I am not there yet, but this job just getting better and better.

This week is May Holiday in China. It is a labor day holiday when everyone in china is supposed to take the week off. It is the biggest travel season and tourist attractions all over the country get even more crazy than usual.

My school is only taking a short week. So I have Monday and Tuesday off, which is fine with me, because to have a week off after only a week of working seems counter productive and since I get paid by the hour, the more hours the better. So i head back to work tomorrow morning after a luxurious long weekend.

It will be back to the grind for three whole days. and then... as I say this job just keeps getting better and better the following week I will be whisked off with the entire eighth grade class to a dream destination: Guilin- Yangshuo. (see picture above). I have been there before and absolutely loved it. In fact it was where I had hoped to go in case I did not get this job. And Surprise! I get to go there anyway... and the school pays for it.

For 5 days we will partake in many activities: kayaking, rock climbing, biking, swimming, repelling, zip-lining, etc. There will be so much to do and see... and so many wiggling eighth graders to keep us all on our toes. I am looking forward to it... and pleased to get paid to travel. I think I have found heaven...

After we return from that mini adventure... there will be only four weeks (20 days) of school left. and then I will be free again to travel and wander and make my own way. It will be interesting to see which paths I choose and which choose me.

Shanghai American School: SAS for short.

So the rumors are true. I have a job. and it couldn't be more different than my previous teaching experience: Large school, huge staff, older staff, private well-funded, married staff, experienced teachers, international population, more white students at SAS than at my school in San Francisco... huge modern buildings, extensive library, limitless resources.
Every day it feels like going to the United States... and I live in a community that makes it hard to believe that I am even in China at all. So I have gotten a job... an been transported to the United States or a version of it. All of this is to say that I am adjusting, pleased to be working, fortunate to be in such an incredible school, and lucky to know such people.

After teaching for less than a week I have interviewed for a job for next year at the other campus. this school is so big that it has 2 campuses. The high school is looking to hire me for a position starting in August. I got sick at the end of this past week, but went to the interview anyway and managed to make quite an impression and had a really good time.

Over the past few days I have really struggled with the idea of working in August, staying here in Shanghai, working in such an American community and so on. There have been so many issues to consider on both sides of the issue. I have been nearly driving myself crazy. which is a little premature if you ask me because they haven't even called me back for a second interview, let alone offered me the position so to get so wrapped up in a decision I may never need to make is silly, but I have done that any way. I think, in the long run, it will be a good use of time, although crying in that restaurant the other night at 1:30 in the morning was embarrassing for all involved. I have really struggled with the choice and like the tide oscillated every 12 hours. I think I have ebbed for the final time, but even that I don't know for sure.

I have made a life for myself here in this community and in a school. It is a sizable accomplishment for just over a week. I am happy. and sometimes even that surprises me.

If you want to know any of the specific details about the school check out their website. www.saschina.org/

First Day on the Job

By the time you wake up in the morning, Friday morning, I will have finished my first day at school, my first day at work. I got the job. I took the job.

Today was my first day...
There are so few days until the end of the year... I am already feeling the squeeze...
or maybe it is just that I have been wearing shoes all day that certainly don't quite fit... I searched for two days to find work appropriate shoes... and did... but not really in my size. so no doubt the search will go on...
I have been observing, collaborating and running from place o place today.
I have made it to one of my temporary homes and reel the sudden relief. my feet are free.
I feel the pain of Chinese foot binding. it is a modern version. and it is designed with the same purpose in mind, to make women more attractive. these shoes, I have to admit are very cure and I am happy to own them... however I am much less happy to wear them, but for the moment, I have chosen the pain and discomfort of style and beauty over the functionality of appropriately sized clod hoppers. I have recently resolved to only wear women’s clothes and women’s shoes, seeing as I am a woman, I think it is about time I come to that. But really it is so much more difficult... especially in China with my hobbit feet.
But I am well.

I like the school. there has already been a lot of talk about "next year" it seems they are salivating to hire me for something in the fall... \
I am pleased to be such a hot commodity in this competitive market. I know that I have made the right decision by accepting this position. I have already achieved the goals that I approached the job with: I have learned valuable teaching strategies and I have built bridges for future jobs in the International School circuit. Yea for me. Now all I have to do is show up for work 30 more times... really that is it. Amazing really. The hiring process has taken almost that long already. But I am glad to be here and part of the school. It is such a contrast to my previous teaching experience.

I am in the search for a place to live. Once I have the job and the shoes that fit, then I can move on to lesser, but constant concerns like, "where am I going to sleep tonight?" I have a few days guaranteed with my family friend and adoptive mother, who is also responsible for supplying the introduction to the job and talking me up in the halls, Patty Winpenny. And I will be there a week in May while she is on a school trip to Mongolia, but there are still then a few weeks that will require another form of residence, but I think I have decided not to attempt renting or subletting a place. There is not enough time to make it work the effort. So I plan to freeload around the school community and among the friends I have made in Shanghai. Hopefully that plan works. And since the salary I have accepted from the school is on the low end of low, I will greatly appreciate the financial relief of human kindness and generosity.

I am on my way...
to where is not clear, certainly not clear after June 9th.
I have ideas... but no plans.
I am on my way.
maybe I will see you there.

is it back to the grind for me?

Upon my return to Shanghai, in fact the impetus for that trip has yielded positive results. I have been offered a job. And just the kind that I like. Short-term. At the latest I would be finished on the 9th of June. That is almost so soon it seems silly to even start, but they want me anyway. So I may be back in the working world for a moment. I say "may" because it has not been solidified, ABSOLUTELY. There is of course some hassle. It is this hassle that allows me a few ore days to sleep in, stay up late, wander the streets of shanghai and buy cheap DVDs and indulge my imagination. I am living on the edge of a self-imposed boredom while I wait for the final word about the job. But meanwhile, I sit around looking fabulous, or alone in my loft... where my computer can't even see me... and I wait.

with each day that passes I think that there is a day I could have learned something, earned something or done something. yet in the last three days I have done none of those things. and I, of course, am the only one to blame for that. all I want now is some resolution to the matter. The outcome is become less important. I just want to know and start moving in one direction, moving in any direction. and until that phone rings again, I am not moving at all. paralysis.

I am to remember this:
"Though no money, we're among the richer folk for we are rich with love in fives."

A China Doll Breaks

4.8.07
A China Doll Breaks
I have always thought it would be fun. But with anything I always think… I am often wrong… or at least disappointed. Yesterday was no different. I let half of the women in China dress me up like a china doll… which is bizarre… Chinese dressing up an American to look like a Chinese dressed as an American. If you followed that… then you are ahead of me. I agreed, and well honestly wanted to have my picture taken Chinese-style. Which as I have come to know, means six hours of hair, make-up and costumes; contortionist postures and livid smiles showing all of my gleaming white teeth, including the ones in the back; and an emotional rollercoaster that would match the world’s fair.
The morning started in confusion as many mornings do. Then a scurry to the studio as to not be late for an appointment we do not have, accompanied by always, one too many people. We get there and as a result of our hurry we have to wait. I am behind a blushing (yet miserable looking) bride, whose make-up will take even longer than mine. God help her. So long that we have to come back in the afternoon.
So we do, after enough noodles to feed an army, a nap to wake the dead and an ice cream. Accompanied my a legion of women, aging Chinese women with not a word of English among them, we walk the bock and a half to the studio where I begin my transformation immediately. First, the complexion. Then the hair and the colors, the eyes, the cheeks, the lips and the… well anything hey can find to put makeup in they will. And then they set in on the hair with a furry of curling irons and hairspray.
I emerge with a mask of whiteness that even I can’t recognize, eyes to seduce a maharaja …….and a helmet of curls I could go into battle with. I do. I go into battle. I lose. I fight. The battle is fought for me. I give up and then I win. A battle of heart. A battle of spirit and a battle of image are fought and one… in a studio. The image that is sold is far from what the eye sees. Both mine and that of the beholder. I am the product and the consumer… I am the consumer of the product that is me.
Half way there I lost my nerve the battle of beauty had bested me and I was ready to through in the towel and all the tattered dresses that were too small for me with it. I was ready to call it a day… a valiant effort… and not much lost in the process except pride and self-worth. All in all it could have been worse, maybe if the third world war started… in this particular village in China. But at that point I would not have noticed even bombs falling around me, unless they could destroy the feeling… inside. The total loss of faith. In self. The loss of faith in self… and the way that I see me. Maybe I gave up long ago, before I walked in. before I grew up before I grew old… maybe I gave up long ago. But I felt like the battle was lost in that moment. A battle that has laid dormant. Dormant for years. A battle I could not even see or care to know before this very day. A battle that was lost somewhere between birth and adolescence. It was a battle of self. Of womanhood and of image. Of beauty and of perception. A battle lost and fought a million times by every living creature throughout history and time. A battle fought by ourselves, amongst ourselves, with ourselves. But it wasn’t until this battle with this self on this day that I noticed.
I had hit bottom… and again slowly climb back from there for where else is there to go from there? Somewhere in the wreckage and the desolation. The despair and the numbness of pain was the start of something… the sprout of something. It was the birth of another beauty, another image another battle.. Yet to be had, yet to be envisioned, but destined all the same. But what is it worth… this life, if there is not a battle raging somewhere over something? If it is not being fought for then is it worth anything at all?
So in a ball gown I began again. The beauty routine. Pinned in all the right places, makeup touched up and hair teased into compliance. I battled the fear of self and the fear of fear. With a Chinese fan in one hand and an umbrella in the other I went to war. Parasol and fan. The weapons of the ages. The weapons of the sexes. Maybe even the weapons of sex. Being a woman I am surely not looking comfortable when I wasn’t and being happy when I wasn’t sure that I was. That was the battle… more with myself than with anything or anyone else. But a battle all the same. Sometimes I think I am the only worthy adversary.
And before I had even noticed there was something else happening. I had an idea. I turned to my friend in a swarm of people. Hoping that they knew as little English as they let on. And I asked her to keep my secret. “ I want you to ask that man to have dinner with me tomorrow night.” I said. But keep it a secret. “No one can know.” I don’t know why I thought there was any sense of modesty or privacy left in my life, but old habits die hard I suppose. And so she had my secret. Within a moment I knew there was no such thing as a secret in China. She returned to my side. “ I have told my mother,” she said. “She will ask him for you, my dear.” although it is not exactly how I imagined it. This was much more like ancient China than middle school and I guess that is a step in the right direction. Without knowing the answer for several hours I wandered through the routine of dresses, makeup and hair. Pose. Smile. Tilt your head this way. Look that way. Hold it. Again. Smile. Very good. Smile. Smile. Smile.
With my keen wit and much patience I gathered that my offer had been accepted and that the news had spread like wildfire through the studio and probably the town. There is no such thing as a secret in China… certainly not in a beauty parlor. I should have known better. I can her gossip a mile away even in Chinese. It sounds exactly the same.
…
Who knew a day could be such a ride… and that at the end of such misery… I would have a date and maybe even a crush. For 80 RBM, about $12 I had an afternoon that would go previously unmatched. Hopefully next time I spend $12 it will not be so exhausting.

returning to the roots: Shijiazhuang

Lunch with family

Buddhist prayer in China

there is a pair of 800 year old trees that stand in the middle of a temple courtyard. one tree represents women. the other represents man. young people come to this temple. if you pray, write your name on the ribbon, walk three circles around the tree and tie the ribbon here you're wishes for marriage will be granted by the Buddha.

All three are crying

I stood in a darkened stairwell tonight. Listening to a man cry. The woman that he loves can not love him back. In the darkness his whimpers echoed loneliness. Light from the stars and the city shone in through the open hall and a light from an upstairs window cast gentle light etching the shape of the stair. She can not love him because she is promised to another, yet he had cried over her today too. The other. Two men love a woman. Two men love this woman and they both cry; one because he can’t have her and the other because another man loves her. Now the night has come, settled to roost, shaken it’s feathers, commenced its cooing and has tucked a head under wing. With the night and the end of this day now she cries too. The women loved by two men, cries for the tears spilt on her behalf. Fearing that she is a bad woman, a bad girl, she washes her feet in darkness and climbs into a lonely bed. They say you sleep in the bed you make… but this bed has been made for her; made for her by her family, her town, and her country. This bed made for her, is now made for one, because each of the men that loves this woman sleep alone. All three are crying.

Putong

Putong means common. It is the name for the common dwellings common in old Chinese cities. As it turns out it is still the common accommodation for the poor. Rooms, each with separate entrances, serve as apartments, self contained dwellings, and the homes of many. They are called Putongs, they are called common because there are common toilets, common showers, common halls, common allies, common light, common friends. There are common smells and common lives. There is common time and common sound, even common air. All is shared in the Putong.
Laundry is hung between rooms. The one sink for washing and cleaning, drinking and everything is shared. The shoes of each inhabitant line the hall way. The dust blows in and settles on everything; clean laundry drying, shoes, wash basins, an extra table, an old box, the news paper, hangers and trash. Dirt is so much a part of this like that I wonder what kind of conditions they are talking about when Chinese people talk about “that place was so dirty.” I wonder is that a relative term… or do they see their own conditions as dirty… the way I do.
I have tried to hold my shock. Hide my mortified face. Mute the racing shock and horror I feel when I walk into a room… see someone’s shockingly small home, use a bathroom that makes prison look great, watch a baby pee freely on the floor of a living room… or restaurant while adults stand by watching … then laugh when the child stomps in it. When I see that is it most common for people to sleep in their place or work, be that a restaurant, a cigarette shop, an Internet spot, anything. In this part of town, the only way you can have a business is if you operate out of your home- your bedroom. Solution: hang a curtain. Then it becomes a business. It becomes a restaurant. Put tables in the space where you dress. Hang a curtain to partially hide your bed… and when you run out of room to seat people pull back the curtain and let people sit on your bed.
This works. This is how it is.
As I was walking last night, in the dark and quiet alley on the far side of this neighborhood, I realized that it is a good day. It is a good day when you do not crawl into a room, sleep on a plywood board with five other men who eat out of the same two bowls and who have worked by your side all day, and maybe all your life demolishing the very building your are currently residing in. Hammering. Shoveling. Hauling. Dragging. Taking apart a building one brick at a time. Piling the bricks in neat rows along the alley wall to be used undoubtedly again when you rebuild the very building you are tearing down.
It is a good day when you bathe. When you eat. When you see the sun. When the moon shines through a window. And when you are laughing, singing, and surrounded by friends. It is a good day when you have a home and a job. It is a good day when you feel like you have a sense of place and belonging and satisfaction. It is a good day when you are happy. It is a good day when you eat. When you see the sun. When the moon shines through a window and when you are laughing, singing and surrounded by friends.
So is it better to work like these men I see every day… working, eating and sleeping together… in poor conditions…. Or is it better to work 90 hour weeks at high-paying, high-stress prestigious jobs, making more money than you can spend… and really being alone and feeling separated from your life…? That really is a rhetorical question. I realize that… but I think there has to be something in between. There has to be something better for both extremes.
This is how it works. This is how it is.

The War Zone

The streets corral the blowing trash that rumbles along like tumble weed in old western movies. Walls stand tattered and weakened. Buildings in their skeletal forms stand as memories of a previous life. Businesses open and operational yesterday are abandoned tonight, doors left open, virtually nothing left inside except the darkness and the things that couldn’t be carried. Bombed out buildings. Hanging tattered signs. Open pits. Children running in the street, playing with trash and rubble. Hiding behind burned out cars and eating what they can find.
People going about their business as best they can… but operating without some of the basic essentials. Wearing the same pants day after day. Sometimes even two pairs just to stay warm.

mmmm, warm buns

against all odds. i have found bread things i like in china.

it seems it is always time to eat.

Time to EAT.

Those who know me will assure you that I am always such a lady. nothing but the finest... all the time.

The work of the street

It is amazing what gets done on the street. in less than 20 minutes you can get your shoes resoled and watch a women make a fishing net. anything is possible in China

Bebe. my new friend

A Journey into Reality

4.3.07
A journey to reality
There and back again.
What is this place?
What happened to what I Know?
The sound of running water
The hum from somewhere deep.
The constant chatter from strange tongues
The piercing eyes with confusion, curiosity and jealousy
Someone is new here.
Someone doesn’t belong.
Someone is obviously out of place.
Sometimes I think I will be arrested simply for being here.
Simply for being so out of place.
My dreams take me on journey through the familiar and to the loved.
My sleep is the home I knew and the life I left.
I wake to the light and I am reminded of where I really am.
I walk the alleys and corridors.
Morning sun licking the rooftops.
The sounds of dawn and a life well lived.
The life is like any other but not.
The sun rises.
The moon sets.
The birds in cages from strings sing mourning tunes.
Breakfast is made, bought and eaten from street vendors.
It is morning in reality.
If this is reality…
then where am I?

Friends and food

4.2.07
Army of Faith
Tonight I scour the city with my army of faith. We search for a place that does not exist to reach a place that is so far it may not be at all. We desire something that can not be, they even more than me because they are an army of faith…. And have hope and wonderment, where I have the decided defeat well rooted in me from the first moment, from the first sign… and as much as I wish for them to be right, and this is why I follow them to the ends of the earth and back, I am sorry to report that I am correct in my acceptance of defeat. Now at least it can be said that we tried… and that there isn’t any possibility that we did not try. All meeting the same fate and the same result. Mei you. Nothing. Not have. All means the same thing. You can’t get what you want. You cant have it you cant have it you cant have it youcanthaveityoucanthaveityoucanthaveit. Ok. Ok. It is no big deal. Ok. Ok. Ok. Ok.
But my army of faith is just that. An army of faith. Nothing if not determined. Armed with weapons of persistence. Spears of hope. Arrows of truth. Cannons. Of diligence. Bombing failure. And the army grows. And with it the strength and resilience and unyielding determination to bring me to my destination. Pulling me, literally at moments into the darkness and into the light. Into the hope. And through the despair.
Into the night. The same result. mei you. Nothing. Not have. All means the same thing.
An army of faith defeated.
Is there anything more disappointing. Mei you.

The Apartment

4.2.07
Days in China
I sit crouched in the one room that is the apartment of Jenny and Jack. The wall is scuffed and cracked. Shoe marks and countless nicks and scrapes are chronicled there. The wall clock etches out the seconds with a scratching hoarse cough sound. The one light above cast shadows in the corners where it cannot fight the darkness. The bed constitutes the room. The bed made for one sleeps two. Last night it only slept me for my hosts set up camp in a neighboring room. The hand towels we use to dry ourselves drip from a yellow plastic hanger as my stomach groans and grumbles.
A blue curtain separates my life from the public path outside. The curtain proudly once, but now sadly and with a bit of shame wishes “sweet dreams, bright moon and clear sky” the inhabitants. Stars grace the pattern and sing a childhood favorite… “ Twinkle, Twinkle little star…” however the curtain is hung upside down and I wonder if it has ever been noticed.
Newspaper hangs from the pipe that runs along the wall. The pipe serves as a shelf of sorts because it stands several inches out. Coffee tin, sweet mayonnaise salad dressing, the box of a hair crimper, picture frame and a teddy bear all call this pipe home.
Two sheets of newspaper dodgily hang taped to the upper window to provide privacy from the stair way outside. An hour ago, both the stairway and the path outside the door were major thoroughfares. Now at nine-thirty most everyone is already where they were going.
The desk is the only other furniture this room can accommodate. A fragile wooden structure decorated with plastic linoleum tile. A basket containing tasters of food stuffs. Nescafe single servings, powders of various consistencies and qualities. A red plastic bag of sweet potato chips acquired yesterday from the street market the swarms across the main street from here. The clock scratches away at time. Two mugs rest in mid-use. Paper towel for toilet purposes, keys to this establishment, a vitamin jar, a well worn, tattered yet still blinking cell phone, and a flat screen 19” LCD monitor for a modern enough computer. A red plastic bag of oranges. A chair reminiscent of 1950’s school houses, a water thermos typical in any home or business in China, a thermos that can provide a days worth and more of hot water for drinking, washing and any other imaginable purpose.
There is a scuffle outside in the hall. Moving of bicycles, the unlocking of doors, the hollers back and forth. Old woman. To man. Man to old woman. The sound of key tones. Cell phone or house alarm although the latter seems improbable. The conversation drops to a whisper outside my door at their door across the way. Someone is hauling boxes down the stairs, the scrape and thud is unmistakable.
The clock scratches away at time.
It is cozy and cramped. It seems insufficient and destitute. Time marks this point emphasizing the harshness of this place. But within a matter of no time at all it became home to three of us and with minimal maneuvering we spent several hours cavorting, frolicking and enjoying each others presence of which we were right up against. The cavorting and frolicking, at least in the metaphysical sense.

I am blessed with an immense urge to urinate while my stomach once again asserts it presence in audible growls. Yet beyond the obvious this dwelling is not graced with a commode… or any sort of facility. In order to find such a place I have to walk from here out the door, down the hall, turn left and the enclosed tree by the second stairway, down that hall and out into the light. From there I have a choice to make. Right or left. As it so happens this location is blessed with two equidistant latrines. If I choose left I will have to wind my way through a short labyrinth of allies and people. If I choose right it is a straight shot, but a considerable walk. The equivalent of several blocks…. Not city blocks, residential blocks. There I will find the desired location… or rather the closest approximation of the desired location. The desired location, in my ultimate spoiled-ness would be a place where I could pee in private without the eyes of others gracing my bottom. I have come to realize that the desired location is not even a place where I can sit… or flush, that these are mere frivolities and obscene luxuries. What I desire most is a modicum of privacy. I can overcome the stench. And the filth even for a breath of privacy. The one person, brick, three walled hut of the villages and the mother’s home. That is it. But privacy lacking, eventually urge overtakes even modesty and it is endured with minimal injury. When I walk away I wonder what all the fuss was about.
One might think after the shower I would be able to handle anything. Who knew I was such a wuss? Not even I would have imagined it.

Part Two: The Safari.

I went on safari last night.
“Bring nothing, I have everything you will need.” Hesitate to believe anyone who tells you this, especially when you don’t know where you are going. That is not entirely fair. I knew were I was going, but I had no idea what I was in for. I should have, it is all perfectly reasonable with the right amount of distance, but I had no distance last night. I was in it. I was in the show. I was the show. And I was the primary audience. I was the critics and I was the reviewer. I was the show from start to finish.
With house slippers on, the thick plastic pink kind, I followed my friend. I go where she goes and I do what she does. I am her shadow. Her brilliantly blinding, impossible to ignore, even if you tried, shadow. With basket and bag in hand we make our way into the darkness. The moon has not yet risen and my eyes didn’t adjust to the dark. I fumble my way through the hallway around the corner, down the corridor and out into the alley. There is not much more light there. We make our way through the tangle of twists and turns. The allies that must lead somewhere because there are people maneuvering obviously on their way to and from somewhere. We pass the common toilet. I have vivid memories from earlier that day. Down a new alley, one which we haven’t yet traverse toward the light. A red light sign hangs above a door at the end of an alley. It claims all sorts of things but all I can understand is how much it costs. 6Y. Six qui. Six RMB. A man stands in the light of the door waiting and staring inwards seeing only what I will come to see.
We approach the door and part the plastic hanging strips that divide what is inside from the rest of the world. The cold air has been gnawing at me since we left the room and now it has claimed my ears, my breath and has settled in on my bones. In a flash and a flurry of flapping plastic doors, money, people, steam and keys we pass through a crowd of bodies past a desk, a decrepit seat removed from the back of a van, passed a room where fire and water meet and into a room sticky with wetness and naked women. A fleet of lockers stand with open doors. A mirror reflects back what I am desperately trying not to notice in the first place and the heat searches out my lungs and battles the cold from my ears.
It is somewhere in here that I notice the swelling panic. One that surprises me and yet that I cannot and don’t even pretend to hide. I am supposed to take my clothes off. Here. In front of these women. I have felt naked already, since the moment I got here. Here in China. I have felt naked every moment in China. I have been stared at, ogled and photographed. Like a movie star and an animal in the zoo. With each passing day as I submerge myself deeper and deeper into the real China the staring progresses and festers.* I thought that I had already discovered and endured the worst of it and that if I could maintain this I could survive. But this shower thing. Oh my goodness. Who knew I was such a wuss? Who knew I was so shy? I used to be a nude model, sitting for hours in front of thirty people or more while they scoured my body with their eyes… it was their duty to look at me. That didn’t bother me. What was this then, that I felt like I was drowning in fear? My breath shortened and my mind narrowed. All that I knew and all that I thought was about this. Naked. Women. Staring. Fat. Tattoos. Blonde. Oh god. I can’t even stand it. And a voice of calm and compassion said, “do not worry my dear it does not matter” in a soft Chinese voice. Words I could hardly believe at the time. But I soon realized I had no choice, no alternative. It was this or nothing. It was this or perish. And so I took off my sweater. And my shirt. And my other shirt.
And my pants. What I came to understand, in a miraculous twist of irony, was that the only time I was noticed, was when I was in an embarrassed panic, fully clothed in a room full of women. The less clothes I had on, the less I was noticed. and stark naked I felt invisible… or free from the eyes of others. It was naked that I felt the anonymity that I had been deprived of since my arrival here nearly a month ago. A naked woman amongst naked women is of no note. Blonde, foreign, fat, tattooed or otherwise. It was I who did the looking. I who was the voyeur. The watcher. The thief of glances. The child in the room. I was more than naked, I was innocent, I was new, I was oblivious. I have been this kind of naked often in China. Not knowing how or what to do in the most obvious and basic of circumstances. I have been the child that needs teaching. Here is the toilet. Here is how it works. Here is the phone here is how it works. This is food, let me show you how to eat. Here is the street. This is how you cross. Let me hold your hand. Let me lead you with your arm. Let me show you how…
And I was clean. Washed and new. With the dirt and the dust of the last week went the panic, the modesty and the pretension. I am sure it is not all gone. But maybe a little. Maybe for a little while. I sweat in the steam room. I scrubbed. I washed. I rinsed. I dried. I lotioned. I dressed.

the "oh, my God"s of China