Farewell, But Not Forever

This was my first tiptoe into the vast and varied world of China, and I was none too happy. I spoke nearly no Chinese and felt no yearning to delve into this self-assured culture. I was a trailing spouse, drifting like a leaf across the Pacific. 　

Now, eight years later, I’m following my spouse back again. Insurmountable visa troubles mean this home of nearly a decade has shown us the door. I’m glad it’s obliged us as long as it has and, after passing through the stages of mourning, I’m glad to leave. 　

Arriving burnt out by America and disoriented by China – the smells, the sounds, the strange accents, the slimy foods, the painfully spicy foods, the sharp bones hidden in the food, the face-numbing power of Sichuan peppers – I found there was a place for me here. Sure, some kids would point and squeal “foreigner!” but eventually I found China welcoming... at least before the pandemic. 　

In Beijing I found a community of earnest people striving to make this a more livable place, no matter who you love or what pronouns you use. They appreciated my experience and advice, drawing me out and thawing my heart. 　

I cherish a gift from that time, with photos of our little group planning a masquerade gala. There I am, MCing with my Chinese counterpart, basking in the glow of this resilient people. Their work is paused now, but I know they’ll emerge one day to continue changing lives. 　

So many scenes and sensations flash back as I consider these eight confounding, uplifting years. Cold feet and bruised ego, packed subways and steaming bowls of beef noodle soup. The horizon stretching endless along the Great Wall as a hawk soars symbolically overhead. Then the move to Shenzhen, in South China: faster than anything, green but graceless, bold but bland, stretching out in all sides and patenting China’s future. 　

Like Jonah in the whale or Monkey in the eight-trigram furnace, I needed to be here and let this place change me. In photos from today, I see the transformation: a calmer face, easier smile, and wiser eyes. 　

Experiencing a new country is always unsettling, though mine was probably more so. I arrived without much fascination about the history of this place, its culture, language, food, or peoples. I grudgingly accepted that first bowl of noodles, understanding precious little of the Beijing dialect that grated the air in that first bitter Beijing winter. 　

I never taught, though I’ve seen this is a very good place for teaching – parents value educators here and my spouse was always paid enough as a teacher to take good care of me and the cat. 

Instead I had the opportunity to write and edit, something I might never have tried back home. It became my job to explore Beijing, eat foods of all kinds, experience the rich and inspiring art scene (may the memory of Caochangdi live on!), and share the voices of people devoted to forging a better world. And I could do it all in English! 　

Roughly half my friends here are local and all of them accommodate my native language, which is the only way I could have the conversations that have brought us so close. I never progressed much beyond third-year Chinese, using the excuse that I didn’t know how long we’d stay, or the fact that my spouse was already fluent after years of study. I can comprehend enough, but I’d retreat to my English bubble rather than fight the tide and swim into that sea of words. The language encodes a world that’s millennia old, one that could never be mine to truly comprehend. I was always a guest here. And now is the time to don my hat, thank my host for a fascinating experience, and make my way home. 　

I won’t mar my parting by listing all the complaints, big and small, that people in China would recognize. Many of those frustrations will be found in the US as well; despite many differences, their similarities seem to grow year by year. 　

Instead, I’ll hold in my heart the people here who added so much to my life: communities who embraced me and helped me feel useful; fast friends who offered advice and the comforting shoulder I needed to carry on; and our dearest friends, preparing meals so I don’t waste away while my other half waits in exile. I hope to return as a tourist one day, to take my parents to the Wall as we’d planned before the pandemic. I hope by then I can still recognize the character of this place and reconnect those who helped me flourish. Until then, farewell.