Several month ago (during the Chinese New Year) one of my best friends posed this question to me: Do you ever think about life and say "this isn't what I expected...."?
My mind has been drawn back again and again to this question since it was first asked of me.
Considering that when I first read this question I was sitting on the porch of my Chinese in-laws house in some remote village that I'm pretty sure National Geographic wouldn't be able to find and unable to communicate with anyone besides my husband, I would say that the simple answer is "yes". When I moved to China in 2009, I fully EXPECTED to stay for only one year, I fully EXPECTED to return to America and resume "life as usual" when my year was finished. I NEVER EXPECTED to marry a Chinese man, though many people told me that was going to happen when I left.
When we moved to Sri Lanka and one night while we were out taking a walk and suddenly were being charged by a wild elephant that the dogs had disturbed, after running for our lives and later laughing about it, again my answer to the question was "yes". (By the way, this has only happened once.) Even just the idea of living in Sri Lanka, a place that most people have not heard of and definitely don't know where it is, would cause me to answer the question "yes".
When I was a little girl, my expectation was that I would grow up, be tall, thin, and blonde like our next door neighbor, marry a boy I had known my whole life, and live in my parents back yard. Of all of those expectations, the only thing that has happened is that I've grown up, and that only in the strictest sense that I'm older (my head and my heart haven't seemed to grow up as rapidly as my age has progressed). Genetics were stacked against me on the being tall and blonde part. And the final nail was driven into the coffin of my childhood expectations when my parents moved out of the house that I had spent my whole life growing up in just a few years ago.
I've always been a planner, sometimes being more persnickety about managing my life than others. China tried to beat it out of me, but I am feeling the planning instinct coming back in full force. However, my plans and God's plans have rarely been the same. Thus, my life verse became Proverbs 16:9, "The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps." My heart does a lot of planning, but in the end it is what God wants me to do that I end up doing. That's how a girl who hates to eat rice, has an especially sensitive nose that fears bad smells, and is an over-planned freak ends ups quitting her job, throwing away 2 degrees, and moving halfway around the world. And quite honestly, I wouldn't have traded these past 4 years for anything. If there are things that I would go back and change, they are things about myself and how I didn't do the right things in certain situations.
So where is all of this going? Well, it has led me to think that maybe, just maybe, our EXPECTATIONS are too simple, to small. Why stay in your parents backyard when there is a WHOLE WORLD out there waiting to be experienced? I'm not saying that everyone should quit their jobs, sell their belongings, and backpack around the world, but what I am saying is that I think we limit ourselves and dream too small, EXPECTING life as usual. My God is a big God and what he wants for you and your life is abundance (not necessarily in the material sense, but in a fullness and richness sense - a no holds barred sense). What if we stopped expecting the small things, and got out of the way of ourselves and instead expected God to use us to do something according to his awesome plan, of which we are not the center?
"Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen." Ephesians 3:20-21
No matter who you are or where you are in life or where you are on earth, I'm betting that if you honestly answer the question for yourself, you'd answer "yes" too. Although many of my expectations about life have not be met, they've been replaced with things so much better than what I'd expected.
You may never be charged by a wild elephant or live on a tropical island or even come into contact with another country's culture, but that doesn't mean that God can't use you where you are. If you let him, he'll put you right where he wants you to be to reach the people he wants you to reach - people that only you could reach.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Household Registrations
This is a guest post from JL. Here is a deeper explanation of the Household Registration system and migrant workers in China.
Actually even I don’t really know what the "Chinese
Dream" is, but I do know about the registration thing. In history, the
government has employed a strategy which was meant to make some people/areas
rich first then they would help others to get rich too, which has resulted in
the uneven distribution of social resources. The government taxed every family
in the whole country, then the central government invested in the coastal
cities to implement the policy of making some people or areas richer first. So
those areas have developed and, of course, have better social welfare,
education, healthcare and so on. Now those cities are not willing to share
their wealth with the outsiders/migrant workers and they make policies based on
"Household Registration". (Everybody
is registered to their parents’ Household Registration address not where you were
born; a person whose parents are from the village can’t or find it very
difficult to shift their Household Registration to the city as a city resident.)
So the policy is written to grant city
residents (people whose Household Registrations are in the city) the rights of welfare,
healthcare, public education for children, and certain jobs, while migrant
workers from the villages are not given those same privileges although they
both live in the same city. So basically we can say "WHERE YOU LIVE IS NOT
ALWAYS EQUAL TO WHERE IS YOUR HOUSEHOLD REGISTRATION IS". Supposing I am
from a village and I am now living in Beijing, but my Household Registration is
still in the village, I can’t have the same rights as the person whose Household
Registration is in Beijing. My kids can’t have the same rights as other people
whose Household Registration is at Beijing (They can’t go to the same school,
they can’t take college entrance examination in Beijing even if they grew up in
Beijing and went to school in Beijing) .
So to sum up: people living and working in the same city have different
rights. They do the same job, but have different pay (temporary hire-fire
anytime, taking all faults and permanent hire).
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
A Love-Hate Relationship
China...it is a place that holds my heart and makes me want to scream all at the same time. For years (since 2008 to be exact) I've been trying to figure out and put into words what it is about this place and my city more specifically that has so captured my heart. What is it about this ancient, beautiful, and famous place that keeps drawing me back to it again and again? All I can answer is God. He has so profoundly touched my heart for this place and these people that I am unavoidably drawn to it - an irresistible romance.
Recently, I have been thinking back on my last visit, which took us from one side of the country to the other, literally. But in particular, I've been thinking back on our visit to JL's 3rd sister's family. They live on the east coast of China and work as migrant workers, or "farmer workers" in Chinese. Let me explain a little about the migrant workers in China, they are usually from poor farming families that live in villages throughout the various provinces of China. They come to the east coast seeking work in factories and other odd jobs in the cities hoping to increase their fortune and create a better life for themselves. They are all Chinese, not like migrant workers in America that come from other countries, yet they often live as second class citizens in their destination cities because they are not registered there, and therefore are not given the same rights and privileges as people who are registered there. In China, you must register your residence with the government; this is know as the household register - it tracks where you live, your marital status, and any children that you have. The migrant life is the "Chinese Dream" in a sense.
What has struck me most about this visit in recent days has not been reliving the bitter cold weather - it is hard to imagine being that cold here in Sri Lanka where I practically start sweating the second I step out the door. Instead, what has struck me is, to borrow a line from The Devil Wears Prada, that while these people would kill to live this life, I wouldn't even deign to live that life. Despite the frigid cold that you couldn't escape, the lack of indoor plumbing, the long distance from family, the difficult working environment, and other unpleasantries, JL's sister's family was happy, inviting, and giving. More than I could say about myself in that situation.
Their home is a cement shell. Walls, floor, and a staircase and two plywood walls have been put up to separate the upstairs into two rooms on either side of the staircase - one for the two children to share and one for JL's sister and her husband. There was no bathroom, just a public toilet shared by everyone in the community - one for men and one for women. The beds were simple cotton rolls on plywood boards held up by sawhorses. Fortunately, we had a mattress heater to keep the bed warm, but really it was so cold, it didn't help all that much. Lying in bed, I could feel the heat leaving my head as it stuck out from the covers and I could feel the cold rolling off the cement walls and seeping into my bones. There was one space heater that we all hovered around and a small TV to watch. I'm quite certain that NO ONE in America would consider this a desirable living condition. I wasn't even sure if I was going to be able to stay there for the two/three nights that we were visiting.
On our first night there, after eating dinner and catching up as JL and I walked to the public toilet in the dark with the snow falling, I started to cry. JL of course asked me what was wrong and wanted to know why I was crying. All I could think of was my home in America with its gas fireplace and central heat, where if we ever feel a slight chill all we have to do it flick a switch or turn up the temperature a little, my soft comfortable bed that I have to myself and the plethora of bathrooms to choose from on any given floor of the house. But I couldn't manage to put it all into words or describe what that was like to my dear, sweet husband of a week and a half who has NEVER experienced what that is like. What I was thinking was "How on EARTH could this possibly be a better life?" but all that I managed to do was shake my head and continue to cry. JL wiped my tears, held my hand, and comforted me the best that he could.
From my outsider, western mindset I cannot understand how this migrant lifestyle - the poor housing conditions, the second-class citizen status, the dangerous working environment with low pay and long hours - could be better than the life they would have in their village. Yes, they would be doing backbreaking labor as farmers to more or less just get by, but they would have their family and a home and most likely their own bathroom (even if it is in a pigsty). Is this what America was like during the Industrial Revolution? Is this "Chinese Dream" like the "American Dream" or is it just a mirage - a false promise of a better life? I suppose it would depend on who you ask. For JL's sister and her husband, the answer is that this is definitely a better life for them and their children.
China, this huge, mysterious, beautiful country that I love, never fails to surprise me, to teach me about myself (and usually expose the parts of my heart and mind that I'd rather leave unexamined and hidden because they usually are not so lovely), and to touch my heart in profound ways. After my first year of living in China, I knew that it would always be like a home to me. Now that I've married JL, it really and forever will be - for better for worse, in good times and in bad.
Recently, I have been thinking back on my last visit, which took us from one side of the country to the other, literally. But in particular, I've been thinking back on our visit to JL's 3rd sister's family. They live on the east coast of China and work as migrant workers, or "farmer workers" in Chinese. Let me explain a little about the migrant workers in China, they are usually from poor farming families that live in villages throughout the various provinces of China. They come to the east coast seeking work in factories and other odd jobs in the cities hoping to increase their fortune and create a better life for themselves. They are all Chinese, not like migrant workers in America that come from other countries, yet they often live as second class citizens in their destination cities because they are not registered there, and therefore are not given the same rights and privileges as people who are registered there. In China, you must register your residence with the government; this is know as the household register - it tracks where you live, your marital status, and any children that you have. The migrant life is the "Chinese Dream" in a sense.
What has struck me most about this visit in recent days has not been reliving the bitter cold weather - it is hard to imagine being that cold here in Sri Lanka where I practically start sweating the second I step out the door. Instead, what has struck me is, to borrow a line from The Devil Wears Prada, that while these people would kill to live this life, I wouldn't even deign to live that life. Despite the frigid cold that you couldn't escape, the lack of indoor plumbing, the long distance from family, the difficult working environment, and other unpleasantries, JL's sister's family was happy, inviting, and giving. More than I could say about myself in that situation.
Their home is a cement shell. Walls, floor, and a staircase and two plywood walls have been put up to separate the upstairs into two rooms on either side of the staircase - one for the two children to share and one for JL's sister and her husband. There was no bathroom, just a public toilet shared by everyone in the community - one for men and one for women. The beds were simple cotton rolls on plywood boards held up by sawhorses. Fortunately, we had a mattress heater to keep the bed warm, but really it was so cold, it didn't help all that much. Lying in bed, I could feel the heat leaving my head as it stuck out from the covers and I could feel the cold rolling off the cement walls and seeping into my bones. There was one space heater that we all hovered around and a small TV to watch. I'm quite certain that NO ONE in America would consider this a desirable living condition. I wasn't even sure if I was going to be able to stay there for the two/three nights that we were visiting.
On our first night there, after eating dinner and catching up as JL and I walked to the public toilet in the dark with the snow falling, I started to cry. JL of course asked me what was wrong and wanted to know why I was crying. All I could think of was my home in America with its gas fireplace and central heat, where if we ever feel a slight chill all we have to do it flick a switch or turn up the temperature a little, my soft comfortable bed that I have to myself and the plethora of bathrooms to choose from on any given floor of the house. But I couldn't manage to put it all into words or describe what that was like to my dear, sweet husband of a week and a half who has NEVER experienced what that is like. What I was thinking was "How on EARTH could this possibly be a better life?" but all that I managed to do was shake my head and continue to cry. JL wiped my tears, held my hand, and comforted me the best that he could.
From my outsider, western mindset I cannot understand how this migrant lifestyle - the poor housing conditions, the second-class citizen status, the dangerous working environment with low pay and long hours - could be better than the life they would have in their village. Yes, they would be doing backbreaking labor as farmers to more or less just get by, but they would have their family and a home and most likely their own bathroom (even if it is in a pigsty). Is this what America was like during the Industrial Revolution? Is this "Chinese Dream" like the "American Dream" or is it just a mirage - a false promise of a better life? I suppose it would depend on who you ask. For JL's sister and her husband, the answer is that this is definitely a better life for them and their children.
China, this huge, mysterious, beautiful country that I love, never fails to surprise me, to teach me about myself (and usually expose the parts of my heart and mind that I'd rather leave unexamined and hidden because they usually are not so lovely), and to touch my heart in profound ways. After my first year of living in China, I knew that it would always be like a home to me. Now that I've married JL, it really and forever will be - for better for worse, in good times and in bad.
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