Now showing: Chinese on Ice!

Sometimes it takes mutual vunerability to realize just how similar we are. In this case, it is an ancient lake that had frozen over in the desert winter of northern China.

It was a beautiful Saturday. Ali, persuading me to refrain from curling up in a ball away from the sun, decided that we should go down to the lake, which was now frozen solid. The lake is the center of the old campus, which, once-upon-a-dynasty, belonged to a very lucky (or maybe not-so-lucky in the end) prince. The lake is surrounded by vibrantly colored buildings, pagodas, and bells, providing the scenery of Chinese dreams.

In America, most people would hesitate from leaping onto a frozen body of water, perhaps opting for a skating rink instead. But here in China, everyone—from babies to professors, was sliding around unsteadily across the slippery surface. As Ali and I gingerly made our way onto the ice, half-expecting it to collapse and send us feet-first into a watery abyss, a sort of childish wonder overtook us. Here we were—walking on water, amidst skaters, sledders, and dancers. It was a fair of sorts, in which earthly troubles lapsed in loo of fresh air and fun.

The world's most adorable child paddles his way across the lake.

Xigua tian bu tian?

We were soon drawn into a game of ice-ball, joining a few Beida students as they kicked a small chunk of ice back and forth. It was difficult, and we missed it frequently, sometimes wiping out in the process (Ali…cough cough), but we had a blast hopelessly inching towards the ball as it zoomed past us.

Hockey?

Super athletic.

I realized I was grinning widely: here we were—not Chinese students and American students, and not even students—but simply kids—playing a game on a carefree day. All shyness faded as I let my joy surface, no longer afraid to approach anyone. On this icy plane, we were all vunerable—there was no home team. For the first time since coming to China, I didn’t feel like an outsider who was expected to act a certain way and be treated such in return. I was just another person trying to have fun while not falling down. As we took turns tugging one another over the surface, we forgot about our identities—sometimes 

it's so good to just play.

Ignore my stupid laughing. 

From then on, I knew that China would never be boring. Around every corner is a hidden gem, waiting to be seized and shared. One only needs to take those few steps outside his door to see what is waiting just around the bend.

Sink or Swim

Beijing Bound Bobby and Brendan (from Boston)

So here I am in Beijing! The airplane seems so long ago—and who knew thirteen hours of flight could go by so quickly? It really helped that I had my friend and fellow domer Bobby Manfreda coming along with me. I hate traveling alone!

Detour to the north pole... Northern Water Tribes?

From the arctic to the Mongolian Desert.

I suppose I can best compare my arrival to being thrown head-over-heels into a choppy ocean. It was a quick and disorienting succession of actions and quick decisions that got us over the Pacific (via the north pole!) and to the CIEE waiting spot at the airport, but we did it! After that, it was introduction after introduction, resulting in us cramming onto a bus and zooming through the insane Beijing traffic.

Hey...what's your name? 

EVERY ONE OF US WORE ND--DOMERS REPRESENT!!!

Besides simply getting to my dorm room, I had another mission--I had to somehow transport the four-month’s supply of the medicine, Humira, that was slowly thawing in my medical cooler to the fridge in the CIEE office. After dropping off my two very heavy suitcases in my temporary dorm room (until the host families are ready), I hunted down John, the student services director, who took me there on a bus that pulled a u-turn in the middle of a six lane road. Beijing drivers make Boston drivers look sane.

At that point, Beijing was a smear of neon lights and honking cars—I had no idea where I was, let alone who I was with, and, most importantly, how I was going to get back to the other students in the program, who would be leaving for the welcome dinner in a few minutes. The rapid-fire Chinese at every turn was not helpful either! I was terrified that I would be left to find my way back to my off-campus dorm, which would almost definitely result in me getting lost and swallowed up in this foreign city. To my relief, however, John showed me back to the front of the building. The other kids had gone to dinner long ago. Here I was, by myself for the first time since I had landed. I was starving, but where was I supposed to get food? I knew I would be far too nervous to attempt to handle a Chinese waiter, let alone where to go. I decided that I should just return to my room to see what I could scavage from my bag. 

I stopped in my tracks. Was I really going to go back and hide in my room? Here I was, in China, about to make a meal out of what, Milano cookies and cough drops? I refuse to be the study-abroad student the advisors tell you not to be; I refuse to be so timid. No matter how disoriented and tired I was, and no matter how hard the language barrier was, I wasn’t going to sit this out because I was alone and scared. Here I was in the vast, wide sea—you either give up and sink, or kick your legs and swim. I determinedly hunted down the nearest restaurant and sat down. I opened the menu, ordered food, and, for the first time, relaxed. My medicine was stored; my bags were in my room. Everything was fine. And, as it turns out, green tea with chrysanthemum flowers floating at the surface and lemon chicken is a much better meal than milanos and cough drops. Who knew?

Really good tea. 

That was the first time in a long time that I felt brave. It sounds so insignificant—so what, Brendan, you went to a restaurant and ordered food—big deal! But add a sleepless thirteen-hour flight, a completely new environment, completely new people, and a language you only know from a textbook, and simple tasks can become daunting. Even communicating with the waitress was hard—I had learned a different word for “check,” so when she kept wringing her hands and repeating “maidan?” over and over, I was horribly lost. But I kept at it—with the waving of the hands, the pointing, and most importantly, the explaining in any manner possible, and we got through it. I’m just glad she put up with me.

I then got lost getting back to my dorm, which was probably the scariest moment of the night. Lost in Beijing? Good riddance, bairen. Bobby, Mary, Daniel, and Christine, the other domers, were right now happily at dinner with knowledgable guides and pack security, and here I was, all by myself in an endless expanse of urban darkness. But again, curl up in a ball and cry—sink—or use every instinct possible to find the damn thing—swim. I walked and walked and, eventually, there it was! I suppose the only thing better than never being lost is to be lost and find your way back. You really learn a thing or two along the way.

I was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to fall into a deep sleep, but Beijing had just one more surprise for me that night. As soon as I turned out the light, I noticed that something was glowing on the wall above my bed. The previous owner of the room—whoever it had been—had, out of glow-in-the-dark stars, created two shapes—a gigantic heart, and a tiny cross. To the lonely and insecure, a thing like that means a lot—it was as if the universe was trying to show me that everything was okay. With heavy eyes and sore limbs, I drifted away beneath that giant heart and tiny cross, comforted by the stranger who had decided to leave her stars up for a weary and frightened traveler. 

look closely...

Leap of Faith

As I sit here at home, half-heartedly tossing random objects I think I might need into my two gigantic suitcases, the wave of excitement at what is coming repeatedly washes over me. In its wake is also a lot of apprehension.

I cannot imagine what I am about to experience; this feeling of exhilaration is akin to free-falling. I look at my packing list, thinking: how on earth can I prepare for this? I'm about to be plunged into a completely different world where I know only some of the language, where I know only a handful of people, and where I know nothing of what I will encounter. Then, the inevitable: what the hell am I doing?! 

I'm leaving behind so much. What rational person would choose to risk a safe, comfortable, life for the unknown? Who would leave behind friends like Liz and Teresa, who take the time out of their Friday night to call me and tell me they miss me? Friends like Abbey, who texts me inside jokes on the daily, and Nicole, who eagerly awaits my next appearance on campus. Friends like Connor, who puts up with my overly-emotional texts having to do with The Walking Dead and emails me clips of Battlestar cast members appearing in other shows. How can I leave behind Jacque, a true bestie through and through, and live without Ricky's sarcastic quips? And how can I leave Erin, who magically obtained a framed, signed picture of the legendary Kara Thrace for my birthday? I can go on for hours, reminiscing about Avatar marathons with Colin, Collin, and Brian, heartwarming chats with Cline, Chinese class rescues by Ian, and random messages from Jessie, but you get the point: to those of you who have touched me--and we both know who you are--I'm insane for leaving you. 

I believe that every one of us has a specific purpose that we need to fulfill in this world. Call it fate or calling, but every person on this planet is unequivocally unique; we each have a set of skills given to us. It is up to us to figure out what they are and how to use them for the better. The hardest part is not knowing. But it takes us time to realize that, in fact, we know how to get there: we must follow that tiny voice in our heads. Our passion. Act as you feel is right. Pursue your passions, and you will be led down the right path: believe it. It's the little string tied to your pinky that is tugging you to the place where you need to be. 

I suppose the thing that keeps us from going along with this is fear. We hate to admit it, but we're afraid of the unknown. It terrifies me. There is so much to lose, to be afflicted with when we venture out, and so much to risk. Those who know me know my fears, and what I've gone through over the past years. These fears are paralyzing, and keep us pigeonholed into choosing the safest option. 

But with time, I realized: giving into this fear is laying down my defenses without a fight. Living as though you are a time bomb is going to make for a miserable life. It would be letting that obstacle control you, and prevent you from living your life. Fear is a hypocritical mechanism; it attempts to keep us alive but prevents us from truly living. It would be a falsity to say that I am not afraid of all the risks I am taking. But being brave and courageous isn't about not being afraid. It's about standing up to those fears, believing in our own ability to overcome our challenges, and pushing forward. Always pushing forward.  

I am now pushing forward. I'm delving into the unfamiliar, the unknown, and even the scary, but in the process, I'm going to learn a few things about the world and about myself. I'm going to grow. I'm going to make new friends and maybe some enemies, many mistakes, and some regrets, but that's part of life. I will no longer stay hidden behind the sheltering pillars of the ordinary. Every person who has ever made a difference in this world has stepped out from their shadows. I want to make a difference. I have to take that step, that leap of faith, and trust that, somehow, I'll land on my feet.

What the hell am I doing? In the end, I'm not sure I can answer my own question. That is the most frustrating part. If there was a definitive yes or no, it would be easy. I suppose I need to find out for myself. 

What I do know is that there's a tug at my pinky. I'm going to follow it.