The Black Car

The big black car came to take Callie and Ellen away today.

It's a black, four-door honda with leather seats. The windows have tint taped to them; in places they are peeling or torn. The car is clean, which is always nice, and the drivers rarely smoke. The dials are electronic, and the windows automatic; but the car itself is manual.

It's a nice car, especially since what I drive in the US has neither digital buttons nor automatic windows. But at least I know I can escape from my car should I be underwater!

The black car gives a feeling of sadness and goodbye. You never notice it when you arrive; it's a wonderful new thing and you're too busy looking at all the new sights and smells and smog. Plus, you're tired and jet lagged, so your senses are thin and you're running on empty- you won't remember the car, not when you've passed the Kaifeng South Gate and then the Henan University South Gate.

You'll remember the place you live, discovering your new apartment, your peers. You'll remember waking up in the morning and saying, "What do I do now? How do I eat? How do I contact my family? Where do I go? Is anyone else here?"

Then you explore.

When the black car comes again, it takes all that away. Everything you've done. Everything you've learned, everything you've ever enjoyed or felt. You feel it again, but this time, you know you won't have it again. Maybe if you come back.

But you've left a part of yourself behind. To make up for it, you start looking out the window. "Oh, remember that? Oh, remember this store? This street?" Your eyes are grabbing desperately trying to remember what you know you will forget in time. You wish you'd taken pictures, you wish you'd walked along new places.

But the black car keeps going.

I felt it first when I went to pick up my mother what feels like years ago, but was only a little over a year. Leaving Kaifeng, I felt my gut twist- this is what it would be like, looking out the window, awkwardly sitting in silence, remembering all the good times.

When it took me last year, I was glad- Ann was with me. We'd just heard two of our good friends had started dating, so we distracted each other with that. We'd look out the window and occasionally try not to tear up as we remembered where we lived, what we'd done, the adventures we'd had. I was glad I only had to say goodbye once- not many times as the number of teachers dwindled to one and then none.

When it took Nicole this year, I was with her. But I was remembering the things we'd done, going to Hong Kong and Shenzhen, staring up at fireworks right above my window, making pizza, and her very comforting coming after a really hard and difficult semester- I didn't want her to go.

When it took Tatianna, I watched with a deep sad feeling in my gut that I remained from last year- cold,  jaded, and utterly alone this time. I chased after her car and waved with Jenny, hoping she might see us in the crowd of twenty or so people.

Well, it took Callie and Ellen. Jenny and I are left behind. I can already feel sadness welling up inside of me.

Certainly I am tired of teaching for this university. I am tired of being strung around, of being forgotten- no goodbye dinners, no thanks for extra work, and very little support. I am tired of dealing with students who all gather around me and say that I should pass them because they wrote at least the introduction to their research paper. I am tired of the students who refuse to pay attention in class and listen to their ipods, and then claim I have embarrassed them when I asked them to leave. I am tired of the students who refuse to do their simple assignments in general, like with half of a class leaving instead of practicing listening. I am tired of being seen as an object, a pretty foreigner with which to make people come into a store, to make people come into a classroom, to show off to friends at home that this person scored a picture with a kiss from a very unwilling foreigner.

There are things I am tired of.

But there are things I will miss when the black car takes me.

I will miss my students. Certainly they have all misbehaved at times. Certainly they have challenged me. But they are fun, and good people. They all have their own lives, and they're trying to figure out what to do with their lives in a China that is booming, that may have too many college graduates already.

I will miss their fun smiles, their concerns. I will miss their dramas, knowing who is dating who, what rumors are circulating, who has woken up at 6:00am and bothered all of their roommates.

I will miss their eager eyes, and even their third-year slump as they realized they don't care and things were pointless. I will miss watching them as they try to pull themselves out of it, as they try to stay motivated. That in itself is a good life skill to learn.

I will miss my foreign friends here. I will miss the tv watching (so much RuPaul), I will miss the drinking games at Tom's, I will miss the walks back and the fun dining. I will miss the daily walks, the telling of secrets, the realization that we were all each other had. We were the only people like us, the only family, the only sense of home that we had. We could easily say to someone, "Saw a guy taking a photo of me" and instead of getting, "That's because you're foreign!" our family would respond, "That's creepy. Hope you flipped them off" or something to that effect. *

My foreign family, we watched out for each other. We understood each other. It didn't matter I was a teacher and Ben and Dannysha were students. It really didn't seem to make a difference. We were all there, in Kaifeng, and that was a closeness I have enjoyed. I don't know if it will translate back to the states. I hope it will.

I have a couple of Chinese friends who are not students. I will miss them, too. They are always willing to find me, to talk to me, and they don't care that I am foreign. They look out for me, they make sure I'm okay, and I do the same. They never show me off like a doll, they never present me to people like an award- they are just good people. And I will miss them very much.

There are two kinds of people who enter the black car- those who are sad and those who are happy. The happy ones, all they can think of is the life they are returning to. (If the car comes early, those people know that they could not have lasted their allotted time, that they didn't have the tools or the fortitude to last a year). Those people see the black car as a rescue boat, one to save them because they did not have the tools to save themselves. If they did last the year, the people rejoice at going home and hate everything they leave behind, and feel a great sense of relief at never seeing China again.

The other kind of people, they enter the black car sad and tearful. They start crying. They have made ties. They have made friends. They have made a life, though a short one, in a foreign country. (If the car comes early, they yearn to return. Many leave early due to circumstances beyond their control). They have had experiences and regret leaving them. They love China, or at least, they respect China if they cannot love it. They have to leave things behind, and there were too many plans and people to take with them. They've enjoyed their stay, and now to part with it is so painful. Of course they look forward to going home. Of course they look forward to seeing their families again. But part of them will stay in Kaifeng, in the University, and wish they could experience more.



When the black car comes for me, I will cry.




Though I know my blog has been negative recently, I really will miss China.











*I remember telling my students about being followed by three men in the afternoon, which I posted on this blog. I mentioned it was the afternoon, and I went into a shop and the three men followed me. I only got them to leave by pretending to be French. My student's response? "Don't walk around at night! Go into a shop with many people if that happens!" At least they could see it was creepy.