life in China | Speaking of China

Chapter 69: The Bad Luck Kittens

Newborn kitten in someone's hands — Someone in Shanghai dumped newborn kittens into a garbage can near my office -- all over superstition. I wonder when luck was more important than life.

Black kittens with soft white paws don’t belong in the garbage can. But that’s where they were, carelessly tossed into a dumpster near my office in Shanghai. Only days old, these tiny, partially blind bundles of fur were saved by what nature gave them — plaintive mewing that drew the attention of a cleaning attendant. Somehow, the cleaning attendants must have known that a couple of the trade show girls in our company had a soft spot for animals — because there they were, in front of the womens bathroom on my floor, trying to nurse them back to health with eye-dropper filled with milk.

I’ve raised kittens all my life, and this miniature feline nativity drew me in instantly — but not without drama. Continue reading “Chapter 69: The Bad Luck Kittens”

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Chapter 68: The Soliciting Shanghai Peddlers

three-wheeled bicycle in China piled with junk — Riding a loaded down, rickety, three-wheeled bicycle (like this one), peddlers infiltrated my community, with its "no solicitor" signs posted at every gate.

“No soliciting.”

These words, written in black Chinese characters on a rusting white sign hung at each gate into my new community — a traditional Long Tang — read more like a dare than a warning. The one guard station, at the southern gate, stood empty more than half the time. The other two gates never locked, even though each one had a rusty red loop that could have easily held a lock of some kind — but it never did. Nothing about the setup suggested security, or even the attempt to stop solicitors. It might as well been a prison with all of its doors open, with a sign hanging at the door that said “no escaping.”

John and I escaped here, to Luwan District, after post-midnight garbage runs disturbed our sleep night after night. The nighttime here lay as dark and still as the streets, with their garage-door-like storefronts shuttered tight, the only sound a stray taxi here or a drunkard hobbling there. It was the night we hoped for, after a wrenching departure from our old apartment. “It’s very quiet here,” the real estate agent assured John with nodding confidence. For once, the agent was right.

But he forgot to tell John about one thing — the days and, especially, the daytime peddlers, crooning their wares as they bicycled in and out of the lanes of our community. Continue reading “Chapter 68: The Soliciting Shanghai Peddlers”

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Ask the Yangxifu: Chinese Men and the Marriage Proposal

Western woman showing off her engagement ring from a Chinese man — If your Chinese man likes it, how does he put a ring on it? Jocelyn takes on the topic of creative marriage proposals from Chinese men. (photo by wvermeulen)

Friend asks:

I was going to ask if you were going to make an entry on how chinese men propose, and maybe personal examples from you or others. Some thoughts ran around my head while I was listening to that cheesy but semi-adorable song by David Tao, Today you’re going to marry me (今天你要嫁给我). Although a lot of western guys come with a bunch of fun and neat ideas of proposing, there’s no lack of creativity from Chinese guys, shy as they may be. Continue reading “Ask the Yangxifu: Chinese Men and the Marriage Proposal”

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Chapter 67: One Landlord, One Less Deposit

faucet on a bathtub — When John and I decide to move in Shanghai -- before our lease is up -- all understanding gets flushed down the drain by a not-so-understanding landlord.

Changning — the long peace — was never meant to last. That’s what I discover when we asked the landlord, a Shanghai native, for permission to move. He was sympathetic about the garbage problem, even understanding. Or so we thought.

“You ruined the tub, and I need to deduct the costs from your deposit,” accused the landlord.

John, my Chinese boyfriend, and I were stunned. The tub was a scratched-up hull of its former self when we moved in. How could the landlord — a man John once described as “reasonable” — suddenly turn against us? Continue reading “Chapter 67: One Landlord, One Less Deposit”

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Chapter 66: Garbage in the Long Peace

Garbage dumpster — John and I may have lived in a Shanghai district called "Long Peace" -- but nighttime was anything but peaceful once we discovered the nighttime garbage collection.

Changning, the district where I live, may be called “long peace” — but there’s nothing peaceful about evenings in our community.

Every night at 3am, 4am or 5am, so, a garbage truck growls outside of our window, its grrrrrrrrrrrr like the overture to this reckless opera outdoors. Then comes the clang, clang, clang signaling the swift climax, as the garbage lands into its final resting place. This nightly drama has John and I restless — literally.

No one else really notices. Continue reading “Chapter 66: Garbage in the Long Peace”

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Ask the Yangxifu: Feeling Big in Little China

Woman looking in a mirror, unsatisfied with herself. — A Western woman with a normal body size plans to move to China with her Chinese boyfriend, but worries about her body image around thinner Asian women. How can she cope when she moves to China?

Feeling Big asks:

Me and my chinese boyfriend have been dating over a year. When I first met him, I never considered him “date worthy” simply because he was barely as tall as me. However, he was able to win me over. We are planning to move to China as soon as I am finished with my schooling, but I have a little problem which I have voiced a few times to him. I am afraid that I will be huge in China.

Unless you were going by model standards, no one in the States could call me fat and I am barely over the average height for women–which allows me to feel fairly short most of the time. Yet, whenever I am with Asian women, I cannot help but compare myself to them. They are just so tiny! Honestly, I do not see how my boyfriend could possibly be attracted to me when I stand next to them because I am occasionally twice their size! In addition, I am generally as tall as most men and about as fat as them too.

I am wondering if you have any advice for this body issue that I am having. I am somewhat afraid that upon getting to China that I will be overwhelmed by an ideal body shape and size that is simply impossible for me to attain.

Thank you so much for your attention and advice! Your blog is simply inspiring and has often filled me with hope. Continue reading “Ask the Yangxifu: Feeling Big in Little China”

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Chapter 64: Living in the Face of SARS

Doctor in a surgical mask — As a friend goes into quarantine, and the virus closes in on John's hometown in the countryside, I had to learn how to live with the threat of SARS, everyday.

I could have been quarantined.

One of the employees at Alibaba — the Internet company I interviewed at in Hangzhou — contracted SARS while attending the Canton Fair. On her second visit to the hospital, she discovered her illness was no typical flu. And just like that, everyone who worked in Alibaba — and other companies sharing the office building — was put under quarantine in early May, 2003, including John’s high school classmate, Douglas.

I wanted so much to stay in Hangzhou only months before, and work for Alibaba. Weeks after I moved to Shanghai and began work for the global media company, Alibaba even called to offer me the job — which of course I turned down. I came so close to this company. I could have been another casualty of SARS.

As SARS continued to spread, before long it began to touch the people you know and care about. Continue reading “Chapter 64: Living in the Face of SARS”

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Chapter 63: SARS and Scare-buying

a bottle of cleaning alcohol — First comes SARS, then comes panic, then comes scare-buying. I discover the local pharmacies are all sold out of cleaning alcohol during SARS, and I wonder -- what will be next?

It was mid-May, 2003, in Shanghai — in the midst of the SARS epidemic — and I had just stopped at a pharmacy, to buy some alcohol for disinfecting our home. Or so I thought. “Meiyou — we don’t have any.” The shopkeeper, a matronly woman with a cap of silvery curls, said the words I feared.

I trudged back to our apartment, with the news. “I can’t believe it — they’ve sold out of alcohol!”

John looked towards me, his calm face the opposite of the near-panic and frustration I harbored within. “Scare-buying.” He said it as if he was announcing what we’d have for lunch, or mentioning an interesting news story.

Except there was nothing common about it, to me. “Great.” Here we were in the midst of SARS, and an important tool — alcohol — was now out of my reach.

But it wasn’t just alcohol. Continue reading “Chapter 63: SARS and Scare-buying”

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Chapter 62: The Quietest May Day Ever

Rapid transit in Beijing during SARS — The SARS epidemic turned China's May holiday into the quietest one I had ever seen, with abandoned streets, shopping centers, and even public transit. (image by zh-wp, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons)

Never had a country of over 1.2 billion people seen such a quiet holiday.

Historically, May 1 began one of China’s “golden weeks” — seven days of unadulterated travel, shopping or even just relaxing with family and friends. Of course, with everyone on break at the same time, travel was either too expensive, too crowded, or too hard to get tickets — and shopping meant you had to elbow your way in with the masses to get a good deal. The holiday, arguably, was a perfect example of the Chinese concept of çƒé—¹ [rÃ¨nÉ‘o] — the lively, bustling, crowded, fire-breathing nature that is China, home to the descendants of the dragon.

There was no renao on this May 1, in 2003, since the Chinese government had canceled the holiday because of SARS. That cut the usual seven days down to five for most of us — except for John. Continue reading “Chapter 62: The Quietest May Day Ever”

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Chapter 61: Unmasking SARS Panic

You know there’s something wrong when the entire Sales Department starts wearing surgical masks.

That’s what I saw one afternoon on April 22, 2003, after returning to the office from my lunch break. Only Sales hid their faces behind sterilized gauze, turning our office into a corporate version of an ER triage department. And like triage, those of us sitting at our desks were no better than the families awaiting their loved ones in surgery — hiding worries behind a calm countenance.

As we approached the National Day Holiday — a week long national holiday in China from May 1 to May 7 — I had my own concerns. According to the Chinese government, we only technically had five, not seven, days off — even though they gave us a weekend in there somewhere. So that meant we had to sacrifice a weekend before or after the break to “pay” for this. In my case, I’d have to work through the coming weekend, facing a tiring ten-day work week.

“Are you ready for our ten-day work marathon?” I joked to my coworker and trainer, Steve, April 21 — Monday morning — when I came into the office.

Steve’s face looked as grim as a doctor bearing bad news. “It’s been canceled.” Continue reading “Chapter 61: Unmasking SARS Panic”

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