A Two-Year Stint in Asia Wraps up Amid Unfinished Business: A Journal

By J. E. L .

JEL is going about his business as a professor in Canada when theres a knock on his door one April morning.

The visitor, Royal, is a language instructor in China looking for teaching material, and he finds a treasure trove in JELs office. But the more consequential aspect of the meeting, for JEL at least, is it reignites his lifelong dream to teach in China.

He chats with Royal who advises him that it would be best for him to go to China if hes serious about securing a position. Once there, he puts him in touch with Min, a university professor who might be able to help him get a job.

JEL returns home feeling great about the trip, but then he gets an ominous call from Royal, who tells him to say good-bye to his teaching plans. You just cant trust Min anymore, he says, telling him that shell do whatever it takes to get her Canadian residence permit.

Suddenly, teaching in China has become a lot more complicated, but JEL throws caution to the wind and decides to move forward with his plans.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Feb 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781491785355

J. E. L .

JEL, a retired teacher, earned a master’s degree in teaching English as a second language from St. Michael’s College in Colchester, Vermont. He is a French Canadian and was a language instructor in continuing education at Laval University in Quebec before taking leave to work at Shenzhen University in China. He lives in Thailand.

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Copyright © 2016 John Emile Levesque.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-8534-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-8535-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015920296

iUniverse rev. date:   02/02/2016

Contents

Chapter 1

Eye-Opening Situations Unfold (Surprise, Surprise!)

Chapter 2

Red-Hot Words, with Sparkling Acts of Generosity In Between

Chapter 3

Extensive Travel Up and Down Middle Kingdom

Chapter 4

A Self-Imposed Excursion Sequel in a Moment of Softheartedness

Chapter 5

Is the Relationship Doomed or Just Stuck in a Rut?

Chapter 6

A Fitting Homecoming Prior to a Second-Year Assignment

Chapter 7A

A Routine Life for the Homebody, While I’m Off to Oceania

Chapter 7B

And the Jaunt Turns into Next-Door Neighbors

Chapter 8

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Eye-Opening Situations Unfold (Surprise, Surprise!)

I have a dream: to teach in the Middle Kingdom. A constant positive expectation over the years keeps the dream alive and kicking, until one day I realize that it’s in the works. And by God, it does take shape; the opportunity finally arrives. I realize it’s now or never when I have a go-ahead feeling evoking the inevitable.

I hear a knock, knock on my office door one April morning, and Royal Good comes in.

What can I do for you?

I’m an EFL instructor in Shenzhen, China, looking for up-to-date practical material. Would you have some to spare, by any chance?

You’re at the right place. Choose what you need, I say, pointing to the bookshelves.

He pulls out texts and handbooks until the large carton box he brought with him is filled to the brim.

Enough? I ask.

Too many, he says. All useful, but getting them to the area is something else. I’ll have to abandon some to lighten my load on the trip back.

At this exact moment, my project spontaneously buds as an offshoot of our chance meeting. I ask him out of the blue, Any instructor openings in the place where you are?

It’s a matter of contacts, he says. On my return, I’ll check it out and let you know what the situation is. Of course, it would help if you’d come to meet people face-to-face.

It’s the break I’ve both anticipated and longed for, a decisive step toward the realization of my dream. The challenge is there before me, and I immediately agree to the suggestion. Over the course of Christmas vacation, I’ll go to China for ten days to get a feeling for the place and to further my quest of securing a position.

December sees me on a plane to Hong Kong—and then a train to next-door Shenzhen station, where Royal greets me.

Hi, Joe—not too tired, I hope! Today we’ll visit some of the town’s schools and parks with my wife and Min, the university professor who will assist you in getting a job. Are you okay with that plan?

The tour is a total journey of discovery for me, especially because this part of the world is quasi-isolated from the rest of the planet; very few outsiders venture here.

Royal knows this urban setting well—and he wants to show me how well. One of the first places we come to is an eatery where outside, near the entrance, snakes are being chopped up for consumption—they’re a delicacy, the shop’s specialty. You can easily imagine the scene of butchery: no sign of cleanliness, just blood, skin, bones, and meat bits scattered everywhere. Why this spot? I think. Is he testing me?

Once we’re inside, the waitress asks me, Sir, ready to order reptile steak? My guide eyes me, but I mumble, No way, Royal, another time, maybe. He expects me to eat snake as a kind of initiation to the country. In fact, all signs of appetite have faded away as a result of his subtle ploy.

Seeing my behavior, Royal suggests that we browse in some nearby shops. While we’re shopping, some young boys begin pulling on my leather jacket. I’m annoyed and taken aback by their behavior, yet I seem unable to react, like moving away or something.

Royal notices them and tries to shoo them away. Poor kids, they’re sent by their parents—hiding in those shrubs over there—to pester strangers for money, he says.

Finally he tells them to get lost, using a combination of strong language and rude gestures. But it doesn’t scare them off a bit; on the contrary, they become bolder. These little guys have gotten a training that’s not to be underestimated.

Seeing that we can’t get rid of them, Royal says, Let’s scram, Joe!

The incident baffles me, but I quickly begin to realize what really took place. To the parents, a fashionably dressed Westerner is regarded as well-to-do, their favorite target. In fact, what inspired me to walk downtown dressed as if I were back home in New Brunswick? A word of caution from Royal would have been more than welcome. It’s a good lesson learned: low profile is the way to go.

Roy as host reserved me a room at the Xili Hotel near McDonald’s. I often get together with Min on the third floor of this popular place, even though the law bans such meetings. Unless the woman is a prostitute or the hotel guests are a married couple with certificate in hand, clients aren’t allowed to meet anyone of the opposite sex in their rooms. And this is far from being a minor issue seeing the questions asked customers at the front desk.

A reliable compromise would be that when Min turns up, we leave the hotel room door wide open, allowing the conduct-management staff to take a peek at anytime. But on the other hand, if one makes a request for SL (street ladies, a polite name for what we normally know as prostitutes) services, the hassle disappears and the customer service approaches the best in the house. It’s an essential part of the hotel routine to keep lodgers happy, Royal says. (But being with a lady spares me frequent inquiries from SL people looking for business. What a relief—that’s something I can do without right now.)

My exchanges with Min are focused mostly on my chances of being hired; consequently, we get to know each other through discussions and misunderstandings. Our first meeting—wow! I can tell she’s a real physics teacher, as I know a few of them. She’s very serious and official, what a way to start! Her demeanor is kind of disappointing. But what disturbs me most is her social posture; she seems to have a visceral need to control people. And before I know it, she invites me to see her apartment and meet her son.

Not this time—Too fast, I think, we just met!—but when I come back, okay?

Did the invitation somehow come from our conversations? It very well could have given her the idea that there is something between us. If so, it’s a mistaken perception, since I’m here with only one purpose in mind.

Our exchanges leave me in the constant predicament of trying to understand her language flow—English tainted with a strong Chinese accent and perspective. The exercise brings about pounding, continuous headaches.

On my last day with Min, while we’re snacking at a fast-food place, my nose suddenly starts bleeding. What’s this? I think. Is my blood pressure up from being in a faraway town? It’s tissue parade as we try to stamp out the red flow. I’m afraid it will never end, but finally we manage to stifle it.

Meanwhile Royal walks in. It’s time, Joe.

Soon the three of us are standing in the middle of the street. While Royal waits, standing idly by, Min and I say good-bye with a formal handshake and the promise to keep in touch. Then I move away, sensing that she’s having a surge of emotion.

I rush off to Hong Kong by train, and the next morning I’m on a plane carrying gifts to Royal’s friends. In the air, I reminisce about what I’ve accomplished with the aid of a Chinese teacher I just met. At least I managed to cross the mainland barrier, I’ve visited and talked to people and had positive interviews and an assignment is waiting for me come September.

But somewhere along the line, I mortgage my life and freedom. I’ve been driven into unknown territory by moving to a new place linked to my employment as a result of Min’s intervention. It’s as if I’ve given her a blank check to go forward in planning my life for me. But in the end, I gather that the whole situation is as simple as it looks. Everything’s okay and my optimism abounds.

Upon my return, a single purpose now controls my daily activities: I must plan and organize my departure to China before August’s end. There are many things to manage, but on the elected day, I’m ready to fly, ready for my first leg of long-distance travel. More so than I would have liked, worries about the Sino affair still linger in my mind. I don’t dwell on them; I keep telling myself that my spirited undertaking will pan out as expected.

But one night prior to my West Coast flight, Roy calls from Montreal. He has other ideas.

If I were in your shoes, Joe, I would cross out Shenzhen and say bye-bye to your pet project. You just can’t trust Min anymore; she’s going to go the distance and do whatever it takes to get the CRP—Canadian residence permit—from you. She might do all kinds of things, like steal your passport and money, cause you to lose your job, gossip to people in the university community to ruin your professional credibility, to name just a few.

Royal goes on to explain the cause of this new situation. Min and I haven’t seen eye to eye since a recent disagreement. The good times are gone. That’s why I insist that you put your project on the back burner sine die.

I listen to the very end without a word. Then I reply with the shortest of answers. Thanks for the useful info, Roy.

His tidbits of information momentarily shake me to the roots. I feel trapped, but I’m also rebelling against what he claims. It’s unimaginable that a project that’s already on the way—I’m leaving tomorrow!—can be stopped cold in its tracks like this.

For a fleeting second I’m inclined to follow his advice and derail the realization of a longtime dream. But then, as I stand out on the veranda, looking at the universe, I think, I believe in you, Min, and when I consider that her support will make everything possible, I spontaneously put a lid on my interior turmoil.

It’s evening when I land in Vancouver. I elect to spend a few days there with an experienced guide who lives in the area. Then, as all good things must come to an end, I take another plane in a new direction, toward Asia.

Except for an unforeseen stopover in Anchorage, the flight goes without a hitch. But my mind is buzzing with thoughts; Royal’s last words to me try to impose themselves again by calling the shots. Apprehensions come to the fore, shooting at whatever moves about in my gray matter. But the target is untouchable; I’m too enthusiastic about moving onward to Red Dragon territory.

Here are my first steps in doing so:

To a cab driver in Hong Kong I ask, How much to get to the train going to Shenzhen? I’ve gone through the usual controls at the Hong Kong airport, and now I’m ready to move on.

The driver says, One hundred HK.

Royal told me that fifty is enough. But I’m kind of fed up of this as I foresee the next step: steering my big heavy trunk onto the train. So the cab price is just fine.

Great stuff! An unpredictable mishap happened just as I was musing about how smooth it can be traveling by rail. My trunk’s rollers think otherwise; unable to sustain the burden any longer, they bail out. So I have to drag my trunk off the train. Luckily, this is the last part of my journey. I’m fast approaching my meeting point with Min.

Once off the train, I’m carried away by a tide of passengers. What a sight! I keep telling myself, You look out of place in the center of these black heads pulling you toward the checking stands.

Even without the sweat pouring down my skin, I would have looked terrible, as I’m being squeezed on all sides and am dragging my trunk behind me. But I have to say that there is a prevailing air of bon enfant, Asian style, in the crowd.

At last I make it out of the main gate. I glance around at the crowd, aware that Min is there somewhere—but where? At this juncture, natives wait outside, rain or shine; if not, they pay a fine and are expelled from the station on the spot.

Suddenly I see her walking slowly toward me under her stylish umbrella. Instead of shaking hands—a gesture unknown in this neck of the woods—I just say, You okay, Min?

I’ve been standing in the hot sun, waiting for you. (Her message is loud and clear.) Follow me into the shade. It’s the best place to see the university car coming. I stand close to her, with mixed feelings that are free of any kind of vibrations; I’m motionless in body and soul. After a few minutes, she says, Our private taxi is here. First we’ll eat lunch at my apartment. And I bought some things for your campus lodging.

I don’t say a word. Like someone going through a ritual, I simply check in. So she purchased everything on her own; apparently the new tenant is unconcerned about his living essentials. (I should be at ease with that, but no—I’m ruffled.) It’s my right to buy what I need, but someone did it for me. Hence my lifeboat has lost control of its helm; this odyssey on remote terra firma now amounts to bobbing among wharves.

One bit of fallout from this situation is that Min implies that I owe her for services rendered. She gives me an earful about it, and it’s news to me, but that’s the culture, I guess. Where’s friendly help in China? It’s a nonentity, to say the least. I’m disgruntled—even more so when she adds, Without me in Shenzhen, Joe, you’re completely lost and can’t do much.

Well, the table is set. I know where I stand so early in the game.

It’s September 13, my second week in this world of its own. I’ve been wondering aloud this morning if students here are the same as others around the globe.

Yes, says a colleague, as long as they are hard workers who are dedicated to their studies.

His statement leaves me skeptical, since he’s no doubt pampering his flock. I’ve found that the students can be odd and funny at times. For example, girls sometimes don’t sit in their assigned seats, but rather pile up on top of each other like bees.

I receive a letter from Zoe, a close friend who helped me immensely as I was packing my baggage for my initial departure. But in the wee hours of the morning at the airport, after she left, I felt lost, and now a question from her letter lingers. Did she write it to reassure me? What are you doing overseas, embracing the unknown and adventurous, she wrote, while here it’s anything but? At this moment, I understand as never before the saying of French author P. Claudel: Leaving is dying a little.

My first weeks on this far-flung continent have seen Min trying to grasp why I persist in being aloof even though she’s done her utmost to make life pleasant for me. She asks an acquaintance to check on me. I find this ridiculous but get a kick out of it. Imagine an American woman going on such a quest to decipher what kind of guy I am!

And this morning she’s a-knocking.

Yes, come in, please.

I’m here to see with my own eyes what type of monster you are. Min believes you’re not an easy individual to get along with. She wants me to chat with you and find out what’s going on.

So we begin talking, and she quickly realizes that I simply need time to adjust. Here is what she reports back to mission control:

Everything’s normal. Joe is gradually settling in, coping the best he can. By the way, Min, he’s certainly not the sort of person you described. We got on well, discussing various matters. The guy’s okay. Give him some room.

As I never hear from her again on this subject, I gather it was a one-shot intervention that momentarily closed a sensitive gap.

Another annoying scenario occurs frequently in autumn. In fact, every time I forget that I owe Min for her services, there’s an agitated period where I’m under surveillance, like a dissipated college student. I could have taken the first North American flight available and left this BS behind, but have a dream to carry out, with the Alchemist as a loyal ally.

What a nice change over the weekend! Min puts an end to my seven days in the flat by inviting me to her abode. I take a bus to Hua Mu Gang-g district, and then we stroll to her place. Upon our arrival, we decide to sunbathe, but the heat forces us back inside. We stand together on her cement floor under a lime-colored ceiling and adjoining walls that are devoid of decorations.

As you see, my home’s interior is ugly, Min says. But according to custom, it should be beautiful, warm, and homey to offset the typical dull and bleak exterior. This voluntary outward display gives people the impression that the inside of the house is similar, hence deflecting neighbors’ envy and backbiting.

While she’s speaking, her son comes in and turns on the TV.

Hi, Phil! I say. Watching football? Which team’s playing?

Our brief chat pleases him. Has an English name now; I gave it to him right at the start of our weekly online chats. A young lad of thirteen, he is alert and brilliant; he wants to be an engineer like his father, who’s been absent since his parents broke up.

Divorce is practically nonexistent in China and as Min affirms proudly: Did you know, Joe, that being separated officially from my husband at this period still, under the influence of Chinese tradition, makes me an all out pioneer.

Everyone’s watching the match on TV. During this time Min attempts to make me pronounce Mandarin words and expressions. We also chat about the tai chi training being offered this university session.

Suddenly we’re sharing intimate moments in the adjacent room, away from prying eyes. The sexual encounter leaves me reeling and uneasy. I say to myself, damn, she’s a fast one! And deep inside I kind of mistrust her. What’s next on her agenda, as far as obligations go? What new ones will she invent this time? I think about it, and my mind takes some time to quiet down.

It’s Sunday, October 1. Time goes by fast on Asian turf, with my weekly teaching loads of eighteen-plus hours. Glimpsing at my nesting place, I decide that a thorough sweeping, coupled with tidying up, is in order before lunch. (By the way, there are two ways to go about lunch: buy a food box from the corner takeout or bring a pot to fill up. The second option was convenient at first, but I grew tired of carrying the pot whenever mealtime came around. It brings to my mind Buddhist monks on their daily search for food early in the morning—and as far as I know, I am not a monk.)

In the meantime, Min’s on the phone:

I have a wonderful idea, since we are real friends, and friendship is a hazy concept here as it’s an Occidental invention. That’s why I don’t want to make love anymore—because I will be very sad when you leave this country for good."

So this is her solution—it resolves what she calls our problem, which I feel is an illusion, fabrication with intent; she’s not the type who does something aimlessly: I will find an SL—there are many here who sell their bodies. She could satisfy the libido of a man living alone, namely you. And then the clincher: You know, Joe, it wouldn’t bother me a bit if you frolic with another woman …

Knowing her as well as I do from our short period of time together, I’m convinced that her plan sucks. It’s a trap to test my willingness, even with her seemingly good intentions. No way I’ll concede to that scheme, I think, but precipitously she’s on to something else. What’s her deal, anyway?

I’ve had a change of heart. I’m not so sure after all that it’s a good idea to dally with an SL. I would be sorry anyway, and I can’t risk losing your companionship by sharing it with a third party.

Her balloon of ingenuity just popped! Her jealous tendencies have taken over.

It’s Wednesday, October 20, and I’m reflecting on last Monday when Min flies in like a gust of wind.

What are you doing?

Ignoring my presence, she begins washing the floor thoroughly. When I insist that it’s clean, she becomes more determined, to the point where it overwhelms me. What can I do, tell her to get the