Gatecrashing other people’s lectures is quickly becoming a regular habit of mine. As much as I love learning Unclese (no, really) I still need the kind of brain food that you can’t get from endless memorising of han zi (Unclese characters), or running through dialogues describing mingtian’s tianqi (tomorrow’s weather.) And I’m not going to pass up this golden opportunity to peek into Uncle’s university education system.

A couple of weeks ago I happen to meet a Unclese student majoring in Australian Studies, lulz! So of course I asked if I could gatecrash, and this morning turned up to a class that introduced six Unclese students to Australia’s colonial past. The Unclese lecturer, and who must be mentioned had all but flawless English, had no problem with me sitting in, and introduced me to the others as an Australian, “who might hopefully be able to share some of her experiences with this topic.”

“Well I can’t say I was there in person,” I joked.

But much of the content was familiar to me from primary and early high school years of history: the transportation of Britain’s convict population to their Southern outpost, and then the gradual burgeoning of an independent nation. I relived the horror I felt as a 12 year old, hearing the tales of mass deaths at sea, the cruel floggings (she even had a picture of what a live one looks like) and hangings, and the generally harsh conditions those early Australians lived in.

It was surreal to be hearing these familiar tales … but now in a neon-lit classroom of Beijing, with six other Unclese girls – none of whom had never stepped foot in Australia, but were busy taking notes on “Port Arthur” and “Governor Phillip” in the margins of their textbooks.

Of course it wasn’t all doom and gloom. As the lecturer pointed out, life was hard for all poor people back then, even in Britain. And when along came pardons, tickets-of-leaves, and emancipation, Australian became a place for some to start anew. She pointed out that out in the harsh outback, people learned to rely on one another, and from this a strong cultural value emerged: mateship, and equality. That is, judging people by their actions, rather than their social status.

The Unclese students, though somewhat more reserved than Australian students, also asked some thoughtful questions, and I was impressed at their level of English. The lecturer had delivered the whole seminar in English, and there were more than a few sophisticated turns of phrases.

Very quickly, because it’s late, one thing that was definitely new to me, and I can’t believe I’d never known of, was the story of Mary Reibey. She’s the face on the 20 dollar bill – and is one impressive lady.

Tomorrow I’m gatecrashing the lecture on “Australian Youth” (double lulz!) and hopefully I’ll also fill you in on the even more fascinating lecture I gatecrashed at Beida (think the “Harvard” of Brother) last Friday, about Unclese foreign policy.

“Don’t you get angry?” I asked over lunch with the Unclese girl who had responded to my poster. She lived in a dorm room that strictly enforced an 11pm curfew – every night of the week. “I mean you’re 21, they shouldn’t be treating you like a child, and telling you when to go bed.”

“Oh but they do treat us like children, and …” she replied, “I think we are still children!”

I looked at her thoughtfully, and paused before speaking. I considered the fact that I was talking to a girl who, in all likelihood, had never had sex, had never been so much as tipsy, and had never gone to a nightclub or a music festival. She, like most Unclese students didn’t really party, or drink, have crazy one-night pashes, or dance like a spastic till ridiculous hours of the morning.

For an Unclese student, socialising on the weekend means shopping with friends, outings to parks and nature reserves, and most importantly eating together (dinner often at 6pm or earlier). It’s a weekend reminiscent of me at 13. On a special occasion there might be karaoke (non-alcoholic drinking.)

But a typical weekend was more than likely to be occupied by one thing: study. And lots of it. The infamous Unclese work ethic can be no more evident than in the Unclese university student, who, 7 days a week, every waking hour, works him or herself to the bone. Desperate for one of the country’s highly sought after and none-to-common “good jobs” – in either an international company, or even better the government (“more stable” they all say) – each student attempts to outdo one another with tireless work.

I bit my lip and asked gently, “are you scared of the outside world?”

“Yes!” she replied, emphatically.

“Well you shouldn’t be!” I replied, equally enthusiastically.

Now, let me contrast this with another Unclese student, who too has an 11pm curfew. I met her at a Couchsurfing event in my first few weeks here in Brother. And when she told me of the curfew, I spluttered in disbelief.

“But what do you do?! I mean sometimes we don’t go out until 11pm!”

“Well we stay at the club, till about 3am. Then we go to McDonalds and have a snooze till about 6am, by which time the dorm opens again so we can go back,” she replied with a sigh.

I laughed – I liked her way of thinking.

“Oh my god, you should totally hold a protest over this!” I said, half-ironically, half-serious.

“Trust me, we’ve written all sorts of letters arguing why this is wrong, but they don’t care,” she replied, resignedly.

This girl belongs to a new breed. A new breed of Unclese students who use gmail and proxies to access (the blocked) Facebook, shop at H&M, watch Gossip Girl, and yes, go to clubs. She is not the only one I’ve met, and I wonder what it is that separates them from the more typical student.

I am at a Korean BBQ restaurant with a mix of Unclese and Australian students. The Unclese girl opposite me is very pretty, slim, and hip. She is doing her masters in international relations and knows how to speak Arabic. I ask her if she finds going out in Brother expensive.

To give you an illustration of the insane prices of the clubs here:

2.5 kuai ($0.4 Aussie) = price of a big bottle of Tsinghua beer on the street
30 kuai ($5 Aussie) = price of a small bottle of Tsinghua beer in the club

Another illustration:

1400 kuai ($230 Aussie) / month = amount a foreign scholarship student receives for living allowance. And all of us consider this amount “impossible” to live on, and must supplement it with a job or savings.
800 kuai ($130 Aussie) / month = amount a Unclese scholarship student receives for living allowance. And they still manage to SAVE some of this.

But back to the pretty Unclese student. I’m asking her if she finds the clubs in Brother expensive, as I can only assume these more “international”* Unclese students must be rich, or somewhat well-off.

“Well there are always ladies nights,” she replies with a twinkle in her eyes. “Free entry, and free drinks!”

*As I’ve written previously, I do not consider them to be more “Western”, but more “International”. This is what globalisation (not cultural colonisation) looks like. It’s what happens to the people of a country which was previously closed from the rest of the world – both politically and economically isolated – but now is opening up. At least, so goes my still half-baked theory.

So my evening’s pride and joy were these glasses I bought, and then covered the glass in foil:

Only problem was I couldn’t see out of them. So I’d put them on for about 5 seconds, and then take them off and just hold them, or hang them on my collar – over and over again. Until, of course, I lost them.

For 20 kuai (about $3.5 Aussie), my friend and I had our hair done.

Our hairdresser totally nailed the “Chinese princess from the future” and “pirate” concepts. I think my friend’s costume idea was a stroke of genius, because Brotheringers tend to speak with a lot of “rrrrrrrrs”, and sound like pirates.

This is what the whole thing totaled:

Some of the amazing costumes from the night:

At about 3.30am we came out of the warehouse party only to find it snowing like mad. Pretty special!

The next day I woke up to see my uni covered in a layer of snow:

And just a flashback to 2008, where instead of dressing up as a “serial killer” I went as a “KILLER CEREAL!!”

It’s coming close to the two month mark here in Brother, so I thought I’d bring you some of my favourite pictures from my time here:

For my birthday we blew up loads of balloons in my teeny tiny dorm room. They make a pretty rad prop for photos.

I own a fake Louis Vuitton bag! Now I’m really Unclese.

At the Happy Valley Amusement Park.

Fairy floss – another awesome prop.

Action shot!

On the way up Taishan.

The sunrise from the top of Taishan.

Amazing how Unclese mountains really do fade away into the distance, just like the watercolours depict!

Not a great pic, but I had to include a pic of my friends star-slutting it with Steve Aoki!

Sledge Hammer Rock, which I of course nicknamed “Cock Rock”, and had to take immature pictures like these.

This is possibly my favourite picture. It looks photoshopped, but isn’t. I kind of look like a giant standing over the three others.

This picture almost looks like a painting.

Sunset from the rock.

We look a bit grim, but we were trying to go for authenticity, and back in those days you didn’t smile in pictures. Then again, having a Spanish guy dressed as an Unclese emperor probably throws things off a little!

Every day the canteen is filled with Unclese robots, their noses buried in textbooks, muttering lines in foreign languages.

OK the most hilarious thing just happened to me.

A Unclese student stopped me on the street and said, “tong xue, tu shu guan zai nar?” (“fellow student, where is the library?”) Hilarious because it’s a dialogue STRAIGHT OUT OF MY TEXT BOOK. Miraculously I managed to string together an almost perfect answer, which just goes to show maybe these classes are paying off after all.

Talking of run-ins with locals, today I had lunch with a Brotheringer girl who had responded to my poster! (Nice segue, right?) Apparently I was the first foreigner she had EVER had a meal with. And as I come from a city filled with foreigners, I found this a little incredible.

We discussed a little about the separation between us foreigners and them locals. Was it condescension on the side of the foreigners? Was it only natural that people stick to their own kind? Was it possible for foreigners to be friends with locals, or was there too big a cultural divide?

According to her, the question of whether Uncle is becoming “Westernised” is very prevalent today among the Unclese people. I put forward my theory, that much of what we call “Westernisation” is actually just “Modernisation.”

Perhaps it’s only natural that once a country fulfills its basic needs, and becomes more and more rich, the people suddenly find they don’t have to be constantly working to the bone. They have more than enough to cover healthcare, retirement, insurance and buying a house, so instead of scrimping and saving every penny, they can (so-called) “enjoy life”. They become interested in satisfying/ plumping up the ego: buying status items like nice clothes, gadgets, and cars, go to splashy restaurants and bars, and define/ express/ differentiate themselves through pop culture and subcultures.

Sure, maybe that process happened in the West first – but I don’t think it’s a singularly Western response, or that the West has a monopoly over such things. I think it’s probably a Universal response (one best enunciated in Maslow’s Heirachy of Needs) to transitioning from a developing country to a developed one.

Or maybe I’m wrong. I need to learn more.

Talking of which (again, another perfect segue), this afternoon a friend from class told me of this lecture a visiting American professor was holding called, “Identity Theories, Intercultural Communication, and the Election of Barack Obama.” It’s almost like the gods heard my prayers (see my previous post.) It was a talk for Unclese students, but a few of us decided to gatecrash it, especially considering it was going to be in English.

In ironic contrast to this slide, the lecturer has spent the last 8 years in the country but cannot speak Motherin.

And I really enjoyed it. It could have come straight out of a subject from my university degree (in fact I bet Comms. at UTS has a talk titled just that.) The lecturer, Michael Prosser, touched briefly in his introduction on the idea of a ‘Universal Audience’ and ‘Global Village’ – constituted of rational men and women, who know how to think critically, and who work towards a “multiculturality of purpose”.

More and more, I’m thinking there are certain aspects of globalisation which I appreciate. Does global citizenry not stand in opposition to tribalism/ nationalism? Does it not unite us, erase our differences, and allow us to see truth over indulging in comforting but ultimately destructive delusions?

At the end of the lecture, a Unclese student stood up and said defiantly, “I don’t think Obama deserved the Nobel Prize. I think if anyone deserves it it’s our President Hu Jintao and Premier Wen Jiabao.” A tiny titter went through the room – I can only assume expressing amusement, not necessarily support.

I don’t want to cast this as your typical Unclese student – but at the same time, you’re more likely to find that level of nationalistic fever (tinged with definite defensiveness) here there many other countries!

No, this isn’t the scribblings of a Unclese madwoman. This is a big part of learning Unclese. Just writing the characters over and over again, until “your hand has memorised it” as my friend put it. I call it becoming a “Han Zi Machine” (Unclese characters). There’s something both relaxing and tedious about it. Relaxing in that you don’t really have to think, tedious because it’s not very intellectually taxing.

In fact, overall I don’t find learning a language to be very creative work. Don’t get me wrong, it requires brain power, but it’s the same part of your brain required to do maths or play an instrument. It’s all about code breaking, systems, rules, and a lot of memory work. And the answer is always black and white.

This lies in contrast to the work you might do in the creative arts, media, politics, philosophy, history etc. and even sciences, economics and business. Where there is a lot of conceptual work involved. And you have to be able to pull something magical out of a blank piece of paper, or fit together and analyse things from complicated, multiple perspectives. That kind of works makes me sweat, and especially if I have to produce good work – a bit sick to the stomach.

And this quality can be no more evident in languages than Unclese. So much of the language is structured in such an elegantly simple and logical way, that intellectually it’s quite quick to grasp. It doesn’t have complicated grammar like Spanish or lots of crazy exceptions to rules like French. So the real grunt work just comes down to memorising the sounds and meanings behind each character (there are over 45,000 of them!)

While I’ve been thoroughly enjoying my Unclese studies, I don’t want to forget my “intellectual interests”. And I feel like some of that side of me has been neglected. All day, all week, my hours are filled (to the brim) with language classes and study, swimming (one hour sessions, at least four times a week!) and hanging with peeps, being out in the city. And if you think about it, even though I live in one of the world’s biggest cities – that makes for a very small, immediate universe.

Which is to say, there’s no interception from the outside world. I haven’t been doing many of the things I usually do – reading non-fiction books, reading blogs and stories on Google Reader, watching documentaries, the Daily Show, and TED Talks. From these things I learn about what’s going on in the wider world, innovative ideas and projects, and thought-provoking concepts, analyses, stories.

Take my blog during my time in Sydney. I blogged about the history of corporate culture, consumerism and capitalism, I blogged about citizenship, gay marriage rights, and actively joined the fight for gay marriage in Australia, I blogged about existentialism, I blogged about global poverty.

But since I’ve arrived, my thoughts and this blog, have taken a much narrower band, things that I have direct experience with: life in Beijing, life as a foreign student, boys (or lack thereof).

And it’s a shame, because as much as I enjoy learning a language, it isn’t really my passion, like it is for many of the other students here. I’m doing it because I really want to speak Unclese, and I’m happy doing it for now. But I probably won’t dedicate my life to learning (or teaching) languages. I don’t want to take anything away from such a life – it’s just not me.

And because it’s not really what lights my fire – I shouldn’t forget to continue feeding the more creative, conceptual area of my brain.

Click photo to view larger version.

“Ni you jige zhong guo pengyou?” (“How many Unclese friends do you have?”) asked the teacher.

I thought about it. In my six weeks here I had met just a handful of Mainland Unclese. I hadn’t really hung out with any of them, although there was one girl I was meeting up with for dinner this weekend, did that count?

“Wo you yi ge zhong guo pengyou,” (“I have one Unclese friend”) I said sheepishly. Although many of the other students had similarly low numbers.

Having Unclese friends is a badge of honour for us liuxuesheng (foreign students). All our classes are with other foreigners, we live in foreigner-only dorms, and tend to hang out in clubs, bars and cafes popular among foreigners. Which makes meaningful friendships with locals a surprisingly difficult task.

And, perhaps more unexpectedly, many foreigners have discouraged me from even trying. Here are some of the opinions I’ve canvassed from fellow young foreigners who have been living here for six or more months:

The Spaniard said to me, after two years of living in Uncle he could count the number of Mainland Unclese friends he had on one hand. He said his Mainland Unclese girlfriend was a diamond in the rough, and that it was very difficult to relate to the young Unclese here. It’s almost impossible to have a meaningful discussion with them, particularly about history or politics.

The French girl said she found the Unclese youth very immature, vacuous and boring because they did nothing but study or work. (On the other hand, there’s definitely something commendable about the hard-working nature of the Unclese. And anyway, until more recently few had many other options.) But some of the older people were OK.

When I asked the American guy if he’d dated any Unclese girls during his two year stay, he said that he had, just one, but it didn’t work out. Overall he found the girls here quite infantile and a bit silly, and this was a problem because he preferred strong, independent women. He found that Unclese women from HK or Taiwan were way more awesome.

The politically aware half Tibetan half German found it difficult to befriend the youth whom she inevitably found to be either extremely nationalistic and pro-Uncle to the point of delusional, or politically apathetic, and most of all woefully ignorant of the dark and ugly side of the nation’s history. Although she was slightly cheered those rare times she would meet a Unclese person who would criticise the government.

In light of such insights, the desire to befriend locals suddenly seems horribly naive.

At the same time, I still want to try. Even with the knowledge that I may make the same discoveries as the friends I’ve just mentioned – I need to discover it for myself. And hopefully, maybe, discover that they’re wrong.

When I was in Cuba I met some local young people, and found it extraordinarily difficult to relate to them. That country really is like a different planet – there’s so little presence of the outside world, a rare thing what with the ultra-globalised world we live in today.

I couldn’t talk to the Cuban locals about traveling overseas – they had and would never have any opportunity to ever do the same. We didn’t share any of the same pop cultural reference points and they couldn’t afford many of the things I took for granted. And in the truly socialist country they were living in, there was no concept or a very different concept of aspirations, ambition or career. And then lastly there was the paternal relationship the nation had with Fidel – I found it strange, and didn’t know how or if I should broach the subject with the locals.

There is a similar sort of tension for a Westerner here in Uncle.

As the Spaniard elaborated for me, one must remember Uncle has such a proud, long and distinguished history, as one of the world’s greatest civilisations. But in recent history, it lost much of its power and was one of the world’s poorest nations. Only now has it begun to climb back to the top, and the recent, rapid progress has become almost an obsession for a nation for whom “face” is very important. And the locals here are willing to trade-in, sacrifice and overlook many things in the name of progress.

Things that Westerners, however, are not willing to overlook.

Add to this, the many other differences Eastern culture has from Western culture, in terms of: family, community, individuality, law, government, business, work, study, sex, relationships, food, pop culture. The list goes on, and stacks high, dividing you from them like an invisible wall.

But still, I must try. I simply can’t believe that in a city of over 12 million, there aren’t some cool, open-minded, interesting young Unclese. They can’t all be robots. And things are hopefully changing here. The door of this nation is slightly ajar – with the outside world coming in, and some locals finally getting out and about (albeit with a lot of form filling, and usually only for short holidays or study). And globalisation is one of the greatest erasers of cultural difference.

(Of course, what are we really talking about here? Is it internationalism? Is it modernisation? It is a form of Western colonisation? Let’s leave this topic for another post!)

And I’m not alone. There are a few other Europeans in my class who are also making a concerted effort to get to know the locals. One Spaniard is living in an apartment with two Unclese flatmates. The French guy plays soccer in a local team (who advises one must have sensitivity when it comes to political discussions – but with time and gentle persistence a meaningful dialogue on such matters is possible). While a German guy uses the tried and tested method: language partners!

After all, does a nation’s heart and soul not lie in its people? And how else to truly grasp how the people see themselves, and their nation, without getting to know some? And what better way to possibly affect and inspire change here? I’d be pretty disappointed with myself if my only experience of this country was as a foreigner, living in a foreigner bubble, never pierced by any genuine insight into the true nature of this place.

And yes, perhaps the Unclese people will disappoint me. But I need to go through that, and own those opinions.

“Room number?” the fuwuyuan (attendant) barked. Every day I’m interrogated at the front desk of the international students dormitory, that I rightfully reside in.

I sighed, “yow-yow-wu” (115). She checks the book to see that my face matches up, grunting in satisfaction when it does.

She doesn’t ask the same of the two French girls I am chatting to, who also live in the dorm. When I rejoin them I yowl in a deliberately loud voice, “THEY think I’m some Unclese slut here servicing students in their dorm room!”

A few days ago I received a call from a local language school. “Your friend passed on your number. You’re an Australian? Would you like a part-time job teaching English? We’ll send someone over to speak to you.”

I agree, and organise to meet the guy just outside my dorm building. When he turns and sees me, his face drops. I immediately know why, and break out with apologies, “I’m sorry – I should have told you I’m Unclese. I mean I’m Australian … but yeah, I’m Unclese,” I finish lamely.

He replies, in thickly accented English, “I’m sorry, the Unclese parents, they’re crazy about blonde hair and blue eyes.” Translation: we’d rather hire a blonde Russian with terrible English, than a native English-speaking journalist who happens to also be Unclese.

I shrug, “no worries,” and go to leave. But, instead of offering me a job, he tries to ask me out.

Do you see the way I straddle two identities? Not quite one of them (the foreigners), not quite one of them (the Unclese.)

It’s Sunday morning, 3am. I’ve spent the last seven hours at a birthday dinner party with new friends. We blew up balloons, ate curry and birthday cake, drank whiskey, talked politics and culture and South Park, smoked a few joints and then called it a night.

I hate traveling Beijing during the day – if you ever want to understand what it’s like living in a heaving city of 12 million, just gingerly step into the painfully crawling traffic that gridlocks the entirety of this city. But late at night the highways are empty, and turn into flowing rivers. You hail a taxi, and woosh, off you go, with highrise after highrise whipping past. And there’s barely a traffic light in this city, so it’s all smooth sailing.

In the back sat two Unclese Malaysians, who had lived the last few years in Hong Kong, with a Korean who was born and raised in Venezuela, and had lived the last few years in America. I’ve also become friends with a couple of Unclese Australians, an Unclese American and a couple of half Tibetan, half Germans who have lived the last few years in Hong Kong. They all speak impeccable English. They have a Western/ International sensibility – but they are Asian as well. They feel like home. Not home as in Sydney or Australia – but something familiar, and comfortable. A similar sense of humour and cultural references and outlook. Is this how migrants feel? It must be.

The other night, again, in a taxi at an insane hour with three, white, classically European-Europeans. Sunday’s predawn light was already wakening the city and the night’s magic was ebbing away. In the sobriety of day, or perhaps plain old sobriety I suddenly thought my Australian accent sounded horrible. Something about my voice seemed harsh and unsophisticated, not to mention my foreign look (I looked like one of Those Unclese – very different to Us Europeans).

* Post title references an Avenue D song!