One of my fish died. The red one. While volunteering at the Seattle Aquarium, I learned that a fish will die if you name it. Maybe my fish knew that I was trying to considering names and decided to die honorably before I could give it such a nominal scar. You would think that I had learned my lesson, but I'm still considering names for my black fish. Joel suggested, "Kitty." I think it has a nice ring, but I am still open to other suggestions.
Here is another video for your viewing pleasure. I am riding through downtown Chengdu on my new bike! Again I apologize for the poor quality of my phone's video.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Chinese humor Vol. 1, Issue 1
Cold jokes:
A mantou (steamed bun) was walking down the road when it got hungry, so it ate itself.
A banana was walking down the road, and it got very warm so it took off it's peel. Another banana came walking along and slipped.
There was a black cat who was out one black night when it fell into a black hole. What did it say?
-"Meow"
A mantou (steamed bun) was walking down the road when it got hungry, so it ate itself.
A banana was walking down the road, and it got very warm so it took off it's peel. Another banana came walking along and slipped.
There was a black cat who was out one black night when it fell into a black hole. What did it say?
-"Meow"
Friday, March 20, 2009
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我的中文朋友
I met a man today while waiting for the bus with my newly purchased fish. He was very old and barely able to shuffle down the street to the bus stop. He wore a dark coat and a brown knitted hat despite the warming weather; his eyes were paling, and his face was full of experience. I nodded a 'ni hao' as he approached. I heard his faint reply and watched as he continued walking--laboriously sliding one foot in front of the other. I was struck as he stopped to rest and wait when he reached out to steady himself on the garbage can nearby. What is it about a life-no matter how glamorous-that so near its end we are reduced to the humiliation of leaning on trash bins for support? I gladly would have held out my arm.
The bus came, and he methodically struggled his way up its stairs. As I followed I could hear the bus driver yell at the passenger sitting in the front-most seat to give it up for this man. He sincerely and quietly accepted the seat. After a few moments I noticed that he was patting the railing in front of his seat and motioning for me to set my bowl of fish down on the platform in front of him. I can't explain how or why, but I was extremely touched by his kindness. I stared earnestly into his eyes and muttered a thank you. He blinked in reply and I crouched down near my fish. The bus lurched on and I saw the man watching my black and red fish swim in their small plastic bag. I smiled and told him in my fractured Chinese that they fish didn't like the bag--that it was too small. What I really meant to say was that I wanted desperately to communicate with him and to ask who he was, where he had come from, what he had seen in his life, who he had loved, what he had lost, what he had learned, what it meant for him to see a young American girl on a bus in his city, and what he hoped for the future of his people. He nodded imperceptibly. The bus neared my stop and I reached down to pick up my bowl of new life. I wished to tell him how much I respected him, how much I wanted to give him an arm to lean on, and how much I appreciated his kindness, but I all I could do was smile and say 'goodbye.' He opened his mouth to reply, I saw his beautiful toothless mouth and strings of spittle, but he seemed unable to say anything. Instead he nodded again, and I waved. I passed my bus fare to the driver and got off of the bus while the man watched and gave a small wave. As the bus drove off I saw him looking at me through the window and holding up his weathered hand to say goodbye. I smiled again and waved back.
As I walked the rest of the way back to my school, I nearly cried before remembering that I didn't know how since I had been teaching earlier in the day and was wearing eye make-up. There was a connection there that I cannot describe, but it has affected me deeply.
The bus came, and he methodically struggled his way up its stairs. As I followed I could hear the bus driver yell at the passenger sitting in the front-most seat to give it up for this man. He sincerely and quietly accepted the seat. After a few moments I noticed that he was patting the railing in front of his seat and motioning for me to set my bowl of fish down on the platform in front of him. I can't explain how or why, but I was extremely touched by his kindness. I stared earnestly into his eyes and muttered a thank you. He blinked in reply and I crouched down near my fish. The bus lurched on and I saw the man watching my black and red fish swim in their small plastic bag. I smiled and told him in my fractured Chinese that they fish didn't like the bag--that it was too small. What I really meant to say was that I wanted desperately to communicate with him and to ask who he was, where he had come from, what he had seen in his life, who he had loved, what he had lost, what he had learned, what it meant for him to see a young American girl on a bus in his city, and what he hoped for the future of his people. He nodded imperceptibly. The bus neared my stop and I reached down to pick up my bowl of new life. I wished to tell him how much I respected him, how much I wanted to give him an arm to lean on, and how much I appreciated his kindness, but I all I could do was smile and say 'goodbye.' He opened his mouth to reply, I saw his beautiful toothless mouth and strings of spittle, but he seemed unable to say anything. Instead he nodded again, and I waved. I passed my bus fare to the driver and got off of the bus while the man watched and gave a small wave. As the bus drove off I saw him looking at me through the window and holding up his weathered hand to say goodbye. I smiled again and waved back.
As I walked the rest of the way back to my school, I nearly cried before remembering that I didn't know how since I had been teaching earlier in the day and was wearing eye make-up. There was a connection there that I cannot describe, but it has affected me deeply.
I broke in again.
Hi, this is Joel. Shelley keeps telling us all these stories about what's happening to her, but not posting them on her blog. In the last week she has:
Ridden on a yak (she said it was kind, gentle, and hairy).
Ridden her new bike across Chengdu.
Not been impressed by an airplane contrail.
Bought a bowlful of friends.
Perhaps if you'd like to hear further details, you could ask Shelley?
Ridden on a yak (she said it was kind, gentle, and hairy).
Ridden her new bike across Chengdu.
Not been impressed by an airplane contrail.
Bought a bowlful of friends.
Perhaps if you'd like to hear further details, you could ask Shelley?
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Saturday, March 7, 2009
As promised
Sorry this has taken so long. My computer's power cord snapped last week and it took awhile before I could get another one. I hope the quality is ok. I kinda rushed through things, so it might be jerky and out of focus.
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