Andy
by Rasmus on Oct.04, 2010, under Stories
I arrive on time. He’s already here, surfing the Internet on one of the bar stools in the corner. I say hi to the girls, they giggle and smile at me. Pour myself some cold water and grab a book. I have a bottle of Pocari Sweat with me as well. Need to be hydrated. Need the words to flow today.
Let’s go, I tell him. We walk down the corridor and open the glass door. It struggles to close, making a sound as it sticks to the anonymous blue carpet. The window is open. 22nd floor. The view is dead boring. Smog makes it impossible to see more than a few hundred metres ahead. The city is slowly being choked by a big, unhealthy cloud today.
I open the book and look at him. We won’t use the book much today. We never do. We both know. His parents don’t of course. He looks at me with his usual sleepy look, his glasses are for some reason always greasy. I wonder if they really are dirty or if they’re just worn out in some way that makes them look greasy. I guess I’ll never know. He’s 16 years old and his hair has got gray strains all over. He barely has any free time, all he does is study he tells me. He talks a lot about the education system, how he not only has to get high scores on the tests but also has to be among the best in his class to get into a better school. And into college. And into university. And so on. His parents are constantly pushing him to study more. He seems tired every time we meet. I look at his gray hair.
He seems like any other teenager but his mind is different. He spends a lot of time on the internet and he’s very informed about what’s going on in the country. We talk about stuff we shouldn’t be talking about, borderline topics and I return the conversation to something I know he likes – Apple, iPhones, computer related stuff. For him these talks are like a break, a chance to talk about something he enjoys. 2 hours where he doesn’t have to think about tests, scores or demanding teachers and parents. For me it’s an insight into a world I will never be a part of, and never wish to be a part of either. And a chance to learn more about what’s really going on in this country. But more than that, it’s a break for me too. A break from grammar, verbs and pronunciation. And from pretending to be a teacher.
Over time we slowly begin to bond more and more. But still with that laid back teenage indifferent attitude acting as a buffer between us. Our sessions are becoming something I’m almost looking forward to. But I have to go. I tell him I got a full time job now. A white lie which is completely normal and acceptable here. Of course it’s about the money. As it always is in this country.
Bedsheets
by Rasmus on Aug.01, 2010, under Stories
Conversation with my Chinese housemate:
Her: You are very clean!
Me (carrying my bedsheets to the washing machine): Well it’s been 2 weeks so..
Her: I only wash my bedsheets once a year. But they are never dirty!
Me: Oh..
Friday
by Rasmus on Jul.30, 2010, under Stories
Walking through the subway, I see the first few signs. The crowds are moving a tiny bit slower than usual. The security guys are looking a bit more casual today. Or maybe they always look like that and I just never really notice. I never look at them anyway. They look at me and my half empty water bottle, quickly spot that I’m a foreigner, a laowai, and let me through. I could be a terrorist, I could be armed to the teeth and they would still just glance at me with a sleepy look and let me through. It’s all a theater anyway. The big Chinese security theater designed to keep the masses calm.
I pass the ticket gate, swipe my wallet with my subway card in it and reach the station. Jump on the train towards Jishuitan and am lucky enough to get a seat. Most days I have to stand but I don’t really mind. I sit down all day anyway. After a few stations, another familiar scene starts. The subway beggars begin to emerge from the back of the train. Or wherever they come from, that I never really seem to notice either. There are different types, or classes if you will, but within the same class the beggars are very similar. There’s the old man with the cane, face darkened and deeply wrinkled by the sun, his hair thin and gray and dressed in simple and most often dirty clothes. He’s carrying a paper bag half full of 1 kwai notes while he mumbles words here and there, a please and a thank you for each note he receives.
Then there’s the duo setup. A mother crawling on her knees through the carriages and her daughter with the paper bag, collecting notes. Both dressed in simple clothes, dirty from crawling, and begging, on the floors of the city’s subway since the early morning hours. This setup usually gains a lot of sympathy (and money) from the passengers. Then there’s the singing duo. Most often the singer is either blind or heavily burned and scarred all over his face from some kind of accident. Microphone in hand and speaker strapped on his chest, he sings (or yells) out traditional Chinese folk songs. In front of him there’s always a helper who collects notes in, you guessed it, a paper bag.
Getting off the train, more signs begin to appear. People are dressed a bit differently today. Not stylish, as Beijing is in no way a city of fashion, but the women are a bit more done up. The men look the same as always, with their sweat stained white shirts, fake leather belts and black business pants. Like a cheaper version of the Japanese salary man. Getting on the bus is the usual battle of the elbows. There’s plenty of space for everyone but at this very moment, getting a seat seems to be a matter of life and death. I squeeze in the front and draw angry looks from elderly women, an elbow in the side but no one complains. Or maybe they do and I just don’t understand them.
The lunch crowd is gathering around the food stalls in front of my office. I ask for a mini kebab with cucumber, fresh herbs and pieces of unidentifiable meat in it. I’m guessing it’s beef but I’m not quite sure. You never are in China. Do I want it spicy? Yes, please. The seller smiles at my limited Chinese, a warm smile on his tanned face, a Friday kind of smile. I give him his 3 kwai, take the plastic bag with the kebab and head for my office.
New beginnings
by Rasmus on Jul.29, 2010, under Stories
Welcome to my new blog. I’ll try to update it once in a while, but no promises..
