This post was written on January 7th on the plane (somewhere over Russia).
I’m currently on hour 3 of my 14 hour flight from Chicago to Beijing, heading back to China because I just couldn’t get enough of it the first time. I spent a three week hiatus from my Chinese life in good ole’ Des Moines, Iowa. There I was kept perennially busy by a confluence of family and friends.
I had a few reverse culture shock moments in my short time there—once when McDonalds gave me several large napkins in the takeout bag (napkins are thin, small, and scarce in China) and another moment when I discovered how handsome Western boys really are (until that lens cap faded after a few days and I found them normal-looking once again). I noticed how many overweight people there are in the States; I gulped in the fresh Midwestern air and lost my semester-long cough; I salivated for China’s numerous fresh and tasty vegetables; and I realized just how squeaky clean my hometown’s streets are.
One of my Chinese friends had asked me last semester to refrain from unfairly comparing the U.S. with China (since China has miles to go before 1st world status), and here I was shamelessly comparing the two again, acting like a freshly arrived exchange student. When you first arrive in a country, all you can do is compare it to what you know. It’s a natural part of the discovery process.
But at some point during the semester my number of mental comparisons began to dwindle, and I started to see China as it was, and not as I thought it was. It was also around this time that I no longer didn’t know what I didn’t know, to quote a popular phrase, but I knew what I didn’t know. My English professors had me reading two to three books a week, and my film professor had us out there constantly filming and watching China. I was observing China and absorbing it with ardor. And it fascinated me.
Although I knew I was ignorant and essentially came to China with a blank slate for a mind, I still had a few strong ideas about the evils of censorship and corrupt politicians. Those ideas still exist in my mind, but they are like islands that have been filled around with lakes. Lakes of Context, I could call them. Before you condemn China, take a look at your own country and see if there are any similar practices happening right now (On censorship in the U.S., I highly recommend watching “This Film Has Not Yet Been Rated”).
What became immediately apparent to me last semester was a useful lesson on generalizations. Because humans like to categorize things, it makes it really easy to say blanket statements, such as “All Chinese people are racist,” or “All Americans eat too much.” There are 1.3 billion people in China. Do you really think they all think the same way?
There are definite, recurring themes when it comes to the Chinese mindset, no doubt (saving face, for example), but I feel like these larger ideas are best demonstrated through individual narratives. To pull in a related point: I just read a fascinating book titled “Half the Sky,” in which the authors cite studies that warn against the use of statistics and support instead the use of individual stories in encouraging people to donate to causes. Statistics numb the mind; Narratives stoke the empathy. You’re less likely to donate to eight starving orphans than to Nakia, a malnourished eight-year-old raising her orphaned younger siblings.
I guess my goal then for this semester is to bring these narratives to you, dear reader. And what better way to start than by taking a trip to Yunnan Province (home to numerous groups of ethnic minorities) and doing a bunch of homestays? Our trip runs January 15-29, so prepare yourself for a deluge of posts come February.
Stay tuned…
Chopstick Chick
