How Sweet the Bitter Soup Read online

  As I thought about the importance of the running club, it dawned on me that there were several goals along those lines that I was hoping to realize while I was there in China. I hadn’t come with a plan to rid myself of old habits and finally create my true identity, but in some ways, that was exactly what I was doing. Being a respected teacher, one of the few there at that time who held a master’s in applied linguistics, was a part of that. Nobody there knew that I’d had no role models when it came to higher education and that I’d had to figure it out on my own. I’d even flunked out of community college twice before finally getting my associate’s degree and getting serious about my education— and none of that mattered now, anyway.

  The same was true of my fitness. As far as my new friends knew, it was no big deal that I was going to join their running club. They had no idea that my family struggled with morbid obesity and that I had grown up not knowing what it meant to eat normally and have a healthy lifestyle. No one knew that this had been a difficult issue for me growing up and that I was just now beginning to figure it out. I’d worried too much about these things as a child and it had definitely impacted me. But I didn’t want to dwell on that anymore. I was so genuinely happy that I’d finally moved beyond those worries and I was taking control of my health and my life. What mattered now was that I was putting on running shoes and going running with my friends three times a week.

  Our school had a beautiful track, so when we finished our work for the day, about four of us headed out and warmed up. Mike’s knees were bad, so he liked to take it slow. This was a huge relief to me, because anything but slow was not an option for me as I began my running journey.

  That first day, we started our slow jog around the track, and I was already huffing and puffing before I had finished the first lap. But I made myself finish, and then I walked three more. Mike and Ryan continued running while Janice and I walked. It just kind of worked. Everyone was doing their own thing and I actually didn’t feel one bit bad about the shape I was in. After all, I was out there. I was trying. I felt proud of myself.

  Every time we went out to the track, I added more running time. Mike was very encouraging. He simply loved running. He wasn’t doing it to lose weight; he was just doing it for general health and the love of the sport. He may have even considered it an art, the way he talked about it. He was passionate, and his passion helped keep me motivated when I felt like I was going to die and could not possibly keep running.

  Ryan made no pretense about liking running. In fact, he often said he hated it and that he only ran so he could continue to eat McDonald’s without getting too fat. I loved that about him! I found myself feeling so comfortable with these people. They had no idea how much they were helping me.

  Halfway through my first year in China, I was running six miles twice a week and ten miles every Friday. My self-confidence skyrocketed. For me, this was not only about running; it was about doing what I had always wanted to do but never had the support and the opportunity to make it a reality. In many ways, Mike, with his consistency and positive attitude about running, actually changed my life. Becoming a runner gave me confidence to do so many other things. It was a jumping-off point, and I was truly finding myself.

  chapter 14

  On the hour-long bus rides I took to church each Sunday, I often thought about the history of China and why religion hadn’t played a bigger role there. To be honest, I didn’t share the same feelings many people did about the lack of freedom of religion in China. I thought freedom was a good thing, of course, and I supposed it would be great for everyone to have a choice about what religion they practiced. But as I thought about it, I could sort of understand why China was not opening its doors to Western religions at this point. I wouldn’t say that I feel that I’m living in a communist country, though, at least not usually.

  The history of China and Western religion is long and complicated on both sides. Part of the reason is that the official political party of China is, of course, the Communist party, and organized religion does not coincide with the core philosophies of communism.

  Living in China in the year 2000, I observe that China does seem to shelter is citizens. Certain books or media are off limits and it’s true that people are not allowed to practice religion, outside of what is approved by the government. When it came to religion, it was a tough issue for the government. I was sure the leaders of the country did not believe every religion is inappropriate, but there was the fear that if they opened the door to what they deemed appropriate or “good” groups, China would become susceptible to every influence, good and bad—and they definitely didn’t want that.

  China has been victimized repeatedly by Western countries—countries claiming to be Christian and democratic. Other countries have thought they know what is best for China and, in a condescending and sometimes violent manner, have tried to change it accordingly. Other countries have outright attacked China, taking what they wanted. In fact, seven different Western countries have invaded China, tearing down their precious Summer Palace and destroying many valuable artifacts in the process. Is it any wonder that Chinese are skeptical of, if not cynical about, Christianity? After all, these were Christian countries!

  When I shared what I had learned with another foreign teacher in China, Alisha, she expressed the idea that my view was too one-sided. Surely, she said, China was not an innocent victim in all that had taken place. She cited the Cultural Revolution and Tibet as examples. What I told her, and what I stand by, is that those were internal struggles and, complicated as they may be, are not the same thing. I had started to care deeply about China and its history. My perspective was changing, opening.

  I was grateful that I could continue to practice my religion in the same way I’d done at home—through church attendance, honoring the Sabbath, praying, and reading scriptures. Some rituals we can take with us anywhere, as they are personal and quiet, but church attendance—having a group of people worshipping together, however modestly—now felt like a privilege.

  It’s always meaningful to go to church, but because of the special circumstances in China, my sense of spirituality seemed to deepen. In larger congregations back home, churchgoers could be kind of anonymous and participate only when keen to do so. But there in Guangzhou, with such a small group practicing together, everyone had a significant role to play and everyone had more than one responsibility, be it teaching, organizing service projects, playing the piano in sacrament meetings, or one of the countless other jobs that needed to be done in order to keep our little branch (as smaller congregations are called) going. Nobody could sit on the sidelines—everyone was noticed, and everyone was needed.

  It is kind of ironic to me that I experienced such significant spiritual growth in China. I mean, after all, this was a country without freedom of religion. Chinese citizens could not legally come to church with me, even if they wanted to. We didn’t even have a church; we held our meetings in Ted and Louisa’s home. There were fewer than fifty of us altogether. And yet I felt my spirituality deepening with every passing Sunday, and really, with every passing day. Maybe it was because our little branch was without the big chapel and huge congregation that I felt more truly what religion and spiritual peace were all about. There, on the other side of the world, I had come to more fully understand the nature of my own faith.

  chapter 15

  Although work could be intense at times, it seemed that there was always another holiday just around the corner to look forward to. This sustained us, I think, as during regular weeks we had observations and parents’ day and open day and every other extracurricular activity in between.

  When the holidays rolled around, everyone started planning where they would go, and many of my colleagues often ended up going on trips together. I guess they wanted to save money—and it can be more fun to explore China with a group, of course. I, however, set a rule for myself that I would travel solo as often as I could.

  There were a couple of reasons tha
t I made this choice. For one, living in our gated community meant that not only did I see my coworkers at school, but I also lived in the same apartment complex as they did. We went to the same restaurants and stores, and we rode the same buses. I liked most everyone I worked with and had nothing against them, but when it came time to travel, I wanted to see not only different places but also different people. Otherwise, the conversation inevitably turned toward work, and then there wasn’t much of a vacation, no matter where we traveled.

  On one particular trip, I went to Beijing with a sweet Southern couple whom I’d met at an expat gathering the previous month.

  “Are ya’ll about done here?” Peggy asked twenty minutes after we entered the Forbidden City.

  “Um, not really,” I said. “There is still so much to see.”

  “Okay, well, I’m gonna scoot on over to that shopping center for a bit,” she said. “How ’bout we meet back at that frozen yogurt place we walked by earlier?”

  I had to smile. “Sure.”

  Off she and Drake went.

  It seemed that the whole trip, I found myself wanting to quietly contemplate the history of my surroundings while Drake and Peggy wanted to look around for anything that reminded them of being back in the United States. They were fun, great people, but we had very different traveling styles.

  Another reason I preferred traveling alone is that I thought it did my confidence good. Hopping on a plane, train, or bus by myself was absolutely exhilarating. Just that act reaffirmed to me how far I had come in my personal journey. I’d always known there was an adventurous girl inside me—not self-destructive, just bold and adventurous. It would have been impossible for me to break out of my mold while living in Chicago, but in China I didn’t need to think about the past. I was shaping my identity, and I was discovering that I was a girl who was not afraid to travel all over China by herself. With every trip that I took, I solidified that part of my identity and my confidence soared.

  Half the school year had passed, and we were given a three-week holiday for Spring Festival, the Chinese New Year. I’d been looking forward to it for so long because this would be the first time I would travel alone in China. I bought my airline tickets and made hotel reservations. I didn’t know exactly what I’d find when I got to these places, but my overarching goal was to find more than a travel destination. I counted down the days and was thrilled to watch other teachers book their group tours, knowing I would be traveling alone this time.

  I chose two cities in Guangxi province. Guilin is that place in China the painters visit—or at least imagine—when they want to put beautiful landscapes in their artwork. It is believed to be one of the most picturesque places in the world because of the jagged mountains there, which seem so spring forth right out of the water. Yangshuo is a much smaller town and is known more for its ambience and beautiful hills for climbing. Both are usually tourist hotspots, but this was the off-season, so I was hoping not to run into too many tourists.

  I got to the airport that morning in plenty of time, only to have my flight delayed. Twice. After waiting four hours in the airport, I was finally off to Guilin. I had made arrangements with a travel agent in Guangzhou to have someone meet me and take me to the places I wanted to see. Later, after I’d spent much more time in China, it would occur to me that I had wasted a lot of money this way. But at the moment, knowing that someone would be there to take care of me felt great.

  I found the guide. She actually had a little sign that said, “Miss Lori.” What was I, royalty? I hadn’t expected this. She spoke fairly good English, and introduced herself as “Miss Mandy” as she led me to the car. The driver only spoke Mandarin, but as I listened to the two of them talk, I realized how far my language skills had come. Granted, I couldn’t understand everything they were saying, but I did get the main idea and could speak enough Chinese to them that we didn’t need to use much English.

  I had left the plans up to the agency I’d booked the guide with, so I really had no idea where we were going. The first stop was a gigantic cave, which ended up being a gigantic bore. For whatever reason, caves are big tourist attractions in China, and I can honestly say that the thrill was lost on me. Miss Mandy wanted to share every fact possible about each site we visited, and I found my patience wearing thin early on in her tour.

  “Miss Lori, this limestone is very rare. Very special.”

  Hmm.

  “Miss Lori, do you see these colors? This because weather change rock over time.”

  “I see. . . .”

  “Miss Lori, now you will notice the shape of the formation. . . . ”

  Before she could begin her fourth Miss Lori, I interjected, “Miss Mandy, you can have a rest out on the bench. Please go relax and I will walk around by myself.”

  She looked partially worried, partially relieved, so I reassured her, “Zhen de, ni keyi xiu xi ba. Wo man man kan.”

  She let out a big smile and said, “Hao de, hao de. Wo wai mien deng ni. Xie xie, Miss Lori!”

  And with that, I had a little peace.

  We then went to a site called Elephant Trunk Hill. It’s a large park surrounding a stone hill that does indeed resemble an elephant trunk. Again, I wasn’t as fascinated by it as the guide seemed to think I should be. What was more interesting was the park itself, in which a number of large stone tablets marking various historical events were on display. (For example, there were markers indicating where President Nixon and President Clinton had stood when they visited China.)

  I sent the guide and the driver off to dinner so that I could have some time to myself. Miss Mandy didn’t even try to protest this time. What I wanted to do was sit and look at the landscape and write in my journal. It was getting cold and dark and I planned to leave for Yangshuo that evening, so I didn’t want to waste time. Miss Mandy agreed to come back in an hour and a half, which I thought would give me plenty of time for peaceful sitting and thinking.

  I was glad I had come during the off-season, because the park wasn’t crowded at all. I pulled my mittens and hat out of my backpack and made sure my jacket was zipped all the way up. Then I found a secluded bench near the lake and sat down, tucking my knees up under my chin. A vendor came by selling steamed bread—a little unusual for evening time, but since it was one of my favorites and I hadn’t eaten much on the plane, I bought a few pieces of mantou.

  The sun was setting and I realized that I could not have chosen a more beautiful time, or a more beautiful spot, to sit and look at the famous hills of Guilin. When we had driven here from the airport and I’d caught a first glance of the hills, I’d thought maybe they weren’t as impressive as the guidebooks had indicated. Sitting here now, though, I saw them differently. It wasn’t the same thing to glance at them from a car or admire them while walking along with a tour group. No, the beauty of these hills could only truly be felt when sitting at their base, without a crowd or noise to distract.

  I decided to pull out my journal and write whatever came into my mind. What came out was: I’m sitting here in China, in Guilin, a place I’ve traveled to alone. I’m comfortable with myself. I’m happy. I don’t know when this calm feeling came upon me, but it has and for that, I’m grateful.

  I heard footsteps behind me and saw that Miss Mandy had returned.

  “Ni zhuen bei hao le ma, Miss Lori?” she asked with a smile. I smiled back. “Yes, I’m ready.” I gathered my journal and mittens and followed her toward the car.

  Chinese girls are very comfortable holding hands with other girls, and Miss Mandy was already doing that with me at this point. It felt a little unnatural, since we’d met only hours earlier and I was never going to see her again.

  “Can we can be friends?” she asked me as we approached the car.

  “Um . . . yes,” I said, not really knowing what that meant in this context.

  She opened the passenger door for me. “The driver will now take you to Yangshuo,” she said, gesturing for me to step inside the vehicle.

  I
panicked inside, feeling suspicious of the situation.

  Then again, what did I expect? That she would accompany us on the hour-long drive? No, of course not. I supposed I hadn’t thought about it at all.

  “Okay.” I nodded and said a silent prayer as I slipped into the passenger seat.

  I didn’t have a creepy feeling about the driver, per se, but objectively this seemed like a stupid thing to do. I was a foreign woman, traveling alone. It was dark, and a man I’d met only hours earlier was now driving me down a deserted road. Oh my gosh, if my mother only knew, I thought, she would have a heart attack. I thought I might have one, just thinking about the possibilities.

  At first the driver didn’t talk besides asking me if I was comfortable and telling me to feel free to adjust the heat if I got cold. I was thinking of my money. I wasn’t wearing my money belt. I had put it in my backpack, which was now behind his seat. I had more money in there than he would probably see in a year. I didn’t know why I had brought so much cash. I also felt ashamed for being so suspicious. Yet I was completely uncomfortable.

  The driver reached in front of me and opened the glove box. He fumbled around for a cassette tape and then put it in. English love songs. Oh man, is he trying to seduce me? I tried to plan an escape route in my head. What would I do if he pulled the car over and tried to attack me? Hold on, Lori, I thought. It’s probably just a coincidence that these are love songs. He might not even know that, since he doesn’t speak English. He just knows they are English songs and he is being polite by offering me some music he thinks I’ll like. Okay, breathe, relax.