Sitting
in a posh restaurant that serves Western food on Monday afternoon, I
heard something that I least expected. I was enjoying a mini hot pot
of wild mushrooms with roots, goji berries, jujubes and longans. With
me were two people. Jolloe, an English teacher from my school, and
her friend, an engineer. He confided in me that he would be getting a
divorce on Thursday.
He
asked what I thought of Obama and that brought up a brief explanation
of political parties in America. Then he asked if I believe in God
and when I affirmed this he said, "I believe in Guanyin". I
understood because before coming here I read about this goddess of
compassion in a book about Chinese culture. This man also told me
that he is a member of the Chinese Communist Party, that he joined
when he was young, but that he doesn't believe in its ideals anymore.
I felt bad for this man, who looked weary. He sipped his beer and I
sipped my water. Jolloe commented, "He's looks like an unhappy
man".
The
engineer nodded and quickly said to me, "But, I am happy to meet
you today. You are a happy person. When I saw you I felt happy".
I
wished I could share with him my beliefs that make me happy. As the
three of us shared some bread and fried rice and leaned against our
couches embedded with jewels, a familiar melody began to play.
Earlier I passively noted that the songs the restaurant played
included both Mandarin and English selections. Now, as I recognized
the
melody I tried to think of the name of the song, but couldn't. Then,
as the words began, I realized it was my name song, “Aubrey”.
However, it was sung not by the original artist, but by an unknown
female artist. How uncanny to hear the song my mother found my name
from in a country thousands of miles away. I smiled a secret smile.
The
next morning, I arrived at the school a little later than I usually
do on Tuesdays. My first class starts at 9:40 am, and the students
have exercises on the basketball court from 9:25 to 9:37. It was
9:22, and I was walking towards the teaching building as the entire
student body walked the opposite direction. Often I try to get to the
school by 9:15 to avoid this. However, it was kind of nice to see all
of my students. One of them shouted, “Hi Aubri!”. It was nice to
hear that because many of the students don't call me anything.
On
Friday night, I sat in a little restaurant with Mr. Wu and Mark. As
we waited for the food to come out, Mark told me that a Chinese
teacher, one who had come the first time Mr. Wu invited me to dinner,
had chosen a Chinese name for me, after much consideration. I read a
delightful and insightful little book before coming to China called,
Dreaming
in Chinese.
The author, Deborah Fallows, comments on how foreigners in China need
two things to be accepted as a real person, a phone number and a
Chinese name. Finally I have the second! The name chosen for me is
Shu2 Mei3 (The numbers indicate the tones). The first word means
“comfortable” and the second means “beautiful”.
As
I stuffed myself with the mutton Mr. Wu heaped on my plate, I
wondered how the Chinese teacher had taken into account the meaning
of my English name, which I had revealed to him, through Mark, who
had translated. The meaning is “Fair ruler of the little people”.
After trying bitter melon for the first time, and two wild
vegetables that Mark informed me had saved many Chinese lives during
times of famine, I still wasn't sure.
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