I Learn a Thing or Two

On the last day of my summer term Chinese class, my classmates and I ate Japanese snacks (?), drank some of Taiwan's ubiquitous fresh fruit juice, and talked about our language learning, past and future. Hsu Laoshi*, a twentysomething avid lover of pastels, explained our strengths and weaknesses to each of us, and while most of us were told to practice talking more, she singled me out as the student who just needed to speak up. Believe it or not, I've been told this before (for example, at every academic evaluation period since the age of five), but this time it was unwarranted. Sure, when class started, I was reluctant to participate--and on the first day, I admit it, I was absolutely mortified, having gone five years without studying the language--but after the first few weeks, I became familiar with my classmates and the teaching method and felt more comfortable joining in. Unfortunately, my teacher had already become familiar with us by that time too, so she continued her practice of calling on me last--giving me time to prepare, I assume--even after I started sitting right next to her, making eye contact, and displaying other signs of readiness. So as the summer session drew to a close, I decided it would be easier to change my image by starting fresh in the fall.

Well, a week after the beginning of the fall quarter, I wondered why I didn't try harder to switch out of my summer class. The improvement was surprisingly vast. Wu Laoshi has gray hair, messy handwriting, and tends to wear dark blues and grays...but most importantly, she is demanding. In my new class, we are expected to spend approximately three hours a day preparing for class (learning vocabulary, looking up unfamiliar words, listening to the textbook's supplementary CDs). In my old class, come to think of it, we didn't have homework. We also managed to avoid talking about parts of speech, so we had to learn what they're all called in Chinese during the first week of this term. Since we are expected to commit the example sentences to memory, Wu Laoshi doesn't let us look at the book during class. We are also expected to learn to write characters on our own, so the class is all about speaking. This is perfect for me, since writing characters comes much more easily to me (I may already be better than Willy at writing), but some of my classmates have complained about this method, both to the teacher and to each other. It seems her demands pose too much of a challenge for them--especially since it's an evening class, so most of them work during the day. But how could I go from the class runt to the teacher's right-hand man for answers to grammatical questions?

On the first day of class, when the teacher handed out the syllabus (which none of us could read), explained her teaching methods, and recommended that we use a Chinese dictionary that doesn't include our native language, the mixture of despair and disbelief was almost palpable. Apparently I wasn't the only one who'd had it easy last term. But there I was, sitting next to the teacher, trying so hard to suppress a grin that she asked me if I (of all people) was apprehensive about her class. As soon as the bell rang, I went out and bought the dictionary she'd recommended, and later that night, I spent almost two hours deciphering the class syllabus. Now that my teacher's methods have forced me to put these useful tasks (memorizing sentences, reading non-dumbed-down writing, using a real dictionary) into practice, the unthinkable has happened--I can do them. In fact, they don't even pose much of a challenge at this point, five weeks later. Still, some of my classmates long for the substitute teacher we had for only one day, when we spent the better part of two hours describing our favorite fruits for the others to guess. I agree, Wu Laoshi's decisive "you're wrong" can cause the type of humiliation you may be familiar with if you have ever seen the last five minutes of any episode of The Apperentice. But I think Wu Laoshi would be more forgiving if her students were more prepared--you know the kind of teacher I mean. She's probably a nice person underneath it all. After all, she did take me and a classmate (who, in a dramatic turn of events, during break last week proclaimed "I hate her!" in Italian-accented English) to see her favorite traditional Chinese doctor for my scoliosis...you know, just a little movement of energy, stretching, and scalding bamboo cups creating enough suction to cause hideous bruises all over my back. Yeah, I'm sure underneath it all she's a nice lady.

Cupping

Supposed to help increase circulation. Didn't hurt. Faded in a week.

I always wondered if there would come a time where I would drop my perfectionist inhibitions and try to use all that grammar and vocabulary I've learned for purposes other than writing in my workbook, and now, finally, that moment has arrived. As of Saturday, October 8, I am conversant in Chinese. Obviously, since I have been living with Willy's family for two months without speaking to them in English, I must have communicated more than a few thoughts in Chinese. Nevertheless, Saturday night was my time to shine.

A couple weeks ago, two girls approached me in the student lounge. They wanted to know if I spoke English, and then if I spoke Chinese. Check and check-minus. One of the girls explained that they had come to my school looking for foreign friends: Kathy was looking for a Japanese-speaker and her friend Connie was looking for an English-speaker. Kathy wandered off looking for a Japanese student and left me with her friend. Apparently Connie was the shy one of the pair, as she refused to speak to me in English, even answering my English questions in Chinese. Kathy came back with a puzzled-looking Japanese guy, probably a book ahead of me in Chinese class, and persuaded Connie to speak a little English, but Kathy ended up translating quite a bit for us. The four of us (strangers, for the most part) agreed to meet up some weekend and practice.

As it turned out, my opportunity arose Saturday night. I filled my new purse** with a small umbrella (just in case), a pack of tissues (some bathrooms here don't bother with toilet paper), a box of chocolate (my staple) and my monster cell phone and headed out on the town. After a Chinese-peppered conversation over dinner with one of Willy's childhood friends, I called Connie and we arranged to meet. However, the Japanese guy couldn't make it that day, so Connie brought her college friend, who was even more nervous about speaking English. After two or three hours of what could be called either a conversation or an interview in Chinese, my anticlimactic story was over. No dramatic ending for you...here's a photo instead.

Sarah and Connie

Me and Connie. Hope she doesn't mind having her picture online....

* Laoshi means teacher.

** You heard me right: I bought a purse. Might come in handy someday.

 

 

[back to editorials]