In Which I Find Myself Stuck, Not Between a Rock and a Hard Place, but Somewhere Else Entirely
By Elaine Wu ‘21, Taigu Fellow 2021-2023
There is this Facebook group called “Foreigners Stuck Outside of China”, consisting of all kinds of people, trying to get into China for all kinds of reasons. Many are family, trying to get reconnected with relatives, partners, their pregnant wife and kids. Many for business, study, or opportunities like mine, and all of us desperately awaiting news to change for the better. It is quite humbling to read these posts of families unable to reconnect for years, the children that are born within the time, or seasoned professionals whose steady career paths have suddenly had a wrench thrown in their midst. It's a good reminder that I am young and growing.
As useful as this page is for day-to-day updates, more often than not I consider removing myself. In this group, I have seen how the anger and resentment (and often just plain ol' racism) builds. Many posts, no matter how simple the request, gather a crowd of “give up on China”, spewing fire and sinophobic resentment at the Chinese government for not opening up faster. (Still not sure why so many who have apparently given up on China choose to stay in the group, but I digress).
Social media has made it so easy for us to leave online communities as we see fit – if you don’t agree with what people are saying, it is so easy to unfollow or turn off notifications. Yet, my desire to be in-the-know prevails. Tinged, perhaps, with a smidge of doomscrolling. However, I don't blame the Chinese government for not opening up. I couldn’t bring myself to do it if I tried. Rather, like many others my age, what I have gotten upset about is the situation. The unfortunate timing at this critical moment in my youth, the feeling that I am stuck in the middle of a road. Stuck, but not between a rock and a hard place. There are no forks, no turns. Only forward, but the asphalt is melted.
One thing I am confident in, is that being stuck hasn’t waned my determination to go one bit. If anything, I am less scared and more driven to get there eventually – my experiences in China will play an important role in the rest of my life, and this period of time has only solidified that.
Filming a joint lesson with fellow teachers Jenn (not pictured) and Amy
Virtual co-work call with Sam, grading quizzes.
The transition from online-student to online-teacher came with its own unique set of challenges, especially spanning a distance that seemingly stretches endlessly wide. I am not the only one alone in this – with outbreaks in Shanxi province in February, Shanxi Agricultural University had to suddenly close. A large majority of students began their semesters from home as well.
In just a few months, however, cases dropped and students returned to school. My work was essentially unaffected. But I did especially feel the disconnect scrolling through WeChat moments, seeing their joyous reunion posts with friends, while I was growing increasingly familiar with the small talk reactions I received from those around me – an understanding nod, a beat of silence; then straightening up, rotated wrists, palms upturned towards the sky – Well, everything happens for a reason. Aren’t you glad you’re not stuck in China right now though? Imagine having to live through those horrible lockdowns. Who even knows what's really going on there!
I never quite know how to respond to that. How do I begin to tell them about the WeChat messages with students, who post videos from their dormitory balconies shouting encouragements to the essential workers delivering them meals. Who send me pictures of their favorite hometown foods and have repeatedly offered their services as tour guides. My former students from fall semester, who remembered to wish me a happy birthday in February. The brave class monitor that finally broke the ice and unmuted herself to respond to my discussion question in a completely otherwise silent group office hour call, despite her sleeping father snoring loudly in the back. The final project groups who went all out filming their own TV shows, complete with props, outfit changes, music, special effects, and bloopers. The effort, to any degree, that my students put into their required online asynchronous English class, and in making me feel welcome.
(From left to right) screencaps of a Bor, Yankexing, Soul, and Awei’s final project video, their version of 2005 TV series Drawing Sword (亮剑)
At Oberlin, so much of my college life was hectic, deliberately scheduled down to the minute, seizing every opportunity I could while stressing over not enjoying moments to their fullest. This past academic year, being stuck at home has allowed me to spend intentional time with loved ones. I have developed a deeper familiarity with the view outside my childhood bedroom window, and watched friends blossom in their new surroundings. I’ve been doing yardwork, attempting to tame our accidental backyard bamboo forest by harvesting their shoots, and have subsequently developed and eaten countless bamboo shoot dish varieties. I have cut my bangs (badly), grown my hair down my back, and measured how many centimeters it grows per month. I perfected my 番茄炒蛋 (tomato egg stir-fry) recipe and cackled myself to tears grading student homeworks. I have taken many rapid tests; traveled to Philadelphia and New York and Chicago and North Carolina, celebrated birthdays and housewarmings, admired their miniature jungles of house plants, and didn't feel stuck. Instead, I thought to myself how wonderful it was that I was able to witness this growth.
An extremely poor attempt at wrapping homemade 粽子 for the Dragon Boat Festival (Hakka style savory filling)
One of many buckets of extremely invasive bamboo “shoots” (these overgrown ones aren’t edible) collected from the backyard. Please never accidentally leave a potted bamboo plant outside. even if it never touches the ground, it will find a way. Save yourselves.