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Lao Wai (Old outsider); Wai Guo Ren (Outside Country Person)
Recently, I realised with something of a shock that I had hit the four-month mark: if I do not renew my contract, this marks a third of my total time in China. Living here brings with it such a relentless plethora of new experiences that I've been at something of a loss as to how to articulate them here, but I fear if I don't give it a bash now then another four months will go by and I'll still be reeling with unwritten news.
I have been throwing myself into Chinese history and language study of late which has yielded interesting results. On the one hand I feel like I've been handed the keys to a much firmer understanding of why society functions as it does, which goes a long way to diffusing the frustration and upset felt when navigating the complex machinations of social interaction. On the other, said understanding has had the simultaneous effect of making me feel farther apart from Chinese life. In its most obvious form, this has been encapsulated by the moment of realisation that, in contrast to many Western countries, no matter how good your Chinese gets or how long you live here, you are always viewed as and referred to as 'a foreigner'. Even friends of mine who have lived in Chengdu for years and speak fluent Putonghua and Sichuanhua are treated as foreign as soon as they leave the areas where people know them. Leaving aside the pejorative nature of the word 'foreigner' in Anglophone cultures (it never stops grating on your ears), I came China from London, multicultural melting-pot of races, languages and cultures that it is. One of the things that drew me to that city in the first place was the stifling monocultural experiences of my hometown and university. I had always appreciated life in an international city, but I had no idea how much until I came to China. It is one of - if not the single - most important lessons I will take home with me.
One of the things I had begun to yearn for when living in the UK was the feeling of being foreign. Like most people who drop everything and b***** off to the other side of the world in search of travel and adventure, I'm not too good with stasis; in fact, it's a trait of mine that I've never been too good with the easy life - I get a bit itchy if I feel like things are too comfortable or 'nice'. It's probably for this reason that I actively like being foreign. I feel like it's good for the soul - especially if your soul happens to be of the white British persuasion and has until recently never experienced being refused a taxi, or service in a shop, due to its heritage. Being openly viewed and referred to as an outsider does wonders for ridding you quick-sharp of the illusion that your way is a) the only one and b) the best. The beauty of being foreign lies in the fact that it forces you to look at every part of your makeup - your culture, language, stresses, fears and pleasures - and reassess, often critically. Being foreign means that every day you are a little more reflective; a little more aware, than when you are at home. In short, your mind is a little bit more alive. This is something I value, and actively sought with the move to China. It must be said, however, that one can experience the feeling of foreign-ness without going to extremes quite as...well...extreme as China and that the enormity of this move as compared to my previous travels has hit me square in the face.
China is one of the most monocultural places you could hope to find, having been open to the West for fewer than 30 years and still being made up of 91% Han Chinese. It is incredibly difficult to articulate the initial impact this has, especially as the effect has waned a little now, but I'll have a bash. There are the standard things that you're prepared for before you go - being stared at everywhere, children being held up to look at you, people openly taking photos of you on the tube. Then there are the constant comments on you appearance, on what you do and how you do it - the people who look through your shopping and stand right next to you saying 'foreigner's too tall! And she's buying beer!' then 'foreigner understands!' when you shoot them The Look. The staff canteen I eat in twice a day and have done for the last 4 months still grinds to a halt as I walk in so that everyone can stare and comment on what I'm eating (it's the same as yours!) and how I can use chopsticks. My friend tells the story of how, when he went to rural China, the schoolchildren all came up to him to pull his arm hair and run away. It's mainly harmless, if bloody irritating, but there have been a few incidents which have really opened my eyes to the division at the heart of peoples' attitudes to foreigners here. Since the bike accident, more than one local has told me that the attitude of concern was basically because they were terrified at having hit a white girl - if I'd been Chinese the consensus is that they would have merrily driven off. When I was burgled, I was told 'oh it's because you're a foreigner. They probably watched you and worked out your schedule because they know you're rich.' Leaving aside the casual attitude to a presumed stakeout operation, for anyone who has known me for five minutes, the assumption of any manner of financial security let alone largesse will afford ample margin for laughs.
The main cause for this seems to be that, in marked distinction to the culture we grew up in, it's expected here that you are and will be different: rather than the European insistence upon our own subjectivity and the presumption we make that others will adopt our ways, the question of outsiders integrating into Chinese life is seen as so preposterous that it's simply assumed we are weird and therefore exempted from the local rules. In many ways this difference manifests in an extremely advantageous way. I am uncomfortably aware that my nationality brings with it a significantly higher earning potential than that of my Chinese colleagues, for example. The indulgence shown to foreigners is huge - we're largely expected to be outrageous drunks, treated slightly like children, and many of us (myself included at times) end up playing to this role at one time or another. Along with many of my fellow Western ex-pats, I feel a certain amount of sadness on this account. I came to China with the same do-as-the-Romans-do attitude that had served me well in my travels thus far. However, unlike the places I'd experienced until recently, where knowledge of the language and a willingness to integrate will pretty much see you through, in China your face marks you out as separate no matter how good your Mandarin or Sichuanhua. I might learn to greet people with 'have you eaten?' or by remarking on something obvious about them ('you're wearing a skirt today!'); I might eschew pasta and pesto in favour an offal-based huo guo, exclaim 'aiya!' rather than 'bloody hell!', but - rather than in London where nationality does not really cross the minds of most people - my face will always mark me out as an outsider. To illustrate this point, a student told me recently that 'it gives a strange impression' when foreigners speak Sichuanhua, and could not wrap his head around the idea that when you live somewhere for 4 years it would be more weird not to speak the language than to have a working knowledge thereof.
So I suppose the upshot is that China may not be the place for me in the longer term, but that doesn't negate the good times I'm having here. I've made some great friendships, and am still revelling in learning a new language and doing some serious writing again (I've joined a group here) as well as exploring a new city. If anything, the knowledge that my time here is to a certain degree bookended has made me think more seriously about what I want to get from it, and to recognise that even when it is difficult it's still an experience I'm very glad to be having.
- comments
Richard bloody love you.
Katrina Great to hear from you again L. Bloody love you too! x