makin’ friends

When he was here, Dad asked me if I had made any good dude pals who I could chum around with. No, I told him a little regretfully, not yet. Most of the young male teachers play basketball after class, but I still haven’t gotten to joining them. A plethora of reasons exist for this (right after school is the only time I can practice music, the it doesn’t fit into my workout routine schedule very well, my language skills are atrocious) but it’s mostly because I suck at playing basketball.

But even if I’m not so great at meeting relatable friends my own age, I still find them in unexpected places. On a whim I went to the cafeteria for lunch today (I had been debating whether or not to go out) and as soon as I swiped my card a little hand waved at me from below. “Hello!” chirped Little Liu, Liu Laoshi’s young daughter. Liu Laoshi himself was close behind, smiling at me. After receiving my lunch tray I went to a table in the corner of the room to eat by myself, but Little Liu followed and sat her tray down. Her father joined us. He used to be abashed about his daughter’s fondness for me, but after seeing that I don’t mind speaking to her, he encourages it. Little Liu is 8 or 9 years old, I’m guessing, and so she goes to one of the nearby Yucai primary schools but visits her father at Yucai Third Middle every day to eat lunch with him. Many kids who have parents teaching here come to join them for lunch and are allowed into the teacher’s canteen.

There was another father-daughter pair eating that day in the canteen, who also happened to sit next to the three of us. Occasionally they would glance over with curiosity at our mangled and slow conversation. I recognized one of the dishes in today’s lunch as something my mother used to make, and I had asked if they knew its name. After cluing in the other two, Liu Laoshi and the four of them animatedly began discussing it and eventually told me that it was called a “rou bing.” They asked me if I knew what a good English translation might be. Considering that a literal translation would yield “meat cake,” I decided to demur and just noted to myself that some things are truly lost in translation after all. The other daughter, an older girl who knew better English, told me that perhaps it would be best called a hamburger. With his daughter now too having joined the fray, the other teacher opened up more and told me that his name was Li Laoshi. “That is the same as my mother’s name!” I remarked. He laughed and said that perhaps 500 years ago we might have come from the same family.

Upon my asking, Li Laoshi told me that he teaches Chinese and offered to lend me some Chinese textbooks. “I think I am too stupid to understand them,” I sheepishly replied.

Little Liu leaned over and whispered “Andrew, I can lend you some of my old books.” This eight year old looked precociously conspiratorial.

“Oh you do not have to go to so much trouble,” I replied.

She waved her hand dismissively. “It is no trouble. I have already finished studying them a long time ago,” she revealed. I imagined her one day handing me solemnly a pile of Chinese picture books. I thanked her gravely and she happily nodded.

Li Laoshi and his own daughter Little Li finished their meal and left, looking pleased and remarking that in the future perhaps we could all eat together again and mutually benefit from the language exchange (as all the above conversation was done by alternating between English and Chinese, aided by my new iTouch dictionary). This is a shining example of how I mainly appeal to older teachers who regard me with paternal bemusement and fascinated young students.

Though perhaps there is another demographic I should be wary of. After lunch I walked back up the stairs to the office and ran into the second Liu Laoshi, whom I met two months ago when he matter of factly plopped down in front of me in the school canteen and started noisily slurping away at soup. After a few minutes he had casually looked me up and down and started up a conversation but overestimated my Chinese skills, and he eventually gave up with a laugh. I keep him distinct in my head as “Rock Star Liu Laoshi” because of his long curly hair and the fact that he teaches music and in general seems pretty hip for a 30+ Chinese guy. On the stairs today he asked me about my age, which then gravitated towards a halting conversation about how expensive a semester at USC was. I think he might be thinking of taking some classes himself, as he asked about master’s programs in communications and whether the overseas Chinese students there integrated with the Americans much. Suddenly he asked me if I had a girlfriend. Before I could say anything he asked me again if I was looking for one here, because there were many people who liked me, and he could introduce me to them if I wanted. I laughed and shrugged it off saying something like “tai ma fan le,” too troublesome. He laughed too and we parted.

I’m going to try making some dumplings again. Here’s hoping I’ll get it right this time and they’ll actually be edible.

On an unrelated note: I kind of have a strange urge to shave my head.

9:00 PM Update: My god, the best dumplings yet. They’re not charred. They’re not raw. They didn’t set off the smoke alarm.

Additional Update: Still haven’t shaved head.