Nov. 4, 2018

After being unable to communicate clearly with people for the first few weeks of our trip, I was ready to use sports as my medium of communication. I heard about ping-pong tables but could not find them and had to ask for assistance from a boy sitting at the top of the steps looking over several courts of pick-up basketball. There are many English majors on the China West Normal university campus, and I thought it would be worth a try to open the conversation in English rather than stumble through any of my basic Chinese phrases that I had not yet polished. When I asked if he knew English, he told me that he was an English major and that his English name was “Box.” I had to confirm the name because of its obscurity. We chatted a little as he led me to the ping-pong tables. I found out that he liked basketball and got his contact information for a possible game in the future. This is how I met many of my Chinese friends.

Box later explained that his Chinese name combined with the Chinese character for “Box” meant psychopath in his hometown. In general, more complicated conversations like this with non-native English speakers can be draining. I have realized that Chinese to English translation is no easy task. This fact is prominently displayed all over China on signs with English translations that often leave me scratching my head. Even if all the words are correct, a cultural point may be missed along the way. Even though most students’ English is better than mine, I sometimes feel that I am speaking to a child as I dumb down my vocabulary and filter my cultural references. I must remind myself that many people I talk to are much more intelligent than they appear in English. My rudimentary Chinese doesn’t paint me as the next Einstein either. In the midst of this frustration, I turn to sports as a universal language to communicate through competition.

I spend many evenings texting all my Chinese friends to ask if they want to play ping-pong. Often, they are busy studying for a test or doing homework, but I usually can find at least one person to play me. In the U.S., I list my ping-pong skills as average. However, after being told by a 12-year-old boy that I “die quickly,” I think my official Chinese ranking should probably be below average. No matter the skill difference, I enjoy either asking questions about college life for Chinese students or putting some of my Chinese language to use depending on my opponent’s English ability.

In the end, I was able to play some basketball with Box. We happened to be on the same team on a weekend tournament put on by the basketball club. With only two weeks remaining in our time on this university campus, it is one of my goals to be as active with others as possible.

-Andrew Troyer

10/16/18

“Are you Christian?”
“Are you Mennonite?”

Every time I’m asked these questions, I usually respond with a sputtering “well I was raised Mennonite”, or even a resounding yes to bring a quick end to an uncomfortable conversation. However, neither answer really felt like an honest portrayal of my uncertain religious convictions.

In the West, we expect a simple yes or no to these questions. To us, religion is a binary: either you are or you are not. This expectation of exclusive belief makes discerning religious and spiritual ideas difficult; how can we figure out our beliefs when there is no room for grayness in religion?

In China, however, religion is nothing but gray. Religion (or philosophy, depending on your definition of religion) in China does not necessarily mean complete faith in one religion but can be a personal combination of many thoughts. Therefore, it is nearly impossible to find accurate numbers for people in China who

consider themselves religious by Western standards. Someone may consider themselves non-religious but still pray for prosperity if they visit a Christian church or Buddhist temple. Or, one may consider themselves religious but believe in any combination of Confucianism, Daoism, Buddhism, etc., and practice in any kind of various ways. (This disbelief in exclusive religion is one of the reasons Christianity struggled for centuries to find its place within Chinese society).

This past Monday, we visited a Daoist temple, Nestorian Christian pagoda and a Buddhist pagoda/temple (all dating back to at least the seventh century CE). Normally, when discussing religion, we try to organize and classify each thought, finding differences between every religion. Visiting three different religious sites in one day, however, enabled me to see the similarities. The Buddhist and Daoist temples each were similar in composition, with classic Chinese architecture, inscribed paintings and figures to venerate. The pagodas at the Buddhist and Nestorian sites were similar in shape and size, and inside the Nestorian pagoda, Daoist and Christian iconography intermingled. If the places of worship were so similar, then surely the beliefs must be in some way as well.

While I walked among the Daoist buildings within the temple walls, each decorated with beautifully bright paintings of nature and in the courtyards wafting with incense, I felt at peace. This feeling of connectedness was greater than anything I have ever felt in a church or at any of the European Anabaptist sites I visited last summer.

Perhaps this sense of peace I felt in the Daoist temple was the spiritual connection I yearned to have out of guilt for lacking the deep faith others’ possessed, but I eventually shunted, out of self-perceived failure and anger.

I have never felt comfortable answering yes or no to inquiries about my Christian faith, but maybe it is because a simple yes or no cannot properly convey my faith. China, and this cross-cultural, have given me a new and open space to explore my spirituality that no where else has and tools to process my complicated relationship with religion that I have yet to find exclusively within the Christian church. For this I am thankful.

I am not ready to turn my back on the Mennonite church, but I need more. While I have yet to reach any conclusions on how I identify religiously, I am no longer sure I want a definitive answer. In some ways, I am more comfortable without clarity. Ultimately, I think the Chinese may have it right: why strictly follow one doctrine when you can syncretize so many beautiful philosophies? Why be religiously stagnant when there is so much to explore?

-Emma Yoder

September 27, 2018

Top Questions Asked By Year at EMU:
Freshman year – “What’s your major?”
Sophomore – “What are your plans after college?”
Junior – “Where are you going for your cross-cultural?”
Senior – “No, seriously pick one. Why haven’t you gone yet?”

I remember picking my destination for cross-cultural in the fall of my freshman year. I was a naive 18 year old from rural Ohio who had never left the east coast, and I was ready to explore the world. I marched into the cross-cultural office as soon as I had mustered up my freshman courage to ask where it was. I pointed dramatically at the first person I saw and declared “Where can I get the most culture shock!” Perhaps my memory is a bit foggy on the details of my inquiry, but I do know I left that office with a definitive answer: China.

They say that if you keep a routine for twenty-one days, you will form a habit. However, they do not say the length of time it takes to assimilate yourself into a completely new culture.  I woke up this Monday morning and walked to the bus stop to have our early morning class thirty minutes away. As we waited the fifteen minutes with vacant stares for bus 22 to reach our stop, Anna turned to me and asked, “Do things feel just…normal now?”

For one of the first times in my life, I didn’t immediately have something to say. I looked to my right and there was the usual pop-up shop that sold magazines and various breakfast breads enshrouded in pork floss. To my left were some locals who had pulled out their phones and were taking pictures of the thirteen foreigners who were waiting for the transit. The sound of the endless honking of cars communicating their whereabouts to each other filled my ears along with the sizzling of various meats being cooked, skewered, and sold for 3 yuan per stick; an inexpensive 50 cent breakfast for North Americans. I looked back at Anna, shrugged, and offered, “kinda.”

We have reached our fourth week in China and third week in Nanchong. In no way can I say that I have come to adopt the Chinese culture in its pure essence, but neither can I say that I haven’t grown accustomed to the stark differences. When we arrived here, I can definitely say I felt very out of place. Immediately, I could tell that we were an oddity by the looks we were receiving of neither disgust nor excitement, but of intrigue. Beijing is definitely a place for tourists, however, with a population of two million, we are spread thin. A group of thirteen was a rare sighting. We were followed by whispers of “Weiguorenmin” (foreigners) and then “Meiguorenmin”(Americans) when they heard our comparatively monotone English voices. Once I heard a little girl walking past us in an alleyway, counting out loud how many foreigners there were and exclaiming “Shi san ge Weiguoren!” to her friend when she figured it out.

The racial diversity in Chinese cities may be spread thin, however, the shear number of people per square foot is not. We have had to reduce our personal space down to about 5 centimeters while in public. This was my biggest worry as I have enochlophobia, the fear of crowds. I remember while visiting New York, I had to wiggle my way out of a rather large one to take a breather and collect myself. I have noticed a difference however, to the crowds of New York, USA and those of Nanchong, China.

When in a crowd in New York, people are not used to being this close to each other, and every little mistake is seen as a problem; being elbowed in the ribs after the transit suddenly halts in the road, stepping on another’s shoes when trying to quickly avoid a near death experience with a taxi, or accidentally “brake-checking” someone while reading a sign. Here in China it is different.

Last evening, I was attempting to get onto a bus back to the university at the same time the primary school let out at 9:00 pm. The bus driver looked at the three foreigners and two locals on the steps waiting to scan their bus passes and looked back to the collection of children whom we would spend the next hour standing beside. He shouted something I can only imagine to mean, “Make some room!” I was the first one to board the bus and saw a wall of children hanging onto each other and onto the nearest support, so I did what I had learned in the past four weeks in China to do; I pushed.

In Mandarin, there is no phrase for “excuse me” to use in a crowd setting. The closest we have learned is “qing wen” which literally translates to “please question.” So we must push our way through only muttering “dui bu qi” (sorry) when we accidentally make a wrong move and cause the other person pain. While moving through a crowd, it is less of asking people to part the Red Sea, and more of swimming through Dr. Seuss’s famous Oobleck. I have been able to wiggle my way through, but been restrained by my backpack being stuck between two people.

Curiously, I am less anxious getting onto busses or pushing my way through the sidewalks, invading people’s personal bubble. I think this is due to the expectation that this is how to get from point A to point C when point B is blocking your path. There isn’t the awkward hand on the shoulder and slight bow as you excuse yourself by someone. I think I always feared the social repercussions, responsibilities, and constant apologies that needed to be said.

I feel that China has made me more comfortable with asserting myself. I may be illiterate, but I have gained the confidences of at least two Finns.

-Finn Wengerd

21 September 2018

I want adventure in the great wide somewhere.

This “Beauty and the Beast” lyric has resonated with me since I was a child growing up in small-town Pennsylvania. I related to Belle on a personal level, always wanting more, looking for interesting things to happen whether they be positive or negative. As I was watching this film for the umpteenth time with my host family last weekend, I began to ponder what the lyric has meant to me.

Like Belle when she first arrived in the castle, these first few weeks in China have been rough for me. Changes are never easy for me, but this felt different. Nothing was exciting me nor was it disappointing me. I was just going through the motions, and it felt pretty terrible. I forgot why I wanted to come to China in the first place. I felt like Belle locked in the dungeon. Then, I began to make connections with my classmates, the enchanted household items of my trip, the schedule began to solidify and made days go by swiftly, and I took the time to absorb and explore the world (castle) around me.

Some of my favorite explorations so far have been riding alone in a sketchy three-wheeled cart, sitting introspectively on the Great Wall and taking in the immensity and beauty of my first wonder of the world, playing badminton with my host mom, searching for American food among the noodles and rice, tasting duck (“Be Our Guest”, am I right?), and snapping pictures of every piece of Peppa Pig merchandise I can find.

This is my adventure. This is the great, wide somewhere I have been seeking. The Beast locking me up is Chinese class, the Gaston chasing after me is sickness, mental and physical, and the magical utensils providing me with support are my classmates. Most people where I am from do not travel to other countries; they get stuck in their “little town,” and I never wanted that for myself. I chose to travel to China because of the immensity of the Great Wall, the expansiveness of cities, and the adventure of it all. I am no longer thinking of this trip as a three and a half month cross-cultural, but as the adventure that has always eluded me.

-Cheyenne Marzullo