Memoirs of a Yangxifu | Speaking of China

Chapter 55: New Position, New View of Shanghai

Shanghai Pudong Skyline — My view of Shanghai changed completely when I became gainfully employed as a copywriter, in a downtown office with a view of its own. (photo by Jens Schott Knudsen, courtesy of Wikipedia)

From the 12th floor of a certain office tower about a mile from the Bund, you can see some of the most quintessential views of Shanghai. Shanghai’s futuristic Pudong skyline — from the Oriental Pearl Tower’s shining space needle to the Jin Mao Tower’s steel pagoda — rises just above the buildings before us, out the East-facing windows. From the West-facing windows, the manicured greenery of People’s Square is bordered on one end by the ding-shaped Shanghai Museum, and, on the other, by a melange of fin de siecle and contemporary archecture on Nanjing Road. And just to the South is the Yan’an Road elevated highway and tunnel, restlessly pumping a neverending stream of traffic East and West, from Pudong to Puxi and Puxi to Pudong.

The view I cared about the most, however, was in the meeting room, where I had an interview for a copywriting position — an interview I had imagined for over a week, and spent hours preparing for, even down to my tangzhuang jacket, skirt and upswept hairdo. Continue reading “Chapter 55: New Position, New View of Shanghai”

Share/Save

Chapter 54: I’m Leaving Hangzhou on a Microvan

I moved many times in my life. But I never moved in China — in a microvan — until March 1, 2003.

The gray microvan belonged to John’s cousin, a driver for an express mail service based in Shanghai. According to John, many people with a high school education — or less — left Tonglu to get into the express mail business. Tonglu natives now ran many of the smaller express mail services in the Yangtze River Delta area, including Shanghai. I imagine one Tonglu man left and made his fortune in express mail, bringing his contacts with him — and later inspiring copycat entrepreneurs. But, clearly, the model was working for this cousin. He had only a high school education, but he actually owned a car — a car that would help me move my home to Shanghai.

With only a job interview, no firm offers and a temporary visa expiring April 15, I still flirted with uncertainty in my life. But I had a lot of strength behind it all, because of John, my Chinese boyfriend. John found us an apartment, and put down a deposit. John asked his cousin to move me to Shanghai. And, through it all, John calmed my fears, reminding me “we were in the same company.” Continue reading “Chapter 54: I’m Leaving Hangzhou on a Microvan”

Share/Save

Chapter 53: Truth, Lies and Actual China Employment

My Chinese friend Jane recommended me to Nick Jin, the CEO of a Shanghai Internet company, saying I once worked for Alibaba, and studied Mandarin at Zhejiang University. I finally had a contact in Shanghai — but what he knew about me was a lie.

Jane, a sprightly girl with a boy cut known for unconventional clothing and church-chime ringtones on her cell phone, had her reasons. “I mentioned Zhejiang University to prove you can speak good Chinese.” And Alibaba? “He really hates the Chinese Internet company you worked for.” Nick despised the company because of his experience there as a manager. Mr. CEO’s stinginess — he actually decreased Nick’s stock shares, and later, absorbed them all when Nick left — drove him to form a new company in Shanghai.

Even if we shared a mutual dislike of Mr. CEO, Nick didn’t know the truth about me. How could I contact him now? Continue reading “Chapter 53: Truth, Lies and Actual China Employment”

Share/Save

Chapter 52: Bad Luck or Blessings?

The Taoist yin-yang symbol — As I grappled with the uncertainty of finding a new job, and wondering where to live in China, I began to realize that my bad luck just might be a blessing after all.

There once was a Taoist man, named Saiweng, who lost his horse. While his neighbors thought it a great misfortune, Saiweng’s father said “I don’t know.” Later, the horse returned with a herd of the finest wild horses. The neighbors called this a blessing, but Saiweng’s father said “I don’t know.” One day, Saiweng decided to ride one of the new horses, but he fell off and broke his leg. The neighbors declared this tragic, and Saiweng’s father still said, yet again, “I don’t know.” Later, their region declared war, because of the invasion of barbarian tribes. While all able-bodied men had to take up arms and fight, Saiweng, with his crippled leg, could stay at home.

As the days in February 2003 passed, I slowly lost my hopes for staying in Hangzhou. Continue reading “Chapter 52: Bad Luck or Blessings?”

Share/Save

Chapter 51: My Guanxi, My Interview Nightmare

Photo of a suit and tie — Has your China guanxi (or contacts) ever surprised you? A new contact of mine set up a job interview in China like nothing I'd ever known.

In China, when you need to find a job, there’s no better way than through your guanxi, or relationships.

I spent hours calling my friends and contacts, announcing my jobless status, and asking them to look for leads. Even John consulted his own friends. But when you end the call, send that e-mail, or finish that text message, the rest depends on someone else — no matter how desperately you want results. And sometimes, the results you want aren’t the results you get.

I met David Dong in the gym, the week after I’d returned to Hangzhou, and mentioned, in passing, I was looking for a new job. While Dong, a CEO of a small company, offered his assistance enthusiastically, in near-native English, I didn’t expect much from a new contact.

Days later, my newly minted guanxi surprised me by calling in the morning with an opportunity. “My old classmate owns a foreign trade company, and he is interested in meeting you. Would you have time?” Continue reading “Chapter 51: My Guanxi, My Interview Nightmare”

Share/Save

Chapter 50: The Gumption to Stay in China

Western woman on a bridge in China — What keeps you abroad when life falls apart? When I faced uncertainty after losing my job, I remembered the things that kept me grounded in China.

How do you have the gumption to stay in China?

The question — posed by Heidi, one of my high school classmates back in the US — hit me hard. John, my Chinese boyfriend, and I had just returned from spending Chinese New Year with his family, and once again I faced the stir-fried mess my life was.

I’d lost my job at the Chinese Internet Company in January 2003. After some hard negotiations, I obtained a visa that would expire April 15, 2003. I had to move out of my apartment — originally provided by the company — at the end of February. And, with John in graduate school in Shanghai, I wondered if staying in Hangzhou was such a good idea.

But it’s one thing to debate cities, and another to debate countries.

Just as I prepared for my first job interview after Chinese New Year — with Alibaba — my cell phone rang. It was the CEO of a US company I had flirted with last summer for possible employment, but later declined. Continue reading “Chapter 50: The Gumption to Stay in China”

Share/Save

Chapter 49: Winter Showers and Different Living Standards

John warming himself in the living room of his family home in China's countryside — Living at John's home was different than what I'd known -- from showers to even the living room. But as I pondered the excesses of American life, I wondered -- whose standard is right?

Sitting on a stool in the bathroom, with warm water in a basin poured over my body, is the closest thing I’d ever get to a shower in John’s family home.

I’d been there for two days, and soon yearned for the familiar after-shower freshness — but didn’t know how to get it. “I desperately need a shower,” I confessed to John, my Chinese boyfriend. Not long after, he escorted me to the bathroom with a large, plastic red basin, filled with warm water, and a wooden, toddler-sized homemade stool. He placed the stool on the floor, where I crouched carefully to sit after removing my clothes. He ladled the water over me to wash away shampoo and soap — a fleeting burst of warmth to counteract the near-freezing air that surrounded us, even in the bathroom. Taking a shower never seemed so risky, and impractical. Continue reading “Chapter 49: Winter Showers and Different Living Standards”

Share/Save

Chapter 48: The Pressures of an Unmarried Chinese man in the Countryside

Chinese man holding a little baby — I wondered why Er Ge, John's second oldest brother, was so painfully quiet. Learning his story was like a window into the pressures of young unmarried Chinese in the countryside.

John’s second oldest brother, Er Ge, was like the wallflower of Chinese New Year at the family home in China’s countryside. He usually lingered in the corners with a slight hunchback and frightened, delicate eyes, like a fragile little sparrow hoping to escape the marauding glance of humans. There was a quiet, impenetrable sadness that clouded his personality, and somehow, I couldn’t get past a Ni Hao to really know the man within.

Only 26 years old, he was the only brother who still lived at the family home. He didn’t care much for study, only finishing Junior High and then going on to become an itinerant worker in the countryside, doing odd jobs for relatives and friends. But none of this seemed to explain why Er Ge withdrew from the world.

So I asked John one evening, as we sat around the hot coals and watched Chinese television. Continue reading “Chapter 48: The Pressures of an Unmarried Chinese man in the Countryside”

Share/Save

Chapter 47: A Picture of My Chinese Boyfriend’s Family

My Chinese boyfriend's family, at their countryside home — Even as I shot a photo of John's family, I still didn't see have the entire picture of his family -- until I showed them pictures of my own.

In China, they call a family picture 全家福 (quanjiafu), which literally means happiness for the entire family.

It is happiness if you can have the entire family together to take a photo. And, in John’s family, this happy day usually comes during Chinese New Year, when the whole family returns home to celebrate.

The whitewashed facade of John’s family home reflected the filtered sunshine that afternoon of Chinese New Year’s day, brightening the yard like backdrop lighting in a photography studio. It was a perfect spot for the family photo, where John’s father and mother sat in front, holding baby Kaiqi, with the three brothers and sister-in-law standing behind. I stood before them all, digital camera in hand, as I framed the family through the lens for the perfect photo. I snapped several shots, including one of just Da Ge, his wife and baby Kaiqi.

Even as I finished taking the photos, I still didn’t have a clear picture of John’s family. No photo is complete without the stories behind it. I didn’t know the real stories from John’s family, because we hadn’t truly connected since my arrival. Instead, my time there, up until that afternoon, was like an unnarrated slideshow, where the outside observer could only guess what was happening.

But, sometimes, to get the full picture, you have to give a full picture in return. Continue reading “Chapter 47: A Picture of My Chinese Boyfriend’s Family”

Share/Save

Chapter 46: Cold Nights in the Chinese Countryside

Western woman in Chinese countryside, during Chinese New Year — I never felt such a bitter cold until I went to my Chinese boyfriend's hometown in the countryside -- because I was too embarrassed to say I needed more warmth at night.

“The worst cold I ever knew was winter in Hong Kong.” I didn’t understand those words, spoken by a woman who taught English there before China opened up. She shared her experience in China with me as I prepared for a year of teaching English in Zhengzhou. But as I smiled and nodded, the idea nagged me — how could Hong Kong, on China’s Southern coast, be so cold?

The thing is, any place can feel bitterly cold in China — if there’s no warmth in the home.

John’s family home in the winter was fast becoming the worst cold I had known. The house, with most of its doors and windows cracked or wide open to the elements, had no central or room heaters. We spent our hours huddling around giant woks filled with hot coals to fight off the nip of near-freezing temperatures, which felt even more frigid because of the moisture-laden air of this humid climate, South of the Yangtze River. I wrapped myself my long down jacket all day — indoors and outdoors — just like everyone else, as I remembered how, back in the US, people would have thought me strange or even impolite not to take my jacket off, as a guest.

But, most of all, those parental misgivings of months before seemed to chill my heart: “It’s okay to be friends with a foreign girl, but not to date her.” No matter how many warm vegetarian dishes they placed before me, or how much money they stuffed into my hongbao, I remembered the reality — John defied them in bringing me here. And if I complained or troubled them too much, I might just be left out in the cold, never to be John’s girlfriend, and never to return. Continue reading “Chapter 46: Cold Nights in the Chinese Countryside”

Share/Save