Anything is Possible
Life lessons in a Chinese living room
By Ashley Lauren Watkins
My living room is suffering from an identity crisis. The furniture does little to give it a clear purpose. There is a table with four wooden chairs (indicating a kitchen), but also a TV stand and VCR. The blow-up mattress leaning against the wall implies that it is a guest room, but none of these labels can capture the true essence of the room. My status as the only white foreign teacher in a town called Youxian has made me a popular attraction, and my lack of an office has forced traffic in the direction of my confused, four-walled friend.
Though I was initially hesitant to receive students into the retreat that was my apartment, I soon realized that it was a convenient and useful meeting place. Once I embraced my callers, my life as a volunteer teacher became richer although things got difficult for the room.
First, the room became a library. The previous volunteer at my school had started a collection of English-language books, but upon her departure the headmaster of the school had taken them hostage and put them in storage. The school heads think that pleasure reading will distract the students from their academic responsibilities—the older kids aren’t even allowed to check out Chinese books from the school library. Luckily, I had been in contact with the previous teacher, so I knew about this collection, and my liaison at the school helped me find it. After I convinced the headmaster to release the books to the students, responsibility for the collection fell to me.
I set up the books on the shelves around my living room and opened the space to students and teachers alike. Discussing the meaning of The Giving Tree, the beauty of poetry, and even themes from To Kill a Mockingbird has enabled me to share my love for words with my students, but it also has allowed me to push the boundaries of governmental control. In a country that restricts both assembly and literature, my living room has become a true rebel. This freedom can reach from discussions about politics to seemingly small cultural differences that greatly affect the students’ lives, such as the restrictions schools place on teenage relationships. It is against school policy for students to date, and they can be expelled if they are caught having a romantic relationship. I’m not sure how strictly this is enforced, but the students believe fully in the fury of the law.
One of my favorite students came by the other day to peruse the books. After half-heartedly glancing about, she told me about her problem: that her best friend is a boy, and she cannot tell her parents because she is afraid they will misinterpret the relationship. With the pressures of school life and being a teenager, she said her friend has been very supportive. She was just sad that she couldn’t be truthful with her family. While the conversations I have had at my table about government or history may seem like a more powerful use of the freedom of speech, I found her confession to be incredibly important in the face of such restrictions.
My living room’s most recent transformation was into a voting booth. After filling out my absentee ballot for the presidential election, I realized I had no idea how to send it back. My lack of Chinese skills again interfered with what would normally be a simple task. Luckily, a student dropped by and was able to help. Her English name is Emma, and she is a high-energy, slightly clumsy girl who wants to be an actress. She visits regularly, and I love to see her. I showed her the envelope and explained what it was. She had heard about the election and even recognized Obama’s name. Emma was excited that the envelope contained my vote, my opinion.
Initially, I asked her just to make sure it said “United States of America” in Chinese. She wrote the characters, but then said, “I think maybe I should write ‘Youxian,’ so they will know where it came from.” A few minutes after carefully printing this: “And maybe also Hunan.” Lastly, after surrendering all proper control over desire: “I will also write ‘to’ and ‘from’.” She didn’t want the moment to end. She kept telling me that she would tell all her classmates how she had helped. They all would be “very jealous” and impressed that she was “an important part of the American election.”
This moment was the fulfillment of one of the perfect cross-cultural experiences I had imagined having as I was finishing my political science degree in Washington, D.C. In my humble living room, a student had the chance to experience the one unwavering pillar of democratic society, that of the free election. I know I have built this up to be a more cataclysmic moment than it was. Emma probably will not change her future profession from actress to first woman president of a democratic China. And, honestly, that’s not even really my goal. I am not here to tell my students what they should choose to achieve and believe but, rather, to remind them they have a choice.
In reflection, it seems as though I have been taking advantage of my poor living room. Every day I force it to have new purposes. It has learned to become a chameleon, to convince unsuspecting visitors of its true identity. As I’ve been trying to teach my students, anything is possible. We influence the world not by being who we were created to be, but by creating who we are.
Ashley Lauren Watkins is a graduate of Georgetown University, with a double major in Political Economy and English. While in school, she studied abroad in Ireland at the University College Dublin. Watkins currently works as a volunteer English teacher in the Hunan province in China with WorldTeach (www.worldteach.org). Next year, she plans to attend Duke Law School.