Chinese School and Heating

I trudged downstairs to greet our Chinese teacher this morning. Andy had finished his class and my turn had come to struggle through pages of incomprehensible text. I experiencing the déjà vu of wearing thick boots which fill with muck as I plow across an open field drenched after a strong rain.

Perhaps sensing my hesitation, I was pleasantly surprised when my teacher pushed aside the textbook and suggested we learn dialogues which were relevant to my daily life. She snapped the book shut but still looked about anxiously, as if she had insulted the Chinese teaching Gods by deviating from the planned-organized-structured-boring-irrelevant-pedantic-book. I had already suffered through two - and it was only Wednesday - situations in which my lack of Mandarin was an impediment. On Monday, my quest for a wrapping paper took me to two malls, innumerable shops along 15 city blocks; a literal path of minor humiliation as I found myself, on more than one occasion, tapping and singing Happy Birthday in Shirley Temple fashion. I never did manage to purchase paper but this was a minor event, in fact. 

Later that afternoon I was traumatized as the towel fell from my hair at the beauty salon to reveal brightly orange tinged hair. I promise, I did not say orange. Never did I tell you, Mr. Asexual-nervously-giggling-hip-swinging beauty stylist, that I wanted to grossly deviate from my chocolate colored strands. The debacle continued for hours because I could not communicate in Mandarin and started to shout, which made him more nervous as more people observed. And all the while, my hair started to dry, curling into a Mr.McDonald orange mop. 

Shaking away the memory, I was suddenly motivated to learn new phrases. The teacher's ability  to function in a non-structured manner lasted about 5 minutes and she began to finger the edge of the Chinese textbook, slightly drawing it towards her on the table. Soon after teaching me how to say 'McDonalds' and 'Kentucky Fried Chicken' in Mandarin (no, I did not request this information), she re-opened the book, mumbling something about having to follow the rules. Perhaps my Chinese is not improving because my teacher is mind-numbing-monotonous-tedious-wearisome-and-dull?

This inability to deviate from the rules reminded me when a female Chinese acquaintance asked me if I perceived the Chinese as obedient. I had struggled to answer, squirming in my seat and unable to look at her directly, trying to maneuver the discussion by incorporating larger themes of cultural relativism. She laughed as I mumbled my incoherent response and said that the next generation of Chinese would be different. But how can they change when the formal education system forces them to follow the rules (stymieing creativity), the social structure dictates how they should behave (but beware, a passive woman is not always obedient when you turn your back), and the economic system has rewarded people (why be creative when you can follow the masses and simply copy things).

Another reason that I am not advancing is because drudging through the moans and wails of the distinct tones is challenging for someone with my limited-attention-span-tone-deaf-ear. For example, the meaning of a word is determined by the tone applied. Since there are four tones in Mandarin each word (e.g. MA) has a number of meanings in Chinese. On some occasions I am unable to distinguish between the tones and on others I cannot focus and am overwhelmed by all the sounds, pleaded for the sounds of silence. Nevertheless, I continue to pencil in classes and study sessions into my agenda, the later being promptly erased every time a more appealing option presents itself.

This morning was even more complicated since my near hypothermic state does not heighten my attention level. As the teacher speaks, following the dialogue on page 3 of the textbook, I smile and adjust the wool hat and scarf I m wearing inside my apartment. My fingers are tingling but how can I hold a pencil when wearing mittens? Since the apartment building is a compilation of concrete blocks, there is no insulation. As such, I will continue to wander about the apartment, fully clothed in skiing garb, pulling the electric heater behind me as if it were a dialysis machine.

Anyhow, some of the phrases I learned today will be recalled by virtue of their absurdity. My favorite today was ‘so so’ in Chinese (mamahuhu) which literally means ‘tiger tiger lion lion.”