There were those girls I met years ago when I first came to Shanghai, the ones with names like Xinglei, Liming, Zhang Jing… there were many. I could never remember their names the first time. The second time was hard too. And the third. Point is that I eventually got it, and when I did it was glorious!
What happened? Years later Xinglei became Cindy, Liming Linda, Zhang Jing Jane.
I feel a bit sad, almost like there’s a part of them missing now. I wonder if they feel the same.
posted by ferret at 10:02 pm
It’s come to be the opinion of this humble Ferret that cultural exchanges in China are generally plagued by a kind of Orientalism, a perception of an intractable Other, or a perceived mystery that prevents people from having a meaningful exchange. This happens on both sides of the aisle. Foreigners feel that there are some things about China that are impossible to know; Chinese feel as if there are some things foreigners will never understand. And vice-versa.
Recently, I had a rather truthful exchange. A model perhaps for all future cultural exchanges:
[Ferret walks into a bathroom at Sichuan restaurant. He pees a urinal, thinking perhaps far too much about his expat, Chinese dilettante status. Old Chinese Man walks in as he is zipping up. Old Chinese Man notices Ferret.]
Old Chinese Man
Hello!
Ferret
Hello!
Old Chinese Man
ä½ å¥½ï¼
Ferret
ä½ å¥½ï¼
All things exchanged! All things understood! A four-part exchange where every message is conveyed clearly to the other succinctly and straightforwardly. Oh, that it could be so easy!
posted by ferret at 12:01 pm