Chinese Lessons

Ah, the Chinese language.  I'd love to be clever and say, "Hey, it's all Greek to me!"  However, I've actually studied Greek.  Even with its cryptic symbols (letters that later influenced Russian's cyrillic alphabet), Greek was much easier.

I've learned a bit of Chinese.  And when I say "bit", I mean "a speck".  And when I say "a speck", I mean "something you'd need a microscope to see".  You see, the more Chinese I learn, the more I realize I don't really get it.

There could be fifty words that sound the same--but with different meanings, and the only way you know that is to read the Chinese characters.  I've learned the basics--numbers, compass directions, some foods--mutton, beef, chicken, fruit, wine, beer, vegetables.  Rather than being frustrated, though, I've started to just allow myself to be in awe of one of the most complex languages on Earth.

Given all of the above, finding my Chinese name was a pretty big deal.

A Chinese co-worker had looked it up on the internet for me a couple of months ago.  "'She-suh'," she said, "Or 'She-soh'...you choose."  She smiled.

I'd gotten to like this woman from Inner Mongolia.  She had sparkling eyes and a lot of personality, and her wide cheekbones reminded me more of Qinghai people than Han Chinese--I thought she was pretty.  And she always seemed to be laughing or smiling.

"She's so...awesome!"  I joked. 

In spite of our laughter, I wasn't too impressed, though.  I'd looked up "heather" in Pleco, my Chinese dictionary app on my smart phone.  Shi nan hua.  It had a ring to it.  But the girls in the office (other local teachers) said, "That's cheesy.  You don't want the word 'flower' in your name."  Hua means flower.  I messed around with a few other names, but nothing seemed to sink in or resonate with me, and my co-workers shook their heads.  Nothing sounded right.

I dug up the tiny photo album Mom had made before I left--on the front cover was a scan of my banquet name tag from Ge'ermu back in the 80s.  It took a while to find the matching characters in Pleco.  Part of the app allows the user to draw a character on the touch screen and find the character and its meaning.  After several failed attempts (How hard can it be to draw a picture?  I'd wondered.  Well, apparently hard enough), I switched to searching in pinyin, the Romanized Chinese alphabet.  Typing in xi (the "she" sound) brought up over 50 results.  There are four tones in Mandarin, so I knew xi could have at least four meanings, depending on the tone used. 

However, I'd underestimated the complexity of the Chinese characters yet again.  There were, at minimum, 10 xis in each tone.  Each one had a different character--and a different meaning.  A bit like English's there, their, and they're, but about ten times as complex.  Finding my Chinese name seemed suddenly important, though, and I dedicated myself to finding the right character.

There it was!  Hope.  First tone, the high tone.

Sè (the "suh" sound) was somewhat easier to find.  It was in the fourth tone, the one I remember how to pronounce by using a downward karate chop with my right hand.  Sè means the music of an instrument similar to a zither, from anywhere from 7-25 strings.

So my Chinese name, roughly:  Hope Music.

I'm not sure I knew what my Chinese name meant when I was 10.  I'm pretty sure I didn't care.  A lot of things upset me back then.  Well, for everything there is a season.  When I found my Chinese name, it gave me hope--literally.

Hopeful music inspires people.  I thought about singers and bands who've inspired me:  U2, Bruce Springsteen...songs:  "Carry on my Wayward Son" has been in my head a lot lately.  Good music has pulled me out of many a funk over the years.  I'm not a musician.  I'm good with words, though, and I wondered:  What can I say or write that will inspire people?  What can I do to inspire my students?

The journey continues!

For Lantern Festival (on our Valentine's Day), the āyí (auntie/housekeeper) at my center made tāngtuán.  Literally, the words mean "soup bowl"--yummy glutinous rice balls with sweet black sesame paste inside, floating in a warm sugary broth.  But the director of my center told me the word for "bowl" also means "come together, gather"--like many cultures, holidays in China revolve around food and family.

When you learn anything, experience is the true teacher.  I remember the names of foods because I order and then eat them.  If you don't eat, you don't live, so of course I'm motivated to remember words for water, meat, rice, etc.  I've learned shīzi tóu--Lion's Head--is a name for meatballs sold at Family Mart.  It sounds like dirty words, and makes me laugh!  I can order a Subway sandwich in Chinese.  I remember numbers because I shop at the local veggie market enough to know them, and the hand signals that go with them. 

A co-worker taught me this:  mei zhe liang xin--"not in my heart", or "my heart's not in it".  When your students and co-workers speak better English than you speak Chinese, it's hard to motivate yourself to learn such a complex language.  I can ask where something is--like "Where is the metro?" or "Where is this street?"  I can ask a shopkeeper if they have something or not.  Out of respect, politeness, I always try to say xièxie (thank you).  I can tell taxi drivers where I live, and if they don't understand me, I carry a laminated card in Chinese that gives the name of a store near my apartment--I've always gotten home.  I've told my students some stories about learning Chinese or other languages; I tell them I know how frustrating it can be to learn a language, and how funny, not to mention useful.

Inspirational?  I hope so!