February 7, A New Year.

It’s almost unrecognizable. Almost un-identifiable. Almost unbelievable. Almost. When the new year comes, the people go. They go home. They go back to their hometowns. Back to where they were grown into the people they are today. They take a break, a rest, a respite from the intense pressure and pace of work to be. Be home. Be with friends. Be with family. Yes, it may seem strange to me that they just go home for a week and watch TV, but who am I to say there must be production involved in a festival. No one, that’s who. For in China, they go home to do what they do. Dumplings, fireworks, red. Red blessings, red envelopes, red everything. Red envelopes that are quite fun on wechat, and I’m sure even more fun in real life when the older folks give you one and that’s where the money’s at. Red to scare away the nian, the bad spirits after cleaning the house to sweep them out. Red blessings around the door. And noise. Loud noises to keep the bad out. Fireworks on all sides, a 360 degree enveloping of the booming sounds that rattle in your chest and the colors and streaks in the sky that don’t let anyone rest. No, not tonight. For tonight begins the year of the monkey. The year that we keep wishing for good fortune, success, luck. They year that we grow and live in expectation of what’s to come. What’s to meet them on this side. But they don’t come back to Beijing until it’s over. So the once insanely fast paced and crowded and busy city is now left a ghost town. Streets empty, stores closed and cleaned out, people gone. It’s almost unrecognizable. Almost un-identifiable. Almost unbelievable. Almost.

Fishbowl.

What would it be like to be on the outside looking in. Switching places with someone who hasn’t been immersed in this subculture all their life. What must they think as they watch us live. What are their thoughts on what we believe, what are their reactions to the lives we lead, the decisions we make, the paths we take. It’s easy to stay within the fishbowl when it’s all you’ve ever known, but true solidarity and growth comes when you can see past the glass into a world of differences or heaven forbid even shatter that bowl and live life as the water spreads out in all directions, permeating the outside. What must it be like.

Reality check.

That’s the sad reality.

That violence happens.

Domestic violence happens.

And people just walk by on the other side of the road.

It doesn’t affect them anymore. They don’t seem to be upset by this injustice. They simply gawk as they quickly walk by.

How many injuries- mental, emotional, physical-could be avoided if we stood up for human dignity. If we spoke out against the injustice that we see everyday. What would happen if we came to the aid of the widows and fatherless, the weak and forgotten, the exploited and abused? I pray that our hearts of stone would be shattered and we would be able to feel again. To be moved by what we are surrounded by. Moved to action. To live in solidarity and stand up for our fellow humans. Not walk right by in search of peace for myself, turning away from the preventable pain that’s right beside me.
That is what we are called to do after all.

Too fast

It seems surreal to me. As I look out the window I see hundreds of people walking by, I hear the subway’s sound as it flies by. I see the lights and the Chinese that I am slowly beginning to be able to read. And it’s beginning to hit me.

In less than 3 months I will leave.

See.

Where’s their chance? Where’s their opportunity to get a taste of the pleasure of thinking about something more than what they are going to eat? Where’s their path of redemption out of poverty?

Here I am living in another country, experiences what my parents could only dream of seeing, faced with the question of what will I do after I leave. With a multitude of options at my feet, I can’t seem to see which direction to go. I know that with such security and opportunity comes great responsibility, but what can I do?

They have nothing, their main concern is where will they sleep. Where will their next meal come from? Will they make it to morning, be safe and warm? Their possessions are little to none, so how in the world could they conceive a dream to chase after? Maybe they can, but where is their hope to achieve it? Where is their hope to believe it is possible? Who will walk with them? Who will offer their hand in solidarity and security to provide a space and an opportunity to dream.

They’re already marginalized as ones without potential, without hope to succeed, their futures being dictated for them, to remain in this vicious cycle of poverty.

But is that their destiny? When we look around what do we see? Some blessed with material security, others with an emotional foundation that has provided an environment in which they can dream. Others damned to their current state of poverty because it’s too bad. They’ll go back to it in the end after all, won’t they? It’s too much work. Too much effort. Too much risk.

But what if that were you? And that’s the spoken prophecy that people spoke over you. You’re just a lost drop in the sea of humanity. If you stop to think about it, how do you see such situations? Because they are reality.

A taste of reality

What a trip. What an interesting trip into an immersed cultural experience during the most important time in the Chinese calendar. What a joy to share in the familial affair that is known here as the Chinese new year. What an exciting time to fall on my face culturally and be lifted back up by one who can truly teach me what is. What solidarity is gained from a few days in the life of the majority of Chinese.

 Buses stopping along the roadside because they don’t want to go on, making every passenger get out and walk 4 miles on the ice to get to the destination promised when we got on. Yet no one complains. No one makes any kind of a scene. They just get off and walk. And walk. And walk. In the freezing cold, slipping right with the cars that are pulling of the road on all sides, people paying others to simply park in their yard. The insane amounts of pictures that are taken at each little destination by people who want to “document” their trip, proving that they were there and posing as they hold their selfie sticks up in the air. Becoming well versed in the practices before bed for my friends family, complete with pouring the boiling water from the thermos to wash the face, then later the feet and the socks. Seeing how there can be such specific situations you can and can’t do things, such as drink water or wear clothes. If you drink cold water you’ll get sick. If you wear pants to bed you could get sick. Scolding children seems to be a rarity as they seem to be the centers of attention in just about any family. I learned how I fit in better here in regards to showering routines, and how unique certain dishes can be-especially served for breakfast. Pig ear gelatin things, seaweed, spicy bean sprouts, and more, all normal things to eat early in the morning. Having class from a 5 year old who isn’t afraid to do a whole lot of scolding. Struggling with communication since the people here speak a unique dialect and the older generation generally isn’t too familiar with the Chinese I’ve began to ease into. Experiencing what many many people experience when traveling during a time when no train seats are left and they cram as many people on that train as possible, leaving all of the ones without seats to stand on their feet or sit in the tiny aisles for the 14, 20, even 40 hour journey. Appreciating the solidarity that comes from sharing such an experience but quite content if it never happens again.  

Reflecting back on those days, all the things I took away-the way to ganbei, what to say when addressing people, the general way of life-all I have to say is that I have much to learn. And that’s exciting.