Tomorrow is the big day. Will I survive the six hour bus ride??? My "laduzi" was SO bad today, I thought I was going to die. During each trip to the bathroom, I felt as if I was emptying out my guts into the toilet bowl. I called the Peace Corps doctor and practically begged to be allowed to take the Giardia medicine, but the doc refused, and told me I'd be better off using the rehydration salt pack. ICK. If my bowels come loose again tomorrow on the bus, I honestly don't know what the fuck I'm going to do. =(
This afternoon I felt better... well enough to get my hair washed. =P But because Ming Fa Xuan was closed today, Rach and I went to another shop across the school gate. Zhuang Jiaohao, the guy who did my hair, was, once again, a looker, and once again, took forever to do my hair. Turns out he went to massage school a few years ago, so when I asked for a massage, he gave me a half hour face, scalp, neck and shoulder massage - no extra charge, baby. Then he asked for my QQ number. Then when I bumped into him later in the evening, he tried to buy me a meat stick. LMAO. Too bad I had to tell him "no thanks, I have diarrhea." HAAAh.
I think moments like these are the reward of 4 months of trying in vain to be part of the Lidu community. After months of shallow greetings shared with nameless vendors, I finally feel connected. Finally, I have friends who are not also my students. Finally, I have crushes on men who do not currently reside in the US (yes, finally I've let go of the past). And finally, happiness isn't solely contingent on what I'm doing, but also partly on where I am, because my God, I love Lidu.
But too bad this little breakthrough is happening when I must leave for a month. Things change so fast here... restaurants come and go without warning (never got to say goodbye to the Muslim noodle man), and I worry that upon returning I will feel as lost as ever.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
pretty much chinese
I spent this past week, my first week of vacation, in complete cultural immersion.
As much as possible, I tried to live as the person I look like: a Chinese college student.
I stopped all my reading, I nearly stopped frequenting my internet haunts, and as much as possible, I stopped speaking, and even thinking, in English. Instead, I filled my time with Chinese soap operas, QQ chat sessions, bumming around at Du Li's lotion shop, attempting to flirt in Chinese with the hair boys, downloading Lin Ju Jie songs, eating spicy dumpling soup with Huang's mom and son at her dumpling shop, and buying way too much crap that I don't need, if only to get a good conversation out of the vendor.
As hard as this little experiment was, it's been damn fun.
Something is definitely happening here. I can sense some kind of change in me, in my status here as an outsider. I think I am finally part of the community. I think I finally belong.
Whether or not I really do, I don't know, but I think what matters is that I feel like I belong.
Heck, I even catch myself thinking that I wouldn't mind being what everyone mistakes me for. But then, I wouldn't be me, and the real me can't go long without reading, Gmail, and the English language.
As much as possible, I tried to live as the person I look like: a Chinese college student.
I stopped all my reading, I nearly stopped frequenting my internet haunts, and as much as possible, I stopped speaking, and even thinking, in English. Instead, I filled my time with Chinese soap operas, QQ chat sessions, bumming around at Du Li's lotion shop, attempting to flirt in Chinese with the hair boys, downloading Lin Ju Jie songs, eating spicy dumpling soup with Huang's mom and son at her dumpling shop, and buying way too much crap that I don't need, if only to get a good conversation out of the vendor.
As hard as this little experiment was, it's been damn fun.
Something is definitely happening here. I can sense some kind of change in me, in my status here as an outsider. I think I am finally part of the community. I think I finally belong.
Whether or not I really do, I don't know, but I think what matters is that I feel like I belong.
Heck, I even catch myself thinking that I wouldn't mind being what everyone mistakes me for. But then, I wouldn't be me, and the real me can't go long without reading, Gmail, and the English language.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
happy hair man #2
I'm bummed I didn't get the same dude, aka #9. I am too ambitious and went into the shop before he started work. lmao.
But because my hair wash took an hour (!!), I was still there when he came in, and he did end up giving me that hair wash for free =) Too bad I couldn't understand his explanation for why.
I swear, the hair washer, happy hair man #2, has magic in his hands. He gave me a dry wash with a scalp and neck massage. ohhhhhhh. Heaven heaven heaven.
This is my new hobby. As a VIP (lmao), a hair wash will cost me only 5RMB (like 80 cents) in the future.
I will be back on Thursday. mmmmmmm :) Fuck flowers and chocolate, the way to this girl's heart is her hair.
(apparently, the chemicals have caused permanent brain damage)
But because my hair wash took an hour (!!), I was still there when he came in, and he did end up giving me that hair wash for free =) Too bad I couldn't understand his explanation for why.
I swear, the hair washer, happy hair man #2, has magic in his hands. He gave me a dry wash with a scalp and neck massage. ohhhhhhh. Heaven heaven heaven.
This is my new hobby. As a VIP (lmao), a hair wash will cost me only 5RMB (like 80 cents) in the future.
I will be back on Thursday. mmmmmmm :) Fuck flowers and chocolate, the way to this girl's heart is her hair.
(apparently, the chemicals have caused permanent brain damage)
Saturday, January 2, 2010
new years resolution: think
I am impulsive and I tend to privilege action over thought. That is how I ended up in the Peace Corps :P
Not a good thing for an aspiring activist and scholar.
It's just that sometimes only thinking feels so useless, and in my impatience to see change, I change.
I just read the first chapter of Mahmood Mamdani's Saviors and Survivors: Darfur, Politics, and the War on Terror, in which he critiques the Save Darfur Coalition, the very organization that got me interested in politics.
It brings back memories of my high school excursion to the Holocaust Museum, and how upon exiting, my face still wet with tears, I eagerly purchased a bunch of green "Save Darfur" bracelets from the gift shop, determined to do something in order to remedy the guilt of privilege, of being able to simply view a history of the horrific, by actively being part of something grand and moral.
I never really looked past this coalition's grand narratives of "never again," etc. and thus did not see the implications of failing to contextualize and understand the conflict in Darfur, or even to recognize the politics of power in naming certain violent "events" genocide.
This failure on my part is a personal lesson I hope to translate to my impulse to defend, to help, "to save," women from gender violence. Think, Kacie, think. The first step toward doing the right thing is to avoid doing the wrong thing.
Not a good thing for an aspiring activist and scholar.
It's just that sometimes only thinking feels so useless, and in my impatience to see change, I change.
I just read the first chapter of Mahmood Mamdani's Saviors and Survivors: Darfur, Politics, and the War on Terror, in which he critiques the Save Darfur Coalition, the very organization that got me interested in politics.
It brings back memories of my high school excursion to the Holocaust Museum, and how upon exiting, my face still wet with tears, I eagerly purchased a bunch of green "Save Darfur" bracelets from the gift shop, determined to do something in order to remedy the guilt of privilege, of being able to simply view a history of the horrific, by actively being part of something grand and moral.
I never really looked past this coalition's grand narratives of "never again," etc. and thus did not see the implications of failing to contextualize and understand the conflict in Darfur, or even to recognize the politics of power in naming certain violent "events" genocide.
This failure on my part is a personal lesson I hope to translate to my impulse to defend, to help, "to save," women from gender violence. Think, Kacie, think. The first step toward doing the right thing is to avoid doing the wrong thing.
i heart the happy hair man
Yesterday I sat in the hair salon for 5+ hours as I got my hair straightened. I don't care that it gave me a butt ache, or if indulging in such vanity is anti-feminist, what matters is that it only cost $8. That's right, a process that usually costs $200 in the US, or $40 here in China, was SUPER cheap yesterday as part of a New Years Special.
The only drawback: the chemicals definitely seeped into my brains because I ended up developing a huge crush on my hair stylist. WTF? haha. One reason is that I seriously don't get out enough: the only dudes my age that I've been able to look at for more than a few minutes at a time are my students, and the line there impenetrable. So being able to look at this dude (hair styling is "men's work" here) for the better part of my day was quite a relief. Plus he smiled the entire time. The default face in Fuling is hardly ever a smile, so this was a real treat.
But what really got to me was when it came time to flat iron my hair. As he'd run the flat iron through my hair, he'd gently blow off the steam from the roots to the tips, over and over and over. Who the fuck does that??? After five hours of being in mirror land with him, I was completely hypnotized. When he was done, I stumbled to the cash register, where he successfully convinced me to buy a VIP card and to return on Monday for a hair wash. WTF. I wonder how long a hair wash could possibly take? :P Clearly, I am intimacy starved. Not a good thing.
The only drawback: the chemicals definitely seeped into my brains because I ended up developing a huge crush on my hair stylist. WTF? haha. One reason is that I seriously don't get out enough: the only dudes my age that I've been able to look at for more than a few minutes at a time are my students, and the line there impenetrable. So being able to look at this dude (hair styling is "men's work" here) for the better part of my day was quite a relief. Plus he smiled the entire time. The default face in Fuling is hardly ever a smile, so this was a real treat.
But what really got to me was when it came time to flat iron my hair. As he'd run the flat iron through my hair, he'd gently blow off the steam from the roots to the tips, over and over and over. Who the fuck does that??? After five hours of being in mirror land with him, I was completely hypnotized. When he was done, I stumbled to the cash register, where he successfully convinced me to buy a VIP card and to return on Monday for a hair wash. WTF. I wonder how long a hair wash could possibly take? :P Clearly, I am intimacy starved. Not a good thing.
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