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Sometimes, I stand on the roof of this weird, corporate office building where I work, I stare out towards the mountains that I seldom see cause of the smog, and I ask myself what the hell I’m doing. I’m not meant to teach three year olds. I’m not someone who can put on that kind of show for very long. It feels like I’m a scam artist, but the only person I’m really playing is myself. This isn’t for me, and I’ll tell anyone who asks that I know it isn’t, but right now it’s what’s in front of me, so I know it’s what I have to do, and that’s always been who I am: someone who wakes up, regardless of how much sleep I got the night before, or how sick I feel, or what internal battle I’m grappling with: I get my ass out of bed and I do what I have to do. But damn it, sometimes I ask myself, did you come half way across the world to just be biding your damn time again until something better comes along, or did you come here to self actualize  and just, for once in your damn life, live in a moment and love it for what it is? I don’t know. I think I’m just not an educator. It’s not who I am, it’s not the road I’m meant to walk down. And the more people I ask here, the more I realize that most teachers in China don’t really want to be doing this, we just want to be in China, we just wanted to escape something, we just wanted to do something different, and with the majors we elected to pursue, this is about the most exciting thing we could find. 

For me, I didn’t come to China to escape. Maybe that was something I did without realizing it, but I came here because I knew there was nothing left in terms of my personal opportunity back home. And I think everyone thinks I did this really brave, prestigious thing, but the truth is, this is a job where they almost just want perky warm bodies, and if I really wanted to challenge myself, I would have gone for an international school. I’m underpaid, overworked, and I live like a broke ass college student. I appreciate when people say this is an accomplishment, but that’s giving me too much damn credit. This is more or less a comedy of errors. But here’s what I will say, I have no regrets, an anyone who talks to me will know that China has not been kind to me. I’ve been here for five months, and I’ve struggled with more real, life-at-stake kind of challenges than I ever experienced in the 24 years I lived in little Tampa. If I went back in time and told myself in detail how things would turn out my first few months, there is no way in hell I would have got on that plane. Chinese surgery? Twelve hour days back to back? The amount of money relocation actually ended up costing verses what was advertised? The air quality? The lack of... cleanliness? Yeah, I would have passed. But I’m always glad I can’t see the future, because I’m glad I’m here. 

When I was growing up, I always said that the only thing I ever wanted was the balls to speak for myself and self-confidence, and if this isn’t going to give me that, nothing is. I do shit in this country that I would never do back home. I go places, talk to people, and take chances that would get me in trouble back home, but here everything is fair game. I live in a city where I know very little of the native language, and somehow I still navigate my daily life. I have some nerve now. I have some major tolerance. The amount of bullshit you have to deal with on a daily basis is so maddening, that if you don’t become a bit stone hearted, it will kill you. I worry that when I go home someday, my habit of saying snarky comments to people, knowing they don’t understand will stick and someone will fight me. I also worry that this pushy place is making me a little cold hearted.  It’s hard to get by here if you’re timid. 

I don’t know how to explain Beijing to people. It’s not like anything else. I forget sometimes, having so many foreigner friends, that not many people have the balls to do this, and someday I’ll go home, and people around me will have no point of reference for understanding anything I’m talking about when I refer to the intricacies of life here. This way of life has become a part of who I am now, and the thought of going back home and having that slowly fade away as I settle back into the predictability of suburban life makes me shudder. 

So here is the two-edged sword. If you want to come here and have this experience, you have to sell out and do a job like this, where you hate your life for 40 plus hours a week, but the trade off is the visa sponsorship and the adventure. Do I think it’s worth it? Absolutely. Do I think there are better ways... yes. Not everyone feels like me and some people find gigs that they really click with. I’m a bit too free-spirited to be confined to this kind of thing. I need to find some kind of really exotic, non-contractual kind of traveling job if I’m ever going to really get the best of the word-traveler experience, People ask me why I don’t just leave. Everyone back home says I need to go back, but I can’t go back. For all it’s misery, I feel at home here. I can’t go back home. I think about it sometimes, when I’ve had a really bad day but then I realize... I don’t belong there anymore. I have a good life back home. I have a lot of friends that I miss, but the idea of being there, of that level of predictability... it’s not me anymore.  This is just the first stop for me, and if it somehow isn’t, I’ve done myself a major disservice. 

[christyinchina-blog1]

China Keeps Testing Me

I know I made a decision to blog and that I’ve been very neglectful of that of late, but diving into a place like China… it leaves you a little preoccupied with what’s in front of you. I think maybe that’s been the biggest gift about this place, as well as perhaps it’s burden. I came to Beijing with a lot of weight on my shoulders. There were so many things about my life that were plaguing me, things I knew I couldn’t fix, but I knew I needed distance from. I think if I went anywhere else, I would still be preoccupied and trapped inside my own head, but not in Beijing.    

This city wakes you up. This city takes you into its dark heart, ruthlessly tests you, and then keeps you in its grip. When you stare true poverty in the face, walk among the ill-kept streets, and become accustomed to the rough nature of the city, you face so many challenges on the daily that the bullshit you brought with you in an emotional back pack end up falling straight off your back, and you just open your eyes and push forward because if you don’t, this city will wreck you without a shred of guilt.

I’ve loved my experience in Beijing, but the truth is, it’s been hard as hell. I’ve been tested more in these last three months than I ever have in my entire life. I want to tell people that this is a great experience and that they should do it, but I can’t. This is not for everyone. I you can’t go without, if you can’t take every day with a go-with-the-flow or whatever attitude, this place is not for you. China is a rough place for a spoiled foreigner. Everything is difficult. Everything is a challenge. The adventure isn’t in the sight-seeing, it’s in the getting by. It’s in the perilous navigation of everyday life.

I’m about three months into my time here. I spent the entire first month in training and finally got into my own classes in August. It was a tough month because I had to cover a lot of other people’s classes and my load was really intense for being new to the job, but I got by. I put my head down that month and really didn’t think about much, other than pushing forward.

I’ve been very fortunate to have met many good friends who helped me through the entry phase. If you ever come to Beijing, make friends. That’s the only way you survive. If you can’t ask for help, stay home. I’ve struggled with this because I like to be independent, but here you need help sometimes. Not speaking Chinese is a bitch. I’m trying to crash course learn, but it isn’t easy because, while Beijing is a Chinese city, there’s just enough English that you naturally use it as a crutch. I’m trying so hard to rid myself of that habit.

My experience here has been interrupted by an unexpected medical leave. I went to the doctor and was told I had a golf-ball sized cyst and that it had to come out immediately. Being my stubborn self, I tried to put it off, but I started having severe pain at work, so I knew it was time to bite the bullet and just go.

The problem with being sick in China is that scheduling procedures is a little tricky. I went around in circles with the insurance, hospital, and my own doctor until I just broke down and conscripted someone to make the appointment for me.

The Chines hospital, my friends, is not for the faint of heart. I went to the international department, the implication being that there would be English spoken, and yes there was, but not to the quality you’d like if you’re about to have an operation. There was so much me not knowing what the hell was going on. They made me do tons of tests, but they didn’t really tell me why. They didn’t tell me when I was having my operation. I just went where they led me, did what I was told, and wondered what the hell would happen next.

I wanted to get frustrated with the situation, but I just kept two things in mind. One: if I was back in America, there is no fucking way I could afford this operation. Two: I’m in China and I don’t speak their language. It’s my own fault that I’m having communication barriers. I can’t get mad because, unless I want to live in an aggressive state of denial. I knew what the hell I was getting myself into.

After a whole day of tests, they admitted me to the hospital, and I had no idea that I was being admitted. Somehow, I just ended up in a room with a band on my wrist (that said my name was Christ and not Christy. Hahaha!) and I was like… oh shit, what the hell is happening next?

The doctor comes in and insists that I am in a delicate condition and I can’t leave. Well, I hadn’t planned to stay, so I literally had nothing with me. They insisted I could not leave, so I had to argue with them that, fine I would stay if they insisted (not that it was at all necessary) but I needed to go home first. They decided to operate on me the next day, so I went home, got provisions, and came back.

I’ll spare everyone the details of the operation prep, because it was not pretty. If you want to know, just google laparoscopic cyst removal surgery, cause I am not about to write anything about that nasty bullshit. It was a pretty intense night, being alone in the hospital. I’m sure people would have come with me if I asked, but I hate making a fuss about things, and I just needed to be alone and figure it out.

The next day, I had the operation. I was so calm about it; I don’t even know how I did it. Everyone I tell about this freaks out when I say I was put under in China. I had a friend come with me because they won’t operate without someone else there. I told my friend to not let them pull the plug on me. She was impressed at how completely unaffected I seemed that I was about to get operated on. I haven’t lost my cool since I first got to China, and I promised myself that I was going to be strong after my first week. I kept my promise.

It was so weird because, rather than letting me walk to the operation room, they made me get on a bed, wrapped me up in blankets like a taco, and wheeled me across the hospital like I was a corpse. It was stupid in my opinion and everyone looked at me funny because I was a foreigner.

When I got to the operation room, it was kind of freaky because literally no one spoke a word of English. The anesthesiologist put the oxygen mask on me, but they didn’t have the oxygen on! So I was breathing nothing and tore it off. She, annoyed with me, shoved it back on me. Then, I guess she realized it wasn’t on, so she turned it on and I gasped for air, and I took this huge breath of straight inhalation anesthesia. I remember the sensation of my lungs burning as I was gone in a second.

When I woke up, I was coherent. I always come out of anesthesia so strong. I wasn’t groggy at all. I was complaining to the staff because they kept stabbing my artery for an oxygen sample. They missed 7 times, I am not kidding, before I screamed at them to leave me alone, because for the love of god, I can breathe. They gave me a shot of morphine to shut me up.

They had no idea what to do with me. All the other people in the recovery room were out and I was running my sassy mouth in broken Chinese. Eventually, they wheeled me back into the room. They had me hooked up to so many machines, it was so unnecessary. EKG, blood pressure, pulse checker, oxygen, some stuff I don’t understand, and an IV. I was stuck like that for 25 hours and I made it known that I was unhappy.

The hospital was so weird. The nurses always came to check on me in groups. Like, twelve nurses at a time! I have no idea why. They’d come take my temperature, then leave me with the thermometer for over an hour before they would take it. I literally have no idea why.

           I asked for some kind of pain medicine, because I had four incisions and could hardly move, but they were so insensitive. They wouldn’t even give me ibuprofen! Lucky I had some in my bag, but you’d think a hospital would be more sympathetic.

           I pressed the matter because I was seriously miserable and they got so fed up with me that a nurse came in and, without even asking me, just stabbed me in the leg with a shot of some painkiller. I helped for about 20 min before I finally got them to IV me some ibuprofen. Seriously! The Chinese hospital acts like no one has ever wanted pain medication before!

           I hated staying there. The staff was so profoundly unhelpful. I had to be proactive about insisting on getting food, else they’d have just let me starve to death. I stayed there two days and when it was done, I was so ready to leave.

           It’s not like it is back home. The doctor came in the day I was going to leave, literally tore my bandages off my incisions with so much force that I almost screamed, and then was like “go home and take a bath.” No after care instructions. No information on when to follow up. No notice of when I can go back to work. Nothing. So I just left. In an American hospital, they would have wheeled me out to a wheelchair and made sure someone took me home, I literally just got up and waddled out of the hospital, then hunted a cab down to take me home.

           My overall opinion of the hospital is that, if you need it, it isn’t awful, but do not expect any compassion and just suck it up, because it’s going to suck.

           I recovered well. I’ve been taking it easy the last week or so. Surgery in China is a bit of a mind fuck, but I think it’s given me some serious perspective on so many things. I just feel lucky, that’s all. Beijing might want me dead, but it’s been good to me. I would have probably had this cyst rupture if I was back home, because at least in China, you get tests back immediately, rather than having to go through our bullshit system where you have to wait weeks to interpret an ultrasound that can literally be read on the spot. If I’d had to wait that long, there is a serious chance that I would have had to deal with major internal bleeding. I really can’t complain about any of this, even though the whole thing was a complete cluster fuck.

           The really sad thing about this is that I had to come to China to get my health concerns addressed. Even with insurance, getting the appointments I needed were almost always damn near impossible back home. I can go see the doctor in such a timely manner here. It’s inexpensive. It’s usually decent care. Yeah, the hospital as a little shady, but my primary care is fantastic. What the hell is wrong with America that I feel more comfortable in a city that can’t figure out basic plumbing and electrical wiring getting my health addressed than I do back in the good old USA? These are the real questions.

           China has made me feel very fortunate. Whatever disdain I have for my current situation, it’s not nearly as bad as what the Chinese people deal with. I get exceptional coverage through my company, but the average Chinese person… I caught one glimpse of the Chinese side of the hospital when taking all my tests, and let’s just say it isn’t a place I will ever return to voluntarily.

           I’m one of the rich in this country, and I live like crap by American standards. This is the kind of perspective China has given me that I’m never going to lose. I just look at everything now and think: it’s really not that deep.

[christyinchina-blog1]

Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff

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First Week in China

It takes a special kind of person to just decide on day, “you know what! I’m going to move to China!” I never thought I’d be that kind of person, but here I am. I’ve been in China for a week now. It feels pretty surreal and almost everything, every day is a new experience. I feel like my whole life from now on will be separated by a line dividing who I was before I got on the plane and who I am now that I’ve stepped off. I’ve lived in Florida for my entire life. I liked to think I was worldly because I travelled when I could, but I never went anywhere that wasn’t under the umbrella of the American/western perspective. Just this week has shown me that there is so much more to learn about both the world and myself. 

I accepted an offer to work as an English teacher with Disney English. I took the offer on a whim, but spent months deliberating over if it was really something I could go through with. For a while, I was dead set against it. A huge part of why I accepted the offer in the first place was just because I wasn’t sure what to do next. There were so many avenues to go down, but at the same time I felt like I was facing a dead end. For this reason, I thought going to China was a bad idea. Moving to the other side of the world because you simply don’t know what else to do seems awful impulsive, but the more I thought about it, the more I found myself saying, “What the hell! Just get on the plane.” The only thing to fear is failing, and I’ve never done that. I don’t plan to start in China. Failure is perspective anyway. I know I’ll miss home, but home will still be there. Everything tries to control your fate. Fear shouldn’t be what gets the final say.

I sat in the terminal in Tampa a week ago, watching my last sunrise in the US, knowing I wouldn’t see one again for over a year. The plane flew over the ice caps, into the day that lasted forever. The sun didn’t set for me until I landed in Beijing, almost 20 hours of daytime later. Since then, I’ve lived on a 12 hour opposite schedule from everyone back home. I’ve met so many new, amazing people, I’ve trudged through a TEFL course, ate at tons of new places, made a total fool of myself in front of Chinese people, learned to navigate the subways, and climbed the Great Wall. This last week feels like a year.

I always thought I was adventurous, but so many of the people I’ve met have been all over the world. I thought I was smarter than most, but I keep meeting people who know so much more than me. I thought I was stronger than most, but I’ve met people who have done so much more with their twenty-something years than I could have ever imagined. Before I left, I kept asking myself if leaving home was really what I wanted to do. Now I keep asking myself why I waited so long! Why did I buy into this idea that leaving the country was so dangerous? Why did I let everyone else’s misconceptions become my own? I feel so free here in Beijing. It’s like my eyes have opened for the first time.

I grew up absorbing the stereotypes about the Chinese people. The main take away I have from my first week here is that people are all different, but in so many ways, we are all the same. The culture, the language, and many aspects of life are different here, but it isn’t so different that I can’t understand it. People here just want to get by, to be happy, and to live in peace, just like back home. Everyone likes to say that they’re progressively moving in this direction of universal understanding, but we still live in a world that tries ceaselessly to oversimplify anyone and everything different with labels. Everything people have told me about Chinese people before coming here is wrong. Everywhere I go, people try to help me if I need it (even if they don’t understand me). There are differences in Chinese culture, and yeah, I make a lot of mistakes and embarrass myself, but this idea that Chinese people are cold and lacking in individuality can’t be carelessly assigned to a massive segment of the world’s population. Living in Beijing is in many ways similar to living at home, except that public transportation is awesome, public safety is great, and food is cheap (among many other differences/similarities, of course). 

I have so much more to learn about China and I am beyond excited that I decided to do this. I can’t wait to find an apartment, get started with my job, and be able to write intelligently on what it’s really like to life here in China.

It turns out, I am the kind of person who just decides to move across the world. Who knew?