This was in 6/26
----
Ever since I read the article about Jamal resuscitating someone with CPR at the gym, I have been wondering if I could have done the same had I been put into that exact same spot. Today I got my answer on the bus ride back to Chang Mai from Chang Rai. I couldn’t. I failed but luckily, I had my reasons.
It was perhaps two hours into a 4hr bus ride, we were in deep green when the man two seats in front of me to the right started noticing something. His friend, who sat next to him had fallen unconscious. I immediately sensed that things were seriously wrong, because the bus was perfectly comfortable with a good air circulation and a strong AC. He called his friend and we pulled the bus over. He slapped his friend's face and rubbed his tummy. The young soldier who was sitting right behind them with his girl friend reached over to turn the AC on to the max. The bus lady offered a nose sniff. Sure enough, none of the effort was going to bring the man back.
I wanted to step up and push his Renzhong. As I was hesitating, an European lady walked up and instructed people to lay the man down flat on the floor with his legs elevated. Comforted by the presence of basic medical knowledge, I initiated CPR with the help of the woman.
I used my hand gesture to emphasize again and again that the man needs to be laid down. After some struggle, we laid him down on the narrow aisle. To my worst fear, he had no reflex to pain (I pinched his ear lobe hard), had no pulse, and was gurgling slightly. There was no question that he needed to go to ER right away. We asked the bus lady to call 119, which I think I won’t know till I die if she actually did or not. We began CPR while waiting for the bus to come.
Honestly, I intuitionally refused to carry out a mouth-to-mouth. At the same time, I was afraid that these few breaths would determine his fate. Me and the European lady pulled his friend over and told him to carry out a mouth-to-mouth ventilation. Meanwhile, I compressed his chest. 1,2,3,4,5, I don’t know if it was simply a reflex or not, but he would gurgle and ‘breath’ a little after every 10 compressions. I thought he was going to make it. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10.
The ambulance never arrived. I wasn’t sure what other passengers were doing, but they definitely were not being helpful. Eventually, I think it was after another 10 or 15min, the bus started moving again. I guessed that the bus decided to take us to a hospital. We carried on CPR and stopped for a while when we found out that he had received a heart operation. Some people gestured that we shouldn’t be pressing his already injured heart.
“Well, it’s not moving anyway.” The horrible condition the man was in was our only reason to continue. After another 10min or so, the bus stopped. I looked up and my slight hope for the man’s survival disappeared instantly. We were at a highway police station instead of a hospital. A policeman came up to the bus and waved his little cap at the man.
“HE NEEDS TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL” I yelled.
The soldiers who have done nothing thus far, finally got up to help carrying the man to the police car. The bus quickly left and some of us were left to wonder if there was any chance that he is going to survive. Although our consent was that it wold have been almost impossible for him to live. The rest of the bus restored immediately. People slept, ate, and looked outside of the window as nothing had happened. Perhaps for them, nothing really happened. I felt strange staring at the empty seats that were full just a while ago. My legs shivered badly as I tried to stand up. I stared into the space until we reached Chang Mai.
CPR was not too helpful when we were in the middle of no where, far from any medical assistance. Perhaps an AED kit could have helped, but I don’t know how much longer it is going to take for Southeast Asian countries to actually put AED kit on long distance buses.
So what the man died? I think it’s hard for me to answer that question. True, my life go on.
I don’t want to conclude this incident to the lack of general health knowledge. I can’t see through life just because a man passed away in my hand. This is not likely going to be a life-changing experience. But I know it had some impact. A man’s life is lost and something is changed. Everything is changed.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Sunday, July 19, 2009
In Chiang mai
Setting up a travel blog was a fashionable thing to do, but I should know that this is no longer one. I can put however many different city names as the entry title, but let me not forget that I am not traveling; I am simply living and growing old.
Too much has happened after graduation. Flying back to Taipei, sitting in the library wondering if taking the MCAT now is the right thing to do. Preparing for SEALNet. Not preparing for VIA. Getting last minute vaccines. Here I am now, writing in Chiang mai.
A toast with butter and condense milk, a legit combination in Chiang mai, only reminds me of what it is missing -- chocolate and cheese -- the COMPLETE set that I have learned to miss from Indonesia.
Three weeks in Makassar went by too fast. Too fast for me to enjoy, to be honest. You don't get to be in the show if you are managing the stage. I know now for sure that our vision was correct and the project was a pretty good success, I just wish I could have been part of it by devoting not only my ideas and physical strengths, but my emotions and soul as well. I am not the type of person who mentions or even think of 'soul.' In fact, I don't even know bother to define the term. Except, except when I am involved in PI. Only during these weeks have I not doubt the existence of it. Only during these weeks have I dived right in without hesitating.
Being the project leader was a completely different experience, but I still taste the rich aftertaste when I think about Makassar, just like a good beer.
--
I am in Chiang mai now, waiting for my year in Ponorogo, East Java. The traveling had already ended last summer.
--
I feel rather out of the place in my organization that fundamentally brings 'Americans' oversea. There are times when the training simply don't answer my needs.
"What do you think you will be perceived as in a village in Indonesia?"
others: "White and privilege"
"Right, let's think hard how we can resolve this stereotype."
me: (HMMM...)
etc etc
and things that made me realize that although I have a bad American accent, my character is even less American than I have realized. I don't think I can write this without sounding strangely racist and stupid, but the strong sense of self in American cultures just stands out so much that facing it is like staring into a strong light; it hurts my eyes and I cannot see where the light is coming from. Anyways, I should clarify that this is strong of sense that I am referring to, can definitely a positive thing. It certainly adds clarity and efficiency in communication especially here in Southeast Asia.
---
Anyways, TESOL (Teachers of English to Speakers of Other Languages) training starts tomorrow. I am not sure if I am good enough to be an English teacher, but I look forward to learn what it is all about. Hope I can pick up somethings that will make me a resourceful person in Ponorogo.
Too much has happened after graduation. Flying back to Taipei, sitting in the library wondering if taking the MCAT now is the right thing to do. Preparing for SEALNet. Not preparing for VIA. Getting last minute vaccines. Here I am now, writing in Chiang mai.
A toast with butter and condense milk, a legit combination in Chiang mai, only reminds me of what it is missing -- chocolate and cheese -- the COMPLETE set that I have learned to miss from Indonesia.
Three weeks in Makassar went by too fast. Too fast for me to enjoy, to be honest. You don't get to be in the show if you are managing the stage. I know now for sure that our vision was correct and the project was a pretty good success, I just wish I could have been part of it by devoting not only my ideas and physical strengths, but my emotions and soul as well. I am not the type of person who mentions or even think of 'soul.' In fact, I don't even know bother to define the term. Except, except when I am involved in PI. Only during these weeks have I not doubt the existence of it. Only during these weeks have I dived right in without hesitating.
Being the project leader was a completely different experience, but I still taste the rich aftertaste when I think about Makassar, just like a good beer.
--
I am in Chiang mai now, waiting for my year in Ponorogo, East Java. The traveling had already ended last summer.
--
I feel rather out of the place in my organization that fundamentally brings 'Americans' oversea. There are times when the training simply don't answer my needs.
"What do you think you will be perceived as in a village in Indonesia?"
others: "White and privilege"
"Right, let's think hard how we can resolve this stereotype."
me: (HMMM...)
etc etc
and things that made me realize that although I have a bad American accent, my character is even less American than I have realized. I don't think I can write this without sounding strangely racist and stupid, but the strong sense of self in American cultures just stands out so much that facing it is like staring into a strong light; it hurts my eyes and I cannot see where the light is coming from. Anyways, I should clarify that this is strong of sense that I am referring to, can definitely a positive thing. It certainly adds clarity and efficiency in communication especially here in Southeast Asia.
---
Anyways, TESOL (Teachers of English to Speakers of Other Languages) training starts tomorrow. I am not sure if I am good enough to be an English teacher, but I look forward to learn what it is all about. Hope I can pick up somethings that will make me a resourceful person in Ponorogo.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
必死になると色々考えちゃうね。
とにかく今はやりたい事を全部やっちゃえーって感じだけど、パンパンだ。
卒業したとたん自分が周りからやや浮いた感じに、やっぱWESで受けた影響は絶大だね。
surface tensionでいうともう分子がお互い維持するのにぎりぎりかな。
インドネシアに行くのはいいけど、これじゃ準備する暇さえないや。
よしよし。
とにかく今はやりたい事を全部やっちゃえーって感じだけど、パンパンだ。
卒業したとたん自分が周りからやや浮いた感じに、やっぱWESで受けた影響は絶大だね。
surface tensionでいうともう分子がお互い維持するのにぎりぎりかな。
インドネシアに行くのはいいけど、これじゃ準備する暇さえないや。
よしよし。
Thursday, May 14, 2009
a new, old entry
Never again will I be privileged enough to have my blog entry evaluated by an English professor. It's a good feeling to dig something out and make a better entry out of it.
---
“Shun-Wen! Want to join us for a business trip in Chongqing?” I immediately said yes when Ms. Qi had called me up the week before to the trip. It was my first few weeks in the city and she was one of the first few friends I had made on a backpack trip along the border of Yunnan Province and Myanmar. I had traveled to the border anticipating a tough trip, but I arrived in Tenchong, a peaceful small village instead, where few Kunmingers visited to get away from city life. Ms. Qi was no backpacker; she was a kindergarten teacher and an ordinary working woman in Kunming. We kept in touch after we both returned to the city. In her late twenties, she was slowly seeing the limitation of her work in the kindergarten. She told me about starting a kindergarten on her own to offer early childhood education in Western model, something that has never been done in Kunming. She even has a location in mind already that she planned to rent as soon as she quits her current job. I was not aware that she was involved in a business with her sister.
On the bus, Ms. Qi’s eyes squinted as she looked at me, “You’ve dressed casually. I hope you have your business attire with you!” I looked down at my dirty khaki pants and sandals that were appropriate for hotpot restaurants but not conference halls. She had spent a lot of time when she called, telling me that I would “benefit tremendously” if I attended their conference. I had already learned at this point that in China, hospitality is not possible to reject; it shouldn’t even be attempted. I only hoped that my appearance sent a polite yet firm response to their offer. On the flight to Chongqing, I finally understood what the business conference was about: direct sales, something I am not only uninterested in, but I also have a strong sense of distrust for. All three of them looked at me as if I was from another planet when I said that I had never heard of Amway. Mr. Pan, who had accompanied the Qi sisters, was the most senior of us all. From Shanghai himself, he became a direct salesman for Amway after changing jobs several times. He tried to tell me about the how great the company is and how lifechanging it was when he attended the conference a few years back. In ten minutes, Mr. Pan’s talk was more of a business lecture than the sharing of his life story. We had a few more conversations after that, but all of them turned into corporate pep talks, as if that was the only form of conversation that should be appreciated. I listened unwillingly, deciding that regardless of his success, it was not the kind of life I was aiming for. I looked at the serious faces of the Qi sisters and their pens flying on in notepads, trying to write down everything Mr. Pan had said. I wondered why they were listening so attentively.
We never got more than sprays in Kunming, but it was pouring in Chongqing when we landed. We finally got to the hotel room in the evening – the Qi sisters and I shared a double-bed room and I felt terrible when they insisted that I get one bed for myself. Ms. Qi’s sister handed me a sheet of paper as I turned on the TV and sat back on my bed. Before the trip, I had tried to imagine what might happen. This was definitely the worst scenario I could have expected; the Qis have already paid the pass for me to attend the Amway business conference for the next three days.
“Teacher Qi and Mrs. Qi, but I already made a plan for tomorrow.” I stilled called Ms. Qi by Teacher Qi, a nickname she got because of her occupation. I explained to them that I had been planning to go see ancient stone carvings outside the city. After spending a good half hour telling me what an important day I would be missing, they finally agreed that we should meet up for dinner. Another friend, Ma, a freelance writer we had met in Tenchong, was working in Chongqing and had promised to take us out for the best hotpot in the city.
I departed early that morning for the Dazu. I did not want to see the mural just to be excused from the conference. Registered as a World Heritage site, the Dazu Stone Carvings are among the best-preserved Buddhist carvings of the late Tang Dynasty. Since 892, the stone carvings were created throughout the Tang, Liang, Pu, Han, and Song dynasties on a mountaintop looking down the city of Dazu. I could never have dreamt that I would be seeing the carvings with my own eyes, as they stood silently on the surface of the mountains and inside the cave. The lichen on the Buddha’s head was fresh green as water dripped between his brows, down the tip of his nose. The stone carvings had seen people walking by for the past one twelve hundred years, and I couldn’t think of any other occasion when I was not only appreciating the history and art, but also feeling connected to it. No regrets for turning the Qi sisters down.
I saw the city of Chongqing for the first time on the way back from Dazu. It was so dense with skyscrapers, cars, and people. A mountainous region intersected by the Jialing and Yangtze Rivers, Chongqing has long been a prosperous city lying at the heart of western China in Sichuan Province. Its appearance was completely different fifty years back, a strategically crucial location in China, Chongqing has always been one of the most vigorous battlefields. In relatively recent history, the city was appointed as the temporary capital of the Republic of China, led by Chang Kai-Shek and his Nationalist government during WWII. The city was completely burned down during the second Sino-Japanese War by a series of brutal air raids from Japan that lasted more than three years. A total of 268 air raids were conducted against Chongqing and three thousand tons of bombs were launched on the city between 1939 and 1942. I looked out the windows to see the city through the fog and rain. Although I couldn’t testify with the nickname myself due to the rainy weather, Chongqing is also known as “furnace,” for one of the hottest climates in the country. Furnace, I thought, was an ironic name considering the burning and destruction the city had endured in wartime.
It is hard to imagine that the bloody red, oil-bubbling, hellish looking Ma Lah hotpot originates from such a city that experiences such heat and a history destructive warfare. Ma Lah, literally translates as numbness and spiciness, is one of the best-known hotpot in the Chinese-speaking world. Rumor has it that unforgettable and at times, unbearable, the numbness and spiciness of the stock is the product of a complex herbal paste, thick layer of oil, and generous amounts of Sichuwan chili as well as dried red chili peppers. I had not even tried the milder replication in Taiwan before and I could not have been more excited than getting the authentic taste in its city of origin. I returned to the hotel and got on the taxi with Mr. Pan and the Qi sisters to head to the restaurant designated by Ma. None of us knew where we were heading, but the taxi drove towards the Yangtze River and took us to the opposite riverbank.
Ma is a freelance writer and photographer, drifting from city to city, hostel to hostel. When Ms. Qi and I met him in Tenchong, he had just finished hiking in the mountains to help a friend collect insects. “You mean, you were catching bugs for your friend?” I think that was our first conversation. He was helping collect and take photos of insects for a professor of entomology, who was compiling a book. You never knew what Ma was up to, and what he had been through. A food lover himself, he has traveled to the deepest mountains to eat the delicacies of the minorities, and hiked days for a bowl of rice noodles. The taxi took us to a dark alley below the massive highway, sandwiched in a rocky cliff and the Yangtze riverbank. It looked like a gigantic parking lot where buses and waste-collecting vehicles of the city parked. I didn’t know what the rest of the group was thinking as they continued to talk and praise Amway, but I had no doubt that we were heading to a delicious hotpot place. After a few minutes’ drive, lights suddenly appeared on the mountainside by the road. There were plastic chairs arranged around round tables and we saw Ma, waving his hands at us with a smiley face in front of the hotpot restaurant.
“Master Jiang’s Cave Hotpot” read the sign hanging from the entrance that embedded the rocky surface. “You are all going to be surprised,” said Ma, leading us into the restaurant. Long tunnels continued from the door as we stepped inside and waiters passed us by, busy carrying dishes and beer. The ceiling, which was bare rock, was only as tall as I was. The air was much colder inside the tunnel and we sat down at our round table. “There are many good hotpot restaurants here, all in the air-raid shelters!” said Ma, and I finally understood that I was inside one of the caves dug by the Nationalist soldiers to hide from the Japanese air raids. I would have been satisfied just sitting there without ordering a single dish. I was already celebrating, seeing people, drinking and eating loudly inside the extraordinary space. As soon as we settled, Ma asked if we wanted to start off with some ribs.
A tough-looking, middle-aged woman carried an aluminum tab to our table. The container was full of ribs, deep-fried to golden brown flavored with bright red chili, Sichuan peppers, green cilantro and leek. According to Ma, you are supposed to nibble on the meat while they prepare the hotpot. The ribs, already in the character of Chongqing, were hot, numbing, spicy, and juicy. I exclaimed at their deliciousness and ‘put out the fire’ in my mouth as I chugged down the local beer that is light and a perfect company to the Ma Lah flavor of the city. We talked, laughed, took photos, chewed on the bones and laughed some more. When the hotpot finally came, I was surprised to see fish in the size of my palm in the red-hot oil that is boiling and releasing the strong flagrance of chili and the herbal stock. Unlike any of the hotpot I knew of, Ma explained that the main dish of the hotpot is Crucian carp fished from the Yangtze River, and side dish is ordered separately. A waiter came with an oval-shaped dish for each one of us that contained chopped up chili, leak, cilantro, Sichuan peppers, and gingers. Ma showed us how to lay the fish gently on the plate and pour the hot soup over to extract the extra spice on the plate with the fish. The meat was tender and flavorful, just enough to complement the numbness and spiciness. I have always liked a hint of spiciness in my food but it was not until this moment that I fully experience how an extremely spicy and numbing dish can be so pleasantly delicious. After all of us had taken the fish onto our own plates, it was time put in vegetables, tofu, and swim the beef as well as cow stomach slices, without the worry of poking through the carp.
We said goodbye to Ma in front of the restaurant and headed back to the hotel. Mr. Pan didn’t return to his room right away but sat down to start more conversation about the day. Each one of us was excited, but for very different reasons. The Qi sisters’ faces glowed as they discovered the doors of fortune and hope opening in the direct sales business. Mr. Pan was again reliving the sweet memory of the life-changing experience he had at the same conference a few years earlier. And I, I was touched by the food, history, and culture of Chongqing. Talking about setting goals for your life, making your friends and families into clients, and achieving monthly sales goals all seemed so illusionary and unromantic, if not ugly and deceptive. At the end of the night, they asked me if I wanted to attend the conference. I couldn’t refuse them one more time even though it was clear that I was not going to be moved, regardless what the clever Amway salesmen told me.
We woke up early to secure good seats in the hall, only to discover that there were many others who had the same plan. Nearly a hundred people were already linedup outside the building, chatting and smiling with the same silver handbags printed Amway in red, bold letters. Mr. Pan’s phone rang as we were standing in the line. His talked and bowed and handgestured something to the Qi sisters. After he got off the phone, he announced that a manager was going to meet them. Half voluntarily and half forced, I stayed in the queue to save seats for everyone. They left for a nearby hotel and did not come back on time for the conference. I found myself in a lecture hall with an excited crowd of hundreds. The three seats that I had saved next to mine with my jackets, books and bags next to mine were quickly taken over as frustrated Chinese women came by and said angrily “God, don’t you know you are not allowed to do this? If they really want to listen, they should just show up.”
The conference was a series of lectures by the successful sellers and managers of Amway. The content of each speech was the same: They each shared their success story transitioning to Amway and the improvement in life and self-esteem, and the valuable lessons they learned joining the company. As the speakers yelled, “Be your own boss” and “Chase your dream with Amway,” applause, screams, and whistling erupted from the audience seats. People laughed when a senior manager used the analogy of giving birth to profit making. I laughed, too, but I was laughing at them and myself for putting ourselves this situation. Amway’s message was clear enough yet vague at the same time; what dreams were each one of us chasing with Amway? The mockery and questioning gradually turned into a fear that I couldn’t stand being inside the hall anymore. I pulled out my guidebook and flipped through the section on “Chongqing in a hurry.”
I walked through a standing ovation and left the hall. I flagged down a taxi and asked the driver to go to an area of the city known for old buildings and a traditional market. When I arrived, the rain was pouring again but I couldn’t care anymore. I walked in the narrow alleys between the buildings and sat in a dessert shop to avoid the rain. I saw people passing by under their colorful umbrellas, water dripping from every edge – the edges of the umbrellas, edges of the roof, edges of the leaves – and bounced up again on the stone-paved path. It was hard to digest what was going on in the lecture hall, I knew everyone there was still applauding, many of them feeling their lives would never be the same. I left the store and walked a little more before deciding to return to the conference hall before the lecture was over.
I arrived as the crowd was just beginning to leave the hall. The rain had stopped and Ms. Qi waved at me enthusiastically. “Wasn’t it amazing?” said Ms. Qi’s sister, holding my arms and smiling. I smiled back and asked them where we should go next.
---
Chongqing too fast
I couldn’t tell them I was going for the hotpot. The sunshine in Kunming was piercing at the altitude of 6,207 ft, and I stood by Ms. Qi, her sister, and her business partner at the dusty bus stop to wait for the bus that would take us to the airport. “Shun-Wen! Want to join us for a business trip in Chongqing?” I immediately said yes when Ms. Qi had called me up the week before to the trip. It was my first few weeks in the city and she was one of the first few friends I had made on a backpack trip along the border of Yunnan Province and Myanmar. I had traveled to the border anticipating a tough trip, but I arrived in Tenchong, a peaceful small village instead, where few Kunmingers visited to get away from city life. Ms. Qi was no backpacker; she was a kindergarten teacher and an ordinary working woman in Kunming. We kept in touch after we both returned to the city. In her late twenties, she was slowly seeing the limitation of her work in the kindergarten. She told me about starting a kindergarten on her own to offer early childhood education in Western model, something that has never been done in Kunming. She even has a location in mind already that she planned to rent as soon as she quits her current job. I was not aware that she was involved in a business with her sister.
On the bus, Ms. Qi’s eyes squinted as she looked at me, “You’ve dressed casually. I hope you have your business attire with you!” I looked down at my dirty khaki pants and sandals that were appropriate for hotpot restaurants but not conference halls. She had spent a lot of time when she called, telling me that I would “benefit tremendously” if I attended their conference. I had already learned at this point that in China, hospitality is not possible to reject; it shouldn’t even be attempted. I only hoped that my appearance sent a polite yet firm response to their offer. On the flight to Chongqing, I finally understood what the business conference was about: direct sales, something I am not only uninterested in, but I also have a strong sense of distrust for. All three of them looked at me as if I was from another planet when I said that I had never heard of Amway. Mr. Pan, who had accompanied the Qi sisters, was the most senior of us all. From Shanghai himself, he became a direct salesman for Amway after changing jobs several times. He tried to tell me about the how great the company is and how lifechanging it was when he attended the conference a few years back. In ten minutes, Mr. Pan’s talk was more of a business lecture than the sharing of his life story. We had a few more conversations after that, but all of them turned into corporate pep talks, as if that was the only form of conversation that should be appreciated. I listened unwillingly, deciding that regardless of his success, it was not the kind of life I was aiming for. I looked at the serious faces of the Qi sisters and their pens flying on in notepads, trying to write down everything Mr. Pan had said. I wondered why they were listening so attentively.
We never got more than sprays in Kunming, but it was pouring in Chongqing when we landed. We finally got to the hotel room in the evening – the Qi sisters and I shared a double-bed room and I felt terrible when they insisted that I get one bed for myself. Ms. Qi’s sister handed me a sheet of paper as I turned on the TV and sat back on my bed. Before the trip, I had tried to imagine what might happen. This was definitely the worst scenario I could have expected; the Qis have already paid the pass for me to attend the Amway business conference for the next three days.
“Teacher Qi and Mrs. Qi, but I already made a plan for tomorrow.” I stilled called Ms. Qi by Teacher Qi, a nickname she got because of her occupation. I explained to them that I had been planning to go see ancient stone carvings outside the city. After spending a good half hour telling me what an important day I would be missing, they finally agreed that we should meet up for dinner. Another friend, Ma, a freelance writer we had met in Tenchong, was working in Chongqing and had promised to take us out for the best hotpot in the city.
I departed early that morning for the Dazu. I did not want to see the mural just to be excused from the conference. Registered as a World Heritage site, the Dazu Stone Carvings are among the best-preserved Buddhist carvings of the late Tang Dynasty. Since 892, the stone carvings were created throughout the Tang, Liang, Pu, Han, and Song dynasties on a mountaintop looking down the city of Dazu. I could never have dreamt that I would be seeing the carvings with my own eyes, as they stood silently on the surface of the mountains and inside the cave. The lichen on the Buddha’s head was fresh green as water dripped between his brows, down the tip of his nose. The stone carvings had seen people walking by for the past one twelve hundred years, and I couldn’t think of any other occasion when I was not only appreciating the history and art, but also feeling connected to it. No regrets for turning the Qi sisters down.
I saw the city of Chongqing for the first time on the way back from Dazu. It was so dense with skyscrapers, cars, and people. A mountainous region intersected by the Jialing and Yangtze Rivers, Chongqing has long been a prosperous city lying at the heart of western China in Sichuan Province. Its appearance was completely different fifty years back, a strategically crucial location in China, Chongqing has always been one of the most vigorous battlefields. In relatively recent history, the city was appointed as the temporary capital of the Republic of China, led by Chang Kai-Shek and his Nationalist government during WWII. The city was completely burned down during the second Sino-Japanese War by a series of brutal air raids from Japan that lasted more than three years. A total of 268 air raids were conducted against Chongqing and three thousand tons of bombs were launched on the city between 1939 and 1942. I looked out the windows to see the city through the fog and rain. Although I couldn’t testify with the nickname myself due to the rainy weather, Chongqing is also known as “furnace,” for one of the hottest climates in the country. Furnace, I thought, was an ironic name considering the burning and destruction the city had endured in wartime.
It is hard to imagine that the bloody red, oil-bubbling, hellish looking Ma Lah hotpot originates from such a city that experiences such heat and a history destructive warfare. Ma Lah, literally translates as numbness and spiciness, is one of the best-known hotpot in the Chinese-speaking world. Rumor has it that unforgettable and at times, unbearable, the numbness and spiciness of the stock is the product of a complex herbal paste, thick layer of oil, and generous amounts of Sichuwan chili as well as dried red chili peppers. I had not even tried the milder replication in Taiwan before and I could not have been more excited than getting the authentic taste in its city of origin. I returned to the hotel and got on the taxi with Mr. Pan and the Qi sisters to head to the restaurant designated by Ma. None of us knew where we were heading, but the taxi drove towards the Yangtze River and took us to the opposite riverbank.
Ma is a freelance writer and photographer, drifting from city to city, hostel to hostel. When Ms. Qi and I met him in Tenchong, he had just finished hiking in the mountains to help a friend collect insects. “You mean, you were catching bugs for your friend?” I think that was our first conversation. He was helping collect and take photos of insects for a professor of entomology, who was compiling a book. You never knew what Ma was up to, and what he had been through. A food lover himself, he has traveled to the deepest mountains to eat the delicacies of the minorities, and hiked days for a bowl of rice noodles. The taxi took us to a dark alley below the massive highway, sandwiched in a rocky cliff and the Yangtze riverbank. It looked like a gigantic parking lot where buses and waste-collecting vehicles of the city parked. I didn’t know what the rest of the group was thinking as they continued to talk and praise Amway, but I had no doubt that we were heading to a delicious hotpot place. After a few minutes’ drive, lights suddenly appeared on the mountainside by the road. There were plastic chairs arranged around round tables and we saw Ma, waving his hands at us with a smiley face in front of the hotpot restaurant.
“Master Jiang’s Cave Hotpot” read the sign hanging from the entrance that embedded the rocky surface. “You are all going to be surprised,” said Ma, leading us into the restaurant. Long tunnels continued from the door as we stepped inside and waiters passed us by, busy carrying dishes and beer. The ceiling, which was bare rock, was only as tall as I was. The air was much colder inside the tunnel and we sat down at our round table. “There are many good hotpot restaurants here, all in the air-raid shelters!” said Ma, and I finally understood that I was inside one of the caves dug by the Nationalist soldiers to hide from the Japanese air raids. I would have been satisfied just sitting there without ordering a single dish. I was already celebrating, seeing people, drinking and eating loudly inside the extraordinary space. As soon as we settled, Ma asked if we wanted to start off with some ribs.
A tough-looking, middle-aged woman carried an aluminum tab to our table. The container was full of ribs, deep-fried to golden brown flavored with bright red chili, Sichuan peppers, green cilantro and leek. According to Ma, you are supposed to nibble on the meat while they prepare the hotpot. The ribs, already in the character of Chongqing, were hot, numbing, spicy, and juicy. I exclaimed at their deliciousness and ‘put out the fire’ in my mouth as I chugged down the local beer that is light and a perfect company to the Ma Lah flavor of the city. We talked, laughed, took photos, chewed on the bones and laughed some more. When the hotpot finally came, I was surprised to see fish in the size of my palm in the red-hot oil that is boiling and releasing the strong flagrance of chili and the herbal stock. Unlike any of the hotpot I knew of, Ma explained that the main dish of the hotpot is Crucian carp fished from the Yangtze River, and side dish is ordered separately. A waiter came with an oval-shaped dish for each one of us that contained chopped up chili, leak, cilantro, Sichuan peppers, and gingers. Ma showed us how to lay the fish gently on the plate and pour the hot soup over to extract the extra spice on the plate with the fish. The meat was tender and flavorful, just enough to complement the numbness and spiciness. I have always liked a hint of spiciness in my food but it was not until this moment that I fully experience how an extremely spicy and numbing dish can be so pleasantly delicious. After all of us had taken the fish onto our own plates, it was time put in vegetables, tofu, and swim the beef as well as cow stomach slices, without the worry of poking through the carp.
We said goodbye to Ma in front of the restaurant and headed back to the hotel. Mr. Pan didn’t return to his room right away but sat down to start more conversation about the day. Each one of us was excited, but for very different reasons. The Qi sisters’ faces glowed as they discovered the doors of fortune and hope opening in the direct sales business. Mr. Pan was again reliving the sweet memory of the life-changing experience he had at the same conference a few years earlier. And I, I was touched by the food, history, and culture of Chongqing. Talking about setting goals for your life, making your friends and families into clients, and achieving monthly sales goals all seemed so illusionary and unromantic, if not ugly and deceptive. At the end of the night, they asked me if I wanted to attend the conference. I couldn’t refuse them one more time even though it was clear that I was not going to be moved, regardless what the clever Amway salesmen told me.
We woke up early to secure good seats in the hall, only to discover that there were many others who had the same plan. Nearly a hundred people were already linedup outside the building, chatting and smiling with the same silver handbags printed Amway in red, bold letters. Mr. Pan’s phone rang as we were standing in the line. His talked and bowed and handgestured something to the Qi sisters. After he got off the phone, he announced that a manager was going to meet them. Half voluntarily and half forced, I stayed in the queue to save seats for everyone. They left for a nearby hotel and did not come back on time for the conference. I found myself in a lecture hall with an excited crowd of hundreds. The three seats that I had saved next to mine with my jackets, books and bags next to mine were quickly taken over as frustrated Chinese women came by and said angrily “God, don’t you know you are not allowed to do this? If they really want to listen, they should just show up.”
The conference was a series of lectures by the successful sellers and managers of Amway. The content of each speech was the same: They each shared their success story transitioning to Amway and the improvement in life and self-esteem, and the valuable lessons they learned joining the company. As the speakers yelled, “Be your own boss” and “Chase your dream with Amway,” applause, screams, and whistling erupted from the audience seats. People laughed when a senior manager used the analogy of giving birth to profit making. I laughed, too, but I was laughing at them and myself for putting ourselves this situation. Amway’s message was clear enough yet vague at the same time; what dreams were each one of us chasing with Amway? The mockery and questioning gradually turned into a fear that I couldn’t stand being inside the hall anymore. I pulled out my guidebook and flipped through the section on “Chongqing in a hurry.”
I walked through a standing ovation and left the hall. I flagged down a taxi and asked the driver to go to an area of the city known for old buildings and a traditional market. When I arrived, the rain was pouring again but I couldn’t care anymore. I walked in the narrow alleys between the buildings and sat in a dessert shop to avoid the rain. I saw people passing by under their colorful umbrellas, water dripping from every edge – the edges of the umbrellas, edges of the roof, edges of the leaves – and bounced up again on the stone-paved path. It was hard to digest what was going on in the lecture hall, I knew everyone there was still applauding, many of them feeling their lives would never be the same. I left the store and walked a little more before deciding to return to the conference hall before the lecture was over.
I arrived as the crowd was just beginning to leave the hall. The rain had stopped and Ms. Qi waved at me enthusiastically. “Wasn’t it amazing?” said Ms. Qi’s sister, holding my arms and smiling. I smiled back and asked them where we should go next.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
sometimes
Rewriting a story from summer for a class. As it is almost always the case, the stories from traveling, interviewing, and interacting with others are always so rich and beyond my limited imagination. And as it is also almost always the case, I feel like I don't have enough skill and knowledge to tell it the way it deserves to be told.
At any case, rewriting a memory from China makes me miss the country. there is a connection I feel irreplaceable by the other places I have been or about to go. May it's the Chinese characters, but when I just see names of places...
Chongqing, Wuhan, Guizhou, Xian, Xing Jiang,....
only if I knew more of history I would have been flying over there after graduation without any hesitation.
Maybe summer, I can just sit in a nice book store, reading some books before I depart. I definitely miss that a lot in college.
At any case, rewriting a memory from China makes me miss the country. there is a connection I feel irreplaceable by the other places I have been or about to go. May it's the Chinese characters, but when I just see names of places...
Chongqing, Wuhan, Guizhou, Xian, Xing Jiang,....
only if I knew more of history I would have been flying over there after graduation without any hesitation.
Maybe summer, I can just sit in a nice book store, reading some books before I depart. I definitely miss that a lot in college.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
TPE
"there is so many things I don't understand about life" said my mother after watching a TV program about deadly jellyfish on Animal Planet. I have been flicking between National Geographic, Animal Planet, Discoery Channel, and Travel Channel all night all. Again, fascinated by the science programs that I have been fascinated by for the last ten years. This isn't just about the new science knowledge that we do not know though.
I don't remember since when had my mom acquired the habit of telling me new things. She would digest a news, a book, a movie, a journal article, a conversation about anything, though mostly health and science-related, and tell me about it. Her story is never too short, and she really doesn't care what I am doing. I can be watching some important news on TV and she would sit and refuse to leave until she finishes her story. I have made up my mind not to listen to her unless it is really intersting and I am not in the middle of other things. Maybe it is a new habit that she acquired after she started living on her own, one of the greatest sacrifice my parents have made for me and my brother.
I don't think she minds that I only pay approximately one fifth of my attention to her. I understand how it is encouraging to tell someone something, because by listening to the words coming out of your own mouth, you know what you have digested and you know what you have pulled out of it. Smart people can tell a compelling story given the same information. i think everyone learn that sooner or later. my mom has of course mastered that and perhaps this is one way of testing her own ability. telling the stories.
watching Discovery channel reminds me how fun science can be. I should know that what i experienced in the neuroscience lab is only a very narrow protray of what can go on in the field of academics. I think it would make perfect sense to devote yourself into research when you find the subject you truly enjoy. otherwise there is no use pushing yourself. you don't feel sad not knowing a lot about something you don't really care, but you sure do when it is something of importance to you.
it is my senior winter holiday now, and i will be in both Taiwan and Tokyo. it is hard to say what will happen from now on. and i am definitely stressed about many things. at the same time i've got to live in a way that i will enjoy. that's all it matters as of now. i can slowly feel the sadness of living a life out of college that i don't find passion in. i think it would be dangerously depressing.
I don't remember since when had my mom acquired the habit of telling me new things. She would digest a news, a book, a movie, a journal article, a conversation about anything, though mostly health and science-related, and tell me about it. Her story is never too short, and she really doesn't care what I am doing. I can be watching some important news on TV and she would sit and refuse to leave until she finishes her story. I have made up my mind not to listen to her unless it is really intersting and I am not in the middle of other things. Maybe it is a new habit that she acquired after she started living on her own, one of the greatest sacrifice my parents have made for me and my brother.
I don't think she minds that I only pay approximately one fifth of my attention to her. I understand how it is encouraging to tell someone something, because by listening to the words coming out of your own mouth, you know what you have digested and you know what you have pulled out of it. Smart people can tell a compelling story given the same information. i think everyone learn that sooner or later. my mom has of course mastered that and perhaps this is one way of testing her own ability. telling the stories.
watching Discovery channel reminds me how fun science can be. I should know that what i experienced in the neuroscience lab is only a very narrow protray of what can go on in the field of academics. I think it would make perfect sense to devote yourself into research when you find the subject you truly enjoy. otherwise there is no use pushing yourself. you don't feel sad not knowing a lot about something you don't really care, but you sure do when it is something of importance to you.
it is my senior winter holiday now, and i will be in both Taiwan and Tokyo. it is hard to say what will happen from now on. and i am definitely stressed about many things. at the same time i've got to live in a way that i will enjoy. that's all it matters as of now. i can slowly feel the sadness of living a life out of college that i don't find passion in. i think it would be dangerously depressing.
Monday, August 18, 2008
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