I have to breathe deeply. I have to appreciate this completely. Although I’m existing in a sort of stress/bliss-induced haze, I’m also aware that all this hard work is paying off and I am absolutely, 100 per cent certain that the reason it’s paying off is because I refused to quit, and because I categorically believed I could do it. This may sound fundamental, but as we all know, these elements are the key to success. That, and the gently dangling tag I placed on the Star Day tree exactly two years ago.
I wrote a wish on that tag to become a successful author and perhaps, just like my gorgeous Japanese girlfriend and her maid, my Tanabata wish is coming true.
A Beijing Thanksgiving
For what we are about to leave, we are truly thankful
Our family is enormously grateful for our time in Beijing. As we pack almost four years of enrichment into sterile boxes, I find my face tipping skyward to give silent thanks for all we have experienced, the amazing people we’ve met and the gorgeous wares we’ve hoarded to take home. Trust me, celadon pottery, cashmere coats and silk dresses are something for an average Aussie wife to give thanks for.
As we pack and as we enter the most benevolent and festive time of the Western year, it’s dawned on me how important a festival like Thanksgiving is to the human spirit. While Christmas is all about giving, Thanksgiving is a time to appreciate all we’ve been given, and to share in this abundance.
It’s been almost 400 years since Governor Bradford of the Plymouth Colony declared the first Thanksgiving day in America. After a particularly harsh winter, the colony’s harvest was celebrated with a feast of fish, turkey, geese and deer—a tradition that continues today, although it’s the humble gobbler that now takes centre stage.
But why is Thanksgiving only officially celebrated in North America? Well, it’s not. Throughout history, people have given thanks for a bountiful harvest. In ancient Egypt and Greece, sacrifices were made to the gods in appreciation of an ongoing bounty, and in modern times, many countries celebrate grateful harvest festivals.
There is Chusok in Korea, the Pongal festival in India, the Yam festival in Nigeria, just to name a few. The Hebrews observe Succoth, and in China, the Mid-Autumn Festival is a time to celebrate abundance and togetherness—a tradition which dates back 3000 years to the Zhou Dynasty.
In Australia, we have harvest festivals of varying kinds, from apples to wheat, but I want more. I don’t want to take a lamb to the altar in Ritan Park but I do want to have a more official excuse to gather with loved ones and stuff pumpkin pie down my turkey gullet. I want the horn of plenty spilling gourds and nuts onto the table and I want to hold hands around the table with evangelistic fervour. I want a North American Thanksgiving. I want it all.
True appreciation resides in the heart, and no matter how we give thanks, where we do it or with whom, just doing it is a must.
So—from my heart—thank you, Beijing. For everything.
What Became of Ayi
You reap what you sow
This isn’t going to be one of those comeuppance rants that self-righteously chirps with glee over the timely demise or incarceration of the perpetrator and the soaring vindication of the victim; no no, for no one is really a winner in the complex ayi game.
Unless someone has spent their life trailed by kowtowing servants or has developed the capacity to completely dismiss the mental, emotional and physical wellbeing of others, I doubt it’s easy for anyone to deal with the pits and troughs of hiring home help in China. Of inviting someone into your clan, opening your doors, being kind, generous and accommodating, only to have the recipient take that little rope of kindness and tug it and pull it and unravel it and haul it out and run with it and swing from it, whooping it up like a maniacal freeloader on a meal-ticket bender.
Of course, the consequence of pulling out a lot of rope is that pretty soon you’ll have enough to hang yourself. And that’s exactly what our ayi has done.
Some might call her (and others like her) foolish or even just plain stupid. Even after all this time, I’m not quite sure of my own Ayi analysis. Perhaps a blend of these coupled with an obvious drive to manipulate, and thought processes deeply embedded with discordant cultural beliefs and peculiarities.
Still, cultural aspects aside, I feel Ayi has, without a doubt, taken every opportunity to wrought and exploit the openness, generosity and kindness of our family. And I’m not alone. Virtually every expat family you meet has a similar ayi/cook/driver story to tell, and I suppose it’s nice to come to the conclusion that these relationship difficulties just may not have been caused by us—the terrible ayi-intolerant white devil family from hell.
On an optimistic note, I will say this: for all the emotional and mental drama and strain this small woman has put us through, having her here has also helped afford us a life in Beijing that has been more memorable and successful than we ever dreamed. I do believe that despite its frequent misery, this experience has helped weave the rich tapestry that made our life move forward in a positive direction.
I have learned a lot from Ayi. I have learned deeper levels of tolerance, patience and acceptance, and I have also learned to keep my expectations within realistic bounds. I have learned to open my eyes wider and to stand up and defend myself and my family more ably. I have learned conflict resolution, mediating, and how to compromise and appease. I have developed a deeper sense of our family’s identity, its needs, and most of all, I’ve realised how very blessed we are, how close we are, and how important each precious member of our family unit is. But the best thing I’ve learned, without a doubt, is that for all our faults, we are kind, generous and forgiving people.
If we can’t take the positives from unenviable situations, we are living a very limited life indeed, and so our family is determined to move on and to remember the good times. Having said that, although it’s certainly important to forgive, we must also do the right thing in a practical sense, and the right thing to do is to retire Ayi. Forgiving may be divine but ignoring the need for consequence brought on by negative action is just plain stupid.
So, Ayi won’t be continuing on with my husband’s successor and his wife. We wouldn’t do it to them. Our predecessor also suffered under Ayi and now we’re ready to break the misery chain. I wanted to give Ayi plenty of notice but the plethora of advice from those who’ve been-there-done-that has been to give her 24 hours’ notice, with no onward referrals. This sticks in my craw and it’s going to be really tough and yes, I’ll take it on my conscience for a long time to come, but alas, Ayi has been the one to create this ending, not me.
Very soon it will be time, and thankfully Xiansheng has informed me he’ll be the one to do it while I hide in the bathroom, shaking. Even after all the drama, I can honestly say there will be no regrets, not even over her dismissal, and if you can say that about life, then you have come very far indeed.
Travelling with the Kids
Our last big overseas holiday
We love to travel, and living in Beijing has made jetsetters of our kids. They’ve not only seen several different countries since we first moved here, they’ve also totally submerged themselves in China in all its fabulous incarnations—from Chengde to Hainan.
Truth be told, though, it’s not always been easy travelling with tots in tow. I’m sick of juggling the weather with the seasons with the flying hours with the distance, with the dodgy stopover options, school vacation times, work commitments, horrendous high-peak seasons and Chinese national holidays. It can be a real feat in logistics gelling these elements into a cohesive, low-stress family adventure.
Then there’s the packing, like when we visited winter and summer all in one trip. Never again. For my husband and me, packing is easy: two pairs of walking shoes, an iPod and we’re out the door. With kids, you need a master’s degree in suitcase origami and a perennial supply of Tiny Teddy biscuits. From the essentials to the just-in-case items, it can be a little nightmarish, when all you really want is easy as peasy pie.
So, when booking our trip to Vietnam and Cambodia over Christmas, I played it safe. If it had been just us grown-ups, we’d have booked flights and voyaged on a wing and a prayer but because two travel mites are tagging along, things are a little different.
Basically, we’ve booked every living moment in advance, from the flights to the bowl of pho noodles on Thursday, 1 January at 12.17p.m. on Hung Vuong Street, Hanoi. We’ve even booked the sunset over Angkor Wat, for goodness’ sake. We’ve got the cars, the guides, the hotels, the restaurants, the markets—all in sight, all locked in. My brain is so jam-packed with information that you could use my head as a View-Master: just look through my eyeballs and see a travel guide on Vietnam.
You see, we want to relax and enjoy our holiday rather than agonise over rumbling tummies and blisters and how much to pay for a cyclo ride. Yes, we do want to spend languorous hours in swimming pools to counterbalance the forced-sightseeing the kids have to bear. Travelling is a time to focus on each other as well as the wondrous sights and experiences around us. For me, this artful balance is what holidaying with kids is all about. That, and stress-relief.
With only a week to go until our house is folded-up and packed and sent away, with only a week left of school and to shop for our Hoi An Christmas and to attend farewells and get this book you’re now reading finished, you could say I’m a ball of tightly wound springs. This brain is so crammed full, I’m surprised it’s remembering to make me breathe.
Yes, there’s the packing but there’s also the kids, the friends, the city, Christmas, family, Christmas cards, teachers, and festive hot chocolate to make. Tomorrow we are having an early Christmas Day, complete with roast dinner and gift-opening with Jie Jie and Smoothie, but there’s also book promos in January when we return from Vietnam, more farewells, skating on Hou Hai, and trying to decide which restaurant to choose for our Last Chinese Supper.
Coupled with wondering where to place all our furniture in the new house in Australia and how overwhelming it’s going to be to cruise the aisles of Coles—well...
Let’s just say I’m gagging to be on that plane to Ho Chi Minh City and let the stress, drama and self-imposed hysteria slip by.
Ayi Trumps Us Yet Again
Spooky
You won’t believe this but I just have to tell you it’s the absolute truth even though you may think I’m making it up (I’m not). It still sends shivers down my spine. Sure, I understand the concept of coincidence, but in a place where ‘coincidental’ happenings are an almost daily occurrence, well, it still sends shivers down my spine. (Yes, I’ve been known to frisk my own clothes and peek underneath café tables for bugs. Bugs that crawl, of course.)
Here is what happened.
Last night, on our way home from dinner with friends, Xiansheng and I agreed, in private, in the car and all alone, that Ayi would be retrenched with 24 hours’ notice. This afternoon when she came in to work, Ayi handed me a letter that extolled our virtue as a saintly employer and informed us that, when we leave Beijing, she would retire and would not continue on with our successors.
Initial reaction? Phew!
Second reaction? Spooky...
Third reaction? Suspicion.
In a way, of course, I’m delighted. I can feel the strain of the sacking slide off my back like a duck/water combination. But I also feel suspicious, and frankly, a little short-changed. Ayi has somehow, amid all the drama, still managed to come out on top. She has essentially resigned before we could even taste the satisfaction of giving her a teensy bit of comeuppance. I’m also pretty much convinced she thinks this voluntary resignation will give her the right to retirement pay.
When she handed me the letter, I knew what it was before I even opened it. I knew because that is just the way of life in Beijing, and that is the way of the ‘coincidental occurrence’ in this place.
I suppose this strange episode is all good and well, but our family is very much the master of its own ship now. We are writing our own destiny. We are the ones to make the decisions for us, and we stand by that right.
Ayi is on the way out and our family is on the way up. I couldn’t be happier.
Changes
The older you get, the harder it is
Sometimes, when I leave the house and walk around Beijing, I notice changes like they’ve just risen up and slapped me on the back of the head. Those changes, of course, have been there a while, but sometimes it just takes a while to notice.
Today I went to a local department store and a few unusual things occurred. Firstly, a Chinese man held a door open for me. I was so surprised, I said ‘thank you’ instead of ‘xie xie’. The last time a man opened a door for me in Beijing was around three years ago and he was Middle Eastern. Surprisingly, I’ve had doors held open by Chinese women on a few occasions, but the men still haven’t cottoned on. Until today.
The next change I noticed was when I entered a café to see it filled with 75 per cent Chinese as opposed to 75 per cent Western. Then I noticed a new spot selling profiteroles, like those filled with French pastry cream. I also noticed the rapidly increasing level of English being spoken everywhere; so much so, it’s irritating when they lead the conversation away from Mandarin (and hence, my chance to practise the language).
I also notice the coffee is getting better. Not so milky and frothy but really tongue-tanging and bitter, strong and smooth. Another thing I notice is stylish dressing. The Chinese are dressing better, toning it down, loosening things up, losing the bling-before-midday sparkles and be-studded hooker boots, and throwing on a chic scarf and flats instead.
Yes, things are a-changing, not just the skyline and the economy but the everyday moments. It’s wonderful but it’s also a little sad. China is who she is, and it would be remiss for this deeply historical country to fall headlong into the pit of the West. Let’s hope she carefully struts that fine tightrope balance between the past and the future without compromising her soul. With the horrendously rapid way things are changing, it will be an acrobatic marvel if she can hold her balance.
Having lived here for almost four years, I can safely say that if anyone can do it, China can.
A Merry Beijing Christmas
Miss you most at Christmas time
Christmas in Beijing has become more and more festive since we arrived in the capital. There are fairy lights, Christmas trees, plastic snowmen and skinny Santa Claus sightings galore. You’ll also find burgeoning ornament wonderlands in Lai Tai and Liangma flower markets—bigger and better than ever before, and the foreign Christmas fairs and bazaars around town are a marvel to behold.
Every Beijing Christmas, there’s been a festive fantasy in our house: feathery green garlands, seven (yes, seven) be-baubled Christmas trees, the aroma of mulled wine and mass gingerbread production lines. We get together with friends, drink bubbles, nibble my mum’s Christmas cake, find a Santa’s knee to sit on, and watch the skies for any trace of snowfall. Yes, yes, there’s even that indefinable Christmas spirit, undeterred by multicultural barriers and firm-standing atheist states.
But this year will be very different for us, alas, because our house will be all but packed and gone. There’ll be nary a Christmas bauble in sight; just a bare floor and perhaps a single pine tree needle. And seeing as though I am Mrs Clause reincarnate, this prospect is a little soul-destroying for me and my two wee Christmas elves. So we’re up and outta here, and celebrating the festive season in Vietnam.
Don’t panic, I’ve emailed Santa. He’s delivering stockings to Hoi An, and I’m sure we’ll be able to track down a glass of bubbles or two. But there’ll be no roast turkey dinner, no crackers, no hot pudding with custard. For us this year, Christmas will be Vietnamese spring rolls and a dip in the swimming pool.
In a way, I’m glad to abscond our last Christmas in Beijing. It’s because I’m tired of the emptiness. We’ve celebrated Christmas with some wonderful people in the capital but there’s still that emptiness, that tender pit in the belly that only family
and old friends can fill. It’s hard enough dealing with the absence of those long gone without also pining for those across the oceans. Let me just say this: if you play ‘Miss You Most at Christmas Time’ even once, I’m a melted puddle on the floor.
You may have noticed how much our family loves Christmas, and it seems apt that our Beijing life is ending shortly after the Festive Season and quite literally days before China celebrates a new lunar year. It all seems purposely designed. It wouldn’t feel right entering a new Chinese year when our hearts and minds have already packed and gone.
Change is good. We’re moving on, and this Christmas is a watershed time for our family. It heralds significant change: our shiny new life, about to unfold.
And with that I say: ‘Merry Christmas to all. May all your days be bright—no matter where you are.’
We’re Going Home
Why fight it?
So. I’ve made a decision and it’s a very important one. I’ve decided that I’m not going to give up this Beijing life. I’m not going to slip into the mundanity of suburbia from whence I came.
I may not be able to buy jian bing (breakfast crêpes) on the streets in the morning. I may not be able to nip into Ya Show for the latest ad-free television series on DVD. I may not be able to watch little old ladies perform tai chi by the roadside in the early morning light, nor delight in the partners ballroom dancing in the parks at twilight. I may not crack open ridiculously fresh pomelos for breakfast each morning nor bask in the mass of tofu possibilities available at the wet market, but I’m going to try my hardest to keep this life going, even if it’s smack bang in the middle of Aussie suburbia.
Beijing Tai Tai Page 25
