It's Time...

...to do what you were born to do! When I look at key promises I made in life, they were not to friends or family. They were to myself, and every time I followed through on a promise I made to myself, it was an acknowledgment and honoring who I am.

My mom bought me a book for my birthday this year called Five. It's a interactive book filled with quotes and guiding questions for one's goals and dreams. The entire book is all about deciding what/how you will accomplish your dreams and goals in the next five years. It's a fantastic book. I highly recommend it. It reminds readers that this life is about you and what you choose to make it. My favorite page in the book is a time line of how old people were when they accomplished amazing feats. It spans from Mozart's first symphony at 7 years-old to Cal Evans on his 104th birthday. The caption reads, "Forget your age. Clearly it's what you do---not when you do it---that really counts." It's never too late and it's never too soon to follow one's dreams.

In the spirit of Five, here are five ways I have found to realign with my heart and its purpose(s):

1. Gratitude. Every morning when you wake up give thanks for 10 people, events, moments, etc. in your life. Every evening say 10 more.
   
2. Allow yourself to dream. Buy a notebook, journal, or moleskine (my favorite) and write down your deepest desires. On the front of my small notebook, I wrote questions that inspired me such as: "What would you do if you knew you could not fail?" "What would you do if you knew you only had 5 years, 3 years, 1 year, 1 week?" "What would you do if money was no object?" "What would you do if you could do anything?"
3. Start small. If you're anything like me who makes 50-point "To-Do Lists" every morning but only accomplishes 5, it may be time to cut yourself some slack. Instead, try making manageable lists that not only reflect the "must do's" but more importantly, the "want to's." Why not put on today's list, "I listen to music for 20 minutes and do nothing else" or "I take a nap" or "I eat a piece of triple-tiered chocolate cake?" With each item you check off, it is actively demonstrating to yourself that you can follow-through on your promises.
   
4. Encourage those you admire. If someone is living his/her dream, acknowledge and learn from him/her. If someone is making changes in his/her life, honor them. If someone is living your dream, praise him/her all the more, for he/she is showing you in present time that it is possible!
   
5. Be gentle. Imagine the most adorable, loving baby you've ever seen, or if you're not a baby person, imagine the cutest puppy you've ever seen, or a baby crocodile---whatever works for you. Whenever you start feeling yourself going into hyper self-critical mode, imagine yourself as that cuddly reptile and remind yourself that you're human. An affirmation I recently heard is "I love myself as I am, as I am changing."
   

My favorite Filipino cowboy said something this summer that stuck, "Life is not so cruel as to give us eyes to see our dreams and not let us achieve them." I will include that quote in my 10 items of gratitude before I fall asleep and also give thanks in advance for my ability to follow-through on all my suggestions! I hope this helps others honor themselves. As always, please feel free to comment on any of these ideas.

Five: http://www.amazon.com/5-Dan-Zadra/dp/1932319441/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1255425731&sr=8-1

Mutton Bustin'

What in the heck is that? I discovered mutton busting at the local Labor Day rodeo. Helmville is a Montana town so small that the United States post office shared the same building structure as the local church. Past that turn was a dip in the valley where hundreds of cowboys/girls, cars, and farm animals gathered for quite the event. I've only been to one other rodeo in my life (this summer in Missoula), but this was definitely my favorite.

Mutton busting consists of a child being placed on a sheep, which is then turned loose into the arena. Since sheep are herd animals, they have one or two sheep 20 feet away, so that the sheep that was just released will run towards something. That kid hangs on for dear life, and I have never seen anything like it. Once the kid (all wear a helmet) falls off, the sheep runs and leaps to find the rest of the herd. Several of the sheep lept 3 or 4 feet in the air, happy to be free of the extra weight, and then immediately ran to find the rest of the herd, grouped by the small patch of grass in the corner on the other side of the arena.

"Cowboy Eric" was pretty tough. He wore a white cowboy hat, wrangler jeans, cowboy boots, and a flannel snapshirt. Don't let the fact that he's 7-years-old fool you. "I hope I get a mean one," he said with a squint in his eye before the event. That kid was born for rodeo.

The only man I've ever heard talk faster than the announcer yesterday was the guy on the commercial for micro machines that used to constantly run on TV in the 80's. The announcer knew his crowd, and made the joke, "Here in Montana. We get together on a nice Labor Day afternoon and entertain ourselves by puttin' our kids on large farm animals." The crowd laughed good humoredly.

I watched each of these kids get placed on a different sheep one at a time as the sheep ran into whatever it could find of the herd. Most of the children immediately fell off, jumped off, or ran off. Not "Cowboy Eric." He wouldn't let go until his dad and the other adults told him he could. He would have ridden that sheep all over the arena, even over to the far corner of the arena with the rest of the herd. When the competition was over, "Cowboy Eric" swaggered back, wearing his prize, a blue camouflage baseball cap that read "Helmville Mutton Busting 2009" in white lettering. I shook my head and said to his mother, "'Cowboy Eric's' gonna be a heart breaker."


Micro machine guy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TzbUPfoveok
Mutton busting: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mutton_busting

Respected People?

The other day at breakfast, I had a conversation with an older colleague at the ranch that left me dumbfounded. We were discussing employment opportunities and resumes. He mentioned that in his day, people often attached a picture to their resumes (still common practice in China, Spain, and other countries). He said he preferred this method because it gave a face to an application and said something about the person in how he/she presented him/herself in the photo. He cited one instance where a man in his 60's was automatically dismissed as a candidate because of his age.

"We knew he could only give us two or three years. What was the point?"
I asked him, "Well, how do you feel about that now that you're in your 60's?"
He responded, "Well, I wouldn't hire me either."
"What?" I asked, shocked. "How can you say that? You're an expert in your field!"
"I don't feel I have much to offer...I get tired."
"Everyone gets tired," I said.
He continued, "The only reason I got this job is because I knew a friend. You know what I can do because you've seen me. An employer wouldn't know that. I'm okay because I have a good retirement, but other people have a hard time."

Did I mention that this is the same horse whisperer I wrote about in my last post, "Cowbells?" The same man who was a dean at a prominent university for 20+ years. The same man who has taught every single person that has crossed his path (much less seen him with a horse) about gentleness. This same man felt he didn't have much to offer. How is this possible?

It got me thinking about American society and our values as it relates to age. Why are we undervaluing our wisdom keepers? The elderly are the ones who have lived history, not just read about it on Wikipedia. They have experienced death and life. Loss and love. Sadness and happiness. I am not professing that all elderly have wisdom or that young people lack it, but even if times have changed since my grandmother (almost 99-years-old) was a girl, universal truths transcend generations.

In high school, I frequented a local nursing home. I started going to fulfill a school community service requirement, and it was that first Saturday that I met Eva (pronounced Eve-a). She was in her 80's, always had a smile, and told me about how she couldn't wait to meet her husband again one day in heaven. I continued to go even after I fulfilled the requirement because of Eva and her roommate, Mama Jackson. Every time I came, Eva's entire being would light up. I would navigate her around the pee-smelling halls of that nursing home as she would happily exclaim, "You're like my granddaughter!"

I remembered her smile after I learned she had a stroke. My dad took me to visit her one morning in the hospital at 7:00 am before school. He waited in the car, while I went to find her. As I approached the help desk in my uniform, I noticed that the ward had a distinct, sterile smell. A nurse showed me to her room, and there was Eva, a shadow of the person I had known. No one was with her. She appeared to be sleeping, so I came back out, not wanting to disturb her. "Go on, honey," she said. "You can talk to her. She can hear you."

I held her limp hand and cried, telling her all I was grateful for, all that she had given me, and how I would never forget her. "I love you, Eva." She died a few days later. I was 15.

The receptionist at the nursing home knew me well. Mama Jackson died some months later. I kept going, knowing that some days the person I was visiting wouldn't know me. Some days she would be upset or angry, depressed. These people were mothers, sisters, daughters, wives, widows, and there were few times I saw any other visitors. They felt forgotten and unseen. All their lessons, all their stories, all their experiences were tucked away in some old scrap book or corner of their memory. I gave what I hoped someone would give me: his/her time and an ear to listen.

老师 (lao shi) in Mandarin means "teacher." The 老 (lao) in front means "old." Chinese people place this character before something that is valued or respected. An old person is called 老人 (lao ren), literally "old/respected person/people."

I write this post, not to point to a "right" or "wrong" way of doing things, but as an invitation for discussion and reflection on how we treat different age groups in our society. There are always multiple factors when it comes to employment opportunities, nursing homes, and family dynamics. I honestly don't know what I would do if faced with a parent in that situation. As always, feel free to comment on any of my posts, but I extend a special request for comments on this one about your ideas and feelings on this topic. How do you feel elderly are treated in the U.S.? Is agism a relevent problem and if so, in what way? How would you like to be treated at your parents' or grandparents' age? What does "old" mean to you?

Thank you for listening.

Cowbells

For most people cowbells are either associated with cows or Saturday Night Live. "I got a fever and the only prescription is...more cowbell!" I think of horses.

Every afternoon and evening 66 horses roam a designated pasture of the ranch. At the break of dawn, they are all wrangled back into the corral, which is one of the most unbelievable sights I've ever seen. Imagine more than 60 horses galloping in the morning light, dust behind them, mountains and fields in all directions. I stop and watch every time.

I have always felt a special connection to horses, as I know many do. They are powerful, brilliant creatures who embody mystery and many of the secrets of life. As a child, I often rode but stopped when the barn we went to quit giving lessons. I have never feared horses even after falling off twice. When I knew I was coming out here I planned to ride every chance I had, to reconnect with my childhood friends, and to become the best rider possible given the time. Life had other plans...

My first two weeks I was surprised at how timid I felt around an animal that had been so easy for me to approach as a girl. I forgot how to pet a horse, how to be gentle, and how to be safe. As fortune would have it, a dean from a renowned California university is here for the summer working as a wrangler. He is incredibly gifted, not only with horses, but at explaining to 2-leggers how to speak a horse's language. He taught me that instead of walking in a straight line to move toward a horse, one should move in a slow switchback pattern, stopping to smell horse dung on the way (like a horse would), and then extend one hand, head lowered in a slightly submissive way, palm faced down towards the horse, waiting for him/her to catch your scent. I watched a guy on a cell phone today extend his hand abruptly to a stunning black horse. The horse immediately turned, left the enclosure, and galloped away.

Slowly I became more and more comfortable again. Every ride I made progress and started to remember how to squeeze my legs when riding, how to post, how to blend with the rhythm of a horse's cadence. The last time I rode (late June) I rode with another horse whisperer, one of the members of the partnership of families that own the ranch. He is 70 years old but doesn't look a day over 45. Always smiling. Always excited for adventure and whatever life has to offer. Always kind, gentle, and grounded.

I watched as he addressed his horse with terms of endearment like "sugar" and "honey." I watched him lope, not an ounce of awkwardness in his body. He held his right hand out waving in time with the horse's rhythm as I followed behind him.

"You look like you're conducting." I called ahead.
"Yeah," he laughed, "the symphony is in-between my legs!"

After that ride, the summer became much busier, more guests, less time. On my one day off a week, I often wanted to catch up on sleep in the mornings or go into town. Horses faded into the background for me. I still saw them every day and would occasionally stop by the corral to watch them and pet them if they allowed me to but my desire to ride was zero until yesterday.

With only a month left to go at my time at the ranch and this week as the final major week in the summer season, I decided to opt out of riding yesterday morning. I got the impression that I could potentially be more of a hindrance than a help and my desire to have a morning to myself outweighed the desire to get back on a horse. I was happy with my decision. Sometimes in choosing not to do something in the moment, we open a much wider opportunity for passion in the long run.

I spent most of yesterday alone and after having a particularly moving 2-hour phone conversation about the next steps in my life (namely moving to San Francisco), I decided to spend the rest of the afternoon in the pastures, forgetting that the horses are now in the fields I often frequent. Sitting on the upper part of what is called South Alfalfa, I looked at the mountainous skyline and breathed in fresh air and the smell of grass when I heard cowbells.

In order to keep track of the horses and to designate lead horses for that wrangle, many of the horses wear cowbells at night. I looked below me to see the horses grazing. I decided to go to the river, taking the path I normally do. As I walked, there were horses all over. Some were between trees. Others were slowly walking and eating. The little girl within me felt like I was in an enchanted forest. I put my journal and phone down and practiced what the dean had said. The first three horses weren't interested. They didn't run from me by any means, but they made it clear, "leave us be."

I then started to walk towards a horse that looked like a cow with its black and white splotches. He saw me coming and took off in the other direction. "Was it my breath?"

I decided to try something I've been experimenting with lately: surrendering from the result or at least letting go of the idea that something needs to look a certain way. I crossed the small creek towards the larger field and was astonished at what I saw. In front of me were over 30 horses grazing in an open pasture lined with ancient trees. Instead of directly approaching the horses, I chose to go on the outer rim and lie in the grass. When I felt calm and rested, I got up and started to slowly make my way back through the field. Again, I did what the dean had said. This time a horse let me pet him briefly and continued on, but another horse approached me all on his own, letting me stroke his mane, rub the acupuncture point on his forehead, and I walked in between the two horses, taking one step as they did for some time. When it was time to leave I silently thanked them and made my way up the gravel road for dinner.

Horses symbolize "travel, power, and freedom." According to a totem website I found, "It will teach you to ride in new directions and discover your own freedom and power."

It may sound strange, but I know that the horses have been waiting for me all summer, and I don't think it's any coincidence that as I stir from my Montana retreat and prepare for huge life transitions, that the horse is with me.

It's a dark Montana night and a new moon, so there is no light---only stars and cowbells.



totem website: http://www.linsdomain.com/totems/pages/horse.htm

Love Life!

Motion is in my blood. I come from a long line of movement. Like almost all Americans, my ancestors left everything behind and sailed to a new world. Upon receiving land grants after the French and Indian War both sides of the family traveled as part of a long wagon train and traversed difficult terrain to resettle in Kentucky. Both grandfathers were the only sons to leave the farm and yet again resettle. One to start his own body shop business and the other to travel the world and the States in the Navy. Although I do not know all their specific motivations, I like to think that sheer curiosity played a part.

"What's out there?" is a phrase I've carried with me since I had words. A friend showed me 550 year-old trees the other night on a 2-hour walk that soaked us in moonlight. Every day this summer I made sure to go somewhere, do, try or learn something new. That included Yellowstone, a quick trip to Canada (my first), a massage from a Blackfoot Indian, fly fishing by the Blackfoot river, the quest for the perfect skim vanilla latte in Missoula, a chocolate-dipped scoop of homemade white mint oreo ice cream in a waffle cone, running shoes from Tim, and $1 sushi night.

As I was driving my new favorite stretch of highway from the ranch to Missoula this afternoon, I saw a backpacker with a gray mustache carrying a forest green pack with pots, pans, and cans hanging off his bag. One of the reasons I prefer this two-lane highway is because of its sharp twists and turns around the bases of glorious mountains that border the Blackfoot River, the body of water that first brought me to Montana.

The man had just crossed a particularly narrow bridge and had mounted a rather large red and white sign to the back of his pack that read, "Love Life". He waved at every car that passed. I'm guessing most assumed he was crazy and maybe he was, or perhaps from the outer edges, he professed life's secret. I waved back at a fellow traveler.

A Familiar Face

Last week I took my first trip to Yellowstone National Park. Unfortunately, I only have one day off a week, so the trip was less than 24 hours. A moment is long enough to leave lasting impressions.

My friend and I didn't reach the west entrance until 7:00 pm. The drive was stunning down 287, one of Montana's main 2-lane highways. It was like driving through a postcard with mountains in all directions and grass dancing in the wind. My thoughts went to the Native Americans who used to roam these vast expanses of land and of the pioneers the first time they saw this captivating country. As my friend's 19 month old said, "Ahhhh..." as she let out a deep breath, sighing yogi style at the change from Chicago air. Everything is different here.

Upon arriving outside the gate, I felt jolted by all the commercialism masquerading as a quaint town. Hundreds of people from all over the world were walking the crowded streets, and my friend kept repeating, "I've never seen it like this. I've only come in May or October when there's literally no one around." In the midst of the chaos, my eyes rested on a familiar sight. Not the Best Western. A Chinese restaurant.

It didn't take much to persuade my curious friend to join me for a Chinese meal. He's heard and read many of my stories and has even begun to learn tidbits of 中文 (zhong wen). 50 steps before the entrance I began to feel a little nervous. What if all my Chinese was gone? What if there were no Chinese natives there like my other 2 failed attempts at a decent Chinese meal? Fear alone is not an acceptable excuse to back out of something one's heart truly desires.

Like so many mornings in the classroom, I walked through the threshold and all jitters subsided. I asked the first 服务员 fuwuyuan I saw for a menu using Chinese, and after a few eye blinks of disbelief responded in Chinese, handing me the menu. I then asked him if they served traditional Chinese dishes and gave him some examples. His smile and the relative authenticity of the restaurant convinced me and we took our seats.

"Do you have 西红柿炒蛋 xihongshi chao dan (tomato with egg)?"
"Yes!"
"Eggplant with meat?" "Red fatty pork?" "Eggplant anything?" "Fish?"
"No," he said disappointingly. "We can't get all the ingredients here."
"No worries," I said.

I was just happy that he actually knew the dishes I was talking about. When I was about to leave China, I knew that besides all the names, people, and places, that food would be what I would miss the most. Real Chinese food is phenomenal.

The more I travel and live in various places, the more I have come to value food. Each place has its specialty. When I lived in Boston, I couldn't get sweet tea or decent barbecue, but Atlanta rarely had a truly hearty New England Clam Chowder or cannoli from the North End. Tortilla Espanolas don't taste the same outside Spain. Even in China, the food in Hunan drastically differed from that in Hangzhou. It reminds me on a daily and basic level to appreciate where I am.

My friend melted into the booth and sat back, smiling as if he were watching a great TV show. I continued my conversation with the waiter in Chinese, asking him about his background. Did he like America? Where was he from? I was so excited that I couldn't stop clapping my hands and saying, "I'm so happy!" in both languages.

When the waiter left to place our order, I turned to my friend, "I ordered tomato with egg, green beans, and Mongolian beef, which isn't really a Chinese dish, but it's a good American substitute, two bowls of rice and some tea."
"I figured you had ordered. Whatever is fine." He paused. "I've never seen you like this," he said.
"Like what?" I asked.
"You're just so happy and in your element. You're home."

For the first time, I looked around me at the other patrons in the mid-sized restaurant. It felt odd to be in a Chinese restaurant and see so many others who looked like me. Every time I saw another Chinese group or family enter, I felt more comfortable and at ease.

The food came quickly, and although it was no where near as good as food I've eaten in China, it was the experience that counted. The club sandwiches in Ningyuan (only Western thing we could get) were terrible by American standards. The ham was something akin to spam, but it didn't matter at that time because it symbolized something from home.

I explained to my friend that the host usually orders the food for the guest, asking what he/she prefers. Then, it is polite to serve the guest first, filling up his/her rice bowl and then the guest usually waits for the host to fill his/her own bowl before both begin. I showed him how to hold his rice bowl and chopsticks, and we enjoyed the shared dishes together. It was so satisfying to eat out of a bowl again, with chopsticks, and not have to have to use an individual plate. I explained the customs for tea. Unlike in the States, it is rude to help oneself to the tea first. Instead, he/she should offer the tea to the other person first, and then pour his/her own cup. At the end of the meal, I paid. Going dutch is a somewhat recent phenomenon amongst young people but traditionally the host or the one that invited the other should pay for the meal. The guest should also falsely protest, saying that he/she should grab the check, but this is all in an attempt to preserve face for both parties. Fortune cookies seemed to complete the American Chinese experience as did the line to add a tip on the check. Chinese people don't tip. I settled for over 20% because as my English fortune reminded me, I was in the States.

As I was saying goodbye to the waiter and other waitstaff, I thanked them whole heartedly and wished them 每天快乐 (mei tian kuai le) or wishing you happiness everyday. We stepped out the door onto the cement and walked towards his car. Before we got in, he looked at my face, a familiar happiness across my lips.

A Taoist Observation

The more I move around the world I find that time and space play tricks on our concepts of reality. In layman's terms, I can't believe that yesterday marked 2 months back in the States.

8 weeks ago my primary language was not English. I lived in a city of 8 million. I was a minority. Americans accounted for less than 5% of the people I interacted with on a regular basis. I now live and work on a 10,000 acre ranch outside of Missoula, Montana that's only accessible by several twists and turns down a 6 mile dirt road. Population: less than 100. All American. All English. In China I couldn't go more than 5 minutes without seeing another person, car, or bike. I see more deer, horses, and squirrels here than I do people. I've traded chopsticks and bowls of rice for forks and bowls of oatmeal. Circular tables for rectangular ones. Shared food in the center of the table for buffet style with individual plates. Squatters for seaters. Grey skies for blue. The only thing that is the same is that I can see mountains from my window and bike to water in under 30 minutes.

Am I the butterfly dreaming of Zhuangzi or Zhuangzi dreaming of the butterfly?

A friend that lived abroad in Spain for several years once told me that living overseas is like being pregnant. Everyone always raves about the glowing mom-to-be but neglects to share the details of bizarre cravings, swollen ankles, and watching one's body completely metamorphis into something she can't recognize as herself (or so I've heard). I guess the trick is to realize that a life based on outside reality is one destined for constant confusion and morning sickness.

Worth Remembering

During my nearly 3 years in China, I had the privilege of living and working in rural Hunan, Hangzhou, and Beijing. I had the opportunity to meet and know thousands of people from all over the world who came from various backgrounds, cultures, and religions. Over 2,000 alone were my students or staff. By the end of my time, I had taught all ages and all levels of English, including everything from preschool, to university, to working adults. All these experiences and people showed me that on of the greatest ironies and beauties of being a teacher is that your students often end up teaching you.

I learned so much in China. Not only do I want to remember all I discovered, but I also want to integrate it into my life and continue to live it and breath it with each day that passes. Having only returned from China a week ago, I'm left questioning: What kind of American do I want to be now? What are the values I adopted in China dn how can I integrate them into my life here? Where does the current "me" fit an dconversely not fit?

Just like no one can ever truly prepare you to live in China. No one can prepare you to return. "Surreal" is an understatement for my experience of the past few days back in the States. In many ways, I feel like a foreigner in my own country and a stranger in my own hometown. In the past 48 hours, I noticed myself confusing worlds, accents, slang. I'm not sure how to navigate American social politics anymore. I'm the stranded piece of driftwood that keeps bumping into things. I'm reminding myself to be patient, but unlike my first months in China, I'm expected to already know how life functions here.

And then I remember that we are the creators of our lives and experiences, so in an attempt to navigate this new terrain I have listed my top 10 additions to my lifestyle in China that I want to continue in the States.

1. True Friendship: My Chinese friends introduced me to a completely different way of being a friend. I didn't realize how often Americans threw around the word "friend" until I started learning Chinese and noticed that relationships are clear. A colleague is a colleague, not a "friend" necessarily, a classmate is a classmate, and so on. Even family members have distinct and intricate titles. A cousin is not just a cousin, it's the father's/mother's side and depending on whether that person is a boy or a girl and younger or older affects the name you call him/her. Just like the Eskimos had several words for different types of snow, the Chinese language has multiple words for family members because it is a core tenant of their culture.

It's not just about the title though. It's about what comes with the word "peng you". Since this word is harder to earn, once I did, I noticed that my Chinese friends showed up and supported me in ways I had only previously expected of family members or best friends. For example, I had a friend stay with me for 2 weeks, helping me prepare to move to Beijing. This including shipping things home, moving trucks, etc. I had another friend take a 3-hour train back to see me just to be able to say goodbye. I'll be sure to write more about this concept of friendship in subsequent posts.

2. International Community: As an Expat in another country, it's natural to meet people from all over the world. Our core group of friends was comprised of Chinese, Australian, British, New Zealand, Polish, Dutch, American, Canadian, and German people. Constantly being around so many cultures opinions was amazing in itself. Luckily, I live in one of the most diverse countries in the world, so it's all about finding the right environment.

3. Speaking Chinese: I've already joined a local group for those who are interested in Chinese culture and language. In my second day, I was in my local grocery store, and I overheard two women speaking Chinese behind me. I mentioned this to my mother, and when the cashier asked me if I spoke Chinese, I explained that I had just moved back from China. Turn out he is originally from Taiwan.

4. Biking: I decided in my first week in Hangzhou that buying a bike was the best option. Chinese buses were frequent enough but super crowded and taxis were inconsistent and somewhat expensive. I biked everyday for 2-3 hours typically without even thinking about it just in the course of getting around from place to place. I absolutely loved it. There was something about navigating the chaos of Chinese traffic while being outside and feeling the air on my face. It was also much better for the environment, better for my body, and the most practical. I would often arrive at places before my friends would taking taxis when we would leave at the exact same time.

Most Americans (unless they live in a bike-friendly location) are not used to bikers. Even though Atlanta is the largest city in the southern United States, there are few bike lanes and most drivers feel nervous around bikers. Moreover, biking is considered a sport here, not a viable mode of transportation, so it will be a challenge to park the car and go 2-wheels whenever possible, but I'm up to it.

5. Eating Healthy: Delicious, healthy, and cheap food is extremely easy to find in China. Most importantly, it's convenient! A 5-minute walk from my apartment got me to my favorite local restaurant, a farmer's market, my "dan bing" and "bao zi" places (Chinese breakfast foods), a grocery store, and two 24-hour convenient stores.

Unfortunately in the US of A, McDonald's is cheaper than buying organic vegetables, so I'll have to cut back on indulgences. I rarely overate because the portions are smaller and using chopsticks helps to eat one piece of food at a time, so your body has a chance to catch up with your eyes. Also, most Chinese people don't eat dessert or sweet things, so the only consistent sugar I got was from my guilty pleasure--Vanilla Lattes. In addition, the processed foods were unappealing to me, i.e. packaged duck's feet and the like, so it wasn't a problem to go off them as well as cheese, which is not a part of the Chinese diet. How many days does it take to make/break a habit again?


6. Conserving Energy: Even the richest Chinese homes I visited did not have central heating or air conditioning and no home had a drier. There was an air conditioning unit in some of the rooms, but it was only used as needed. During the winter, most Chinese people use hot water bottles and wear thick pajamas to keep warm. Since I tried to unplug electronics when not in use and air-dried all my clothing, I used significantly less energy than I did in the States.

7. No TV: College got me out of the habit of TV watching and China kept me that way. Not only were all the shows in Chinese, many of them were period pieces, which even Chinese people I spoke to found boring. Moreover, all the news coverage is restricted by the government and the one sports channel most aired reruns of the Olympics.

Although I have to admit the Food Network is highly entertaining and I'm beginning to develop a weakness for "On Demand" free movies, when I think of all the time I spent connecting with friends, riding my bike, reading a book, learning Chinese, etc. it's more appealing to keep the TV watching to a minimum.

8. The Flexible 20-Hour Work Week: I'm not delusional. I know that my life of making a fantastic salary doing what you love for 20-hours a week on my own terms in schedule is a lifestyle that will most likely stay in China. I can, however, focus on a career I'm passionate about, so it doesn't feel like an endless week. **Note: most Chinese people work at least 40-hour weeks and often work on Saturday and/or Sunday.**

9. Sharing Food: If there are two or more people at a table in China, it's assumed that there will be two or more shared dishes, normally including at least one or two vegetables and at least one meat or fish. What could be better? Granted there are times it's nice to have one's own meal, but as they say variety adds spice to life.

10. Feeling Free: Maybe it's being extracted from one's culture, personal growth, or China itself, but for whatever reason, I felt an incredible sense of freedom in Hangzhou. I sang while biking, wore what I felt like, and lived the way I wanted. Most of this liberty stems from the freedom we gain when we let go of fear, listen and act on our hearts' true desires, and stop worrying so much about what other people think.

Perspective

Yesterday started off being one of my worst days in China, but ended as one of my best because of one person's act of kindness. I have always been a firm believer that one person can make a difference and that the smallest action can restore faith.

As of yesterday, I officially have 2 weeks left in China. It only occurred to me a few days ago when I looked at the calendar and realized I was actually leaving. Up until then, it had been a distant phrase I repeated to others at social gatherings, "I'm moving back to America." I might as well have been saying, "I'm moving to the moon."

Letting go of a place that has become your home and people that have become your family is no easy feat. There is no doubt in my mind that I will come back to China at some point, but at this time, I have no way of knowing in what capacity or when. I could be back in 4 months. I could be back in 10 years. For now, I know that returning to America is the right step for me, just as I originally knew coming to China was right for me.

Having moved on from many places before, I have noticed certain commonalities. It's easier to let something or someone go if one feels removed from it, and everyone has a different way of coping with someones departure. I was confused by this phenomenon at first. I noticed that my closest friends and I would begin to fight as the time drew nearer to leave, or I would notice that someone I would spend a lot of time with would suddenly disappear from the face of the earth without reason. Then there are the friends that want to spend every possible minute together, enjoying and appreciating those last moments.

I vacillate mostly between the first and the third. I tend to think about what and who is really important to me and choose to spend my time accordingly. It was only in the past 24 hours that I realized the biggest relationship I'm leaving is with China, which brings me back to my story.

Lately, I've been mentally cataloging all that I will miss and won't miss about living here. The list of people, places, and things I will miss is infinitely longer than the few things I won't, but since I looked at that calendar the other day, I have found myself focusing on how much it annoys me when someone shouts "lao wai" (foreigner) at me when all I want to do is blend in and go about my day. Or when I hear someone hawk a particularly large loogie as I walk past. "I won't hear that in America," I say to myself.

So, last night when my friend accidentally left my bag in a taxi cab containing my wallet, 500 RMB, credit cards, cell phone, clothing, etc. I used this as a sign confirming my decision to leave. I thought there was no way to get my bag back and began to calculate the money and time it would cost to replace my driver's license, my Chinese credit card, etc. Luckily, a girl with us had the idea to try calling my cell phone on the off chance that the taxi cab driver would hear it, not want to steal the bag, and potentially return it to me.

After having my beloved Hong Long (bike) stolen last month, I had become a bit jaded towards the idea that someone would return the bag, but I had to try. There were just too many valuable items in it. I began to call, and it continued to ring. At first I took this as a good sign. A ring means that the person hasn't turned off the phone. I know this from having my phone stolen in December. If someone wants to steal the phone, it often rings once but the person immediately turns it off. After 20 rings and no answer, I began to lose hope. I figured that he had probably put the bag in the trunk and would decide what to do with it after his shift. All I could do was pray that the driver was a good man and would do the right thing.

My friend and I decided to grab some street food near my house and continued to call about every thirty minutes. At around 2:00 am, a voice answered the phone. I was so surprised to actually hear an answer that I forgot how to speak Chinese for a second. It quickly came back to me, and the man confirmed that he had my bag and said that he would come to find me and return it to me. When he arrived, I thanked him profusely. He asked me to check the bag to make sure all the contents were intact, which they were. He also refused to take a reward.

These past couple of days I had been focusing on the cons, trying to alleviate the sadness I feel about leaving, but in the process I was missing all the beauty around me. This man reminded me of all the other wonderful experiences I have had in China---of all the people who have been so good to me. People who have helped me when they didn't need to. People who have invited me into their homes and treated me like family.

I don't know what went through that man's head. I don't know if he considered taking the bag or searching its contents or not. When I searched the bag, it was exactly as I had left it. He probably was unconcious as to how much his act of kindness touched me, or how small actions like these are what build ties between people and cultures. I am deeply grateful to this man, not only because of what he did, but also because he reminded me that in saying goodbye to my biggest relationship here, that with China, I want to honor it. I don't want to look back and realize that I spent my last days focusing on my grief in leaving. I would rather savor the moments, honoring all that I have learned here, all that China has given me, and all the joy of my last 3 years.

Things I Will Miss about Living in China...

In addition to the more obvious things I will miss such as friends and students, I have written a short list of daily life happenings that I will dearly miss...

1. Rou bao, dan bing, hong shao rou...and many other Chinese foods

2. My bike, Hong Long (Red Dragon), and riding it everywhere at all times of day

3. Speaking Chinese everyday

4. Sharing food--most Chinese meals consist of several dishes, which everyone eats

5. Random job opportunities, i.e. voice recordings, modeling, acting gigs that just pop-up

6. Constantly meeting new people from all over the world

7. My schedule!

8. $1 DVDs

9. Walking into a store like Gucci in my running gear and not being snubbed

10. How easy it is to keep a healthy lifestyle, i.e. biking, running twice a weak, eating well, cheap preventative health care like acupuncture and cupping

11. $2.50 for a hair wash, head massage, and straightening my hair

12. Chinese English names, i.e. Stone, Grubby, Gandalf, Alert, Hajji, Clitty (really did have a student named this!)

13. Daily witnessing history---in the buildings, lake, and legends

14. Always learning and trying something new

15. Public transportation, although not always the best, is readily available and cheap

16. Teaching and the hilarious and amazing things that happen in the classroom

TO BE CONTINUED...

You want me to do...what?! / Modeling in China

A close friend of mine recently turned 30 and to celebrate the occasion, he held a party themed "what did you want to be when you grew up?" I put a lot of thought into my costume. There was a point I wanted to be a doctor, a teacher, an astronaut (still haven't given up that dream), a writer, a mother, a business woman, a ballerina, etc. Dressing as a writer and a teacher wouldn't be that fun for obvious reasons. At some point, I probably will be a business woman and a mother. The astronaut one would've been cool except for the obvious problem of finding the jumpsuit and helmet, and the ballerina one would've been awesome too, except for finding the material and then making a tutu. Too much work.

Then I remembered that as a pre-teen, I toyed with the notion of modeling. I think I dropped that ambition around 16 when my 6-foot long-legged friend and I were in the Target parking lot and a modeling agent approached us and didn't even glance in my direction going right to my friend saying, "You should model!" I stowed away my hopes of "making it big" and focused on other things like honor roll, getting into university, Varsity basketball and cross country, and eating midnight brownie sundaes with my best friend.

Only when I moved to China did my childhood hopes resurface. I car modeled once in Changsha, which was more hilarious than fulfilling. They dressed me in a black witch-like dress that hung off the shoulder and felt like fake velvet. I stood next to an old car in Hunan sun for 3 hours, forcing a smile. I never realized how exhausting modeling could be. Try standing in heels looking effortlessly "beautiful" for 3 hours while people just snap pictures at you. Uncomfortable doesn't capture it. I lasted about 30 minutes before I started making conversation with the people taking my photos both because I was bored to tears and it was humanizing. My other friend wasn't quite so lucky. I'll spare names, but let's just say it was her birthday the night before and she misunderstood the job description, thinking it was more like the car models one sees in body shop calendars. When we discussed this over the lunch break, and she realized what she had done, she was mortified and refused to return for the afternoon session. I just know that some Hunan lao ban (boss) has a framed photo of my bleached blond friend on his desk.

Up until now, that has been the extent of living the dream, so I decided to shock some of my friends in Hangzhou, since I normally wear bike-riding friendly clothes, not too much make-up, and always keep my hair curly. I drug the black strapless dress out of cobwebs, borrowed some Audrey Hepburn type glasses, got my hair washed and straightened for the bargain price of 20 RMB (less than $3), did up the make-up, wore tall boots, and practiced sucking in my cheeks. People didn't recognize me. I never know how to take comments like, "Oh my god, you're hot! I didn't know it was you!" Uh... thanks?

I got into character, strutting all night, doing model walks with my girlfriends, and taking loads of pictures, which brings me to the entire point of the post. I've recently been in contact with a movie agent because they need extras for a local movie. I've also always wanted to act, so I sent her a few pictures of me, including a couple from that night. She called me today about a fashion show opportunity. After playing phone tag, I finally got in touch with her, so that she could explain the details. Never assume, as I relearned with my yoga/belly dancing class.

We spoke in Chinese.

"Hi! So, this opportunity is for a fashion show."
"Great! What kind of fashion show?"
"Well... nei ku de"
Americans have a habit of repeating what has just been said to them, or so my English friend tells me, so I responded, "Nei ku," making sure I understood correctly.
She took that as a need to explain, "Bra and underwear."
I laughed, "Bu xing!" (impossible)
"Yeah, that's fine. I understand. I'll contact you next time."

Oh, zhong guo. These are the kind of experiences I'm going to miss when I'm back in the States!

Way Out / 出口 chu kou

I said goodbye to my best Chinese friend a few days ago. She's leaving for Italy in a matter of days and will be studying a master's program in art for 2-3 years. This is her first time to leave China and her first time to leave others behind rather than watching others leave her.

Her hometown is in Shanghai, so she came to Hangzhou to see me and her other friends from university before she goes. We met in the same Starbucks near West Lake where we met the first time over a year ago and sat in the same spot our friendship began. We shed some tears, talked about our lives, and shared our last strawberry napoleon, a powdered sugar cream puff type cake that only comes out at Chinese Starbucks in spring.

I refused to take "no" for an answer to see her off at the train station. While she was saying goodbye to some friends in the jewelry shop she used to work at, I snuck into a flower shop nearby and bought her one stem with two stargazer lilies. She jokingly rolled her eyes at my sappiness, saying what she always does when I do something particularly silly, mischievous, or over-the-top, "Ke Lin..."(my Chinese name).

I watched her queue in the ticket line, and just as I had looked back weepily at her when I left for Beijing this summer at the airport, every few steps she turned around to look at me. Everytime she looked back I waved and smiled. When she arrived at the front of the line, I walked up to the fence, and she gave me one last teary hug before walking on the platform. As I left the station, I saw the Chinese word 出口 chu kou or exit. Only most exits in China are translated literally into English as "way out." Those were the last words I saw as I left, guiding the way to my own imminent departure from China.

Rae (her English name) taught me a whole other level and experience of friendship. I don't think I realized how overused the words "friend" and "love" are in the English language until I moved to China. Chinese people only call true friends, friends. If it's a colleague, they call him/her a colleague, an acquaintance an acquaintance, a classmate a classmate. They rarely falsely throw out that word, just as they rarely say the word 爱ai or love. These words are special. They mean something. How many "friends" do I have on facebook that I barely even know? Why is the same word I use for my love for pizza the same as love of my family? I know I'm not the first to stumble upon this realization, but perhaps it's my time to internalize it as I begin my own goodbyes.

For those of you who know me well, you know that I am moving back to the States in late April or early May. I have already accepted a job, and all that's left to do is book the flight, book a trip to Tibet (a place I've always wanted to visit), sell my things, pack, ship things home, close accounts, get the qi paos made I always wanted, make some extra money before I go, finish teaching, and of course, say goodbye. Not so easy.

It's not friends like Rae I worry about. There is no doubt in my mind that I will see her again and that we will be lifelong friends. It's just a question of when and where. It's the man who sells me my flatbread, the woman that knows I always like 2 kuai's worth of dan bing every morning, Xiao Huang the one that knows I always get Chinese spinach with mushrooms every time I go to my favorite restaurant. It's my students. It's the people at the bank that always take pity on me when I don't have a clue how to transfer money or start up a credit card. It's the details.

I've only recently started telling people I'm leaving. Even new people I meet, like the woman today, recommended that I stay in China permanately and find a Chinese man to marry. This is not the first time I've heard this of course. People used to ask me, "Do you have a boyfriend?" Now they ask me, "Have you gotten married yet?" Somewhere between being a freshly graduated college student and my nearly 3 years here, I grew up, and the ever increasing Chinese side of me says, "Wow, you're already 27. Maybe it's time to start thinking about that."
The side of me that still maintains I'm 25 when asked replies, "Wo tai nianqing!" (I'm too young!). I still get laughs, but that joke may be starting to lose a bit of its humor.

So on my way out, I will be posting previous writings and pictures as well as my new adventures. Maybe it's the inherent symbolist in me, but it's important for me to have bookends. I will also start to publish exerpts from the book I'm writing about my first year in Ningyuan. Feel free to comment on any or all of the posts. It would be great to get some feedback.

If there's one thing that traveling has taught me it is to be in the moment. The food. The places. The people are only there once in that way. In my last weeks, I will savor 4 meat-filled steamed buns for 2 kuai, the mountains here, my friends, my beloved bike, hong long. Tonight I am appreciating the glow of the heat lamp beside me and my Chinese sweet bread.

The Beauty of Illiteracy

I can read a decent amount of Chinese characters---belly dancing is not one of them. So, when I decided to get back on the yoga wagon at my local Chinese studio, I attempted to read and select a class from the schedule card written all in Chinese characters. I had free time during the noon class yesterday, and since it's a yoga studio, I assumed that even though I couldn't read what the class was, it would be some version of yoga with a new teacher. You know what they say about assuming things...

My 4-month absence earned me some "haven't seen you in a while" greetings from the manager, and I went about getting a key to the locker room, a small towel to pat my forehead if I worked up too much of a sweat in the child's pose, and a small class of chrysanthemum tea. I was feeling rather proud for motivating myself to go, even though the main reason I felt prompted to start again was because my card expires in March. Equipped with my baggy blue sweatpants, a sports bra, and brown tank top, I entered the room, which was blasting loud, fast-paced Indian music.

Maybe it was the several middle-aged Chinese women shaking their hips with colorful sashes with bangles hanging off of them, or the fact that their midriffs were showing that tipped me off, but I got the feeling this was not a yoga class. I rushed back to the manager and asked her if there was a yoga class scheduled at that time. She replied no, chuckling a little at my situation. "Dancing is fun too! Go on, try it!" I've walked into enough unexpected situations in China by this point that it took me about 15 seconds before I replied, "weishenme bu" (why not).

I re-entered the room, ready for anything. Most of the women were already outfitted, practicing shaking their hips in front of the large mirrors. Since I'm normally the only foreigner in the class, the teachers generally go out of their way a little bit to make sure I am following the all the Chinese, and if everyone else is holding up their right leg, and I'm holding up my left hand, they politely bring my attention to it. Those close to me, know I have an uncanny knack for the worst poker-face possible. My face is a billboard. The teacher approached me after helping another woman suit up, and as I attempted to fumble with the scarf-like cloth, she gently took it from my hands and fitted me with 3 different ones around my waste. The teal, hot pink, and red gave my 10-year-old hand-me-downs some zest, and her final action was to raise my up tank-top, exposing my stomach. I don't think she saw my eyes pop out, but there were mirrors everywhere.

The instructor had a short, bob-like haircut with subtle red highlights. Her gold earrings accented her yellow low-cut top that revealed more cleavage than I'm used to seeing Chinese women expose and when she turned around, I could tell that she was wearing a bra that was like a halter top, so that it would not interfere with the even lower-cut back of the shirt. Her black pants hung low around her hips, and she had her own personalized scarfs with extra loud decorations. In a word, this woman was hot. She could make even the gayest man reconsider.

I stood in the back, behind a somewhat plump woman in her 30's to avoid seeing myself in the mirror and took a quick look around to see if the same slender girls that joined my yoga class were the same students in this one. A quick survey showed me that I was most likely the youngest and that many of the other women had already had children. My inhibitions were already starting to fly out the window, and I kept laughing to myself, shaking my head at the things I get into.

She began to move, going to the front with a beckoning motion of the right hand, then crossing over to the left and began to undulate her stomach. I had no idea a woman's body could do that! The other women followed, somewhat easily, so I guessed that they were regulars. That and the fact that I was the only one dressed for nap time (I later found out I had stumbled upon the advanced class). The same loud beat kept repeating, and an Indian woman sang Hindi as we all moved to the beat. After a few "one, two, three's" I was starting to get the pattern of the dance, but for the life of me, could not get my stomach to move like hers.

I'm an athletic girl. I bike everywhere, run, hike, "practice" yoga, but the connection this woman had with her body absolutely blew me away. All of a sudden I realized how disconnected I had been from my hips, my abdomen, my arms. I was moving muscles I didn't even know I had as I was thrusting back in a reverse motion like the other women to make sure the charms jingled as we moved.

Age didn't matter. Race wasn't a factor. The only requirement to enter that door was to be a woman. In 10 minutes this woman showed us the power of femininity, the beauty of allowing, of giving way to your body and letting it take you places you didn't think you could go. She encouraged us to "pop" our hips, exaggerating our curves. All my initial judgment of myself and others disappeared as I moved out from behind the woman in front of me to watch my body in the mirror as well.

I walked out of that class a convert. She showed us all how to reconnect with something so innate that we often forget about it. At the end of the class, I awkwardly tried to remove the scarves, and the instructor mysteriously appeared behind me and removed them. I asked her how long she had been dancing, but I wanted to ask her to teach me how to exude so much beauty and sensuality. Having taken off one layer of inhibition, I told her she was an amazing dancer and a "la mei" (spicy/hot woman). She laughed.

I still don't know how to say the characters for belly dancing, but I have scouted out all the characters that look like the noon time slot. When I go back on Saturday, I'm going to wear more color and let my curls loose!

How old is that girl anyway? Age is relative.

My friend is 25 in American years, but 27 in Chinese years. Shenme?! (What) That's what I said!

As an American or Westerner, it would be logical to assume that everyone in the world follows the same methodology for determining their age, but as I learned early on living in China, that's not the case.

Most Westerners use the Roman calendar to ascertain their birth date and the corresponding year to figure out their age. For example, I was born in July of 1983, so I'm 25. When my birthday comes around, I'll be 26. Seems simple enough.

Many Chinese people, however, use two calendars. Previously, they primarily used the Lunar calendar, which follows the cycles of the moon. Having always had a fascination with the moon (my mom called me her "moon child" as a kid), I think this is awesome! Most Chinese cell phones and homes have both the Lunar and Roman calendar.

Now that China has opened up to the rest of the world, the Roman calendar is primarily used for business and daily life, but the Lunar calendar is used for traditional festivals. Spring Festival is the most important holiday in China and indicates the Chinese New Year, which is intricately connected with a whole other astrological system with the 12 animals I discussed in the last post and a system of elements.

So why am I 27 in many parts of China? Several people from the southern part of China, where I live, still follow a more traditional way of determining age. When a child is born, he/she is already considered to be one year old, rather than zero. On top of that, every Spring Festival, a person adds another year to his/her age. Since the first day of Spring Festival just occurred, I'm now 27.

You may be wondering okay, interesting, but what does it really matter? Age takes on a curious significance in China. Certain things are meant to happen by certain points in one's life.

Like in the States, most children start kindergarten around 5 or 6. It's more or less the same in China. What's different is that once a child starts studying, that is the most important task in his/her life up until he/she graduates from high school, university, or graduate school. While studying, that is the number one responsibility. Therefore, dating before university is highly discouraged. If caught, it is common that the teacher or both parents will break-up the couple (especially in more rural parts of China like Ningyuan).

Most Chinese get married in their 20's, between the ages of 22-28. In general, if a woman is not married by the time she's 30, she will have an increasingly difficult time finding a husband. This is changing in larger cities like Beijing, Shanghai, and Shenzhen where many women put their careers first. If a man is not married by the time he's 30, it's not as big of a deal because he too, is probably working on his career.

On top of the pressure to get married, there's the desire to have children by the age of 30. The main reason I've heard for this is that it is better for the child, if the woman has the child earlier because after 30 there are more health risks. The other reason I've been told is because the elderly want to be grandparents in their retirement and to see and spend time with the next generation in their family.

Last year, one of my best Chinese friends said to me, "We are going to be 25. Are you scared?"

"Scared? Why?" I responded.

"Because it's close to 30!" We were both single at the time.

I shrugged. "Nah."

"Wo hen pa!" (I'm very scared).

So, now when people ask me my age, I respond with 25 or I just directly say the year I was born, and he/she can tack on whatever age he/she feels appropriate.

I have to say though, that this whole different way of looking at age and time reminds me that it is all relative anyway, and that it's humans that put the restrictions on time, not time that puts restrictions on us.

The Year of the Ox

Welcome and Happy Chinese New Year! I wish you all much happiness, abundance, and prosperity in the year of the ox.

My first Spring Festival in China was the transition from the year of the dog to that of the golden pig, my year. For those of you who are not familiar with Chinese astrology, every year corresponds to an animal on a 12-year cycle. The "golden" year only comes once in several years, so the fact that 2007 serendipitously corresponded with my birth animal was pretty extraordinary.

I was living in Ningyuan, a small town in rural China at that point, and Spring Festival was my only chance to really travel as a teacher, so I took off and met my mother in Australia. I didn't forget to celebrate my new found culture though. I bought hong bao's (small red envelopes for money) in Chinatown in Sydney, and decided that on the first day of Chinese New Year that I would disperse 8 hong bao's to random people, spreading the joy of the year of the pig.

In each hong bao, I placed 5 types of currency. I'm a huge fan of feng shui and an even bigger fan of symbolism, so I decided that each dollar and coin represented worldwide prosperity and unity. Since I'm American, I placed a dollar in each one, a Hong Kong dollar, a 5-dollar Australian bill, a New Zealand dollar (I had been there a week before), and finally, one Chinese RMB.

I set off on my mission to make this day special. My mom got a hong bao, both because she's my mom and also because she was the only other person I knew in Cannes. I gave one to the woman who cleaned our room, leaving a note about Chinese New Year. I gave one to the waitress at breakfast, one to the waiter at dinner, and so on...

I now live in a modern city called Hangzhou, which is two hours from Shanghai. Tomorrow I will go back to my Chinese 老家 (lao jia / hometown), the town I lived in my first year, with my British friend to celebrate the traditional Chinese festival with my close friends and students, who I consider to be my Chinese family.

Tonight I spent Chinese New Year's Eve with two of my closest friends here, one of them Chinese and one of them Italian. It was perfect. My Chinese friend invited us into her candle-lit living room, and we prepared dinner together while watching the traditional Chinese New Year's program on TV. Around midnight, fireworks all over the city began to explode. It made the Olympic fireworks seem small in comparison!

So, in the year of the ox, I'm grateful for all my friends and for all I have learned about Chinese culture in the past 3 years. I'm most thankful for the openness that I have experienced from my students who accepted someone foreign, for my friends who invited me into their lives, and for my teachers, who were patient with me and my poor Chinese. Chinese say, "大家好" (da jia hao) when greeting everyone. It literally translates as "hello big family". I can't but think what the world would be like if all languages had this concept and moreover, if they chose to uphold it.

For more information on this go to Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chinese_astrology .