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.
Living in China was a writer's paradise. I daily encountered people, places, and objects that I would have been hard-pressed to imagine on my own. After living there for almost 3 years, I can honestly say that I loved it there. Chinese people, culture, and language are incredibly fascinating, and the more I learned, the more I understood a sixth of the world's perspective. I recently returned to the States to rediscover my home country and to be a bridge between east and west.
