Yes I'm back and I'm alive. A few emails showed me more shock from my loved ones than I ever thought I was giving them reason to have- ma baaaad. I have been traveling around Northeast China, covering ground there and checking off lists. I will tell tales of one trip in particular, the trip to Haerbin, in the next post. THIS post was inspired by my return from said travels, when I happened upon everyday items in my apartment that, with time away giving me better clarity of thought and an even better sense of humor, are perfect indicators of my 'foibles and follies'.
I love Korean food. It is fresh, spicy, and includes lots of vegetables- at least in my limited experience. Korean Culture is pretty prominent around our city and the other cities in the Northeast, due to proximity and people fleeing... So my affinity for those flavors has increased.
We went grocery shopping one day, and I came across a red tub with Korean on it, and other visual indicators that this is kimchi, therefore I should buy it and enjoy it at home. It was heavy, felt like kimchi ( like I really know what kimchi feels like), and was red, just like kimchi...
It was kimchi sauce. straight up, the spicy stuff that seasons the kimchi. With that much sauce, I could make like, 10 pounds of pickled cabbage... maybe... really not that big of a deal, but it displays my irrational cravings. And if you know me really well, you can imagine the immensity of my disappointment when I opened the box to find only a thick liquid. wuh wuh....
A sign of beauty in China is pale skin. Each major cosmetic and bathroom product brand has catered their products to appeal to this Chinese standard of female (and at times, male) standard of beauty. Overall, it is counterintuitive based on my ingrained standard of western beauty being tanned and rosy. And at times, the paleness is creepy.
Sometimes the girls here overdue it- just like a girl may wear too dark of foundation in the states, a Chinese girl may wear too much lightening powder or whitening lotion on their face, almost to the point of looking like a porcelain doll, or like a geisha, or worse, near dead. It causes me to stare, and at the very least, do a double take.
So one would assume that with this knowledge in mind and a need for body wash pending, that I would have my radar on for something that would make me feel ugly according to Western standards.
I'm looking through the options at a small shop across the street from my school, and find 'Nivea', a brand I'm familiar with in America. I smell one, like it enough, and buy it in a hurry.
When I'm ready to use it, out of curiosity I read the small section of English on the back:
"New NIVEA White Jade Shower Gel makes your skin moisture balanced and radiant white as white jade."
Whaaa... mygoodness. So, uuuhhh... how 'white' is white Jade? And, um, does this mean I'll be white from neck all the way down? What chemicals makes this possible, if it actually indeed HAS this ability? (Crossing my fingers it doesn't. 12 kuai is a large enough price to force me to use this body wash until it's done.)
I'm halfway through the bottle, and so far, I don't notice a change- however, my Summer tan is fading at the same time I'm using it, so I really cannot tell. Really, by the time I return, I just may end up looking like that western girl wearing too much and too dark of foundation.
The food here is cooked with a lot of oil and a lot of MSG. No matter what you do to the food, as long as you include those two things, it will taste good. Never mind the long term effects.
I like food. At the very beginning we were brought out to eat almost everyday in celebration or with students treating us. Indulging was easy, or at least, ignored, due to the heavy amount of culture shock I was processing. The effects of this pattern of eating showed itself when I couldn't button my jeans after washing them. Not having a scale or a mirror that showed lower than my belly-button proved to contribute to this depressing surprise. This could have been something that I anticipated, but shoot. I LOVE EATING. sigh... So, I worked hard, returned to my older, healthier, eating habits, and viola, back to my old weight. But that was another perfect example of how I enjoy life, and that later, how that blinding love could be my downfall.
*no pictures included to indicate the appearance changes in my physique.*
And lastly in this post, is the story of how I probably lost a sizable chunk of my brain and olfactory capabilities.
My floors are all concrete. One of the teachers a couple years prior felt the urge and followed through with that urge to rip up all the tile in the second floor apartment, where I currently am.
I was an art major. Aesthetics are important to me, and I feel, to a degree, the looks of my apartment reflect who I am as a person. SOoooo I was instantly searching for a solution to this crime against my degree and my instincts.
I asked some students of mine if they knew of a store in town that sold paint that was safe for my floors, durable for furniture to potentially slide around on, and was non-toxic, emphasis on the NON.
I soon got an address, and asked again about the toxicity of the paint, and they said that what this store sold should be safe. AWESOME. Let's go get it.
At the time I was thinking really creatively, and wanted red in my living room, a dark blue in my front room, and a fun combo in my bedroom- if he can rip up my tile, I can paint his floors, right?
The night I was going to begin, I get dressed, move things around, and waited for Brett and Heidi, who volunteered to help. Typical for me, I got impatient and decided to open the first can to begin the project. As I peeled the cover back, a thick, noxious fume floated up and invaded my nostrils. It was awful.
I started to paint.
About five minutes into my headache, I opened the window and door to get a draft going. Brett came up soon after that, and was shocked by simply stepping out of his apartment; it was as though he walked into a wall of fumes. Heidi could smell it through her window up on the third floor.
This smell was invading the entire building!
I told them when they arrived that I didn't think it was that bad- it smelled awful, sure, but whatever- my floors were getting painted :) It wasn't until I was getting dizzy, and that Brett and Heidi's heads began aching, that we stopped. Only 60% of the floor was painted by that point, so I was antsy to continue, but too dizzy to do so.
I went for a short walk to breathe some new air, which helped the headache, but accentuated the contrast between fresh air and poison. When I returned, I tried my hardest to seal the door to my living room with towels and sheets, and when I shut my bedroom door, I stuffed those cracks too. Even in my bedroom, the side of my bed near the window had fresh air, and when I rolled over to the other side that's closer to the door, I could smell the gas.
In the end, I only finished my living room. The smells were so noxious and presumably toxic that my fellow team members urged me to quit after that room. I put up a pitiful fight, and lost. I had hated the smell so much that I abandoned every painting rule I had ever learned: taping the base boards, putting two coats down, straight lines, not touching it/walking on it, etc. I just wanted to get that done.
Now when I go for runs in my city, and I pass construction sites or a blue-collar district, I smell that paint, and want to voooooomit. But, at least a third of my vision came true... even though the dust is so intense here, it's now more of a brown with a hint of rust...
