A visiting American friend recently commented, "It must be very stressful to live abroad."
I looked at her with amazement and asked, "Do I look stressed?" In fact, we were on our way to enjoy two-hour facials.
I don't underestimate how much the ability to speak and read Chinese has made everyday life in Kunming quite easy, and frankly, I can't imagine living in a place where I didn't know the language. However, let me remind you again--my Chinese still isn't that great. It doesn't take excellent language skills to get by.
When we came to Kunming the first time, in 2000, I thought living in China would be very difficult, but ultimately rewarding. In fact, living here has been as easy as falling in love. As it turned out, our Chinese life has actually been considerably easier than our "real life" in Cambridge is.
Certainly the array of services I've mentioned before contribute to a sense of ease. In addition, there's a financial angle. My 3000 yuan monthly salary, though a laughable US$375 if exchanged at the bank, is a comfortable upper middle class salary in backwater Chinese cities such as Kunming. We are not millionaires here, but we can afford anything we want, and frankly, Kunming does not have the expensive temptations that Beijing and Shanghai do anyway.
Then there's the workload. I am contracted to teach 14 hours a week and John, always leery of too much stress, insisted on not more than ten hours. What's more, at our school, a "two-hour" class is actually only 80 minutes. Since I am accustomed to teaching two or three-hour classes in Cambridge, an 80-minute class passes in a flash. Yes, of course there is class preparation and papers to correct, but since we teach the same lesson to a few classes each week, prep time is greatly reduced.
And have you noticed how often we have vacation--paid vacation? We teach a total of 30 weeks, give exams during another two, and enjoy 20 weeks off. As much as I may complain about the inadequacies of the Chinese educational system, you have to give them credit for recognizing the importance of vacations!
Leaving aside work, there is also an element of unreality that makes everything easier. Let's start with politics. As a matter of fact, I do like China's Premier Hu Jintao almost as much as I loathe "Little Bush," as he is called in Chinese to distinguish him from his father, "Old Bush." But obviously, I don't approve of everything the Chinese government does. However, I don't take it personally and my contract clearly forbids me from meddling in domestic politics anyway. Basically, Chinese politics are not my problem, whereas Little Bush *is* my problem, and when I am in America, I am acutely and miserably aware of that. Although the Chinese media faithfully report the stupidest things Bush does, it is entirely possible to forget about him for at least a couple of days at a time, and yes, that kind of ignorance *is* bliss. When America's terrorist alert changes from orange to red (or is it yellow to orange?), I sleep easily knowing Al Queda leaders can't even find Kunming on a map.
Similarly, I understand perfectly well that I was hired to teach English, not to reform the Chinese educational system, regardless of how badly it aches for a sweeping overhaul. Does it make sense to have speaking classes with 45 students? Does it make sense to have pronunciation classes taught by a Chinese teacher who cannot herself pronounce "th" or the short "e"? Does it make sense to assign students their majors rather than letting them choose them? Of course not! But changing the system is not my responsibility.
The one thing that has been most difficult for me to get used to--and I can't honestly say accept--is the Chinese sense of lead time. In Kunming, as in Cambridge, I carry around a small filofax. However, in Kunming, the calendar pages are empty. This is not because we lead a life devoid of social engagements. Quite the contrary--our Chinese social life rivals our American one. Rather it's because nothing is planned more than a few days in advance, so there is no danger of forgetting it. Inviting someone to dinner just a few hours beforehand is perfectly normal, whereas inviting someone on Monday for a Saturday night dinner is asking for trouble because something else is sure to come up in the meantime. Even wedding invitations are sent within just a couple of weeks of the event. Although this is not the way I would organize the world if I were God, I have to admit that as long as everyone operates with such short lead time, there's really no problem at all. It's only me who is chafing to firm up weekend plans no later than Wednesday.
When we arrived here in late August and asked what day classes would begin, no one, not even the head of the foreign languages department, was sure. I asked what classes I would I teach when the semester did eventually begin and learned that had not yet been determined either. Three days before classes started, I finally received my schedule, and during those three days, my schedule changed five times. In fact, I received my definite schedule *after* I'd taught my first class. At the time, I chalked this up to poor management of foreign teachers, but later learned that it was no different from what my Chinese colleagues experienced.
When a new department head arrived, boasting how western she'd become during her graduate studies in Australia, she announced to us in December that she would give us our spring semester schedules the very next day. John and I looked at each other with skeptical astonishment. However, the next day, she vowed to have our schedules ready by the end of the week, and by the end of the week, her goal had changed to "before the semester starts." In fact, even in the second week of the spring semester, our schedules continued to change.
This is hard for me to deal with, but for someone who would like to manage the universe, also good. And if you think about it, if the most difficult part of living in China is learning to relinquish control and the illusion of responsibility, isn't that ultimately a lesson in learning how to relax?
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