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Before I begin, a little perspective from a native Chinese:

“Hello! My name’s Camellia. I’m from Tianmen, a small town in Hubei Province. I came to Wuhan eight years ago for college at the prestigious and beautiful Wuhan University. I started learning English when I was thirteen years old, and I find it interesting and important. It is also necessary because if I did not pass the English Language Exam, I could not attend college. It is impossible to attend college without a proper score, and different majors require different scores. A lot of students cannot go to college because of low scores. English lets me communicate with foreigners, and I like to communicate with foreigners, and I am an assistant in the International Cooperation Department because of it. Travis told me that U.S. students do not have to pass a foreign language test to attend college, and I think because of this they have it easier. 大家好，很高兴在异国他乡有人能看到我的文字，有了你们的阅读，文字会变得更久远，谢谢！在此，衷心祝愿各位读者开心快乐每一天！”

Chinese students begin learning English early. While in the US two-years of a foreign language in high school serves as a stamp for entry to college, the Chinese students must have some level of competence before moving on to higher education.

As a foreign language teacher here, I am part of an important process. A lot of these students will end up using English in their jobs. For some of them, English-language ability will make or break their future careers.

This week I began teaching my own classes.

As I prepared for this, I reflected on what my favorite teachers did. Particularly, my French Professors. I reflected on what Dr. Essif or Dr. Levy did, and I tried to incorporate that into my lesson plan.

Of course, the lesson plan is not entirely mine. Just mostly. For a ten-week period, I teach eight different classes in a row, and for those eight, I am to focus on a given topic. From there, I pretty much have free-reign, just so long as I give them some perspective on the topic.

A lot of the students have told me that they are eager to learn, but often they are hesitant to speak. For a lot of them, the problem is not their written English but rather their spoken English. Some of the errors I frequently hear include misused prepositions (“What’s your impression to Wuhan?”), misused question words (“How do you think of China?” instead of “What do you think of China?”), and misused auxiliary verbs.

I have a choice to make when speaking. Do I speak normally, as I would to another American? Or do I speak at a certain level that is entirely understandable to them? I decided on the former, while speaking slowly and explaining certain phrases and words that they do not understand.

It contradicts their teaching system. I often pause and ask them if they understand. That is not common here in China. Chinese teachers will not ask them directly if they understand or not, so when I hear silence, I know that perhaps it’s not fear guiding them so much as it is conditioning under a different learning system.

Chinese learn by rote memorization, but most foreign teachers do not operate like that. They play games. Play movies. Speak directly to the students. This is good in that it gets them speaking English, something they need to work on. Bad in that for some classes, it puts pressure on you. They expect a performer rather than a teacher. A dancing clown. Not everyone can do that.

I prefer to be more teacher than clown

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Two weeks ago they told me I would be teaching English majors, a different class each day. A single topic for those days.

One week ago they told me I would be teaching Freshmen, no English majors.

This past week, I found out that some are English majors, some are Business majors, others are Law, etc.

Today I found out that this group of students goes through a ten week English program. Then it’s new students.

They informed the other American of what he’d be teaching the day prior. After being told that I would be paid at the end of each month, three weeks here and I find my salary waiting for me in the office, in advance.

70 RMB for a health exam? More like 600, information given the day of. As in when we arrived.

And the other day, one of the Chinese English teachers told me that this current teaching program is brand-new. They’ve never done it before, and likely more reordering is on the horizon. Yay.

Things are not too structured here. Sudden changes rock the boat, but I like it. It’s fun, in its own special way. With the schedule for my Chinese language classes changed, and an unexpected demand to sign up for a China bank account, it’s a nice bit of chaos in a world otherwise gone to order.

All ordered systems are gradually moving towards disorder.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring? I eagerly anticipate the last-second changes.

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I cannot fully answer this question because it is so different and there are so many aspects to it that in my short time here, I have only grasped a tiny bit.

What I can tell you is that there is a difference between city girls and village girls when it comes to dating foreigners. A city girl is more comfortable whereas a village girl is open to the idea, but fears being shunned by others.

And let’s face it: it does happen. Some of the locals will look down on a Chinese girl for dating a foreigner, and if they come from a small village there familial and community opinions mean a lot, this will heavily impact their behavior towards you. Some will not hold your hand where they know people. I heard one girl used to walk on the other side of the street. This act falls apart when they’re in a new area, but near home base, they’re looking out for their reputation first.

I have some personal experience with this, but it will have to wait. I want to see how it pans out first. Don’t worry. By next week, I will have a post about it.

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I bought a Mickey Mouse lighter last weekend.

Whether or not Disney officially endorses a tool for a product that kills its customer base is up for debate, but Mickey looks ecstatic. With his outstretched hands and bright smile, he appears ready to do cartwheels across my desk. He welcomes me to pick up the lighter, lift a cigarette and light up inside my apartment.

Inside my apartment, within fifty feet of a building and in restaurants.

Alfred and I ate at a “boiler restaurant” the other day. A “boiler restaurant” is one that has a burner in the table, and they fill a divided pot with water, one half spicy and the other plain. You order, and they bring food you put into the water and boil before eating.

At the end of the meal he pulled a pack of cigarettes and offered one. We lit up, and I looked around. No gasps. No evil stares. No helpful citizen to remind me that cigarettes are unhealthy, just in case I recently recovered from a braindead state. We smoke. We talk. A flame releases smoke streams and burns tobacco down a wrapper, ashes grow. They grow and gather into a loose sphere, and I search for an ashtray.

“Just do this.”

This meaning flicking on the floor. Alfred flicks his ashes on the floor. I try to copy him. He laughs and schools me in the proper way to flick one’s ashes onto a restaurant floor. Grip the cigarette between your middle and first fingers and use your thumb to strike the cigarette as one may strum a guitar string. Voila, the ashes are gone.

Eventually the flame reached the border. A red strip. No man’s land. Where, oh, where do I dispose of my finished cigarette?

Alfred tossed his on the floor. A good a place as any.

Some (well, a lot) blame the French for heavy smoking. They do smoke, but so far in China, I have had more offers for cigarettes than anywhere else. It’s part of the culture to offer one a cigarette — upon first meeting, when you’re drinking or whenever you feel like it.

It’s polite. Want a cigarette? Sure. Doesn’t mean you have to smoke it. Just take it. Keep it. A souvenir.

Chinese cigarette packs do not contain warnings. May cause birth defects. May? So there’s a chance it will not? No need to go cold turkey, honey. The surgeon general has no authority here.

The only thing my pack says, aside from unreadable Chinese characters, is “SELECTED THE FINEST TOBACCOS.” The caps are theirs. A poor bit of Engrish, this pack and the light costs 5.5 RMB together. That’s about 80 cents. Sin taxes? Nope.

Smoking bans and sin taxes are very stupid ideas. Increasing the price or limiting the places where one can practice an addictive vice will not stop that person from doing it. It will not cure dependence on alcohol or nicotine. It will simply persuade them to do it elsewhere.

As far as I can tell, there are no pretentious, moral crusaders in this country wasting space and interfering with people’s personal freedom. That’s the government’s job here, sure, but in some areas, people have more personal freedom than in the States. Land of the free.

But no one’s saying the Chinese have more freedom than Americans. Far from it, in fact. What I am saying is that in a country that many in the West stereotype as conformist and oppressive, in some areas people here have more personal freedom than in the West.

I like that. In fact, I’m going to light up to that. Now if we can just do something about the high death penalty rate, internet censorship and journalistic oppression, we’ll move in the right direction.

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“This wasn’t a strange place. It was a new one.” The Shepherd from The Alchemist.

Saturday, Alan, Ivon, two of their friends, and I, we went to Yellow Crane Tower.

Yellow Crane Tower is one of Wuhan’s most well-known sights. While not in the same league as The Great Wall or the Terra Cotta Warriors, the tower remains nevertheless an impressive piece of Chinese architecture and an important relic of ancient Chinese history.

I met Alan Thursday afternoon in the canteen (cafeteria). Because my classes are so full of students, I rarely recognize any unless they speak to me first, so when he sat down and introduced himself, I knew he was a student.

I just didn’t know which class. For all intents and purposes, I’d never seen him before in my life.

We talked about subjects that interested him. No matter the subject, if he brought it up, I found something to say about it. Anything. As long as it was English, I knew hearing it from a native speaker would benefit him.

He showed me around the campus across the street. The much nicer campus, with the huge track and soccer field, the bigger buildings, the gym that’s only open from 6 am to 8 am on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and the lake it borders, the lovely East Lake.

We talked some more near East Lake, and he snapped a photo with his phone. Then, he offered to take me to the new campus. The Sunshine Campus.

WUSE, Wuhan University of Science and Engineering, is divided into three campuses. Old, New, and East Lake. My campus is called the Old Campus. The New Campus is called the Sunshine Campus.

We bordered a free bus. As a teacher, I went to the head of the line, and as the teacher’s impromptu guide, he joined me. On the bus, he offered me a moon cake in honor of the Mid-Autumn Festival, or Moon Cake Day.

That’s not all. He offered me a piece of gum. I ate the mooncake and chewed on the gum as the bus jerked between cars, nearly killed a few people (fairly common, really) on a twenty minute drive to the Sunshine Campus.

Although it was dusk when we arrived, the name remained fitting.

Every building, brand new. Each tree, shorter than I am. A favorite place for the sun to shine.

We got there and Alan called someone. Seven girls arrived, all of them introduced themselves to me and I returned the favor. Very interested to meet a foreigner, Alan went to see someone while the girls showed me around the place.

I can say that although I was exhausted, I felt great and comfortable. Even as they bombarded me with questions, I took each one and answered it, not letting my fatigue crack and ooze through.

What questions? A wide variety. I asked them questions too. I found out they share their dorm rooms with four other people. Not a ‘Andy Holt Apartments’ situation, but rather, a room of bunks. One to each bunk.

They also had a curfew at 11 pm, something no self-respecting UT student could handle without hitting a psychotic episode or two. Good-bye leaving Hodge’s at 6 am. Hello lights out before midnight.

Near the end, they bought me a drink with no prompting from me, and we set up plans to see the Yellow Crane Tower on Saturday.

Despite getting to bed at 4:00 am the night before (I did no drinking), I got up and joined them at the front gate. Alan paid for the bus, and although it advertised air conditioning, it actually had small airplane-style fans. It duped me.

We got off and paid admission to Yellow Crane Tower. We took lots of pictures, and I learned some things about Chinese history I had never known before. This country has a rich culture and a long history stretching back thousands of years. Thousands. There is plenty I don’t know.

The five floors of the tower itself, while containing artifacts, mostly left the artifacts as a sideshow to concentrate on the main attraction: shops.

Small elephant tusks for 1280 RMB. Bargain or not, I don’t know, but poachers got to eat somehow. They don’t eat what they kill…unless it doesn’t sell. Then maybe. Just maybe they do. I’ll ask one and get back to you.

Some of the Chinese painters used to use special blocks to inscribe their character name onto their works. For a price that ranged from 10 to 45 RMB, you can have your name and your Chinese character name cut into a block that you can then use to stamp on whatever you like.

There is a bell at Yellow Crane Tower. Your throw a quarter beneath it, then you pay a fee and ring the bell. Me, I saved the money and just rang the bell. It seemed a little more fiscally responsible.

You ring the bell and wish for something. What did I wish for? If I say, it won’t come true, but I can tell you what I did not wish for.

Happiness and comfort.

I don’t have to.