It's Good to Be Home

So despite a pretty successful first day of battling jet lag—Thank you Unisom sleep gels and Wahaha U-Yo Milk Coffee with the tagline, "filled with the sentiment of urban romance and appeal"—here I am alert as a black cat at four in the morning again. Reminder: take sleeping pills AT LEAST until the second day. Wish: I should just be a copywriter for Chinese companies trying to break into the west. Unfortunately, New York coffee has spoiled me, and the Wahaha concoction was more cream and sugar than coffee with cream and sugar. China doesn't do coffee well, here is a nation of tea. 《Tea & Cigarettes | 茶烟道》

If I said coffee and cigarettes, you might conjure up an image of a hip East Village struggling artist type, a world weary fashionista, the movie with an eponymous title, or maybe Rufus Wainwright (to which I would remind you, chocolate milk).

To substitute coffee for tea, you'll have to change your film reel from New York art-house to...well, actually, who the hell knows where this image of "tea and cigarettes" exists in modern cinema. I'm talking about this image in China specifically, but when the Chinese export films for a foreign audience (shall we say state-sanctioned), it's often done in beautiful calligraphic strokes--the emperors, the martial artists, the vagabond heroes--one doesn't see the everyday images of China in Chinese cinema packaged for the west (all right, it's fine if you go to MoMA and IFC to watch Jia Zhangke, I'm still saying the latter Zhang Yimou and Jackie Chan dominate the Chinese cinema aesthetic). There are no business men with a bit of a belly, holding onto his briefcase in one hand, and shooting rapid mandarin into his cellphone. There are no guys perched at the curb, perfecting their squat while smoking listlessly. Moreover, there are no uncles and grandpas gulping down green tea (with thick tea leaves floating like a seaweed bed on the bottom of their water bottle), only to blow all his antioxidant points away with bellows of cigarette smoke.

Health and damage. Health and damage. Welcome to China.

《White Day | 白天》

As for the weather, and inevitable pollution, I asked my brother (cousin really, but like a brother) while tilting my head toward the white sky that fained a little blue at the edges, "is this sky considered blue?" "No," Cousin Wengang quipped back, "this is bai tian (white sky)." In Chinese, white sky literally means daylight time. Unfortunately, these days, most of China have taken that literally. It's a little eerie. In the environmentally urgent sense, the Chinese are a perfect example of how much humanity can endure while they are slowly being killed off, like frogs slowly being boiled alive. I'll admit it, the pollution this time is staggering worse than before. The sky darkened yesterday around six at night, and I thought the world was going to end. I was so afraid of the impending acid rain and bellowing wind as I jetted off, sunglass still on not to protect myself from the sun, but the dust dammit. The sun at sunset the day before wasn't any better--like a sick glowing wound trying to penetrate the smog.

Daddy could not stop bashing northern China's environment any opportunity he gets. Of course, even in beautiful southern Xiamen, they are getting the occasional dust storm from Beijing.

Yep, now that we are done impressing foreigners with our manufactured skies during the Olympics, domestic citizens bite it. But alas, we're used it, and deep down inside I know I'm just a weak frog pampered by New York's gorgeous skies (yes, I said gorgeous, GORGEOUS) and ridiculously good tap water.

《Freedom? | 得了吧》

Two footnotes:

1) The woman who sat next to me on the flight from NY to HK worked as a journalist for Sohu. She said, we (Chinese journalists) have always been so jealous of American journalists who can say and write about whatever they want.

2) Went to Xuehai yesterday to stock up on books and magazines, the owner said mainlanders who travel to Hong Kong and Taiwan these days get their luggages checked if they have a lot of books. Any books that are outside of the Communist agenda gets throw out, and only two books are allowed. Additional note: a lot of mainlanders go to Hong Kong/Taiwan to stock up on books that are banned in China, more probably go for the cheaper Louis Vuitton though.

Fuck, Louis Vuitton symbolizes everything that's wrong with Asia. I really hate LV.

《My Hairdresser | 董桂明》

Of course, I always visit my hairdresser when I come back to Tianjin. Two years later, Dong has a tattoo and is getting married in 10 days. He still works 13 hour days, with only Mondays off. I hate to blemish his character by repeating this part of our conversation:"If you look at the top designers in the world, L'Oreal, Gucci, Louis Vuitton... they are all men. What are women good at? Making babies."

The whimsical grin he had on almost, almost had me thinking that he was joking, then I remembered myself for all the Chinese men.

《The Game of Love | 非诚无忧》

Saw the most amazing TV show ever. I mean. W.O.W. WOW. Yuan Lai Shi Ni (literally Fately You, a play on words for "it turns out to be you"). The first ten minutes of the show has me aghast, and I mean the American in me gasped at the lack of political correctness, the shallowness, and the incredible lack of human kindness all celebrated by this show. To understand this show, first, some cultural context, Chinese parents still play a major role in their child's choice of a mate. In modern China, the guiding rule for many women to find a spouse is "he must have a car and a house." In short, he must be rich.

This show is essentially a "marriage interview" (xiang qin), a traditional Chinese custom somewhere between an arranged marriage and dating that involves the whole family. It's a lovely show really. One of the more original shows I've seen on Chinese TV that doesn't copy an American one. Indeed, this kind of show can only exist in China.

Twelve mothers and their eligible daughters are introduced to male contestants/possible mates, and in a sequence of video self-introductions, opinions from friends of the dude, they discuss (scathingly rip the guy apart) whether he is an eligible choice. The first guys was a 34-year-old who made a shit-load of money, but was deemed problematic because he was still unmarried at 34. The second guy was a crazy comedian who was "not taking the show seriously enough" with his antics. The third guy was a reasonably good looking guy who "looked like a piece of paper from the side" (he too skinny), and a little weird because he owned a makeup shop. The fourth guy was "much too narcissistic and I hate types like you."

Many mother-daughter couples have stated their criteria for the daughter's possible mate. They range from money, ability to assume family responsibility, money, looks and money, a kind person, and money...

So I'm digging myself a hole here when I say after 15 minutes of being shell-shocked, the show really made me think. For a country that many assume the media would be rigid and rehearsed, this is one of the most brutally honest show I've ever seen in my life. The people are real, they announce their opinions without any reservations for social kindness. I've given the worst of the examples where people were looking for mates with money, but there were also mothers who criticized the man for announcing his high salary in his intro for being too materialistic, and girls who roared they were feminists.

Anyway, this show is staggeringly interesting because the lack of political correctness. I am absolutely impressed by a species of mankind who can withstand constant harsh judgments from society that they are too thin, they are too fat, they are not rich enough, my daughter is far too pretty than you are, and I'm only half sarcastic. The Chinese side of me wonders, if these pre-judgments are how one feels, why bother trying to hide it, or does "hiding it" make up a kinder, more compassionate people?

I know it's difficult to understand why I think there any salvation in this show, but it's in the same vain that I appreciate, to an extent, that people tell me I'm "fatter" or "skinnier" than before whenever I come back to China. There is a frankness that exists here about body image and social norms that is at once shallow, and at once light-hearted because if you talk about it, it's not a big deal anymore.

All in all, let me try to salvage myself by saying that this is a land of opportunity for social change, but Chinese people present a very interesting world view that is.... thought-provoking.

《Love | 爱》

I'm a bit scathing here to China, but I still... love it. The energy here is raw. The people are at once great and off-putting. The food is still whoa good. The potential of opportunities are good. The pressure from the lack of social justice and a fair government is momentum for more change.

I guess this makes me crazy.

Air Quality in Tianjin

air quality from my window in Tianjin (30 minutes from Beijing by train)

Novel Interactions

The many uses of a bicycle: exhibit 1A = badminton net

MagazineChina

Music: The Fashion - Solo Impala

Xuehai (“SeaofLearning”) is Tianjin’s best independent bookstore, hands down. I make bold claims because unfortunately, Tianjin is A. known for being a conservative city. There simply aren’t a lot of venues for independent anything. B. the staff at New Younger, a short-lived but spirited Tianjin independent culture magazine came up with a similar conclusion, and I trust they did their scouting homework and C. Its prime location of being near three of the biggest universities in the city.

In reality, Xuehai’s store front is literally a hole in the wall, a first-floor apartment knocked up. The books and magazines are basically all shelved in the “living room” space, and one enters the store either from the makeshift-step-stool or through its actual apartment building. The humble store front doesn’t draw much attention. Most of the magazines advertised on the window front are mainstream ones, not unlike the facade of the dozen other magazine vendors in the city featuring big-eyed Chinese Vogue beauties.

Xuehai lives pretty much on word of mouth. Good thing in China, there’s always many mouths. I was led to Xuehai by a classmate a year ago while studying at Nankai. Having always been keen on magazines and particularly interested in China’s publishing/magazine industry, I’d turned the bookstores upside down, read bestsellers until I was screaming and ready to give up when Xuanzi led me after class one day to this hovel. We’d parked our bikes right in the apartment residential area and I followed her into the building thinking we were going into somebody’s home. By then I’d gone to a couple clandestine DVD stores to know the game, so I wasn’t at all nonplussed when the apartment revealed a room of books, good books.

One of my wildest dreams is to go to a mall where everything fits me. Styles and colors may vary, but saves me from trying things on. Well, walking into Xuehai is like walking into such a dream. A bookstore tailored to the literary needs of the young hipster artist types, styles and colors may vary, but mostly everything fits. I loved it. I spent loads of money there without feeling guilty because it felt like I was helping to keep the hovel alive. It was also at Xuehai that Xuanzi introduced me to some of the best magazines in China. After another year in the States, I’d picked up a stack last to catch up. The owner of Xuehai keeps his favorite ones (which also happens to be my favorite ones which is why we all worship the adorable owner guy) on a shelf right next to him, a bunch of hard to find / imported mags. Here’s some of last week’s loot, pictured from left to right.

1. FHM China – I love how I start all this talk of alternative publications with an established, kind of trashy foreign brand, and I’m gonna be honest, I like this mag for two reasons: their cover and their fashion story. In other words, I love their women. FHM is revolutionary for me on an aesthetic level. The pale, petite, fragile beauty embraced by standard Chinese opinion and ad-copy is overwhelmed here, by long-legged, occasionally tan (rough n’ dirty), sexy tall beauties that index straight into my wildest, maybe slightly narcissistic fantasies. Also, their fashion stories are actual fashion stories (like, with the occasional caption and plot!), are plainly ridiculous, and absolutely delicious. ;)

2. Milk – Milk is a popular trends/culture magazine based in Hong Kong. A lot of mainland kids abide by this mag so they’ve got a mainland edition now. I only got this because of the sweet holographic Batman cover. WOO. Contents are pretty thin to be honest. Maybe America’s de-trended me.

3. 360 design – Last year I sworn by IDN. 360 is also a design mag based in HK. They’ve got some sweet Olympic-themed designs in this issue.

4. City Pictorial – The most badass arts/culture magazine for the 18-35 age demographic. I literally bought every back issue they had. Emptied it out. Every time they come out with a new issue I think: they’ve done it this time, this is it, the last time they’re gonna come up with such a creative topic, but then there’s always the next issue. I especially dig their big sweeping essays, the latest of which features a look at the growing number of NGOs in China. City Pictorial should also be applauded because they’re one of the few magazines that play up content and editorial more than design. There’s been a slew of graphic/design/trend magazines out of late. So it’s good to bask in some good, simple writing.

5. New Weekly – is just sweet. Again, good writing, good topics. Somewhere between Time and The Atlantic I’d say.

Additional unmentioned magazines: I didn’t grab any of the independent music magazines this time around because I’m kind of jaded by music in general. Still keeping tabs on a couple online magazines. Notably, Coldtea.cn, Herecomes18, and Rice.

Trash CAN Do

note the proximity between CanA and CanB = staggering progress for the “we need more garbage cans in this city” campaign!

blockade day

Today I… …tried to go see the Olympics torch relay in Tianjin.

Even if it was six in the morning… and even though I circumscribed the entire school (Nankai)…I was blocked off at every entrance.

When they won’t let you be patriotic… all you can do is nod and smile… and buy yourself an 1 kuai flag….

Next time try four o’clock, or take flying lessons. :D

Momentum

Music: 郭德纲 刘刚 - 刚刚好 Well, even if Wikipedia (and Amnesty) fully functions now, Tumblr is officially occasionally blocked here in Tianjin since…yesterday. I’m logging in from Proxy. This usually happens when I latch onto some new hip blog server not based in the mainland. Last year was some Taiwanese host. The Great Firewall is clearly a sophisticated beast. My theory is it’s able to pick up on any foreign blog server, and then able to debilitate it in two days, allowing occasional access as to frustrate the user enough. To be honest, this is sad, this kind of depresses me.

The past couple of days have been a bit draining. Aside from still not beating the jet lag, being too much of a media junkie is doing some crazy work on my state of sanity. On clearer days, I’m more or less inclined to go “up yours” to foreign journalists and remind them that China’s blue skies are stomped by their Nike sneakers MADE IN CHINA. The great workshop of the world, what do you guess there are no consequences? On sadder, smoggier days, well, let’s just say I’m a bit more contemplative than I’d like. Let’s just say, sometimes this country beats you down in truly ironic, spirit-crushing ways because you simply simply love it too much.

Something has changed this time around. Not on surface. The fanfare and food fare goes on. Buildings are still going up, although construction have been halted, literally, cranes are stuck like bats in the sky. Streets are cleaner and traffic is neater. Change is such a commodity in present day China that it has become mundanity, and that is what makes this country stunning. What this place has accomplished-just socially and culturally in the space of ten years, five years, is just that, staggering. But no other place takes progress in such relative terms. Sometimes I just don’t know.

But we live we roll, not everything lives in the shadow of being governed, only if you strive for something higher. But we live we roll, my hairdresser still works at the same place, still putting in 13 hours a day. He takes a look at my hair and gets mad that I cut it. “What did you do with the long hair I grew out for you?” He says it like it really was him growing out the hair. He remembers exactly what I did with it a year ago.

A total of 7 pairs of hands went into my hair-straightening process, but my hairdresser is total artist, even the way he blows dry my hair is a piece of work. Nobody does it better. When I said: some things have changed about China, but nothing’s really changed. He laughed and said: what do you mean, so much has changed in a year. Look at you, gotta a boy now. That was one of the first thing he said to me when I stepped in the salon: “Beautiful girl, long time no see. You gotta a boyfriend now don’t you” like I have it written on my face that I’m crazy in love. My hairdresser is also the first person in China who said I’d gotten “too skinny.” A miracle.

A lot of things have happened to China in a year, he said, a lot of tragedies. I study my hairdresser’s expressions in the mirror. He looks the same as before, no black-rimmed glasses, but same face. It’s his expressions that have changed, more contemplative, like he’s perpetually scrutinizing something unfathomable in his head. I wanted to tell him almost, gege, the only reason I ‘m getting my hair done is because I wanted to see how you’re doing. If you’d left and gone on to Beijing like you said, I would have found out where your new salon was, and cut my hair there.

In a way, I wish he had gone to Beijing. I almost wished something has changed. I wished his smile wasn’t so sincere when I left, because gege, I really don’t know when the next time I’ll see you will be.

I love this country, you understand. In the plainest, sometimes loudest nationalistic way possible. I love it because my DVD vendor lady sees me after a year and simply says, “you haven’t been here for a while lady!” I love that the vegetable lady knows I’m back from the States. I love this web of community, the sincerity, simplicity of its people.

Yet I leave. Eventually, over and over, I know I leave. You understand, I leave, because I love it too much. We leave, because we love it too much.

mall olympiad

went to the mall

saw fuwas

the wall of wishes in Olympic-themed stationery

luck on the next test!

?

we will never be apart

cicada screams on burberry nights

Music: Acidman - Turn Around A two-hour layover in Narita has re-ignited my teenage-old fever for Japan. Staring out the airplane window oval, Tokyo’s coastline was everything I’d imagined in dreams. Small boats on blue waters, lush greenlands dotted by neat gray buildings (so unlike American suburbia’s neat rows of Monopoly-esque houses), giant power plants gloating like a line from Laundry: the world teetering toward apocalypse. It took a writers’ workshop and a couple runs of “who are your favorite authors?” for me to fully realize this country’s influence on me. From Haruki to Laruku to Shunji Iwai, from Banana to Art-School to Lily-Chou-Chou, one day I will return here (but not for long, not for long… there are still some things about this place that will never quite spell livable for me).

I still haven’t been in China beyond the plane touching down, beyond a bus ride to Tianjin, beyond the Taxi ride home. To be honest, it was a bit anti-climactic coming through the airport. Not that I was expecting loud fanfare, ribbons flying, and trumpets blaring (all right, who am I kidding? I was totally counting on being tackled with free waterbottles, paraphernalia, and Coca-Cola branded souvenirs as I roll out). But it was 10:30 at night and nothing was different about the airport this time around aside from a couple information booths here and there with multi-lingual voluteers lined up. In a way, nothing about China is really different from the year before. Yes, more skyscrapers have gone up. Yes, streets are cleaner cuz they get flushed with water when the country sleeps. Yes, Olympic advertisements are ever-y-where. But during the quiet of the night, girls with fake designer bags and lolling Tianjin accents still soothe me on these Burberry nights…

I did manage to pick up some free guidebooks and maps and in my dreams I wrote the introduction to the BEIJING OFFICIAL GUIDE:

Steeped in imperial history, sizzling with creative energy and bursting with brash new money - Beijing is a city of contrasts. Its residents live on the cutting edge of change, yet monuments to the city’s deep roots are all around. The Great Wall, the Forbidden City and the Summer Palace rank among the wonders of the modern world. Ancient temples and parks provide refuge and respite from the demands of a rapidly evolving society.

Phew, SIZZLING YO. :)

Smog conditions in Tianjin, 7.30. To be honest, it’s difficult being an “American-Chinese” in China right now. The smog weighs on some 1.3 billion souls like we’ve all got something to prove, not just the unfortunate guy in charge of the clear skies campaign since the bid to this hoopla-fare (is this the downside of Nationalism?). Foreign media is blasting China with the usual party-platter attention: human rights, censorship, pollution, Tibet. I’ve been asked by everybody and their great uncle: “how about that smog?” and “so what are you guys doing about the smog?” I’ve talked to acquaintances and strangers who toss words like “propaganda” and “cultural genocide” like they are de facto arsenal in regards to China, only they explode like bombs at our feet. Maybe as one NYTimes commentor said, we Chinese really do have thin skin. Criticism is hard to take after 100 years of cultural, social, political, economic, spiritual, and historical misplacement.

The verdict? I don’t think we’ll find anything in the madness that will soon unfold other than the spinning out that happens when cultures and values colllide, but oh it will be a show, ladies and gents, it will be. I am simply here and ready to bare witness, one smoggy day at a time, hoping for the blues.

S

Dear莎， I have started, written, rewritten, deleted, started this entry again about three times. My English is evidently deteriorating, and I may soon have a better reason to write in LJ other than whining. I may need it to keep a language. Ai~```` why on earth do you choose to want two languages?

To your text, I am with my belated reply: I am good.

Today I went to Ray's place, he's the one I mentioned about: 300GBs of music, too many CDs, EPs, LPs, records, obscure-magazines-lying-around to count, smokes, a great great kid (right and who's older haha). I think the reason I like these artsy Chinese kids so much (I mean, other than they are Chinese) is that they don't let art consume them. One might say great art is born out of circumstances that requires... shall we say a little bit of madness and genius, but I think for friends, I like 'em with ambition, a good head on their shoulders, a day job and daydream. Ray's day job is a sound engineer/editor at the radio station. He's slick with all musical details and hates karaoke because he inhales and exhales sound everyday. He knows his American rock n' roll more than most Americans. He's a good good guy. Two more friends came by later, Dai and 97, we listened to a lot of music  and watched a lot of music videos, short films, cool commericials. Ray exclaimed during one CM that "all we can do is imitate (China imitate the west), all we can do is imitate..." Dai is a cutie. She works at the radio as a host and knows her shit, but when she calls her mama she sounds like an adorable 10-year-old kid. As for 97, I think I'm secretly in love with his soul. There's something about this kid that strikes a chord, something familiar something warm something nice. He's a photographer/animator with good eyes, blackeyes. I like listening to the three of them talk. They are bold and fresh kids. They comment on a lot of things I don't know, drop a lot of names I don't know, bring up concepts I don't know, speak Chinese words that I don't know... I feel a bit of the age and culture and vocabulary gap, but I love listening to them mold concepts and draw out thoughts and... I think I like one-on-one conversations in Chinese because I can draw the borders closer to what I am familiar with.

After Ray's place I went to a bar to meet up with another friend with a set of friends that I never met. Struck up a conversation with one of them about Chinese media, western media, media in general... and so this is my life... talking reading playing writing absorbing... trepidating.

Lately, I am getting more and more unsure of this future thing, of what I can do, of what can I do? I almost don't want to leave Tianjin, because it's too hard to start over, it's too tiring to start over..........

LifeisLove. Howareyou?

spoiled rotten ignorant little girls

qing qing: Do you think I should get my hair done with poofy dreadlocks like hers?Hairdresser #1 (blowing dry my hair): Will your old man let you?! qing qing: Sure! Why not. Hey, hey (yelling to Guiming, my hairdresser), what do you think about me getting a hair bomb dread lock style? Guiming: Uh, yeah, sure, maybe when you graduate. (dismissive)

My hairdresser envisions that I grow out my hair, above-waist length, straight and shining black. He's hip and somehow paternal. He's probably between 27-32. We could never date because he says I'd be too independent for him. Well, maybe it's just we can't marry because he says he has to be the man of the house. I once dated somebody who said "of course I'm dating you so we can get married someday. I mean, isn't that the point?" and I was stunned to death.

The stereotype of the southern Chinese man - dark, short, not good-looking, industrious, and spoils his wife. Today must have been the 50th time that I've seen a boy with a girl on the back of his bicycle, and I wondered, just a little, if I could be like that, ever. I ride my bike like it's the end of the world, looking like a 小子(punkass boy). I'm close to getting to ride it with no hands. I believe I wear heels only to curb whatever wants to break out of me.

Hairdresser #1 today says I'm lucky. I think I see it in the eyes of a lot of people after they learn I lived in America for the past 10 years. But he... he didn't really care for green cards. He shrugged about America, and says,

"you're lucky you can go to school. A lot of people can't afford to go to school these days." "Do you mean college?" "No, I mean all of it." "In cities or rural areas?" "I mean everywhere."

And for a moment, when our eyes bumped in the mirror, I wondered if he wondered that I wondered if he didn't get to go to school as a kid. Their eyes make me feel spoiled sometimes. Here, in the land of haves and havenots, where fake brands sell across the street from 3000yuan Levi jeans. I'm the kid pampered by mum and dad. I have a laptop and speakers. I... I don't know. Social classes suck. I don't want to feel like I belong in the upper-middle strata. Is that stupid?

One of the guys at the hair place who never does anybody's hair, but like, say, today, he ordered somebody to do somebody's hair, and he opened the locker with my bags in it when nobody else could... I think he's the boss. I am fairly very attracted to his face. He's not good-looking, no no. Rather, he always looks somewhat miserable, agitated, half-hearted. His eyes would scan the place in intervals, but never resting, like he wants to go somewhere but he's perpetually shut in this box. I'll give him an age between 30-35, to be kind, and yet, yet yet yet, along with the great sorrow that aging may wrought upon us, his chin curves gently, and his eyes are soft dole black stones. In another day and age and different circumstance, he can probably pass for a introverted intellectual, poems by candlelight and candlelight by mood, but today he is impatient, today he is waiting for something to happen. That's when I catch his eyes, looking at him looking at me looking away.