It doesn’t surprise me. According to the Myers-Briggs personality ‘thing’ (read: assessment), I test clearly into the idealist camp.

In short summary, an ‘idealist’ is one who strives for romance. Yet romance refers to much, much more than simply the context of a love-relationship. An idealist longs for the romance of work, the romance of school, the romance of life. In other words, this type of person embellishes the ordinary to make it beautiful and… ideal.

As a child, this mindset makes for an incredibly happy time. As your imagination runs wild in vivid images and scenarios, you can literally enter your idealized world.

And then there comes the time when, suddenly, you stop playing.

I remember it—I was 12 years old. A friend of mine was at my house and we were busy playing out our favorite scenarios. (These usually revolved around us being Indian princesses and living in tree castles, complete with bike ‘horses’.)

And in the midst of playing, I realized the luster of our games were gone.

We weren’t really princesses. Or Indians. And there was no castle in our tree. And bummer, our bikes weren’t horses.

And in that moment, I graduated to a new type of idealism– one more in tune with reality but still markedly romantic.

I guess an outward manifestation of this grown-up idealism would be high standards for life. Granted, all personalities have a tendency towards high standards—but idealists are special. These ideals are accompanied by a vivid picture of what this looks like. I would venture to say that if you asked most idealists to describe their standards, they would pause, studying the strikingly-clear picture of the ideal in their minds—and then, they would imperfectly use words to describe it to you. The description would fall far short of the ideal, but it’s the best they can do.

This can make life really, really hard.

Because as beautiful and clear as the pictures in our heads are, life rarely matches the ideal.

Work should be satisfying and fulfilling and leave us exhausted in the best way possible.

But in reality, we’re stuck working retail or food service or paperwork. And while we’re discussing work, the waitress in the diner rarely finds love the way it’s portrayed in the movies.

People shouldn’t just leave us—they shouldn’t withdraw from us after years and years of shared experiences. They shouldn’t just disappear.

But they do.

Churches shouldn’t dismiss beloved leaders because they fail to meet predetermined expectations. There shouldn’t be cliques, where some are included and others excluded based on how entertaining or interesting someone is.

But this happens.

Many people have told me to simply get over these perfected hopes and embrace reality.

“Life isn’t perfect.”

Well, yeah. And I tried for years to become more realistic. As a result I became cynical.

And then six months ago, I read a book about heaven. It talked about the new earth, renewed and healed. And it talked about heaven coming down to this perfected earth and being reunited at last. The writer dreamed about how perhaps we would not only recognize beloved places on this earth (now new and fresh), but be dazzled by the revealed beauty of it all.

In a word, heaven and the new earth will be the idealized forms of our present world.

So in light of this vision for the future, perhaps idealists are not so much unfit for this world as they are dreaming and imagining the next one.

I guess they are just longing for heaven.

courtesy of Andrew Chen@andrewchenblog.com

Throughout my life, I’ve prided myself on being rather disciplined. My sister might scoff at that definition of myself, given her usually-correct assessment of my cleaning habits. However, when it comes to work or school, I am the model student and employee. I complete my assignments not merely on-time, but often days and week ahead of schedule. Furthermore, they are impeccably researched and grammatically correct. And I took great satisfaction in the fact that my papers were (usually) unique—I was not content to merely complete the assignment; I strove for my own perspective.

All that to say, I initially approached my post-college blog with the same intensity and discipline as my college papers—blog in a timely manner on interesting subjects in a unique manner.

In China, I usually felt like I had accomplished my goal. Granted, sometimes I would be late on a blog post (unnoticeable to my facebook friends, but it nagged at me!). But I was always happy with my subject and content. My topics were interesting, I thought to myself. I had a unique angle on daily life, I would think as I posted my article.

More importantly, in China I had inspiration. I felt I could easily write 700 words on a single event. I never felt I lacked for a topic—everything held interest and possibility for expounding and for adding my own personal touch.

I felt like that inspiration that gushed out of every facet of my life in China came to a screeching halt upon my return to the United States.

I found myself unable to write about anything. Nothing was interesting or blog-worthy. Sometimes I would have a thought that I felt would be worth trying to write about—but the only result would be a 300-word rambling journal entry worthy of William Faulkner.  Part of the ease of writing in China is the novelty of daily life in a place so different from home—therefore, the inverse of the situation (ie, writing at home in Florida) should not surprise me with its difficulty.

Therefore, I resolved to chill out. Not worry about writing every week. Not worry about whether my lack of blog topics really reflected my depleted thought-life (eek!).

Just chill. Just take in all the adjustments of coming home. Simply be at home.

And if a great blog post comes out of that, so be it.

And if it doesn’t, I’ll just eat another of my sister’s cookies and continuing chilling until the faucet of inspiration turns itself on again.

And I never understood it.

As a true liberal arts girl, I thrive in the humanities side of the unviersity.  But the instant the conversation turns to stocks, investments, portfolios or the Dow Jones Industrial, I am lost. Don’t get me wrong, I am a great pretender—I know just enough to keep a conversation alive and you might truly believe I understand your detailed explanation of your favorite Fortune 500 company.

But I don’t.

Therefore, when the bottom fell out of the economy (if a ‘spirit’ has a ‘bottom’!), I merely shrugged my shoulders and went on reading my Russian history book. To me, this problem seemed far away, centered in New York and Washington.  Furthermore, I associated economic downturns with dramatic events—picture the black-and-white photos of soup lines from the Great Depression or people who had defaulted on a loan foreclosing on their homes. These circumstances were so removed from me. I was convinced the ‘Economy Spirit’ wouldn’t notice me.

Fast forward a year later. I returned home from a teaching job in China to the highest unemployment rate in years and to the worst economy in decades.  I applied for nearly twenty jobs and got only one interview—to be a spa receptionist at a local hotel, folding towels and cleaning the pool area.

Oh, the ‘Economy Spirit’ had indeed found me.

It came not in the form of a foreclosed home or a lost job. It came not as finding myself homeless or in debt.

It came to me as a twenty-three year old with two Bachelor degrees, living at home with her parents once again.

Talk about a change of plans.

Most people would never say that spending six months in China was a waste of time. But for me, having originally planned on spending a year or so here, six months can seem both incredibly long and short. Long, because I adjusted to a brand-new city and intense job by myself, all while missing someone. Short, because I like China and I would love to really live here.

A decision this big requires thoughts upon thoughts upon thoughts and reasons galore.
In the interest of explaining my decision and clarifying it for myself, I’ll break down the decision accordingly.

1) I discovered I didn’t like teaching.

I truly thought I loved teaching. In college, I had taught some English classes and had helped my mom out by teaching some debate skills to her middle-schoolers. Therefore, I thought landing a full-time job as a teacher would be great. Wrong. So wrong. I hated teaching—I hated planning lessons for classes that were too big and too long. I felt stressed beforehand and exhausted afterward. This was my first kick to consider doing something else after my contract ended.

2) I was lonely.

Honestly, for many years I preferred doing things by myself—eating a long, traveling alone, being alone. Yet, after a particularly poignant summer experience on an archeological dig in the Czech Republic with some amazing classmates, I realized that I loved experiencing life with other people. After that time two years ago, having fun times by myself was not so appealing as before. Therefore, this time in China has been great—but lonely. Even with some sweet students and one other foreign teacher, I was very lonely. This was the second realization that I could make a different choice after my contract ended.

3) I had an great option.

Had my circumstances been different, I would have done several things—I could have found a different teaching job, closer to the center of the city. Or I could have switched cities entirely, to Beijing or Shanghai. But the fact was I had a sweet boyfriend on a different continent—and since we had begun dating nine months earlier, I had only seen him two times. Furthermore, I realized that I had made a huge decision to move half-way around the world to live with 1.3 billion Chinese people, all the while moving half-a-world-away from the one Chinese boy I wanted to see. Slowly, this decision that had seemed so straightforward at first began to feel very misguided.

4) Peace.
I hate choices and I hate decisions—I love options and possibilities. Therefore, as I was faced with two excellent choices for the next year of my life (1. Move to Tuscaloosa or 2. Stay in Changsha), I was an absolute basket case. As Jiang can attest, on webcam I was melancholy, conflicted and melodramatic. As my parents could tell you, I was up-down-all-around with regards to what the best decision would be. Finally, the night before I had to make a final decision concerning a great job offer here in Changsha, I spent four hours on Gchat with my dad. He quizzed me about the possibilities and asked me which decision I had peace about. Peace? Frankly, neither decision was giving a ton of peace. Yet as I considered both options more, I realized that my deepest inclination was leading me towards Tuscaloosa. I made the decision, rejected the job offer and felt my soul flooding with peace.

There are more reasons than this, of course. But these are main reasons for leaving China after six months.

Amazing what you’ll do for a boy, huh? :)

At the beginning of this semester,  I was given my schedule of Spring classes.

Somehow, the head of the English Department decided that an American girl with BAs in History and Chinese would be the best person to teach Business English.

Lol, right?

So this semester I have taught four sections of Business English—yet instead of being my least favorite classes, these periods and students are my absolute favorite.

Each section of Business English contains around forty students—I plan one lesson and teach it four times to four different groups of students.  It is often monotonous, teaching the same material over and over. Yet today was a perfect example of how two groups of students can receive the same instruction, but respond in completely different ways.

The students in my first class on Monday are talkative. Of all the groups, this class asks the most questions, volunteers the most answers and is the most willing to try out new vocabulary or grammar.  Therefore, during today’s *exciting* lesson on reading and describing graphs, this group enjoyed taking turns describing the trends on the various charts and practicing using the words ‘dramatically plunged’ in a sentence. Indeed, when I am explaining new vocabulary or grammar, there is always an undercurrent of murmuring, as students mumble their own sentences using the words.  When the time came for them to create their own charts, they completed their various graphs comparing the size and cost of 包子 in 2009 to the ‘dramatically rising!’ cost of their morning snack in 2011.  In this class, however, their descriptions of the graphs was more important than the graph itself. The graph they drew was merely an accessory to what they were saying—they did not care to draw their chart on the board. To explain it to their classmates was sufficient—and it took less time! Apparently in this class, words are everything!

Noting how much time the discussion and vocabulary sections took in the first class, I naturally assumed the second class would have a similar time table. Wrong. So wrong. I had forgotten that this class is the pensive class, always listening intently and carefully processing what I am telling them. Therefore, during the vocabulary explanation, there is dead silence in the classroom, as their eyes dutifully read the PPT slide. During the discussion and practice sections, I have to call out students to tell me their opinions and answers. When it came time for this class to create their own graphs, I was worried that this final section would only take ten minutes of the remaining thirty minutes of class time (as it had in the last class). However, I soon realized that in this class to understand is everything. As the first group came to present their graphs to the class, one of the students began carefully drawing a large version of their chart on the blackboard. The next group followed suit, until I realized that every single group in that class was preparing to painstakingly draw a detailed graph on the board. Suddenly, the thirty minutes remaining for class seemed very short.

One lesson plan. Two very different results, once again reminding me that individual students (and their temperaments!) make up a class.

It began as an ordinary class period.

Well, perhaps not so ordinary. The mood of these twenty-seven students was particularly enthusiastic, seeing as they had been hand-picked to participate in this special oral English class. I had been impressed throughout the first half of the class by their eagerness to participate in any activity I proposed. I began to feel I might actually leave this class feeling energized, rather than exhausted by an hour and a half of dragging answers out of nervous minds.

Therefore, when I began handing out topics for impromptu speeches, I was not disappointed. The students gave original and creative answers to my rather unorthodox impromptu topics (such as, ‘pencil’ and ‘water’ and ‘mountains’). For the first time all semester, my students were inspiring me.

Then I handed the topic of ‘cell phones’ to one of my female students. I gave her thirty seconds to prepare and then waited for her speech.

She began talking about cell phones in a normal way—they are useful for communication, they help you to be safe when you are alone, etc. And then she said, “I love cell phones because I can call my mom everyday—my mom has leukemia.”

The class was silent. I was silent. She was crying. Never in my wildest dreams had I ever anticipated that an impromptu topic would bring my student to tears. She continued talking for her allotted minute and then sat down, still crying softly.

I am a huge fan of tears and crying. I think it is therapeutic for the soul—tears are the outward expressions our hearts’ inner voice. And yet as my student was crying in front of her twenty-seven classmates, I felt a bit at a loss. What was I to do? How should I respond? As a teacher, and specifically as a foreign teacher, I felt quite out of water. I let her classmates comfort her and continued the activity with the next student.

As the class continued, I had two revelations.

1. It is not always necessary to hug a crying person.
We often see crying as the expression of hurt and pain and sadness that should be fixed with a hug. However, I am extremely awkward in giving hugs to people I don’t know very well, ie, my Chinese students. Therefore, as I stood there watching her cry, I realized that what she needed from me was my confident, safe presence. She needed to know that in my class, she could cry and that I was not afraid of her tears.

2. Everything is more complicated than you think.
By the end of my contract at this college, I will have taught nearly 2000 students. Therefore, I admit that sometimes my students blend together—one student with black hair and ‘Chinese’ eyes can get lost in the sea of one hundred students with black hair and ‘Chinese’ eyes. I can often feel that I am teaching to a group, rather than to individuals. And yet, situations like this remind me that each student has complicated issues and challenging circumstances that are hidden deep inside them—and sometimes, it just takes a blond foreign teacher to dissolve the walls.

Later that night, the girl messaged me online to apologize for ‘disrupting’ the class with her personal stories. But I went to sleep that night with a new appreciation for tears—and with a deep respect for this shy student from the countryside who was brave enough to weep in front of her friends.

The other day, one of my students asked me if I was 混血儿，or a person with a mixed ethnic heritage. I paused, and answered that most people from the United States have diverse ethnic backgrounds, including me. But upon further questioning, I realized she was really asking me if one of my parents were Chinese!  Aside my obvious facial features that scream I am of mainly European descent, I was confused at where her questions originated. Did she think my bone structured resembled someone from Xinjiang or did me speaking with her in Chinese temporarily mask my Western features? Your guess is as good as mine and I walked away from the conversation giggling that someone could possibly believe that I had a Chinese parent. However, the conversation did make me think about how one adapts to the places they live.  Even while living as an obvious foreigner in China (at least to myself, it’s obvious!), I have certainly picked up habits and expressions from the Chinese people I am with everyday.

1. “It’s a pity.”

When I first arrived in China, I heard this expression in every single class. Everything bad was ‘a pity’, from the rainy weather to my not knowing how to cook Chinese food to the red mud covering the roads on campus.  Initially, the overuse of this phrase annoyed me—then I began to realize how incredibly useful and versatile it was! Within a week of arriving in China, I had begun to describe the stress my students were under or the length of the bus ride to town in terms of ‘what a pity’ these things were.

2. Using “It’s good/bad for your health” as a reason for anything.

My Chinese students are always full of advice for me. Whether it’s to wear more clothes when it’s cold, drink more water, eat more tomatoes or to never, never eat bananas and yogurt for breakfast, they always are quick to offer suggestions to better my life. However, whenever I ask for the reasoning behind their advice, the answer is usually the same: it’s either good or bad for your health. Over the weeks, I have found myself also using this reasoning when chatting with my students. I will advise my girls to ‘at least eat just a little at breakfast’ because it’s good for your health. Or, as one of the other teachers jokingly did on a particularly fine spring day, text some students that ‘the weather is warm today, you should wear less clothes!’ because it’s good for your health.

3. Being a bit pushy at the vegetable counter.

As Americans, we’re taught from a young age to wait your turn in line. However, in China, that behavior will have you waiting in line for fifteen minutes at the vegetable counter to get your veggies weighed and paid for. A much better method is the Chinese method. Angle yourself towards the scale; when the vegetables currently on the scale are picked up by their purchaser, quickly sling YOUR bag on the scale. Timing is crucial – and be not fooled. Even if you have more than one bag of vegetables, you must repeat this practice of skillfully claiming your spot in front of the scale. Otherwise, someone else will butt in on your turn.

In spite of student’s musing that I might have one Chinese parent, the fact remains that I will never be Chinese. However, given a little time in China and some adaptation to local habits, I could possibly one day pass for a at least a local foreigner.

If I got a yuan for every time someone called me ‘beautiful’ or ‘inspiring’ or ‘so smart’, I would be a very wealthy woman.

However, I find the Chinese people can be very hard on themselves. Perhaps it comes from years of China trying ‘catch up’ to the west, or from constantly comparing themselves to the United States or other western nations. Especially for younger Chinese, they seem unable to imagine themselves as anything but sub-par to any Westerner they meet.

Therefore, this post’s goal is to list all the very cool things about Chinese people (and there are many such things!) To put a little twist on things, I will use the very adjectives my Chinese students use to describe foreigners to describe Chinese people.

1. Fashionable.

Americans (or Westerners) are so fashionable to all my students. Yet if you were to take a look at my classes, at least half of my girl students arrive at 8AM in high heels, studded with rhinestones. The half that aren’t wearing high heels are wearing very cute, colorful shirts or have adorable accessories in their hair. Outside the classroom, the fashion sense of younger Chinese is just as obvious—when climbing Yuelu Moutain, I was surprised to notice many women hiking in high-heeled boots, cute, bedazzled jackets and shiny earrings. I pointed out to my students the contrast between what they were wearing and what I was wearing—tennis shoes, a black, zip-up jacket and pair of jeans. I don’t think my students saw my point :D

2.Beautiful

I think Chinese girls are very beautiful for the same reasons they think I am beautiful—their eyes. The standard comment in China regarding Westerner’s eyes is how wide and colorful they are. The color point, I understand—Chinese people’s eyes are mainly brown. But the shape of Chinese eyes are stunning! In fact, more I am friends with my students, I think that is the most attractive feature of the Chinese, or Asian, ethnicity. I wish my students could see themselves this way!

3. Open-minded.

This point can be either a compliment or a negative, depending on how you take it.  My Chinese students identify the west with being ‘open-minded’, presumably regarding political ideas, sexual standards, etc.  However, many of my students have seen TV shows and movies that I will never watch because of their content, for example, the numerous romps of Gossip Girls or the intensity of Black Swan. So as far as being ‘open-minded’ regarding media or entertainment, I think it’s half and half.

4. Strong

In the opinion of many Chinese, Americans, and specifically, American boys, are strong. Yet, when I go out on a typical afternoon in China, I see many examples of the physical strength of Chinese people. Have you ever had to stand on a swerving, bumpy bus for an hour with a bag full of vegetables and cooking oil while texting on your cell phone? And then, upon getting off the bus, walk the quarter-mile back to your apartment—and possibly, up five or more flights of stairs? You see my point. And I am a wimp.

I could go on about the merits of Chinese people. But for now I leave you with this picture that I creepily took from my balcony of two grandparents playing with their grandsons. It’s really blurry, but you can still see–you can’t pay people to be this happy.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

I waved my fist at the window as one of my students gave her presentation. This particular Monday was the daddy of all manic Mondays. Our electricity and water had been turned off unexpectedly on Saturday night and had not been restored on campus by class time on Monday—hence, the PPT I had painstakingly created was useless in a classroom without power. No worries, I thought to myself. Usually the classes you have to ‘improvise’ turn out the best anyway. Bring on spontaneous creativity!

Improvisation works in most situations—however, even the most quick-thinking teacher is no match for the incessant ‘thump’ of the construction on campus.

Our college, Hunan First Normal University, has two campuses—the old and the new. Slowly but surely, the college leaders are trying to build enough buildings fast enough to eventually move all the students to the new campus on the outskirts of Changsha.  They are progressing nicely, construction-wise. They are failing miserably, however, in the ‘creating an effective teaching environment’ department.

My classes have an average of 45 students in them.  My voice amplification ability is in proportion to my body size— in other words, the furthest distance my voice naturally travels is around five feet from me. Any farther than that require effort from my vocal chords. I can gain the attention of my class, but it take effort, even in the quietest of environments.

Enter the incessant thumping and banging of the construction crews across the street from my classroom building. They are in the early stages of constructing a new music building and have been for the past two weeks constantly forcing long concrete pipes into the ground to serve as support structures for the new hall. The result is that during my class time, there are numerous five-minute periods of ‘Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.’  No less than five times have I stared daggers out the window, hoping to silence the construction crews with the energy from my frustration.

Let’s add a third noise element to this teaching environment – fireworks. I love color and therefore, I love fireworks. However, my enthusiasm for this loud and colorful display is nothing compared to the Chinese culture’s love and application of fireworks. As Jiang explained to me today, “We like fireworks. If there is a happy time, we use fireworks. If there is a sad time, we do fireworks.” I have noticed this trend in China of using fireworks to celebrate life’s holidays—and this weekend is an important Chinese holiday. Therefore, the sound of firecrackers and fireworks also joined the duet of student chatter and construction noise in my classroom.  At 8:30AM—at 10:20AM—at 11:38AM, the ‘pop’ and ‘tsst’ and ‘clppp’ of various fireworks added yet another layer of noise of my classroom environment.

I left class exhausted. The normal student buzz, combined with the ever-annoying banging of the construction crews and the holiday use of fireworks left my vocal chords numb.

I like my classes and I love my students. But this noise has got to go.

While living in China these six weeks, I laugh at how often my mind wanders to the magical and convenient world of Harry Potter.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the brilliant story of Harry Potter or have not seen the not-quite-as-brilliant-but-still-cool series of movies, I will explain the key parts of this series that will allow you to read this blog entry. First, the magical world of Harry Potter is just that, magical, and possesses characteristics unknown to ours—ie, the ability to use a wand to move objects, the bending of body and space to travel between places or the capability of wands and charms to transform things or people. It’s quite cool. And convenient.

The following is a list of the most useful skills, charms or potions for living in China, as I recall them from the Harry Potter books. (Seeing as Harry Potter is not available for a Kindle download, please excuse my mistakes in any particulars:)

1. Apparition

Apparition is a form of transportation that allows a person to travel instantly wherever they want to go, provided that they focus intensely on the place.  Every day from around 5pm- 9pm, the buses in Changsha become extremely crowded. If you are so fortunate as to actually board the bus, you quickly realize that it will require double the trouble to get off the bus at your desired destination. I do not mind so much that my American bubble of personal space is infringed upon as much as I mind this anxiousness associated with getting off the bus.  How often have I closed my eyes and determinedly focused on the empty space at the bus stop near my university, hoping to hear a ‘pop’ and a ‘snap’ and to discover I have apparated outside!

2. Polyjuice Potion

This complicated potion takes weeks to prepare and allows you transform (for a time) into the image of another person. (The potion, therefore, requires a bit of the person you want to look like, such as a hair or nail clipping). When I first came to China, I was surprised to find that due to my blonde-haired, green-eyedness, I felt really self-conscious in the Chinese public eye. No matter what I was doing, walking down the street, buying groceries or merely waiting for the bus, my appearance alone would attract good-natured stares and glances from every one passing me. Normally, this is just fine, however, there are some days when I wish I could just drink some polyjiuce potion and be a Chinese girl for a brief time.

3.  Invisibility Cloak-

This one is obvious—you wear the cloak, you become invisible. I would actually prefer this to the polyjiuce potion. Then, I could sit and observe the people around me without appearing creepy. Or blonde. Or foreign.

4.  A Firebolt

The Firebolt is the fastest broomstick around! Crossing the street in front of our school can sometimes terrify me. There are five lanes of traffic, occupied by taxis, construction vehicles, motor bikes, city buses, and the slow-moving, circa 1960s army truck— and sometimes, they drive on the incorrect side of the road! My usual strategy is to wait for some Chinese students and strategically follow them across the street. But I think I would always prefer riding my Firebolt across 枫林三路。

5.   Wingardium Leviosa Charm

This is a charm that makes things float in the air. This would be quite useful for the days I go to the supermarket and forget I have to carry home all the things I buy by myself. If I could suspend my cooking oil, soy sauce, and bag of apples in the air as I walked the quarter-mile back to my apartment, I would be a happy woman.

In conclusion:

…if I could only just wiggle my nose and make it so. (Oops— Bewitched.)