I’ve got an emotional backlog to work through

So here it goes.

Back when I first started applying to the Peace Corps, everyone would come up to me and ask: so where do you want to go? I got good at patiently explaining that there is no individual choice in the matter, and I wasn’t really focusing my desires on any one country so I could stave off any possible disappointment.

Except the thing that I never told anyone was: I wanted to go anywhere but China. China has too many people; it’s such a homogenous society – I just don’t think I’ll manage to find a place. And really, when you think Peace Corps, you don’t think: rapidly developing country. Next economic super-power. As much as I shoved aside those lofty dreams that inspire 20-somethings to apply to Peace Corps in the first place (I want to save the world!!) I still had a little part of me that thought China doesn’t need me. 

Of course, thanks to a complicated combination of being a child of this technological age, my fanatical tendencies to never let anything go unknown, and a real strong non-religious belief in fate – around December I deduced that China would, in fact, be where I was going. So I read up on it. A lot. It turns out that Western China is actually pretty poor, and in need of some do-gooder Westerners bringing enthusiasm and knowledge in lieu of religious tracts. And by the time my invitation arrived in the mail four months later, I was thinking: please don’t send me anywhere but China. 

In China, the Peace Corps operates only in the Western part – three provinces and one municipality. So I could ultimately be placed in one of four areas: Sichuan, Chongqing, Guizhou, or Gansu. I read up on all of these places too, and became firm in my belief that while China was right for me – I would rather not go at all than end up in Gansu province. 

It’s funny how these things have a way of working themselves out. This whole series of events will forever challenge my preconceived notions of any situation. I never wanted to be in China, but here I am. Once I reconciled myself with China, I vowed: Anywhere but Gansu. Yet here I find myself.

I am so happy to be wrong. 

I know there are probably a million and a half perfect sites out there with everything the prototypical volunteer could ever want. But here’s the real scoop: my site is actually the best. It bucks all the expectations and cautions and then some. 

They told me that my students would be low-level, unmotivated, and that classrooms would be in an awful condition with unreliable technology. But here’s the thing: this is the first time I have walked in to a classroom and known that all of my students would be literate in their first language. This is the first time I’ve walked into a classroom and had a textbook and curriculum handed to me. It’s great. And if running through the battlegrounds of community ESL taught me anything, it’s that you always have a contingency plan. Even my model school experience taught me that. Working with children for the first time had me planning a lesson and then making a complicated flow chart of contingency plans so I could know what to do if anything went wrong. Community ESL also taught me that sometimes contingencies aren’t enough, and you’ve got to be ready to think on your feet and run with it. It helps so much more knowing that if you run out of things to do, the book is chock-full of so many more.

My students are also neither low-level nor unmotivated. Maybe I got lucky, but I think a lot of people underestimate. My sophomores continue to bowl me over with their level of knowledge and linguistic skills. As someone who has moved on to learning their fourth (I am not sure how this happened) additional language – their ability to maneuver through English conversation after one year of communicative academic study amazes me. They’re good, is what I mean to say. And I’m here to make them better – so why gripe about a low level upon entrance? If I wanted to teach fluent speakers about things, I would have chosen a different goal in life. 

Even the homogeneity of the culture doesn’t bother me in the ways I thought it would. Two of Peace Corps’ goals are about promoting cultural exchange – and every time I catch someone gawking at me on the sidewalk, I just think of those goals. And I think about what I would do in such a situation. If America weren’t the fiery, vicious melting pot that it is, I would also be surprised to see someone looking very different than myself walking down the street. In China, unlike America, there is no schooling in shame around staring. It’s a totally legitimate way to process. If I didn’t have my multi-racial country and inbred shame about staring – I would stare right along with the best of them. 

The other thing about the staring is that the situation-handling falls completely in the hands of the object of interest. Being this object so often, and thinking about what I would do if I were Chinese, and what I like to take away from the situation – I typically react by smiling at the gawker. If they say ‘hello’, I respond in kind. Because in my head, the deal is this: I may be giving myself more than I deserve, but I am essentially a unicorn wandering through the streets of my city. If I was walking along and saw a unicorn, I’d stare too. Then I’d go home and tell everyone I know about this unicorn sighting. I don’t want to give myself enough credit to believe I’m the gossip that fills the mouths and ears of Chinese homes at nights – but to hedge my bets, I employ the smile and ‘hello’. Because the story becomes that much richer when it’s not just, “I saw a unicorn” but instead, “I saw a unicorn and it smiled and said hello“. 

Plus, the whole staring thing works out great when I hang out with my students. We can sit and eat in the canteen and they’ll tell me that everyone is staring at us. I just shrug and say, “Well, it’s because you’re wearing such a beautiful outfit today – they can’t take their eyes off of you.” 

For whatever reason, they deny it. 

Sure, you could always say that maybe they’re just not good enough at English. But I know the real story.

They’re the best, and everything else is just the rest.