Written on July 22nd, 2010. An email I wrote home while on my internship at the US Embassy in Beijing. My dating experience in China this time around has been pretty similar.
"Here's the most succinct summary of the difference between Western and Chinese dating: In the West, prior to marriage, a man may have plenty of girlfriends but after marriage, only one wife; In China, a man often struggles to find the one girlfriend before marriage but after marriage, he has many girlfriends.
Indeed, many men that I have talked to believe that it is an inherent right to have many women. One coworker even explained to me how having affairs keep the marriage fresh and interesting. To them, women are part of the trappings of power. And it seems that the younger the woman, the better. Sometimes my friends and I play the "mistress or daughter" game in restaurants. Whenever an older man with obnoxiously large rings and an over-priced suit walk in with a much younger, scantily-clad female who is wobbling on dangerously high heels, we wait to see if a wife and mother shows up. If not, then well, we know.
Perhaps it is for this reason that women in China are unusually demanding of a potential marriage partner. Apparently, they will not marry a man unless he has a (nice) car, an apartment (or two), and a sizable bank account (and stocks). As a result, the embassy is full of thirty year old single men who don't really know how to date and who still live with their mothers. My coworker dutifully hands over his paycheck to his mom (who saves it so he can get married) and then negotiates his monthly allowance. My single coworkers’ dating lives consist of a myriad of blind dates that their second cousin twice removed have set up for them with "this really nice girl back in the ancestral village". I once told a colleague that people should marry for love and then work together to build a life they want. Since then, I've been getting emails from thirty year old plus coworkers who randomly want to know what I'm doing after work. After figuring out that I'm Mormon ("You want so many kids and you wear too much clothes!"), some of my coworkers ask if I date people who are not Mormon. I said no. They then ask how people can join. I told them that since the Chinese government wouldn't permit proselytizing of any kind (100% true), I could not tell them. Even though I’m just following Church instructions, I feel that God is shaking his head every time I use the Church as a deterrent for dates.
It is a pity that you can't use the same excuse with the young single adults in the ward though. After an awkward date, a boy gallantly declared that he has decided to "pursue" me. When I politely said no thanks, he claimed that he would persist because it was probably divinely arranged if he randomly met somebody at the metro station in China and she turned out to be Mormon.
For those of you who are curious, so far, my dating life in Beijing mainly consists of dodging dates. Marines, thirty year-old coworkers, and overly friendly old men are very different from the average Utah boy who just wants to take you out biking and then, if he's getting fancy, ice-cream afterward. I think I figured that out a little late. But at least I now have more interesting stories to tell you!"
Showing posts with label Beijing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Beijing. Show all posts
Friday, August 31, 2012
Saturday, October 9, 2010
You Are What You Eat
Letter home to friends and family on July 26, 2010.
"Sheep penis!" I nearly choked on the chewy, translucent meat in my mouth. The men in their white aprons and chef's hats cackled and made some obscene gesture to further illustrate what I was eating. They must also have looked up that word in the thesaurus because they had some impressive variation. My friend Matt and I looked at each other and blanched. We had eaten it innocently, thinking it was snake meat that was wound around a kebab.
In that same evening, my friends and I had eaten fried scorpions (not bad except for the pieces of legs stuck in your teeth), grilled starfish (charred and bitter), and gecko hide (burnt, crunchy mess). We did end up eating the snake meat (I was sure this time) and snake skin. The snake meat, seasoned with red pepper flakes, was absolutely fantastic. It was all part of a glorious attempt to eat what the locals eat and live up to our "When in Rome" policy.
The triumph was short lived though. My coworkers hooted and slapped the table when I recounted our gastronomical adventures the next day at work. Apparently they had never eaten any of that. My next-door cubicle neighbor said that that was especially for foreigners who would shell out big bucks to eat what nobody else would eat. On a more serious note, he also informed me that I better watch out for my health because as a woman, I had just eaten too much "maleness," or yang, and I would not be able to handle it.
Sure enough, I got sick the next day. Despite my insistence that I already had the sore throat before eating all that stuff, my cubicle neighbor shook his head and blamed it on the overwhelming yang. The lady across the hall, looked at my hands and informed me that it was because of my diminishing yue ya, the milky semi-circles at the tip of your cuticles. Apparently one needs at least eight to be classified as healthy. She instructed me on pressure points to massage daily and sleeping habits to adopt in order nurse my precious yue ya back to their previous glory.
After I got sick, I became part of an experiment among the neighborhood ladies. As I laid moaning on my bed, I listened to my wai po pick up phone calls from her friends with advice on foods to cook me. Their solution? A lot of ginger, black fungi, congee, and nothing cold. One morning I came out of my room, bleary-eyed, and saw that my wai po was reading her food chart intently. She looked up at me, stuck her tongue out, and grinned, "I think I nearly poisoned you!" According to her chart, there were certain foods that will hurt your chi, or your life energy, if you eat them together. Apparently what I was having for breakfast, shrimp chips and watermelon (it's the Vitamin C), formed one of the fatal combos. When I looked skeptical, she quickly hid the watermelon from me.
While I still laugh at some Chinese food theories that seem bizarre to me, I now approach the subject with an added measure of reverence. I occasionally look at my tongue in the mirror to monitor my yin yang balance and constantly check to see whether my yue ya have edged back. But I'll admit, when my wai po isn't looking, I still eat my shrimp chips with my watermelon.
"Sheep penis!" I nearly choked on the chewy, translucent meat in my mouth. The men in their white aprons and chef's hats cackled and made some obscene gesture to further illustrate what I was eating. They must also have looked up that word in the thesaurus because they had some impressive variation. My friend Matt and I looked at each other and blanched. We had eaten it innocently, thinking it was snake meat that was wound around a kebab.
This was how we found out what it really was.
In that same evening, my friends and I had eaten fried scorpions (not bad except for the pieces of legs stuck in your teeth), grilled starfish (charred and bitter), and gecko hide (burnt, crunchy mess). We did end up eating the snake meat (I was sure this time) and snake skin. The snake meat, seasoned with red pepper flakes, was absolutely fantastic. It was all part of a glorious attempt to eat what the locals eat and live up to our "When in Rome" policy.
Scorpion.
(Me, Natalie, Anne)
Got to love Anne's seductive I'm-about-to-eat-a-starfish look.
(Me & Matt)
Back when we still thought it was snake meat.
The crew
Sure enough, I got sick the next day. Despite my insistence that I already had the sore throat before eating all that stuff, my cubicle neighbor shook his head and blamed it on the overwhelming yang. The lady across the hall, looked at my hands and informed me that it was because of my diminishing yue ya, the milky semi-circles at the tip of your cuticles. Apparently one needs at least eight to be classified as healthy. She instructed me on pressure points to massage daily and sleeping habits to adopt in order nurse my precious yue ya back to their previous glory.
After I got sick, I became part of an experiment among the neighborhood ladies. As I laid moaning on my bed, I listened to my wai po pick up phone calls from her friends with advice on foods to cook me. Their solution? A lot of ginger, black fungi, congee, and nothing cold. One morning I came out of my room, bleary-eyed, and saw that my wai po was reading her food chart intently. She looked up at me, stuck her tongue out, and grinned, "I think I nearly poisoned you!" According to her chart, there were certain foods that will hurt your chi, or your life energy, if you eat them together. Apparently what I was having for breakfast, shrimp chips and watermelon (it's the Vitamin C), formed one of the fatal combos. When I looked skeptical, she quickly hid the watermelon from me.
While I still laugh at some Chinese food theories that seem bizarre to me, I now approach the subject with an added measure of reverence. I occasionally look at my tongue in the mirror to monitor my yin yang balance and constantly check to see whether my yue ya have edged back. But I'll admit, when my wai po isn't looking, I still eat my shrimp chips with my watermelon.
Waipo and me
Monday, October 4, 2010
Partying with Global Times
July 17, 2010
We first made a bunch of stage jokes that none of the Chinese audience understood. They did crack up though when Matt, overconfident with his Chinese, told the crowds that the dancers were really angry (excited) to be dancing for them.
Perhaps because we were doing a good job, my Global Times friend decided to leave for a more important meeting and handed it over to us. She pointed to a few important looking people and told us that we didn't have to worry because others would be there to take care of the logistics.
Boy was she wrong.
Matt and I suddenly realized that we became the de facto Global Times spokespersons because all the GT staff ditched. We were soon mobbed by those same important looking people who saw their chance to make some drastic changes to the program.
The dance company representatives switched up the dances while I was on stage announcing them.
At the last minute, a few pizza boys informed us that they really wanted to do a dance (no kidding). So, we watched helplessly as they sauntered on stage, doing a Backstreet Boyz-esque routine while tossing pizza dough into the air.
Then enter mini celebrity on the left. The venue event staff pulled a supposedly "next pop queen" out of nowhere and demanded that we interview her on stage to promote her new book, CD, and vegetarian dish that she had brought to the event. My waipo later reported that she forced herself to choke down the celeb's tofu mystery dish just because I was selling it hard core on stage. The things that waipos do for their grandchildren.
p.s. I'll be back-blogging a lot about my China trip this summer. Due to the censorship, I wasn't able to post all of these little posts that I had crafted in my head while my face was being squished against the BJ metro doors.
After I told my friend at Global Times, a super right-wing Chinese newspaper, that I would be happy being the MC for one of their events, I didn't think too much about it. After all, I would just be introducing some of the performers in English and Chinese and smile my face off. I enlisted Matt, one of my BJ street-cruising buddies, and we both agreed to just wing it. No big deal right?
We first made a bunch of stage jokes that none of the Chinese audience understood. They did crack up though when Matt, overconfident with his Chinese, told the crowds that the dancers were really angry (excited) to be dancing for them.
Matt and me on stage.
Perhaps because we were doing a good job, my Global Times friend decided to leave for a more important meeting and handed it over to us. She pointed to a few important looking people and told us that we didn't have to worry because others would be there to take care of the logistics.
Boy was she wrong.
Matt and I suddenly realized that we became the de facto Global Times spokespersons because all the GT staff ditched. We were soon mobbed by those same important looking people who saw their chance to make some drastic changes to the program.
The dance company representatives switched up the dances while I was on stage announcing them.
At the last minute, a few pizza boys informed us that they really wanted to do a dance (no kidding). So, we watched helplessly as they sauntered on stage, doing a Backstreet Boyz-esque routine while tossing pizza dough into the air.
Mini celeb, sneaky event staff, my big head, and an overwhelmed Matt.
Interpretive Dai ethnic ballet.
Korean drums!
The Chinese didn't know how to take it when the Tahitian
dancers started yelling in the middle of their dances.
It was very awkward.
Matt and waipo. She loved rocking the VIP status.
Matt and I grabbed sushi at a fancy restaurant afterward. We laughed about all the improvs and close calls. After all, we pulled through and it was not even a big deal. Yeah right.
p.s. I'll be back-blogging a lot about my China trip this summer. Due to the censorship, I wasn't able to post all of these little posts that I had crafted in my head while my face was being squished against the BJ metro doors.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Last day of work
Monday, July 12, 2010
Flirting . . . with Chinese characteristics
A scene at the metro today. This is classic Chinese flirting, known as Sajiao 撒娇.
Girl: You don't like me at all.
Boy: What do you mean? I really like you.
Girl: Liar.
Boy pouts.
Girl slaps him on the face.
Me shocked.
Boy: Don't be like that.
Boy smiles and tries to hug her.
Girl slaps him again.
Boy tries even harder to hug her.
Girl pretends to struggle. She thumps him repeatedly on the chest.
She gives up.
They cuddle. All the way till the end of the line.
Girl: You don't like me at all.
Boy: What do you mean? I really like you.
Girl: Liar.
Boy pouts.
Girl slaps him on the face.
Me shocked.
Boy: Don't be like that.
Boy smiles and tries to hug her.
Girl slaps him again.
Boy tries even harder to hug her.
Girl pretends to struggle. She thumps him repeatedly on the chest.
She gives up.
They cuddle. All the way till the end of the line.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
The sound of pants
In my mind, I'm the tragic heroine who suddenly goes blind but surprises the world with her supernatural hearing. But really, I'm just an intern whose back is to the corridor with the heaviest traffic and playing mind games while researching all things China.
Men's pants cling onto the wearer in distinctive ways. The pant legs rub against each other in various degrees, producing signature sounds that scream out who you are.
The man with the gold-rimmed glasses, 80s Chinese hairstyle, and the multi-color polos down the hall has wide, billowy pant legs. When he walks by, they sound as if two pieces of tissue paper, folded loosely in half, are being pushed against each other in an up and down motion.
My boss dresses in form-fitting, straight boot leg trousers that result in minimal noise. Most of the time, I know it's him because I sense the very muted presence that his pant legs create.
The middle-aged econ section reseacher slash night time professor sports relaxed khakis. Similarly, his pants produces sounds with a certain softness, unlike some which are very jarring.
Ironically, the quietest men have the noisiest pants. Perhaps it's their way of compensating.
Men's pants cling onto the wearer in distinctive ways. The pant legs rub against each other in various degrees, producing signature sounds that scream out who you are.
The man with the gold-rimmed glasses, 80s Chinese hairstyle, and the multi-color polos down the hall has wide, billowy pant legs. When he walks by, they sound as if two pieces of tissue paper, folded loosely in half, are being pushed against each other in an up and down motion.
My boss dresses in form-fitting, straight boot leg trousers that result in minimal noise. Most of the time, I know it's him because I sense the very muted presence that his pant legs create.
The middle-aged econ section reseacher slash night time professor sports relaxed khakis. Similarly, his pants produces sounds with a certain softness, unlike some which are very jarring.
Ironically, the quietest men have the noisiest pants. Perhaps it's their way of compensating.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Coming out of the closet
Irrational? Probably a bit. Unpatriotic? Absolutely.
But of course Donovan scored in the 91st minute. Definitely a bittersweet moment for me.
I've tried to love the USA team but somehow it's not happening.
So with Slovenia out, I'll just have to find another team to fall in love with.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
The reason why Asians are so small
It's because there are so many of them and only so many metro trains during rush hour.
People actually groan when a slightly larger person is trying to cram himself/ herself onto the train. Cruel, but true.
Just when you are pressed up against random strangers and think that there is no possible way that anyone else could fit inside, they surprise you.
Call it the survival of the masses.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Lama Temple
My friend Dario who's here interning at the Mexican Embassy.
For some reason, I just absolutely love this photo.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Eight hours
On June 13, 2010.
6:30 p.m. My flight to Beijing was supposed to start boarding half an hour ago.
6:45 p.m. Supposed flight takeoff time
8:45 p.m. Still sitting in the Shanghai airport, staring at my plane that was parked outside.
9:36 p.m. Started talking to a cute boy sitting next to me. Turns out he's doing an internship in Beijing too.
10:45 p.m. Still waiting. The flight attendent told us that there is an "unspecified delay" because of an electrical storm in Beijing.
11:30 p.m. Decided to go home instead of crashing on an airport couch.
11:35 p.m. Said goodbye to my new friend. I don't think I've even told him my name.
12:00 a.m. The flight attendent told me that they had lost my lugguage.
12:15 a.m. The same flight attendent told me that he could not rebook me for another flight to Beijing the next day unless I have my lugguage in my hand.
12:16 a.m. Just stared at him.
12:20 a.m. People started a fight in front of the ticket counter. 200 planes were grounded. People were chanting "we want water, we want food, we want a bus!" I was not as demanding; I just wanted my lugguage and a new ticket.
1:22 a.m. They found my lugguage!
1:25 a.m. Was informed that the ticket rebooking system had crashed because so many people were rebooking.
2:49 a.m. Got my new ticket. My parents picked me up.
3:35 a.m. Crashed onto my bed at home.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Dinner Time
The famous snack street.
Octupus balls. My favorite.
冰糖水果。Carmelized fruits.
Lamb Kebabs.
Seahorses. Cicadas. Scorpions. Geckos.
I ate fried cicadas once for a dare. But that's a different blog post.
I ate fried cicadas once for a dare. But that's a different blog post.
Star fish. More scorpions.
No idea. But something protein-rich?
Monday, May 17, 2010
Kiss and tell
A random man kissed me on the metro today.
Right on the back of my neck, where boyfriends weren't even allowed.
I would have slapped him but I couldn't move.
That's how packed the Beijing metro was during rush hour.
So I gave him the mental death glare instead.
I'm just glad that I wasn't facing him.
Right on the back of my neck, where boyfriends weren't even allowed.
I would have slapped him but I couldn't move.
That's how packed the Beijing metro was during rush hour.
So I gave him the mental death glare instead.
I'm just glad that I wasn't facing him.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Touchy hands, touchy feelings
I went shopping today to pick out a few tops before I start work tomorrow. I wandered around a shopping district in Beijing and just followed the crowd. Chinese people like to gather around one place. They see a long line and line up regardless of whether they know what's at the end of it. After all, it must be something worth buying if others are waiting around for it.
Meanwhile, other shops have people waiting around to la ke 拉客, or to "pull the customers" and drag them to their shops instead. Some of those people are mildly flirtatious, trying to sweet talk you into following them. Others shove unwanted ads into your hands while edging you towards their shop corner. Today I was dogged by really aggressive pushers. Two kept following me even after I told them no thanks. They even went down the escalator with me. I could feel them breathing down my neck. The boy with the spiked up, purple-streaked hair and the brow piercings said, " Hey beautiful girl, I'm not a bad guy, come with me." His friend, with even more piercings, nodded and kept pulling at my clothes. Finally, I got kind of upset and yelled at them not to touch me.
The purple hair guy seemed hurt. He mumbled, "What's the big deal with me touching you?" His friend nodded again and looked away.
And for some reason, I almost felt bad.
Meanwhile, other shops have people waiting around to la ke 拉客, or to "pull the customers" and drag them to their shops instead. Some of those people are mildly flirtatious, trying to sweet talk you into following them. Others shove unwanted ads into your hands while edging you towards their shop corner. Today I was dogged by really aggressive pushers. Two kept following me even after I told them no thanks. They even went down the escalator with me. I could feel them breathing down my neck. The boy with the spiked up, purple-streaked hair and the brow piercings said, " Hey beautiful girl, I'm not a bad guy, come with me." His friend, with even more piercings, nodded and kept pulling at my clothes. Finally, I got kind of upset and yelled at them not to touch me.
The purple hair guy seemed hurt. He mumbled, "What's the big deal with me touching you?" His friend nodded again and looked away.
And for some reason, I almost felt bad.
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