A Book Report

On my last visit to Charlottesville (less than two weeks ago, but what feels like ages), I picked up a copy of George Orwell's Burmese Days. When I saw it on the shelf at the used bookstore downtown, I fondly remembered reading 1984 and Animal Farm in high school, so I took it with me. I began reading it during my 24.5 hours of traveling and finished it today. It has been an interesting lens with which to begin examining my time here in China.

Although told from the third-person perspective, the novel primarily follows the life of a protagonist named Flory as he spends his days in a small district of Burma called Kyauktada. The terms and names of many characters were delightfully similar to those of the Tibetan language (belonging to the Tibeto-Burman language family), such as the fat, diabolical magistrate, U Po Kyin (U being his title; reminiscent of dbu, no?), and the desperate former mistress, Ma Hla May. The presence of such names immediately lent a sense of familiarity, even though I am actually quite unfamiliar with Burma (now Myanmar).

Here was a man living in a foreign land; brought there on behalf of the timber industry for which he worked. At the beginning of the book he was dreadfully lonely; too sensitive toward the 'natives' to truly mix with the bigots found in the European Club and too European to find true equality and friendship among even the most respected Burmese. Eventually a young, unwed English woman arrives into town and his heart subsequently makes many cycles of joy and sorrow. There are also many exciting moments of politics, intrigue, and culture. The book is exceptionally well-written and, unlike Orwell's other two pieces I have read before, is relatively tangible.

As the events of the story unfolded, I couldn't help but feel parallels in my own life (as I often like to do when following stories). I am living in a bit of a European Club at the moment; an international school community slightly removed from the city with guarded gates, dining facilities, and many of the comforts of home. The classrooms look much like those found in America, only with Chinese equivalents to the motivating English messages: "Dream," "Be a Champion," and the like. I have dined at Italian-style restaurants; eating pizza, drinking wine, and using English with Chinese servers. Although I should not be complaining about such wonderful possibilities as pizza, I do not wish to spend all of my days this way. I did not come to China to live in America. Nevertheless, I am American. And this is the place where Jen and I live at the moment. So I do not seek to forsake these things all together, but merely to find a living situation which is more balanced and integrated with this society at large. That is, I feel, the best way to respectfully learn from those around me; to live among them. I'm sure I will soon.

Secondly, the cycles of life and emotion. I had a wonderful conversation with a new friend about this. Cycles are everywhere. We had just eaten a giant meal of Tibetan stew (tukpa), dumplings (momos), and some kind of meat-pie (sha palep, maybe). It was the first Tibetan food that I had eaten since I left Charlottesville. Although I spent quite a few uncomfortable moments mashing large deposits of fat and gristle found in the meat-pie, swallowing and attempting to be polite, the meal as a whole was delightful. I've had Tibetan stew on many occasions, but never with such a delightful consistency and combination of spices. It had a hint of Sichuanese culinary influences. I was elated.

But, as my friend pointed out to me, the elation of a good meal passes just as quickly as it comes. One is hungry, eats, becomes full, and then returns to hunger. These are inner cycles. There are outer cycles too. Seasons change, mad things rearrange. The student becomes the teacher becomes the student. Finally, as the poor protagonist in our story, Flory, finds, there are emotional cycles. The woman whom he loves finds him so courageous and appealing when he 'saves' her from a water buffalo, but so 'beastly' when he babbles about Art and identifies with the 'natives.' She wiggles with admiration when he successfully shoots a leopard, but detests the very same leopard skin after a manipulating aunt reveals (somewhat untruthfully, might I add) that Flory "is keeping a Burmese woman." And so the very same object of our admiration becomes an object of repulsion due to the ever-changing circumstances of life.

As I make more and more efforts to find the essences of life out here, I am more and more pleased. I truly do enjoy learning about people and the way they live. It is this very process which helps me understand how I ought to live. Thus, I truly enjoyed Burmese Days and it's exposition of life in Burma during the late days of colonial rule. It gave me many ideas to ponder.

I Was Flying in My Dreams Last Night

Really. It was a funny dream. I was out on a road with some old frisbee friends; not the older ones, but the younger ones. The ones that would generally respect and listen to me (whether such things were due or not!). The road was encapsulated by forests. Some were driving, but I distinctly remember running. I would run and then it was as if the earth would descend below me, but I would remain in the air. It was frightening, at first, to be soaring; to not have supports below me. Eventually, though, I began to enjoy it.

That's kind of what it's like to be here. There is very little to stand on. The most obvious example would be language. I have a very preliminary understand of Chinese; enough to survive, but certainly not enough to converse. Attempting to communicate in the most simple forms is somewhat intimidating. And then there is Tibetan. When living in Charlottesville I could impress my friends with my ability to talk to the vendors downtown. I could ask them how they're doing, the weather is nice today, isn't it? and have you met the new visiting Tibetan in town yet? If we hit any difficult points in the conversation, I could always descend back into English. I do not have such luxuries here.

Yesterday I started working. My task was to find a Tibetan Lama with whom we are collaborating. Apparently somewhere along the line he was not paid the price which we had promised him, so it was my job to find him and settle the miscalculation. I had no idea where he lived, so I called him and gave the phone to the taxi driver with whom I could barely communicate. This proved to be a key tactic. We drove quite a long way and I found myself in a corner of the city which I, of course, had never seen before. I walked into the alleys of the apartment complex, speaking on the phone and seeking my Lama. I heard a bit of an echo in his responses and, looking up to a garage-like vendor, I found a man wearing a golden shirt and a long saffron robe. He motioned for me to follow, and I did.

We walked down the concrete jungle, passing many cocked Chinese eyes, the tall blue-eyed American and trailing the robed highlander; both with freshly shaven heads. I'm sure it was quite the sight. I was excited to come to his home and, apparently, place of work. He introduced me to his colleague, another monk wearing all saffron and toting a string of white prayer beads. I eventually learned that his way of speaking Tibetan was much more entrenched in the Eastern dialect and he knew very little Chinese. It made me feel like speaking to the primary Lama was much easier. And so, after sipping some black tea, we got down to business. I was shown to the workshop inhabited by six or seven young Tibetan women, inputting the Tibetan Kangyur simultaneously. Before I entered I had heard joyous conversation, giggles, and Chinese pop music. When I entered, however, all I could hear was the constant clacking of keyboards; the sound of transforming some of the oldest Tibetan texts into a new, digitized form. It looked like hard, but wonderful, work. I think that I made the young women a little edgy in the work, so we left, joked around in the Lama's room a little more, and I went on my way.

Doctors and Dentists

I went to the dentist today. I figured it would just be a routine cleaning and then I would be on my way. You know, get the mouth nice and clean before I take off. So I went in, and the nice little nurse lady scraped and picked and drilled and flossed my teeth. After a few slightly unpleasant moments she gave me my mouth back and I was allowed to salivate again. After that, however, I was told that they were going to take a few x-rays. So I sat in a chair which resembled that of a horrific classic cartoon: the Feed-A-Matic. The nice little nurse lady covered me with a lead apron, put my chin on a bar, and sent the scary tube whirring around me. We looked over the x-rays and found some trouble spots. I will have to go visit the endodontist in order to fix two root canals from four and eleven years ago. Luckily, this past year I've been relatively disease-free. Today's visit reminded me of my own mortality. It is an important idea to remember: our bodies fall apart. Tomorrow I go for my Hepatitis A and Tetanus vaccinations. If such is the hoop I must jump in order to cross the ocean safely, I will jump.

Getting to the Bottom of All This

So, as many of you may already know, I will be leaving soon. Also, as many of you may already know, this trip has been a bit of an inevitability for a long time. Ever since I returned from my first big adventure to Lhasa, Tibet's capital city, I've been trying to figure out a way to get back over the ocean and up into the mountains again.

I knew that I wanted to stay for an extended amount of time, so I would either need lots of money or some kind of job. Figuring it would be impossible to get a job in Tibet proper, I decided to try to teach English in Japan. Thus, I spent my last semester of college learning Japanese and applied to the illustrious JET program. I organized and photocopied and stapled and sent my application in. I wore a tie and suit and went to the Japanese embassy on Massachusetts Avenue for an interview. And then, as my college graduation was nearing, I received notice that I was wait-listed for the program and may or may not actually get the job. They said that they would let me know.

So I was stuck. I could get my TEFL certification and try teaching in Japan through other means...but was that really what I wanted? I eventually decided, no, teaching in Japan was a means to an end. So, I decided to try another route. I contacted a professor name David Germano at my university. I knew he had many projects about Tibet, but I wanted to ask him for more details. We exchanged phone calls, he spoke to me about his vision of revolutionizing the function of the academic institution through the use of digital technology, about his brainchild, about THL <http://www.thlib.org>. We organized a meeting, he offered me a job, and I started work the next day. I've been working for him ever since.

So, half a year goes by, I meet with David and we arrange for me to go on this trip about which I will be writing. One tricky part, though, is right as I was making these plans with David, I was making some unspoken plans with a very nice girl. Long story short, now she's working in Chengdu and I will see her very soon. I continued to work hard, I learned Chinese this past summer, and now I am almost there. I am almost back.

I have taken these past few weeks to reconnect with old friends, with family, and with myself. I went with my family to my place of birth, to Northampton, MA, and saw many relatives. I went south to Charleston, Charlotte, and Roanoke to see a younger sister, an old friend, and new family. I moved out of Charlottesville and said goodbye to the place and people that I have grown to love. Now, I spend my last weeks in the house where I came of age, with the people who help(ed) make me who I am. I'm getting so close to my root. I'm almost ready to go. Now I just have to pack.