in between.

My job has ended and my flight is set for July 20th. I've landed in the lovely "in between":

In between jobs
In between countries
In between incongruent time frames
In between sadness and happiness

In between.

So, Gary and I are are going to travel for a month.

Destination 1:
We will fly to Chengdu tomorrow. Here I will achieve my life-long dream: holding a panda.

Destination 2:
On the 12st, we will fly to Tibet. I am extremely excited about this trip as it is physically daunting and intellectually stimulating. We decided to forgo expensive tours and attempt the eight day journey to Everest by ourselves. After spending three days in Lhasa, we will take a bus to Shigatse. We will hire a tour guide and begin a three day/40km trek from Shalu Monastery to Nartang Monastery. At the end of our trek, we will hire a Land Cruiser and driver to transport us to Rongphu Monastery. At this point, we will being another 2 hour trek to Everest Base Camp. After spending the night at EBC, we will descend back to Lhasa.

Destination 3:
Gary and I have decided to forgo planning this part of our adventure. From Lhasa, we will endure a 24 hour, hard sleeper bus ride to Golmud in Qinghai Province. At this point we will see what destinations are offered at Golmud's bus station, pick one, and begin province hopping. Technically, we are going to get on buses and trains and see where they take us. I am going to enjoy China as it should be enjoyed--through unplanned steps and an open-mind. We will return to Shenzhen on the 15th, see a few friends, and head to Guangzhou on the 19th.

The 20th will come far too soon.

Gary and I will blog about our travels after we arrive home.........until then, 再见！

and then it ended.

Yesterday was my last day of teaching.

I am not overcome so much with sadness as I am with disbelief. I've been told that time passes much more quickly as you age--a bitter truth.

One of Gary's students wrote him a note on the last day of class:

I don't know what to say. So I just sent you a paragraph I like.

How many times do we miss God's blessings because they are not packaged as we expected? Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not, but remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.

Teenagers always amaze me; many of them possess much more insight than we credit them with.

It's perfect advice for my ending and beginning. May I have the strength and insight to follow it.

hues of happiness.

6.6.07

Gary and I traveled into the city last week and spent the day with some of our students. We ate breakfast, enjoyed ice-cream, visited a photo booth, and went shopping. One of my student's blogged about our "happy day".

For me, a thousand hues of happiness are caught in this picture:

rethinking wentworth.

Last year, after being awarded the Wentworth grant from my university, I traveled to China for an independent study of The Analects of Confucius. I wanted to understand how his teachings had influenced China's culture, people, and society. I was intrigued that the Confucian teachings could survive the rise of Legalism, the book burning campaigns of the Chin Dynasty, the Mongol invasion and rise of the Yuan Dynasty, the moral erosion of the Tang and Ming dynasties, the Opium wars of the 1800s, and the Cultural revolution. Moreover, I was dumbfounded that his philosophy of maintaining a strong moral construct to benefit the whole of society could remain ingrained in a people that endured such intense and prolonged suffering. How could the Confucian concept of ren (仁）--to love someone--be transmitted through 2,558 years of wars, epidemics, famines, political discord, and communism? I still haven't figured it out.

However, due to naivety and ignorance, I neglected to recognize the unpleasant consequences of this patriarchal philosophy.

Before I continue, it is important to note that I do not align myself with 21st century feminist ideals. Unfortunately, I believe the current feminist movement is mutating women into alienating, bigoted femi-nazis bent on destructing the male population. Thus, my criticism arises from a humanitarian stand-point, not a feminist's.

The Confucian teachings promote filial piety as the foundation for a fair and loving society. Confucius believed that filial piety was the spring board for kindness, good governance, humaneness, education, and a strict moral structure. In strict contrast to Legalism, Confucianism dictates all human are innately good--always capable of kindness and love. I truly believe Confucius was the Superior Man he always spoke of--one who only discriminated between good and evil.

Unfortunately, Confucianism bled into Neo-Confucianism: a sick deformation of the original philosophy used to subordinate woman. Girls became possessions--their worth determined by the number of sons they bore, the size of their "golden lilies", and how well they obeyed orders. They were a mouth to feed--a burden to bear--worthless things. Even "Confucius said: "Girls and inferior men are hard to raise. If you get familiar with them, they lose their humility; if you are distant, they resent it [17:25]." Once raised, "marrying a daughter (was) like throwing out a cup of water*." Women led horrible existences--trapped in shells of sadness. Their greatest hope of happiness was to adhere to this belief: when a girl, obey your father; when married, obey your husband; when widowed, obey your son. These beliefs led parents to commit infanticide, men to take concubines, and society to be visually blind to horrific humanitarian abuses.

But why?

Scholar Xiao Ma has said: "Women always have been fighting for a way out of the Confucian shadows." So how does Confucianism apply to women of the past and present? This is the question I should have asked a year ago. I now understand that trouble broods when societies are studied on a holistic scale. So, I am re-thinking and redefining my past Wentworth studies and my current understanding of this prominent Asian philosophy. After all, "Confucius said: "Reviewing what you have learned and learning anew, you are fit to be a teacher [2:11]."

*Snow Flower and the Secret Fan, by Lisa See

a lifelong love affair.

I recently lent My Antonia to one of my students. Joe not only read the novel in English, he also read it in Chinese--twice! After pondering the plot, language, textual ambiguities and ambiance, he meandered into my office for a literary discussion. We talked about the books' characters, themes, and language. We talked about about our favorite quotations and characters. We confabulated about the books' predominate social injustices and their roles within the novel and society.

I fell in love--once again:

Exchanging ideas, language, and knowledge--dissecting language and plot--disagreeing about the cause of Mr. Shimerda's death--pondering the hardships of immigrants and women--connecting the novel's lessons to our daily lives--exploring characterization--gnawing at historical influences and literary discourse.....


This is the beauty of literature--its a love affair in and of itself.

It has help rekindle my desire to teach literature and language. It has helped inspire me to face reality and begin applying for teaching positions in NC.

Joe and I meet regularly now. We talk about Chinese literature and philosophy. We discuss American history and pop culture. We debate current events.

We are currently tackling Wuthering Heights. This is an especially hard piece of literature for Joe, as its language, themes, and genre (gothic romance) befuddle many westerners. However, we plow through the chapters together....constantly questioning one another and the text. As Joe struggles to understand the complex nature of the novel's plot and characters, I sift through the chapters feeling as though I am being re-introduced to old friends.

When Joe sits in front of me befuddled by the text's ambiguities, tangled family tree, and flashback/forward narrative structure, I see a more intelligent version of myself: a person who pours himself into books, unknowingly creating a lifelong love affair.

fabulous.

All a woman needs is a good bath, clean clothes, and for her hair to be combed. These things she can do herself. I very seldom go to the hairdresser, but when I do, I just marvel.

Hedy Lamarr

I cut my hair....it's fabulous.

read and guess.

I recently started teaching primary students on Saturday. This morning I opened the children's English workbook to unit 9: What's your favorite fruit.

And then I stumbled upon the following exercise :


The directions are clear: read and guess. The content, however, is somewhat disturbing (read the second hint).

Humor abounds in China.

finding my way.

My mother said she felt a deep sadness and loss for years after leaving Japan.

I suppose she felt disconnected, culturally imbalanced, and terribly lonely. How could anyone understand her feelings? How could anyone understand how or why she left her heart in Japan? Empathy does not translate well in every situation.

Everyone always talks about culture shock....how hard it is to move to another country, accept its culture, adapt to its sway, understand its people. However, we never mention nor ponder the reverse effects of this transitional state. Sometimes it's not the transition into a new culture that presents difficulties; rather, it's the upheaval and instability of transitioning back to a culture that you were once accustomed to that presents the dreaded frustrations of alienation and social misunderstandings and discord.

I love my home, my family, and my country, but I am not ready to return. However, there are times home beckons when the heart does not.

Some nights I cry to release frustrations; other nights I wallow in anger; and there are nights I retire to reality and take a long, deep breath.

Leaving China means abandoning a good portion of myself and my happiness. It requires me to do as my mother once did: to misplace myself in a hope to one day return.

I know many people will read this and think I am ridiculous. And, that is okay.

But, it is important to remember that roots do require us to remain grounded....they simply give us foundation, allowing us to grow in the direction we choose. North Carolina is my base, but it will not always remain my home. This is why I ache...why I cry...China has become my home--my heart.

But, despair does no one any good. Instead, I try to enjoy everything everyday--knowing I will soon leave it all.

I try to remind myself of those few words I love so much, but struggle to accept:

"I’m through with trying to fight the things I don’t understand
Accept my sweet surrender to the greater, better plan"*

It is seven o'clock; the sun is descending; the mountains peacefully loom behind the large clock tower outside my window. Learning to say goodbye means acknowledging every detail. Details are the small things that connect lonely hearts to happy feelings. May I remember enough details to help me remain content until I return.

*From Polly Paulusma's song, "She Moves in Secret Ways"

the philippines.

Gary and I traveled to the Philippines for the Chinese Labor Day holiday. We spent our first night in Manila and flew directly to Palawan Province the next day. We spent six glorious days in El Nido and Puerto Princessa. We snorkeled, enjoyed sea kayaking, went rock climbing, visited the subterranean river, and met many interesting people. A place like this helps bring a new understanding to the idea of watching God, as it is so accurately portrayed in Zora Neale Hurston's famous novel.

The view from the top of a cliff in El Nido

I exchange a piece of my heart every time I take a trip, meet a new person, or learn new things. A piece of me is scattered in every country, province, district, and city I have visited in southeast Asia. How hard it will be to return in July......

Children playing on a beach in El Nido

The thought makes me ache.

"What is the good of your stars and trees, your sunrise and the wind, if they do not enter into our daily lives?"

E.M. Forster, Howards End

Want to see more pictures? Visit Gary's photo page

Drinking fresh coconut juice in Puerto Princessa.

the lost daughters of china.

"Each of your birth mothers was not sure, but she wanted to do her best for you for the last time. She might have traveled as far as her money allowed her, to a richer area and a busier market where she would lay you down and hide you inside lotus roots or celery leaves. I am sure she would watch you from a distance, hiding herself behind a crowd or in a bush. There she would experience a kind of death. She would suffer until someone picked you up and yelled. She would try, try hard no to answer the call--Whose child?--not to run toward you. She would bite her lips until they bled. For her you will forever be a "broken arm hidden in her sleeve."

*Excerpt from Anchee Min's "A Letter to All the Lost Daughters of China"

I recently started reading Karin Evans' The Lost Daughters of China. It's a memoir about abandoned Chinese baby girls, their journey to America, and their unknown pasts. As a strong advocate of adoption (especially international adoption), I was curiously drawn to this book. But as I picked it off the shelf and paid for it, I had no idea it would have such a profound effect on me.

As the author writes, I hear my voice...I see my story unfold in the future as I read it in the present. I relate to the author's past (living in China; being adopted by my father). I feel the author's turmoil as she proceeds through two years of paperwork, bureaucratic scrutiny, and uncertainty. I feel the tingle and swelling of joy as she is handed rice paper imprinted with a perfect red foot no bigger than an index finger. I cry when the nurses thrust the warm, wrapped bundle in the author's arms. For the first time everything I have thought for so long has been put into words...translated into feelings.

But the greatest thing about this book is its brutal honesty. It teaches you about the horrors of Chinese laws and social construct. It displays the atrocities women have endured for thousands of years in China. It conveys--with great clarity and empathy--the deepest sorrow one must ever endure: the abandonment of a mother's miracle...

This baby's mother and possibly her father had held her, fed her, carried her, for at least three months before she was found and taken to the orphanage. Babies have persuasive powers to make us love them and three months is a long time. How unspeakably hard it must have been to walk away. And yet someone had. While I was in San Francisco, fretting about bureaucratic logjams, someone in south China was bundling up that beautiful three-month-old for a last trip to the marketplace.

It was an act so momentous that I'd often find myself trying to conjure the story from the few details I knew.

One day I will adopt my own little girl. I will teach her Chinese and English and help her reconcile her western upbringing with her eastern blood. I will help her understand that "the Yangtze River runs in (her) blood, and the time dust of the yellow-earth culture frames (her) bones." I will teach her both the beautiful and horrifying aspects of her culture and history. I will help her realize her worth and her beauty. And when she struggles with her past--not able to understand why her mother would abandon her--I will teach her about the greatest act of sacrifice and love: the moment her mother laid her down for the last time, praying her daughter would reach me.

I hope all abandoned girls and boys find their way into loving families. I pray that all of these children understand that the greatest love is sometimes disguised in the most horrendous situations.

the golden land.

I did not post many pictures in my previous two Myanmar entries. I believe it would be wrong to deny you a quick look at this country--a country seeped in color, beautiful faces, and exotic culture.

Here are a few of my favorites:

Young novices on a street In Naungshwe.

A young boy in Shwenyaung.

Chauktatgyi Paya in Yangon.

Young boys preparing for their ceremony. They are becoming novices.


Shwedagon Paya in Yangon.


Tranquility.


Ringing the bell.


My personal favorite.

Yangon: The Capitol (Myanmar: Part 2)

Yangon is like most big cities: congested, bustling, hot, and uncomfortable. I felt somewhat unfortunate that I was unable to venture to Bagan, Mandalay, or the Kachin state due to time and budget constraints. But like I've stated before, the best opportunities arise when we are not seeking them. And so it was with Ko Maung Maung:


After checking into a guest house and visiting the Na-Gar glass factory, I took a taxi to the Sule Paya (a 2,ooo year old golden temple in the middle of a traffic circle). Weary from travelling, the 100 degree heat index, and dishonest taxi drivers, I wished to sit in solitude and silence for an hour or two. However, as I walked around the temple, an old man started to follow and talk to me. He was a lively man--full of questions and comments. He not only doused me with personal questions as if he desperately wanted to know my history, he talked about himself, the temple, Buddhism, and his distaste for dishonest mongers and the morally depraved. I became slightly irritated as he continued to talk and follow me around the temple. My mind was flooded with questions: what does he want? why does he want to talk to me? does he want to sell me something? doesn't he see that I am tired and aggravated? why is he spending his afternoon interrogating me?

Finally, I complied all of mind's complaints into one question: Why do you follow foreigners around?

As I now reflect on this, I think to myself: Oh, Leslie-Ann. Has China really instilled such antagonism in you toward inquisitive strangers?

He followed and befriended me for the most obvious reasons. He is a simple man who enjoys life's most simple pleasures. In a nation that deprives this man a decent salary, freedom of speech, interaction with his family, basic necessities, books, knowledge, and a looking glass to the rest of the world, I was one person who could offer something new. My words, cultural exchanges, and different point of view were the closet things to the outside world he could ever hope for.

My two days in Yangon were spent with Ko Maung Maung--a sixty four year old wood carver from Mandalay. We ate breakfast and lunch together. We walked around the city. We drank tea and smoked cheroots with his friends. We talked about the social problems in his country; we talked about the social problems in mine. We visited many Buddhist temples. He introduced me to his palm-reading friend. He taught me how to apply sweet-smelling thanakha paste to my sun-kissed cheeks. He made me laugh. He made me think. He taught me that poverty does not strip you of decency, governments cannot silence those who speak the truth, and the greatest knowledge is attained by those who seek and understand life's experiences.

Drinking Chinese tea with Ko Maung Maung's friends.

East and West meet.

I could reflect on the Na-Gar glass factory, Shwedagon Paya, Chauktatgyi Paya, Ngahtatgyi Paya, and the street life, but these are not the things I will remember years from now.

I will remember Ko Maung Maung and the moment he asked me:

Do you have any English books I could have? I love to read English books, but I cannot afford them.

Nyaungshwe and Inle Lake: The Shan State (Myanmar: Part 1)

Part of this entry was taken from my traveling journal.

Yesterday I arrived at Heho's airport--a dismal little concrete box in the middle of nowhere. After haggling with taxi drivers, I finally settled on a 6ooo kyat ride to Shwenyaung--a transfer point for those heading to other cities. When I arrived, I was told to wait an hour for a "bus" that would transfer me 11 kilometers down the road to my destination. Dismayed and antsy, as I was dropped off on a dirt road in 90 degree heat, I began trying to explain --through gestures, Chinese, and English--that I wanted transportation to Nyaugshwe. Helpful and kind (as almost all Myanmar people are), I was directed to the bed of a pick-up truck similar to this:

If one feels his personal space is violated in China, he has not experienced Myanmar. After cramming 14 adults, 1 child, and three babies into the 5 by 6.5 foot bed, 2 adults and three children in the front, and 5 men and all of the luggage on the makeshift metal-barred overhead, we began our journey. For 500 kyat and a thirty minute ride with locals, I wouldn't do it any other way.

Young and old endure the gruelling bus ride

After arriving in Nyaushwe, I checked into May Guest house and began my itinerary. However, most travellers acknowledge that itineraries are for tour groups and the anally retentive. Or better stated by Lin Yutang in The Importance of Living, itineraries produce false and foolish travel. Nevertheless, I set out according to plan, unaware that chance would change circumstance and a non-plan would provide the greatest opportunities.

My first stop was Kan Gyi Kyaung monastary. No sooner had I begun to make my way to the first shrine, I was greeted by two men who had submitted themselves to week-long meditation. One spoke English and asked to show me around the monastery. After a brief tour of the history hall, I asked to see where the young novices live:

Ten boys live in a room. Each boy has a blanket that serves as his sleeping mat and a small place to store his personal items.

The man explained the life these boys lead:

When children (boys and girls) reach a certain age parents may encourage them to commit themselves to a monastery for Buddhist training. Many parents do this because they are unable to afford education or a decent life for their children. Other parents encourage this transition for religious purposes. If the children agree, they join a monastery and begin training to become a monk. The children can choose to remain or leave the monastery at anytime. Although the monastery provides shelter, education, sustenance, and moral guidance for the children, the lifestyle of a novice is demanding, wearisome, and somewhat galling. The boys arise each morning at 4:30am. Each morning the boys spend thirty minutes in prayer and meditation. This is followed by a small breakfast of soup at 5am. They spend about two to three hours in the classroom studying the holy Buddhist language and teachings. After their studies they embark on their daily donation walk--they walk from door to door, shop to shop, and ask for small alms. This routine is followed by a small lunch around 11:30 am. Lunch is followed by chores and rest time. The latter part of the afternoon is spent in study, prayer, meditation, and work. Moreover, the boys must adopt and follow strict and sacred regulations: no movies, no music, no eating after 12pm, no shoes inside the monastery, no requesting extra food rations, etc. It is easy to see that this holy life is reserved for the most dedicated, patient, and understanding souls. However, in a third world nation, many children see this life as a gateway from their previous misery.

The boys were mesmerized by my book. The young man holding my book has been at this monastery for 10 years. He is one of the few that has attained the holy position of a monk.

After spending my time in the monastery, I decided to forgo my ridiculous itinerary and rent a bike. If I wanted to meet people, see their homes, and understand their lives, I needed to escape to the dirt roads...the pathways that disclose the true beauty and secrets of any place: the people.

My four hour bike ride was the best part of my trip. I met scores of beautiful, young faces. Little people who rarely see and interact with foreigners. Children who find immense joy in having their pictures taken and seeing the result on an LCD screen. Children who are captivated by hand sanitizer and the smell of chapstick. Children whose clothes, hands, and feet showcase poverty, but whose faces reveal kindness and love through gentle smiles. Children who have nothing in this world, and yet they pluck flowers from the roadside or gardens as a gift for a foreign stranger.


As I rode along the road, a young man called to me. We started talking. I learned he was a trekking guide...he spoke Burmese, English, Chinese, and a little French. After his nephews and nieces began to swarm around me, he invited me into his home....a small wooden house on stilts built many years ago by his father. The family's poverty did not hinder their hospitality; they presented a little cup of Chinese tea, small cookies, and candies to me. As the hour unfolded, I met the young man's mother, brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, brothers-in-law, and sisters-in-law. The children played with my camera, squealing with delight as they browsed through the images on the screen. The adults attempted to teach me Burmese...my lack of Burmese linguistic skills provided them endless laughs. It was a wonderful way to end a long day. I am not talented enough to convey the people's warmth, generosity, and love.

The people are an experience...an experience that makes you fall so deeply in love with humanity.

The family who invited me into their home.

The next day I hired a boat and driver to take me around Inle Lake. This lake is home to 17 Intha villages on stilts:

Everything floats on Inle.....the houses, the people, the power lines.

Nothing is as enjoyable as an early morning boat ride....watching the sun rise over the mountains that loom above the lake while your skin is gently kissed by the mixture of a chilly breeze and warm sunlight.

A different view...the prow and sky

The thing that first attracted me most to Inle Lake was Amy Tan's newest novel...the beauty of the Intha fisherman, the adventure of a boat ride, the mystery of disappearance, the excitement of ancient and unknown tribes hidden in the Burmese mountains. However, had I been more prudent and less romantic, I would have heeded the advice of others...people who comment that Inle is a gimmicky tourist trap...a place secluded from the world where women and men are trapped in poverty. Unfortunately, places seeped in natural beauty tend to blind us from the ugliness of reality (Tibet, Philippines, Thailand, China, Cambodia, India, Russia, Bulgaria, South America, etc.)--Inle is no exception. I will show you many pictures; but I want you to understand, in a nation like this, the lovely landscape, vibrant colors of longgyis, and golden monasteries should not distract foreigners from the brutalities of poverty, seclusion, and illiteracy.

An Intha Fisherman.

These fishermen stand on the stern of the boat with one leg and wrap the other leg around an oar. This one- legged-rowing technique helps propel the boat and aids the fishermen in fishing and locating fish and water hyacinth.

Woman weaving silk scarves in the one of the floating markets.

Inn Paw Khone.
In this small weaving compound women make traditional longgiys, scarves, bags, and shirts our of silk, cotton, and lotus.

The Myanmar people recently celebrated their new year. Here is a traditional boat and celebration.

Nann Pan Village.
This young girl is making cheroots (the Burmese cigarette/cigar). She mixes tobacco and other local ingredients and wraps the mixture in leaves. Cigarettes are very expensive, so everyone smokes cheroots.

Working on the lake

Indein: Shwe Inn Thein.

hundreds of stupas

At the end of my long day on the lake, I rented a bicycle and enjoyed the last hours of sunlight. I'll leave you not with words, but with a picture. The intensity of these eyes convey everything I remember and feel in a way words cannot.

preparation.

A few months ago my friend, Alina, lent me Amy Tan's newest novel, Saving Fish from Drowning. After reading the novel and researching Myanmar, I became interested in visiting the country. I especially wanted to visit the infamous setting of Inle Lake, where an entire tourist group disappeared.

However, upon conducting research, I was stunned by the things I did not know: the violent military junta...the permanent house arrest of the nation's democratically elected leader, Aung Sun Suu Kyi...the horrific human rights abuses...the poverty...the list goes on and on. I read about the on-going tourism-boycott debate. I read about the activist groups. I read about the links between tourism, the economy, and SLORC. And after all my reading I decided to proceed with this trip.

Why? Why would I choose to go to a country where the government tortures its citizens, profits on illegal drug and timber trades, and places the people's Pro-Democratic leader under house arrest?

I went to Myanmar for the same reason I came to China: for the people. I wanted to meet the people...see their families...understand their lives. And I did.

Although I was inspired by a book, I was driven by knowledge. And I knew, if I was careful and prudent, I could help place some of my American dollars into the hands of the people...into the hands of some of the poorest, underprivileged, and abused people.

Can a dollar help? Yes and no. It will help a family eat for an entire week. But, it cannot stop the current regime's cruelties. Positive change can only be applied through international pressure. But as long as China, Thailand, and other Asian countries continue illegal trade with Slorc, and as long as Myanmar has a seat with ASEAN, and as long as the west sits in an ignorant, apathetic state, nothing will change.

The last and most important question is: did any good come from my travels? Yes. I believe so. I did exactly as I intended. I met the people, I made friends, and I placed money in the hands of the desperate. I came back and I informed others. I will not have a lasting effect; but lasting effects--in a country like this--can only result from mounting international pressure. International pressure is enforced when the people in international countries place pressure on government officials. People only pressure officials when they themselves feel a moral pressure from what they have seen or what they know.

We can do as much reading as possible. We can read about the Darfur crisis, Bosnian refugees, Chinese orphanages, the Bulgarian Nurses in Libya, the devastating conflict in the Congo, the poverty and horror of Colombians, the on-going war in Chechnya...et cetera...et cetera...et cetera. But reading only instills a partial understanding, as does any news network. If you want to truly comprehend how the other half lives, you must witness it yourself. I am not suggesting people visit these places, but I do suggest people start accepting a new form of travel. Travel that excludes beach resorts, five star hotels, and a promise of picturesque scenery. Travel that is harder. Travel that hurts. Travel that makes you cry. Travel that is so special and so important that "the faulty camera in your mind" is no comparison to your emotional response. Travel that affects you until the day you die.

I will post two new entries that explain my travels at Inle Lake and Yangon. But, you won't see so much of Myanmar; you'll see the people...the faces of the forgotten and neglected.

If you know nothing about this nation, please do some reading.

Free Burma Coalition (www.freeburmacoalition.org)
Burma Project (www.burmaproject.org)
Voices of Burma (www.voicesforburma.org)
Amnesty International (www.amnesty.org)

Books by Aung San Suu Kyi
Voices of Hope (1997)
Freedom from Fear (1991)
Letters From Burma (1997)

little milky adams.

My facebook life is complete: Dr. Adams is my friend.

Dr. Adams became my hero during my freshman year of college. I admire him not for his political affiliation, but for his courage to stand up for what is right and publicly denounce what is wrong. He is a public servant--a purveyor of honesty--a voice for those who have been silenced.

Although I have recently become disillusioned with the entire American political spectrum, I have not lost optimism. I don't believe there is such a thing as an honest politician, but I remain optimistic that good public servants still exist...they still retain the goal set forth by our forefathers--to be the voice of the electorate-the common man-the plebe.

Hurrah for Dr. Adams!

Any man who campaigns for beer on University campuses and free parking has my vote.

http://www.DrAdams.org

i'm off on a rocket ship....

prepared for something new.*

Adventure: Solo trip to Myanmar (Burma)

When: April 17th-April 22nd
Where: Inle Lake (Shan State-Land of the Intha) and Yangon (Myanmar's capitol-Land of the Bamar)
Inspiration: Amy Tan's Saving Fish from Drowning
Purpose: Seeking adventure for personal challenge and enlightenment

......................much more to come.

*from Guster's "Rocket Ship"

3.6.07

After returning from my winter break travels in Sichuan and Yunnan provinces, I wrote a note to my closest friends, family members, and professors. I never published it to my blog. Unabashed and unworried about criticism, I have decided to post my email and note. This is an important note because future posts will refer back to the things mentioned here.

Email: dated 3.6.07

Hello Friends!

Unfortunately, due to laziness and Chinese internet restrictions, it has been a long time since I have written on my blog. I can no longer access my newest blog (via the website or proxy): http://thebeckoningcounts.bigbulgarian.com. Although Gary has strongly encouraged me to create a third blog, I cannot assure you that I will do this. So, it is with a heavy heart that I send this (possibly) last email concerning my adventures.

I attached my last public blog/journal entry. However, if you choose to read it, I would like to explain why I wrote it. Because it was inspired by both good and bad things, it is quite different from other entries.

As most of you know, I recently celebrated the Chinese New Year by traveling to Sichuan and Yunnan Provinces. One of my American friends (who will remain nameless) decided to join me on this three-week peregrination. I was delighted to have her company. She told me she would enjoy anything I planned....so Gary and I put together a fantastic itinerary for Yunnan Province, and our friend, Mark, planned a fabulous adventure throughout Sichuan.

But, things didn't go so well. Nothing truly suited my friend.

The weather was too cold. The mountains were too high. All of our hiking adventures were too rigorous. We were working on too tight of a budget ( i.e. sleeping in hostels). The squatters were abominable (after all, everyone in the world uses a western toilet, right?). Et cetera. Et cetera.

I endured her complaints for two and a half weeks. However, everything came crashing down on the second day of hiking on Tiger Leaping Gorge.

We started talking about the things that we found bothersome. What I didn't know is that I would be forever changed by one of her responses.

As she complained about her hardships, I tried to encourage her to look at those around her. These people had to live--their entire lives--in the cold, without showers, hungry. These people had to climb 10,000ft mountains and hike 18 miles in order to live and work so that we may enjoy Emei Shan and Tiger Leaping Gorge. She was here for three weeks; these people were here until they died.

Her response (verbatim):

What do you want me to do, bend down and kiss their feet?

I am livid as I write this.

And so, I wrote the attached document because of her actions. Because of my anger. Because of my inability to ever attempt to understand how she could say such a thing.

I will never look at traveling the same again. And I will sadly never mend the broken relationship I now have with this person.

I want you to understand the foundation of my thoughts.

Please understand that I wrote this blog like I would a journal. I don't critique and revise my writing; I write fluidly...without stopping....sometimes without consciously thinking about every word I type. So if you find this entry's sequence hard to follow, or the diction could be re-worked, or its simply verbose, please consider it what it is: a stream of consciousness entry.

I hope you are well. I still love China......more and more everyday.

love from across the pond,
leslie-ann

Attached Note

“And yet, I admit I was shocked as well to see the people of No Name Place. I had not encountered anything like this when I was alive, never in all my previous trips to Burma. But, when I was alive, I was not looking for tragedy. I was looking for bargains, the best places to eat, for pagodas that were not overrun with tourists, for the loveliest scenes to photograph.”

Amy Tan, Saving Fish from Drowning

I recently embarked on a month-long backpacking escapade through China’s Sichuan and Yunnan provinces. As some know, China celebrated the New Lunar Year on February 17^th; this was closely followed by the beloved Spring festival.

My travels, needless to say, were splendid, unique, inspiring, enlightening—any positive adjective can be supplanted here to describe my journey. However, unlike my previous trips, I don’t want to recount all of my steps through beautiful Emei Shan, or the mystical old town of Chongqing, or the arduous 18 mile hike through Tiger Leaping Gorge. I want to write about what I saw….how I was changed.

You can pick up any Chinese guidebook, from Frommers to The Lonely Planet; they show beautiful landscapes seeped in color, sublime cultural excursions, charming people swaddled in traditional clothes, and succulent cuisines. The beautiful pictures combined with well-written passages about the country create a desire in most humans: a desire to travel, see, touch, learn, feel—a desire to fly into a foreign land and pry into all its wonders. The Lonely Planet doesn’t photograph poverty, hunger, homelessness, and mistreatment: these are omnipresent “tragedies” we don’t wish to see when traveling.

I would lie if I said I didn’t see beautiful landscapes, enjoy succulent foods, and meet charming people. But, I focused a little less on “the best bargains”, “the best places to eat”, “and the loveliest scenes to photograph”, and a little more on “tragedy”:

The gray “dustbowl” towns saddled with poverty and misfortune we saw on our 5 hour bus ride from LeShan to Chongqing.

The men and women on Emei Shan who endured—with songs and smiles—grueling construction work for a meager paycheck that hardly feeds and clothes their families.

The family who ran the Five Fingers Guesthouse at Tiger Leaping Gorge: full of charm and generosity, they never disclosed the hardships, loneliness, and discomfort they endured on the mountain.

The eight year old child who was made—by her parents—to do grotesque acrobatic stunts day and night on a sidewalk in Lijiang for pedestrian handouts.

The saddest thing about this tragedy is that most of these people live much better than so many all over the world. And yet when we travel—when we are closest to those who endure insufferable starvation, poverty, disease, war, humanitarian crises—we simply don’t take notice. We are indifferent.

In W.H. Auden’s poem “The More Loving One”, he writes: “But on earth indifference is the least/ We have to dread from man or beast.”

I disagree. I believe it is our crippling indifference that allows such atrocities to occur.

My "friend" went home on the 21st of February where she will enjoy her posh lifestyle and flip through her scrapbook, commenting about the great bargains, the pretty pagodas, and the scrumptious Chinese cuisine. But she won't recall China, because China is more than its history, porcelain, landscapes, and food. It is a country of many people who live--ever so quietly--in a world of tragedy.

adopting chinese babies.

China has recently created stricter adoption regulations. "The new regulations, which are expected to start this year, will prohibit many families from adopting a Chinese baby. The laws set perimeters on who can adopt: Requiring that they be married, worth more than $80,000, and not be obese, among other requirements" ("It's a Wonderful, Colorful Life"). Other requirements are just as ridiculous; for example, people with face deformities are denied consideration.

I started--once again--pondering about adoption this morning when I read this except from ZGBriefs:

No Harm in Singles Adopting Chinese Babies: Study (March 31, 2007, Reuters)

A single woman in the United States can raise a child adopted from China just as well as a married couple, a study showed on Saturday, countering claims by Beijing that single parenting is bad for Chinese children. Dr. Tony Xing Tan, a psychologist at the University of South Florida, compared 144 Chinese girls aged 1-1/2 to 11 years old adopted by 126 single-mother families, with 509 Chinese girls adopted by 415 families with two parents. "Overall, the present study found no evidence that the adjustment of the adoptees from single-parent families differed from their peers from dual-parent families," Tan said in his study, presented on Saturday in Boston. China ruled in 2001 that only 5 percent of Chinese children could be adopted into single-parent families, cutting the quota from 25 percent to 30 percent on grounds it "would be best for the adopted children to live in an adoptive family with both parents," said Tan, quoting Chinese state policy.

The current adoption policies coupled with this inane study are ludicrous. Anyone who knows anything about Chinese orphanages should raise an outcry over such inanity. A Chinese baby would have a much better life being raised by deformed, homosexual midgets than being placed on a hillside or dying room.

A country that continually struggles with overpopulation, poverty, and humanitarian crises should not be creating stricter adoption regulations; it should provide these "un-wanted" babies a miracle: adoption.

a person i admire.

I was lucky to meet an incredible friend during my August training in Beijing. I admire him for his kindness, generosity, integrity, strength, and insight. Everyone should have a friend like Mike....a friend who makes you better....a friend who helps you see the goodness in everything.


I was recently touched by a letter Mike had written. I decided to include it on my blog so that others could be inspired by his compassion and goodwill:

How can this be? I mean, Life is STILL getting better and better - even after all these months! I recall saying to you all in November last year that Life keeps getting better and better but I thought then than it would soon stop getting better and just level out! But it hasn't! When will it end? Wow!

The friends I have made here, mostly students but some locals from outside the school, are so incredibly thoughtful, kind and loyal. They seem to memorize every thing about me. What I mean is, they know my favourite foods and drinks, where I like to go at certain times of day, when I need to be alone, what places in Shenzhen would interest me and how to make me laugh! Indeed, one student came to my apartment the other day and realised I had just woken up (it was noon but I was being very lazy - he knew this as well as I!) - so he knew that before I can do anything, I like to have at least 2 mugs of coffee and cigarettes! He made me the coffee, got me my cigarettes and ashtray, then went away to tell the teacher who was summoning me that I would be about another hour. Then he came back to make me a second mug of coffee! But the best thing about my Chinese friends is their incredible loyally! For example, that student who made me my coffee, told the teachers that I would be 'delayed' about an hour as I 'had something important to attend to first'! I find this trait in my Chinese friends very endearing!

And, last week, I noticed just how well my students know me: I was walking by a lake through a beautiful park on Sunday with a Senior 3 student. He is a great philosopher and we often like to wile away Sunday afternoons talking about the many intricacies and puzzles of Life! For a 20-year-old, he is very very sensible and wise. But he is by no means dull or tedious. In some ways, he behaves like a small child too: when he sees an exotic flower or an unusual sculpture he will run up to it and say 'wow!', may times, just like a gushing kid. But their is a difference. Perhaps a big one, that divides our two cultures: he is 'wowed' and fascinated by flowers, paintings, the cool breeze coming off the lake, the way the sunlight hits the water, the ripples, etc. He is not, as with most of my friends, moved by technology nor any man-made 'wow factor'! He does not idolise any 'celebrity' or 'hero', only Nature appears to move him deeply. This is true, as I say, of most of my Chinese student friends. I guess I am lucky enough to be far enough away from Shenzhen City Centre to be in the 'old' or 'real' China. Most of my American teacher colleagues all work in the city, and will never experience the beauty and inner-peace to be found among the Chinese people in the semi-rural areas, such as Guan Lan. And, another very fascinating thing to happen with the same student on our Sunday hike: Briefly, while we were sitting by the lake (due to my friend realising that I may need to sit down for a while to have a smoke, as it had been 45 minutes since my last one!) admiring the beauty, he suddenly turned to me and said 'why is your heart sad?' I said I was not sad. He said he knew that. But my HEART, he felt, was a little sad. I asked him what he meant. He said that he sensed I had lost something. He then totally threw me by adding 'Did you lose something when you were a boy? Were you thinking about that?' Crikey. To say I was gobsmaked is an understatement! Yes, I HAD, albeit it very briefly, been thinking about sitting by a country river with my childhood friend. A friend who was killed in a car-crash when I was 13 or so. So, I told my friend this. He simply nodded, smiled and said 'I see'. Then he lit me another cigarette! A moment later he was 'wowed' by an odd-looking tree and scurried off to have a closer look at it!

This week, believe it or not, I am going to buy a bike! They are incredibly cheap here in China as everyone uses them! I was told they cost the equivalent of about £18. So no problem there. The problem is ME! Cycling on the busy, manic, 'anything-goes' roads of Shenzhen! Ha ha! I am getting the bike because my friend I have just been speaking about wants me to start cycling with him on our Sunday outings. Methinks I have been given a second childhood.

jiangxi province.

This past weekend Gary and I traveled with some teachers from our school to Jiangxi Province. Although the travel was somewhat daunting (18 hours on a train and 15 hours on a bus), I really enjoyed the province's beautiful landscape, historical significance, and delicious foods.

Jiangxi translates to"west of river" because it lies west of the Ganjiang River. On the first day, we travelled 5 hours to Li Keng--a place where beautiful fields filled with blossoming yellow flowers hides an ancient Chinese city that dates back to the Tang and Song dynasties.

The Chinese version of the gondola

Inside one of the residences

Buying spices

These children recited poetry from the Tang Dynasty

After two hours at Li Keng, we headed to Jingdezhen: China's "capitol of porcelain". After another three hour bus ride, we enjoyed dinner with the teachers. I love eating with the Chinese--it is an experience like no other. Once the platters begin to arrive, baijiu is drained from numerous bottles and toasts begin, you can expect dinner to evolve into a cultural experience...one filled with the liveliest conversation, singing, and excitement.

The next day, we arose and enjoyed a traditional Chinese breakfast. This was followed by a porcelain shopping spree. Gary and I bought beautiful tea sets, vases, chopsticks, and cups. This short venture was followed by lunch which was followed by a train trip home.

Gary's new tea set
We met this man on the train. He is a doctor from Shanghai. He attempted to decipher the traditional characters on Gary's tea cups

A quick weekend....memorable and lovely.