october 2007 story contest winner

Congratulations!

Ashley Palubinski
Teach in China

"Early Morning"

The alarm is going off at this ungodly hour yet again. 5:20 a.m. It’s so dark outside, whereas some weeks earlier it was already light at this time. I get up and go into the kitchen to get a little breakfast in me before heading out the door. I look out the window again, and now I am sure that the clock must be set wrong, perhaps a whole hour ahead. It’s absolutely too dark for it to be the time that I had intended to rise. I go back into the bedroom to find my watch, expecting to be confirmed in my hypothesis, but the watch is not on my side. It confirms the story told by the alarm clock. Lessons are starting in half an hour.

Fortunately for me and the other foreign teachers, the “lessons” are not teaching English. Those begin at a much more humane hour. These lessons are the daily tai chi lessons at the Liuhe town park. Way back when we first arrived in Liuhe, our waiban, Vincent, took us to the park to meet Auntie Pan, and asked her to be our teacher. Vincent said that we should call her Auntie Pan, as aunt and uncle are used as terms of respect for elders in Chinese culture, regardless of relation. Of course, Auntie Pan doesn’t speak a word of English, so she surely doesn’t understand us anyway, but we like to think of her as Auntie.

Our first lesson was scheduled for 5:30 a.m. on a Tuesday morning, the same day we started our English teaching assignments. Perhaps as a foreshadowing of things to come, only Greg and I made it the first morning. Paul couldn’t get himself out of bed. Greg had the same problem the next morning. In a show of mercy, Auntie Pan told us that our lessons would start at 6:00 from that day on. Greg, who speaks a little Chinese, was able to understand this. I didn’t realize that tai chi would be so hard. We tried to follow Auntie Pan’s lead, but didn’t seem to do a very good job of it. What looked to be the most basic movements, or postures, turned out to be almost impossible to do correctly. Auntie Pan corrected my every move, moving my arms and hands so slightly that I couldn’t even tell the difference between the “correct” way, and how I had it before. The difficulty was multiplied tenfold by the fact that we couldn’t understand anything she said and vice versa. Finally, she picked up a piece of trash, and drew on it to help us understand. Apparently, the litter does serve some kind of purpose at times. The progress we made that first morning was extremely slow. I never guessed it would take an entire hour to learn so little.

The tai chi world is such a fascinating thing to see. Every day, all across China, millions of people, mostly elderly, rise and gather for their morning exercises, as they call them. Before the life in the cities, towns, and villages is buzzing, the old people are awake and active. When we told younger people of our tai chi lessons, they told us that young people don’t participate in those activities anymore because they would rather sleep in. But the older participants are faithful. The fact that they have done it for years is obvious when you watch them move gracefully and in unison through each posture, as the same music blares each morning from the stereo with the hopelessly insufficient sound capabilities. Not only do the morning exercises keep them fit and active, and quite flexible, I must say, but they serve an important social function as well. In between activities, the people talk and laugh, with the friends they have probably had for many years.

The lessons have continued at the early hour each morning, although we arranged to only attend on the four days a week when we actually teach, thus ensuring that we get to sleep in every day of our three-day weekends. The faithful, however, go every day. As the only foreigners in town, we attract attention everywhere we go, but we especially attract attention as we attempt to learn tai chi. Every morning, we are swarmed by at least half a dozen old women, who try to show us the right and wrong way to do everything. I am sure that they sometimes contradict themselves or what Auntie Pan tells us. And of course we can’t tell the difference between what we are doing and what they tell us. And of course we can’t understand anything that they say, except for the one who says “Happy New Year” every day, this apparently being the only English phrase that she knows. But being Chinese, they love to give compliments as well, which is usually done through a “thumbs up”.

And so on this early morning, I am off to my lesson again. By this time, Paul and Greg have given up on the effort of rising early, and so I go by myself each day. But I am not alone with Auntie Pan at the lessons. One previous morning, the curiosity of the foreigners’ presence persuaded one passer-by to stop, watch, and then join in with us. She was as much of a novice at tai chi as us, so we finally had proof that tai chi can be difficult for Chinese people as well. She became a regular member of the class, and after that, a handful of other women started coming too. Of course, I still attract the most attention from the swarming ladies, but the others get criticized as well. In addition to this is the constant awkwardness created by the language barrier. The people try to ask me questions, and though I am studying Chinese, I can’t really communicate with them. I usually end up feeling more than ridiculous by my attempts to comprehend and then say something intelligible in return. Even more uncomfortable is when they talk to each other, look at me, then laugh. It’s not intended a bit maliciously, but usually I have no other response than to stand there with a sheepish grin on my face, because what other response can I have, really?

But the women are impressed by my persistence, and tell me so every day, especially when I tell them that the other two are sleeping, usually communicated through gesture. I had no tai chi pants before, something which was pointed out by Auntie Pan every time I wore my jeans, which are not appropriate attire for the flexibility demands of tai chi. Today, one of the women has presented me with a pair of tai chi pants that she sewed for me. The women ask me questions and try to impress me with the few English words that they know. It’s strange how I can spend every morning with them and try to learn from them, but I really don’t know anything about them and they really don’t know anything about me. But it doesn’t seem to matter. I have still been allowed into their world. My new pants are bright, Chinese red, so now I will really look the part of a tai chi sage, if only I could get the fourteenth posture down.