Wednesday, March 19, 2003

From: Meg Thomsen meginchina@yahoo.com
Subject: The Dengguan Sports Day

Hello Friends and Family,

As the grey Sichuan winter changes into a slightly less grey spring, the thoughts of Dengguan turn to just one thing: The Dengguan Sports Day. While the fields turn yellow with the lovely bloom of the youcai, everyone at our school is busy preparing for the big event. The school jumpsuits with "Youth Power" painted on the back are being washed, and students are outside on the sports field practicing at all hours.

Last year, I had to run in the Dengguan Sports Day Race. It was not by choice. I hate running. I've had this deep-seated hatred for running since, well, I don't even know when I started to hate running. The burning feeling in the chest, the reddened face, the thud-thud-thud of sneakers pounding against the concrete, and worst of all, being so awful at it. Give me a bike or put me on skis, and I'm all set. Anytime I run, it's like being back in gym class, which by the way, I failed in high school. Twice.

Nevertheless, I was going to run in the Sports Day Race. I trained for the race beforehand with Li Yi, running laps around our campus late at night. It actually started to become sort of fun, skimming around the campus with no one around. it was just Li Yi and I, running beneath the moon with no one to enjoy it except for us.

The day of the race came, and I felt nervous. I showed up at the sports field and was greeted by a screaming mob of students, yelling things like, "You must have the confidence to be the number one!" I stretched my legs and lined up with the other teachers at the start line. At the bang, we raced around the track, and suddenly all I saw was a sea of black heads in front of me.

We continued around the track, and I could hear the students yelling "Kuaidianr! Faster!" The other women were running farther away from me. Finally, I caught up to, and passed, one straggler. The race ended, and I came in fifth out of sixth. Still, that didn't stop the pandemonium that surrounded me. I heard the crackle of the school loudspeaker, "Tang Mali is the first foreigner EVER to run in our Sports Day Race. Welcome to China! Welcome to China!" Then I was stormed by a group of reporters from the school newspaper. "Tang Mali, do Americans run faster than Chinese people? Why did you come in fifth out of sixth? Did you think that the race was exciting?" Later, a large photograph of my red, sweaty face was posted at the school gate, and an article was posted in the Dengguan newspaper entitled, "Dengguan Sports Day Gets Foreign Aid!"

During the Sports Day, I was sitting with all of the teachers in the grandstand when they suddenly left. They reappeared a few minutes later wearing identical outfits and marching across the field. There was Liang Aiping, and there was Tang Yi. There was Liang Yong, and there was Li Yunmei- wait a minute! These were all of the teachers from my department!

I was mad. I was the only one of the teachers in my department who had to run in the race, and I had to sit alone in the bleachers while every single other teacher at my school marched across the field. I talked about it with Li Yi later that evening.

"I don't understand it. I teach the same classes as the other teachers, I make the same money as the other teachers, and yet no one considers me to be one of the other teachers. I'm just a freak that's there to be gawked and stared at."

Li Yi looked at me incredulously, "Well, you're not the same."

It hit me. I wasn't the same. No matter how much I study Chinese, no matter how well I can fold dumplings, no matter how many books I read, no matter how hard I try , I will never be the same.

This winter, I was riding hard seat on the overnight train from Harbin to Beijing. I was seated next to a Party hack, and across from a shifty-looking young guy whose jacket looked more like a Hefty bag than like leather. I was listening to Itzhak Perlman on my Discman when the young man reached over and took off my headphones and snapped them on his own head. I could tell by the way that he wrinkled his nos that he didn't enjoy the sweet strains of the Tzigane, so I popped in a Vengaboys CD for him. Next to me, the Party guy leaned over. "Where are you from?"

"America"

"Oh. Let me tell you the reasons why our China is better than your America."

I sighed. It was late, about two o'clock in the morning, and I listened to the man drone on and on about the glories of China's history, the brightness of China's future. I watched the florescent light bounce off his gold watch with the five glinting stars across the face and looked across the table at Hefty bag guy, who ha the music turned up loud and a blissful expression on his bobbing face as "Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom! I Want You in my Room!" came drifting across the table. My heavy eyelids fell shut as I heard the Party guy's final thought,

"...and our China has 5,000 years of glorious history. How many years does your America have- fifteen? Twenty?"

In a fitful sleep on that train, I dreamed about Boston, 10,000 miles from here. Its brick and twisting streets, its snowy surface. I dreamed of the rickety Green Line, and of poring through used book shops. I would look very different from how look now, wearing new boots and sporting a new haircut. Best of all, I would just be no-one in particular- just another girl getting on the T and coming home from work.

It's not long now until I get to come home. Just four months and a few days. I can count the time by the plants. Right now, the youcai is in bloom. Soon, the cherry trees will turn the world pink and white with their blossoms. After that, there will be peaches. When the hollow-leaved spinach and watermelons appear in the markets, I will know that it's time to pack my bags.

And yet-- things have changed since Sports Day last year. I have learned that it's foolish to try and expect that two years will give me the experience of a life that I've never lived. I have gone to countries that my friends here will never see, had experiences that they will never imagine. The accident of my birth and the gift of my passport gives me a freedom that they will never know. Acknowledging the difference has allowed me to be a part of my community in a way that I couldn't be before.

And this year, I was asked to march with the teachers during the Sports Day parade.

"Stop thinking about it so much!" giggles Li Yi as I talk on and on about what this invitation means. She drags me down the alley where we walk into a restaurant with ceilings so low that I must duck my head to walk in. We sit on little plastic stools. We slurp noodles and vegetables from our bowls and sip Pepsi from glass bottles. I realize that Li Yi is right. I should stop thinking of it so much. I may be a foreigner in this country, but I've found my place.

Love, Meg