Each class I deal with 40 some runny nosed little munchkins with constant streams of goobers dripping down their faces (especially in first grade). Needless to say I only get two or three days of relief between colds. Don't worry mom. Usually its nothing major, just enough to require a pack of tissues be within arms reach at all times. Last week however, my cold got the best of me. Before I knew it, I found myself leaving school early Monday afternoon with a case of the chills and a sore throat. Once I got home, I collapsed in my bed and began the traditional sick day movie marathon. It unfortunately didn't do the trick. The next day, I couldn't imagine going to my classes and was just plane feeling lousy. I took a taxi to meet with my boss Mr. Ye. In slow simple English I told him I was feeling very bad and needed someone to take me to the doctor. He responded immediately. Together we marched to the English office. He asked around to see who was free. Finally, he assigned a Chinese teacher named Season to take me to the hospital down the road.
There are many co-teachers/Chinese English teachers in our English department. To be blunt not all of them have a strong handle of the English language. The last person I wanted to take me was Season. Her language skills are pretty slim. When talking to her about their classes, another foreign teacher realized that she was just giving him the old smile and nod. She wasn't understanding a word he was saying! In the middle of their conversation, he looked her straight in the eye and said "I like to have sex with asian prostitutes". She blinked and nodded happily. A cruel joke maybe ,but regardless, she's clueless.
The hospital itself was a massive building towering over the street. I told Season my symptoms. Fever. Ear Ache. Sore Throat. She seemed confused. Meanwhile, we entered the hospital and were in the "First Aide Center" (there were English translations on the signs). We made our way through a maze of hallways to the main lobby. We registered. They told us to go see a doctor on the fourth floor. We walked up the stairs, a daunting task for someone feeling ill.
The hallways were crowded with people slumped against the walls and sitting in chairs, sick and waiting. Season lead the way. She did not seem confident and together we tried to find the correct place. Suddenly, her eyes lit up and she started walking faster. Maybe she found it! I looked up at the sign over the nurses station she brought me to. It said "Neurology department". I stopped her and tried to explain my symptoms again.
After asking a few more white coats, we went down a crowded hallway, sat outside the doctors office and waited. When it was my turn, Season was polite enough to close the door after we entered the room. This however did not stop other sick people from trying to come in to wait and to tell the doctor they were there. Privacy is something that is a protected right in hospitals back home. It doesn't exist here.
My exam consisted of me telling the doctor my symptoms. I opened my mouth and she said "there is something wrong with your throat". She asked if I had a fever. I told her I didn't know. She sent us back out into the lobby. I took my own temperature and reported back to her. The exam was over. After we left, Season told me the doctor suggested I get a blood test. We went to the "blood Center" got my prescription stamped, went all the way back down to the main lobby to pay and then back to the blood center where they took my blood.
When Season handed the results to the doctor, they started arguing! I was handed two prescriptions and then we left. The only thing Season had to offer about this was "there is something wrong with your body". I kept insisting she explain more. She kept telling me "I don't know how to say" but "you must get an injection".
We took my prescriptions to the "Injection Center". At this point I started to get nervous. The doctor didn't even touch me? Why were they arguing!? What is an injection center
The "injection center" is a big room with four televisions, a bunch of chairs, and IVs. People go their during their lunch breaks to get their daily dose of antibiotic drips. It was very casual and unlike what I'm used to. It confirmed the rumour I heard about this hospital. No matter what you go in for, they put you on the drip :) They tested me to make sure I wasn't allergic to my medication. Then they pumped the drugs straight into my veins. I sat for about 2 hours and also had to go back for two more days; two more injections.
The atmosphere at the hospital wasn't like anything at home. First of all, the set up (paying, going to see the doctor, paying, getting a blood test, paying, getting an injection) involved lots of running around. It made me feel disorganized and most of all exhausted! Also, it seemed more casual than at home. I was very skeptical and hyper aware of the fact that it wasn't sterile. Maybe its because I've worked in hospitals before, but I felt like I was noticing every speck of dirt. People were smoking. I saw drops of blood on the floor and garbage lying around. Nothing too bad. Even now I'm not sure if it was actually dirty or if the casual atmosphere just made me notice things more and think that it wasn't sterile. I felt uncomfortable. I felt sick. I felt confused. The only reason I agreed to the injection was because there was an English name on the box of antibiotics (so I could look it up online/see what they were giving me).
Even though I was frustrated with Season, the truth is that I don't speak Chinese but I'm living in China. I was grateful that she was there. With a lot of rest and two more injections, I've managed a full recovery. Those antibiotics most have done the trick too. Its been almost a week since my last sniffle :)
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Drawing: Round Three
We arrived at the art school for our third lesson. By now we were used to the abandoned buildings and darkness. When we approached the art building, we looked up and realized that the lights were out on the seventh floor. It seemed very strange. Was anyone around? We walked to the dark stairwell and our eyes adjusted to the pitch black atmosphere. I was immediately reminded of my nervousness. (I don't think I'll ever get used to those stairs.) We climbed. When we got to the the seventh floor, it too seemed abandoned...not to mention far to clean for an art studio. There were no students. There were no easels nor half finished master pieces. We called out to see if anyone was there. Julia came running to our attention. The students just took their finals and are off for a few weeks, she explained. So the three of us had a private lesson. We drew a pear and two apples. The teacher said that I have improved a lot already and because I have "the feeling". We spent two hours watching him draw and imitating his strokes. Meanwhile, he and Julia practiced English and while Lillis and I practiced Chinese.
I missed class this week because I was sick.
I missed class this week because I was sick.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Drawing: Round Two
The week went by quickly and it was already time for our second drawing lesson. After teaching our classes on Thursday, we hailed a cab and made it to the art school without delay. When we arrived, I realized that my imagination is large. The place seemed a lot less creepy now that we knew what to expect. It wasn't nearly as scary as I remembered. :) Although, the dark stairwell, which resembled a haunted house, was still a bit spooky.
I was nervous about drawing for several reasons. The last time we had class, we caused such a spectacle just by being there. A small crowd formed around us everytime we talked. I wasn't looking forward to having a flock of Chinese students standing over my shoulder watching, waiting, gawking in anticipation. Wondering if this foreigner can draw. Also, I noticed that all of the art work hanging around the studios looked exactly the same. I could tell that they had very specific ideas about what makes a good drawing.
Julia and our teacher were expecting us. They escorted us into a studio where two other students were painting. We sat down on tiny, low to the ground stools and put our drawing boards on our easels. We were going to draw a still life with three apples, a plate, and some fabric.
Our teacher instructed us to draw the outlines first. A different teacher was watching our every move and a random student came by every now and then to see what we were up to. I didn't make much progress because I was constantly stopped for holding my pencil wrong. I tried very hard to do as they asked. After the outlines, we were to draw the hard shadows by making diagonal lines. I was still holding my pencil wrong. They corrected me again and I went at it. "No nonono." They suddenly stopped me. I was making my marks from the bottom of the page to the top. They told me to please go from top to bottom. I realized that I wasn't really learning how to draw. I was learning a drawing formula. Text book style. Outlines first, then hard shadows, diagonal lines, and gray shadows, then the darkest dark, then smudge gently. It was hard to go back to the basics and try to relearn how to do things differently. I felt like I was drawing with my left hand.
Our teacher showed us his drawing from the demonstration. He had completed it. The details and shadows were stunning but I admit the composition was stale and unimpressive (maybe even bad). Their mentality really emphasises copying. If you can copy something exactly then you have created a good drawing. If I can master this formula I will be a drawing machine. A human camera. While this classical approach can be a good foundation, it can also be stifling. It creates a very rigid idea of how things should be done while leaving out room for individual style or creativity. While much of the work that I saw was technically amazing, the atmosphere was a lot different than what I'm used to. I think I can gain a lot from doing this. But I admit, when I got back to my apartment, I was eager to break the formula. I lined up some apples and did a few blind contour drawings just to get it out of my system.
I was nervous about drawing for several reasons. The last time we had class, we caused such a spectacle just by being there. A small crowd formed around us everytime we talked. I wasn't looking forward to having a flock of Chinese students standing over my shoulder watching, waiting, gawking in anticipation. Wondering if this foreigner can draw. Also, I noticed that all of the art work hanging around the studios looked exactly the same. I could tell that they had very specific ideas about what makes a good drawing.
Julia and our teacher were expecting us. They escorted us into a studio where two other students were painting. We sat down on tiny, low to the ground stools and put our drawing boards on our easels. We were going to draw a still life with three apples, a plate, and some fabric.
Our teacher instructed us to draw the outlines first. A different teacher was watching our every move and a random student came by every now and then to see what we were up to. I didn't make much progress because I was constantly stopped for holding my pencil wrong. I tried very hard to do as they asked. After the outlines, we were to draw the hard shadows by making diagonal lines. I was still holding my pencil wrong. They corrected me again and I went at it. "No nonono." They suddenly stopped me. I was making my marks from the bottom of the page to the top. They told me to please go from top to bottom. I realized that I wasn't really learning how to draw. I was learning a drawing formula. Text book style. Outlines first, then hard shadows, diagonal lines, and gray shadows, then the darkest dark, then smudge gently. It was hard to go back to the basics and try to relearn how to do things differently. I felt like I was drawing with my left hand.
Our teacher showed us his drawing from the demonstration. He had completed it. The details and shadows were stunning but I admit the composition was stale and unimpressive (maybe even bad). Their mentality really emphasises copying. If you can copy something exactly then you have created a good drawing. If I can master this formula I will be a drawing machine. A human camera. While this classical approach can be a good foundation, it can also be stifling. It creates a very rigid idea of how things should be done while leaving out room for individual style or creativity. While much of the work that I saw was technically amazing, the atmosphere was a lot different than what I'm used to. I think I can gain a lot from doing this. But I admit, when I got back to my apartment, I was eager to break the formula. I lined up some apples and did a few blind contour drawings just to get it out of my system.
Drawing: Round One
When it was time to go to class, Lillis and I had trouble getting a taxi and telling our driver where we needed to go. We showed him some Chinese characters. Our taxi swerved and stopped short in front of a large gate. The driver gestured for us to pay and get the hell out. We hesitated. This looked nothing like the dark muddy driveway Julia led us through just four days ago. It was actually a legitimate university. "This can't be it." We showed him the characters again. Finally, he did a quick u-turn and drove us a few feet around the corner to a different gate. We immediately recognized its randomness and knew we found the right place. Feeling foolish we stumbled out of the cab and entered the driveway. Our memories were vague and it was dark. We managed to find the muddy path that lead off the road, into the darkness, past a caged abandoned building. Behind this building, away from the road was the art building. The doors were flung open and it also seemed abandoned. We were headed for the seventh floor. The only problem: there were no lights! It was PITCH BLACK and silent. We began to think that there had been a misunderstanding. Maybe no one was there. We listened carefully and could hear voices in the distance. We decided to enter the stairwell and attempt to find the room we were in last time.
It was creepy. If I were in America I never would have gone near that building. This is the stuff horror movies are made of! As my friend Anne once said, things that are shady in America aren't shady in China...but as I was blinded by darkness, clutching for the banister halfway between the third and fourth floor in the middle of nowhere, I began to question if that's true. I recalled a few days earlier when my friend Matthew and I were shopping for gloves. We came upon a store that sold a lot of random stuff including weapons. I picked up what looked like a police baton. The owner came over, thinking I might make a purchase, and took it from me. It wasn't a baton. He unscrewed the handle and pulled out a MASSIVE knife. We're talking a 10 inch blade at least. It was enough to make my spine shiver. With this image in mind, I couldn't help thinking that maybe I have a false sense of security. Maybe I am naive. However, even as all of the alarms were going off in my head, I felt safe. A dark stairwell, an abandoned building, not knowing if we were lost or not, nighttime falling....I've been trained to not feel comfortable with this type of situation. At least not at home anyway. But it was safe. This contrast was enough to leave me both giddy and spooked. Suddenly someone else entered the stairwell. Two floors below us and climbing, a Chinese man was humming his way through the darkness. Someone was coming!! Lillis and I panicked and picked up the pace. We finally saw some light as we approached the seventh floor. We felt both embarrassed and relieved to discover that the man behind us was a friendly pipsqueak of a high school kid...as opposed to a man in a ski mask with a machete of course....our bad :)
We were greeted by our teacher, a short Chinese man with broad shoulders, long flowing hair (parted in the middle), braces, and a brown leather jacket. We sat down with him and Julia to talk about our classes and to pay. It was all very serious. Our teacher wanted to prepare a timetable for us so we can progress as much as possible in ten lessons. Julia did most of the talking as she was translating. Our teacher sat on the other side of the table looking serious and mumbling Chinese shyly to Julia . Suddenly, without warning and in perfect English he looked at Lillis and then at me and blurted out "YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL." Awkward giggling ensued by all parties and so began our first lesson.
We did not draw that night. Instead our teacher gave a demonstration. There were mostly high school kids crowded around a tiny stool and drawing board. There was a still life of a jug, some fruit, some fabric, and a Pepsi bottle. Our teacher sat down. Pencil in hand, he got right down to business. We on the other hand, immediately caused a scene. Julia made a fuss about getting us a good place to sit. The others whispered to friends and stared curiously. Julia informed us that the teacher asked that she come to all of our lessons to translate! We tried to assure her that this wasn't necessary. During the demonstration, she stood between us narrating as our teacher drew. "He is drawing the outlines now"...."He is drawing the shadows now". An hour passed and we took a break. As we spoke to Julia in English we became surrounded by a circle of other students, who wanted to try and understand our language. The break ended.
Our teacher was determined to finish his drawing. It was coming along nicely. I was impressed with his lack of hesitation. He drew fast and yet each and every mark or his pencil was confident and calculated. Like a machine. Another hour passed. At one point a tall Chinese boy stood up next to Lillis. I could feel him eyeing the two of us, hoping we would look. He had an immature but cocky attitude. He moved closer and then a little closer. He Nudged his buddy to say something and then kept gawking. It was all too much. I tried to hold it in, but at least one cackle escaped and I found myself crying from trying not to laugh. Lillis was privy to the situation. I could hear her attempting to contain herself which made the situation even more funny. I thought of walking up the dark stairs, of watching our teacher draw a Pepsi bottle for what felt like an eternity, of his random declaration of our beauty, of Julia's play by play, and I began to wonder what we were doing there...everything became hilarious. We took a short break only to be told that this was a three hour demonstration, so it was going to be awhile. Lillis and I had enough. Our teacher looked a little crushed and insulted when we told him we were bolting. As we stood by the door putting on our jackets, a crowd of students came by to watch. As one man explained his name in Chinese, our teacher walked by once again. He stood behind the crowd, looked at us and yelled "HOT", he then walked away briskly. Welcome to random town. We carefully made our way back down into the darkness.
Next lesson: we draw.
It was creepy. If I were in America I never would have gone near that building. This is the stuff horror movies are made of! As my friend Anne once said, things that are shady in America aren't shady in China...but as I was blinded by darkness, clutching for the banister halfway between the third and fourth floor in the middle of nowhere, I began to question if that's true. I recalled a few days earlier when my friend Matthew and I were shopping for gloves. We came upon a store that sold a lot of random stuff including weapons. I picked up what looked like a police baton. The owner came over, thinking I might make a purchase, and took it from me. It wasn't a baton. He unscrewed the handle and pulled out a MASSIVE knife. We're talking a 10 inch blade at least. It was enough to make my spine shiver. With this image in mind, I couldn't help thinking that maybe I have a false sense of security. Maybe I am naive. However, even as all of the alarms were going off in my head, I felt safe. A dark stairwell, an abandoned building, not knowing if we were lost or not, nighttime falling....I've been trained to not feel comfortable with this type of situation. At least not at home anyway. But it was safe. This contrast was enough to leave me both giddy and spooked. Suddenly someone else entered the stairwell. Two floors below us and climbing, a Chinese man was humming his way through the darkness. Someone was coming!! Lillis and I panicked and picked up the pace. We finally saw some light as we approached the seventh floor. We felt both embarrassed and relieved to discover that the man behind us was a friendly pipsqueak of a high school kid...as opposed to a man in a ski mask with a machete of course....our bad :)
We were greeted by our teacher, a short Chinese man with broad shoulders, long flowing hair (parted in the middle), braces, and a brown leather jacket. We sat down with him and Julia to talk about our classes and to pay. It was all very serious. Our teacher wanted to prepare a timetable for us so we can progress as much as possible in ten lessons. Julia did most of the talking as she was translating. Our teacher sat on the other side of the table looking serious and mumbling Chinese shyly to Julia . Suddenly, without warning and in perfect English he looked at Lillis and then at me and blurted out "YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL." Awkward giggling ensued by all parties and so began our first lesson.
We did not draw that night. Instead our teacher gave a demonstration. There were mostly high school kids crowded around a tiny stool and drawing board. There was a still life of a jug, some fruit, some fabric, and a Pepsi bottle. Our teacher sat down. Pencil in hand, he got right down to business. We on the other hand, immediately caused a scene. Julia made a fuss about getting us a good place to sit. The others whispered to friends and stared curiously. Julia informed us that the teacher asked that she come to all of our lessons to translate! We tried to assure her that this wasn't necessary. During the demonstration, she stood between us narrating as our teacher drew. "He is drawing the outlines now"...."He is drawing the shadows now". An hour passed and we took a break. As we spoke to Julia in English we became surrounded by a circle of other students, who wanted to try and understand our language. The break ended.
Our teacher was determined to finish his drawing. It was coming along nicely. I was impressed with his lack of hesitation. He drew fast and yet each and every mark or his pencil was confident and calculated. Like a machine. Another hour passed. At one point a tall Chinese boy stood up next to Lillis. I could feel him eyeing the two of us, hoping we would look. He had an immature but cocky attitude. He moved closer and then a little closer. He Nudged his buddy to say something and then kept gawking. It was all too much. I tried to hold it in, but at least one cackle escaped and I found myself crying from trying not to laugh. Lillis was privy to the situation. I could hear her attempting to contain herself which made the situation even more funny. I thought of walking up the dark stairs, of watching our teacher draw a Pepsi bottle for what felt like an eternity, of his random declaration of our beauty, of Julia's play by play, and I began to wonder what we were doing there...everything became hilarious. We took a short break only to be told that this was a three hour demonstration, so it was going to be awhile. Lillis and I had enough. Our teacher looked a little crushed and insulted when we told him we were bolting. As we stood by the door putting on our jackets, a crowd of students came by to watch. As one man explained his name in Chinese, our teacher walked by once again. He stood behind the crowd, looked at us and yelled "HOT", he then walked away briskly. Welcome to random town. We carefully made our way back down into the darkness.
Next lesson: we draw.
Art School
During my first week in China, before I was brave enough to take a bus by myself, before I knew how to say the name of my school, I made it my mission to find somewhere I could take art classes. I emailed the foreign affairs department at Wuhan University. They replied immediately and in broken English told me to check out the Hubei Arts Institute. Easy as pie. Or so I thought! There was still one major problem...I don't speak Chinese!
Going places on my own, without a Chinese friend or someone who has a solid grip on the language is always a little exciting and difficult. IT can be frustrating. I admit, my ambition drained when I thought about figuring out how to get to this art school....let alone ask about classes! Sometimes communicating with other people is seamless. Other times I end up questioning why I try to do what I'm not capable of/leave the house at all! In the end, because I don't know much of the language, the majority of my encounters are about trust. I'm not always sure exactly what is going on. Luckily though, there are a lot of friendly people out there. A month passed. With the support of an accomplice, Lillis, I got someone to circle the name of the school on a map. It wasn't until still a month after this that Lillis and I worked up enough courage to hail a cab map in hand. Neither of us had a plan of what to do once we arrived. Luckily we didn't need one
When we were looking around the art supply store attached to the school, a woman grabbed my arm smiled and said "Hello!". Her name was Julia. Turns out that she is a student at the school. We told her that we were interested in classes and before we knew it she was on her cell phone making calls while simultaneously leading us past buildings into the university. She took us to the art building, which we NEVER would have found without her. We met with her teacher, signed up for drawing classes, and agreed to return the following week. No sweat.
Thanks to her bold helpfulness (and her ability to speak some English/her patience with our Chinese), Lillis and I are now signed up for drawing and painting classes once a week for the next ten weeks.
Going places on my own, without a Chinese friend or someone who has a solid grip on the language is always a little exciting and difficult. IT can be frustrating. I admit, my ambition drained when I thought about figuring out how to get to this art school....let alone ask about classes! Sometimes communicating with other people is seamless. Other times I end up questioning why I try to do what I'm not capable of/leave the house at all! In the end, because I don't know much of the language, the majority of my encounters are about trust. I'm not always sure exactly what is going on. Luckily though, there are a lot of friendly people out there. A month passed. With the support of an accomplice, Lillis, I got someone to circle the name of the school on a map. It wasn't until still a month after this that Lillis and I worked up enough courage to hail a cab map in hand. Neither of us had a plan of what to do once we arrived. Luckily we didn't need one
When we were looking around the art supply store attached to the school, a woman grabbed my arm smiled and said "Hello!". Her name was Julia. Turns out that she is a student at the school. We told her that we were interested in classes and before we knew it she was on her cell phone making calls while simultaneously leading us past buildings into the university. She took us to the art building, which we NEVER would have found without her. We met with her teacher, signed up for drawing classes, and agreed to return the following week. No sweat.
Thanks to her bold helpfulness (and her ability to speak some English/her patience with our Chinese), Lillis and I are now signed up for drawing and painting classes once a week for the next ten weeks.
howdy
hey folks,
I'm currently teaching English to first and third grade kids in Wuhan, China. I'm starting this blog to keep you updated about all of my adventures and travels.
take care
e
I'm currently teaching English to first and third grade kids in Wuhan, China. I'm starting this blog to keep you updated about all of my adventures and travels.
take care
e
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