give in to love or live in fear

so naturally the subject of this post is a line from 'rent', although it is actually a poem that is inspiring me to write at the moment. i subscribe to the writer's almanac and so receive an email with a poem each day*. for some reason today's poem struck me such that i felt i needed to stop what i was doing and consider it**. i think i was struck by it because i found myself sharing one of my inspirational 'rent' mantras with a friend yesterday - forget regrets or life is yours to miss. it's a good mantra because is propelling and good for perspective. i'd like to think that it points to living boldly, taking risks, making the most of each moment and opportunity, focusing on joy, and not taking things too seriously. it is an especially useful mantra for those of us prone to over-thinking. (to borrow from emerson: finish each day and be done with it. you have done what you could. some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. tomorrow is a new day. you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.) pleasantly, i realise as i write this that i am reasonably good at actualising this mantra. (see my saturday afternoon-to-evening activities, which i will briefly describe below, as evidence.) actualisation aside, today's poem struck me because it articulates a a real and legitimate actual regret. ahem -

The Man in the Yard

by Howard Nelson

My father told me once
that when he was about twenty
he had a new girlfriend, and once
they stopped by the house on the way
to somewhere, just a quick stop
to pick something up,
and my grandfather, who wasn't well—
it turned out he had TB and would die
at fifty-two—was sitting in a chair
in the small back yard, my father
knew he was out there, and it crossed
his mind that he should take his girlfriend
out back to meet him, but he
didn't, whether for embarrassment
at the sick, fading man
or just because he was in a hurry
to be off on his date, he didn't
say, but he told the little,
uneventful story anyway, and said
that he had always regretted
not doing that simple, courteous
thing, the sick man sitting in
the sun in the back yard would
have enjoyed meeting her, but
instead he sat out there alone
as they came and left, young
lovers going on a date. He
always regretted it, he said.

i almost burst into tears when i finished reading this. not, however, because i found it sad. i don't think it's actually about regret so much as it is a subtle expression of the rent lyrics mantra above. forget regrets or life is yours to miss is really telling us to live in a way that we don't have regrets. to always make the bold, frightening, loving choices even when they are daunting or more painful or inconvenient. more succinctly: give in to love or live in fear. yes, that's another line from the same song but it is also perhaps the best mantra of all. if the poet's father were to have chosen to give into love - that tug he felt to bring this (seemingly insignificant) girlfriend to meet his sick father - rather than his fear of the awkwardness of that moment, he wouldn't be sharing this small regret with his son all these years later. it is sometimes shocking to me how we can still shy away from living as boldly as we possibly can and making the most of every moment even when the universe again and again reminds us how ephemeral our lives are, how fleeting our chances to love and be kind. and yet we squander them. we look away and leave things unsaid and suppress our laughter all too often. (oooh, i am totally talking myself into stopping work for the afternoon and going for a long, rambling walk in the neighbourhood and bringing a delicious and special bottle of wine to dinner with friends tonight!) my brother-in-law used to say that love is the absence of fear. for the longest time i didn't understand that. but now it is too clear. not unlike the imperative of this poem. in addition to almost bursting into tears, i had a tremendous impulse to simply run in the sunshine or kiss someone handsome and strong or dance for simply hours****.

thankfully, there is still time to do all of those things yet today! i actually did all of those things, minus the kissing, on saturday. saturday was an absolutely beautiful day here in beijing - sunny, blue skies, perfect early autumn weather - and a friend was having a housewarming lunch in his new hutong home. it was a superb day for bbqing in the courtyard with a small collection of souls*****. we enjoyed a delicious lunch and then lingered on. some of us half-napped, mostly chatted lying on my friend's new bed (a 'heavenlyTM' bed from the westin hotel - kind of like cloud but better). some dealt with household improvements. some chatted outside. my ipod, our musical inspiration for the day, behaved amazingly and shuffled together a perfect soundtrack*******. as afternoon began to turn to evening, we all contemplated whether we ought to part ways and head off into our various evening plans. we did seriously contemplate that. maybe for four minutes. and then we opened a bottle of red wine. and cancelled our other plans. the afternoon turned into evening turned into night. we drank wine. we ordered dinner. we wore funny hats. (i spent a few hours in a very classy top hat. another friend had a rather fetching gold turban. and there was a safari hat involved too.) we climbed the tree in the courtyard. others came. and left. (once again, we scared all the straight men away.) we sang. (at least two of the straight men might have been scared away by my singing toto's 'africa' to a teaspoon at the table along with another girlfriend. when i was sober. (on fellow asked how much we'd been drinking and i said that i'd only had two glasses of wine over the course of many hours (which was true at that point), but was somewhat inherently silly and just having fun. i offered him my teaspoon microphone to join in for a bit, but he wasn't into it. i shrugged. his loss.)) we danced. we began dancing around the courtyard and then moved into the living room. i may or may not have been inspired to do the splits multiple times. a friend may or may not have pulled a groin muscle attempting to do the splits. we also may or may not have done the running man. and the roger rabbit. the neighbours called the police. (they were concerned my friend was starting a club in his new home. we assured them he was not.) others did shots of baijiu. (shots of baijiu for me are always regrets that i cannot forget.) in the end, four of us ended up climbing into my friend's (heavenlyTM) bed and giggling like schoolgirls for hours. and staying the night. i was perhaps not the most popular person at the slumber party because once i got tired i kept encouraging slumber, saying 'too much chatting, not enough sleeping!' it was a very impromptu, amusing, hilarious saturday. we certainly warmed the house. and, i suppose, we gave into love, not fear. though i suspect that some of my comrades regretted the shots of baijiu on sunday morning.



*confession - much as i enjoy seeing this mail surface in my inbox each day, i do not always read the poems. i sometimes only skim. or don't read them at all. shhhh.

**a second confession - i am working from home on transition memos and other materials related to my impending career move and its a national (hotly love the motherland!) holiday this entire week and the weather is gorgeous and i am finding it exceedingly difficult to focus***. even if today's poem were about a rodent or farm implements or slugs i probably would have found it necessary to stop and consider it. and so.

***let's be honest, productivity is overrated.

****as per my confessions above, these impulses may or may not also be related to having been sitting and writing memos for too long. actually, they also may or may not be regular impulses unrelated to this poem or prose of any kind.

*****amusing true story: i arrived at said collection of souls saying that (inspired by my recent experience in clean living in koh samui) i wasn't drinking any alcohol or eating any sugar. but then a sommelier friend opened a bottle of wine from one of my favourite vineyards in napa and a sweet girlfriend arrived with homemade toffee cake generously topped with chocolate and nuts. one and half hours after my statement, i was enjoying a delicious glass of wine and eating too much toffee cake in the sunshine. my friends said they were very impressed with my will power for lasting over an hour. i didn't regret my choices. some mantras are more meaningful than others.

******my ipod on shuffle can be very unpredictable. unsurprisingly, we are almost always teetering on the edge of musical theatre or hiphop. but it performed admirably on saturday. especially during the dance party, but also in the quieter moments.

hotly love the motherland (death or glory)

it's that time of year again. time to drag out our commifabulous red star twinkling best and live it up! for me, that involves red hot pants. for beijing, that involves flags all over the place and large red banners reminding us to hotly love the motherland. (incidentally, for it me it also involves some flash dance moves and for china it also involves some very fast and fancy footwork to erase potentially provocative materials on the internet before anyone can read them. along those lines, if someone can somehow access this blog post, copy and paste, and send it to me in an email, i'd be much obliged - http://blog.sina.com.cn/s/blog_4e00bcd90100lxhm.html.)

ahh, 'tis the night before national day and all through the sky, the streaks of pinkish smog make us all sigh. for some reason observing the pinkish smoggy sunset out my office window has me thinking about how swiftly time flies. perhaps because, although i will be working during this holiday (dancing a sure-to-be impressively complicated tornado ballet involving transition memos and closure and other such stuff as dreams are made of), our office will be closed and by the time my chinese colleagues return on october 11, it will be my last week here. which is rather astounding. tempus fugit. i am also recalling national day last year - and all the red glory* around the 60th anniversary of the PRC while i personally fled to HK to avoid said glory. hard to believe that was a year ago. then again, also not. i've done a lot of dancing since then. in so many senses. and my curious mixed metaphor about tornado ballets and transition memos aside, i'll certainly be doing a lot of rocking out in my office over the next week while the rest of my comrades in this city are hotly loving the motherland. it's hard, i've never left a job when i'm still generally happy with it (or where i am so close with my colleagues as i am here) but simply had a worthier challenge come along. but that's life. and time. it whirls forward and you need to keep on running - or dancing - along as furiously and fabulously as you can.

other than pondering the passage of time, i have another question on my mind this evening. to wit: does a one become a revolutionary out of the belief that one is entitled to joy rather than submission? sometimes i think that is what starts the process of becoming a revolutionary. maybe it's always what starts it. and no, i don't have anything more profound to say about this question now. perhaps you do. please share. once upon a lifetime i might have chided myself about this or considered trying to make a more tidy point here before moving on. but i came across this line from antoine blodin recently and am taking it to heart tonight - "the only duty of the writer is not to have one". also, wasn't it joan didion who said she writes to find out what she thinks? i can relate to that.

and so. on this fine mid-autumn eve, i think that i am glad to still be in china. with all of its complexities, challenges, and imperfections. with all of its death and and all of its glory. i appreciate it all the more in this evening moment feeling as though i am watching time fly swiftly by outside my window, inspiring me to live all the more fully and make the most of everything**. death or glory. (or dancing.)



*writing that made me want to listen to the clash song 'death or glory'. so i just put it on and am now rocking out to it as i watch the sunset and write the rest of this post. i suggest you do the same and listen to it as you continue reading. maybe i should also add it into the subject. why not?

**speaking of making the most of everything, we had a meeting at a german NGO this afternoon where they served serious german cakes (black forest, cheesecake, apfel strudel, etc) & fresh coffee on real plates with proper silverware. so civilised! love those deutschers. talk about a charm offensive. anyone would forgive two world wars in exchange for regularly being served delicious baked goods and fresh coffee during meetings. very, very clever. also makes me think of death or cake rather than death or glory. or more precisely, the great eddie izzard skit from dressed to kill - "thank you for flying church of england, cake or death?"

doing it beautifully

so our stretch of sweet, serene blue sky days and sparkly summer evenings under the stars in the courtyard have come to a close. here in the northern capital we are once again firmly embraced by filth. in the form of pollution, naturally (or rather unnaturally), and also just general dirt and squalor. now i too have been known to swoon over the quiet joys of hutong living, but sometimes i fail to see the romance. this morning was one of those times. as i walked down the alley to the bus stop, i found myself doing the using winding dance avoiding filth in various forms and thinking whether hutong life is less about poetry and more about poo. literally. all over the place. and piles of dirt. and having to see underwear in public a lot. although that may just be a china thing. airing your laundry - even your intimates - in public spaces is quite acceptable. it's unfortunate that all of these knickers kicking it about town seem to be unsightly. almost without fail they are old, enormous, yellowing, and one wear shy of unravelling. you beijingren out there know exactly what i'm talking about. why? i ask you, why? then again, maybe in my fretting about underwear aesthetics, i am missing some profounder truth hidden in all the (over)exposed panties*. isn't god a shout in the street? shouldn't we be able to find enlightenment in the everyday? maybe the answer, my friends, is blowing in the wind. and maybe the answer is enormous underwear. (of course, i might need to work out the question first.)

anyway, after enduring aesthetic, aural and olfactory assualts in the alley, i boarded a bus that had clearly pulled up to our humble stop straight out of an orson scott card novel**. our driver may or may not have been engaged in some sort of intergalactic space battle in a dimension the rest of us could not access or see. seriously. i think i have bruises from being tossed about so much. there were at least two moments when i felt quite certain i was on the verge of death or serious bodily injury. in those moments i both cursed myself for wearing gorgeous patent leather stilettos this morning and congratulated myself for going down in style. i found myself thinking of hedda gabler's immortal line, 'do it beautifully', urging a man to commit suicide in style. and so.

and so i've decided that doing it beautifully is a healthy approach to all things. even if the origin of this particular mantra is perhaps less than healthy. i strolled down the alley in my stilettos humming along to the jazz*** on my ipod, sidestepping the sh*t and gracefully avoiding pantie attacks, beautifully. and today i shall beautifully attempt not to be disheartened about the ever-shrinking space for human rights advocacy in this (filthy) country. and i shall also beautifully contemplate a possible career shift that would allow me to continue to work on the issues i care about, but from an altered (and perhaps safer more generative) angle.

actually, maybe that's the answer.
(who needs the question?)

do it beautifully.



*and i am ostensibly into finding beauty in unexpected places!

**i am generally not much of a science fiction fan, but absolutely love ender's game, and then next 2-3 books in the series. i think it falls off after that. if you haven't read it, get thee to a bookstore or library or website (so many options in the modern world! (too many?))! oh and again, not trying to be bossy. just spreading sunshine. very necessary on this grey day.

***sometimes i love jazz so much i wish i could eat it.

beauty in unexpected places

so my usual searching for beauty in unexpected places is more meaningful than my stories shall be this evening. a thousand pardons. translation: this will be a silly post. possibly even nonsensical. but so life has seemed of late, and so it is only appropriate.

why nonsensical? let's just say that the narrative arc of my saturday night opened and closed on stationary, unseaworthy boats. yes, two distinct and distinctive boats that were bearing me nowhere fast.* saturday was another glorious bright, bright sunshiney day in beijing. (i seriously think i'm getting a little drunk from soaking up all this sunshine. loving it.) i spent a good portion of the day wandering around enjoying it. and also shopping for the perfect commifabulous old bicycle with a friend. we did a lot of looking, discussing, and even some riding, but neither of us ended up with wheels. oh well. it was a pleasant enough day. the evening began with sweet sunset drinks at a bar called the stone boat in ritan park. the bar is - wait for it - a stone boat sitting in one of the park's man-made lakes. not exactly into the wild, but about as close to nature as we can get in beijing. and it's a charming, mellow place. a beautiful way to begin the evening. the night unfolded from there. it ended at the (re)opening party for a bar / club inside a stationary boat in the liangmahe canal. there had been a boat bar there for sometime called - wait for it - the boat. but it didn't do particularly well and so was closed, renovated and reopened as - again, wait for it - showboat.

showboat was quite a show. the interior was all white leather (great plan) and glass and an attempt to be sleek and classy that only succeeded in looking a bit trite. two levels on the inside, with a balcony overlooking a dancefloor.** the party was apparently exclusive / required invitations, but we sailed in somehow. once inside, it was clear that certain partygoers were being paid to be aboard. beijing simply doesn't have that many beautiful people. nor does it have many models dressed as sailors or in stylish nautical attire. the female models all seemed to be russian. the male models were more diverse and were hot, hot, hot. and yet. i fear they were also flaming, flaming, flaming. one outrageously gorgeous man in a blue-and-white striped naughty nautical top and fitted white trousers would periodically wink at me when he passed while sauntering about the ship looking beautiful. one of my guy friends noticed this and asked why i wasn't winking in return or otherwise responding. i politely explained that, given how his outfit coordinated with the attire of the other too-hot-to-handle men in the room, i suspected that he was being paid to saunter by and wink at me. i also couldn't help but notice that he was rather more friendly with one of the sailors on the dancefloor. still, having a hot man wink at me was rather an improvement over other recent nights out in the northern capital, even if he was gay and winking at me was in his job description. the winking was not, however, the highlight of the evening. that was most definitely when a girlfriend and i stumbled into the private ktv room in the upstairs bow of the ship. it was also all white-leather tackiness. so inviting! two chinese women walked in while we were selecting a song and sat down. we went with britney's 'toxic'. probably an appropriate choice given all the fumes from the fresh paint we were inhaling. we performed with aplomb. but it wasn't pretty. so consumed were we in the song that we failed to notice the steadily-growing crowd that was swelling into the room behind us. that is, until i turned to my left and realised that we had an audience of twenty. i caught my friend's eye mid-note. she whispered, "three,two,one and we bolt?" i nodded. i sang, "i'm addicted to you"; she sang, "don't you know that you're toxic?, three, two, one". and we whirled around, dropped the mics on the table, and fled.

when we rejoined our friends, it seemed that escape was on everyone's minds. slowly the beautiful partygoers were noticing that showboat was more show than boat and it was decidedly leaning or tilting to one side. this does not inspire confidence. especially when people are vigorously dancing. there were serious-ish conversations about whether we might be sinking. one friend shared the escape route he had already mapped out for when the great ship went down. it was a pretty detailed plan, actually. he's an over-thinker so this isn't surprising. he was worried about his obituary describing his death by drowning on a tacky club boat in the liangmahe canal*** in beijing. i asked that him to promise that he would take me with him when he escaped and then abruptly ended the conversation, explaining that i had just recovered from being afraid of dying in a fire and couldn't mix water or drowning into my trauma cocktail. instead, we had another actual cocktail and clung to the railing to stay straight as the showboat tilted even further.

the showboat scene behind me, i learned about an even more entertaining activity involving beijing's beautiful people over sunday afternoon tea with some friends. in this case, however, the beautiful people must pay to participate rather than be paid to look pretty. ladies and gentlemen, in less than two weeks, the miss laowai china competition will be held in beijing. i'm not even making this up, ahem: http://www.misslaowaichina.org/. SJ. i learned about this show via a (gay) guy friend who suggested that i enter as a way to put myself out there and meet eligible bachelors in beijing. this was before, mind, we visited the website or really knew anything about it. he had only heard that it existed. when we discovered that it is being held in the same theatre where i graduated from high school, he and our other friend really implored me to enter because i would have a leg up on the competition, being familiar with the stage already. i said that although i found the pageant's mission statement suitably inspiring, goal-oriented young woman interested in Things Chinese that i am, i didn't think i could go about flaunting my kindred spirit in public, much less on stage. here's the relevant portion of the statement (although there's more where this comes from):

Miss Laowai China Pageant is a cultural exchange platform organized at this magnitude to encompass the interest of both Chinese and Foreigners in China. While it calls for participation of female foreigners in China, its main aim is to promote friendship and understanding of the way of life in China through the eyes of foreign beauty and revealed in talent about Things Chinese. This platform allows the women to show how savoir-faire they are in China life. In their daily life they are goal-oriented and aware of the importance of Chinese culture on the global scale. Therefore, delegates who become part of the Miss Laowai China Organization will display the characteristics and aspirations from their everyday lives. Miss Laowai China is therefore a conduit through which they will compete with hope of advancing their careers, personal and humanitarian goals, and also release their kindred spirit to improve the lives of others.

as sunday afternoon turned into evening and we continued to smile at life over coffees and ice creams, i couldn't help but marvel about all the unexpected beauty this city has to offer. even if it's a little toxic. ahh, beauty with chinese characteristics.



*i wonder if there is an allegory somewhere in spending my night on useless vessels. maybe. for some reason, i am recalling a conversation i had while back visiting friends in nyc recently. one of my girlfriends made a comment about our lives being like "sex & the city". i replied that the t.v. show version of my dating life would be more along the lines of "magical thinking alone in my room". maybe i recall the comment now when thinking about the boats because of the common lack of movement. although i am somewhat encouraged at the thought that the t.v. show title is not "magical thinking alone going nowhere fast on a useless vessel". although i suppose it might as well be. at least i wasn't alone on saturday. and had a great time.

**apparently there was also a roofdeck. and there was fried chicken there. i discovered neither. had i found either fresh air or food i may have lasted longer than i did. at around 2:30 a.m. my interest in snacks overtook my interest in half-dancing to house music and misplacing my decidedly mediocre drinks, so i called it a night.

***the liangmahe canal is filthy and an insult to bodies of water everywhere. so polluted i think even describing it as green or brown is an insult to colours, i don't think a living creature has been found in it for decades. well, aside from the old men who still insist in swimming there. but that's another matter entirely. seriously, it's disgusting.

i believe in the question

this subject is profound, but also nonsensical. reminiscent, perhaps, of the play of the universe.* which is of course part of what makes life sacred.** the statement came from bill moyers, describing his religion / relationship to faith. i am in the final segment of the joseph campbell and bill moyers conversations on the power of myth. again, download and listen to it.**** it's fantastic. anyway, that line really spoke to me - i believe in the question! not only because i also believe in the question - i do - but also because i seem to often find myself talking about the importance of asking the right questions rather than having the right answers.

a little while later in that same conversation, joseph campbell tells a story that relates to the asking of questions. he is introduced to a catholic priest who is also a professor in a swimming pool. [please note i resisted all temptation to somehow turn this into a dirty priest joke. also, please note that this is simply the actual beginning of the story.] later on dry land, the priest asks j.c. whether he is also a priest. j.c. replies that he is not. he then asks whether he is a roman catholic. j.c. replies that he was. the priest then asks if he believes in a personal god. j.c. replies that he does not. the priest then asks whether he believes in the possibility of a personal god. j.c. replies with a question. saying, if i could answer that question, father, what would be the point of faith? the priest exits stage left. as j.c. (we're tight now, so it's ok to call him that. you can too.) considered this conversation, he noted that even in his very asking of the question about whether he believed in a personal god, the priest allows for the possibility that other kinds of gods / the sacred might exist. and so is it really the answer that provides us with solace, comfort, purpose? or the question. ahh, the power of the question.

but not all powerful and important questions are profound. take this one, for example, from xinhua. republished on the global times***** website. ladies and gentleman, drumroll please ... wait for it ... ahem - 'chinese vs foreign stars: who has most beautiful legs?' http://life.globaltimes.cn/entertainment/2010-08/562923.html. i stumbled across this gem quite by accident. but i couldn't help but laugh (1) because it's so ridiculous, (2) because xinhua is trying to be taken seriously in the media world, and (3) especially in light of (2) this was particularly amusing to me after just two weeks ago when an online xinhua story 'if hot stars were blackened' asked the all important question of what hot white stars would look like in blackface and posted pictures to show us all. a post from the china rises blog about this - http://blogs.mcclatchydc.com/china/2010/08/a-letter-to-xinhua-.html (and the link to a snapshot of the removed page - http://blogs.mcclatchydc.com/files/xinhua-copy-1.jpg). someone must have told xinhua that the blackface bit was offensive and not a fast ticket to being taken seriously, new offices in times square aside. thus far, the best legs piece is still there to stay, so please enjoy. and remember, it's not credible answers that count, but believing in the question.




*i once named a cat the sanskrit word which means 'the play of the universe' - leela. she was a lovely, sweet little kitty, but it was a bit too heavy a name for her. a lot to carry, really, if you're a small creature mainly concerned with maximizing opportunities for heavy petting and eating cheese. as that statement makes plain, leela and i were soul mates. she very tragically died an early and dramatic death, although her it wasn't the weight of her name that crushed her but a terrible and swiftly-moving blood disease. i was devastated. i had her cremated and buried her ashes in the garden at my parents' place. not far from clocean, actually. (still no linking, see post dated august 13, 2010 'on naming and spending' for an explanation of clocean, the modern art statute in the backyard.) i like to think of clocean watching over leela's spirit. then again leela - in the broader sense - is watching over us all. and smiling.

**an aside / a clarification: i am not a christian. at least not in any formal sense, although i think jesus had some good things to say and christianity has some nice (universal!) truths to consider. i say this because i recently received an email from someone who had read a recent post of mine in which he noted that he was not christian, but an atheist, so although he couldn't agree with my theology, he did subscribe to the wine-in-a-box school of spiritual growth. i wrote back explaining that i am not a christian and wondering what it was that i wrote that gave him that impression. i also noted that i was glad that at least we share the nirvana-lite-via-wine-in-a-box approach to life. otherwise the conversation may have needed to end there. speaking of conversations, i honestly don't really believe that people can be atheists. it is just entirely beyond the realm of something i can relate to or understand. this actually used to trouble little trouble a bit. he's allegedly an atheist (don't tell his family!). but i could never really accept or believe that. maybe what i can't believe is that people don't have a sense of the divine within them, that they can't feel the universal - god which we feebly call that for which there are no words - or experience themselves suspended as part of the whole. the whole being love, beauty, truth, everything. and also nothing. even if they only experience suggestions of these things in small, discreet moments. small, discreet corners of moments even. are there really people who have never experienced god? [i am using 'god' for the sake of convenience here. terrible, i know, because the word 'god' in this context is loaded and all wrong for what i'm talking about of course. but, SJ, this is a footnote and i need to wrap and tie soon and return to the primary narrative of this post which was meant to move me away from my hippy-dippy spirituality of late and return to simply smiling at life. or more precisely, life in china.] maybe there are such people. but i doubt it. in any case, i think i need to be more open-minded in this regard. telling atheists, 'i just don't believe you' isn't very kind. maybe i need to think of it in the same way i have come to accept that people can eat bananas in the afternoon or evening hours. to me, bananas are a breakfast fruit. this is part of my religious doctrine and i take it seriously. (i know it's a little weird, btw.) i just can't stomach the idea of (or literally stomach) bananas beyond breakfast. and i am always a little taken aback when i see people eating them in the late afternoon or evening.*** i honestly don't believe that deep down they also don't subscribe to my belief system and are feeling a little bit breakfast / cuckoo for cocoapuffs when eating them during the day. i know i am wrong about this. i really do. and so maybe i can see atheists in the same way i see afternoon banana-eaters. i will remain baffled, but can accept that somehow it works for them. very spiritually evolved of me.

***argh, footnoting a footnote again. poor form. but self-love. over it. this banana scripture of my mine is not without its challenges, especially when it comes to desserts and to plantains. on the former: i generally avoid banana-based desserts. when coerced into trying a bite of one, i am without fail disappointed. (and feeling a bit 7:30 am about it all.) when people are crazy enough to put banana in pavlova, i eat around it. on the latter: i sometimes try to see plantains and their ilk (plantain chips, e.g.) as non-bananas and therefore beyond breakfast. this rarely but occasionally works with very savoury-flavoured plantains. especially after a margarita or eight. i have sometimes found them to be very fine cross-over brunch fare. however, i also generally avoid them. [query: is this yet another reason i have absolutely zero interest in latin lovers and yet another sign that i was not meant to marry a latin man?] anyway, now that we've taken this nice little meander into meiling's neuroses, let's escape. look up.

****in another blogpost a friend fwded to me today, the writer extols her readers to take ambien and masturbate. i wonder if i would reach a wider audience if i encouraged people to do that. instead, i extol you all to listen to (or read) six hours of scintillating ruminations on faith, meaning, myth, ritual, heroes, goddesses, and love. it's worth it though. and afterwards you can masturbate and take ambien.

*****the global times is a sorry excuse of an english-language newspaper here in the motherland ostensibly to provide an independent voice on current affairs. it does not.

on naming and spending

as a friend commented to me yesterday, 'it is hard to compete with fishjuice vodka'. and she doesn't know the half of it. but indeed it is, so it is not with out some sense of trepidation that attempt to scrape together some thoughts today. i feel compelled to do so, however, in case saturday's party is as insane as the last one* and i end up writing about splitting my trousers on the dancefloor** and you all think that all i am good for is drinking champagne and being silly***. i will therefore today attempt to talk about serious things. to wit: naming (and the narratives entangled therein (oh narrative arc! my favourite subject)) and consumption (which, actually, also related to the narratives we create and seek for ourselves and how we ascribe meaning to them through language (a.k.a. naming)).

first, consumption.

i have actually been thinking about this a bit lately. partially because i (finally) paid off my private student loans from law school. and, although i still have some public loans blowing in the wind somewhere, i am able to to ponder financial potentials that were heretofore impossible for me. it has also been interesting to just examine how i managed to finally pay them off (and how people respond when i tell them) - not buying any new clothes for a year and moving into a considerably cheaper flat that i share - and where i am choosing to spend money now that i have more disposable income - on other people and experiences. (well, and i immediately purchased a small heap of shoes. but i really needed some new shoes after that year! and i am imperfect. (i maintain that blue patent leather stilettos were also required.)) so i am thinking about this now becuase i my own rather subtle musings more became more pronounced after i read the following article: http://bitchmagazine.org/article/eat-pray-spend. the authors critique the self-help / priv-lit genre and the consumer culture it promotes among women as anti-feminist****. really worth a read. although this about sums it up:

Priv-lit perpetuates several negative assumptions about women and their relationship to money and responsibility. The first is that women can or should be willing to spend extravagantly, leave our families, or abandon our jobs in order to fit ill-defined notions of what it is to be “whole.” Another is the infantilizing notion that we need guides—often strangers who don’t know the specifics of our financial, spiritual, or emotional histories—to tell us the best way forward. The most problematic assumption, and the one that ties it most closely to current, mainstream forms of misogyny, is that women are inherently and deeply flawed, in need of consistent improvement throughout their lives, and those who don’t invest in addressing those flaws are ultimately doomed to making themselves, if not others, miserable.

very astute point(s). and yet. and yet so many of the intelligent, together women i know really loved eat pray love. although many felt guilty about it. [side query: how much of that speaks to elizabeth gilbert's strength as a writer and how much of it speaks to how compelling we find her narrative?] i remember when, once upon a lifetime when i worked in a big bad law firm in the big bad apple that was affectionately nicknamed 'the sweatshop' or 'the death star', the subject of eat pray love came up in a conversation i was having with one of my partner mentors. this particular partner mentor is truly amazing - smart and compassionate and accomplished, she ended up at the firm because it was the only job she could get in nyc in 1971 that would permit her to work a four-day week so that she could spend fridays caring for her two young daughters and supporting her rabbi-husband has he prepared for services and observe shabbat in the calm way she desired. she adhered to that schedule (not without challenges along the way) the entire time her children were growing up and made partner after many years with the firm. she and her husband also started a wonderful NGO working to empower farmers and communities in afghanistan, a country they travelled in and fell in love with in the late 60s / early 70s. [http://www.gpfa.org/] this woman seemed to have it all, respected in the world of international arbitration and in her community, she had a happy marriage, great kids, a thriving career, a successful NGO. she was an inspiration.

although i worked quite closely with this partner***** on a number of cases and other projects, the occasion of our conversation that day was my inviting her to be a guest speaker at my book club when we were going to be discussing a book about afghanistan. rory stewart's the places in between, his account of walking across afghanistan in january, 2002. (incidentally, gender figured prominently in our conversation because of course a woman could never have written this book and of course rory is not at all conscious of this. then again, how many of us are truly conscious of our own privileges until something overwhelming and blinding forces us to see? and even then, our consciousness is typically fleeting.) the partner agreed, but she asked what other books we'd read. eat pray love was a last minute substitute because none of us could bear to get through the 600 pages of run-on sentences that comprised the book we had selected for that month. but i mentioned it when running through what we'd covered thus far that year. she wrinkled her nose when i mentioned eat pray love, commenting, "i read the first three pages but i couldn't bear to go any further. it was all so self-indulgent and ridiculous." she had and has a point. you don't achieve what this woman had achieved, both professionally, personally, and dare i say spiritually, by abandoning responsibilities and running off to eat gelato or pet cows every time god speaks to you while you're crying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night. [confession: god has never spoken to me while i'm crying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night. her loss, really. i am really funny when i'm crying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night.] of course after the partner said that, i felt a pang of guilt for having finished the book. in one day even (shhhh!). and tumbled over myself trying to explain that it had been a last minute substitute and really the book club ladies were way more evolved than elizabeth gilbert, really. of course, when she came to book club the discussion about the places in between, we all really just wanted to know how she had done it, how she had managed to have it all. she answered simply, explaining that you can't have it all at once and must do things one at a time.

and now i am suitably tangled up in side stories and must unravel these threads in a tidy manner and draw a conclusion - we ought to be critical of how we're encouraged to consume (conscious of the cultural and gendered assumptions informing that encouragement) and consider the implications of our choices. the article is quick to point out that elizabeth gilbert's journey is not realistic to replicate or aspire to (people, after all that crying on the bathroom floor and walking out on her husband, she got to eat a lot of pasta, achieve some-sort-of-blue-light-enlightenment, marry a hot brazilian, live happily every after, and make millions). but maybe the reason the self-help priv-lit genre is so appealling even as we are conscious of how belittling and destructive it is (cf. the footnote somewhere down there about needing to orchestrate our own rescues) and also aware of the unhealthy wanton consumerism it promotes is its compelling cinderella suspension of disbelief aspect. i mean, who doesn't want to run away to eat gelato and pet cows, only to end up with an amazing latin lover and julia roberts playing you in a movie? that's some sweet glass slipper. although thankfully i am personally entirely over latin lovers in a serious way, so i that precise glass slipper wouldn't suit. in any case, enough on this. enjoy the article.

second, nomenclature.

this is the actual english name of a new restaurant the just opened near my office: "mr. pigger restaurant". awesome. i laughed out loud with joy and wonder when i saw it. the chinese name is yi kou zhu - a mouthful of pig. hmmm, i wonder if they serve pork.... i stumbled upon this delightful new addition to the neighbourhood two days after a rather interesting discussion about the importance of names. this is a subject i have personally considered at great length given that i have a boy's name and spent a good portion of my young life complaining about this to my parents. well, until my mother calmly informed me when i was about ten that they almost gave me the middle name of “baldface.” seriously. baldface was the name of the mountain that i was conceived on and they thought it would be a nice remembrance. i think it would have been nicer for them than for me – a blissful bit of hippie nostalgia since my mother’s pregnancy meant they had to move out of the tent in the woods and it was time for my ba to enter the corporate world. in any case, that made my boy's name feel like a blessing. i also had new appreciate for "jane" (my middle name). it's a hard-knock life.

the conversation i was having the other day was more focused on amusing english names in china, or chinese names for english products. i recalled how, living in shanghai in 2001-2002, i experienced a sudden burst of joy when i discovered the slim, serious man behind the counter serving my latte at the starbucks near my flat in the french concession was named “cocaine.” i really loved cocaine the starbucks barrista. he was my unabashed favourite. i also loved getting coffee from cocaine. it gave me a greater kick than the caffeine. and it was about as close to the real stuff as i’d ever get, so it felt risqué somehow – like i was drinking cocacola back when the “coca” meant something. (speaking of cocacola, the chinese name for coke is possibly the best branding ever. a transliteration - kekoukele – that roughly translates to “makes mouths happy.” brilliant.) before i left shanghai, i asked cocaine why he had chosen that name. he shrugged and said, "everybody likes it." i nodded and thanked him for my coffee. i started to tell him i would miss him, but then i realised that was a bit much and better contained. i could save my pain at this parting for when i was crying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night waiting for god to speak to me. other than cocaine, my favourite friend from afar in shanghai was a sweet young man named "clocean". when pressed about his choice, he explained he couldn't decide between "cloud" and "ocean". i loved this so much, and so did my crazywonderful family, that we now have a sculpture in the backyard named clocean. seriously. the spare house key is in his ear.

so, t.s. elliott tells us that the naming of cats is a difficult matter. as is the naming of daughters, starbucks barristas, and pork restaurants. but a recent email prompted me to consider the significance of naming charities. i received an invitation to a fundraising dinner for an organisation called "compassion for migrant children". i was simply struck by what a brilliant name that is. who doesn't want to have compassion for migrant children? or at least support those who do? i mean, not even 'empathy for migrant children' comes close. it's really the compassion that strikes you right in the chest and makes you want to cough up all of your renminbi to eat chilli bean noodles with bbq pork & apple salad. [curious, there is a lot of pork in this post.] yes, they included the menu in the invite. an unfortunate choice really. detracts slightly from the power of being smacked in the chest with compassion for migrant children because you immediately start considering entrees. but oh well. after receiving this email, i started contemplating how compassion could be worked into the names of all sorts of charities. and, naturally, considering inappropriate alternatives. 'mild frustration with migrant children' or 'contempt for disadvantaged communities' or 'apathy over minority rights' or 'mild concern for the poor'. really without compassion, why bother at all? also, the fact that i am sharing these thoughts with you may be the reason that god doesn't speak to me when i am crying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night******.

so i hope this all suitably thoughtful and amusing such that i can return to writing about dancing come sunday morning. of course, if i find a glass slipper between now and then you'll hear about that too.



*please see the post dated may 9, 2010 'smells like teen spirit'. (i still have not worked out how to link, sorry.) it is my fervent hope that no one humps the couches this time. at least not before midnight.

**something i have done on more than one occasion. SJ.

***incidentally, this might be all that i am good for. ok now we're at three footnotes in one sentence. once again perhaps i need to reconsider structure.

****i appreciate that in the 'about us' section, the creators of bitch magazine quote rebeca west: "People call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat."

*****i know, too many stars! but one of my nicknames is sparkleicious. but i am getting ahead of myself, we are still on the subject of consumption, not names. and we're in a footnote. the point of which was to note that it was actually thanks to this partner's intervention that i was able to find a place in the firm's international arbitration / litigation group at our firm. i reached out to her after being fairly horribly sexually harassed by the project finance partner whose group i was originally meant to join. i was still young enough and inexperienced in the sometimes subtle misogyny that pervades corporate life and how it is managed, so this was a bit daunting. perhaps particularly because i didn't want to make real accusations, i simply wanted to escape. [sigh. i could write a book about all the inappropriate things men in the legal profession have said to me or suggested.] in any case, she painly and quietly orchestrated my rescue. well, really i orchestrated my own rescue. (you always do. it's the only way.) she implemented it. without a fuss. for which i was forever thankful.

******another confession: i don't cry on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night. i prefer crying in corners. please see the post dated november 10, 2009 'a world changed'. (again, i still haven't worked out how to link.) although yikes, if you can actually be bothered to go read that post you may be struck, as i just was, about the gyring nature of my thoughts in this space. (and yes, the gyre reference was a shout out to yeats. what can i say? i'm into shout-outs these days.) i was beginning to think about having come to china to fall wholly and completely into myself even then (and even amid great and sudden heartbreak (thus the discussion of crying in corners)). and was quoting goethe then too. am i consistent or merely all too predictable? unclear.

dance dance dance

so, forget all my philosophical birthday ramblings from yesterday. i really came to china to dance. at least that is what i apparently believed last night. when i may as well have been in monaco for the evening. (and rather impressively managed to make it back in time to talk about human trafficking this morning! (there is some kind of off-colour humour in there somewhere, but i can't quite discern it.)) why was i ostensibly in monaco? because the evening involved cake, champagne, diamonds, and dancing. and also shots of fishy stuff mixed with vodka. sounds disgusting, i know, but it was actually delicious. and possibly my undoing.

actually, my undoing may have begun earlier in the day when, aside from the poetic interlude when i posted about having returned to china for love*, i spent a good portion of the day listening to absolutely filthy horrible awesome fun hiphop and rap. really, it's against all of my principles and if i listen to the lyrics some essential part of my sweet blossom of a soul quivers in terror and shame. the misogyny and the objectification and the straight up dirty sex talk, it's utterly offensive and inexcusable. and yet. sometimes i simply love the beats. so i don't listen to the lyrics. yesterday i chair-danced my way through the work day. (my work wife was out of town so i had the office to myself, allowing sufficient privacy for rocking out.) the theme song of this birthday may be kid cudi's 'make her say'** (his response to lady gaga's poker face. she is even sampled in. and sings. well. who knew?). it is filthy, filthy, freaknasty gross if you listen to what he says. but is awesome. if you haven't heard it, please go listen now.

anyway, the reason all the hiphop may have been my undoing is because, aside from the fishjuice vodka shots (which really were a good idea, i promise) there was a rather dodgy interlude in the evening when i was dressed down and publicly insulted by a jazz singer who was allegedly singing happy birthday to me. not only did he instead sing a song which may or may not have been a love song for sarah palin (it was entitled 'drill baby drill' and i believe those were the only lyrics), but he actually insulted me. more than once. and made me stand by myself in the middle of the club. with crazy lights on me. while he sang the sarah palin song. i'm not even making this up. how could i? i'm creative, but this was beyond my wildest imagination. anyway, when i was asked to give a birthday speech at my birthday dinner, the best i could come up with (after the fishjuice vodka, mind) was: "i will pay cashmoney to anyone who can get the soulful sweet-eyed jazz singer we're about go see to play a cover of 50 cent's 'in da club' in my honour". i consider this speech a marginal improvement over the one i gave at my massive amazing 30th birthday blowout. to wit: "30 is the new 17!" actually, i had first said some very nice meaningful things thanking my wonderful gorgeous fabulous friends and family for all of their love and all the joy they bring to my life and telling everyone how blessed i feel to have them in my life. i still do. feel blessed, that is. even after being abused by a 22-year-old, barefoot, sweaty jazz singer. and drinking fishjuice vodka. but i'll get to that in a moment. i think this jazz singer was upset because maybe one of my friend's actually asked him to play 50 cent. or ani difranco. or both. so he got upset and said he wasn't a jukebox. or something like that. then he made me come to the front and centre of the club and stand below him while he strummed my pain with his fingers and destroyed the alaskan wilderness with his words, all the while glaring at me. (i glared back and calmly sipped my champagne with quiet aggression.) kind of unbelievable.

the only place to go from there was monaco. or, more precisely, the opposite of monaco. xiu. a club at the grand hyatt with a very mediocre band****** that covers all sorts of dance music (including but not limited to hiphop) and a mediocre DJ. but the best to be found in beijing. in any case, what we were really going for was champagne and dancing. we drank a lot of the former and did a lot of the latter. and the band sang a raucous, funkdefied version of happy birthday to me while i rocked out dancing on stage. i was then the star of the club for the night. all in all it was actually nothing like my nights in monaco, when once upon a lifetime i had such things, save for the bottle of moet we opened after midnight. in any case, we had a grand time.

two points to ponder:

1 - the diamonds came into the picture via a very surprising, sweet, generous gift from my crazysexycool beautiful beijing girlfriends. they got me a gorgeous diamond necklace. this was of course so kind and wonderful and overwhelming. but it made me realise that all of the diamonds i presently have come from my grandmother or girlfriends. and for some reason recalled for me the bachelorette-that-wasn't-a-bachelorette that some of my girlfriends threw for me for my 30th birthday. i wonder if slowly all of my girlfriends all over the world are, like my mother, giving up hope that i'll ever get married. so they are stepping up and giving me all the of the trapsings that typically surround that process - diamonds, a hen party, etc. hmmm.

2 - all of the men i danced with last night were gay. in fact a friend of one of my (gay male) friends who was there who i didn't know and came up to dance with me prefaced his approach with "it's ok, i'm gay". this makes me wonder if i really do intimidate every man in beijing. (as was suggested over lunch by a (gay) guy friend the other day.) hmmm. to be fair, there was one single man who was meant to join the party last night. but he got held up with work. or so he said. maybe he was scared.... tehe. that was fun to write. in any case, even if i am intimidating, there is nothing to be done. i can only be me. [speaking of which, take a moment to appreciate the shout out to murakami in the subject of this post.]

and now the moment you've all been waiting for. i shall explain the fishjuice vodka! we had dinner at a lovely new restaurant in beijing. a cevichera (sp?) called terra which focuses on (big surpise) ceviche and peruvian food. all delicious and they couldn't have been better to me on my birthday! the owner, who is also a friend, suggested that she give us vodka shots flavoured with various ceviche juices and fish to accompany the meal. (the flavours included tomato, i think cilantro, and some sort of ayayayayay spicy pepper (loved that one).) we all raised one eyebrow at first and weren't convinced, but decided to be brave. [goethe: whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. boldness has genius, power, and magic in it!] and it was surprisingly delicious. and left me surprisingly and deliciously wasteycakes.

and that is the story of my birthday. go shorty.

31 was kind of a tough year. but i have great expectations for 32. so 32'd better bring it. because i won't stop believing. or dreaming boldly. so i'm ready for the ensuing genious, power, and magic. i'm also always ready to dance.



*a curious, perhaps dubious, proposition i am still contemplating. comments encouraged.

**i was introduced to it by a more culturally in touch friend while back in the us. i also (finally!) have a new ipod and have been downloading all kinds of new music. my previous ipod was held hostage by the ghosts of boyfriends past, so this is really exciting. i also am intending to shake what my momma gave me all over again on saturday. throwing myself a birthday bubbly and cupcakes in the courtyard party (at my place). in a truly astonishing tist of fate, a friend who has an amazing cupcakery here in beijing (check on it: http://www.lollipopbakery.cn/) has come out with a new red bean cupcake just in time for my birthday. SJ,*** this is glorious news. red bean is among that which is sacred to me. and eating red bean is as about as much pleasure as i get these days. in fact, i spoiled myself on birthday eve**** by having a dinner than consisted amost entirely of red bean. bliss.

***SJ = sweet jesus. also, i am not sure it is appropriate to footnote a footnote in a blog post. perhaps i need to reconsider how i structure these profound pieces. then again maybe i'll just continue to do as i please. (go shorty, it's your birthday.)

****day / evening before your birthday. also worth celebrating. as is, i suppose, the day after. i am going to a friend's new pizza place this eve (check baby, check baby, 1, 2: www.gunghopizza.com) where i am promised amazing pies and a delicious new zealand sauvignon blanc. yum. i am also loving all these shout-outs, mjj! (yes, i am talking to myself. if this disturbs you, please see yesterday's self-indulgent yet eloquent post about self-love. rinse. repeat.)

*****lost track of the number of stars here. this post is out of control! ahhh. point about the band - no one should try to cover jay-z's 'empire state of mind'. no one. even the truly amazing unbelievable best band i've ever heard that performed at my dear friend's wedding the other weekend couldn't quite pull it off. so the xiu set was doomed. but they tried. style points for effort anyway.

too glam for guiyang

i am too glam for guiyang.* although that is not saying much. and i am not exactly in guiyang. (i’m in qingzhen, outside guiyang (guizhou province), just off of hongfeng hu (lake) for a work program in which the local host is the two lakes and one reservoir environmental protection foundation.) even though the last two days – focused on environmental legal advocacy – have been substantively interesting and the participants have been very engaged and all’s well on the guizhou front, i have found myself uninspired. and i don’t say that i am too glam in a self-aggrandizing way. it’s more frustrating or funny than anything else at the moment. i don’t intend to terrorize small children when going on a morning run. or frighten the water buffalo and their keepers. but i can’t help it.

i also am officially over the charming sometimes honesty of chinese culture. i say sometimes honestly because there is a true art of lying and avoidance which is also very crucial. but straightforwardness about one’s appearance, weight, age, bodily functions, and ailments is quite acceptable. and context doesn’t seem to change or alter this honesty. i am always reminded of this during work programs where i will be called “beautiful” or basically be told by an elderly male Chinese judge or civil society activist that i have a slamming body. not in a disrespectful or harassing way, but merely as an observation. women will say the same, but usually elaborate. instead of just saying ni di shencai hen bang – your body is really great – they’ll usually add hen miaotiao – very long and willowy. this used to make me blush. by now, i’m accustomed to it and just say thank you.

these sorts of comments are totally not remarkable in a culture in which it’s permissible to be candid about the fundamentals. it is fine to call someone fat, or inform them that they have become fat since you’ve last seen them. or to say you’re late because you had diarrhea. in fact, when i was at the waijiao xueyuan (foreign affairs college: the training school for the chinese foreign service where i studied for a year after high school) i showed up for class one day only to be informed by an office assistant sitting at my professor’s desk that class was cancelled because teach pan had really bad diarrhea. not much to say in response, really. i nodded knowingly, turned and went back to my dorm.

the good thing about all the time i spend in second tier cities (or countrysides) – even in places where the weather is milder and the air is cleaner – is that it makes me very excited to return to beijing. i cannot wait to go back. and this is a successful program! which makes me wonder about my own level of engagement. rather than, ‘meiling, you have a slamming body,’ perhaps a more astute observation from a workshop participant would have been, ‘meiling, you are slamming bored.’ sigh.

in more exciting news, i think i’m finally settling into a more sustained writing project. something i have been circling around for some time, but am finally getting a sense of. it feels good. also, i had an epiphany the other day. something i have felt and known and held deep inside the me within me for some time, and which has surfaced amid my chatter about needing to continue and complete my conversation with beijing, but never really realized or articulated or accepted. i came here for love. not for love of one person or for china, but in order to wholly and complete learn to love myself. perhaps part of that is laughing at being too glam for guiyang and the qingzhen water buffaloes.


* also writing that i am too glam for guiyang reminds me of when, once upon a lifetime i was a young competitive swimmer and showed up for practice with a teammate having decided in the carpool ride over that we would serenade our coach with our own remix of the then popular “i’m too sexy” pop song. we paraded around the pool, strutting about and singing, “i’m too sexy for this pool, too sexy for this team, so sexy it’s cool” and such. he was not amused. i think we swam a 400m butterfly for time as a warm up. ahh, to be young and foolish.

unexpected perspective

i was walking home down the hutong just now when the beer lady biked past, calling out her goods in a singsong rhythm - mai pijiu, eh, mai pijiu, eh, mai pijiu - selling beer, eh, selling beer, eh, selling beer. it was somehow so soothing and simple that it made me stop walking and smile. until that moment, i had been feeling overwhelmingly exhausted. the cheerless grey skies and light drizzle hadn't been helping my mood. illuminating how in an instant all of one's internal clouds can scatter, even if we have scant control over the actual skies (workers in beijing's weather modification office of course excepted from this statement). the beer lady unwittingly re-energized me for the evening.*

yesterday evening i caught up with a dear friend briefly in beijing for work. reminded me again of the enduring value of friendship and the intimacy that can only come with time and consistent compassion. she delivered some difficult news, which contributed to my feeling tired and distraught today. but, as usual, something small and unexpected - the beer lady! - put it all in perspective.

my flatmate asked me this morning to describe myself in one word. i'm not sure why. i answered without taking time to think and my answer was "hopeful". i think that's accurate. and with that, i ought to sashay hopefully off into the some enchanted evening that is tonight.

*although i confess that the massive coffee i was carrying along may have also had something to do with it. in my state of overwhelming exhaustion, i broke my rule about no afternoon coffees. but so goes the world. rules were made to be broken and moderation is overrated and all the rest.

moments and musings

i love china in the early morning. this is not news. but i share it now because i always marvel at the discovery. i did so on a morning run through beihai park the other day. i love moving swiftly through the beijing's morning motions - the stretching and the shouting, the old ladies gossiping, the men dancing with scarves or jumping into lakes, the babies being pushed about, the clothing being changed in public, the steam from the youtiao being fried and the smell of morning bing. as the moments go by in blur, so many captured scenes, so much humanity, i am soothed and delighted by it all. of course, sometimes i get accidentally spit on or run into patches of filthy construction work, which is decidedly less delightful. but it's all part of the blessing of being here. and in the end it is the moments of surprise and delight that i remember, the ones that count.

i am counting my blessings these days. and appreciating the moments as they come. the weather is finally fine and i am spending less time fretting about the state of civil society in china and more time chatting in the sunshine with friends. (or doing both.) my weekend was filled with sunshine, good food, and friends old and new. who could ask for anything more? i have declared may the month of momentum. so i have great expectations for moments to come.

in actual news that is not news, last week the i.o.c. stripped china's women's gynamstics team of its bronze medal from the 2000 sydney olympics because one of the gynasts was underage. this is not surprising.

in actual news, i have decided that the gmail chat status* dots have given new meaning to the green light at the end of daisy's dock. ahem-

Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgiastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter - tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further... And one fine morning -

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

*part of the month of momentum involves moving my creative outlet beyond my gchat status. while a unique genre, i think i need a more spacious canvas.

live to the point of tears

that is apparently a quote from albert camus - "live to the point of tears". i imagine he knew a thing or two about tears. or life. or both. i don't think the one means much without the other. which is precisely the point. i would rather live boldly, bravely, dance wildly, love deeply, fall swiftly, cry out loudly in joy and pain than do any of those things less fully or be meek and avoid the many tears that will inevitably result from all the passionate jumping, dancing, falling, loving.

i say this to comfort myself now. all of my clever strategies failed me today. even my own mantra in moments! and i found myself completely blindsided by sadness so powerful it took my breath away. i am also comforting myself with mediocre red wine and chocolate. in the not so distant past, i decided that life was too short for bad wine. and that i would only drink really delicious wine. but this policy has been modified for two reasons: (1) i live in china, most of the wine is bad and (2) i do public interest work and cannot actually afford to live much of a fine wine lifestyle, even if i aesthetically aspire to do so. the modified policy is "drinkable wine", which is to say it is not necessarily always delicious and excellent but it is always drinkable, usually good, but never bad. it's a compromise. but so is life. especially life in china.

i just got home from a fascinating dinner with two of the most venerable legal scholars on rule of law china - one chinese, one american. they have known each other for many years and call each other "brother". they were both born in 1931, 4 months apart. and they have both been engaged in china's legal reform for as long as it has been going on. i was moved to tears just seeing their camaraderie. and it was such an honour to be at the table while they were discussing the current state of criminal law reform in china or the implementation of the amended lawyer's law.* it's most remarkable how life can find ways to remind you of what is good and true and make some part of your soul sing even when you are close to quietly drowning in your own personal pool of heartbreak.

i had a similar experience walking home from the dinner. i needed to buy some fruit, but had been crying softly in the dusk as i walked down the hutong. something about turning the corner did me in. but i pulled myself together and i went to fruit lady. she was especially friendly tonight and i was the only one in her stall. the stall cat was there, sitting up on a ledge rather than prowling about amid the cabbages as usual. this cat was really content and seemed to be smiling down at us in that way that cats can smile, purring. i asked if the cat had a name. fruit lady said "mi mi". i asked if it was the "mi" in "mifan" or "rice", but she said that all chinese cats were named "mimi". (i though about explaining that i have an imaginary pet chinese cat named "pangpang" (fatfat), but realized that even if i could say the words, it wouldn't translate.) fruit lady then made a two-syllable sound, a kind of "mewmew" and mimi responded making the same sound. they did this back and forth a few times as she weighed my bananas, apples, and winter dates. i was very impressed and rather delightedly exclaimed, "you are really having a conversation! did you teach her that?" fruit lady shrugged, and asked if i had already eaten. i assured her that i had. i said goodnight to her and to mimi the cat. and i couldn't help but smiling at life as i walked away.

of course i broke into heaving sobs after i closed the door. but i was able to remember my mantra, recall the evening's moments of perspective, and focus on small tasks like putting away the fruit and doing the neglected breakfast dishes to pull myself together. i also found myself thinking of this camus quote. because, truth is, i wouldn't live any other way. may i always live to the point of tears.



* i have been berating myself lately for not writing enough about serious things. and i think this exemplifies my problem. my entry point - for connection, meaning, pondering is always people and their stories. what is more compelling than personal narrative?!? even though it was an interesting discussion, i was most moved by the way these two men would grasp wrists or pat one another on the back or toast. and i end up recounting that they called each other "brother" and not the substance of their comments....

backdating 1 - comments fom changsha

so once upon a lifetime when i briefly attempted to be a corporate attorney in a big, bad firm i worked on a case related to the backdating of stock options. i therefore know what i am about to do is dubious. nonetheless, i want to include my first two beijing briefings on this blog. so please excuse the backdating.

from april 23:

it's 11:31 on a wednesday night & i've just returned from an evening at a changsha hotspot called song-song. i ended up there after having dinner w/ a woman we work with from the hunan provincial all china women's federation (fu lian), peng di, at a bustling local restaurant inside a rebuilt old palace. changsha is most famous for 1 - being mao's hometown & 2 - burning itself down. during the japanese invasion of china, in an effort to prevent the japanese from getting anything from changsha / making any profit from the city, the city leadership decided to burn everything before the japanese arrived. so 3,000 years of history went up in smoke. and the japanese never made it to changsha. [remember this story if you ever feel as though you've made a really big mistake.] so anyway, we ate in a reconstructed version of one of the ancient palaces. we then met up with some representatives from the national fu lian and some local police from the sex crimes unit to drink whiskey-mixed-with-iced-tea, eat fruit, play dice, listen to hiphop and enjoy a variety of performances (i found the covers of 'hotel californ' and 'country road' charming, the canto-pop sufficiently cheesy, and i was thankfully leaving as the 'naughty nurse and doctor' dance performance act was beginning). this was the end of a long day.

i'm in changsha to connect with a few members of the chinese anti-domestic violence movement / partners of ours, to observe a judicial training sponsored by the australian human rights commission, and to see some of the work being done locally in relation to DV / protection orders (this is probably the most progressive province in the country on DV issues). [another changsha story i can't resist sharing: when chairman mao was making a trip back to changsha during the cultural revolution, the local officials had to chose a place for him to be photographed at the train station when he arrived. this was deeply problematic. if he was to the west, that was problematic because it showed support for capitalism. if he was to the north, that was problematic because relations w/ the soviet union were bad. if he was to the south, that was problematic, that was bad because relations w/ vietnam were bad. if he was to the east, that was problematic because it showed respect for beijing over the countryside. there was no politically tolerable place for the chairman to stand. so he didn't move in any direction once he got off the train for the picture & was photographed in front of stalls selling chilies in the main hall.] it's been good to be here - our women's rights work, which is currently focused on combating domestic violence, is now one of the areas i'm responsible for. we had a really successful training program for chinese police in february, and are in the process of developing a training program for judges. being at a local court today was incredibly moving as i was able to see the impact of our february training program. there is a bit of a revolution brewing in china vis-a-vis the public security response to DV and it is humbling, overwhelming, inspiring to play some small part in supporting that..... (i could go on in more detail about this, but will spare you in the interest of space. glad to share more if you're interested!)

aside from women's rights, we also work on environmental rights, criminal justice, promoting public interest lawyering, civil society capacity building, social policy advocacy, and have a few other projects here & there. (i was meant to be returning to beijing to attend a meeting we're co-sponsoring on representing child victims of domestic violence / sex crimes, but the local partners have decided to discuss a recent, horrific case from southern china where a group of government officials are charged w/ sexually abusing little girls and it would stifle the conversation if a foreigner were there. this happens not infrequently (i can't attend our programs because i look foreign). i sometimes find it frustrating, but i also understand.) so anyway, that's what's occupying my time in beijing. the work is challenging, my colleagues are fantastic. i feel this type of work is the reason i went to law school and i am so happy to be back in beijing. (my inner scripts are more wholly my own there than anywhere else, really. even after all the changes in the city.) it's also nice to be speaking chinese again. though i learned the hard way that i am not quite up to giving articulate speeches on the fly. or at least not at 9:00 am on saturday mornings when the 2 minute welcoming remarks from the chinese partner become an eloquent speech about the importance of volunteerism & NGOs festooned with stories about his daughter's positive experiences volunteering during the olympics. yes, i was tempted to try to make a joke and talk about my daughter's positive experiences volunteering during the olympics, but i sensed the assembled govt officials and NGO leaders weren't the right crowd for that sort of humour. instead i expressed what an honour it was for us to support this work and our thanks and said i couldn't possibly have anything more to say on substance because director huang had already said it all.... from now on when i have to speak formally, i prepare in advance. it's also been nice having shaphan in beijing. things with us are wonderful. i feel very lucky to have ended up once again in the northern capital.

for now, back to changsha. after leaving the court teary and thoughtful about how a group of thoughtful, committed individuals really can make a difference, we travelled across town to a community services center. the woman leading our tour of the center was more hip than i could ever hope to be - short, crimped hair, skin-tight black plaid trousers tucked into high-heeled, tall black leather boots with leather blows and sequins on the sides, a pale pink, slightly wrinkled (untucked) blouse. the outfit was completed by the headset she was wearing to guide us. it was all fairly straightforward until we arrived on the floor that was meant to provide services for pregnant women and educate them about being healthy during pregnancy. my buoyant mood was abruptly shattered by the site of a large, clear jar with a fetus inside floating in formaldehyde (or some sort of preservative). i thought i was going to be sick. until i saw the larger jar with a larger fetus - 32 weeks i found out. it was just so awful and confusing ("they came from the hospital" whatever that means and were there for "education purposes" whatever they could be). i left that room quickly. we saw the arts center and then there was a presentation about their anti-DV work which included a performance of the small play they'd developed as an educational tool. and the day moved on....

the jarring moment i describe is something that is simply part of life here. one minute you're walking to work enjoying the morning sunshine and some (relatively) clean air, happily eating a redbean bread, smiling at dogs and babies and loving china, and the next moment you're stepping in a filthy puddle of restaurant slop that splashes all over you and cursing china. one minute you're moved by the immense will of one local court to effectively combat violence against women in the community, the next you're somehow staring at a decaying fetus in a jar. one minute you're trying to avoid the pig's blood dish at dinner, the next you're being encouraged to climb on the stage and dance to jay-z in between acts at a chinese club.

those moments are always little opportunities for reflection, growth, discovery, inspiration. or laughter. or tears. or both. oh the unbearable lightness of it all. ; ). ok, with that it's clear that it is too late for me to try to say anything further.