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#in middle school when my friends called me an overachiever and the whole culture at school just making it seem like a bad thing
kuiinncedes · 2 years
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love getting distracted during lecture overthinking the shit out of something probably no one will actually notice/think about/care about 🤪😍
#liike i gotta go back and do most of the lecture notes bc i lowkey stopped paying attention sldkghf#wait i drafted a text to my friend that i haven't sent bc i didn't wanna dumb this block of words on her if she doesn't want to hear it#about what i was overthinking what i am overthinking but like less now lol#for context if anyone cares lol we have winter set for glowstick club and it was kinda chaotic everyone signing up at practice tuesday#and i made an impulsive decision that i wanted to sign up for two songs bc one of them is glowsticking/stringing and one is#with another prop and i wanna explore the props yaknow#*clears throat* here is my drafted text lmaoo#Is it dumb that I’m like overthinking signing up for two winter songs so much XD#not really even for like concerns about like being able to learn and do two but like since anyone else doing two is a choreographer right#so like I still feel like I can’t do two ((even tho i asked one of the artistic directors and he said to go for it sklfdjdk))#bc I’ve spent my life past like middle school trying not to stand out in any way slkglhdfs#((might take that part out that's a lil uhhhh questionable 😂))#it was kinda bad i really was like eating myself up over it during lecture i don't even know why lmaoo#like literally can i not they said it was fine and i'll be able to do it or whatever#i think my main thing is that i'm the only newbie in two and i'm the only one with my name actually signed up for two#bc choreographer names are in a different place#but like no one else will probably notice or think weirdly of it except me yk i'm just terrified of like .. standing out being noticed 🤡#in middle school when my friends called me an overachiever and the whole culture at school just making it seem like a bad thing#so i stopped overachieving 😍 and like tried not to be noticed in that way i guess anyway damn that's really uh yeah lmao anyway#i feel like there's so many times where i made an impulsive ish decision and then overthink it and regret it after sklgfdjsl#even tho it's not even anything badddd ugh anywayyyyyy lol#jeanne talks#sorry for the freakign word dump lskdghsf i'm gonna try to fix my word dump from last night see if i can post some writing lol 🤪#yo this is not that bad ok midnight jeanne brain went off a lil bit tbh
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shakespearevillain · 3 years
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I told a guy in my improv class that I’d prefer to go by “he.”
To be fair, he kind of weaseled it out of me and I had been having a tough time that day. I was wearing a t-shirt and leggings because it was a hot day and the studio notoriously doesn’t have air conditioning. I hate wearing t-shirts, especially when I’m already down. I have feminine curves that I tend to hide with button-up shirts and straight-legged dress pants. T-shirts tend to show off my breasts and the leggings, despite being the most hot weather appropriate pants I’ve worn this whole summer, weren’t helping with the bottom half of the equation. The studio has a big mirror along its southern-most wall, something I try to avoid whenever possible, but I inevitably end up seeing myself. Up until that day, I had sweat my way through class, rolling up my sleeves but otherwise just living with the heat and drinking lots of water. Then, Joe texted me about an hour before class asking for a ride because it was really hot out. Realizing I might literally faint if it was so hot that Joe was asking for a ride (he usually walks or bikes), I decided it was time to go with a weather-appropriate outfit rather than one that helps with dysphoria.  
Now, Joe and I are fairly good friends, or at least on the start of that journey. We work really well as scene partners and I’ve given him a ride before. He also is almost child-like in his honesty and openness, which I find disarming. After the troupe had gotten an after-practice dinner, we split off from the group to get to my car. Casually sidling up to me, he said: “So, what’s up with you?”
“What?” I said, genuinely surprised by the question.
“Well, towards the end of class, you had this weird down-turn in energy,” he said. “Is something up?”
I had talked with him over dinner about how I’d been trying for five months to get a full-time teaching job and I hadn’t gotten anything I could live with. That naturally made me a bit down. I brought that up again, hoping it would be a suitable response.
Unfortunately, he is kind and a little dumb so he thought he could workshop the problem with me. And I was driving him home so he had a captive audience for his brainstorming session. After he suggested he talk to the principal of a Christian school he knew, realized that would be kind of stupid because he doesn’t know the guy that well, suggested we workshop my interview skills (which felt personally insulting because I’m fairly good at interviews, and have been told multiple times by principals that I was at the top of their school’s list but that I just don’t have the experience needed to seal the deal), and suggested I learn how to freestyle rap to increase my cool points among kids (facepalm), I clenched my hands around the steering wheel and tried to breathe. He’d been calling me “she” throughout this whole process, and the combo was giving me a raging headache. “You know what you can do?” I said, barely keeping a lid on my anger.
“Yeah?” he asked. He looked genuinely interested in helping.
I melted. He wasn’t a bad guy, and he didn’t know about the trans thing. He couldn’t have known how calling me “she” over and over when I was already in a bad place was hurting me. “You could... And this is just an experiment,” I said like I was explaining a complex literary concept to an eighth grader. “Could you maybe refer to me as ‘he’?”
“Oh shit, sorry, man,” he said, looking genuinely mortified.
“Nonono,” I said, wishing I could bamf myself out of the car like Nightcrawler. “I hadn’t told... I hadn’t said anything. You’re good.”
An awkward silence fell over us. “You know, I knew a Satanist who was a woman becoming a man,” he said.
I burst out laughing.
“What?” 
“That’s a range,” I said, turning into the parking lot of his building. “A Catholic and a Satanist.”
“Well, y’know... Wow. That’s a big thing. I think gender is bullshit, by the way,” he said.
“Yeah, so do I, which is why I’m non-binary leaning more towards male,” I said, not knowing where this honesty was coming from. Something about his big, open eyes and the way he looked at me like he actually cared made me want to tell him everything.*   
“Oh! We could work on manly stuff for you!” he said, looking very proud of himself. 
“I already know how to be manly,” I said as I parked. I did not add “or at least as manly as I want to be.”
“Oh! I can call you ‘dude’!”
“You already call me ‘dude,’” I said. This whole exchange was starting to sound like something out of a weirdly progressive screwball comedy.
“Alright, homie,” he said, causing me to heave a big sigh. He had started calling me “homie” a few weeks ago when I drove him to an extra improv practice. This is despite me not looking or behaving like anyone’s “homie.” The term has only been used derisively towards me in the past as I’m sort of the model of what a homie does not look like. I mean, this...
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... does not a homie make unless the person really wants to stretch the perceived cultural implications of “homie” (i.e. being cool, up to date, and not a freaking nerd.) It seems like he might know that somehow and uses it to playfully get under my skin, but it also could be that he genuinely considers me a “homie” and doesn’t notice me flinching. 
“If it’s alright for me to ask,” he said, shaking me out of my linguistic reverie, “how far along are you?”
“Dude, the only thing I’ve done to my body is get this haircut,” I said, pointing at my new Audrey Hepburn-style pixie cut. That seemed to throw him off for a second so I didn’t outline the fact that changing up my hair is probably the most I’m ever going to do. To keep the story short and to keep from being flagged as p*rn, I’ve done the research and female organs are... superior in most things -- some of them being safety, comfort, and mileage once you get them going. The most I’d ever do is get top surgery and even that’s a big “if.”
I don’t remember a lot of our conversation after that. He wanted to start a band, I think. He heard that I sing and he knows how to play the guitar and that’s where his mind went. He also still really wants to teach me to freestyle, which is something I’d be interested in learning as long as he’s not trying to get it added to my resume.**
I think we parted on good terms. He didn’t come to practice today, but it’s the extra practice that the overachievers in the troupe are doing and I almost didn’t go today either. (A combination of errands happened to put me right next to where practice was so I decided to go despite being sleep-deprived from worrying about telling someone in real life to call me “he.”) Once I realized I was going, I decided to tell the other troupe members who showed up to call me “he” -- a decision I promptly ditched after spending an awkward ten minutes in Rahul’s living room looking at his books on mathematics with George, another troupe member, and trying to assure him that I was perfectly fine without snacks. I then made matters worse, or at least more confusing, by dropping into female roles during the scenes we were doing as I tend to play both male and female roles depending on what the scene calls for -- something I would not be bothered about at all if it were clear to everyone in the room that I prefer to go by male pronouns in real life. 
Although, I’m not sure how I’m ever going to get to be “Mr. Wright” in the classroom if I can’t even give the correct pronouns to a bunch of artsy people I do goofy scenes with -- a good percentage of whom are some form of queer. Definitely not ready to face the conservative parents of bratty kids if my batting average on this is one confession under duress and a lifetime of responding to “she.” 
---
*It just now occurs to me that this is probably what has gotten people to tell me their life stories in the weirdest places. I’m usually the one with the big eyes, open face, and caring demeanor. I have never been on the other end of that before.
**Imagine someone who looks like a cross between Michael Sheen and Elliot Page explaining the fact that “freestyle rap” is on their resume. It might be interesting, and certainly stereotype defying, but I already use rap in the classroom as a study in different poetic techniques. I don’t need someone laughing behind their hand and then challenging me to “drop a verse” in the middle of an interview.  
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flying-elliska · 4 years
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S5 Review pt.1 : the Good
Arthur season is over, time to analyze it as a finished story ! This meta in 3 parts will go over the good, the bad and the mindboggling. My general impression of the season : excellent beginning, very meh middle, interesting ending. In short :  flawed but I feel people calling it a total disaster really are not making any effort to see it objectively. So ; let's dig into the why and how.
What I liked about this season :
A story made with and for Deaf people : It’s pretty evident when watching the interviews that Winona and Lucas really really enjoyed making the season and that it offered them an unprecedented level of representation. The creators obviously did their research, working with the people of the IVT. Personally I feel like I learned so much and the clips showing aspects of Deaf culture were among my favorites. It felt like a nuanced, rich, in-depth perspective, with details like choosing to get a cochlear implant or not, the testimony evening, the sign language class, Noee’s sign dance, the different ways to enjoy music, how to speak to someone who is Deaf, etc...showing that not everyone within that community has the same story or opinion, that they’re just people with their unique challenges but shared needs, as well as the really awesome culture that is part of being Deaf. It felt really respectful and a thousand miles away from the usual miserabilistic clichés - it brought up some concern about how difficult it is to be rejected/invisible in today’s society, but it was balanced with emotions like curiosity, admiration, and awe. I came to SKAM for the representation but I absolutely love getting educated about groups I’m not part of and I feel this is truly where the season shines. Learning from Deaf fans was also hella interesting. 
A complex discussion about disability : A central plot point, and one of my favorites, was Arthur learning to overcome his (now internalized) ableism. We see that Arthur is an overachiever and this change in his life upsets this idea of the perfect life he has in mind. He repeadedly lashes out at the other Deaf people he meets, makes fun of sign language, underlines how he is ‘not like them’ at the beginning because he is still clinging to his own self image. We can understand where this comes from when we see how condescending towards any sort of weakness, and focused on performance over empathy his father is. But as he learns to meet actual Deaf people and see the diversity and beauty of the community, he learns there is no shame in that sort of difference and learns to stand up for himself and that was amazing to see. Another important part was Laura and Melchior’s inclusion and beyond being very funny, they highlighted the idea that although disabled people have different, sometimes competing needs, they also have things in common, and that deep wish of not being discounted/othered/excluded. All the disabled characters this season were complex, real people, not there just to teach others a lesson or inspire them or be pitied or the butt of a joke, and that is so sadly rare nowadays. Even though some bits did feel a bit like a PSA, I feel like overall it was very well done. 
The politics of desirability : A theme running through the season is the idea that who we are attracted to is socially constructed and can really be biased by our prejudices. Alexia expressed this idea (albeit clumsily) in the bar scene early on, and this came back when she talked about her insecurities. This was also present in Laura’s insistence that disabled people have certain needs like everybody else. And finally, it’s present in Arthur’s own struggles - his fear of not being able to sleep with his girlfriend with his hearing aids, and his own difficulties in seeing what is happening with Noee and him saying ‘she’s deaf’ to the question ‘is she beautiful’ even as he is obviously into her. Our society gives us this incredibly narrow set of criteria for who is considered attractive - thin, white, able bodied, etc - but people’s actual real patterns of attraction and finding beauty are, when you set those prejudices aside, and see the beauty of people for who they are and not how well they fit a box, so much more broad and generous and diverse and I loved how this season highlighted that. 
Technical excellence : God, the cinematography this season was absolutely off the charts, it makes me wish they could redo previous seasons with this amount of style. Shots like Arthur under the shower, or that party at the Asso with the blurry dancing, the shots in the pool, or the ones from the farm episode...INCREDIBLE. The sound editing was used sooooo well to put us in Arthur’s shoes, it was a wonder and I really felt how intense the change must have been for him because of that. And the acting is impeccable. You can really feel how well these actors know their characters by now, they have total mastery of their portrayal. Robin did an awesome job with tough scenes, but just...everyone was on their best game really. 
A nuanced portrayal of abuse : Arthur’s relationship with his father was thouroughly heartbreaking, and it felt very real. I am very grateful that they didn’t try to redeem him - it’s important to show that even if you are trying your best, some people are toxic abusers and the best thing you can do is take your distance. I felt it right away, in the subtle way he was dismissing and belittling his wife and son, in the ways he was asserting his control over them, and I wasn’t surprised at all when more came out. It surprised me in the beginning that so many people were arguing that the father was caring, just strict - I feel like the signs were so obvious but I guess that’s the point. Abuse is a pattern that becomes visible over time and abusers can be perfectly charming and reasonable to people who don’t know what it’s like. Growing up with that is isolating and terrifying and it does awful things to your self esteem and your capacity to be in tune with your feelings. We can see that when Arthur basically defends his father’s actions because he is still so eager to have his love and placate him. Arthur’s behavior did not come from nowhere and it was inspiring to see him grow past that and realize he did not have to perpetuate the pattern and make his own choices. Also, his relationship with his mom was very sweet, supportive (her smoking weed with him was awesome) but complex - the way he was mean to her sometimes, condescending bc of her lack of studies ; the way she blamed herself for not seeing sooner - she must have been subjected to Patrick’s more emotional abuse, and so she will probably feel like she should have reacted sooner or known and that’s like...painful ugh. This whole thing was so raw and real. And it was incredibly important to see the nurse and her Jerome - adults, with medical knowledge - see Arthur’s situation and tell him that sometimes you just have to leave. 
Highs and lows of friendship : Basile !!!! I was not a fan in s3 but the great aspect of POV shift is allowing us to see some characters through a different angle - even though I think Basile went through a lot of growth too. In Lucas’s season he was meant to be the annoying gross overly straight guy as a contrast - but for Arthur he is this devoted friend that is so open and sincere in his affection that his awkwardness comes off as endearing instead. You really understand why those two are friends : Arthur is smart, sarcastic, he can help Basile with social awareness and hype him up, but he’s also so painfully guarded and finds it hard to express emotion, I think, and it makes sense he loves Basile’s spontaneity and big heart. Meeting his grandfather was also so funny and endearing, as were all the marks of more physical affection he wasn’t afraid to show Arthur. I think having a friend like that is part of what allows Arthur to finally stand up on his own - whether against his father or deciding he needs to be single to figure himself out. As for the Gang in general, I loved the moments where they were all happy together (the early graffiti clip is truly one of the shining moments of the season for me) but their later spat is also quite understandable to me. I find it very realistic that although they are trying their best to accomodate their new friend’s disability, they’re going to mess up, that’s part of the process. The most important thing, I think, when faced with someone who is different from you, is to engage with it (respectfully) - ask questions, not assume. And communicate ffs.  I also really liked those moments where the Crew and Gang came together, it gave this big end of high school vibe where all the squads merge and there is this feeling of having gone through an ordeal together that makes everyone closer.  There were also so many funny moments  that were absolute gold (the wheelbarrow ! the dinosaur balloons ! Imane getting attacked by chickens ! Emma and her horse! ).
Arthur on his own : I liked the more introspective moments we got this season. The successive alarms while he was angsting about his hearing coming back were such a clever way to put us in his perspective - there is already a lot of stress linked to a morning alarm, isn’t there ? We all know that moment in the morning where we don’t want to get out of bed and face the world, and taking that emotion and adding Arthur’s absolute stress at realizing that this change is lasting, it was really effective. Arthur’s link to water, as a symbol of another world where sound is much more diffuse, is quite interesting too. And the moment in last episode where he puts his glasses back on, too, as a more obvious sign of a disability that is very socially accepted and that is just part of who he is, just as his hearing loss is. We also got a moment with the bench of loneliness that was an interesting parallel with s3. (I love how the Buttes-Chaumont parc has become this double symbol in Skam France of both loneliness/alienation/putting on a mask and growth/return to authenticity.) And I like that he ended up the season single and deciding to figure himself out. It’s a big aspect of his character that he has spent too much time trying to conform to expectations and that he was super walled off as a result, that he hurt others without realizing, that he found himself boring, that he didn’t seem to open up to his friends, etc...and in the end he is a lot more open but he also knows there is a part of growth that being in a relationship cannot bring him. He can’t use women the way his father did. I respect that a lot, honestly, it’s what saved the end of the season for me, that they didn’t end up putting one girl above the other and made it about Arthur being lost and needing to find his way on his own. 
The tornado and the sunshine : The new characters were awesome. Her role in the plot set aside, I really liked Noée as a character concept. I think Winona was awesome, and I liked Noée’s mix of warmth and feistiness. I like that they let her be angry at the way the world treated her, and compassionate at the same time. Also her headbutting that guy in the club that didn’t want to listen to her was !!! iconic. I loved her style, too, and that dance was so beautiful. Camille was a great addition to the team too, Arthur was lucky to find someone that patient and his dry humor but sunny disposition were great too. It was cute to see him with Mika as a couple of gurus - that we did get a Deaf/hearing couple was a good addition to the season, I think - and I hope we’ll see both of those new characters next season, too. 
Queen Alexia : She was definitely one of the characters I had the most emotions for this season. She’s just so cool and her perspective on life is just so mature and interesting, her acceptance of herself and others so inspiring - a lot of the early clips with her were adorable. I loved how supportive she was in such a creative, playful way - that game she made for Arthur, the boards she brought, etc. The moments she talked about her insecurities, if bittersweet because of what happened later, remains one of my faves from the season. She was so beautiful framed by rainbows (also apparently that’s her sign name ? Amazing.) And the moment where she sings was just...oof. She was really brave and strong to be able to do that, to express her emotions and hurt in such a public, dignified and creative way. It was a moment of reckoning for Arthur, putting him on the spot and recognizing how much he hurt her, but it was done in such a graceful way - the way she signed to signal her acceptance of his Deafness, the reminder that she loves him and won’t be able to forget that immediately, and a rejoinder to recognize his feelings towards Noee, etc. She wasn’t perfect (organizing that meeting without asking really pushed it a bit too far - you can’t rush someone else’s self acceptance) but she was just ...really good. 
Elu as an established couple : One of my biggest reproaches to s3 is that they didn’t give us enough fluff after all the drama (time constraints, I know, etc.) But this season they really delivered. And listen I know some fans love to blather about fanservice but fuck it, I just love seeing a healthy domestic queer couple on screen !!!! It’s just so bloody healing, because they feel real and in love like nothing I have ever seen on screen before. Maybe because so often straight actors are so awkward at playing queer intimacy and they’re really not. Seeing them in their new appartment was like a pure shot of serotonin - morning croissants ! fairylights everywhere ! but I also liked that it wasn’t too fluffy one note. We can still see that Eliott struggles with MI, that Lucas has some insecurities, but yet their devotion to each other is still as strong, as in “he’s my boyfriend and I love him.” It was a hopeful note throughout the season, Lucas being persistent and devoted all through the challenges of being with someone who is mentally ill. Also, I really liked Eliott’s role this season, as a sort of...provider for the Gang ? Getting them a van, bringing them to the cool graffiti place, making this fresque for them...you can feel he’s not 100% part of the gang because he’s older, already in college, etc, but at the same time he has sort of an observer role that can give them things no one else can. I feel like Lucas confided in him about the troubles they were going through and Eliott can empathize with being treated different, the fear of losing your friends...so Eliott helped them in his unique way, through art. And him having this new secret place he can bring more people to, and so full of color and sharing his art with people and !!!! God I’m emo he’s just my fave character ever really. 
The pressure of the future : Listen the last year of high school in France is horrible, there is the pressure from the BAC + half the people are passing entrance exams and doing interviews for the stuff you want to do later and it’s so stressful and I’m glad they touched on that at least a little. Emma really embodied this theme this season, of the pressure of not wanting to know what you want to do later. It’s really when you realize that they’re all so young and being asked to make such big decisions for their entire lives is really sort of fucked up, and I think her being there is a way to dedramatize not knowing, and gives Arthur the freedom to see he doesn’t want to be a doctor ; I liked the apt comparison with Imane’s passion for medecine. I wish we’d seen more of Arthur figuring out his real passion (did he make that painting or what ?) but I appreciated this storyline. 
Overall, I think this season was full of excellent moments - either funny, heartwarming, heartbreaking, or edifying - and it provided some much needed quality representation for the Deaf community. In that, and having educated a lot of people, it is at least somewhat a success. However, as a whole, it did not quite come together for me, which is what I will analyze in my next post. 
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ozzygonza · 3 years
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Caroline was pleasantly surprised with the way things were going. She found a lot of humor with their conversation about favorite books and music. It was fun trying to make top five lists on the spot and seeing the other struggle. Some of their taste intertwined while others diverged, typical. She almost wanted to call it a deal breaker but then she remembered her conversation with Mel and how she needed to find an excuse to call this whole thing off. 
She looked over at him at the stall and couldn’t help noticing his height and how his shirt hugged his broad shoulders. In the month or so since they met, she couldn’t help but notice how he had gotten more muscular. Her eyes slowly wandered downward, seeing the way his jeans fit him, until she caught herself from staring too hard. Looking up at the nightly sky, she smiled and took it all in.
They enjoyed the food and browsed the many stands with several cultural bobbles. Some she even recognized from her own trips to Japan, whenever she travelled to see her grandparents from her mother’s side and other family there. It made her wonder about how they were doing. Her brother Ken was currently studying abroad for the summer to get some university credits beforehand. 
A few people were dressed in kimonos and cosplaying as popular anime characters, which bothered her a little, trying to ignore it like many others. Fortunately she had plenty of distractions, including a taiko drumming performance by very skilled individuals. 
“Do you have any siblings or any family?” she asked Orson once he returned with her drink. 
Orson arched his eyebrows and then frowned. “I don’t have any siblings, no,” he responded, fighting with himself to say something and then said, “It’s just me... and my mom.”
She tried to recall of any mention of his mother but couldn’t. “Oh? Is she from here? See her often?” she barraged him with questions.
Orson seemed uncomfortable for a moment and then took a sip of his drink. “I actually saw her recently and she doesn’t live too far from the house,” he told her. “She works as therapist.”
“No father?”
“No. It’s always been me and Mom.”
She eyed him for a moment and then wondered what his mother looked like and if she had actually visited him. Kayla would have told me if a red-headed woman arrived at his place, she wondered to herself.
“What about your family?”
After a sip, she told him that her parents actually live out of state and that she moved here on her own with the few friends she had made here. “Mom and Dad have lived in the same house since I was twelve. Dad works as a construction worker and Mom is a high school history teacher. My brother Ken is still in high school and an overachiever.” She laughed a little. “We email each other once in awhile but he’s also been busy.”
“High school study abroad program? Is he in a private school or some school that offers advance placement courses?”
“Private. He’s also in the basketball team. On top of being athletic, he’s got brains, which makes it easier for him to stay on the team.”
“And you got the beauty and brains.”
She practically spat her drink, caught off guard by the compliment and began to choke from the few drops which had slipped down the wrong pipe. A few coughs and pats on the back from him later, she regained her composure and gave him a sly expression. “I forgot how charming you can be,” she shot at him, not bothering to hide the smile on her face, having noticed his worried expression, “but didn’t know you had such awful timing.”
“Well, ‘Awful Timing’ is my middle name,” he joked and chuckled a little.
“Do you even have a middle name?”
“It’s Awful Timing,” he stated firmly.
She rolled her eyes. “Speaking of which, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she began, remembering the conversation about Sasha with Kayla, uncertain whether the moment was right to ask him about it. The question lingered in her head throughout the night and couldn’t help concerning herself over what might be nothing, but she needed to be sure. So, she looked straight at him and asked, “is there something going on with you Sasha...?”
The color of Orson’s face drained and his eyes widened behind his glasses. Her brain began to scream at her, “I told you it was too good!” She wanted to run away and call Mel, despite the time difference to tell her that there was something and how she should have trusted her gut. And then something weird happened: he began to laugh. This reaction came unexpectedly and the need to know replace her initial panic.
“Okay, what’s going on?” she asked him, almost offended.
“It’s just a, a funny question,” he responded between chuckles and he wiped tears behind his glasses.
Feeling herself grow embarrass, she felt his warm hands take hers, sending tingles throughout her body. She noticed him staring right at her. For a moment, she averted her gaze and then slowly looked back, seeing the warmth of his eyes. She could feel her face grow warmer. The thumping of her chest distracted her from the crowd around. 
Fireworks went off above them in the sky. She marveled at the sight as others did around them. From the corner of her eye, she could see Orson smiling at her.
Caroline cleared her throat. “Are you gonna answer the question?” she asked, attempting to sound authoritative and not lightheaded at all.
Orson pressed his lips togethers for a long moment, his eyes averted away, and then clenched his jaw. It was clear to her that there was something. Before she could pull away from his grasp, he said, “Sasha is my mother.”
She blinked in shock and confusion. “You expect me to believe...,” she started to say.
“She adopted me when I was young. Still helps me even now.” He gives her hands a little squeeze, his expression very serious and tone matching the gravity of what he just confessed. “I’m telling you the truth.”
At that moment, the realization of how serious his words truly weighed on her for it had been a big secret that quite possibly no one else knew, apart from a select few. It seemed unusual at first. They must have their reasons, she thought, her own secrets still lingering in the back of her head. "Okay." "Huh?" "Okay. I believe you." Orson seemed taken aback for a moment and then he smiled at her. "Are serious conversations normal on first dates?" he teased. "Pretty sure someone pointed out that we've had another date before this one," she joked and pulled one hand from his grasp to poke at one of his firm pecs. 
He smiled at her. 
She blushed.
“I think we should call it a night,” he told her.
“I’ll give you a ride. Meet me at the burger place over on fourth street while I get the car.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you over there?”
“You can get us some shakes from that place. Kinda have a craving for something sweet.”
“What flavor?”
“Cookies ‘n cream.”
[ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ - ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ - ɴᴇxᴛ ]
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Xinjiang. Hong Kong. Democracy. Racism. How does an American-educated Chinese talk to her mainland Chinese friends about these subjects? Connie Mei Pickart tried, and found that her companions were far from brainwashed in their views.
The reality was more worrisome.
Illustration by Derek Zhang
Connie Mei Pickart Connie is a writer based in Shanghai. Her writings focus on Chinese culture and society.
I was the one who brought up Xinjiang.
In the middle of dinner, our conversations turned to international politics, and someone lamented that the world just couldn’t see how awesome China really was. I said if I had to pinpoint a single reason for China’s image problem, at least in the last few years, it had to be Xinjiang.
As soon as she heard the X word, Mingjun looked up, her face turning dark. “What do you know about Xinjiang?” she asked.
I was taken aback by her reaction. “So you know about Xinjiang? What do you know?”
“You go first. You’re the one who brought it up.”
Unsure where this was going, I gave a quick summary of what I knew. The concentration camps, the human rights violations, and of course the Western reactions.
Mingjun didn’t like what I said, especially the last part. “See, this is what we call 站着说话不腰疼 (zhànzhe shuōhuà bù yāoténg)!” She lifted her right index finger, pointing tentatively at me.
The phrase 站着说话不腰疼 literally means “stand straight and talk without hurting your waist.” It describes a person who talks the talk without experiencing the walk. In this case, my classmate Mingjun was accusing Western journalists of criticizing China’s Xinjiang policy without understanding the issue’s complexities. “Why don’t you give it a try? Do you have any better solutions?” Her pitch kept going higher as she hurled each rhetorical question.
As it turns out, Mingjun came from a military family — a fact I was unaware of. In the past few years, some of her family members had been dispatched to Xinjiang to help maintain the region’s security. “Many people had died,” she said, referring to the Han Chinese victims of the 2009 Urumqi riots as well as subsequent attacks in 2014. She said the police patrolled the streets 24/7, and anyone with a slightly higher nose than a typical Han Chinese would be stopped for inspection.
“Isn’t that targeting the entire ethnicity?” I retorted.
“Mei ban fa!” She exclaimed. There’s just no other way.
“But see, that’s exactly why the West has been critical,” I said. “They come from a human rights perspective, and these innocent people have been deprived of their basic human rights. They’re humans, too, you know.”
“Yes, they’re humans, but what about the bigger population beyond the region? What about people of the entire country? Who’s accounting for their security?” At this point, Mingjun had become very agitated. To ease the tension, others around the table started agreeing with whatever she said in order to calm her down.
“And Western media just don’t understand China. If they don’t have a better solution, they should just shut up!”
“It’s not their job to provide solutions,” I continued. “Their job is to point out malfeasance when they see any…And to be fair, they criticize their own government just as harsh. Look how they treat Donald Trump!”
“Well I don’t think they’re so bad to him,” Mingjun smiled dismissively while looking away. She didn’t seem so confident about this one.
One person responded immediately: “You Americans aren’t any better! How long has the world endured America’s hegemony?”
When I came back to China four years ago, I was excited to finally be home. Even though I had become a U.S. citizen, I had always felt like a foreigner in America. Upon returning to China, I relished the fact that I no longer stood out from the crowd. Everyone around had my skin color, they spoke my language — finally, I’m back in my own land with my own people, I thought. Wasn’t that so?
Not quite. It turned out that my new American passport, along with my new perspectives on China, would alienate me from my old friends. Jokingly, they called me a foreigner, and while they accepted me back into their circle, there were few things we shared in common. After all, I had spent my entire adult life (minus college) in a foreign country, where I went to grad school and joined the workforce, whereas my friends had been institutionalized in the Chinese system.
But at least there was WeChat. I was happy when one of my friends pulled me into this WeChat group where the most interesting classmates from my elite middle school shared juicy gossip about everything and everyone. Most of them lived in Beijing. All of them had established successful careers in various sectors. I was delighted to join them, and even though I lived in Shanghai, I thought this was a great way to reconnect with friends whom I cherished. And talking online via social media wouldn’t be so bad — it would act as a buffer to my inadequate knowledge about today’s China.
Topics of our chats varied, but politics was a favorite. My friends often talked in coded language about political leaders that completely threw me off. Over time, I learned a few things. 长者 (zhǎng zhě), or “the senior,” refers to former president Jiang Zemin. 今上 (jīn shàng), “the present emperor,” refers to current president Xi Jinping. When I got information-hungry and asked questions such as, “How is the relationship between the senior and the present emperor?” everyone gave me a face-palm and stopped talking. Other times, when my questions weren’t so sensitive, they would humor me by explaining the social context which I had missed from being abroad. The men especially enjoyed explaining things to me. Back in school I had been the academic overachiever and class monitor who always seemed to know better, and now the roles were reversed.
The first time they ganged up on me was over the issue of U.S. deployment of THAAD in South Korea. China reacted strongly, seeing it as a threat to its national security. To put pressure on South Korea, the Chinese government orchestrated a series of boycotts against Korean businesses in China, including retail giant Lotte. Some Lotte stores were reportedly ransacked by nationalistic Chinese citizens. In our WeChat group, I expressed frustration with this tactic, calling it 土豪外交 (tǔháo wàijiāo) — “new-money diplomacy.”
One person responded immediately. “You Americans aren’t any better!” he said. “How long has the world endured America’s hegemony?” My response to that was, just because America did similar things doesn’t make it right. Lots of countries have corrupt leaders. Just because countries A, B, and C all have them doesn’t make the problem go away. He saw my point.
The second person, whom I’ll call Tang, thought I was gulled by media reports. According to him, there really weren’t that many boycotts. To prove his point, he contacted a travel agent while we were talking, asking her if recent trips to Korea had been cancelled. She said no. “See? Rumors can be easily dismissed. It’s the media that hypes things up,” Tang said. He also thought the nationalistic behaviors were among the few and didn’t represent the majority.
I responded by saying that one travel agency could hardly represent the whole picture, and that many media reports were indeed based on facts. Whether the boycotts were overwhelming or not, I said, the behavior should still be called into question.
As for the level of nationalism, many others weighed in. Some believed it was overwhelming, an act of group instinct that is often evident among the Chinese. One person pointed out that under China’s current education and propaganda systems, nationalism was inevitable.
I agreed. This is a sure way to cultivate ignorant masses which the government then manipulates according to its agenda, I said. The only way out is through proper education, by encouraging critical thinking.
“Yes, critical thinking is indeed lacking in our country,” someone commented. From there on, the conversations switched to how to educate our children at home. Most of my friends in the WeChat group had started families, so the discussion on education was personal. Since I did not have children of my own, I quietly left the conversation. But I was happy that my friends were willing to hear me out.
About a month later, I was notified by WeChat administrators that I had violated regulations. I was blocked for three days. I was never told what my violation was, but the conversation about THAAD was the closest thing I could think of.
The American scholar James Carey proposed that communication is a construction of a symbolic reality, a ritual through which shared beliefs are maintained, strengthened, and transformed.
On August 4, 2018, during a soccer game between Shanghai Shenhua and Changchun Yatai in China’s top league, a fight broke out between two players. Demba Ba, a French-born Senegalese player who signed a lease with Shanghai Shenhua three years earlier, accused Zhāng Lì 张力, a Chinese player from the opposing team, of hurling racist insults at him. According to Ba, Zhang kept shouting “You black!” at him, which spurred his immediate reaction. The dispute was handed over to the Chinese Football Association, and Zhang was punished for “disturbing regular orders of the game.” No word of racism was mentioned in the verdict.
In our WeChat group, discussions broke out over the issue of racism. Tang led the discussion. He said the West had a history of racism against blacks, but the Chinese simply weren’t racist.
I gaped. Just six months earlier, an Africa skit during the Chinese New Year Gala on CCTV had featured blackface and equated Africans with monkeys. A few years back, a laundry detergent commercial had featured a black man who was fed the detergent and pushed into a washing machine by a Chinese woman. When he came out, he was a light-skinned Asian. I brought up these two examples to support my counterargument.
“Fine,” Tang replied with a face palm. “Maybe there are racist Chinese, but I’m not one of them.”
“The point is not to judge,” I continued, “but to reflect on our cultural psyche and see how we can do better.”
For a moment, no one said anything, and I dropped my phone to carry on with my life, leaving WeChat on mute. Then Tang came back. “Black soccer players have been paid very well in China. For many Chinese, we just find their looks interesting, that’s all…And maybe this had nothing to do with racism at all. Maybe it was a cover for a foul.”
During that disputed game, before Ba and Zhang went after each other, Ba was fighting for the ball with another Chinese player on the opposing team, and the latter fell to the ground after the two collided in the air. That was when Zhang came to his teammate’s defense, allegedly calling Ba “You black.” Tang was referring to the collision before the conflict broke out.
Several others agreed with Tang. “The blacks in the league have a history of doing that,” one person said. “They commit nasty fouls.”
When I read this part of the discussion the following morning, I felt sick to my stomach. I understood that our WeChat conversations were casual and not to be taken too seriously, but I also saw the danger of such casual talk about another race — stereotypes sustained and cultural superiority reaffirmed. So I decided to speak out once again. I gave historic reasons for why we should be more sensitive toward Africans. Of all people, I said, we Chinese should be more sympathetic and empathetic to people in Africa, as we were both victims of colonialism. Empathy requires us to not see a country and its people through a lens of power, but to put ourselves in their shoes and to try and understand their struggles. Knowing my audience, I also added a buffer at the beginning of my response to save my classmate’s face. I applauded Tang for his kindness — “I fully believe that you’re not racist under any circumstances,” I said, “for I know personally that you’re a kind-hearted person.” I made my point general, not targeting anyone in the conversation.
After a few hours, Tang responded. “Whether this whole thing has to do with racism is beyond us,” he said. “Let’s not talk about this anymore.” Immediately, three other guys — also the opinion leaders of the group — gave him their thumbs up.
For the next few days, people kept chatting in the group about various topics. I chimed in once but was ignored. Amidst their conversations, the word empathy was used several times, always sarcastically, as if they were subtly mocking the person who brought it up first.
We paused for a few seconds, both of us looking away, perhaps realizing the unbridgeable gap widening between us. Then we perked up at the same time, both realizing it was time for a change of topic.
After the racism discussion, my friends became less responsive to any of my comments in the WeChat group. There were many times when I basically spoke to myself — even casual remarks over non-sensitive topics would go unanswered. The only person who regularly responded to me was Zoe. A human resources manager, Zoe had been living and working in Hong Kong for many years. Her husband owned a business in Shanghai, so she traveled frequently with her son back to the mainland to see him. I found Zoe to be one of the easiest classmates to talk to since returning to China. Living in Hong Kong, she was exposed to Western media without internet censorship, and that seemed to be the grounds for our mutual understanding.
After the Hong Kong protests broke out in June, Zoe began feeding our WeChat group with updates. She was against the protests from the beginning. Everything she shared with us proved that the protesters were ignorant and destructive. Even just through WeChat, her anxiety was hard to miss.
Over the weeklong October holiday on the mainland, Zoe fled Hong Kong with her son. She spent the week in Shanghai with her husband, reveling in the peaceful and glamorous night scenes along the Bund. “Shanghai has developed so much in the last few years,” she lamented when we had breakfast together. “Life is so rich and convenient here. You have all kinds of entertainment for kids, and they’re all accessible. The Hong Kongers just don’t get it. They live in their own little bubble.”
By then the protests had been going on for four months, with tensions escalating between the young protesters and the Hong Kong government and police. While mainstream Western media had shown solidarity with what they considered the liberal fighters of Hong Kong, the Chinese media had built a different narrative. The protests were defined as a separatist movement. State media also pointed fingers at external forces, such as the United States, which allegedly were meddling in Hong Kong affairs. Meanwhile, commercial media joined in to solidify public opinion on the mainland. A number of in-depth analyses were widely circulated on social media, the gist of these being that a socioeconomic divide within Hong Kong society was the real culprit behind the public discontent. Real estate moguls like Li Ka-Shing (李嘉诚 Lǐ Jiāchéng) had driven up property prices for their own gain, leaving common citizens economically trapped. The mainland public appeared to have reached a consensus, that the Hong Kong protesters were ignorant and had wrong assessment of the situation: They think they are oppressed by an authoritarian government, but they are actually oppressed by the rich people amongst themselves.
Zoe agreed with this narrative. “The Hong Kongers just don’t see it. They love Li Ka-Shing over there!” In our WeChat group, Zoe sarcastically painted the protesters as ignorant youngsters who naively believed democracy could bring them bread and butter.
“But don’t you think they’re also fighting for their identity?” I asked, bringing up the sociocultural differences between Hong Kong and the mainland, the same differences that had drawn Zoe to Hong Kong in the first place. “See, I can understand the Hong Kongers,” I said. “They have been living in a different system. They’re different from the mainlanders. But all the changes from Beijing are stoking fears among them. When you have plainclothes police from the mainland arresting people from Hong Kong’s hotel, how would the general public feel?”
Zoe laughed. “What plainclothes police? I don’t know anything about it,” she shook her head dramatically. “I’m just an innocent citizen, haha.”
I was referring to the secret arrest of billionaire Xiào Jiànhuá 肖建华 by mainland agents from Hong Kong’s Four Seasons Hotel in 2017, which Zoe was clearly aware of. She jokingly appeared unaware, as if to steer clear of political trouble, a routine act we had grown accustomed to within the mainland. “But seriously,” she said, “those things have nothing to do with the general public. As long as you’re not in trouble with Beijing, why would you worry about mainland agents?”
In regards to the student activists, Zoe held a cynical view. She spoke of Joshua Wong, one of the protests leaders, with obvious contempt, remarking that he had been a “talented instigator of public emotions” since he was a child. She believed that only the high-profiled student leaders could gain something out of the protests, such as international sympathy and/or a political career. On Nathan Law, another student activist who had left Hong Kong to study at Yale, she said it was typical that leaders like him benefited personally at the expense of other protesters’ blood. “I go to Yale; you go to jail,” she sneered. “Humans are all the same. They’re after the same things.”
At this point, I began to feel the barricade between Zoe and myself. I had hoped for a balanced view on the Hong Kong issue, and I thought of all people Zoe would hold such views. On many accounts I agreed with her — we were both against violence by the protesters, for example. But her overall tone was dismissive, and her condemnation of the protests went beyond a resident’s anxiety. When I brought up the fact that many of the protests were indeed peaceful, she rolled her eyes. “Of course you can make them to be,” she said.
Zoe’s son enrolled at a public school in Hong Kong a year ago and was now in second grade. She was concerned about the messages he received at school. There were rallies in support of the protests initiated by both teachers and parents, and in such an environment, she worried her son might be singled out. At first, I thought she would worry about her son being influenced by his school environment, but apparently that was not an issue. “Whatever brainwashing he gets at school, I de-brainwash him at home. That’s just the way it is. A child’s mind has to be filled with something, and I make sure it’s filled with things that will help him survive in the future.” Over the 20-some years I had known Zoe, she had always been a realist, shrewd to discern what’s in her best interest, and it only makes sense that she’s passing on her realism to her son. She frequently brings her son on short trips to different parts of the mainland. “I want him to know China. After all, it’s China that’s going to feed us.”
We paused for a few seconds, both of us looking away, perhaps realizing the unbridgeable gap widening between us. Then we perked up at the same time, both realizing it was time for a change of topic.
“So I saw some of our classmates recently,” I said.
“Oh that’s right! Mingjun was there, right?” Zoe was aware of the dinner I had with Mingjun and company, whom she had also met up with on a recent trip. “What was the heated discussion about again?”
I had mentioned to Zoe about the tension over dinner. I recounted our discussion about Xinjiang.
“Mingjun is considered someone within the system, so you can’t blame her for taking the official stance on Xinjiang,” Zoe said. She was right. During our discussion, Mingjun had more than once claimed — proudly — that she was a child of the Party.
“Yes, I understand that,” I replied. “But what made me uncomfortable was her disregard for the Uyghur lives that were affected.”
“See, that’s the thing,” Zoe sipped her coffee while she continued. “What exactly is happening within those camps? Personally, if all they’re doing is just reeducation, I can accept that.”
Another pause. I decided not to ask the question on my mind. What I wanted to know was, if it happened to your family, would you still accept it? Zoe was herself a Muslim.
It was past noon when Zoe’s husband called. He was waiting for her to join him and his business friends at a hotpot restaurant nearby. As we walked out together, she lamented how much life had changed within three generations. “My grandparents had received honorary medals from the government,” she said. On the eve of the People’s Republic of China’s 70th anniversary this year, the Beijing government had awarded commemorative medals to people who had contributed to the founding of the country. Apparently Zoe’s grandparents were among the honorees. “And here I am living in capitalist Hong Kong!” she chuckled. “My grandma had a hard time when I first moved to Hong Kong. She said how dare you go on this deviant path of capitalism! But I’m still not that deviant compared to you. If I were you, she’d probably kill me!” She looked at me and laughed.
We reached the restaurant, where we hugged goodbye. “Be safe,” I said.
“I will.” She gave me a long hug, as she always did. Then she said: “I will be back soon, permanently.”
“What is democracy in the end? It’s the powerless and the dispossessed fantasizing power and money being shared with them. In a sense, it’s very much like Communism.”
My meeting with Zoe lingered on my mind for a long time. I thought about what she said, and I realized I had not been sensitive enough in my discussions with my classmates. The bottom line is, we stand at different vantage points when we view China. I approach it from a liberal and humanist perspective, while my classmates view China from inside the system, into which they have been integrated and are expected to conform. For me, it’s natural to draw the line between the country and the ruling Communist Party, rooting for the former and critical of the latter. But I cannot expect the same from my friends. The CCP is, after all, an organically integrated part of Chinese history and reality. Its path is intertwined with so many individual lives that to separate the Party from the country is to cut a piece out of a wood box. For people like Mingjun and Zoe, whose families are part of the establishment, how can anyone expect them to place liberal values above party loyalty?
If there’s one thing I’m certain about, it’s the fact that none of my friends, however nationalistic, blindly follow propaganda. They choose to conform on their own. For many, it’s about economic interests, the old unspoken pact between the government and civilians that “I’ll make you rich if you accept my authority.” The tradeoff is evident in Zoe’s attitude toward Hong Kong and the mainland. But underneath the tradeoff is a blend of pragmatism and cynicism. Last month, when Zoe once again updated our WeChat group on the latest in Hong Kong, one person said that Hong Kong was now causing “aesthetic fatigue.” Instead, “let’s talk about Double Eleven” — China’s Black Friday-like online shopping bonanza.
“Yes,” Tang agreed. “What is democracy in the end? It’s the powerless and the dispossessed fantasizing power and money being shared with them. In a sense, it’s very much like Communism.”
“Indeed,” another person said. “Democratic or socialist, each system has its own way of fooling people, but we’re past the point of believing in any of them. Don’t just draw the bread on paper. Give us real bread.”
Cynics abound in other countries too, and indeed some of America’s best cynics, who are highly critical of their own government, make liberals like me proud. But for whatever reason, cynicism doesn’t deter my friends from siding with the government. Per our Hong Kong discussions, many in our WeChat group questioned the validity of “One Country, Two Systems.” They said it should be abandoned sooner than later, and that Beijing should clean up Hong Kong with an iron fist. “Back then, we didn’t have a choice.” Tang said. “We had to kneel and lick the boots of the British. But things are different now. We’re much stronger.” It seems as if my friends, like many other Chinese citizens, have adopted the country’s newfound strength for their own, and siding with the government gives them a sense of belonging. As China’s social environment becomes increasingly stringent, nationalism seems the only currency to prove one’s devotion to the country.  Any criticism, either from within or beyond the borders, is deemed deviant or malicious.
On October 1, as China celebrated the 70th anniversary of the PRC, my WeChat moments were filled with patriotic sentiment. Many of my classmates posted pictures from the awe-inspiring military parade on Tiananmen Square. “The Republic has walked past 70 tremendous years, and we’ve come a long way. Proud of you, my dear motherland!” one person remarked. While the parade was being aired on state-owned television, our WeChat group was also filled with festive messages. Everyone weighed in on the spectacle: the uniforms, the weaponry, the female soldiers, President Xi’s speech his makeup…
Amid this chatter, one person in our group commented on a recent experience on Twitter. Despite the social media platform being blocked in China, she often climbs the great firewall with the help of a VPN. On Twitter, she said she had been fed outrageous messages by Chinese dissidents living overseas. On this special occasion, she said, they were ready to make trouble, their attacks on China fiercer than ever.
“Why is that?” Tang responded. “Why are these yellow-skinned, Chinese-speaking, highly educated people so bent on demonizing their home country?”
I observed their discussions from my phone, uncomfortable about joining in. I thought of the American scholar James Carey and his seminal theory on communication, which I had learned in grad school. Rather than viewing communication as a transmission of information, Carey proposed that it is a construction of a symbolic reality, a ritual through which shared beliefs are maintained, strengthened, and transformed.
This projection of community ideals and their embodiment in material form — dance, plays, architecture, news stories, strings of speech — creates an artificial though nonetheless real symbolic order that operates to provide not information but confirmation, not to alter attitudes or change minds but to represent an underlying order of things, not to perform functions but to manifest an ongoing and fragile social process.
I believe I was witnessing one of the largest rituals of the century, a manifestation of a country’s newfound strength and power. It is exactly through participation in such events, whether in the streets of Tiananmen or at home in front of a television, that Chinese citizens come to unite under the Party’s vision for the country. To share in its vision means to conform, to personify the country’s increasingly sharp edges, and to ostracize dissent.
But does it have to be this way? I keep asking myself these days. Is uniformity the best way to tap the potential of 1.4 billion people, or is it to cover up the dire problems that China must resolve in order to fulfill its ambitions? And are people really as unified as the Party claims?
Toward the end of my dinner with Mingjun and other friends, she suggested I download an app called Xuéxí Qiángguó 学习强国. Literally translated as “study to strengthen the country,” the platform is overseen by the government’s propaganda department, which produces instructional content for the general public and party members in particular. The app’s content ranges from CCP history to Xi Jinping’s most recent speech, from Chinese medicine to tourist attractions. “This way,” Mingjun told me, “you can familiarize yourself with China’s perspective and hopefully correct your Western bias.” As a party member, Mingjun was required to earn a certain amount of study points each month. She pulled out her phone and swiped through the app. She asked the person across the table — a fellow party member — how many points she had earned this month.
“I’ve earned more points than you!” Mingjun exclaimed.
Then she turned to the person sitting next to her. “But to be honest, everything is ‘Xi Jinping says.'” She lowered her voice, her hand hovering over her mouth. “I think it’s a bit excessive.”
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