I wrote this short little narrative a little more than a year ago while I was still living in China. Living in a new country, I pretty much felt like a toddler at times. I didn’t know how to feed myself, how to go places, or how to communicate. That all changed, of course, over time & by the end of my trip I often felt like I had more in common with my Chinese friends than any American I met on the road.
I’ve had a lot of people email me lately about China. They’re thinking of going or are going & they are really curious about my experiences. It’s so hard to just write something about something that took up such a big chunk of my life. Where to even start?
So here’s something I wrote while I was there.
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I took forks for granted. I tried to practice using chopsticks before I left America, but usually gave up quickly. When I arrived in China, I became accustomed to waitresses, friends, and even fellow foreigners laughing at my frustrated facial expressions as I tried to trap a piece of slippery eggplant with two pointy bamboo sticks. The area of tablecloth between my mouth and the shared dishes became a landing strip for cabbage, dumplings, and other slippery food escaping an imminent trip into my belly. It was just not happening.
Chopsticks became my biggest enemy. I easily picked up certain “Chinese habits” required to survive in this city, but every time I sat down to eat, I was reminded that I was still completely out of my element. I couldn’t feed myself without getting a lap full of rice; I might as well have been a toddler. I felt the judging eyes of every native chopstick user in the vicinity. My embarrassment deepened when restaurant workers began sympathetically offering me a spoon.
As weeks passed, I became more comfortable. I started to refuse the spoon out of pride, and my Chinese friends began to notice my improvement. But my hands were still sore after every meal. I still had to look at and constantly adjust my hand posture, and every movement was a very conscious, deliberate action to get that delicious morsel into my mouth.
But today was different. After seven weeks of awkward chopstick use, I sat down at one of my regular eateries and ordered a hearty plate of spicy eggplant and fried rice. Half way through my meal I realized I had not thought about my chopsticks once. I was using them naturally. My hand picked them up, placed them in the correct position. I was scooping up the tiniest pieces of fried rice and delivering it to my mouth without a mess.
I began to smile uncontrollably. I looked up, and the kind restaurant owner, who had witnessed those weeks of embarrassment, beamed with pride. She noticed too.
That’s the thing about living in a new place with a new culture & new language. Even the smallest things can seem like the hardest things you’ve ever had to do in your life. Like trying to find out how to order fried rice from the restaurant next to your apartment. Don’t freak out. Just wait. Before you know it you’ll be living in China like you were born there.
