Two Weeks Later

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It's taken me 23 years, but I've finally figured it out. I am a writer. I write when I'm happy, I write when I'm sad, I write when I'm angry, I write to share my life with others, I write in an attempt to make others' lives better and I write just because I feel like it. I am able to express myself better through the written word than by any other means of communication, aside from playing the piano. My parents are likely smacking their foreheads in exasperation that it's taken me this long to realize the fact, as they've known for eons. Even you, my dear readers, are probably sitting with jaws agape in astonishment that I could be so dense.

Aside from that stunning realization, I've had a very thought-provoking and fruitful week. My boss gave me a week off work to take some time to come to terms with my grandmother's passing. I was grateful for that week immediately following the news, but I've come to realize that no time frame can be set for mourning the loss of someone so special and important in my life. Instead, I've simply been trying to get out of my apartment each day and do something that brings me joy. That's what Grandma would have wanted.

With this thought in mind, I spent much of the past week walking around the beautiful gardens that encompass the apartment complex where I live. My 23rd birthday came and went with greetings, cards and packages from family and friends. I finally ventured past the confines of the apartment gates to go grocery shopping at the local Shi Ji Lian Hua and I was not disappointed with what I witnessed.

As I strolled up to the street corner leading to much-needed nourishment, I dimly heard shouting over the sweet, sweet strains of the Rachmaninoff piano concerto I was listening to on my iPod. 'Hark, what noise yonder do my ears detect?' I wondered. Before I had time to react, I was nearly flattened by a stampede of food cart vendors, rickshaw drivers and goldfish sellers all pedaling madly to escape from an unknown predator. As soon as they rounded the corner, the mass exodus split helter-skelter, rushing in every direction. It was then that I caught a glimpse of the blue and red flashing police lights atop an official police van that had come screeching to a halt at the curb. It seems that every one of these freelance vendors lacked the proper permit to sell their wares on the sidewalk next to the grocery market, and so when the police made their routine, unannounced sweeps, everyone had to flee or risk a hefty fine. After pausing briefly next to the curb, the police van sped off in pursuit of another anonymous target and the vendors, who had been hiding behind buildings and trees, sheepishly pedaled back to their previous spots. Amused, but not entirely surprised, I headed inside the store to continue my weekly grocery shopping.

Upon my return home, I found myself an accidental audience to the Tuesday evening ballroom dancers. Every Tuesday around 8 PM, some of the older folks in my apartment complex will gather to dance the night away via a centrally located boombox. Often, the younger generation will race around the dancers on rollerblades, their shouts piercing the ambience lent by the classical music and quiet shuffling of the dancers' feet. I like to perch on the rock wall ledge opposite the dancers and watch their graceful movements in combination with the antics of the boys on rollerblades. As always, I find it such an obvious example of the great divide between modern and traditional.

Continuing with my theme of trying to find joy each day, I recently took a trip to the local Steinway store. I've recently been informed that Beijing has not one, but two places of Steinway goodness. After a 47 RMB cab ride and numerous stops in which the driver jumped out to ask directions from people who clearly did not have a clue, we arrived. It was glorious. As soon as I saw the Steinway logo in the front window, I knew I was home. I entered my personal paradise and quickly discovered that the salespeople were bored out of their minds as they accompanied me to the second floor, where the Steinways were housed, and proceeded to stay and listen to my entire hour-long concert. I cannot express enough how wonderful it was to play a "real" piano again (I am the proud owner of a digital) and a Steinway, at that. For those of you unfamiliar with just how marvelous a Steinway piano is, I can equate it with a Stradivarius violin, a Harley Davidson motorcycle or a Fender guitar. I was in heaven. I was also delighted to discover that the technical skills which I'd feared I'd lost after playing a digital piano for the past 7 months have been retained. Sometimes, it's just like riding a bike.

As I prepared to hail a taxi to go home after a delightful afternoon filled with pianos and classical music, I elected instead to walk around the area in Dongcheng district where I currently was standing. For the first time since I'd arrived in China, I wandered aimlessly without a plan or itinerary, just curious to see what I would see. I was amazed to discover that I was not a curious sight in this section of the city. I did get a few double-takes as a I passed the small shops and residential areas, but the obvious and prolonged staring to which I'd become begrudgingly accustomed was absent. As I walked, lost in thought, I noticed a group of about 6 old men involved in an intense card game and 10 others observing the competition on the sidewalk opposite me. During the summer months, it is common to see older, retired people sitting together on the sidewalks, chatting and cooling themselves with paper fans, watching passersby, playing cards or mah jong or caring for grandchildren. As the weather begins to heat up here in Beijing, I've begun to spot more and more of these groups; I decided to check out the action. Soon enough, I found myself standing shoulder to shoulder with the other observers. They all looked me over, gave me a slight nod and continued with their game. However, my presence among the group was enough to attract others and soon enough there were twenty of us blocking the sidewalk as half of them watched the card game and the other half watched me. After 10 minutes or so, I gave up my attempt to decipher the game they were playing and continued on my way home.

One thing I've realized in the past few days is that speaking Chinese is no longer a headache for me. While I've always enjoyed it, in the past I've had to concentrate carefully in order to hold a conversation. Now, I can hold a conversation as easily as I would in English. I don't have to translate from Chinese into English in my head; instead, I think in Chinese and readily understand Chinese as it is spoken to me. This is very encouraging, as I've been unable to attend the Chinese classes I was promised in my work contract and feared I was not gaining the knowledge I had expected. Another observation I've made about myself over the past few weeks is that I no longer feel timid about trying new things or by doing something that makes me uncomfortable. You may find it difficult to believe that I would feel timid about anything, having moved to the other side of the world by myself. However, I had not embraced my life here to the full extent I could have until recently. I owe that change in my life to my grandma Ruth. Even though she has passed, she continues to teach me and encourage me in my life. My Dad told me that she was regretful that she hadn't done more traveling in her life; I am doing it for her, and for myself too. I used to brush off that old saying "Life is too short" as another cliché churned out by the Hallmark company; now I embrace that motto. After all, life really is too short.

A funny thing happened the other day when I called home. I've discovered a delightful feature of the program Skype in which I may use my computer to call a landline in the US for the low, low price of 3 cents a minute. Anyway, as I was talking to my Dad, he put me on speaker phone and our dog, McKinley went absolutely beserk. He simply could not figure out where in the house I might be, running from the front door, to the living room, to the dining room and even sticking his head under the piano to make certain I wasn't hiding under there. When he had searched every possible crevice with no luck, he resorted to lying on the floor, phone held firmly between his paws, and proceeded to lick the receiver as if to convey to me that he missed me. When I called again a few days later, he had resigned himself to the sad fact that I was apparently stuck somewhere deep inside the phone and unable to get out and so would simply wag his tail whenever he heard my voice.

Speaking of dogs, I took a trip to the outskirts of Beijing a couple of weeks ago to visit a dog market that, while definitely not in the best of conditions, was not deplorable. There, I was able to see huskies, golden retrievers, chow chows, samoyeds, cocker spaniels and even some standard poodles! (Please see attached pictures). That visit has made me realize even more so how much I miss having a dog around the house, and I plan to remedy that situation as soon as I land a steady job and apartment.

While we're on the subject of jobs, I'd like to note that I was able to meet today with Peter Ford, a foreign correspondent with the Christian Science Monitor who is currently living in Beijing. His job sounds fascinating-- he's lived all over the world: Paris, Russia, Jerusalem, Nicaragua, China, the United States and South America. He was able to tell me about his career and offer me some advice about a possible start to my own career in journalism. I've come to that point in my new adult life where I am starting to make contacts; hopefully, one of them will come in handy in the near future.

I've spent quite a bit of blog space talking about my grandmother. I've never before dealt with a loss of this magnitude; both of my grandfathers passed away before I could remember them. While reminiscing about her sense of humor, positive attitude and kindness are helpful, and the occasional good cry is essential, I've come to rely on another form of healing as well. I like to call it my Aerosmith moment. Everyone (or nearly everyone) is familiar with the song "Dude Looks like a Lady" by Aerosmith. I recently discovered and downloaded it onto my iPod and whenever I feel really down, I crank up the volume and listen to the song. While listening, I can clearly picture my grandma and grandpa rocking out to the music up in heaven. There's this great guitar solo in the middle, and I can see grandpa wailing away on air guitar while grandma jumps around and flails her arms. They both always have huge smiles on their faces and it's become obvious to me where the people in my family get their dance moves (or lack thereof). In this fantasy, they are both having so much fun that it seems absurd to feel sad. It's obvious that they aren't.

And, in keeping with my new mantra of finding joy in every day, I will be heading off to Beijing's own version of Six Flags Great America tomorrow -- it's called Happy Valley Beijing. I'm sure it will be wonderful.

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Photos

Cool Piano
This piano had plexiglass near the hammers and strings and on the bottom showcasing the soundboard. It was really neat to watch while I played.

Bank
Just your typical money withdrawal while a guard stands by with a loaded semi-automatic weapon

View of the Forbidden Place from Jingshan Park
See the round, white building? That's the new Beijing Opera House.

Comments

[Betty]

Of course your a writer
Merritt, As an avid reader of books, I am amazed how great your bogs flow wordwise - you have a natural talent - find how to use it in life. The dogs you saw all look like they wanted to come with you. And finding and playing a piano does clue me in that you are moving out in the world and doing what makes you happy. Be happy. BG

[Thai]

Oh gotta love those Chinglish signs. Those pianos look AWEsome...hope you played a Boston ;) That husky's huge!! I want one! Guess robbing a bank wouldn't be a good idea now would it? And lastly, I don't know about you, but that opera house looks soooo out of place among the temples...only in China.