I speak Chinese at home with my daughter. She doesn't understand what I'm saying yet, but it exposes her to the language. My theory is that my parents were both fluent in reading, writing, and speaking. I got....about half of their ability overall, maybe even less. So if the trend continues, my daughter will only get half of MY Chinese ability. That's not a lot...
So we're starting early with my poor tones, incorrect grammar, and all. It'll get better. I hope. But this blog isn't about my baby.
It'll be nearing five whole years since I left China. I have to remind myself I actually lived in a completely different culture and lifestyle than I was used to for an entire year. A lot of it feels like a blur to be honest. I can't remember details of what happened, and it seems like a lifetime ago. The one memory I can actually vividly remember is from our very first night after arriving in the city we would call home for a year.
We had taken the train from Beijing to Harbin. It was about 8 hours if I remember correctly. Once we arrived in Harbin, it was around 10 o'clock at night or later. The city was mostly quiet and dark. A teacher from our school, who was also sometimes our translator over the course of the year, had gone to Beijing and traveled back to Harbin with us on the train. He got us two taxis, gave them our destination, and we were driving off in the night in a foreign city to a place we would come to know very well.
I remember sitting in the taxi and staring out the window at the brightly lit signs that were on so late in the evening. Most of the city was shut down for the night, but certain signs and buildings were lit. I remember being in awe of my new surroundings and thinking, "This is going to be my new home."
The taxis stopped in the middle of the road somewhere and the driver told the teacher this was where we had to get off. The teacher asked if he could get us any closer. The driver said no because there was a lot of construction happening outside the main gate of the school, so that was the closest he could get us. The teacher seemed disappointed with his answer and insisted he drive us to the opposite side of the school wall and drop us off there because it was closer. The driver did not seem convinced it was closer, but he drove to the other side anyway.
I didn't know it that night, but over time as the campus became more familiar to me, I realized the driver was right. We ended up getting dropped off on the other side of the school gate and walked basically the entire width of the school to get to the gate and go in. Had we gotten off at our first stop, we could have saved ourselves about half the walk. Of course, we simply did what we were told and didn't complain or say anything because we were at the mercy of this new country in a new language and culture, and it was nearing midnight. We each had our two smaller bags. Our larger bags were shipped to the school so we did not have to lug them with us through the train station and onto the crowded train with very little storage.
Sidenote: Yes, I am Chinese and grew up eating Asian food, hearing the language, and even shared some of the same cultural values. But being Chinese in America is nothing compared to actually being Chinese and living in China. I was still very much foreign, very clueless, and my accent could be called out for being an outsider in about 10 seconds.
When we got to our dormitory, we knocked on the door, and the auntie who monitors the building came down and let us in. She asked if we wanted the keys to all the rooms. We just got two - the two on the lowest level (2nd floor) - and crashed for the night. It had been a long day of travel, but the hard work was yet to come.
The rest of the year was spent learning how to shower with a shoilet and hide your toilet paper so it didn't get wet, cooking on a hot plate, balancing ourselves on icy ground for six months out of the year, pushing our way through the school cafeteria so we could get our order in and eat before our lunch break was over, and many other lifestyle differences. I moved into a total of two apartments, one having only a few hours notice to move and get everything down the second time around.
My writing is not stellar, award winning, Nobel Prize material. But I'm glad I was able to write down some of the more interesting stories into a book. I'm glad I have it to share with my daughter when she is older. And I hope she can read the few Chinese sentences and phrases I've inserted throughout. Maybe there were more than a few...(Pretty sure I wrote it so context clues could give you an idea of the meaning at least.)
Do I miss China, or specifically Harbin? Yes and no. I really can't imagine ever living there again, especially not raising a baby. I remember seeing the marshmallow-looking babies bundled up in snowsuits in their mothers' arms. I constantly asked myself - how does the mother know if her baby is warm enough? Not to mention the potential danger of slipping on ice while holding your child in the winter...carrying eggs home from the market was dangerous enough!
But when memories come to me in the evening and I share them with my husband, I can't help but think how brave and bold I was at one point in my life to move halfway across the world and embrace a newness most people would immediately reject. What was once my life and home is now my nostalgia.
