors are Chinese, but they speak what I call sales floor English and all of the shoppers are most definitely not only not Chinese, but non-Asian.

I met a man from Ghana. We high-fived when I laughed at a comment that he made in English to a shopkeeper about haggling being part of his culture too. I met a family from Israel. The older man in the group and I had an extended conversation about the “many” National Geographic documentaries that he has seen about Nebraska. Who knew? Haggling was definitely not part of the Israeli man’s background, and he expressed great discomfort with it. In the end, I purchased a watch for a friend, a hand-carved name stamp for myself, and successfully avoided the aggressive sales tactics of most of the salespeople. I heard many languages that day and was thrilled to be in a place where my Western ideals about personal space were honored.

The Pearl (Hongqiao) Market is more difficult to reach than the Silk Market. Getting there requires walking about a half mile from the closest subway station. In contrast to the Silk Market, there were no tourist busses parked outside the Pearl Market. Inside, there was a more mixed crowd of people. Some of the shoppers were Chinese! The design of the Pearl Market is more traditional. It is open air without the glass walls found in the Silk Market. I knew immediately that this was a better place to shop. I suspected that the prices would be lower and the vendors less pushy. My hunches were correct.

It happened to be a slow day for the vendors at the Pearl Market, so they were more than willing to talk with me about their products and processes. The vendors I spoke with all own the business they represented and are all women. Most of the people working in the Pearl Market on the day I was there are women. I exchanged social media contacts with two vendors, and we communicated over WeChat during the past week. One of them asks a lot of questions about my experiences living in Beijing. She has visited the U.S. and would love to visit again someday. Both women agreed to talk with me about my research project.

I took the combined opportunities of a slow sales day and a dual-language population to ask a few more women about my research. I was surprised by their willingness to participate. Some of them looked so bored that I think I was a welcome distraction. By the end of the day, I had completed nine interviews, purchased another watch for the same friend, and bought pretty hair accessories for my daughters. When the vendors realized that I am living in Beijing, the haggling became less intense and the prices were lower. I will definitely return to the Pearl Market.

This week marked the fourth time that I have been sick since my arrival on March 1. I have no desire to return to the U.S. with pneumonia—something that happened to a friend who spent extended time in Beijing—and so I will do less wandering. I downloaded an app for my phone that not only gives me air quality levels and activity recommendations, but also a seven-day air quality forecast. For my last few weeks here, I will use it to plan my outings and activities when possible. My newfound understanding of air quality as it impacts health makes me value our pollution regulations in the U.S. The ones still standing, anyway.

I am still looking forward to being home, but I feel like my final few weeks here will be my most enjoyable and productive. My confidence to explore on my own and to reach out to people has increased exponentially. If I can get a few good air quality days before I leave, I’ll have many experiences to share with my friends and family. 

A view of the Temple of Heaven from the rooftop garden at the Pearl Market