I wanted to see tears, but I couldn’t have expected the final response from my students.

Last Friday we decided to have an hour and a half share fest instead of normal precept. This involved talking about our expectations before SOS, our experiences during the program, and our goals after the summer. Since this was the last precept, we understood what we were doing: we were creating the perfect storm for ugly group weeping.

The plan went swimmingly. Soon several of the students were sniffling messes, laughing through tears about their favorite moments, often times calling out us teachers on aspects of our styles:

Deborah (from my earlier post) was quick to chime in. “Arianna, to be honest, I wanted to sleep in your class during the first week of PiJ. However, your class improved very quickly.” Other students murmured in agreement, much to Arianna’s chagrin. However, it was clear that they were only able to tease her because of how close of friends they had become. Another student wrote to Arianna, “I love you, and I need you.” She would later change her train to ticket to wish Arianna a prolonged three-day goodbye.

Neither Reuben nor I were spared collective teasing. It was almost universally commented that at first Reuben seemed serious and handsome, but later was found to be “humorous” (and still handsome). One student mentioned that she counted the amount of times Reuben said OK in class (161 times), and proceeded to imitate his laugh. Soon the whole class was forming a cacophony of Reuben-like chortles. Of course, “The Reubes” himself was quick to join in.

As for myself, one of my students was quick to note, “Nick, your handwriting is very very bad.” I thought this was a fair criticism, as flashbacks to Ms. Dinoto’s 5^th grade class filled my mind, reminding me of my blatant ineptitude at handwriting. “And, when I first met you, I thought you were a playboy.” As the class chimed in agreement with her, Arianna and Reuben proceeded to die of laughter. Disclaimer: I am in no way a playboy, and I vehemently protest said label. Nonetheless, the nostalgic dragon powwow was an unforgettable experience.

As I reflect now on the summer as whole, I can’t believe how much has happened. After the countless days of late-night journaling and greasy meals shared with teachers and students, I feel I have changed. I have made some close friends, and I’m on track to being the person I want to be. Thank you PiA and SOS for the best summer of my life.

Perhaps the most poignant moment of the evening came from a student who had slipped a tissue underneath her glasses to create a paper veil that shielded her tears and reddened eyes from the class. “I will only say two things, otherwise I will cry,” she said shakily. “I love you all, and I’m getting a gmail.”

Like her, I experienced a tremendous amount of love from my students and fellow teachers, and I look forward to a future with these people in my life. As I said to my saddened students when I left, “this is not goodbye, this is only the beginning.”

-Nick

Last week, in a Chinese town you’ve probably never heard of, we introduced the concept of hipsters to our students. I guess it was kind of cool. If you’ve ever tried to explain this recent phenomenon to someone unfamiliar with it, you may know that it can be difficult to explain, and even harder to undertand. We tried our best to make it comprehensible, even if the students didn’t know the definition of the word ironic.

First thing on the agenda: dress like hipsters. The night before class Arianna, Reuben, and I planned out carefully what we were going to wear. Arianna went for the I’m-a-young-woman-wearing-vintage-clothes-and-grandma-glasses look. To top it all off she made sure to wear her Converse. Reuben went for the apple product indie hipster. With headphones draped around his teal v-neck he pulled off a convincing outfit. I donned thick-rimmed grandfather bifocals, a skin tight shirt, and rolled up skinny jeans. All that was missing was the handelbar mustache.

We came to class among mixed oohs and ahhs. “Ooh you look so cool!” screamed one student with what might have been sarcasm. “Why are you wearing those glasses? You look so old” said others. Clearly, this was not going to be any ordinary day.

Ten minutes later, my students were still struggling with the concept. I pretended that I didn’t care too much and wasn’t worried – getting stressed would have been way too mainstream. Instead, I tried a new tactic. “Ok. What would you guys think if I grew out a huge mustache and beard?” “What?” “Do you think it would make me really attractive?” “Nooooooo!” the girls in my class screamed in unison. “A hipster grows out his mustache because many people find it unattractive.” After a moment of silence, some students seemed to get it, smiling quietly and nodding their heads ever so slightly.

Now I had to test their knowledge. I split the class into groups, outlining a skit for each of them to perform. Here are some of the highlights:

On trying to buy a pair of jeans: “No! You need to be yewnique, not normarl!”

One hipster explaining to another that the stickers on her clothes and face come from a store she has never heard of: “Ridiculers! Stupid! I know where that sticker store is!”

On clothing: “You look like a beggar!” “No! No one has the same shoes as me!”

On relationships: “I love you so much but I want to be the unique one. Let’s break up.”

Later, a hipster commenting on the tearful breakup: “Ugh, I can’t believe they’re quarreling. That’s so typical.”

Although many of their ideas seemed to hit the mark, with an absence of flannel and skinny jeans the Jishou students could only compensate with weird hairstyles and headbands. While they failed to talk fluently about obscure music (aside from Reuben’s jazz) and veganism, at least my students posed for the camera in a disinterested fashion. Moments like those made me unreasonably proud, erm, I mean, somewhat amused. Meh.

-Nick

This week we introduced the concept of “prom” to all of our students. Many of our students lamented the fact that they had never had such an experience. “I wish we had prom in China.” “Was prom the best experience of your life?” The middle-aged suburban helicopter mom inside of me became deeply unsettled by these comments. “They’ve never had a prom? Gosh darnit, I’m gonna give them a prom they’ll never forget.”

As I entered the local supermarket nothing could stop me. Arianna and I blew our budget on countless potato chips, chocolate, and soda – our students would not be denied sugary confections and high calorie foods during their special day. On prom’s eve Arianna and I brainstormed an obscene amount of prom stereotypes. From Tony, who was last year’s prom king intent on a double crown, to Betty, the overprotective mother who went to prom with her daughter Sandra (who’s makeup wasn’t applied properly and was crying to everyone about her fugliness), we made sure Jishou would experience the quintessential American prom.

The special day finally came. Our students were each assigned a role for prom and they performed them flawlessly. During the pre-prom photo shoots the “mean girls” insulted other students while the social outcasts hated on everyone else for liking prom. In the photo booth station our students took sufficiently awkward prom poses and general excitement built when “Tik Tok” started playing in the background.

Arianna and I donned sunglasses and became bouncers as the students shuffled into classroom 306 – the designated space for the dance floor. Reuben turned on Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On.”

Oh. My. Lady. Gaga. High-pitched girly screams pierced the air as each of the couples rushed the floor for the designated slow song. While I separated couples that were dancing too closely (Arianna and I were also the acting overprotective parents), I had flashbacks to my own prom experience. As I witnessed the pandemonium of the classroom, I marveled at the spectacle in front of me: perhaps locked inside of every mild-mannered Chinese college student is an American prom diva waiting to be unleashed.

So perhaps prom looked like a glorified classroom party. Maybe the kids didn’t even really understand how to dance to YMCA. Regardless, I can now sleep soundly at night and cherish priceless photos.

Prom King Yaya and Prom Queen Erica…too bad they broke up during prom

-Nick

I am a dragon. Here in Princeton-in-Jishou we have divided the students into four different levels denoted by different mythological creatures. The dragons are the most advanced, but I couldn’t have expected how much they would know, and how curious they would be to learn. For the most part the students were incredibly outgoing and friendly, but some expressed their excitement differently…..

One girl invited me, Arianna, and Reuben to eat lunch with her and her friends after the first day of class. Let’s call her Deborah. While waiting for the food to come she began to drill me with questions. She was inquisitive and sharp, but I was very hungry. She asked me about other colleges in America and then everything changed. Beneath her smiling, pretty faced lurked a sassy attitude that I could never have anticipated. “You don’t like Harvard because you’re jealous.” She smiled devilishly and turned to her friends. “In fact, I think you should be in Jishou and I should be in Princeton.”

I was flabbergasted. She was fluent in sarcasm – a rarity in China – and she was relentless. Who was this girl? Why was she talking so much about the Vampire Diaries? Wait. Had American TV turned her into this precocious, insubordinate she-devil? The food soon arrived and my irritation and surprise subsided. After lunch ended I swallowed the truth: we were forever destined to be enemies, foreign teacher vs. troublemaking problem child.

Later that week she haunted me in English Corner, an hour session where the students  talk with the foreign teachers informally to further improve their English. I must admit that I was afraid of her at first, but soon she became enraptured by Arianna’s love stories. Seeing the unblinking focus of Deborah’s face as she absorbed all of Arianna’s words was a transformative experience for me. Although she had an attitude, she had a passion for English, and I respected her for that. Ok, maybe I hate-respected her.

Another revealing experience occurred when I became suddenly aware that one of my students was way cooler than me. Let’s call her Kim. She came to class with a distinct swagger, and her clothes were fashionable, looking slightly Middles Eastern. Her mannerisms were equally chill. She nodded and smiled in class, and had an air of confidence (but not cockiness) at all times, even when she was nervous. In other words, Kim is cool without realizing how cool she is. Naturally, I wanted to become more like her.

Me: Hey Kim!

Kim: Hi

Me: So……How did you like class?

Kim: I enjoyed it.

Me: Ummmm…. Are you free for lunch? What I mean is, erm….. Well, if you want to practice your English, I would be happy to spend time with you.

Kim: I’m sorry, I have to eat with my family today.

Me. OK! Cool, cool. That’s totally cool. Are you free for dinner?

Kim: Sorry, I have dance class.

Me: Yeah. Great. That makes sense……..Ok then. *cough cough* I’ll see you tomorrow?

Kim: Yes. See you tomorrow.

Me: …………

Kim can’t evade me forever. One day I will achieve her swag, even if she is really busy. The students are amazing, and I can’t wait to spend more weeks with them.

Nick

I had plans. I was going to be 6’2″ so that I could stand out – but not too much. 6’2″ is the perfect height for a tennis player. My dad told me that. I was going to go pro. Freshman year of high school I stopped growing at 5’9″. No matter how much I willed myself to get taller (I didn’t drink coffee), I was condemned to be average. I stopped playing tennis. Then a new thought, a new hope: if I couldn’t get taller, I would go to a place where people were shorter than me. I heard that people felt taller in Asia. My twin brother felt huge in Japan.

After two weeks in China, my plans had been thwarted. Guys were taller than I expected and girls tended to wear four inch heels (not an exaggeration). I was just taller than average, still not a standout. Fate had defeated me, but all was not lost.

In Jishou it appears the students’ and officials’ main contact with the West comes through Hollywood. Enter the July Fourth opening banquet. Arianna was compared to a famous Chinese singer, Reuben a handsome young man (later to be called an English gentleman). The president of the college was thrilled to meet me because I apparently looked like Leonardo DiCaprio from Titanic. “Your name should be Jack, not Nick” he told me. A few days later Cameron would be compared to Hugh Jackman from X-Men.

It’s probable Leo would be offended by the comparison, but no one has to tell him.  So maybe I’m not tall, but I’m finally ok with that – my heart will go on.

-Nick

I’m writing this posting after a wonderful Dong performance of dancing and singing in the town of Zhaoxing, Guizhou China. By wonderful, I mean relieving. Let me explain.

In the past week on three occasions I have been summoned to take part in communal dancing by various ethnic minorities. In KaiLi the dancing was downright sadistic. Forming a giant chain with linked arms that snaked around itself, this Miao dance involved villagers trying their very hardest to smash their incredibly bony pelvises into your body. Though I’m a modest 5’9,” the average height of these relentless Miao dancers was much smaller. This meant that their pointy hips were slamming into the upper part of my legs – which as some of you who have siblings may know creates a nerve-numbing eruption of pain. Though I did my best to punish the small Miao men and women around me, 5 minutes later I staggered limping from the dance circle knowing that I was not victorious.

The dancing in WuGao was less traumatic but involved the smashing of stools together while stomping around a room. Several miscounted measures and crushed fingers later, I hid in the corner wondering why these peaceful farmers were so inclined to create violent dances. Conclusion: dancing Miao farmers aren’t sober and aren’t delicate, pale, college students.

Needless to say PTSD started to kick in this evening when a beautiful Dong woman adorned with copious jewelry and covered in a layer of makeup (which made her appear slightly clown-like) approached me with an outstretched hand. Prior to this invitation to dance, I had been sitting tranquilly and safely in my front row seat. Yet, behind her carefully crafted and adorable exterior I knew she had the powers to embarrass and bludgeon foreigners.

Moments later I was holding hands in a communal circle bearing a shakily large smile in a typical Nervous Nancy fashion. This time however, there would be no celebratory charlie horses, and the group dance ended with my spirits and quads intact.

More harrowing updates from the field to come

-Nick

I’m ready for Jishou. I’m ready for the troublemaker in my class. I’m ready for navigating around pushy street vendors who want me to buy socks. I’m ready for heat and humidity. I’m ready for never feeling clean. I’m ready for bugs – even bugs I don’t want to believe exist. I’m ready for mosquitoes, squat toilets, foreign foods, and strange, personal conversations with old people. I’m ready to lose myself in service.

While I can’t expect or anticipate what’s going to happen to me in China, I can guess about how I will feel. This will be the first prolonged experience in my life where I will be dedicating myself to others and watching the “me” slip farther and farther from view. Many things will be more obviously out of my control, with basic communication and personal routines radically altered. I expect to feel overwhelmed, excited, alone, amazed, terrified, and really really happy – maybe not all at once – but definitely at some point throughout this trip.

Hopefully eight weeks from now I will be a better person. I hope to know what it feels like to invest oneself completely in helping others. I hope that I can be confident that life doesn’t have to be about consumption, production, and the pursuit of pleasure. I hope that I will be changed in ways I can’t anticipate. I hope to fall in love with China.

Filled with flash-forwards, tiger blood, and with delusional, unsupported confidence,

-Nick