So. Imagine this scenario, just for fun. You're in a small city in China and the urge to empty your bowels suddenly makes itself known. Great, you think. You have to take a shit. In desperation you search for a public bathroom and you spot a nice little dumpling restaurant. You hurridley walk over and ask them if they have a bathroom. They shake their head at you and point to a non-descript building across the street. You look in the direction they are pointing and you don't see anything. Oh wait, there is a 10x10 brick building with no roof sitting off the side of the road. Surely that can't be the public bathroom you're supposed to use right? You look at the worker in the restaurant to confirm your suspicions, and he tells you that that building is indeed the shitter. Now, with your past experiences with public bathrooms in China, you ask him for some napkins, knowing that you wont find any in the building sitting off the side of the road. He gives you some and sends you on your way.

You walk across the street to the little enclosure and find yourself looking at a little square outlined with bricks with a dividing wall. One side for the ladies, another side for the gentleman. You quickly realize that asking for directions wasn't needed because the smell protrudes about a 100 sq. ft. radius around the building. Upon entering the proper side of the building, be it the ladies side or the mens side, you will now see a series of perhaps four or five little holes in the ground with cinder blocks on either side so as to rest your feet as you squat. That's right. Nothing more than nice open ditch shitter. Quite practical and functional. It's obvious it hasn't been cleaned in quite some time, if ever. The weather and natural process of decay is probably the one who takes care of the cleaning. It's also worth observing that at least some of the people didn't have time to ask someone for napkins and the newspaper they carried under their arm on the way to work or something sufficed for the after shit duty of wiping. Nice. You squat, take a look at the cloudless sky and hold your breath. Another person with the same bowel emptying agenda that you had walks in avoiding the puddles of piss carved out in the mud and says "Ni hao" as he squats next to you. "Hmm.....", you think. Aint this nice. Welcome to the joys of public bathrooms in the non-developed cities of China.

Public bathrooms are a bit nicer in places like Beijing and other big cities. Partitions and aluminum squatters are even provided. Napkins of course need to be brought on your own however. Thank god for McDonalds every fifteen feet or so.

Uncertainty sucks. Bigtime. Not knowing which way things will go, or how you'll be affected really leaves me discouraged. These are the times when I feel like flying. Like reaching out for something fresh, abandoning my burdens like the beast of burden at the end of his journey. The human mind can only take so much before it has to unwind. My solution to problems probably isn't the most mature thing to do. Running away usually doesn't solve anything. Problems seem to follow like an impending storm you can never fully escape. Recently, it seems as if when I feel optimisic about my life in China, the optimism is just a mask I've put on to conceal all of the doubt. The bone chilling wind that seems to make itself present every now and then easily blows that mask off and the uncertainty returns.

I just don't know what to do about it. Fly? No. I can't do that. I'm responsible for more than just my own feelings at this point. But it's what I feel like doing right now. India has been on my mind alot lately. Not home, interestingly enough. Another country full of people and experiences. I dunno though, when will I take responsiblity? Christ, I just want to settle. I'm talking career, wife, stability. None of this bullshit of dealing with visas, unrelenting tradition, cloaked relations, the whole things takes on the appearance of a gigantic mess. I need a sign.

Jingle bells. I hear him coming, but it's just the fancy of childhood. Actually, my belief in Santa Claus left a long time ago. I don't remember anything specific about what made me see the light, and it wasn't some traumatic awakening like some people I've met. I guess the knowledge that Santa was a big hoax, although a harmless pleasant one, came gradually. And then the year I helped my mother wrap Christmas presents...that settled it.

Living in China this year though, I would have liked to own just one small piece of Christmas, even if it was a misguided belief in an old man that sneaks down chimnies to give away presents made in a secret workshop in the North Pole by little elves. I would have even settled for a dinner with my family. Forget the presents. Give me the anticipation, the cheer, the cheesy Christmas ads on TV. They'd be better than going through December 25th as just another day. Christmas was completely absent this year. It failed to cross the ocean, the only place it existed was in my faded memories. My collegues didn't fail to wish me a "Merry Christmas", I'm not sure if it made it better or worse though. It was kind of a striking reminder that I wasn't able to partake in something I truly enjoy: Christmas.

Of course, one never fully realizes what something means to them until they either don't have it anymore, or they can't get it. Or they lose it. I knew that I would be away from home this Christmas, and I told myself I didn't care. Thanksgiving came and went, and it stung a bit. But not as much as Christmas. I knew a few days ago that I'd be a bit down once Christmas came. But as I was forced to live my life completely the same as I always do, the full impact was absorbed, and not gratefully. I spent the day doing what I always do: teaching, spending time on the internet, reading, SMSing my girlfriend, looking for work in Beijing. My Christmas dinner consisted of the same fare I consume day in and day out. Stir fried vegetables and pork, rice and hot water graced my Christmas table. An utterly ordinary day on what should have been a festive celebration spent with my family. I can't and wont complain that much though. I have alot to bring me out of my funk. A girlfriend I love, the promise of a better tomorrow, a future that I am in control of, and my health. Perhaps Christmas came after all.

This has little to do with travelling or cultural experiences, but is something that is a part of my experience in China nonetheless. Everyday I am around human beings that life has not laid hands upon, that innocence still abounds in. It's inspiring. To see their smiling faces, and to know that their fragile minds are still sheltered. The glimmer in their eyes, the eyes that haven't known or seen a world full of hypocrisy and bitterniss. Children are like this everywhere, not just China, but it's not something I picked up on; I had spent little time with kids back home, or just hadn't noticed it. The genuine smiles and hardy laughs when something strikes them as funny. The unreserved laughs. The carefree attitude where exams and the cute girl or boy that sits in row three are the only thing that matter. Parents are a source of eternal protection and pocket money. Where going to the store for a bottle of pop is something to look forward to. Childhood. Truly something that is only truly appreciated when viewed in hindsight. Although they exist in simple world that to an adult seems as though it's confict free, the tumult of growing up is not without it's anxiety. Chinese youth are heavily pressured in school, and if they can't hack it with their studying, a life of fantastic amounts of labor await them. If not successful in their studies, a job in a restaurant or Wal-Mart doesn't await them. Nay, a life of toiling in fields or some hazzardous industry, or the mundane, ever constant sound of the factory siren awaits them upon awaking to a new day. It's a hard life here in China for most. At least to my American perception. Childhood and the refuge it offers is shortlived, but will live forever in the twinkling eyes and unabashed smiles that I see everyday as I teach them my native tongue. I leave the classroom, and then the school grounds, on my way home to contemplate the anxieties that perpetually face me. To smoke cigarettes that will be my downfall, and to drink tea.

At times I know not where my childhood evaporated to, and then it hits me. It was lost in my dreams of growing up. I could have stayed a child forever, but nature wouldn't allow it. Ambition and a loss of innocence took control. A desire to move, to see and to feel. To refine my senses, to grasp that which is unknown to the child. And so it happens with everyone else. Forgetting the charms of coming home after school to an afternoon of homework and TV, the smell of a cooking dinner and the subsequent call to eat that soon follows, we set out to create an adult life. Seeking love, both fanciful and carnal, we shed our innocence, and our smiles lose that certain touch, our laughs become less frequent with a faded resonance. Our own choosing and the course of nature leads us away from simple understanding of what is good and safe as we plunge into depraivity and bill paying. Spend a day in a class of loving children however, and you can be taken back to a time when little else mattered than a full stomach and the touch of a mother's voice.

I spent some time in Beijing last weekend. It was only three days, not even close to long enough, but at least I got to go. I've been to Beijing a few times now and the famed Silk Market has always eluded me. Usually short on time, and sometimes cash, I just never made it. I had heard tales from friends about cheap knock off North Face gear, Versace handbags (if I was into that kind of thing, I'd have been more excited), and just stories of cheap clothes in general. I made it a priority to go this time, and I was sorely and utterly dissapointed. I cannot even attempt to relate the completion of my dissapointment. There were North Face backpacks and coats, the much talked about Versace handbags, and many other American label clothing good. Tommy Hilfiger was well represented as was Polo. The prices were exhorbirant, and bargaining rarely yielded a desireable result. I spotted a pair of gloves I liked, I needed some too. I walked up to the vendor and inquired about the price. "San bai". Three hundred for a pair of thin leather gloves! You can imagine my shock. "Good leather", was what he told me. I offered a more reasonable price and he told me, "Bye bye". At this retort I was utterly dumbfounded, I couldn't believe his triteness. I walked away feeling immensely let down and with frozen hands. The Silk Market turned out to be no more than one little street that more resembled an alley. Upon coming to the end of it, I doubled back and headed for the entrance/exit. Passing the same screaming vendors I had no less than five minutes before, I wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there. After pushing through the crowds of foreigners and money hungry hawkers, I was finally out into the street. I could breathe, or so I though. I was immediately accosted by a silk scarf salesman who brought with him the relentless style of selling that is seen in the more touristy places of China. Not only is it obtrusive, but it's exhausting. I made the mistake of slowing my pace and looking at what he had to sell. This seemed to only encourage him, I didn't want what he was selling, but I'm too polite to just blatantly  ignore anyone. No sooner had I slowed my pace a tad then another salesman sauntered up and pushed his way into my face. He was selling Mao Zedong lighters that when the lid is opened play the song "The East is Red"; a famous tune proclaiming the excellence of the Chinese Communist Party. Now, I had seen these lighters and I wanted one. I told him as much and we entered a bargaining dialogue. He wanted way too much for the lighter. I told him a lower price that I thought was reasonable, he wouldn't budge and I decided I didn't want the lighter and started to move away. He countered with a new price, and I then made my mistake. I said I'd purchase two (thinking of Christmas and an uncle who would appreciate the momento) for one low price. He said okay. I didn't have the correct change and gave him a bill larger than the price we agreed upon expecting some change. At this point he grabs an extra lighter, bringing the total to three, and says he'll give me the extra one for the change he was supposed to give me. I didn't want this. At this point enter about three children who'se mother had prompted them to beg for money. Picture the scene. I had three hungry, dirty children begging in a loud voice as I'm trying to square up with this goddamned inept lighter salesman. My girlfriend ended up giving the begging children a sucker that she had already started eating and I ended up taking the third lighter sans my change. I was beside myself. I had just gotten off a train about 6 hours before, hadn't slept in 18 hours or so, and hadn't eaten in that time either. I walked away with a dazed mind and horrible Silk Market experience.

Today I spent some time taking pictures of an elderly gentleman who operates a huge coal burning boiler. The boiler provides water for a communal shower right behind my bedroom wall. Since I moved into the new apartment, he has been very friendly to me. When the weather wasn't so cold, I often enjoyed sitting outside with him while drinking tea and smoking cigarettes. He must be a retired something or other, but due to the goddamned language barrier, I don't know. Our conversations generally consist of when my next class is, what I ate for lunch and long intervals of comfortable silence. The other day there was a huge pile of winter cabbage stacked outside the back door of an adjoining restaurant. I decided to take some pictures of the heaping pile as winter cabbage is something quite unique to China. Every winter huge piles of the vegetable can be see throughout northern cities. I'm not sure why exactly they are so prevelant this time of year but, they are. Capturing the image of winter on film was my objective that afternoon. I looked behind me and the door of the boiler room was open and the old man was shovelling coal into one of the holes that are used to recieve the coal that is burned. I decided to take a picture of it. It was perfect. The red orange glow of the furious fire that burned inside the boiler was reflected on the man's coal dirty face. A lone cigarrete hung from his pursed lips. I walked up to him and asked if he'd stand in a kind of pose looking into the blazing furnace. I snapped a few more pictures and promised to give him some copies once the film was developed. Today I was wandering around the little alley with my camera and decided to take a couple more of him. Then something magical happened. A man that was no younger than 80 hobbled up with his obvious limp and asked the worker for a few clumps of coal for his heater. I asked the man to stand in the doorway and to smile. The toothless grin with the beret style hat and cadre uniform coat was a priceless image. I gave him a cigarette, shook his hand, thanked both the gentleman and walked home.