Preface - A Love Story

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Thursday 9 December 2004

Before All Knowledge of China

Ignorant

It might or might not surprise Chinese people to know that the majority of New Zealanders wouldn't be able to locate China on a map of the world. Even those most highly educated are particularly ignorant on the subject of China; I can certify that this is true, because on the day I graduated from the quite well-known University of Auckland, I myself was staggeringly ignorant about it. To be honest, I knew nothing at all about China; the culture, the language, the history, none of it had ever once captured my attention.

I knew rather more about Japan - I liked the costumery and the polite, feminine architecture - but had little enthusiasm for the language study, as most fellow students I knew who had tried to memorise scores of Kanji were only doing so in the hope of stimulating their business prospects. I was an Arts major, an idealist: I liked poetry and writing, and the thought of devoting my life to marketing a product such as toothpaste, as I was sure a path in International Trade would lead me, held little appeal. If studying Japanese was just another business subject, I was not interested at all.

So it is fair to say that my passion for China came late. I also have to admit that in my case, the journey that saw a country I knew nothing about become an important part of my everyday life began with a woman.

There is a subset of European men who are irresistibly attracted to Asian women, but I myself had never entertained the possibility of falling for an Eastern girl. The stereotypical Asian beauty in my mind was an exuberant waif with girly smiles and an irritating, high-pitched nasal accent. I'd seen Asian models in advertising with vacant, inviting expressions and felt nothing.

I make this defence just to make it clear that when I met the heroine of this particular love story, I was in no way interested in finding some exotic Oriental lover, and it did not initially occur to me that she was even attractive. I was working in a cafe at the time, she was employed in the role of preparing food, and I was a boyish-looking waiter in a small black T-shirt and a silly black apron. I doubt very much that she would have found me attractive either.

Those were difficult days. I'd finished my degree and had no idea what to do next, and my qualifications in literature and philosophy didn't open any obvious doors. I was down on my luck, had little money, was uncertain of my abilities, and had taken on the cafe job as something to fill a temporary vacuum.

She was at a similar point in her life. An immigrant of four years who'd sacrificed everything to move to New Zealand, she had lost much and gained only an intangible freedom, was stuck in monotonous work and was herself directionless. She had a smooth face with large, beautiful eyes that had seen many troubles, and when we passed our customers' orders between us over the counter, I used to feel that the looks we exchanged were sympathetic, mutual recognition of each other's acute sadness.

On the evening shifts, our breaks were scheduled to occur at the same time. I'd walk to the back of the restaurant on the dark, wet concrete; she would be sitting on the storeroom steps with a cigarette, and would look up at me with eyes that were like smudgy black pools. We were both weary, and our developing attraction for each other grew with electrical compulsion.

We lived together in a small white house near a beach. We slept late and took long walks together at night. At times, she would borrow video tapes from her friends, long Chinese dramas that we would watch together from the evening until the next day, eating slices and slices of crisp, pink watermelon. I didn't understand the TV serials at all, but I did sense that she was lonely, and needed me to sit with her.

Lying in the dark of night, I would hear her voice as she spoke on the telephone in the next room. She prided herself on her exceptionally clear pronunciation of standard Mandarin - the sharp, precise tones echoed through the darkness, bunching like a thousand clear balloons, each one word a solitary character of Chinese, like I'd seen on the walls of the restaurants we'd visited together, broad gold strokes on red silk. My feeling on such nights was very complicated - her voice struck musical as clear as a piano, note by note - but in that I could not understand this part of her, I felt very far away from her.

Ming

On one cloudy Auckland afternoon I passed through the public library on a whim, and searched through their collection for books about Chinese. The first that caught my attention was called "Chinese Characters Explained", and I took it out under my name. Later, on the bus back to our seaside home, I opened the first page of the small red volume, which introduced the character ming as follows:

That one short explanation set to me like a match to gasoline. I'd had no idea that the characters of the Chinese language were structured in such a logical way, and the realisation appealed to me immensely. I began to investigate other characters and found that each single word contained many layers of meaning: that every sentence of Chinese was an orchestra of cooperating poetries.

Literature is my passion, and this sudden consciousness of the fine code of Chinese revitalised my interest. I made a very swift decision: no matter what obstacles I might face, I would myself learn this language, speak with the fluency of a newsreader, understand the architecture of each character and phrase.

There are those who say that love is a fickle obsession: that the deepest emotion for another human being can so swiftly fall away. But to be in love with a language is a different story altogether. Walking down the main streets of Auckland, I began to notice Chinese writing where I had seen nothing before. Chinese immigration to Auckland was just beginning to increase. When I was a young boy, there had been no signs in Chinese at all excepting those over Chinese restaurants: now, Chinese writing was everywhere. Confronted with a page of written Chinese, I began to see patterns and intelligent forms; it was as if a solid wall had begun to crumble, and I was able to see through. Whenever I located my first character, ming, it was a point of light in the darkness.

For many reasons, my romance with the Chinese woman ended. The separation was painful, but the legacy of that relationship was an unstoppable enthusiasm for the Chinese language, and for China.

How to Escape

Not long after, I began to work at a firm providing Internet access, where I took on a role as a Customer Service Representative. As I had no genuine computer experience myself, I was completely occupied with learning about the Internet and at the same time instructing customers how to resolve their connectivity issues. I lived in a small flat with professional IT colleagues and was immersed in the corporate world. I wore a suit and tie to work, collected a good paycheque every fortnight, and seemed to have found a respectable position in society.

Stuck at work

At a Chinese Restaurant

It was miserable - no matter how much money you are earning, a job that has nothing of your passion to it is joyless. I was too busy to read books, or study any Mandarin, or do any creative writing as I had loved to do before.

For two years I slowly climbed the corporate ladder until I was deeply involved with my company's email support and security team. Every day, however, I would avoid the staff lunchroom and hide in a food court downstairs, to steal half an hour for myself. I always bought Chinese food, insisted on using chopsticks and looked jealously towards the Chinese lettering on the wall above the service counter. I began to become known to the staff there, as there were a few Chinese people working as waiters and cleaners, and they all knew I was fascinated with China.

One day I met a woman from Shenyang waitressing tables who was looking for a flat. We needed a flatmate at the time, and so she moved into our spare room, and from then on every night we would talk about China. I learnt many things about the country that I had never known before, and I realised then that there was no way I would be satisfied until I was there.

I handed in my notice at work, and started searching online for employment in China, but even though jobs seemed plentiful I was unsure how to begin. My flatmate from Shenyang was most kind in providing me with an alternative that was impossible to refuse - when she returned to Shenyang, I could go with her and live with her family as a homestay. Her parents would be more than happy to provide accommodation, assist me in finding work and even spend time with me to help me begin to pick up the language. By that time, China had already been the object of my desire for three years, and to finally have within my reach a way to realise this dream was a moving confirmation.

With Chinese Friends

The study of language is one of the most noble of all pursuits, for it dissolves barriers between the races of humankind. The study is a great challenge - but the most valuable tool for any language student is enthusiasm, and passion - a love of the language. The following series of articles in Words from the East relates my complicated and developing relationship with China and the Chinese language as a foreigner and a devotee. It is the story of how I faced a country that had eluded me until the voice of a woman speaking in perfect, standard Mandarin had beguiled me on sleepless nights, until I'd been captured by the subtle formula of the simple word ming. It is the story of a genuine desire to bring China closer to myself, and to give my own energy up to the most extraordinary country on Earth.

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