the metro

10:45 pm on the metro:

We'll start on the left of the plastic olive green chairs. This first woman had a pink phone with dangling sparkles attached. She was talking very loudly to the person on the other end. Her eyes gleamed with pride all during her bossy conversation. Chinese women are rarely loud and they rarely look like they have power. And they never look like they enjoy their power.

The woman next to her was young. She had one of those message t-shirts on. It was blue and had the big fat letters of "I (heart) LIFE" plastering the entire front. Her black tights and silvery high heels looked uncomfortable. Over the course of twenty minutes the girl brought out her white compact mirror three or four times. She examined her eyes and skin and hair meticulously. Finally she picked up her cellphone and started chatting to someone.

Beside her, with one seat empty between, two saleswomen chatted about their day. The one on the left wore a beautiful cream-colored trench. She covered her mouth when she whispered something to the other. Her hand was cupped Korean style. The friend left after two stops and the other sat with her head up high.

language

I've seen a lot of Chinese. It is the most spectacular language. The dots, strokes and swiggles in their specific order absorb all my attention. The boxy characters, the curvy loops, and the specific step-by-step way of painting out the words hypnotize me when I watch Portia scrawl directions to the subway for the taxi driver.

Look at this one:



It means "splendid" and is pronounced "hua". It's so complex and yet makes its point so clear so quickly.

A well-educated Chinese person knows about 6000 different characters. That's like knowing the design of six thousand snowflakes, along with giving names to each one.

sublime expectancy

i'm not going to rationalize from now on in my posts.

i welcomed this opportunity to come to Chin-O whole-heartedly. now i long for home. i long for my brown wooden dresser with it's drawers and the big mirror that rests on top. i long for my greyish wool sweater i wear on cool mornings. i long for late night thoughtful conversations with my sister as we dose off in our still-bunked beds. i long for my language. i long for conversations at the table long after the meal's done. i long for America this time too - the land of the lispy English accent, soulful music, and free thinking. i long for laughter.

this next week and a half will be well-spent. but then i will go home which is where i want to be.

oh. and i long for college. more than ever now.

after school play

There is a play ground next to Natlie's school. On sunny days which come often now we go out and play in the afternoon when everyone gets out. I chase kids around and they love when I'm "it" because I'm the fastest. We have four or five kids that are regulars. The rest straggle on beside us. Sometimes it's plain old tag, sometimes it's some hopping game, or other times we play a shark game. I never thought I'd play with kids so much.

"Bubblegum, bubblegum in a Dish" has become 'old hat' to me once again.

lunch

We came out of the back exit of of the Forbidden City. Jack, Natlie, and I hop over the shadows the branches of the trees lining the street and sidewalk. People stare at us. We keep playing. People stare because I'm white and I'm walking with a blue-collar Chinese guy and a little Chinese girl. They're so confused.

We skip and jump over lines so we don't break each other's backs. Finally we come to our car. Our Beijing driver is standing next to it. He has a blue suit on and looks nice. He is smoking. I think that's the third cigarette I've seen him smoke today. And I haven't seen him all morning. He opens the door for me and it's hot in the car. But Natlie jumps in on the other side and is ready to play yet another game. Think, Adrienne. Make up another game. I've tapped all my creative juices. I'm out. We end up playing a clapping and snapping game as we ride.

The driver stops and we get out to eat at a sit-down restaurant. The walls are red and it feels Chinese. The waitress pours hot water to drink in our small teacups. Two drivers are sitting with a Chinese girl and a young white woman. This is very strange to others. These are lines no one crosses.

We eat sautéed eggs and tomatoes, lamb, beef, mushrooms, shrimp, cucumbers and carrots. Chopsticks fly across the table. Everyone's is getting satisfied.

Our Beijing driver smiles nicely. His smile sticks out from the rest of his face. He also doesn't have long fingernails which makes me like him much better. His accent is almost gurgly. He tells me, "No English." I try my Chinese on him. It doesn't work.

Natlie starts to cry. Her mouth hurts. She cries louder. We leave the restaurant. The waitress hands me some Barbie stickers to cheer up Natlie. Natlie stops crying and we pile into the little black car again.

Wall

A late flight into Beijing last night brought us to our home on the outskirts of the city around 9 pm. We have rooms in a designer home at The Commune. All the attendants wear thick woolen jackets that are buttoned right up the middle and have a breastpocket on the left side. Everyone wears stars. Even the cigarette sand in the lobby's ashtray was moved into the form of a star.

I looked outside the dining room window at about six this morning to the Great Wall off in the sunrise. It's golden among the green mountains.

Once Natlie was off to an arts and crafts lesson, Jack the driver and I went up to the wall. We walked and walked but it wasn't enough. I wanted to see more.

Up and down, steep and steady moments, all thick stone, thick bricks, thick walls make up the most strange and beautiful piece of art.

I wished so badly my family was there to see it with me.

The little girl I teach is not the same one I met back in February.

Natlie has round cheeks and red lips. Her dark head of hair wisps around her face and she has bangs in a straight line across her forehead. She is a pickle.

When I first came Natlie didn't speak much at all. Her body expressions and guttural sounds got her what she needed and made people laugh (even in Chinese). Now she sings, dances, makes jokes, and has even almost learned the art of laughing at herself.

She couldn't read at all the morning after I arrived. Now she's burning through Brother Bear books like wildfire. She soaks up every word - even phrases like "You silly girl" and "Oh my goodness". The other day we were playing a game where we threw the ball around and made up compliments. I said "Splendid", "Fabulous", and "Fantastic". She spurted out "Excellent". I gave her a hug.

I'm not taking credit for her success. She just needed someone to piece together the language she knows and someone to challenge her thinking and speaking.

It's gratifying though.

International Churches

Dave drove up in his white jeep. He's one of a few expats that actually drives in Shanghai. His wife sat in the front seat. We laughed and talked the whole ten minutes to church.

Trinity Church of Shanghai meets in Meg's house every Sunday. Meg has blonde hair and talks like an Iowan because she is one. Her house is palatial and serves well as a meeting place for the church. Elyn, our speaker, rushed in to the living room late this week. She threw on her white robe and colorful sash and rushed to the front of the room. With a sumptuous smile and sweet voice she welcomed everyone. And then we were off through a whole set of traditional hymns and liturgy. The message was short and to the point. All listeners paid close attention and made no sound.

I found this church through my cousin's friend who lives in Beijing. After two Sundays at the massive charismatic church on my side of town, I was ready for some meat.

I have yet to find that fleshy satisfying stuff.

The two churches are good. Two hospitable and godly families have really reached out to me. Last night, I spoke to Lee, a mother and expat here, about the lack of depth in all sermons I have heard at three different churches here. She thinks most people wish they could be deeper, more expository, and more refreshing. Nothing changes though, she said. We couldn't pin down exactly why people don't speak up or take action.

I'm beginning to think things might be different if not every expat here had a personal maid, child care service, driver, villa, delicious food, clothes. Money can make people close up in some ways. Money can build a wall between a man and others. Maybe it's the same with their Lord. Expats here don't talk about their feelings or their struggles. People with money are supposed to have those things under their thumbs because they have the ability to do everything they want.

Rich people still struggle though and yearn for the Lord just as much. I see pain written on my friend Lee's face.

I'm curious what most of you have to say about this though.

Joya

Joya and I see each other every Saturday morning when we drop off 'our' kids at arts and crafts class. We sit and wait together. But I don't just know her because we cross paths on Saturday mornings. Joya is also Portia's friend. Her husband is some sort of consultant, and they have two little boys. They also love the Lord.

Joya invites me over every so often for dinner, to learn Chinese, or teach English to her son. Unlike most of the wealthy women here, Joya is a homemaker. She cleans her house by herself, she watches over her boys, and she cooks for her family. It's not as if they can't afford a helper. And Joya has expressed some anxiety and frustration over her work. But she's set on raising her boys herself, even if it wears her out.

Last time I went over to her house, we ate delicious soup, rice, duck, pig ears, and mango. Kevin, the older son, prayed before we ate. His dad helped him with the words. Afterwards, her boys and I played with their transformer toys happily at the coffee table as their dad checked something on the internet. Joya played a piece by Chopin on the piano. And everyone was in a truly good mood. She sent me home with some leftover food. She always smiles and laughs at my dumb jokes.

Oh, and did I mention? Before she got married she lived in Italy because she was one of the top Taiwanese opera singers.

schedule

6:45 Thought I could sleep in but hear Natlie's voice in the room on the other side of my wall call my name.

8:30 Rush upstairs from playing to eat breakfast. I eat rice sesame balls every morning and I like them.

8:55 Pull on my shoes at the front door because, of course, I never wear my shoes inside anymore.

9:05 Hop off my bike and lock the wheel and run into Mandarin class.

11:55 Say good bye to my sweet Mandarin teacher, Calla. She has a big smile.

12:00 Bike home, passing construction workers with blue helmets and torn shoes. I also see some expats. They avoid eye contact.

1:00 Out for lunch with Portia, Natlie, the driver, and the nanny. We eat Thai on a terrace. Natlie isn't in school because it's spring break.

2:00 Playing four square outside with Natlie. It's warm and we take off our sweaters.

3:00 Natlie goes to get a haircut. I'm sent to watch the process. I stand awkwardly on the side because there's no where to sit.

5:00 Off to her English tutor's house, I'm free for a few hours.

7:30 Natlie comes home. We play a bean bag toss game and jump rope before she's goes to bed.

8:00 I sing "Good Night, Ladies" to Natlie as we close her bedroom door. It's her new favorite song - esp. the part where I go faster and faster with "Cheep a little, talk a little...".

till 11 I will write posts and work on a scholarship paper.

I'm busy in a totally different way than I have ever been in my whole life.

day trip

After a spectacular traditional Chinese dance show, the crowds pushed out of the doors and poured out into the cool night. Most of the tourists were countrymen. They smack their lips, hawk lugees, and push ever so intentionally at anyone in their way. Hungry, I looked up at Jack the driver to see what our plan was. He has knowing glances that imply whatever it is I need to know. I've learned to communicate this way with him since words get us no where. The "ay-ee" doesn't understand this. She speaks to me in fast Chinese and when I give a blank stare, she talks louder or she laughs. Most of the time she talks louder.

We sat at a well-lit little cafe in the tourist park and ordered dumplings and noodles. Four men with blue matching visors sat at the table as well. They stared at me as I clumsily attempted clamping down on a few stray noodles floating in my bowl of soup. One man pointed to my left hand. My hair, skin, face, clothes, and voice throw them off. And then I'm left-handed. I am really from the other side of the world to them.

Natlie gulped down her meal and wanted to go over to the pool of water nearby. People were trying to do fancy obstacle courses over water. A crowd was forming as teenage boys and young business men attempted lily-pad hopping. People cheered at success and laughed heartily when someone fell into the water. Everyone was a high schooler for a few minutes.

We walked through the park afterward heading for our car and a long ride home. All the round red Chinese lanterns had been lit and the moon was shining bright.

The World Expo

Watch the world expo video on Youtube. I don't have access to Youtube right now, but type in "China expo bid video" or something like that and watch the most beautiful footage of this city.

Then come here for the World Expo here next year.

cheap

I am at an intersection between four of the cheapest stores in Shanghai. It's rainy and all I can see from the bridge passover for pedestrians is a flood of umbrellas, poncho raincoats, and motorbikes. The slush under my feet is made up of mushy cigarette butts, flyers, and old street food. On my right vendors sell panty hose, wallets, combs, and mirrors. On my left, Emma guides me through the pack of customers.

We enter the shoe floor of one of the cheap stores and a group of solicitors descends upon the new prey. My hair color attracts salesmen like honey does flies. "Watch, purse, shoes. I have many good brand. Gucci...," he says like all the rest do. Emma stops when I look at a pair of brown peasant shoes. She asks the salesman if we can pay thirty kuai for the pair. That's five dollars. In Chinese he chases out of his store. We scamper away. We meekly arrive back later on and the man gives them to me for fifty kuai. He plants one foot in the ground and jammed the other down adjacent to the first, pouting over Emma's hard bargain. Emma tells me not to smile. He flips out a wad of cash from his back pocket and gives me my change. A cigarette hangs vertically out of his mouth. He is grumpy.

The store is spinning now. All the shoes look the same. Everything looks the same and it's swirling in front of my eyes. So we leave and get milky sweet drinks. Then in lieu of a taxi, we order a motorbike carrying a wagon to take us to the subway station. I wish I had a picture.

On the way home, Emma told me everything cost more today because of me. Even the drinks.

Serenity

"Behold, He has his eyes on those who fear him, on those who hope in his steadfast love."

Live now because the moment is His gift. Seize now - not because now will be gone later but - because now is a gift. Trust his steadfast love now. Be steady. Don't dive into 'now' with rose-tinted glasses. Fear Him, enjoy Him and seek His steadfast love now in whatever moment you live.

tender moment

Natlie tells me she never wants to play with me again sometimes. This happens completely unpredictably and without antagonization on my part. She's a capricious little girl - to say the least.

So today when she glared at me, stuck out her tongue, and snapped, "I'm never playing with you again," I retorted, "Well, I guess I'll tell your mom to send me home then." Her face fell. And she was honestly sad. She hugged me, and I held her for a few seconds. "Don't tell my mom to send you home, okay?"

If you took care of Natlie often too, this would make your day.