"Workin' 9-5. What a way to make a livin',"

I don't know if it's my southern roots and the fact that summer is six months out of 12, at the least, but I love my tan. I'll bake in the sun all day with a good book or a cold one by my side.
In China, the majority of women carry an umbrella for shade when it is slightly sunny. They also use whitening lotion, whereas many Americans prefer self tanner.
They strive to have the fairest skin possible. This comes from old standards when those who were fair skinned usually signified wealth. And those with dark skin were typically laborers and poor to middle class workers.
Being from the South we praise farmers. And being a girl with a hardworking middle class father, I praise laborers.
My dad has worked at the same factory for 35 years. When he was 18 he started at Libbey Glass, and at 52 years old, 34 years later, he still punches the clock every day by 7:00 a.m.
Even today, many people encourage education and higher degrees for success. Study hard and it will pay off, in material items.
Many people today find themselves "too good" for blue collar work. I disagree. Whatever work you do, you make it yours. And you make it yours with pride.
I've often asked my dad if he hates his job, or if he's tired of it over the years. My daddy, being the realistic, practical man he is, basically said no because it provided a comfortable life for himself and for us. Like any job, though, it has its good days and it has its bad days.
I'm writing about this today because on my hour-long subway commute I'm listening to Taylor Swift. Yes, Taylor Swift. Her song, "Never Grow Up," has always spoken to me. The line reads:
"Memorize the sound when your dad gets home. Remember the footprints, remember the words said." 
This song was on an album that came out when I was in college and living on my own for the first time, so it has always resonated with me.
You do remember this. If your pets don't turn towards the door first, you recognize the feeling almost instinctively when your parent arrives. My dad drove a single cab '93 Silverado until my brother turned 16 and he gave it to him. That 'ol Chevy had a distinct muffle as it pulled into our drive every day.
I remember the sound, and to this day I recognize my dad's odor as he came in from work. It smells of oil, outside, the factory and sweat. The combination of all these scents means nothing more to me than love. That no matter the season, or the temperature, my dad works eight or more hours each day to ensure we were all well tended. And we were. I've never wanted for a thing in my life. Not of the necessary kind, anyway.
I've noticed while in China how many of the workers are peeking at elderly and still hacking away in the sun (or smog) each day.
I have seen one man under the age of 30 working a laborious job since my arrival here seven weeks ago. I see roughly 50-100 workers daily, depending on the day and my location.
Men and women of all ages over 45. Street sweepers, garbage collectors, construction workers, etc. They wear orange jumpsuits... like American prisoners.
And I fear they may be prisoners of a stereotype, not only in China, but throughout the world that blue collar is more lowly than white collar.
Important doesn't even begin to describe the way education is viewed in China. Not only do my students take English, but some take additional Chinese lessons, math, and other subjects and languages.
I'm not saying education isn't important. It is, and I'm a big fan of it. However, I enjoy education. I enjoy learning and reading and experiencing. Learning isn't for everyone.
Remember that Ferraris, $500 million dollar homes and designer brand clothing and accessories aren't every persons idea of wealth.
Many find wealth in a life where they can provide a healthy life for their family, food on their table and a roof over their head. It's just a bonus if you own the roof and can put food on a table at a restaurant. Many find wealth in simply living happily. And when you struggle in life, is where gratitude plays a role. There is always someone who has it worse than you. Always.
My dad tried college. He said it wasn't for him. There are plenty of people who don't enjoy it, nor succeed academically. It doesn't mean you can't succeed in life.
You don't need education to be successful or happy; you need motivation.
And for those of you with a degree, and no career, it'll happen. Meanwhile, the next time you're working your job as a cashier, secretary, bartender, server, etc., and someone suggests you go back to school, just flip 'em the bird and call it a day. :)

A dose of human kindness

Some people suck and that's just a fact of life. Some people do not. Some days it seems everyone is only after their best interest. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but we do forget things in our hurry to succeed.
I'm guilty of it myself; especially in China. I practically trample people because they move slower than a tortoise. I'm always walking in a hurry; even when I have nowhere to be. That's just my pace.
However, even at a fast pace I always try to absorb my surroundings: people, buildings, vehicles, etc.
In a new city I'm always walking with my neck craned, my head tilted back and my eyes staring at others behind the tint of my sunglasses.
It's amazing the things you can see that don't suck if you just look up every now and then.
This morning I cried in the subway because I witnessed the most beautiful act of human kindness.
Getting a seat on the subway is like winning a lottery ticket. Particularly in rush hour between seven and eight a.m. and six to seven p.m. when every human in Beijing is coming or going from work.
Obviously, seats are reserved for pregnant women. In China, seats are also given up by elders to children.
In Chinese culture the children are viewed as working hardest because they go to school and lessons all day.
Let's be honest, I'll give a pregnant and an elder, of any sex, my seat, but the kids can stand or sit in mommy and daddy's lap. I may be in China but that's one culture idea I won't abide by.
So pregnant women then children then other women is pecking order for subway sitting.
Today I watched a man of about 55 give his seat to an elder.
Not just any elderly man... an elderly man I'll be kind enough to say was 80, but could quite possibly be pushing 90. Age is hard to tell because typically the Chinese age very well and many look younger than they are. However, those who spend their live sin the sun on farms, construction or road sights age more quickly, just as in any other race - the sun expedites the wrinkle process.
The 55-year-old man stood up and reached for the 80-year-old man. When the elderly man looked up, his face had years of wear. His eyes were so caved from his years of living that he appeared blind, and very well could've been.
The 55-year-old led the man to the seat and sat him down.
There was a younger, but not by much, man accompanying the 80-year-old. I assume this is his son. The son wrapped his hands around the 55-year-olds arm and with all the sincerity in the world I saw his mouth say, "xie xie." (Xie xie is thank you in Mandarin.)
In that moment several tears flow from my eyes and down my cheeks.
Any other day on the subway you can't get out of your seat before someone is sitting in your lap in their rush to have your seat next. The subway is a madhouse and sucks a bit of my soul each day. There is zero regard for personal space. People pack in the subway like salvation awaits them at the end of the ride.
Needless to say, no one budged as the entire train watched this beautiful action unfold before us. And somewhere in the midst of it all another person left the seat next to the old man unoccupied. As I got off the train, I watched the son sit by his father for the remainder of their journey.

Tian'Anmen Square & Wafujing

As part of my 365 days in Beijing, not all blogs will be long. Many just informing.
During my TEFL course I met a sweet Irish lass named Tara. Tara works ten or so hours away in Suzhou, in the southeast corner of China, whereas I am in the north.
Lucky for me, Tara and her two friends came to visit Beijing Wednesday. We spent the day being tourists and having a grand 'ol time.
We hit Tian'anmen Square first.
You all know the name Tian'anmen.
The Massacre of 1989.
That's about all you or anyone else does know about this place.
Little information was released about this tragedy. Classroom rule number one in China: never mention Tian'anmen.
Tian'anmen Square is actually a square in the center of Beijing. It is the largest open, public space in the world, rounding in at 180 acres.
You may have also heard of The Forbidden City.
The Forbidden City is Tian'Anmen Square. Quite a common confusion. The Forbidden City lies within Tian'Anmen Square. You see?
Completed in 1420, the Forbidden City served as the imperial palace for the Ming Dynasty through Qing Dynasty.
Now, inside of the Forbidden City is the remains of the 950-plus buildings and a Palace Museum which houses all artifacts and collections from the dynasty days.
I can't say I learned much because on a budget life we opted out of guided headsets fro the day and decided ignorance suited us better. On another day I'll return and gain more knowledge of the Square and the City.
For now, I took some pictures, of course, and enjoyed a nice walk through the beautiful architecture. Just because I was clueless about everything I saw, doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it.
In Beijing, as you know, pollution is a real issue and smog is the bane of my existence some days. Makes your mood gloomy. Lucky for us, the sky was unbelievably beautiful on Wednesday. This makes for great sightseeing.
After Tian'Anmen we walked a good mile and a half to Wafujing. Wafujing is a famous street for tourists that is known for its souvenirs, hagglers and interesting food selection. By interesting I mean scorpions, cockroaches, starfish, bat, and many other things you'd never consider deep frying. It's a very peculiar sight to see. 
All in all it was a great ay just enjoying being a tourist in my new city. The sky was blue, company was fantastic and as always, I learned a thing or two. :)

"Write, so as not to have fear."

With the right amount of silence, when I close my eyes I feel home as I listen to the katydids sing in the trees nearby.

I am in the middle of Beijing, China shortly after rush hour on a Tuesday afternoon. The sun will set soon and the traffic of the nightlife will pick up again.

I miss my friends and family. I don't miss my town, but I miss the things I love most about it. The same feeling happened when I moved to New York in November. The smells, the sounds and the scenery: the peace that all of those things bring me never ceases to amaze me.

As a writer, it is natural to pick up not only on the tangible, but also on the abstract. Description is key in anything worth reading. This is how you feel a story, not just what your eyes see.

My biggest goal in life is to write a novel. At this point I often feel I'll never accomplish it. I have a million ideas in my mind, but none of those ideas ever produce all the steps necessary for a complete story, which would be a beginning, middle and an end. I only ever seem to come up with the middle. How to begin and end has always been a struggle for me. Even in news writing, I write the middle then the ending, and the beginning is always last.

I feel I can better write the beginning if I know how it ends. I'm not sure if this is a quirk of all writers or if it is simply tied to my ADD and constant state of daydreaming.

"We tell ourselves stories in order to live. The princess is caged in the consulate. The man with the candy will lead the children into the sea. The woman in the ledge outside the window on the sixteenth floor is a victim of accidie, or the naked woman is an exhibitionist, and it would be "interesting" to know which. We tell ourselves that it makes some difference whether the naked woman is about to commit a mortal sin or is about to register a political protest or is about to be, the Aristophanic view, snatched back to human condition by the fireman in priest's clothing just visible in the window behind her, the one smiling at the telephoto lens. We look for the sermon in the suicide, for the social or moral lesson in the murder of five. We interpret what we see, select the most workable of the multiple choices. We live entirely, especially if we are writers, by the imposition of a narrative line upon disparate images, by the "ideas" with which we have learned to freeze the shifting phantasmagoria which is our actual experience."

This was the first thing I read this morning on my hour-long subway commute to work. The first paragraph of Joan Didion's, "The White Album."

Didion is a literary non-fiction writer, famous for the "Orchid Thief," and one of my favorites, "The Year of Magical Thinking," among many other books. If anyone has lived life as a writer, (aside from Hunter S. Thompson,) it's Joan Didion.

Didion is what I merely dream to be: a literary non-fiction genius. She writes of her every move, and all those moves of the people she meets along the way.

As a writer you pick out all of the intricate details. For example:

“We sat on the beach watching the waves and tanning in the sun.”

That’s fifth grade sentence level. Think about how you feel at the beach…

“I dug my toes into the sand until they were so deep the earth began to feel cool. The sweat ran down my cheeks as the sun kissed my skin.”

Obviously that wasn’t well thought out, but you get the point, right?

On that note, I will say that sort of detailed, well-worded writing isn’t for everyone. It obviously isn’t my style. I shoot straight to the point and I believe that is reason #34 why writing an actual book is complicated.

When reading Stephen King’s “On Writing:  A Memoir of the Craft,” he said if you want to write, “he had to take a shit,” then don’t write, “he had to defecate.” King said you’d spend the rest of your time writing trying to maintain that same language. Whoever your audience is will appreciate whatever you have to say. So, I’ve tried to stick to that and backspace less when writing.

Back on track…

“The Year of Magical Thinking” is about the most personal journey of Didion’s life: life after the sudden death of her husband and watching as her only child nearly dies from a fatal illness.

My life isn't particularly interesting; at least not what I share in the public’s eye. I've had many adventures. I have many a crazy story the world would find interesting stretched out in a few books. Yet, many a crazy story my family might find shameful or embarrassing.

To put into words your own personal experiences, and then publish for the world to see, is quite a step for a writer.

Some things parents should never know. Some things no one should ever know. So you see, I have to find the other story worthy things I find in life to transcribe into words. My journal will be the only thing to know it all from start to finish.

I began a blog the other day I couldn't quite finish. That was the first 20 or so sentences you read. Until I read Didion’s paragraph today, I never realized why I struggled so much as a writer with finishing any piece.

I am a writer. Many people enjoy what I write because they enjoy the adventures and admire my journey. Others read because they're close to me so they feel obligated. Some read because they too are writers and maybe like to compare and contrast our styles. The rest probably don't get past the first paragraph of anything I write because to be honest, I hate grammar and my writing can be pretty sloppy.

Whatever the choice, it doesn’t affect me. I write because I enjoy it, and because, in my mind, I am decent at it. I write to express. And most importantly I write to escape. Writing is the one thing I can always find confidence in doing.

Since I can remember I've had the wildest imagination. I have always been a daydreamer. My thoughts drift, linger and wander to where most people's minds haven’t ventured since age five. I, on the other hand, have always held tightly to the simplest part of my mind. My friends are well aware of this nuisance of a quality I possess, and they either accept it or ignore it. At my age, I don’t believe it’s a quality that is ever going to dissipate.

The point of this whole blog, which I don’t believe I’ve made clear, is to state that imagination is ok. It's my strongest quality as a writer. As it is for most writers. Sure it may get me in trouble, and my peers may despise my lack of attention sometimes, but it’s who I am.

When I can walk down the street, with a group or alone, any little thing can trigger my imagination to form a genuine story or idea to write about later. Sometimes it’s a couple walking and I can plot out their entire relationship in my head, or I see a poor man begging and make up a quick tragedy of how he got there. What I see can be something as simple as trash lingering in some nearby bushes or two humans having a public confrontation. Honestly, depending on the day and mood, you can write about anything.

Again, my biggest goal in life is to have a book published: fiction, non-fiction, biography or even a picture book. As long as it is a book, available for purchase in a store and has my name on it I don't care what it is or how it happens, just so long as it does. Any of the above would be satisfying.

Ironically enough, as a daydreamer, I have the worst time writing fiction. I can drift into thought for an entire month, construct a perfect plot, but come time to transcribe I wouldn't get more than a paragraph on paper (by paper I mean Microsoft Word.)

I started a novel three months ago... I wrote a chapter and I haven't looked at it since. Therefore, I currently have a five-page novel. :)

My imagination runs rampant from the smallest of life moments. However, I could never put it into words.

I read quotes, advice and books from famous, and not so famous, writers who give their best tips for successful writing. Here are the ones I personally have found most useful lately.

1.    The most obvious is simply to write. And it’s true. All writing is good writing when working toward a goal.

2.    The second is to stay creative. Find things that spark your creativity.

Organize, listen to music, play with children, turn off the TV, and stay curious…

3.    Read.

4.    Write drunk. Edit sober.

5.    Let go of fear. Bleed it all out.

These are the most helpful, and most common words of advice given to writers, but that is because they are the most helpful. There is nothing more to writing than to do. So use whatever characteristic you posses which may or may not be as admirable to others at times. The truth is the best form of writing.

   

             

Only in China...

Here is the real starter blog of life in Beijing so far. All of the culturally shocking moments I've experienced, as well as all the ones I've been warned about. 

As I've been hurrying through everyday with my hectic schedule and long subway commutes, I often forget I'm even in China. That is until one of a million culturally shocking things catches my attention. 
In high school, I had a brilliant teacher who once told our class, "things uncommon to us are not weird, just different." I've made this a rule to mentally note for all things in life. Since I started traveling it really has come to the front lines of how I view and speak of others, their cultures and their lifestyles.  
That being said, no matter how truly strange some Chinese culture appears to me, I note it isn't weird, just different. 

Here are a few fun facts I've noted over the past month. 


1. Smile! You're on candid camera.
Many Chinese locals are fascinated with foreigners. Until recently, there weren't many foreigners in China. People will stare. And I mean the deep, double-take kind of staring your momma always popped you on the back of the head for, followed by a quick, "don't stare; it's rude." 
Sometimes when people are staring at me I feel like a zoo animal. Other times I can feel like a super model. It's all dependent on my day and the person staring. 
People will take your picture often and at random, especially when you are out with a group of fellow foreigner friends.
The other day I was having a few beers at a cafe and when I finally paid to leave, the waitress stopped and asked to take my picture. “You are so beautiful,” she said. I kindly obliged because I was flattered she still saw beauty in my face after a 12-hour day and my hair was at its frizziest. 
Now, here is a classic "Amie" story. 
Some friends and i went to the zoo a few weeks back, as you know. While there, every time we stopped for pictures, as did several surrounding Chinese people. Forget the pandas, we were their main attraction that day, ha. So, toward the end of our trek through the zoo, we are admiring a cage full of monkeys and close by are three Chinese people. This lady had been staring at me for quite some time (so I thought.) So, when she pulled her phone up for a photo I thought I was saving her the trouble of being sneaky and just smiled. Smiled like an idiot I did for a solid minute until I realized her Chinese friend was standing to my right and that's who she'd been staring at all along. Leave it to me to pose for the one Chinese person who doesn't give two shits about seeing a foreigner. It's a great story, though! :) 

2. Walking Chinese 
This next bit isn't so much a cultural shock as it is my biggest pet peeve in China. Walking Chinese. Ninety-nine percent of the walking and subway riding population of China have a standard speed of zero. Absolutely no one walks with purpose here. In New York, you'd be trampled on if you didn't walk quickly enough. In China, I have literally walked into people who don't step off the escalator and walk. People step off the escalator and practically walk at a tip-toe. It's the most ridiculous situation I've ever endured. 
Ironically enough, to exit the subway train itself, a person will literally give you a black eye or step on your kid to make sure they're out the door in time. However, that doesn't mean they're going to walk once they've reached that station platform. It makes positively no sense to me and I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the mindset of walking and subway travel. 
On my longest days, when I'm at my weakest physically, I still  have to walk around 85 percent of the people along the way. 

3. The restroom situation:
Western toilets are not always easy to come by. I thought always squatting in Europe because there were no seats on toilets was bad. Well, I was sadly mistaken. Lucky for me I come from a place in the South where it isn't uncommon to squat in the woods when push comes to shove. However, it isn't my first choice. In China, aside from popular foreigner areas, you will find "squatty potties." A toilet on the ground. So, if you're looking to tone up your quad muscles, take a trip to China. 
Rule no. 1: Carry tissue always. If you are lucky enough to find a Western toilet, you probably aren't lucky enough to find a Western toilet with toilet paper. Now, toilet paper is sold in stores, don't panic. It just isn't always plentiful in public restrooms.

4. "He did what in the street?"
Along with the lack of Western toilets in China. There is a general lack of public toilets, which is troublesome for a heavily populated city. 
That being said, with a lack of restrooms, it isn’t uncommon to see someone urinate or defecate in the streets. Yes, you read that correctly. I’ve had a few friends in China who've witnessed this first hand. So far, I have only heard, and I'll be happy to keep it that way. No one has been able to give a legitimate reason, other than the lack of public restrooms. Me personally, I hope I'm never so desperate for a bathroom that I resort to the street. Just sayin'...

5: "As smooth as a baby's bottom..."
If you're standing on the subway one day, and you realize the person next you're bumping arms with has skin as smooth as a baby's bottom... take a glance because it very well could be a child's rear end. 
I was riding the subway the first time I saw a kid in pants with the private area cut open. Not cut, intentionally designed this way. About five people down was a child with absolutely no bottoms on. Butt naked. 
Again, there is a serious lack of public restrooms. I understand most countries use diapers. I'm still just as puzzled by the logic here. I mean, how in the world can you know a 16 month old needs to use the restroom, anyway. I'm no parent. I haven't a clue. It's too different for me to comprehend.
So the deal is, the private areas are left unclothed and when the kid needs to use the restroom, he/she just pops a squat, too. 
After three weeks of living her, I finally saw a mother pick up her toddler son, carry him to the bushes, and hold his legs spread eagle as he peed. All I could do was laugh. At this point, it's honestly not very surprising. 

I have seen much more and learned much more in just one month's time, however, I shall save it for another day. After all, I've got 345 days left in China. :)

Cheers!

Learning the language...

I've always heard people learn a language best  from hearing it spoken repetitively. Context is the first thing I've picked up at an attempt to learn Mandarin. If you know the context of the situation you can more easily figure out the words, or at the least, the proper response.
After a month in China, here is what I can say in Mandarin. 
(I am not going to type pin yin for you. This is just for an idea of how complicated the language is for me.)
So far I can say:
hello/how are you
no
thank you
cat 
dog
this/that 
handsome/beautiful/cute 
he/she is cute/handsome/beautiful
coke
water
goodbye
My name is Amie
I am American
I am a teacher
I don't know
Let's go
Cheers (empty your glass)
Right?
How much?
I love you
And on a good day I can count to 10 :)

Now, I can say all of those things, but let's keep in mind my accent. The tones are key in learning to speak Mandarin. For example, I was practicing with my Chinese friend and showing her how proud I was to be able to say, "I'm a teacher." She laughed at me and said, "You have to poop?"
So, you can see how it is important to nail the correct tone. Imagine if I'd said that to a stranger and their child on an elevator or the subway. Awkward...

There are four tones: flat (1st), rising (2nd), rise then fall (3rd), and fall (4th). You could have the word "wu" but depending on the tone above /u/, it has a completely different meaning. 
I just copied this from an Internet site. I have no idea what these words mean. This is just to give you an idea of what is going on. 

Here is how understanding the process of basic communication is working for me inside the classroom and outside the classroom. 

Outside:
Last Wednesday I went to buy some new running shoes. The shoes were clearly separated by women's on the left side and men on the right side of the table. I picked out some cute purple and grays from the left side. When I signed the Chinese number nine to the attendant, she smiled and shifted to the right end of the table. I understood that this meant, "Damn, you have a big foot. Only men's shoes come in those sizes." 
With not much of a choice, I shifted right and found some aqua and gray Nike Frees for $50/USD. I don't care if they're knockoffs or the real deal. All I care is that I can go running in a brand new pair of kicks that I can say were $50 Nike Frees. :) 

Inside of class: 
Teacher is "lao shi" in Mandarin. When I hear "lao shi" in my class I know the students are speaking to me (or about me.)
"Bu zhi dao," means "I don't know." When I hear this I know my instructions weren't clear or they need more specific directions.
The students go pretty easy on me to be their new teacher. I replaced a teacher who has been at my school for three years.
I am learning as much each new day as my students are. During class, if a student says "bu zhi dao" toward me, I am pleased they at least recognize me as their teacher and I find a small piece of satisfaction in that. 

Each day I am learning a new word or phrase from my coworkers and friends. I am taking mental and physical notes all throughout the day. I get advice from friends who've been in China longer and combine them all to find what works in making the language stick. I don't expect to be fluent next month, or at the end of the year, but I want to be able to make a point and communicate when I can.