I didn't do a very good job explaining in my last post what Stephen (from A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man) meant in the quote about not taking communion. That's all English majors do, really: explain why you should like books. So I'll try again for a sentence or two. Stephen knows that he--the part of him that is him--is incompatible with taking communion when he doesn't believe it, because he can't dissociate the symbol from the act. If he did, he fears the "chemical action which would be set up in my soul." I was hoping to pun off of Joyce's convenient "chemical action," but that part isn't as important.
Well, Stephen might think that's a big deal, but today I bought a chocolate milkshake. I used to think I had a choice when I bought a milkshake, but then after about a year of only ever buying vanilla, I realized that my choice wasn't of the quality I thought it was. I'm almost incapable of buying a different flavor. I come to the decision fresh every time, and every time I have in mind that occasionally I buy chocolate, and occasionally strawberry, and occasionally vanilla. But then I always come away with vanilla.
Then today came. I went to the Chick-fil-A on Archer because they sell milkshakes there, and without thinking about it, I ordered chocolate. I'm pretty sure I'm not even the same person I was several weeks ago.
I was at a barbecue Saturday with a bunch of people and tried to explain the change that's come over me recently, only I was too eager to tell and didn't think it was important that I had only known the girl I was talking to for about twenty minutes.
"I don't love people," I summed up earnestly. "I only love myself. Is that a problem?"
She balked.
It's difficult to tell which changes are me returning from a seven-month stay in China and which are permanent modifications to my temperament. And I just bought a chocolate milkshake.
It reminds me of God's omnipotence, actually. People out for a riddle often wonder why, if God can do anything, can he not sin? Ever since I was little I looked a little skeptically at the "temptation" of Christ since God can't sin... right?
"Can" here is the fuzzy word. When we say God "can" do things, we mean there's no force external to him that would limit him. When we say we humans "can" do things, we mean it in a more nebulous sense, especially in English. (In Chinese they divide "can" into 能 (unrestricted ability) and 会 (learned ability). So I think if you're talking about driving a car, if you 能 drive a car, you have the keys and gas in your tank; if you 会 drive your parents have taught you and you know how to make it down the street without crashing.)
We as humans are changeable, and so on one day I might be in the mood to wear green and on another day in the mood to wear red. I can choose green or red. Or both if it's Christmas.
Some things about us change less. One season I might decide to watch Survivor, the next year I might prefer America's Next Top Model. It all depends on whether I have a girlfriend or not. Or whatever. I can choose to watch whatever show I want.
Some things barely change at all. I don't really like beans. If I'm pressed, I'll eat them out of politeness. I can eat beans--I guess.
And still other aspects of ourselves we regard as fundamental. One day I might snap and kill someone in cold blood. An extreme example, you say, but only because you're so secure in yourself: hat makes you different from a murderer? I can commit murder.
Here you would stop me. "I could not commit murder," you say indignantly. "Never have, never will." The idea here is that no circumstance imaginable would induce you to stab someone to death. But two factors make this uncertain: you don't know yourself perfectly; and you are mutable.
In contrast, God is self-aware and immutable. His can is not one limited by circumstance (there is nothing outside his control) but by character. God doesn't sin because that's not who God is. I'm tagging all the people I know with theological training on the Facebook version of this blog so if I'm totally off-base they can let me know. But here's my summary: God always chooses vanilla milkshakes. Thus proving by algebra that I am not God.
Showing posts with label chinese. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chinese. Show all posts
Monday, October 6, 2008
Friday, October 3, 2008
Doing the Deed
I turned in the drop form yesterday. My schedule is now short CHI3410 and CHT3500. With both of my Chinese classes gone, I'm down to 12 credits and a theoretically much easier semester. But I still feel tense, and it's tiring me out.
On one hand, I feel really accomplished. I aced my Medieval Lit test, finished my math proofs in time to turn them in, wrote a pretty good essay for Joyce. I even sent something in the mail yesterday, and that takes stamps and time and everything.
And yet, I've shied away from several things. For example, I wanted to clean the everlasting stack of dirty dishes. In the last week or two I've shrunk into a habit of using one cup, one small plate for my breakfast bagel, and one large plate for lunch. I have one knife with butter remnants and one with peanut butter traces, and one for cheese, too. So no matter what I'm hungry for I have the tableware needed to make myself food without cleaning anything. But I don't really like that habit and think when I have the time and energy it'd be nice to tidy up a bit.
The light in my room has grown finicky. I didn't know lights could be finicky, but recently when I turn on the switch, my light will take up to ten seconds to turn on, or not at all. Right now it's unwilling. I tried to be scientific about the problem, but it's difficult when you don't know anything. The problem can't be with the lightbulb, because the light will turn on sometimes. I tested it out with the fan on and off, but that didn't do anything. So maybe there's a wiring problem that magically popped up.
There are other deeds lurking, too. I half-intended to go to a coached swimming lesson with the triathletes someone invited me to, but by the end of today I felt scared somehow. Too much assessment, maybe.
I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but coming back from China has been difficult because in America it's not an accomplishment to be average. In China, me just living got respect. Now I'm back at college with thousands of other people who are also going to college and I'm drowning in normalcy. And drowning was supposed to be my comparison for my courseload before and after dropping Chinese, so it's worrying that I'm still using it.
It's difficult to read Joyce's perfect sentences, exquisitely crafted in endless variety, and with every one see my failure as a writer. Usually it takes a whole book before I admit that I can't do that. Joyce proves his superiority every paragraph afresh.
I guess I'm in a pretty disheartened mood. I used to call these 2am moods, because in high school 2am was late and lamenting my girl troubles then felt like I was baring my soul to the world. Now I do that less often.
But tomorrow I'm going to help build a wheelchair ramp, so that might be fun.
On one hand, I feel really accomplished. I aced my Medieval Lit test, finished my math proofs in time to turn them in, wrote a pretty good essay for Joyce. I even sent something in the mail yesterday, and that takes stamps and time and everything.
And yet, I've shied away from several things. For example, I wanted to clean the everlasting stack of dirty dishes. In the last week or two I've shrunk into a habit of using one cup, one small plate for my breakfast bagel, and one large plate for lunch. I have one knife with butter remnants and one with peanut butter traces, and one for cheese, too. So no matter what I'm hungry for I have the tableware needed to make myself food without cleaning anything. But I don't really like that habit and think when I have the time and energy it'd be nice to tidy up a bit.
The light in my room has grown finicky. I didn't know lights could be finicky, but recently when I turn on the switch, my light will take up to ten seconds to turn on, or not at all. Right now it's unwilling. I tried to be scientific about the problem, but it's difficult when you don't know anything. The problem can't be with the lightbulb, because the light will turn on sometimes. I tested it out with the fan on and off, but that didn't do anything. So maybe there's a wiring problem that magically popped up.
There are other deeds lurking, too. I half-intended to go to a coached swimming lesson with the triathletes someone invited me to, but by the end of today I felt scared somehow. Too much assessment, maybe.
I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but coming back from China has been difficult because in America it's not an accomplishment to be average. In China, me just living got respect. Now I'm back at college with thousands of other people who are also going to college and I'm drowning in normalcy. And drowning was supposed to be my comparison for my courseload before and after dropping Chinese, so it's worrying that I'm still using it.
It's difficult to read Joyce's perfect sentences, exquisitely crafted in endless variety, and with every one see my failure as a writer. Usually it takes a whole book before I admit that I can't do that. Joyce proves his superiority every paragraph afresh.
I guess I'm in a pretty disheartened mood. I used to call these 2am moods, because in high school 2am was late and lamenting my girl troubles then felt like I was baring my soul to the world. Now I do that less often.
But tomorrow I'm going to help build a wheelchair ramp, so that might be fun.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Homonymy
I had an appointment with the head of the Chinese department to plead for her to sign off on me having completed a minor in Chinese. By all my calculations it should have worked out, but I was nervous since none of my other calculations about credit transferring had summed to the Chinese department's standards.
And again I was thwarted. I have the number of credits for Chinese, but apparently, they have a new policy this year that six credits of the minor (not including first-year Chinese) must be taken at UF. I have five. So they want me to take one more Chinese class, which I will do before I graduate but don't have the endurance for this term.
But in my Medieval Literature class later today, our teacher was talking about how he might reference books we've read earlier this semester. We should bring them to class, therefore, but no points would be deducted for not bringing our books.
"I am certainly not that kind of--" he said, pausing to find an appropriate adjective.
Draconian, I said to myself. That's the perfect word.
"--draconian taskmaster."
I grinned smugly for the rest of the lecture on Beowulf and the decline of the Anglo-Saxon expert.
That leads me to a topic that I hope will cheer me up before I start an essay for my Joyce class: reverse homonyms. Here's the idea. When you hear a word and don't know how to write it, it's a homonym (or homophone; Wikipedia confuses more than helps here, but introduces the fantastic word "homonymy"). For example, to, two, and too all have the same pronunciation. Or awl and all, rye and wry, licker and liquor. There are words that sound really, really close: eminent and imminent; our and hour.
But in rare cases, you can see a word written and don't know how to pronounce it. Read and read. (I'm about to read the book I read yesterday.) Bow and bow. Present and present. (Present your present with a bow on top and then take a bow.) These are reverse homonyms.
I thought of this idea when I encountered them in Chinese: 了 can either be le or liao. 地 can either be de or di. Some characters have four pronunciations! You just have to judge it by the context. In English, I think reverse homonyms are pretty uncommon, which makes it a challenge. Marian and I had a game coming up with reverse homonyms until I was ahead by so many she couldn't catch up.
Just last week, I realized in class that pervert is a reverse homonym. If you pervert my intended meaning, it's very different from being a pervert who has aberrant sexual practices. On a more mundane level, I also noticed from a girl's shirt that object and object is one, too.
I don't think reverse homonyms are really deep, but they can be a fun diversion. It's like a deer walking around in the woods, and his dear friends come up and are like, "What's the matter? You're just walking around doing nothing."
"Oh, no," he says. "These woods are where I would wear the fabric of nature for all four seasons if I didn't have to worry about deer life."
"Deep," his friends say. "I guess if you want to frolick in the middle of the forest, that's your deal."
"Deal. Really, though, it's important to me. You might even say it's the hart of the matter."
And again I was thwarted. I have the number of credits for Chinese, but apparently, they have a new policy this year that six credits of the minor (not including first-year Chinese) must be taken at UF. I have five. So they want me to take one more Chinese class, which I will do before I graduate but don't have the endurance for this term.
But in my Medieval Literature class later today, our teacher was talking about how he might reference books we've read earlier this semester. We should bring them to class, therefore, but no points would be deducted for not bringing our books.
"I am certainly not that kind of--" he said, pausing to find an appropriate adjective.
Draconian, I said to myself. That's the perfect word.
"--draconian taskmaster."
I grinned smugly for the rest of the lecture on Beowulf and the decline of the Anglo-Saxon expert.
That leads me to a topic that I hope will cheer me up before I start an essay for my Joyce class: reverse homonyms. Here's the idea. When you hear a word and don't know how to write it, it's a homonym (or homophone; Wikipedia confuses more than helps here, but introduces the fantastic word "homonymy"). For example, to, two, and too all have the same pronunciation. Or awl and all, rye and wry, licker and liquor. There are words that sound really, really close: eminent and imminent; our and hour.
But in rare cases, you can see a word written and don't know how to pronounce it. Read and read. (I'm about to read the book I read yesterday.) Bow and bow. Present and present. (Present your present with a bow on top and then take a bow.) These are reverse homonyms.
I thought of this idea when I encountered them in Chinese: 了 can either be le or liao. 地 can either be de or di. Some characters have four pronunciations! You just have to judge it by the context. In English, I think reverse homonyms are pretty uncommon, which makes it a challenge. Marian and I had a game coming up with reverse homonyms until I was ahead by so many she couldn't catch up.
Just last week, I realized in class that pervert is a reverse homonym. If you pervert my intended meaning, it's very different from being a pervert who has aberrant sexual practices. On a more mundane level, I also noticed from a girl's shirt that object and object is one, too.
I don't think reverse homonyms are really deep, but they can be a fun diversion. It's like a deer walking around in the woods, and his dear friends come up and are like, "What's the matter? You're just walking around doing nothing."
"Oh, no," he says. "These woods are where I would wear the fabric of nature for all four seasons if I didn't have to worry about deer life."
"Deep," his friends say. "I guess if you want to frolick in the middle of the forest, that's your deal."
"Deal. Really, though, it's important to me. You might even say it's the hart of the matter."
Monday, September 22, 2008
Just a Little Spontaneity
I hastily arranged to eat lunch with some people at the Hub who were bringing a bag lunch. I was at home when the plans were made, so I said I'd have a quick lunch and then head over to hang out with them. But after I started eating I realized that if they were going to bring a lunch in a high-school throwback, it'd be fun to join them.
Four wasted Ziploc bags and a short jaunt to the Hub later, I unpacked my already partially eaten lunch:
The idea of wrapping a half-eaten sandwich amused me to no end. All the Chick-fil-A stuff in the picture is what my friends ate. So much for the picnic.
I think embracing a little spontaneity can go a long way. If your life always has to be planned out, you're not going to know how to handle it when you just can't plan it. So when you do things spontaneously it's like practicing being impulsive. Impulsiveness is a skill, of course, which sometimes you succeed at (I pushed a girl into a sprinkler last night--she loved it) and sometimes you don't (I drafted an eBay ad to sell my skin ball and donate the proceeds to charity--it's not even allowed).
But if you don't learn how to be impulsive, then when you really get seized by an impulse, like dropping two of your classes and quitting Chinese, say, then you just do it and might regret it later. So I packed a lunch to stave off withdrawing from a class today. Just wait till Wednesday comes...
Too much spontaneity can be overwhelming, of course. Like when your hat spontaneously disappears. That's right, one minute I was eating my sandwich and debating the theological implications of The Shack, the next minute I'm at Library West and my hat is nowhere to be found. I loved that hat.
Bought in Kashgar, Xinjiang, China, that hat has a long history with me. It's made it through a trip with Alex, who had previously only accompanied me on hat-losing adventures. It's been to Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, various parts of China, and back to America, to rave reviews. I was standing in Turlington recently when I noticed a girl staring at me. I tried to figure out how I knew her and couldn't. "Oh," she said when she saw me looking back at her. "I just liked your hat."
And now I'm pretty sure my hat has gone on to other heads. But if you find a blue derby-ish cap with a label on the inside in faded Chinese characters describing the size (56 公分) I'd be so excited I'd even think up a reward for you. I bought too many souvenirs, for example, and don't have as many friends as I do presents. I'd give you this really cool pipe I have left. It's extendable and everything. As my good friend Ron told me today, "Put that in a blog and smoke it."
Four wasted Ziploc bags and a short jaunt to the Hub later, I unpacked my already partially eaten lunch:
The idea of wrapping a half-eaten sandwich amused me to no end. All the Chick-fil-A stuff in the picture is what my friends ate. So much for the picnic.
I think embracing a little spontaneity can go a long way. If your life always has to be planned out, you're not going to know how to handle it when you just can't plan it. So when you do things spontaneously it's like practicing being impulsive. Impulsiveness is a skill, of course, which sometimes you succeed at (I pushed a girl into a sprinkler last night--she loved it) and sometimes you don't (I drafted an eBay ad to sell my skin ball and donate the proceeds to charity--it's not even allowed).
But if you don't learn how to be impulsive, then when you really get seized by an impulse, like dropping two of your classes and quitting Chinese, say, then you just do it and might regret it later. So I packed a lunch to stave off withdrawing from a class today. Just wait till Wednesday comes...
Too much spontaneity can be overwhelming, of course. Like when your hat spontaneously disappears. That's right, one minute I was eating my sandwich and debating the theological implications of The Shack, the next minute I'm at Library West and my hat is nowhere to be found. I loved that hat.
Bought in Kashgar, Xinjiang, China, that hat has a long history with me. It's made it through a trip with Alex, who had previously only accompanied me on hat-losing adventures. It's been to Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, various parts of China, and back to America, to rave reviews. I was standing in Turlington recently when I noticed a girl staring at me. I tried to figure out how I knew her and couldn't. "Oh," she said when she saw me looking back at her. "I just liked your hat."
And now I'm pretty sure my hat has gone on to other heads. But if you find a blue derby-ish cap with a label on the inside in faded Chinese characters describing the size (56 公分) I'd be so excited I'd even think up a reward for you. I bought too many souvenirs, for example, and don't have as many friends as I do presents. I'd give you this really cool pipe I have left. It's extendable and everything. As my good friend Ron told me today, "Put that in a blog and smoke it."
Sunday, September 21, 2008
The Apple Twist Game of Life
I offered Ron an apple today and he did what I, for lack of a better term, am going to call the apple twist game. You know it. You have some girl you're interested in, and you convince the apple it's meant to be by twisting the stem off as you recite the alphabet. When the stem comes off and it happens to be on the first letter of the girl's name (or, if you're desperate, her last name, or middle name, or any of the letters in her name or that make you think of her name...) then you know it's true love.
That's kinda how my week has started, only my twisting has met with a lot of resistance. Now that I'm in Advanced Chinese, I realized that I really don't want to take Chinese any more. I started taking Chinese freshman year because I hated Spanish but thought cultured people should learn another language and study abroad. So I learned Chinese and went to China, and had crazy experiences and sucked at Chinese in decreasing amounts for seven months. And now I'm back and I can have a brief conversation with any Chinese guy I meet at the pool. I can impress my language partners because they don't know an American with as good of Chinese as mine. I can talk about Chinese culture and life.
And I'm still horrible at Chinese. Some people ask me if I want to go back, but right now when I think of going back I dread not being able to say anything. This sounds silly, and I might've said it before, but in America any word I can think of I know the word for. "Drowning"? It's "drowning." "Recoil"? It's "recoil." "Magical"? I know that one, too. Taking another year of Chinese would make a dent in what's left to cover, but not enough for me to set a goal to do it. I don't think there's anything to be gained by continuing.
I haven't done anything drastic, although Dan urged me to. I get to withdraw penalty-free from two classes every 60 credits and I'm seriously considering withdrawing from both my Chinese classes. Culture class is a waste of time, and I'm coming into language class a month behind. If anyone has any wisdom, speak now or forever hold your peace.
And with that matrimonial phrase, I return to the apple twist game. I remember when I was little I liked some girl whose name started with 'e'. My twisting skills weren't highly developed at that point, though, and the stem didn't come off when I got to 'e.' So I kept twisting, subconsciously making my fingers slip so it had an air of legitimacy when I finished the alphabet, came back to 'e', and broke the stem. "Wow," I thought. "It's meant to be." I think in some way this is a good analogy for my life right now.
Before I end this post, I wanted to mention a few housekeeping issues. First, I've decided to start labeling my posts, so when you visit the real website and not the Facebook version, you can sort all my posts by the labels. So any post where I've used a fake name you can see already catalogued with the "fake names" label. Or entries in which I talk about entries (or almost blow up my house) under "housekeeping." And so on.
Also, my blog has Gator colors now. In fact, I looked up on UF's website what the official hex codes were so I'd get the color right. Links, even to my old blog, have yet to appear in the sidebar because life is too stressful for that. Next twist, please.
That's kinda how my week has started, only my twisting has met with a lot of resistance. Now that I'm in Advanced Chinese, I realized that I really don't want to take Chinese any more. I started taking Chinese freshman year because I hated Spanish but thought cultured people should learn another language and study abroad. So I learned Chinese and went to China, and had crazy experiences and sucked at Chinese in decreasing amounts for seven months. And now I'm back and I can have a brief conversation with any Chinese guy I meet at the pool. I can impress my language partners because they don't know an American with as good of Chinese as mine. I can talk about Chinese culture and life.
And I'm still horrible at Chinese. Some people ask me if I want to go back, but right now when I think of going back I dread not being able to say anything. This sounds silly, and I might've said it before, but in America any word I can think of I know the word for. "Drowning"? It's "drowning." "Recoil"? It's "recoil." "Magical"? I know that one, too. Taking another year of Chinese would make a dent in what's left to cover, but not enough for me to set a goal to do it. I don't think there's anything to be gained by continuing.
I haven't done anything drastic, although Dan urged me to. I get to withdraw penalty-free from two classes every 60 credits and I'm seriously considering withdrawing from both my Chinese classes. Culture class is a waste of time, and I'm coming into language class a month behind. If anyone has any wisdom, speak now or forever hold your peace.
And with that matrimonial phrase, I return to the apple twist game. I remember when I was little I liked some girl whose name started with 'e'. My twisting skills weren't highly developed at that point, though, and the stem didn't come off when I got to 'e.' So I kept twisting, subconsciously making my fingers slip so it had an air of legitimacy when I finished the alphabet, came back to 'e', and broke the stem. "Wow," I thought. "It's meant to be." I think in some way this is a good analogy for my life right now.
Before I end this post, I wanted to mention a few housekeeping issues. First, I've decided to start labeling my posts, so when you visit the real website and not the Facebook version, you can sort all my posts by the labels. So any post where I've used a fake name you can see already catalogued with the "fake names" label. Or entries in which I talk about entries (or almost blow up my house) under "housekeeping." And so on.
Also, my blog has Gator colors now. In fact, I looked up on UF's website what the official hex codes were so I'd get the color right. Links, even to my old blog, have yet to appear in the sidebar because life is too stressful for that. Next twist, please.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Chinese Credit and Hymns
I fully understand now why UF makes you get a form signed by practically everyone before you leave to study abroad, because transferring credit is thorny once you've returned. I filled out the forms, of course, but since my program was a "UF approved" program and not a "UF" program, I had to agree to take a test to prove that I learned something while I was gone.
I took one and a half years of Chinese here, then went to China for the spring and summer semesters. In theory, I covered three semesters-worth of Chinese in the spring (for a total of three years-worth), and then was enrolled for a two-month summer session as well. Testing out of third year Chinese, as one of my Chinese friends in Chengdu put it, is just a piece of cake. (Idioms--close just doesn't cut them. Or should I say, close but no cigars.)
But then I came back, took the test, and bombed. Harder than I've bombed any test I can remember. The test I was taking was the final exam for the third year class, which is highly tailored to having been in the class. I wasn't in their class and didn't study their book, so even though I learned a lot, the Chinese I learned wasn't the Chinese they would've learned. I failed this test so bad I wasn't even phased that I had forgotten to fill out the essay portion on the back. The teacher, who's usually very stern, was really nice about my (rightful) unconfidence. "There's a speaking portion to the test, too," she said. "So even if you didn't do well on reading and writing, your interview could bump up your score."
That afternoon, I received an email from her which said, in effect, that we didn't need to bother with the interview.
Before that could happen, though, I had to turn in my test and leave. I had remained pretty composed while I was failing, but then I went outside, called my mom, and cried like I haven't since elementary school. It was so hard to go through my whole time in China knowing that my efforts might not be good enough, and then they weren't.
My situation got worse. The email that afternoon followed the brisk assessment of my test with this sentence: "The next issue is will you be able to get the credits necessary for Intermediate Chinese second semester." Let me remind you, kind reader, of what this means. I was being asked to take a second test to make sure that me being in China for more than a semester studying Chinese full time taught me enough Chinese to match being in America for a semester taking one class in Chinese.
My reaction, ironically, was rather Chinese. I felt like, while I could see how this would follow the rules to a "T", that just asking the question was demeaning and would only make me lose face. I was sure that this test would be structured exactly like the last one: highly specific with little chance to succeed. And what if I did fail? No credit for all the Chinese learning I had done. Furthermore, if I didn't take third year Chinese now (which at this point was my best option) then I couldn't be a Chinese major.
I admit, I didn't expect to even have a Chinese major when I entered college, so not graduating with one wouldn't be heartbreaking. But to go from thinking that I would just take an easy placement test and then be three classes away from fulfilling the requirements to the major all the way to the idea that it might not even be possible for me to finish the major--that's a big shift.
So I worried about my second test all weekend and tried to be reassured by my friends' well-wishing words. Then yesterday morning I took the test and did FREAKIN' AWESOME! The test wasn't the same; written passages were general, reading passages tested the most mainstream vocabulary, and I passed.
It will be slightly galling to be in the same class tomorrow with Allison, one of my friends who didn't go to China. But I clearly don't know everything they're going to learn, and it will help to be in a Chinese environment regularly.
One anecdote along with this: my friend Jenna's voicemail instructions ask you to sing her a song. I had talked with her a long time about taking this test, and after I took it, I wanted to let her know that I passed. I got a little song worked up. (I thought it was just a really short song but apparently it's only the last verse. The last line is normally "Amen.")
I took one and a half years of Chinese here, then went to China for the spring and summer semesters. In theory, I covered three semesters-worth of Chinese in the spring (for a total of three years-worth), and then was enrolled for a two-month summer session as well. Testing out of third year Chinese, as one of my Chinese friends in Chengdu put it, is just a piece of cake. (Idioms--close just doesn't cut them. Or should I say, close but no cigars.)
But then I came back, took the test, and bombed. Harder than I've bombed any test I can remember. The test I was taking was the final exam for the third year class, which is highly tailored to having been in the class. I wasn't in their class and didn't study their book, so even though I learned a lot, the Chinese I learned wasn't the Chinese they would've learned. I failed this test so bad I wasn't even phased that I had forgotten to fill out the essay portion on the back. The teacher, who's usually very stern, was really nice about my (rightful) unconfidence. "There's a speaking portion to the test, too," she said. "So even if you didn't do well on reading and writing, your interview could bump up your score."
That afternoon, I received an email from her which said, in effect, that we didn't need to bother with the interview.
Before that could happen, though, I had to turn in my test and leave. I had remained pretty composed while I was failing, but then I went outside, called my mom, and cried like I haven't since elementary school. It was so hard to go through my whole time in China knowing that my efforts might not be good enough, and then they weren't.
My situation got worse. The email that afternoon followed the brisk assessment of my test with this sentence: "The next issue is will you be able to get the credits necessary for Intermediate Chinese second semester." Let me remind you, kind reader, of what this means. I was being asked to take a second test to make sure that me being in China for more than a semester studying Chinese full time taught me enough Chinese to match being in America for a semester taking one class in Chinese.
My reaction, ironically, was rather Chinese. I felt like, while I could see how this would follow the rules to a "T", that just asking the question was demeaning and would only make me lose face. I was sure that this test would be structured exactly like the last one: highly specific with little chance to succeed. And what if I did fail? No credit for all the Chinese learning I had done. Furthermore, if I didn't take third year Chinese now (which at this point was my best option) then I couldn't be a Chinese major.
I admit, I didn't expect to even have a Chinese major when I entered college, so not graduating with one wouldn't be heartbreaking. But to go from thinking that I would just take an easy placement test and then be three classes away from fulfilling the requirements to the major all the way to the idea that it might not even be possible for me to finish the major--that's a big shift.
So I worried about my second test all weekend and tried to be reassured by my friends' well-wishing words. Then yesterday morning I took the test and did FREAKIN' AWESOME! The test wasn't the same; written passages were general, reading passages tested the most mainstream vocabulary, and I passed.
It will be slightly galling to be in the same class tomorrow with Allison, one of my friends who didn't go to China. But I clearly don't know everything they're going to learn, and it will help to be in a Chinese environment regularly.
One anecdote along with this: my friend Jenna's voicemail instructions ask you to sing her a song. I had talked with her a long time about taking this test, and after I took it, I wanted to let her know that I passed. I got a little song worked up. (I thought it was just a really short song but apparently it's only the last verse. The last line is normally "Amen.")
Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;What was interesting is that since I took my test yesterday morning and didn't find out officially that I passed until this morning, I had this song on my mind for a whole day. And I realized that even if somehow I had failed the test, my singing this song to myself all day wouldn't be a waste, because it's what God deserves even when life is going horribly. And that's how Chinese and theology mix.
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
I passed-my-Chinese-test.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Eye Color, and Geckos
Since returning from China last month, I've noticed myself paying attention to people's eye color a lot. "Wow," I find myself saying. "She has really nice green eyes." And then I'll talk to someone else and think about how blue their eyes are, or how Julie has really nice brown eyes. Even the people with uninteresting eye color (I've taken up saying that I have no eye color, so I would certainly fall into this category) get special examination from me these days.
I didn't use to be fascinated with people's eyes. But I think I have an explanation: people in America don't all have the same eye color. I never particularly noticed when I was in China that everyone's eyes were the kind of black-brown you have in mind when you're little and can't tell the difference between your mom's dark brown hair and black. But now I'm back in America and it's like people are eye candy. I mean, their eyes are candy.
I was thinking about this, or maybe I wasn't, as I drove to Bible study this evening. Then I saw there was a gecko on the hood of my car. This wasn't the first time a gecko's been all up on my hood. A few days ago I noticed one try to jump off but ran into the car again a few inches up the windshield. Then it jumped again and flew up and out of sight.
Well, I revved up as I got onto Archer and didn't see a happy end in sight for the little gecko along for the ride. "Don't jump, little buddy," I urged him.
At stoplights he roamed a little. He gradually worked his way up next to the windshield wipers, where he distracted me from the road so much that I had to totally disregard his life in order to preserve mine.
But for several minutes, he just looked into my eyes. I, of course, was too responsible to return anything but a look of surprise that he still had eyes that hadn't been run over, but it was a bonding moment. Particularly a bonding moment when I was driving at 45 and could see his reptilian flab whipping with the wind. But good ole' van der Waals forces kept his feet pasted to my window like a Jedi under Vader's deathgrip.
He should just be glad he didn't hitch a ride when I was driving to Orlando. I expect help paying for gas then. He lasted for the trip, though, and when I got out of my car before I went inside I made sure he was still there. He was, clinging now to my driver's side door. I thought it was a good moment for him and hoped I didn't decapitate his gecko head when I shut the door. I didn't, though.
The moral of this story is that if I notice your eye color, you're probably not crawling on my windshield when the car is moving.
I didn't use to be fascinated with people's eyes. But I think I have an explanation: people in America don't all have the same eye color. I never particularly noticed when I was in China that everyone's eyes were the kind of black-brown you have in mind when you're little and can't tell the difference between your mom's dark brown hair and black. But now I'm back in America and it's like people are eye candy. I mean, their eyes are candy.
I was thinking about this, or maybe I wasn't, as I drove to Bible study this evening. Then I saw there was a gecko on the hood of my car. This wasn't the first time a gecko's been all up on my hood. A few days ago I noticed one try to jump off but ran into the car again a few inches up the windshield. Then it jumped again and flew up and out of sight.
Well, I revved up as I got onto Archer and didn't see a happy end in sight for the little gecko along for the ride. "Don't jump, little buddy," I urged him.
At stoplights he roamed a little. He gradually worked his way up next to the windshield wipers, where he distracted me from the road so much that I had to totally disregard his life in order to preserve mine.
But for several minutes, he just looked into my eyes. I, of course, was too responsible to return anything but a look of surprise that he still had eyes that hadn't been run over, but it was a bonding moment. Particularly a bonding moment when I was driving at 45 and could see his reptilian flab whipping with the wind. But good ole' van der Waals forces kept his feet pasted to my window like a Jedi under Vader's deathgrip.
He should just be glad he didn't hitch a ride when I was driving to Orlando. I expect help paying for gas then. He lasted for the trip, though, and when I got out of my car before I went inside I made sure he was still there. He was, clinging now to my driver's side door. I thought it was a good moment for him and hoped I didn't decapitate his gecko head when I shut the door. I didn't, though.
The moral of this story is that if I notice your eye color, you're probably not crawling on my windshield when the car is moving.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Assumptions
I think intelligence lies in being able to change your assumptions. Assumptions are generalities, of course, so I'm aware that what I'm saying isn't true in every case. That's what going to college is good for. So in honor of the beginning of school, I have four assumptions I've been learning about. I'll start with the most controversial:
1) Assume that senior girls are taken. I'm up to an age where it's worth looking at a girl's left hand to determine her stage of life. This summer at least ten couples I know got engaged. And now every senior girl worth her salt wants to get married and is in a relationship desperately pursuing that. I know, Alice is a senior and she's single. But I strongly suspect she's not worth her salt, either. (There's my first case of changing somebody's name. I should have a career in espionage if blogging doesn't work out.)
This is a difficult assumption for me to work into, because in the Christian scene, girls are single by default. They're all too frosty for the uncertainty of relationships. But the cool ones are single, too, because Christian guys haven't had practice wooing girls.
So now there's a tendency to continue that thinking. But senior girls are the most likely ones to have a long-distance relationship with some guy who's graduated and is just waiting to propose. Long-distance relationship for freshman can practically be discarded. Unless they've braved a summer together in high school, I haven't known a couple to survive the end of the year. Senior girls' dating lives are much more opaque. The helpful "relationship status" on Facebook is too crude for their maturity, and that's a good reason to assume that seniors are taken.
2) Americans haven't been to Kazakhstan. I saw a kid the other day wearing a shirt with the border of Kazakhstan, the country's name, and some quote from Borat. It took me longer to process the fact that most people who have seen Borat don't know Kazakhstan is a real country than to think that this guy had probably gotten it as a souvenir. After all, I'm wearing my Naxi t-shirt today which features the last living pictographic language in the world, because I've been to a place with lots of Naxi people. I almost asked him when he went to Kazakhstan, but then I caught myself.
3) Chinese teachers who speak really good English don't have American values. Today in my horribly boring "Chinese culture" class when we weren't watching a movie about China which featured several places I've personally been to, we had to do an exercise in interpreting Confucian sayings. Every group was supposed to pick a proverb from the book that no one's actually read and explain it to the class.
One group's proverb was "The gentleman desires to be halting in speech but quick in action. "Their spokesperson summarized it well for modern-day kids: "You gotta walk the walk," he said. "Can't just talk the talk."
Our teacher listened to this and thought that the group was saying that talking was a deficit. "Well, that's not quite right. Girls talk a lot," he said. "Growing up, girls talk to their mothers more than boys do, right? But they can still know things sometimes."
I realized that he was trying to defend women's rights. To him as a Chinese man, women obviously talk a lot, but he was being magnimous by saying that this didn't necessarily disqualify women from being wise.
All the American girls in the class heard him and thought he was the one being sexist. "No," one girl said out loud when he rhetorically asked if little girls learn to talk to their mothers. Because as Americans, our idea of equality is that women should act just like men do, and our teacher's saying that girls talk more denies that.
4) Oil is flammable even if a match doesn't ignite it. But that's just a teaser for my next post...
1) Assume that senior girls are taken. I'm up to an age where it's worth looking at a girl's left hand to determine her stage of life. This summer at least ten couples I know got engaged. And now every senior girl worth her salt wants to get married and is in a relationship desperately pursuing that. I know, Alice is a senior and she's single. But I strongly suspect she's not worth her salt, either. (There's my first case of changing somebody's name. I should have a career in espionage if blogging doesn't work out.)
This is a difficult assumption for me to work into, because in the Christian scene, girls are single by default. They're all too frosty for the uncertainty of relationships. But the cool ones are single, too, because Christian guys haven't had practice wooing girls.
So now there's a tendency to continue that thinking. But senior girls are the most likely ones to have a long-distance relationship with some guy who's graduated and is just waiting to propose. Long-distance relationship for freshman can practically be discarded. Unless they've braved a summer together in high school, I haven't known a couple to survive the end of the year. Senior girls' dating lives are much more opaque. The helpful "relationship status" on Facebook is too crude for their maturity, and that's a good reason to assume that seniors are taken.
2) Americans haven't been to Kazakhstan. I saw a kid the other day wearing a shirt with the border of Kazakhstan, the country's name, and some quote from Borat. It took me longer to process the fact that most people who have seen Borat don't know Kazakhstan is a real country than to think that this guy had probably gotten it as a souvenir. After all, I'm wearing my Naxi t-shirt today which features the last living pictographic language in the world, because I've been to a place with lots of Naxi people. I almost asked him when he went to Kazakhstan, but then I caught myself.
3) Chinese teachers who speak really good English don't have American values. Today in my horribly boring "Chinese culture" class when we weren't watching a movie about China which featured several places I've personally been to, we had to do an exercise in interpreting Confucian sayings. Every group was supposed to pick a proverb from the book that no one's actually read and explain it to the class.
One group's proverb was "The gentleman desires to be halting in speech but quick in action. "Their spokesperson summarized it well for modern-day kids: "You gotta walk the walk," he said. "Can't just talk the talk."
Our teacher listened to this and thought that the group was saying that talking was a deficit. "Well, that's not quite right. Girls talk a lot," he said. "Growing up, girls talk to their mothers more than boys do, right? But they can still know things sometimes."
I realized that he was trying to defend women's rights. To him as a Chinese man, women obviously talk a lot, but he was being magnimous by saying that this didn't necessarily disqualify women from being wise.
All the American girls in the class heard him and thought he was the one being sexist. "No," one girl said out loud when he rhetorically asked if little girls learn to talk to their mothers. Because as Americans, our idea of equality is that women should act just like men do, and our teacher's saying that girls talk more denies that.
4) Oil is flammable even if a match doesn't ignite it. But that's just a teaser for my next post...
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