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Home Sweet/Strange Home

I moved to Shenyang at the end of August 1995. I left home knowing not a word of Chinese, nor the name of the person who would pick me up from the airport. There were many tears saying goodbye to my family (I still remember sitting in the front seat of the red Saturn, crying as my favorite song at the time, Breakfast at Tiffany's, played on the radio, as we drove along the airport access road), but I guess the excitement and anticipation of a new adventure carried me forward. I arrived at night and stood in front of the small airport, alone and scared, waiting for someone other than the taxi drivers to approach me, as dust swirled in the air. In a movie, I would have been wearing a skirt, my feet straight and together, and my hair would have been blowing in my forlorn face. In real life I was wearing jeans and had hair too short for blowing.

I spent my first semester in an apartment with three other young Americans and a middle-aged Russian woman. Every lunch and dinner was eaten in the same neighborhood restaurant. Many naps were taken in the green chair in my bedroom. I slowly moved from the sound of Chinese giving me a headache, to recognizing the rhythm of sentences, to understanding the meanings of words. I was challenged by rats, missing my family, jumping into teaching, and cold weather. I learned to hold hands with girls without clenching my teeth. I discovered that smiles and enthusiasm go a long way. Whenever it seemed like too much to handle, I would remind myself of my birthday. With a September birthday, often by the time new people get to know me, my birthday has already passed. I was prepared that that would happen again in China. Not only was it great fun, with students coming over to make jiaozi and my roommate pulling out his guitar, it was a deja vu. Which I took as a sign that I was where I was supposed to be.

The semester passed. Roommates left, others arrived. I learned more Chinese. I made more friends. I stopped freaking out about whether I was making cultural faux pas. I decided to stay a second year. I could say it was because I'd found my place. To some degree, that was true, but I also hadn't figured out what to do next. I went home for the summer. Or, to what I thought was home. I spent time with my family, saw friends. Everyone marveled over how much weight I'd gained. Daily peanuts and naps can do it to you. When I returned to Shenyang, I realized that I was returning home. China was where the weight was taken off, where I could really relax. The next year wasn't without its challenges, but I got through them. And I no longer relied on my roommates for companionship. New ones cycled in, but my attentions were on my friends outside of the house. I realized that the downside of living on the other side of the world from where I'd grown up was that my heart would forever be scattered on different continents.

When my second year was over, I flew back to New Orleans, with lots of luggage, a cello in a box, and tears on my face. I had a window seat, and kept my face turned to the window so that no one would ask what was wrong. Luckily, the flight was very long and the tears eventually stopped. And Roya met me at the Atlanta airport for my layover. She was one of my inspirations for moving to China and probably the best person to welcome me back to the States.

I started public health school and made new friends. I spent many hours crying about the life I'd left and how out of place I felt in the place that was supposed to be home. But, I eventually moved on. I visited Shenyang in 2000, staying at my old school in the new quarters of the foreign teachers. I noticed lots of changes. I was sad to find my old Daiya (uncle/guard) gone. Comforted that my old regular restaurant was still there.

This trip, I was startled by the changes. So many new buildings and signs were up, I found it hard to get my bearings. My school had expanded. My restaurant was gone. There were more cars and fewer bikes. The difference between people's clothing there and here was smaller. My mother lives on the completely opposite side of the city from where I lived, so it was unfamiliar. The whole city was significantly cleaner. More modern. More creature comforts were available.

My friends asked me how I liked the changes. I hemmed and hawed, not sure why I couldn't get on board with all the developments. When I visited my school, I saw another Daiya from my days there and was touched to exchange smiles. He looked so much younger than when I lived there, for which I was happy. And it helped me to realize that while I'm so very happy for my fellow Shenyang-ren, I am sad that the home that I knew is gone. Maybe it means that I'm no longer a Shenyang-ren, that I can't so easily find my way around. But it will forever have a place in my heart.

Posted by Shokufeh at May 24, 2004 10:36 PM