sry kiddies no more fun blog time

After a very long time of no account activity (unless you know my other tumblr ( [NSFW {no kids allowed}])) I am just going to put it out there, for anyone who doesn’t know already

But other than that there are few things to discuss. I won’t be updating about my stools (although if you have any desire to know more about my digestive tract feel free to contact me) or making annoying posts about existential angst or things like that.

As time goes on, however, I will probably use this blog as a platform for self-promotion (school is coming up and projects are on the horizon) and the occasional cry for help/ok I will probably complain about culture shock or post some sort of comprehensive list of THINGS I MISS ABOUT CHINA and/or THINGS I REALLY DON’T MISS ABOUT CHINA.

But hey, to say the least, it’s good to be back.


For those of you familiar with American literature, you’ve probably heard of or read the famously terrifying sermon by Jonathan Edwards, “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God.” Just in case it’s been a while, I found part of a summary on a website that reads at the top of the page WARNING: DO NOT CITE.

“”Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God” is a typical sermon of the Great Awakening, emphasizing the widely held belief that Hell is a real and functional place. Edwards hoped that the imagery and message of his sermon would awaken his audience to the horrific reality that he argued awaited them should they continue without Christ…The underlying point is that God has given humanity a chance to rectify their sins. Edwards says that it is the will of God that keeps wicked men from the depths of Hell; this act of restraint has given humanity a chance to mend their ways and return to Christ.”

The thing about this sermon is readers are encouraged to reflect on their actions, realize all their wrongdoings and return to Christ. No more messing around in sin! Stop hanging out with Satan! Jesus is where it’s at! As humans we have this ability to reflect, to ponder, and to fear the consequences of our actions. Mosquitoes? Not so much. They hum through life painfully unaware of the flames that await them if they don’t shape up and return to the ponds from which they came. They live guiltless lives; they are two steps away from being machines.

Day and night they hover over my windowsill, circle my feet, as if the smeared brown bodies and crooked legs were not the corpses of their friends. “Oh, there’s Jim, he’s not looking too good.” Yeah you’re right because I killed him with an envelope.

I wrote this in my journal on April 17th, and will share it for reference:
I can’t remember the last time I woke up and there wasn’t a fresh welt, itchy and red, somewhere on my body. Over a week.
All day, either I am gone or the mosquito is gone. For several hours it’s far out of sight and even further out of mind. Sometimes I remember the intruder only when I catch myself absently scratching.
I have tried killing it unsuccessfully. Even if the culprit isn’t just one, rather two or three all feasting in shifts, I have managed to miss, lose, or disregard it at every opportunity. I won’t kill anything that isn’t actively trying to hurt me, as far as insects and bugs go. Once, it was in the afternoon sometime this week; as I poured a cup of steaming water, the mosquito whined past my face. With some effort, I could’ve killed it, but I watched it fly straight into the window three times and decided against it. The next morning I had five new bites on my ankles and wrists.
Since then, the hunt has been ongoing. The damn thing is totally invisible, unnoticed, until I’m too tired to care. I sleep on my side, and am regularly startled awake by a sudden shrill hum of insect wings. Even if I turn on the light and wait, the mosquito remains hidden until I’ve gotten comfortable…

As it turns out, there was not just one or two mosquitoes haunting my room. Two days ago, from one am til I woke up at seven-thirty, I killed seven mosquitoes. When I got back from class, I killed three more. This isn’t funny anymore, nor was it ever really all that funny. To them it might have been a running joke. “Let’s see how long she’ll sit up with the light on. Yeah she has class tomorrow, I think in four hours?”

And much like God with his sinners, I tried to be patient. They won’t be killed immediately, as long as they get the hell out of my room—or even just leave me alone, I don’t care if they leave, as long as they don’t bother me—I have said this from the start. Mostly because I wasn’t so good at hitting them successfully. Now, however. I am an expert; I can find them perched on textured surfaces, just moments after turning on the light, even though I am bleary-eyed from fitful sleep. My bedroom is now a mosquito graveyard, and I am done playing nice.

They still have time to correct their ways. Though they are figuratively pinched between my fingers, dangling helpless over a pit of flames and mere inches from eternal suffering, they can fix this. I am not God, but to these pathetic and aggravating creatures I’m as close as it gets. They are not sinners but I am definitely angry. It’s gotten to the point where I think I hear them even when I can’t see them, much like a phantom phone vibrations and the like. In the past two weeks, I haven’t slept through the night once. Their salvation lies in their own hands, or rather on their tiny wings, and as long as they keep their distance, I will refrain from joyously slaughtering them all.


I accidentally found this in my Google hunt for Chinese recipes, and ended up learning about the food traditions in Henan province. V cool if you ask me//if you really want to know I almost didn’t share this because the header image looks like something I made on Kidpix in elementary school but whatever. And even if the information is fake (which it doesn’t sound like it is???) at least I’m fooled~

that was a bad review but I really think it’s worth reading???


…..but I’m learning!

Since first arriving in China, one of my main goals has been to learn to cook some dang Chinese food.
Can’t be that hard, right? Google “Chinese recipes” and there you have it. Sixty variations on crab rangoon and whatever chop suey is.

But as disappointing as this may be (it sure as hell was to me) but that ain’t the real stuff. So unfortunately, Happy Wok and Chang Jiang have been lying (sort of) to us. Imagine my dismay when I realized people don’t eat spring rolls and potstickers on the daily.

At least, not here in Central China. See, another thing some of you (including me until very recently) don’t realize is the kind of “Chinese” food Chinese people eat varies a great deal depending on where in China you are. Here in the more northern part of China, we have dumplings for the New Year, but this isn’t so in the south. Mantou (aka steamed buns aka God’s gift to humans) are pretty common as a rice substitute in this province, whereas noodles are more common in other places. Same goes for the level of spiciness in food. Supposedly, Sichuan (“sze chuan”) cuisine is ridiculously spicy and includes a lot of numbing spice (which is exactly what it sounds like). However, my friend from Guangzhou says he likes spicy foods, but his parents “won’t accept it.” Which makes sense when you aren’t actually tasting anything so much as you’re wishing you could taste anything.

All that to say, my endeavors to learn how to cook Chinese food have faced obstacles. Namely, what kind of Chinese food? Even now I can’t really tell you what kind I’m looking to make. Something easy (or not), digestible, and worthy of showing off to my friends and family at home. Ultimately, when I cook, I hope to make dishes that remind me of my time abroad.

So far I have a very small list of things I, in theory know how to cook. I have a list of even fewer things I’ve actually cooked. (Unfortunately, steamed buns are apparently difficult to cook, so they’re not on that list but hopefully that will change.) In looking up recipes, I discovered a couple things: 
1) if it’s by Paula Deen, it’s probably not authentic.
2) if it links to take out restaurants in the greater Madison area, it’s probably not authentic.
3) recipes in Chinese are my best bet, which also means…

When I say “authentic,” I’m using the word very lightly. Generally I mean “likely cooked in a Chinese household” and not something that can be found at a takeout place. Not to say those foods aren’t authentic—those cute little pancakes that you put meat and vegetables in are often served with a duck course, for example—but I want to make food I’ve eaten in China, made by Chinese food, or by the woman who lives down the hall from me who is Japanese but cooks every day and makes me incredibly jealous.

Anyway, so hopefully this list will continue to grow, but below are the foods I could in theory make and/or have made:
-fried eggs and tomatoes with green onions
-boiled cauliflower, onions, and sesame sauce with parsley
-fried eggplant with tomatoes and green peppers
-steamed mushrooms (these things called “tree ears” that are black and wrinkly) with chopped chicken, onions, green peppers, and green onions
-stir-fried pork with onion shoots and green onions
-pork and bokchoy (cabbage, basically) dumplings
-sliced cucumbers, sliced onions, and spinach leaves dressed in vinegar, soy sauce, peanut oil, and sesame paste (this one I overheard so it may not be accurate//am a huge fan of sesame paste and will put it on anything)
***as far as I’m concerned all of the above can be served with rice, over noodles, with steamed buns, crackers, on a pizza, etc.

Which might sound impressive, but I have a long way to go. Onions are also pretty popular in Henan dishes, as are different kinds of mushrooms and lamb. Anyway, this post was inspired by my first attempt at one of the dishes—stir-fried pork with onion shoots and green onions. I bought some steamed buns to make it more filling. Two is more than enough for one meal, but I underestimated how much food I would yield with the stir fry. It was surprisingly easy, even though I kind of burned the green onions, and also really good. It’s a dish I’ll have to work more on before sharing it with others, but here’s hoping!

I’ll post more about this later, but in the meantime, if you’re able to read Chinese//know someone who reads Chinese//want to experiment with Google Translate, here’s a fantastic website I’ve found with all sorts of recipes for Chinese food:

p.s. the title means “I’m not a chef” bcuz #clever

Revelations 4:13

A number of things have become abundantly clear to me in the past couple of days, namely:

1. This “blog” isn’t really a “blog,” or at least not a very successful one. Who reads a blog when there’s nothing to read? If there’s nothing to read, who reads? No one!

2. The link I made for this blog is kind of difficult to remember? Maybe that’s why I’m discouraged from posting updates. And here I used to think I was a writer. Now I’m not so sure, especially when the latest piece of work I’ve completed was inspired by my own disdain at not having written anything recently.

3. There is probably not anything less witty than titling a blog entry after something in the Bible, especially when said entry has nothing to do with the Bible, and the writer in question is totally oblivious to the contents of said Bible. Good job!

4. I’m coming home soon!

Aside from those things, I feel like there is lots to write about, but very little inspiration. To quote a professor of mine, loosely: “People always say, ‘I have this idea, but I just have to get it down.’ But that’s the hard part—actually committing to writing it.” Which is where you, dear reader, have found me today. It’s about 6:15am for you (if you’re in the Midwest/reading this immediately after it’s posted), and I highly doubt this is going to be the most interesting thing you’ve read today.

But bear with me! I have things to share!

The months—because holy crap, it’s already been almost three—have flown by. A different kind of homesickness set in this time around, which made me feel less anxious about missing things at home but more like I was doing things wrong here. I’m not sure how to put it. Both last semester and at the beginning of this one, I took lots of pictures and yet felt like they weren’t the right pictures. I copied characters and read my textbooks, but it all felt off. This existential crisis of sorts was unnerving, but hard to place, and so I started asking myself questions. What made me decide to stay? Is writing characters in different colors based on their tones (orange for first, green second, blue third, and pink fourth, to match up with the system my dictionary app has) really helping? Do I have time to be asking so many questions?

The answers are not all that important (but if you’re curious, they are: the opportunity is a fabulous one, yes, and who cares, respectively). More so than ever before, I feel like I’ve adjusted to my surroundings. Basic tasks like showering and doing laundry no longer feel like temporary actions; I don’t feel so much like I’m living out of a hotel, or that I’m just a guest in a foreign house. Whether people are staring less or I’m just paying less attention isn’t clear, but the feeling of being an outsider isn’t so present, or at least so poignant. And by the time I realized all of these things are technically true—I am living in a hotel, I am a guest, I am foreign, and I’m definitely getting stared at—it wasn’t so pressing to have these questions floating around, struggling to be answered. Instead, they fell into step with the other noise of my thoughts, and would quickly form themselves into questions about what needed to be done for the day.

How did this happen? Did enough time finally pass that I stopped caring about being a foreigner and started caring about being a person? What does that even mean? Do I think by adding lots of questions to my posts that I seem more witty?

For one, I stopped counting the days with such regularity. For a while it seemed that there would always be more than one hundred days left, several months and countless hours until I could board a plane in Zhengzhou. Oddly enough, counting the hours kind of helped. There’s an app I downloaded that sets a countdown for a date of your choosing and puts a widget on your screen. I set it to hours and eventually stopped counting days. Because saying, “oh fffffffuuuuuuuuuuuu there’s 69 days left” makes it so long. You have to wait a whole day before that number gets smaller; don’t get me started on number of weeks. But by breaking the time down into smaller, more manageable increments, the time has gone faster. I go to dinner with, for example, 100 days left til I leave, and 100 days left after dinner is over. Even if I go buy groceries, do homework, and take a shower, before I go to bed that number is still the same. But if I look at the progress in a smaller amount—I can do my homework, write this post, go for a run, watch some Breaking Bad—it seems so much more significant, and thus I stop paying attention to it. So tonight when I go to bed at 11 or 12, that number is smaller; when I go to bed, another five hours will be knocked off that big number. Right now, I have 1672 hours and counting. By this time next week, I’ll be in the 1500s.

But the greatest thing I could do to help the time go by meaningfully and quickly: make routines, or at least fill the time with as many things as possible. As luck would have it, another job has landed in my lap. Thankfully it’s much less formal, and instead of screaming at a class of preteens, I’m drawing on the sidewalk with two six year-olds for a couple hours every Sunday, not to mention getting paid $10/hour. Next Saturday, though, I’ll also be starting another job at a learning center. Very much unlike the middle school, the classes will be smaller; instead of trying to teach them a lesson, I’ll be doing arts and crafts with them. Nothing is set in stone yet, but the woman who runs the school (which is more like a tutoring business for wealthy families) has only just started the process. Next weekend is an open house of sorts, where I’ll be sitting in on a class (in Chinese) and, based on the number of people who sign up, will teach no more than six hours a weekend, and no more than ten children per class. She’s also pretty keen on not setting back any of my studies, and has made it clear all of the work I’ll do is prearranged and laid out very specifically. All fine and dandy, a mostly-legal ways to earn extra money (because job prospects for the summer are looking less and less promising) and get a routine going while learning how to interact with little kids.

Other routines include running at night, since the track is open to anyone at all hours of the day. A friend from last semester has asked for English practice, so we meet once a week to just casually converse, drink tea, and go out to dinner. I make coffee in the mornings, do work in the afternoons, and sometimes take naps. Slowly, I’m learning to make (very basic) Chinese dishes, and look forward to cooking more in the future. Part of me thinks I should be out traveling every chance possible, but that doesn’t sound so appealing. Traveling is stressful. It’s no fun trying to care about what other people want to do, but traveling alone is also nerve-wracking. There’s a school trip to visit the Longmen Grottoes in Luoyang coming up, but as far as anything else, I haven’t got plans.

So where does that leave me? On a job-hunt for the summer, for one. Worse comes to worse, money spent isn’t coming directly out-of-pocket, so not working in the summer wouldn’t kill me financially (but would totally drive me crazy so I’m not giving up). Furthermore, instead of feeling sad about not being home or dragging my feet through the next two months, I get excited when I think about the future. It’ll be exciting to see how things change in the remaining weeks, and exciting to share my experiences with friends and family at home. Running feels good, eating vegetables and fruits feels good, and having a job feels good. All in all, studying comes first, but if I’m not living, really living, what’s the point in knowing 3,000 characters?

What do you think?