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.
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