Wherever You Go, There You Are

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So here I am on a train again. An 18 hour excursion from Shanghai to Hong Kong. Apparently, I'm spending Christmas there, camping out on Lantau Island with a native Hong Kongese I met on couchsurfing.com. In my backpack (a small backpack, as I'll only be there a few days) I have tea and chocolates, tokens of my gratitude and pleasant holiday gifts for my hosts. Indeed, to all of you I wish a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. If all goes well, I'll spend both these occasions in the company of friends--doubtless the best substitute for a full-blown homecoming.

Indeed, the idea of returning home shall continue to subsist on the hazy horizon of future considerations, largely out of mind, slowly gaining stock as I focus the best I can on the present.

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The practical reason, of course, for returning to Honk Kong (I was there once before, after all, when I was a freshman in high school) is to renew my visa. I wrote in the introduction to my blog that I had 90 days to make it to the border. It was the only hard and steadfast rule for the trip, and I'm finally paying respect to it, some 80 days since first landing in Beijing.

I think this calls for a small recap.

Teaching is winding down. I spent the last week issuing written and oral tests to the youngsters. Laborious but meditative work. In seeing the results from students that I myself taught, I am convinced that while my work was by no means stellar, or incredible, or even up to par with many of my colleagues, I did a good job. All considered, not fantastic or regrettable, but good. And given any degree of effort, it will always be an amazing phenomena to have someone not know something one moment, and in the next, recite it to your face. Such is the joy of teaching.

At the conclusion of this semester, and at the risk of sounding didactic, I will venture this decree: From teaching, one gains patience, perception and benevolence, or becomes completely demoralized in the classroom. In the end, the real fruits of the profession are procured from these virtues. A teacher learns to contribute to the lives of his or her students in ways that include, but should certainly not be limited to, the actual act of practicing English (or learning whatever subject matter may be).

So good news! My initial ideals, though beaten, mugged and forced to limp their way home from work on many occasions, survived the experience, and are probably the better for it. What changed was merely the approach. My handle on the craft of teaching had its inception and took its first clumsy but well-directioned step these past few months. On the whole, the experience has been more inspiring than discouraging towards the prospect of taking a second.

Whether this second step manifests itself in continuing to teach in the second semester, volunteer teaching in more rural areas of China, or pursuing a career in teaching back in America, I can't really say yet. But the potential is alive and well in each choice.

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Speaking of teaching, the last two or three weeks have seen me participate in a kind of teaching altogether different from corralling crowd fulls of noisy, bastard kids. I've had the pleasure of teaching people who actually want to improve their English. Now I commute everyday from Shengda Primary School to an apartment in the Yangpu district of Shanghai, where I tutor a mother and father in return for accommodation. Their home is located in the Puxi (west of the river) area of Shanghai, and thankfully entails a shorter trip to both work and most of the city's attractions. An interesting aside: I am now about 30 times more familiar with the map of Shanghai than I am with the map of Santa Rosa. Curious.

Of course, this means I tied things off with the good old Desautels. One cannot live off the good graces of another indefinitely--indeed, the three weeks I spent with them was already too long a period.


When Terry, the mother of the group, came home from America (thankfully her operation in the States was successful), it kind of rounded off my conception of this quintessential American family.

Terry is what the Americans (and certainly the Chinese) call a "tai tai," literally meaning "wife" in Chinese. This title carries with it connotations of a certain class of foreign wives who basically don't have anything to do in China. Their husbands make more money here, and the cost of hiring a maid is significantly lower than in America (Of course, husbands whose wives own high paying positions are appropriately dubbed "guy tai's."). So with the rent paid and the house clean, they (most of them anyway) know nothing but to regress into shameless pleasure seeking and flights to the local country club. They're a bubbly, relatively care-free bunch. Think high school.

In living with the Desautels, I admit being continually astounded by the breadth and variety of ways in which Terry and Tom spoiled the children. In the land of filial piety, their attitudes towards parenting stuck out like a sore thumb. I would, for example, cook omelets for the the whole family over the weekends, and Jake, their youngest would not touch his--literally never even tried it (these were delicious tomato, cheese, onion, avocado omelets too--no easy feat in China!). His excuse probably amounted to no more than "it looks funny." Meanwhile, he took the largest share of bacon. I was not wont to take such instances personally, nor was he in any way trying to be rude. It was just their way. Similarly, when the cook made something other than fries and chicken (or the like), I witnessed Jake profess a lack of hunger. He'd then proceed to engorge himself with dessert.


Terry often "helped" Jake with his homework; in one instance, his assignment was drawing a to-scale model of Noah's Ark (Jake and Jim's schools have a pronounced Christian lean; I even had the pleasure of attending a Christian chorus recital). Terry practically volunteered herself to draw it, as there was a constant struggle to focus Jake's attention on homework. I got a look at her rendition: it wasn't bad! The catch was that Jake would have to do the coloring. What followed was a near shameless series of complaints about the type of colored pencils, the fact that they had erasers, how his hand was cramping. He did it partially in jest, I have to admit, but she ended up doing the coloring nonetheless.

16 year old Jim was furious. I was too, but a little more quietly.

Despite these observations, and they are truly more satirical than condemning in nature, I am compelled to give the Desautels a fair, and ultimately positive description--this is not just because I am personally indebted to them.

On several occasions I was present for that sort of family intimacy I could only play observer to, that spoke to their incredible likenesses and mutually cherished beliefs, that intoned the deepest expressions of what makes the family "work." Those instances I use to poke fun at this family must certainly bow before the interactions which I could do nothing but stand by and admire, or laugh with, or even yearn after. I'll no doubt think back on them with a good deal of admiration.

In any case, I was not particularly sad, but was certainly not overjoyed when it came time to part with them. I left the Desautels with expensive chocolate (soon to be gracelessly feasted upon by Jake) and a well-thought out letter of my gratitude. They were but small gifts in light of their hospitality.

I was dropped off in Yangpu by their personal driver and moved into Claire and Johnny's unused bedroom.

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In this apartment--significantly smaller than that of the Desautels, but flushed with a similar degree of luxury--there sits a whiteboard with Johnny and Claire's names scribbled promisingly in the corner. I think I left them with a lesson on things that annoy us, so there must be words like "pet-peeves," "road rage," "obnoxious," and "litterbug" written across it as well.

The board is a kind of hub point for daily English learning in the household. It is the physical manifestation of my more committed effort to dictate the terms of teaching within this round of hosting. The website on which we met laid out no such terms; indeed, my greatest fear is that unclear expectations should lead to an unbalanced exchange between teacher and hoster. Essentially, the board, and my unprompted promise to deliver small daily lessons, ensure that I do not get lazy with tutoring and that Johnny and Claire remain students as well as friends.

They're an upper-middle class couple. The apartment is furnished with a 60 inch TV and each room is decorated with great taste and variety. They recently bought an IPad 2. The grandparents play an active role in the raising of their infant; he is the main "theme" of the family at this moment. My room is certainly more than I could have asked for, complete with an 8th story view of Shanghai.

Johnny, 30 years old, is a normal, earnest, kind, marginally romantic man. He designs booths for the Shanghai world "expos" that take place every so often--big events for business men and entrepreneurs, hence the relative affluence of Johnny and his family. He told me the story of how his main interest in life as a youth was to become an artist and how this was shaped and honed as he attended prestigious drawing institutions for both high school and college. He eventually settled on becoming an architect, and now wants to access the foreign market by improving his English skills. As I find myself with more time on my hands, he has promised to give me a few drawing lessons, as he himself is not currently busy (the next expo isn't until March). I'm terribly excited.

Claire, 27 years old, speaks much better English, as she studied it throughout high school and college, whereas Johnny stopped after middle school. She is a mindful, loving mother, and very smart, though she still harbors some immaturities as a person. When we had our lesson on "describing yourself," Johnny very apply compared her to a cat. She is the kind of person who is not mysterious, but rather wants to be mysterious, who will purposefully not give you her attention to appear distracted, and therefore secure. Her calling is similar to Johnny's in that she is involved with design; in her case however, it is the design of clothes. Her career is on pause as she cares for the baby.

Both are very hospitable and gracious people.

Of course, the bulk of our interactions are defined by daily lessons. But this is just as much a professional exchange as it is an opportunity to build friendship and mutual respect. Any sort of conversation counts as English practice, so I need merely probe their personalities for particular interests, and viola: we have a lesson. It has been a pleasure getting to know them, and I think they too have enjoyed the recounting of some of my adventures.

The whiteboard is divided into four categories: "new words," "pronunciation," "idioms/proverbs" and "miscellaneous." Johnny is a diligent student, and copies everything down after each lesson. His current homework assignment is to write a practice business letter to a potential client. Claire's is to write and deliver a short speech, that I may help her with some of the finer points of speaking.

The arrangement is a fruitful one, for both parties.

(And I have certainly delighted in their recent invitation to help give the baby an English name. Kenny, Austin, Terrence, Dad: your names are definitely on the list!)

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These have been busy days. On a typical weekday I wake up at 6:00 and am out of the house by 7:00. The commute is about 45 minutes to my morning school, and classes begin at 8:30. I've recently taken to morning meditations in Shanghai's sculpture park, literally across the street from the school. What a pleasure it is to see the groups of older men and women, practicing dance, Tai Chi, kite-flying--you name it!

Work puts me home at about 5:00. I'll usually dedicate the afternoon commute to audiobooks. Between the hour or so of lessons I owe my host family, the exercise and evening meditations I owe myself, dinner (Claire is, to my great satisfaction, a good cook) and a 9:30 self-appointed curfew--I rarely have time for my most modest of indulgences, say a chess game.

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That being said, the dawn of the new year mark both a symbolic and literal change. Of my visa: it will be renewed. Of college applications: they will be submitted. Of work: work will be over. Of money: I've made more than enough to suit my purposes--perhaps enough to even finance the whole rest of the trip. Of social or hierarchical obligations: I have only my host family to mind. The question which I now inevitably put to myself, as I stand on the precipice of such pronounced liberation, is: "What will you do?"

I answer resoundingly and with a good deal of excitement:

"Anything I like."

--Chris Stasse,

8 hours to Hong Kong"

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Comments

[Keith Davis]

Hi Chris -from neighbor Marie's son...
Hi Chris! You're rather a prolific writer. I really can empathize w/ you. I went away to study for a whole year at the Free University of West Berlin. But I was already about 27 when I did that. My mother (and stepfather Jim) are your next-door neighbors on Montgomery Drive. They are fast approaching the end of their life journeys. At that point you may see more of me. The women in my life for 17 tempestuous, on-and-off again years was from Beijing. I have a great admiration for the Chinese myself. My mother's parents escaped from the Soviet Union - traveling to Turkey by paying a fisherman who helped them escape in his boat. Did you know that? You certianly have my support and admiration in your endeavors. Whar organization did all this go through? Keith