How To Upgrade Your Look

I had plans on Thursday to explore the Summer Palace, plans that have been set aside for the time being due to circumstances unique to Beijing. Every morning for the past ten days, I have awoken to smog. Beijing’s air pollution is infamous, and yet everything about the realities of air contamination was a surprise to me- from the permeating nature of the smog on your skin to its effect on street fashion (more on this in a moment). I’ve realized, Beijingers have cultivated a true ethos in the face of this modern obstacle.

Just as you would check the weather every morning prior to leaving the house, every self-respecting resident of Beijing checks the air quality index; an app downloaded right onto your phone for maximum convenience! We check the index, not just to decide whether to grab the mask on our way out, but because it will affect the entire trajectory of our day. Much like a forecast of heavy rain would prevent you from spending your day outside, high grades of air pollution are an equally strong deterrent.The very thought of exposing my lungs to that palpable, tangible floating grit has me rapidly retreating into the closest building.

But despite my dramatic interpretations, the people who live here have taken this phenomenon in stride. As I sit here in a university coffee shop- a business with four walls and a door- I am struck by the number of students sitting here sipping coffee with their masks on. They wear them when it’s raining, when its sunny, in class, or on a date. It seems the surgical mask has transcended its original utilitarian goal. It’s a bonafide fashion statement. To my knowledge, this has gone widely unreported in the Western community. Should you find yourself searching “anti-contamination masks; fashion” on any search engine, the most you’ll find are Lifestyle articles that reference “£160”specially engineered fashion masks to abate the effects of city pollution. That is not what I’m talking about in this post. The fashion does not come across despite the mask. It is because of the mask. Plain black surgical masks are seen on every street corner and paired with the trendiest outfits, regardless of whether there is a need for them.

This look has crossed the oceans to Korea and Japan and pictures of celebrities wearing the mask show up on every magazine stand (apparently they’re also very good for hiding identities). All that I ask is that you call me in five years when Armani debuts their Spring collection in Milan and all the models walk out with their two dollar masks.

There are so many more quirks I could touch on regarding this issue, starting with the fact that while the entire youth culture of Beijing is changing to adapt to life with chronic air pollution- there is no contamination conversation. The only people who run around in circles with their hands in the air are the foreign students. We are severely freaked out, but no one else bats an eye. I’ve seen people unironically walk out of a 7/11 with a facemask that looks like a prop from the movie Alien.

The joke last year was that Chinese people were starting to buy “bottled air” from Canada. It is 2017 and oxygen is now a luxury commodity. The government has addressed this issue numerous times and has been candid in admitting there is a crisis. Increased use of “uber style” shared bicycles has been encouraged (fodder for a separate post) in order to decrease carbon emissions. The systemic use of coal is also coming into question. However, this issue is far from resolved. As far as I’m concerned, a couple of months in the city will do me no damage and I have no right to complain. If anything, it’s difficult not to think of the countless individuals living in Beijing who either have no home to retreat to, or due to their job are forced to remain outside even during the most heinous weather conditions.

I’m nothing if not respectful of local culture.

As someone with the privilege of coming from a city where air pollution is not a pressing concern, it is easy to label this as a centralized issue that will cease to affect me the moment I fly back home. But the world is moving fast. This is not a China issue. This is not an India issue. I’m beating a dead horse here, I know, but then again, a news alert popped up on my phone today to the tune of “President Trump will sign an executive order to curb federal regulations combating climate change”. Well, at least I’ve already bought my mask.

Idiot Abroad

I’m staring at the little TV screen across the subway car. It’s a video recipe. Baked apple stuffed with shrimp. Ew. What? Never mind. I’ll just play Tetris on my phone. I bend my head. And…okay I’m now stuck in this position forever. A woman has seen my head leave its resting spot in the air and she’s claimed that space for her shopping bag. I crane my neck to avoid colliding with her cabbage. Only twenty-five more minutes left in my route.

Unsurprisingly, the Beijing subway has proven to be the best place to reflect on my cultural experiences while simultaneously generating new ones. The duality of my 外国人 (foreigner) status is blatant. On one hand there’s no escaping the fact that I’m usually the only white person in the subway car; a fact I’m unable to ignore given the amount of times I’ve realized the woman next to me is brazenly taking my picture. But on the other hand, amidst the throng of Chinese subway-goers, the little foreign student is just an inconsequential being with no responsibilities or loyalties to anyone in the car. I’m given license to stare, and through this I’m given the opportunity to learn.

*visibly uncomfortable*

Perhaps the biggest hurdle I’ve had to overcome since my arrival is learning how to effectively take up space in public. Funnily enough, a crowd of people in Beijing bears a striking resemblance to a family enjoying their Sunday night pot roast. There’s a lot of moving pieces, and if you’re not willing to stab cousin Grace in the hand with a fork, then you’re just not going to get to the potatoes in time. Similarly, it’s borderline impossible to reach your intended destination in the city without a few casualties on the way. It would be comical if it didn’t make you so indignant. To provide an example: there are security screenings at the entrance of every subway station, where you drop off your handbag on a conveyor belt and wait for it to come out on the other side. Multiple times, I have had people behind me in line shove their bag so it gets on the belt before my bag; all the while waiting in line behind me so I can walk through first. Naturally, their bag goes through the belt and lies there unattended- but at least they managed to get it in before mine, right? Not to be hyperbolic, but this is truly the most ridiculous thing that has ever happened to me in a public arena.

And yet what each of these curious experiences does, is provide you with more clues on how to navigate your new environment. I remember the first time I chose to order handmade dumplings at a restaurant. There was no line, just a mess of arms, cell phones and wads of cash. The mere prospect of this 外国人 reaching the counter and meekly pointing at the food she wanted was enough to twist up my stomach. I left. But last week I walked right back in with exact change and my order written down on an app on my phone. I yelled it out in as commanding a tone I could muster and just waited for my dumplings to appear. And after glaring at the young man behind the counter for twenty minutes, they did. Granted, instead of submerging my pork dumplings in vinegar and chili oil like they do for everyone else, they gave me separate sauce packets in order to spare my fragile, white taste buds. But the point is, I took up space. The Chinese way.

The Jetsons

I didn’t know what living was until I texted my professor on the same app that I paid for my gin and tonic on. Downloading WeChat in China is less an option and more a matter of survival. Not just a social media/chatting app; once you link it to a bank card, WeChat can be used to scan QR (quick response) codes at restaurants, convenience stores and bars. Today I used my WeChat account to buy a yogurt for breakfast, a sweet potato in the canteen, nail polish remover at the corner store, and finally a Korean dish for dinner at a restaurant.

 Other features:

• Fetches cabs

• Use it to pay for household utilities such as water and electricity

• Tops up your mobile phone data + minutes plan

• Make a private group with everyone in the vicinity. Helpful for when you want to create a group chat with your classmates (and professor!)

• Has a “Go Dutch” option that charges numerous people through their WeChat when you want to split the bill

• A Facebook-style news feed where you can upload pictures, write statuses and scroll through your friends’ feed

• If someone texts you in a different language, WeChat will translate the message for you

The list is seemingly endless. One of these days I’m going to click on the app and find a feature that will allow me to speak to the dead. I assure you, WeChat is not sponsoring this post. I’ve just been blown away by how China has adopted this wireless, cashless, digital economy. I spend days without pulling out my wallet. And the prevalence of WeChat extends far beyond campus; it’s not a mere student fad. Professionals are more likely to exchange QR codes than business cards. Convenience stores will decline to take your credit card in lieu of smartphone payment options. Instead of rejecting the unfamiliar, people embrace the cutting edge.

Text messaging here is expensive and email never reached widespread use the way it has in the West. The rise in popularity of a free messaging platform was inevitable, but what sets WeChat apart is its ability to manipulate their interface in a way that caters to the changing needs of its consumers. During Chinese New Year, 2014, WeChat debuted a feature that allows people to send virtual 红包, red packets with money, to their friends and family during the holidays. It’s been an unparalleled success. There are no extraneous features or ads that clog up the interface. As a result, WeChat is a trusted brand that stays in tune with what people want out of their smartphones. It has become indispensable.

When I head back to New York in June, I won’t just be going back in time across time-zones, I’ll be flying back to 2012. It’s back to teaching my parents how to rotate a PDF and watching professor’s type www.google.com into the Google search bar. Are people in the West more resistant to change than the Chinese? I don’t know. While Venmo (Paypal’s baby: an app that lets you transfer money through your smartphone) is a frequent flier on university campuses, I don’t see it replacing debit cards for another decade. And I can only imagine the headlines when smartphone apps begin to take up more space in our lives:

• “We’ve lost the millennials to the small screen: An incisive look at how technology has consumed this generation.

• “How you are slowly becoming enslaved to the three biggest companies in the world…and you don’t even know it”.

• “WeChat is just a front for the NSA to spy on us. Boycott Apple!!”

Whatever the outcome, I can’t say whether the transition in the United States will be as elegant as it has been in China. But for now I’m happy to assimilate and behave as the locals do. How could I not? It’s the whole world within an app.

Noodles vs. Rice

“The difference between Northern and Southern China is that in the South, we eat rice. In the North, it’s noodles”. Ashley and I are sitting in a little eatery off campus, scarfing down tteokbokki (Korean rice cakes with a spicy sauce) and cold chicken in chili oil. It’s the start of my second week in Beijing and my relationship with my assigned Chinese “buddy” has gone from texting her asking for help at the bank, to sending her WeChat stickers and chatting about dating in our 20s. Our time is spent asking questions back and forth; the conversation beginning in Chinese but then an eventual collapse into English as I animatedly explain suburban white flight in the US or as she breaks down the Chinese education system. She’s committed to ensuring that I eat well in my semester at Renda, as every errand we run together is finished over a plate of shared food. First it was the coveted “Huixian Jioazi” (made-to-order dumplings), or my new favorite, “MaLaTang” (Spicy soup, typical of Sichuan but adopted by Beijingers). I like to think of us as the cutest couple on campus.

Food aside, spending time with Ashley gives me a peek of China through the eyes of one of its children. She’s a full-time student at Renda University, crammed in a dorm room with five other students. She showers in the building next door and eats egg pancakes for breakfast. As I’ve come to learn, an important thing to note about Chinese university students is that they spent ten years of their lives preparing for one exam that will be the definitive factor in deciding where they can attend university. Every class they ever took (including the ones on the weekends) served the sole purpose of preparing them for the Gaokao, (高考, tall test). Taken in their last year of school, it is not uncommon to find parents waiting for their children outside of the examination building with a bouquet of flowers. China is hardly the only country that relies so heavily on one quantitative method to determine education level, but it is worth understanding the weight of this exam and how it shapes the Chinese students of today. I can’t imagine any of my classmates growing up as capable of devoting so much energy towards one endeavor, but as Ashley puts it, “it’s the chance to change your life”.

I would like to interject here. This obsession with the Gaokao does not turn all Chinese students into automatons with no capacity for individual thought. Do not read this post as a way to confirm any stereotype you may have picked up. [In fact, I hear that rich students who fail the Gaoao have an easy out- they’re just shipped to universities abroad. They’ll take ‘em.] Wandering around campus, you can see personalities round every corner. Boys decked out in baseball caps with metal rings on the rim and brilliantly white sneakers scamper to class while girls link arms with their best friends and sip bubble tea in pursuit. They listen to their music out loud in the library and run around campus with plastic containers sloshing vegetable soup. My conversations with Ashley help me put all of that in context, and realize who they are outside of these campus gates. Like when I asked Ashley if she had any siblings, and she revealed to me that while she’s an only child as a result of the one-child policy, many of her college aged friends have little siblings aged one or two. Their parents were given a second chance.

I’ll wrap it up with one last story. Ashley was helping me set up an app that can send money through text. You can send any amount of yuan through little virtual “hongbao” or red packets. To test out the function, Ashley sent me ¥6.66 (roughly 1 USD) because it signifies luck and prosperity. How do I tell her that where I come from, 666 is the sign of the devil?

Beijing circa ’03

I’ve been looking at all my old pictures of Beijing. This upcoming trip marks my third visit to the city, the first one being in 2003 on a family vacation and then once more in 2010 on a school trip. Even though neither visit lasted more than two weeks, I feel as if I know Beijing well, and maybe this will be a homecoming for me. It’s been five years since my family moved to the United States from Asia. Due to the nature of my father’s job, we spent four years in Tokyo, and then five in Hong Kong. Those nine years were the bulk of my pre-adolescence, and are responsible for much of who I am today. While I love my life in New York and at Cornell, a part of me knows that this is only half of my identity. The light at the end of the tunnel of higher education was always to find a road that will lead me back to where I come from, and I hope that these next five months start to pave the way.

Don’t be fooled by my cool exterior. Had my father let go of my frail body, I would have slid down 5,000 miles of Great Wall. And I knew it. Not pictured: clenched fists and the terror behind my eyes

Eight-year-old me only remembers snippets of her first trip to Beijing. It was clearly wintertime because the Great Wall had a ribbon of ice that spanned its whole length. I was so small that I remember being terrified that if I let go of my father’s hand I would slip and slide down all 5,500 miles. Next memory. Sitting in a cab and watching as the driver stopped by a fruit stall on the side of the road to buy us four 柿子, one for each of us. Shì zi, he kept saying and offering us the fruit. Shì zi! It’s delicious! Eat it! He was so insistent. I was cackling at this point, repeating the word and denying the offering as only an eight-year-old can. They were persimmons. I’d never seen such a thing in my life and I wasn’t about to try one in the back of a taxi in a country I’d been in for all of forty-eight hours. There’s no punch line to this story, and yet it’s the most ancient inside joke in my family’s repertoire. It’s been fourteen years and I’ve still never dared to eat a persimmon.

Every China hand remembers doing this in middle school, right?

My second trip to Beijing was with classmates from Hong Kong. We’d been shipped off to a Mandarin immersion camp and every day at the crack of dawn we would wake up, walk to the garden and start the day off with a lesson in Tai Chi. I actually loved that. I wish I still had the discipline to greet the morning fog and gently stretch out my aches, my joints and calm my busy mind. Alternatively, the Mandarin language classes offered through this program were…hard. I failed every assessment. I lacked the work ethic expected by the Chinese teachers. They didn’t count towards a school grade, but I definitely left Beijing with some dignity behind me.

I know Beijing is a city transformed since my first visit in 2003, and this trip will be different for a slew of reasons. I am 21 years old, I have new eyes, a new filter. My Mandarin has improved markedly; in fact I hope to achieve semi-fluency at the end of the trip. I have countless more memories of Beijing. I’ve been a tourist, and I’ve been a student. I’ve been a ravenous consumer of many bāozi. One thing probably won’t change however, I might still be failing my Mandarin tests.