The Chinese Challenge

French, Dutch, Spanish, Italian...

As many of you know, I am a "linguist." I like languages. I like words. I like reading. I like writing. I even like editing!

I was thrilled about this move; it's a wonderful opportunity to learn my first Asian language.

I did not realize that by moving to China, I would actually lose my ability to understand English.

Completely.

From our neighborhood's newsletter

PS:

per·am·bu·la·tor

   [per-am-byuh-ley-ter] Show IPA

–noun

1.

baby carriage.

2.

an odometer pushed by a person walking.

3.

a person who makes a tour of inspection on foot

My best guess: No parking in front of the handicap ramp.

After all, the perambulators (strollers) and deformity carriages (wheelchairs?) must have clear access.

With love and laughter!

Kimbeijingerly

PS: I love comments!

All I want for Christmas...

….is some normal toothpaste for my two front teeth--and minty fresh breath!

I ask you: doesn’t this look like mint? I thought so, but trust me: it is NOT!

Horticulturists!!!!! What is that plant?

Is it tobacco?

Is it Chinese marijuana?

It tastes like dirt!

It’s like…what do you call it? Chew? Spit? Chewing tobacco!

I could sell it in the US as an alternative to “the patch”!

HELP!

And this?

Why did I buy it? I’d like my teeth to sparkle like diamonds? True...

And how about that flower? Here’s a closeup:

Is it the blossom of the above plant? Is it a lotus, signifying purity and beauty? Was I so desperate to get rid of the dirt flavor that I purchased floral flavor?

I feel like I am gargling perfume

It’s so gross to even write, but I must admit: It’s like when people wear cologne on top of body odor!

Imagine: morning breath covered by a bouquet of flowers.

Now that’s what I call eau de toilette!

All I want is some NORMAL toothpaste!

Santa, I beg you.

Crest, Colgate, Aim…anything!

More Mangled Mandarin

This afternoon I politely and hopefully asked my housekeeper to cook dinner for 7 people tomorrow night. Truth be told, I accidentally asked her to cook the dinner for this evening. When I saw her horrified expression and she told me she did not buy enough food, I slowly realized my error and then quickly changed “jintian” (today) to “mingtian” (tomorrow)! Oops!

Ma Ayi teaches Lucas how to make dumplings!

In an effort to combat my inner Scarlett O’Hara, I also apologized and acknowledged that a dinner party was a lot of work: xing ku! I also encouraged Ma Ayi to go home early today to compensate for the extra work tomorrow. She refused and then said something like this: “Wo xiang gongzuo xing qi liu.”

Despite my eternal studying, I was not quite sure what she meant. This I do know:

wo = I

gongzuo = work or job

I also know that xing qi liu (after some quick arithmetic in my head) means Saturday.

It was the “xiang” that gave me some trouble.

I am positive that all of you have heard that the tones in Chinese make a huge difference when communicating. Well, you don’t even know the extent!!

Not only are the tones difficult to hear and reproduce easily, but when I am focused on the letters of the word in order to recognize the word itself, the tones just fall by the way side. Plus, every word has a gazillion meanings!

In addition, the Chinese sentence structure and thought process is so unusual to Americans that I am never sure what is going on!

As a result, after ayi’s sentence, this is what went through my personal brain translator (as I stood there silently and moronically) :

• I elephant job on Saturday.
• Hmmm… could this be right? Does she have a big job on Saturday? Is this sort of like the Chinese equivalent of gi-normous? Better check out my other options.

• I banana job on Saturday.
• Probably not right. I believe banana has a second syllable. I cannot remember it! Maybe jiao? Bad translation. Move on.

• I smell fragrant at my job on Saturday.
• Possibly. She does shower here. Could she work at a perfume counter? Is she asking if she can shower here on the weekends, too? AH! I just don't know! What else could it mean?

• I look like a job on Saturday.
• I don’t think so, BUT again, is it an expression? Sort of like: I work so hard for you that I look like a wreck on Saturday. I do know the word for look for, so that is not it. (Xiang can be translated as look like/appear/resemble.) Still…seems weird.

• I camera a job on Saturday.
• Who knew? An artistic ayi! She is a photographer, too?! Nah. Camera has another syllable as well. Maybe ji? Feeling frustrated....

• I enjoy a job on Saturday.
• Definitely not. Who would enjoy working 6 days a week?

• I would like a job on Saturday.
• Oh, crap. This must be it. She needs more work! I guess she doesn’t mind an impromptu dinner party for 7 after all! It’s a steady job!

If you are interested in the 300 other translations of xiang (or just want to have sympathy for me!) check out: http://www.clearchinese.com/chinese-english-dictionary.htm

I guarantee you will see why I need a housekeeper and driver here in China. I'll NEVER master the language! Yet hope springs eternal...back to the books!

S.O.B.

It’s a bird. It’s a plane.

It’s a cat with a hairball riding a bicycle?

Why no, it’s Lucas’s mom.

Vomitting…which, by the way, is said outu in Chinese.

I learned that word Monday in my text book. My instructor immediately told me that the word was not useful. I beg to differ. After living in Asia for nearly three months now, the word vomit has been utilized and demonstrated more than one could ever imagine.

I am writing this blog in defense of myself. Brad was recently in the US and told his sister the following story. She laughed and then said, “Kimberly won’t write about THAT on her blog!” Untrue! I can poke fun at myself. It’s similar to poking out your eye.

The day: Saturday the 16^th of October 2010

The place: the International School of Beijing’s 30^th Anniversary picnic

The time: 3 p.m., approximately 1 hour after eating the free boxed lunch provided by the school

The culprit: Japanese noodles-- I thought they tasted fishy! (As in both fish-flavored and suspicious.)

The series of unfortunate events:

• The sun is shining.
• We cycle to the school. A family outing!
• We have lunch.
• Lucas plays in the “bouncy” house with friends until he wants desert.
• We then stand in line, waiting for cotton candy.
• My mouth fills with saliva.
• We continue to stand in line.
• I break out in a cold sweat and swallow repeatedly.
• We still stand in line.
• I scout out the playground, looking for “discreet” bushes. None.
• My stomach is heaving.
• We still stand in line.
• I am shivering. Shaking. Pale. Swallowing and swallowing.
• Mouth is watering, watering. A freakin’ fire-hose of spit.
• I ask to leave. Lucas balks. He really wants cotton candy.
• I warn him that for every minute we spend in line, he must practice piano that much longer. He agrees.
• Damn.
• My stomach rolls. I try some Lamaze breathing. It worked during childbirth. Not working so well here.
• This is not good. I quietly (yet desperately) ask Lucas where the bathroom is.
• I cannot bear to vomit in public. If I do so, I know Lucas will be known as the child whose mother vomited at the picnic for all eternity. I cannot scar him like that. This transition has been hard enough.

By the way, ISB is enormous—the size of a small city’s hospital. Brad remains in line, and Lucas and I charge to the “nearest” restroom that he can locate. It is up three flights of stairs and two long corridors. We are booking! I would have been panting, but I was afraid of pulling a Linda Blair if I opened my mouth.

This place is an institution! With each step, I swallow. Keep down the vomit, I demand of myself. Keep down the vomit. Lucas WILL NOT be known as the Boy of the Vomitter.

Finally we arrive at the restroom. Thank the god. Thank the porcelain goddess. Lucas waits in the hallway. I rush in. And it’s empty.

Relief!

My shame will not be public.

But, no, the restroom is not empty. I see little Chinese shoes in one of the stalls. Swinging in the air as the owner sits. Not a child though: I see high-heels.

I dash into the handicapped stall. I am quivering. My mouth is a fountain of saliva. I am so cold, so cold. I kneel.

The restroom is completely silent.

Dead silent.

I can hear the air whooshing as the shoes swing.

What could the owner be doing?

I swallow compulsively. Can I bring myself to vomit in the presence of a stranger?

Why is the room so quiet?

I begin to spit gallons of saliva into the bowl.

I know that if I actually throw up, I will feel a million times better. I actually want to throw up and purge my system of the poison.

But no. It is so still. Eerie.

Just those itsy-bitsy shoes swinging in the adjacent stall. What the hell? Is the person alive? This is like a CSI episode.

Silence.

Lucas clatters into the room, loud like only a 7-year-old American boy can be. “MOM?! ARE YOU OKAY?!? DID YOU BARF?!?”

Weakly, yet lady-like, I answer, “Just give me moment, darling.”

He clomps out. I delicately spit again. The room remains as dead as a morgue.

Just those serial-killer shoes, swooshing.

Nope, I cannot do it. I just can’t. Seems like I missed the barf-boat.

We return to the cotton-cany line and wait another 15 minutes. I am not feeling so well. (That’s an understatement by the way.) Lucas now has nearly 40 minuets of extra piano practice.

Finally, it is our turn.

Unbelievable! The cotton candy lady has run out of “sticks.” There is no way to gather the spun sugar. Brad psychically senses the negative energy emanating from my food-poisoned system. He sprints to the nearest snack booth and snatches a pair of chopsticks. (lucky we are in Asia!) He gallops back to the cotton candy machine and presents them with a flourish. Ta da! He has diverted the disaster.

But I’m done. We must leave. We power-walk back to the bikes. Again, my mouth is watering in a bad way.

I clip on my helmet. The slight pressure against my chin is not helpful. I bend over to enter the bike lock combo. That’s really bad. That extra bit of exertion has caused the bile to rise.

NO! NO! NO!

Lucas will not be known as an S.O.B: Son of a Barfer!

I must get off school grounds. Immediately! I throw my leg over the saddle. To hell with modesty! I peddle through the crowds of laughing, lingering, mingling expats.

My legs circle in an even, rapid cadence. Get away. Get way. Get away.

The guards at the gate call out “Ni Hao!”

I swallow.

My body begins to undulate like a cat with a hair ball.

My head begins to bob like a pecking pigeon.

Get away. Get away. Get away.

I never look back. This is a good thing. Unbeknownst to me, Lucas has attempted to ride up a curb on his bike and wiped out. He is lying in the road, stunned by the impact.

Another guard calls out another Ni Hao. (Guards are everywhere in China.)

I swallow again and turn the corner. It’s the wide open road. I drop the metal to the pedal. I AM LANCE ARMSTRONG!

And I vomit in the privacy of my own home.