A few days ago, a student called me in a panic. He had lost his wallet, but a man contacted him and said that he found it. They agreed to meet near the main campus of our university, but when the student arrived, the man demanded 100 yuan (about 15 USD) to return the wallet. 100 yuan isn't a fortune, but to the majority of cash-strapped students, it's enough to buy them meals in the dining hall for a week. The money that had been inside of it was gone, but all the cards were there.
The student didn't have 100 yuan on him, and he couldn't go to the bank because his cards were in the wallet. He called me and asked if I would help him. I am the only person whom he knew that lived nearby and that had the means to get money to him quickly. Anyone with a heart would have said yes. I agreed to meet him at the main gate.
I quickly got ready and then called a few boys to go with me. I didn't know anything about the man who found the wallet. What if he was big and looking for trouble? What if he demanded more money once he saw me? What if he had a violent personality? I was hoping that the five strong guys who went with me would make the man lose confidence in his bold and shameful request. I gave brief thought to going to the police station, but there was (and is) little to no faith in their sense of justice.
When we arrived, I was surprised to see that the man was well into his 50s or 60s and was quite short and small-framed. I could have folded him up like a pretzel. He wore a white baseball cap, sunglasses and was nicely dressed. He wouldn't hand over the wallet until he had his promised 100, but I was shocked that he never felt any shame or guilt in demanding money for returning something that was never rightfully his. His behavior was an awful thing to behold. He is likely someone's father and grandfather, and he should be the one setting the example. Instead, he was a representative of greed and dishonesty, and those of us there had good reason to suspect that he was the one who took the original money out of the wallet. Why else would someone take the cash but leave credit cards?
I repeated over and over that he was stealing, not only from my student but from me, as well. My words fell on his deaf ears. He never showed any regret or humility. My student was near tears. His shock over seeing me arrive with an entourage of young men quickly turned to embarrassment. He wanted to end things quietly. I was incapable of doing so but had to control myself against saying or doing anything that might unharness my temper.
I looked at my watch. Time was running out and I couldn't be late to my afternoon class, nor did I want to cause the boys with me to miss what little lunch time remained. Reluctantly, I handed the man the 100 yuan that he had demanded. He walked away. I was furious that someone – anyone – would do that to a fellow countryman, especially a student. His single act insulted every person who works hard and honestly to support themselves and their families.
One of the boys who went with me used his cellphone to take photos. I'm going to ask the owner of the wallet if he will consider filing a report with the police station so that they have the man's face in the database. I also posted the story on a Chinese blog that's popular among students here. It's generated a good deal of discussion and has received about 200 views. Here are some comments:
2011-05-27 21:32
China is a place where a great number of people lacks basic sense of ethics.
2011-05-27 21:37
I think people in our age are doing much better, the result will change with compulsory education going on in China. Knowledge can change a person. When it's spread widely enough, it can change a nation.
2011-05-27 21:58
That man sucks...
2011-05-27 22:02
It‘s a very special country where strange things happen.Lucky for you your Chinese is poor, or else you will even not believe your eyes when reading local newspapers.
2011-05-27 22:08
The moral bottom line have lost in China for loss of faith.Lots of chinese do not fear any thing. the only thing they pursue is money because they believe that the only thing exisiting in the universe is substance.
2011-05-27 22:24
I find that more and more students around me have been aware of the problem.They feel apprehensive and try to get out of the dificulty.thus,I think it's going to get better .
2011-05-27 22:26
I believe that problem has a solution, that is to...get away initiatively from those dregs like the guy in your article above.
2011-05-27 22:27
There is always people behaving "differently" from the majority, or most people -- I call this kinda "diversity"... this could not be eradicated. We can condemn those bad guys, but at the same time we should not stay on the level of just complaining or appealing to humanity, which can only make us confused. To deal with such baddies, we should resort to laws!
2011-05-27 22:40
Which brought to my mind of a debate we had back in junior high school on whether award should be encouraged on behaviors like returning a piece of missing property to its original owner. This is simply disgusting.
2011-05-27 23:44
Right, there comes the part that we people have become so used to this kinda thing, trivial as it is.
2011-05-28 11:20
What a shameful man he is!But let's believe that this kind of phenomenon only happens occasionaly.Kind-hareted people take the most part.OK?
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Those witty Canadians.
Last night, the Canuck, some friends and I attended our weekly Tuesday study. The topic was, "Taming the Tongue."
At one point, the speaker - in an attempt to segue into the topic - asked those in attendance, "Can you give me some examples of small things that can produce very significant results?"
Without missing a beat, the Canuck leaned over and whispered, "Tom Cruise."
At one point, the speaker - in an attempt to segue into the topic - asked those in attendance, "Can you give me some examples of small things that can produce very significant results?"
Without missing a beat, the Canuck leaned over and whispered, "Tom Cruise."
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
not the prince she expected
On May 17, in the Chinese city of Changchun (not too far from Harbin), a heartbroken 22-year old positioned herself on the ledge of a seventh floor window. She was wearing her bridal gown.
It was a day originally planned for her wedding. Instead, her fiance left her for someone else.
As she slipped from the ledge, a local worker made his move from the inside of the apartment and was able to wrap his arm around her neck to suspend her body. With the help of other residents, he pulled her back into the apartment.
This young woman's ordeal reminds me that, though I am part of a great and mighty work in this part of the world, there are still deep trenches of hopelessness. And where it (hopelessness) exists, it is consuming, tyrannical and murderous.
It was a day originally planned for her wedding. Instead, her fiance left her for someone else.
As she slipped from the ledge, a local worker made his move from the inside of the apartment and was able to wrap his arm around her neck to suspend her body. With the help of other residents, he pulled her back into the apartment.
This young woman's ordeal reminds me that, though I am part of a great and mighty work in this part of the world, there are still deep trenches of hopelessness. And where it (hopelessness) exists, it is consuming, tyrannical and murderous.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
That's not a sepia filter...
Just another sandstorm from Inner Mongolia sweeping through the city.
Photos courtesy of Xinhuanet and China Daily.
Photos courtesy of Xinhuanet and China Daily.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
ba-dum-ching!
There's got to be a joke out there somewhere whose catchphrase begins with:
And continues with:
...and one of the guys offers to pick up buns without knowing what they are, so the girl sends him a jpg file.
And moves on to:
...and another guy cracks pepper over just one portion of the patty, which makes it resemble a used ashtray.
And adds:
...and one of the three creates an unevenly pressed patty which could double as a UFO or a football for players with impossibly small hands.
...while another nervously flips the sizzling masses in the pan, miscalculating his landing by enough to evoke scenes of Vancouver Olympic bobsleds gripping the icy walls of sharp turns.
And concludes by saying:
...but the didactic undertones of hamburger night make it more than just a meal with friends. They learn to create; pressing and forming shapes, grinding pepper and exercising patience in letting the meat cook undisturbed.
...and they become kitchen jesters whose only collective goal is to somehow fit stacked tiers of food into one comprehensive bite, each angle of attack proving as unsuccessful as the first.
...and their satisfaction made evident by the first quiet mouthfuls of their very own burgers of labor.
So maybe it's a joke only by definition of our laughter within the evening.
So an American girl and three Chinese guys sit down for hamburgers...
And continues with:
...and one of the guys offers to pick up buns without knowing what they are, so the girl sends him a jpg file.
And moves on to:
...and another guy cracks pepper over just one portion of the patty, which makes it resemble a used ashtray.
And adds:
...and one of the three creates an unevenly pressed patty which could double as a UFO or a football for players with impossibly small hands.
...while another nervously flips the sizzling masses in the pan, miscalculating his landing by enough to evoke scenes of Vancouver Olympic bobsleds gripping the icy walls of sharp turns.
And concludes by saying:
...but the didactic undertones of hamburger night make it more than just a meal with friends. They learn to create; pressing and forming shapes, grinding pepper and exercising patience in letting the meat cook undisturbed.
...and they become kitchen jesters whose only collective goal is to somehow fit stacked tiers of food into one comprehensive bite, each angle of attack proving as unsuccessful as the first.
...and their satisfaction made evident by the first quiet mouthfuls of their very own burgers of labor.
So maybe it's a joke only by definition of our laughter within the evening.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
(almost) singin' in the rain
As I was crossing the street the other day, I noticed a guy on the corner squinting at me and then waving his arms. It was StoneCold. I hurriedly crossed over and talked with him for several minutes. I had been hoping that we would meet up again; it had been weeks since any sighting.
I invited him to join me for dinner later that weekend at a nearby Arabian restaurant. Despite his seriousness, he's pretty intrepid when it comes to eating, so I thought he might enjoy being my company on Sunday evening. In true StoneCold investigation, he asked if it was "authentic." "Well, the guy who owns the place is from Syria," I responded. That was good enough for him, and he seemed eager to exercise his international palate.
I tried to order things that utilize ingredients commonly found in Chinese food, such as tomato, cucumber, eggplant, chicken, beef, and garlic. We had a good sampling of some dishes that he had never tasted, before, and all of them earned his approval. He was delighted with the meal and plans to take his dorm-mates back for dinner one night.
Long before we ever sat down, I had been asking for any future conversations to take a natural path toward eternal topics. I cannot develop a script in anticipation of our meetings and dinners. He would see through my attempt, and I would be at risk for losing ground with him. Instead, I continually ask for favor with him and for his mind to be steered into questioning me about what I believe. If he initiates those kinds of dialogues, I know that I am not stepping out of bounds.
Over tearing pieces of steaming hot pita, he very casually asked me, "Are you commanded to go throughout the world with your beliefs?"
Yes, [we] are. But it's not something that we are told to do without joy. It's like being cured of cancer and the doctor says, "Go out and tell others." Wouldn't you do it not only because you were asked but also because of the second chance you had been given?
He nodded and gave a simple, "hmmm." Considering his view of imperialism and forced theology, his answer - devoid of any rebuttal or inflammation - was a sweet acknowledgment to me of grace that is slowly invading his perspective. But I swallowed my joy along with my baba ghanoush and, like Mary, treasured that moment in my heart.
As we left the restaurant, I noticed that the evening sky was hovering low and dark overhead. I heard an inimitable roar above the clouds, something foreign to me these last seven months. My face erupted into a grin as I considered that "He thunders with his majestic voice." Within a few steps, the pavement was beginning to become spattered with rain. We hastened, but the heavens gave way and we were caught in a downpour. I looked over at StoneCold, walking step in step with me and shaking his head from time to time. I felt water begin to penetrate my jacket and the lightweight sweater underneath. We jumped over slight dips in the street and laughed at all the other pedestrians so luxuriously shielded by umbrellas.
We finally arrived at an intersection near my dorm. As I turned, he followed, assuming that he would escort me all the way to my front steps. I assured him that I would be fine. Above the thunder and the echoes of raindrops, he said, "Call me if you have any problem."
I stepped into my lobby with only the tops of my jeans still dry, water dripping from my hair, my eyelashes, and my fingertips. I hurried upstairs, changed clothes, dried my hair, and cocooned myself in a comforter.
I never got sick, and I never regretted sharing the first thunderstorm of the year with StoneCold.
I invited him to join me for dinner later that weekend at a nearby Arabian restaurant. Despite his seriousness, he's pretty intrepid when it comes to eating, so I thought he might enjoy being my company on Sunday evening. In true StoneCold investigation, he asked if it was "authentic." "Well, the guy who owns the place is from Syria," I responded. That was good enough for him, and he seemed eager to exercise his international palate.
I tried to order things that utilize ingredients commonly found in Chinese food, such as tomato, cucumber, eggplant, chicken, beef, and garlic. We had a good sampling of some dishes that he had never tasted, before, and all of them earned his approval. He was delighted with the meal and plans to take his dorm-mates back for dinner one night.
Long before we ever sat down, I had been asking for any future conversations to take a natural path toward eternal topics. I cannot develop a script in anticipation of our meetings and dinners. He would see through my attempt, and I would be at risk for losing ground with him. Instead, I continually ask for favor with him and for his mind to be steered into questioning me about what I believe. If he initiates those kinds of dialogues, I know that I am not stepping out of bounds.
Over tearing pieces of steaming hot pita, he very casually asked me, "Are you commanded to go throughout the world with your beliefs?"
Yes, [we] are. But it's not something that we are told to do without joy. It's like being cured of cancer and the doctor says, "Go out and tell others." Wouldn't you do it not only because you were asked but also because of the second chance you had been given?
He nodded and gave a simple, "hmmm." Considering his view of imperialism and forced theology, his answer - devoid of any rebuttal or inflammation - was a sweet acknowledgment to me of grace that is slowly invading his perspective. But I swallowed my joy along with my baba ghanoush and, like Mary, treasured that moment in my heart.
As we left the restaurant, I noticed that the evening sky was hovering low and dark overhead. I heard an inimitable roar above the clouds, something foreign to me these last seven months. My face erupted into a grin as I considered that "He thunders with his majestic voice." Within a few steps, the pavement was beginning to become spattered with rain. We hastened, but the heavens gave way and we were caught in a downpour. I looked over at StoneCold, walking step in step with me and shaking his head from time to time. I felt water begin to penetrate my jacket and the lightweight sweater underneath. We jumped over slight dips in the street and laughed at all the other pedestrians so luxuriously shielded by umbrellas.
We finally arrived at an intersection near my dorm. As I turned, he followed, assuming that he would escort me all the way to my front steps. I assured him that I would be fine. Above the thunder and the echoes of raindrops, he said, "Call me if you have any problem."
I stepped into my lobby with only the tops of my jeans still dry, water dripping from my hair, my eyelashes, and my fingertips. I hurried upstairs, changed clothes, dried my hair, and cocooned myself in a comforter.
I never got sick, and I never regretted sharing the first thunderstorm of the year with StoneCold.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
from planes to (bridal) trains
I watched the royal wedding yesterday through two different venues. One was a live broadcast on CCTV, which is state-run. This means that every one of the 50+ channels piped into my apartment is CCTV. There is no such thing as competition. The other venue was Yahoo!'s live stream. I used this to fill in the gaps when CCTV strategically cut away from moments inside Westminster Abbey.
Afterward, I was inspired enough by the ceremony to begin planning a lesson built around engagements and marriages, particularly as they have evolved through Western history. My mind is exploding with ideas. I may kick myself for this.
As I was checking my usual websites this morning, I found this fascinating article originally posted by Collectors Weekly, and I plan to integrate it into the lesson:
From World War II Parachute to the World’s Most Romantic Wedding Dress
Apparently there’s a small wedding in England this week. While we’re sure that Kate Middleton’s wedding dress will be a fashion tour de force, we’re also sure that it can’t possibly be as romantic as this one, which is from the collection of the Smithsonian. Here’s their description:
“This wedding dress was made from a nylon parachute that saved the groom’s life during World War II. Maj. Claude Hensinger, a B-29 pilot, and his crew, were returning from a bombing raid over Yowata, Japan, in August 1944 when their engine caught fire. The crew was forced to bail out. It was night and Major Hensinger landed on some rocks and suffered some minor injuries. During the night he used the parachute both as a pillow and a blanket. In the morning the crew was able to reassemble and were taken in by some friendly Chinese. He kept the parachute and used it as a way to propose to Ruth in 1947. He presented it to her and suggested she make a gown out of it for their wedding.
“She wondered how she was going to make ‘this voluminuous item’ into a dress. Seeing a dress in a store window that was based on one that appeared in the movie Gone with the Wind, she patterned her dress after that. She hired a local seamstress, Hilda Buck, to make the bodice and veil. She made the skirt herself; she pulled up the strings on the parachute so that the dress would be shorter in the front and have a train in the back. The couple were married in the Neffs Lutheran Church in Neffs, Pennslyvania, July 19, 1947. Their daughter and their son’s bride also wore the dress for their weddings.”
Afterward, I was inspired enough by the ceremony to begin planning a lesson built around engagements and marriages, particularly as they have evolved through Western history. My mind is exploding with ideas. I may kick myself for this.
As I was checking my usual websites this morning, I found this fascinating article originally posted by Collectors Weekly, and I plan to integrate it into the lesson:
From World War II Parachute to the World’s Most Romantic Wedding Dress
Apparently there’s a small wedding in England this week. While we’re sure that Kate Middleton’s wedding dress will be a fashion tour de force, we’re also sure that it can’t possibly be as romantic as this one, which is from the collection of the Smithsonian. Here’s their description:
“This wedding dress was made from a nylon parachute that saved the groom’s life during World War II. Maj. Claude Hensinger, a B-29 pilot, and his crew, were returning from a bombing raid over Yowata, Japan, in August 1944 when their engine caught fire. The crew was forced to bail out. It was night and Major Hensinger landed on some rocks and suffered some minor injuries. During the night he used the parachute both as a pillow and a blanket. In the morning the crew was able to reassemble and were taken in by some friendly Chinese. He kept the parachute and used it as a way to propose to Ruth in 1947. He presented it to her and suggested she make a gown out of it for their wedding.
“She wondered how she was going to make ‘this voluminuous item’ into a dress. Seeing a dress in a store window that was based on one that appeared in the movie Gone with the Wind, she patterned her dress after that. She hired a local seamstress, Hilda Buck, to make the bodice and veil. She made the skirt herself; she pulled up the strings on the parachute so that the dress would be shorter in the front and have a train in the back. The couple were married in the Neffs Lutheran Church in Neffs, Pennslyvania, July 19, 1947. Their daughter and their son’s bride also wore the dress for their weddings.”
Friday, April 29, 2011
The Great Wall
People who live in colder climates have higher rates of depression. Strike 1.
People who get limited sunlight have higher rates of depression. Strike 2.
University students have higher rates of depression. Strike 3.
From March-June, university students - especially seniors - are under tremendous pressure and have higher rates of depression. Strike 4.
By the time you are seniors, one out of every four of you will consider suicide.
This is what I told my two classes today.
We did a lesson on health, but I give special attention to depression and suicide because they are crouching at the doors of so many.
At the end of both classes, I took a few minutes to talk to my students. The lesson ceased. It was quiet. No one was speaking but me. No one was distracted or disengaged. I was saying words that they've never heard a teacher say -- maybe even parents, for that matter.
I let my eyes fall on every one of them.
You are my students. In a way, you belong to me because I am now one of the people responsible for your well-being. I love you. I care about you. And no matter how bad it gets, you need to remember that you always have a choice, even if it feels like you don't. Choose life. Because if you choose death, you can never undo that. Go back to your dorms and talk with your dorm-mates about today's lesson. Come up with a plan on how to respond if one of you gets that call in the middle of the night saying, "I'm on the roof," or, "I just swallowed 100 sleeping pills." Because I go to sleep at night with my cellphone by my side, never knowing if I'm going to get a call like that. But chances are, I won't be the first contact. Chances are, it will be one of you. Are you prepared for that?
I never know how this will echo through their lives as they progress through the next few years, but I do this lesson every spring because it may be the only plea they ever hear in the drone of verbatim lectures and sterile powerpoint presentations.
Immediately afterward, two girls approached me and asked for advice about how to cope with some turbulent relationships. We talked for several minutes and continued our conversation down the five flights of stairs connecting us to the lobby.
About 30 minutes after my teaching day ended, I received a text message from one of those in attendance -- a boy who, by many accounts, has it made with a pretty girlfriend on his arm and a high score on his college entrance exam:
I want to say that thanks so much for your kindness and lesson, today. I'm a depressed boy and have been stuck in some problem for years. To be honest, I have been smoking for years too. You always touch me because of your care to me. Thanks.
Lessons like today show me hidden hurts and fears -- something that I, as an outsider, have no right to see. And yet, there I am, listening to whispered confessions that have, perhaps, never been granted permission to go beyond their own walls simply because no one has called out to them from the other side.
People who get limited sunlight have higher rates of depression. Strike 2.
University students have higher rates of depression. Strike 3.
From March-June, university students - especially seniors - are under tremendous pressure and have higher rates of depression. Strike 4.
By the time you are seniors, one out of every four of you will consider suicide.
This is what I told my two classes today.
We did a lesson on health, but I give special attention to depression and suicide because they are crouching at the doors of so many.
At the end of both classes, I took a few minutes to talk to my students. The lesson ceased. It was quiet. No one was speaking but me. No one was distracted or disengaged. I was saying words that they've never heard a teacher say -- maybe even parents, for that matter.
I let my eyes fall on every one of them.
You are my students. In a way, you belong to me because I am now one of the people responsible for your well-being. I love you. I care about you. And no matter how bad it gets, you need to remember that you always have a choice, even if it feels like you don't. Choose life. Because if you choose death, you can never undo that. Go back to your dorms and talk with your dorm-mates about today's lesson. Come up with a plan on how to respond if one of you gets that call in the middle of the night saying, "I'm on the roof," or, "I just swallowed 100 sleeping pills." Because I go to sleep at night with my cellphone by my side, never knowing if I'm going to get a call like that. But chances are, I won't be the first contact. Chances are, it will be one of you. Are you prepared for that?
I never know how this will echo through their lives as they progress through the next few years, but I do this lesson every spring because it may be the only plea they ever hear in the drone of verbatim lectures and sterile powerpoint presentations.
Immediately afterward, two girls approached me and asked for advice about how to cope with some turbulent relationships. We talked for several minutes and continued our conversation down the five flights of stairs connecting us to the lobby.
About 30 minutes after my teaching day ended, I received a text message from one of those in attendance -- a boy who, by many accounts, has it made with a pretty girlfriend on his arm and a high score on his college entrance exam:
I want to say that thanks so much for your kindness and lesson, today. I'm a depressed boy and have been stuck in some problem for years. To be honest, I have been smoking for years too. You always touch me because of your care to me. Thanks.
Lessons like today show me hidden hurts and fears -- something that I, as an outsider, have no right to see. And yet, there I am, listening to whispered confessions that have, perhaps, never been granted permission to go beyond their own walls simply because no one has called out to them from the other side.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
The Necklace
We were sitting in a sparsely patronized restaurant, sharing a long overdue meal. I taught her two years ago, when she was an uncharacteristically chatty freshman who could easily take one breath and draw it out for at least five or six sentences. Not much has changed, except for her more mature look and her upperclassman status.
The light reflected something shiny peering out from the top of her collar. I intended to glance at it just briefly, until I noticed that its shape and color flung my mind from China to my Georgia hometown.
Why was its prismatic color and simple shape so familiar?
And then my memory retrieved a vignette from this past summer: a bookstore – not even one I frequent all that often – and a glass case that contains handmade jewelry designed by a local woman who I always thought was one of the most effortlessly beautiful ladies I had ever met. I used to babysit her three children. We would spend hours lost in imagination, they in their fuzzy footed pajamas curled up inside the crooks of my arms and me feeling the youthful twitches of maternal joy and contentment over reading, “The Little Prince.” They are now teenagers, and their mother runs a successful faith-based jewelry business. I was looking at all the pieces she has displayed at the bookstore and noticed one particular pendant that I thought was delicate and elegant. It was Swarovski crystal, cut as a faceted hollowed square with one corner being fastened to a chain by a silver clasp.
Nine months later, that same style pendant was suspended right below the collarbone of my former student.
“Your necklace reminds me of someone,” I said.
“Oh really? A friend gave it to me several years ago. I didn't even know what Swarovski was at that time,” she grinned.
Some moments later, our dialogue hovered over the topic of faith. She said many times that she believes in a “great power,” but never any specific title beyond that. I kept my contribution simple. I spoke the name of the One I love and serve and said that He is different from all others because He made Himself the very sacrifice that is demanded.
She tilted her head while her eyes followed an invisible line of thought. I needed an example. I quietly asked for something that would make sense to her. A parable moment.
Suddenly, her pendant caught the light again, and it all came together.
“It's kind of like your pendant. If you see it on its own, you may think it's quite pretty. But when you compare it to knockoff pendants, that's when the difference is really clear. That's when your understanding of its value makes it even more beautiful. Same with Him. All others are knockoffs and cheap imitations, and they make His gift even more priceless.”
Being from a country in which the entire retail landscape is dominated by knockoffs, she eagerly nodded in complete understanding.
I hope one day that understanding makes its way to her heart -- a turn which would cement a Swarovski pendant and Deborah Lynn Jewelry and The Lamb's Well Bookstore among the pages of eternal Chinese history.
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