Guest Star Audrey King

Click here for me teaching awkward! There's about a minute of vid starting at 1:38, I'm explaining how to play a flashcard game to my fourth graders. This is from an "inspirational" video at our 保山 Professional Development Conference.

Best part is when Cody sleeps because he thinks a cat is a monster.

我想吻一个吻题

I have a fifth grader who kisses me everyday after class. The first time, I had told her I liked her grasshopper eraser while I was walking around checking their work. I mean, this is the coolest eraser I’ve ever seen; it’s a life-size fucking grasshopper. I said 我喜欢这个, and after class she told me to have it. I refused but she insisted, and now I have this cool-ass eraser. Anyway, then she asked, ‘wo keyi wen yi xia ma?’ Me thinking it was the 问问题的问, so I was like sure! I love questions. But no, she meant 亲吻的吻 and kissed my cheek, saying ‘I love you’ in English. I asked my local teacher friends if this was normal and they just shrugged. Now she doesn’t even ask: she waits for all the other kids to file out while trying to make small talk, and then kisses me before I even have the chance to say ‘I’m fine thanks.’ It’s bizarre and probably sweet, but when your whole relationship revolves around kisses and I love yous, it feels pretty cheap, you know?

永安 in the Autumntime

My school

Burning shit

Rice drying on the side of the road

A Few Words of Advice to the New Foreign Fellow

Alright, there’s a pretty solid chance that some other American will come riding through my school gates on a white horse, here to save the day.

When my local teachers broke the news, they expected me to celebrate, “明年另外一个外国朋友要来。你应该很高兴!”

“不知道高不高兴,” I said smiling nervously, “可能他非常优秀，你们就最喜欢他。但是如果他差死了，我就不喜欢.” This is both in jest and quite serious. If this new fellow has immaculate Chinese, prior teaching experience, a 认真 work ethic, or an inkling of humor, they’re going to be a huge hit with the other teachers. But if they’re a really annoying slacker, well I definitely don’t want to deal with that either. Can’t I just be the prized foreign teacher forever?

But I figure if this asshole is going to show up at my school, they should at least play by my rules. So I've taken the time to write a few tips to this lucky (doomed) new fellow.

Tip One: You’re Taking the Fifth Graders

SIXTH AND FOURTH ARE MINE. You hear me? Mine. The current fourth graders made me cry once, so like, you can have them.

Tip Two: Be Male

Normally I would never make such sexist demands, but you see, I have a pretty good thing going with the female circle. I’m not popular exactly, but let’s just say that the people who matter like me. The male circle, however, is a complete enigma. If you’re really going to exist at my school, you could at least be doing detective work into the life of 吴老师. Does he have a wife or kids? Does he have joy or sorrow? Does he own footwear other than house slippers? This is a tall task. Good luck.

Tip Three: Fall in Love With 彭智文

Now this may or may not contrast with tip two (who knows), but if you’re the hero I imagine you to be, you can make it happen. My current insurmountable co-fellow is a humble genius, a polite powerhouse, and a marathoner in everything he does. So just get the 谈恋爱 over with so that everyone will stop insisting I do. And he won’t be 班主人 next year! (Read: plenty of time for courtship.)

Tip Four: Hide Your Hidden Talents

I don’t care if you can juggle flaming torches while playing the cello, dude—keep that shit to yourself. These kids love me because my thumbs bend backwards, no one needs your fancy yo-yo tricks. Isn’t this the directionless time in your life to take up a new hobby? Perhaps ukuleles interest you…

Tip Five: Bring a Coat, etc.

No one warned me that 云南 actually gets really fucking cold—don’t go into a glacial depression like I did. Charm the locals and learn some local dialect. Start planning your October break now before the prices go up. Kids like stickers but China doesn’t have them, stock up in the states. Or planners, bring a planner. Wash your underwear in boiling water sans socks. Buy things from 永安 locals and you might not have to buy them at all. Be happy that you’ve been chosen to teach at the best school, in the best city, in the best region. Welcome! I hate you.

On 高黎贡山 Gaoligong Mountain

A couple of weekends ago, good old 彭智文 asked me if I wanted to climb 高黎贡山 (Gaoligong Mountain), probably because I’ve been asking since we arrived. It’s that massive majestic mountain range making daily guest appearances on my instagram. All of the American 腾冲 fellows, and most of the Chinese fellows signed on, making us a fit group of nine hikers. Early Saturday morning we stuffed into a van and rode to the base of the mountain.

It was a difficult morning of steps, steeps, stairs, and rocks. My pack was really heavy, which was obviously a disadvantage; I’d brought clothes for sleeping, clothes for the next day, a bathing suit, a towel, 10 bananas, two dozen unidentified stone-fruit, a few liters of water, dates, pumpkin seeds, keys, glasses, tp—a hundred too many things. Though it was a never-ending slow slog, everyone was mutually and simultaneously pumped, supportive, and exhausted. Finally we got to the top where we found a windy field, prime for photo-taking.

 

After some food and rest, we spent five hours trying to ride gravity, but mostly falling, down the mountain. Although it was easier, I was on a mission to finish; around 10am I had felt the first pangs of a dehydrated, caffeine-deprived headache, and by the afternoon, it was a fully-developed, skull-splitting agony. Never skimp on water: lesson learned.

Once we reached our paradise of clean beds and hot food, we turned right back around and hiked to a natural hot spring. It had been a long day, but we soldiered down the path nonetheless. The sun was setting when we crossed a bridge over a waterfall to a shallow temperate plash. It was the size of a swimming pool, and the water was clear and warm—a gentle end to our arduous feat.

Reppin' the Imperialists with One Choice Fashion Accessory

A good friend came to 听课 and snapped these photos of my 6th(1) class. I love when people come to observe because my kids behave like little pups. Featuring my dearest, most beloved, functional smartboard.

This girl is so smart, so sassy, and such a leader. She has a better command of the classroom than I do.

That moment when I realize I'm completely unqualified as a teacher

TPR for "is"

These kids are awesome, but never have I ever seen them all paying attention unless there's a video camera behind them.

TPR for "tofu"

Kite Day

Last week the entire school went kite flying, and it was incomprehensibly perfect. The students formed two lines and marched up through the mountains for an hour, while 杨维菊 and I had running races, sing-a-longs, and foliage-collecting contests. She wove me a crown. When we reached a picturesque plateau, everyone sat in little circles and shared fruit and snacks, resting between their kite-run jaunts. I walked from circle to circle, accepting watermelon juice, apples, oranges, and bananas, stealing a kite or two when I could. We stayed all afternoon, until dinnertime, when us teachers whipped up some 米线.

Teaching English: The Final Throwdown

This past week all the first-year English teachers of 界头 were to come together and compete for the most revered title this side of China: Number One English Teacher. Seven English teachers from various elementary schools, two endless incomprehensible meetings, a panel of scrutinizing judges, and a 听课 (class observing) marathon.

Though some tried to dazzle with elaborate powerpoints (wow did that image just have an animation AND a sound effect?), most tried to emphasize their flawless pronunciation of the word 'the' (did you know very few languages have a voiced dental fricative? Aka th in the). We were given grading sheets and expected to assign a score to each person's performance. Sadly, I pulled in at a mere second. Madeline "no, I don't need a smartboard" Christensen took the title, and won the hearts of third graders throughout the land.

It was a ridiculous two-day event in which myself and Maddy, another TFC fellow, were regarded as English-teaching prophets sent to spread the TPR word. I spent about 30 minutes making my powerpoint and arrived late to class, while other teachers had obviously spent hours and hours perfecting their lesson plan. Sure, as native speakers we can say English pretty good, but shouldn't the hard work of these local teachers be recognized, if not rewarded? It's beyond uncomfortable to be pitted against each other in a 'competition' and then automatically be chosen as superior. We were even asked to give our feedback first, before the judges who are experienced teachers, and over the other participants who weren't asked to speak at all. Although I appreciate the idea of coming together as novice English teachers to 听课 , I think ranking us is an unnecessary amount of pressure. But kudos to our forward-thinking 领导 (government officials) for coming up with something constructive, despite the somewhat misled execution.

My Monday

Today I woke up early. I got dressed and made breakfast over the pre-dawn chants of my students’ synchronized steps around the track. I prepared materials for class, and tried to write a lesson plan that reflected what I wanted my students to learn.

As children lined up for breakfast, I filled my canister with hot water, and brewed my favorite green oolong tea. I had such a feeling of vigor; it seemed to me like capability, raw strength. I rushed to class, and it didn’t go poorly.

I rushed to class again, but walked more slowly when I realized the school meeting was running long. I set up in an empty classroom, but still no one came, and when they did, it was as if I didn’t exist. I packed up my things and talked with my favorite teacher, who said they were having a long assembly about the big fire. Over the weekend, five students, including a 3^rd and a 6^th grader, were playing with fire when it got out of hand. In fact, at the time I was visiting her house, and she made me go outside to look at the smoke.

We went to lunch and she asked me if her 盐菜 pickled vegetables, which I had eaten over the weekend, were better than the school’s. I admitted that they absolutely were. She continued to ask me, so that other teachers would hear my response. Each time she laughed an evil laugh. I told her I was going to teach her first class in the afternoon—she's sick, and I didn’t get a chance to teach her students because of the assembly. She just laughed.

I went to my room and took up a book that I liked as a kid. I got distracted by a memory, a nice kind of longing though, the kind that makes you want to close your eyes. I fell asleep.

She laughed again as she saw me walking to her class. I was informed that they were taking pictures this period, and I could take her 3^rd period class. I was momentarily let down since I had planned to go on a long run during that time. But I pushed the selfish thought from my mind, and went back to reading in my room.

I taught two periods back to back. Afterwards, I ran a mile and did some weights, interspersed by squats. I went to dinner sweaty.

I ate the rest of my strawberries since I was still hungry. They would have gone bad after much longer anyway. I showered. I hand-washed my underwear in a basin while listening to music and singing to myself.

On a trip back from the bathroom, I stopped and watched the setting sun. I marveled at the grandiose; everything looked petty and unremarkable in comparison, even the canola flowers. I thought about how the cirrus clouds looked as if the white crayon worked in nature.

Now I’m drinking chrysanthemum tea, writing, with music afloat. I plan to read for a couple hours, and then go to sleep.

Sunsets Are Setting Suns

Thinking about my month away from China, children, and working, I keep coming back to my inability to distinguish between leaving and arriving. I keep thinking how surprisingly unsurprising it was to be ambivalent to the changes in landscape. As soon as every plane landed, as every bus arrived, I was home. Perhaps the planes and the buses were a sort of home too.

Riding away in a little van, I looked out over town and cried. I thought about my sense of belonging in my Chinese community, and how I would miss the mountains 高黎贡山. But as we drove to my parents’ new home, a cab driver introduced me to Seattle. I was exhausted, but the newness of the city was invigorating.

A month later, I looked out of the little porthole feeling a piercingly blunt melancholy. I thought about my sense of belonging in the Pacific Northwest, and how I would miss Mount Rainier and the Olympic range. But hopelessly wandering the streets of 昆明 Kunming looking for my hostel, I realized how excited I was to hear new stories from old friends.

There is some part of me, however, that is different. Upon hearing how it felt to be back, my mother wrote, “but you’re not the same.” How can I deny the simplicity and veracity of this statement? All I know is that adaptation is my constant. My surroundings will always change. The people I know will always change. But I will always change with them, and in that there is a sameness, a reassurance, a home.

I’ll leave you with two images. I was riding the bus back from downtown Seattle over the floating bridge, looking out on the lake with tears in my eyes. The sky was oppressively broad, wispy clouds shone orangey pink, and old Rainier radiated like the sun. The second is my arrival in 永安 Yong’an. The 菜花 canola flowers have begun to bloom, making the fields so vibrantly yellow it’s almost intoxicating. A dark ragged line of mountains carved itself into the sky, and a vortex of purple red clouds hinted at the sun’s casual departure.