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.

Some Awkward Pics of Me Teaching

Who likes beef? [crickets]

But who likes cabbage? [everyone and their mom]

This is my 'I will cut you' stance

Sticker selection--most serious part of class

Kids don't know what goes on at the back

I received this high five graciously despite what this photo would have you believe

Elementary Schoolers Can Cook Better Than I Ever Will

I first heard about a mysterious picnic last Friday because my last two classes were canceled. I was told that the kids were going to work together to cook a meal; 1st grade with 6th grade, 2nd with 5th, and 3rd with 4th. That day they met to figure out what dishes to make, who would cook what, who would bring the knives, chopsticks, bowls, etc. I worked the crowd seeing this a prime time to review our recently-learned food vocab. 

I approached a group of sixth grade boys who ran up to me yelling, "Miss K will you please eat with us?" 

I was a little taken off guard. What were teachers doing during this time? Were we going to different places? 

"Sure!" I replied. I saw it as a nice opportunity to bond with these typically withdrawn students— they all sit at the back and rarely participate.

"But you guys know I don't eat meat right?"

"It's no problem teacher, we'll make potato! And tofu!" Said in English with TPR <3.

I then got assaulted by 6th grade girls who asked me to eat with them as well.  I visited every group as they were planning, and they all asked the same thing. I was really confused as to where they were going and how this would work.

On Wednesday after lunch, everyone started preparing their things to go. This is when I learned that we were all going to the same place, apparently very beautiful. I noticed that kids had packed copious amounts firewood, as well as metal stands.

Everyone lined up behind two red flags and we trekked out into the fields past water buffalo, over bridges, and through mud. We arrived at a rocky river bank where the kids began building stoves with stones and firewood. Brilliance ensued. 

Chopping beef

Cabbage simmering

Green beans, 欧笋, and pork

Washing vegetables in the river

Zack cookin' with fire

Olivia tending to the wok

Banquet fit for kings

高黎贡山 and the moon hanging out being beautiful

I wandered around taking pictures, receiving apples and tangerines from every student I came across, but I made it back to those sixth grade boys just in time to skip some stones before dinner. They made potato and tofu as promised, but also cabbage, green peppers, and bean sprouts.

Stone serving rice

View of my school on the way home

I'm still amazed by everything my students did that day. Taking turns carrying firewood on the trek there, building fires, washing vegetables, chopping meat, frying tofu, boiling cabbage, serving the dishes on beautiful stone tables, and all as a team. I'm pretty sure I never turned on a stove before I was in high school, let alone build a fire to do it. I am consistently stunned by what kids are expected to do here, and how adept they prove themselves to be.