“No man can know where he is going unless he knows exactly where he has been and exactly how he arrived at his present place.” —Maya Angelou
Who would I be if I hadn't lived in a country thousands of miles away from my home? Would I be like a twin of myself, with just different tastes in movies, food, friends and music or would I be an unrecognizable stranger? I do know my past experiences have shaped who I am today. Does that mean, however, that I know where I'm going?
Living in China for four years taught me many things, not the least of which was learning to adapt. I went being a small town girl to living in a city crowded with skyscrapers and thousands of people. Gone was the constant and reassuring presence of all the supermarkets and stores I used to explore. Instead of going to Tops, Mom and I took a full-morning trip, first to the market for fresh fruits and vegetables, and later to the small shops that specialized in whatever else we needed. I never liked the market much. It was open air, and the smells of fruits, meat, and seafood mixed unpredictably and often unpleasantly. I would usually hold my breath, as if I were swimming in an ocean of smells. One whiff of the rancid odors and I would drown. Many other aspects of our lives were equally foreign, from not being able to drive our own car to living in a hotel for a year until we got a house. We gradually settled in, making our hotel room and later our house feel like home again. Routines were formed and adjustments made in daily life, such as fixing the mosquito netting just right and making sure the water heater was turned on before taking a quick shower.
Patience, understanding, and politeness became the staple of social interactions early on. We kids were constantly reminded that we were representing the entire United States of America, and how we acted reflected on our country as a whole. It was an awkward responsibility. I'd never been a foreign diplomat before, much less an entire country. At first I was completely silent most of the time in public, figuring that “if I don't say anything, I can't screw stuff up.” It was extremely intimidating to be stared at by practically everyone every time I went outside. The pressure of hundreds of eyes bore down on my shoulders. I slouched as I walked and stared at the ground, partly to avoid falling into a sewer, as I had heard someone had done, and partly to avoid the stares. I followed the “if I can't see you then you can't see me” mentality for a long time.
The school was just as different. As a fledgling international school, it was actually in the library building on a Chinese boarding school campus. In the morning, we heard the Chinese anthem play and music blare as the students participated in their daily exercise session. My social situation in school didn't help matters, either. I was alone, scared, and the only American girl in the classroom at the time. The other girls were Korean and they huddled in a group most of the time, speaking their own language. An impenetrable wall seemed to surround them, and I was too afraid to even try to break through. Instead, I made the tiny school library my home and read nearly every book they had. In later years, other girls arrived and I became friends with them more easily. I learned that the Korean girls were actually quite nice if you talked to them. I resolved to not fall into the trap of being paralyzed with fear and missing an opportunity to make friends.
There were cultural misunderstandings, especially with the Chinese teachers. They were accustomed to automatic respect from their students. The idea that we would disobey and misbehave so blatantly was appalling. For our part, we just saw it as testing our boundaries, seeing how far this teacher would let us go. We had no idea that it was so upsetting to our teachers. There was also the matter of losing face. The loss of respect that accompanies a mistake or failure is to be avoided at all costs in China. As a result, teachers wouldn't admit to having any problems in the classroom. So, everyone, in addition to learning, suffered.
I was slightly more successful socializing outside of school. I threw in with a group of boys: one French, one Mexican, one Chinese, and one American. Their differences didn't seem so obvious to me. It was probably because we used a more universal language, actions instead of words. There was a lot of running, soccer playing, and exploring, and I didn't feel awkward around them. As long as I could keep up, I was accepted.
The world was suddenly a lot closer to my house in China. Instead of the local news, lost dogs and bake sales, I turned on CNN to see protests, wars, famines, and revolutions happening at my doorstep. Instead of the sheltered indifference that thousands of miles afforded, I felt exposed and vulnerable. Countries that I'd never even thought about were only a few hours away, and what was happening there could easily affect us. When the Chinese embassy was bombed in Belgrade, there were demonstrations in our city. I stayed home from school. If we had to go out, we pretended we were Canadian. The stares took on an accusatory tone and an ominous silence was present. I had never experienced such concentrated dislike up close and personal because of my nationality. It was an unsettling experience for me, and I never felt more acutely like a minority in a foreign country.
“Flexibility” was the most hated word of my childhood. It always meant something from mildly to extremely unpleasant. My dad seemed to delight in reiterating his point, that you had to be flexible in life or you'd never get by. “Don't get too worked up over things you can't change, always think of ways to improve the situation, and try to stay optimistic.” This was rather difficult for me, especially after traveling for thirty-six hours, getting crammed into a tiny car because our reservation was messed up, getting lost in traffic on a European vacation, and lugging my bags for blocks to the hotel because we couldn't find close parking. My dad always personified flexibility, almost infuriating in his calmness. He had a knack for solving problems and seemingly wasn't hindered by fatigue, hunger, or stress. I would watch with a mixture of resentment and awe as he found the one string to pull that would unravel the entire knot of a problem. I aspire to that ability now, because I have seen how useful it can be in a plethora of situations.
Gradually my confidence grew as my time in China continued. I learned that I could deal with a lot of situations, from taking a cab and holding a conversation in Chinese with the driver, to finding my way through airports and reading maps quickly. I was too cautious to exercise my confidence and abilities often, but I would increase them each time. I was able to use past experiences for motivation and support. After all, I would say to myself, “if got through those situations, I can get through these too.”
I have been to places I've never dreamed of before, and encountered different customs, lifestyles, beliefs, and surroundings. I am no longer satisfied with the life I had before moving to China. I want more than just my little house and backyard and the climbing tree by the pool. I want the world as I had it for those four years. I want the terrifying, vast sense of community, connection, and possibility that greeted me every day, whether on the news or in the face of the local shopkeeper. As to where I'm going from here? Well, the initial hijacking and subsequent potholes, roadblocks, and weather conditions have changed the course of my journey. In addition to having an expanded roadmap, I also have more gas in the tank. I have new skills to guide me and memories to comfort me on my way. I can't wait to see what lies ahead.
Rebuttal
“You can never plan the future by the past” —Edmund Burke
1. In planning the future by the past, you make the assumption that you know what the future holds. You can't. There are so many variables and factors involved, sometimes you won't even comprehend what can happen to you. Planning this way would be impractical and futile. If I'd tried to plan my life before I moved to China, I wouldn't have even come close to what actually happened.
2. There is the danger of falling into routines: “If you always do what you've always done, you will always be where you've always been.” No growth, change, nor improvement.
— No advancement, stagnation, no progress, death. We may slip into an endless cycle of copying ourselves, and “imitation is suicide.” —Emerson
— Conformity without reason is one of the greatest evils, and has caused the fall of entire empires.
— Mindless acceptance of a set plan has lead to great atrocities in the past.
3. You need to improve on the past and adapt to changing situations. A plan set in stone will crack in the real world. If you follow rules and guidelines that are obsolete in the current situation, it is worse than doing nothing.
4. If you're too focused on your plan of the future, you miss great opportunities if they don't appear to fit into your scheme. The reality is that you don't really know what you will need in the future. You need to be flexible in thoughts and actions or you'll fade into obscurity and failure. Most people don't end up where they thought they would in terms of jobs and life situations. They got to their situations by making decisions when presented with a series of unpredictable events and coincidences.
5. Likewise, if you dwell on the past too much, you miss out on living today. Regrets do exist, but you must not allow them to chain you to past mistakes. Living in the “glory days” is just as damaging. It paralyzes you when you need to be taking action to change your present situation. If you build up the past in your mind or use it to predict your future, you can end up sinking deeper into depression and apathy.
6. Always look for new places, ideas, and people. When planning by the past you can get the false feeling that you've done and seen it all; there's nothing left in the world. There is always something, but you have to look for it! If you give up and accept that life is empty, it will become empty. You need to make an active effort to keep it full with life and energy. Reflection for greater understanding is valuable, but not at the cost of new experience and ideas.