2006 - 08 - 27

My trip to China has officially begun. I’m now sitting in Arlanda Airport, trying to balance my laptop on my – well, lap – while still keeping an eye on my stuff.
Yesterday (after that hazy dreadful thing I did in the morning) was a quiet affair, just like any other Saturday with my parents. We had a nice dinner with four dishes and soup, which is a Chinese expression for a fancy meal. It’s cute, considering most fancy restaurant dinners I’ve been to in China have been with 20 dishes or more. My Mom’s cooking is infinitely better though. My Dad was in the middle of doing some serious car mechanic stuff on our Volvo, so he barely ate at all (for him, that is) before heading out again. After dinner, my Mom helped me pack my bag.
Remember when I mentioned that I was all done and there was still so much space left over? Yeah, that bit me in the ass. Small assorted stuff that don’t weigh so much separately or take much space mysteriously become one giant heavy pile of stuff in a suitcase. I managed to fit it all in the end, but I exceeded my limit by 7-8 kg. I was really worried that the flight company wouldn’t allow it – usually, it’s no problem but sometimes they’re inanely strict. My hand luggage weighs a ton too, mostly because I have at least 10 copies of all my important documents (and they’re a fair stack) because they want papers papers papers everywhere you go in China. Anyhow, went to bed pretty calm and relaxed. My mind was occupied with all the practical stuff – it was like I was preparing for a task ahead and not the beginning of the adventure I’ve been looking forward to since March.
Well, you all know why I’m not in the best of moods right now.
This morning was pretty relaxed too – did some last minute packing, had a nice breakfast, hung out with my parents. It felt just like any other day, and it was absolutely wonderful. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way, and it’s not often I’m able to have so much quality time with my parents. My eyes occasionally strayed to the blue sky and the fluffy clouds, trying to imprint them into my mind – it’ll be a year before I see a sky like that again. I also skipped a little extra on our lush green lawn, cuz it’ll be a year before I see grass like that as well. On the way to the airport, I also tried to notice the lack of people as well, because – surprise – it’ll be a year before I’ll see so little people again. (I’m not talking about midgets here.) All in all, I did my best to preserve the image of Sweden in my memory, because Beijing will be such a huge contrast.

Note: two Chinese guys are cuddling in front of me right now. That’s so cute! Come to think of it, the entire group is made up of the gayest Chinese I’ve ever seen.

We had dumplings as well before I left (naturally), so if Austria Air turns out to be crap at feeding me, I’ll definitely stay alive until Beijing. I also have a king-sized Kinapuffar in my hand luggage =D Every time I think about me, a Chinese girl munching on Kinapuffar on my way to China, I have to giggle a little. I feel so yellow! =P (incidentally, “yellow” in Chinese is slang for porn. Heh.)

Note two: when my parents and I went for a walk Thursday night, we passed a playground with a bunch of kids. A couple of the more daring ones started calling out “Tjing tjong kines” – a play on how Chinese sounds – which is a childishly derogatory term for Chinese. We stopped, turned, and laughed so loud it almost echoed. Then I bowed low and said in my most respectful voice in Chinese: “You’re all so stupid.” There was a resounding boom of more or less successful imitations, we laughed some more and went on our way. My parents laughed because they didn’t know it was a derogatory term, and I laughed at the silliness of kids, but also in anger. How many times haven’t I been called that, had that jeered in my face and to my back as I passed by? And how many times haven’t I reached the painful conclusion that no matter how many years I spend in Sweden and consider myself a part of the Swedish society, there will always be a few who feel they have the right to judge that I don’t belong? When I was younger, and living in a small village in Skåne (south Sweden, very rural), we were the only foreigners, not to mention the only Chinese, in that entire village. Our neighbour’s kids shot peas at our windows to make us go away. We invited them over for coffee and we became best friends as long as we lived there. (Don’t get me wrong, they were still racist as hell, but they liked us.)
We couldn’t invite everyone who wanted us gone over for coffee though. I remember so many times, bicycling home in anger and frustration over some derogatory comment, wanting with all my heart to be a whole person, one nationality, and not some weirdo split up into one Chinese and one Swedish part, which somehow was mixed together at the same time.
One of the most common comments was “tjing tjong kines”.
It wasn’t until we moved to Stockholm and I enrolled in Engelska Skolan with its 50+ ethnicities, that I gradually began to accept and be proud of who I was, and who I am today. So when those kids shouted after us, I laughed because of the irony: I’m proud of being Chinese and Swedish and I wouldn’t have it any other way. And I’m leaving for China for a year! But I was angry because somewhere deep inside, there’ll always be that frustrated lost girl on the bicycle, feeling small and unable to come up with a clever retort.
Odd. It’s been so long since anyone’s said anything racist to me.

Saying goodbye to my parents was remarkably painless. I think my parents, and especially my Mom, held onto the fact that we’d see each other over Christmas (the fact that I will probably be in the middle of cramming for my exams in mid-January didn’t faze the one bit), and it would only be a couple of months left. I had gotten used to the everyday life with my parents so much, I didn’t really comprehend I was going to leave them for a whole year. It wasn’t until one minute after we’d said goodbye and I was heading towards security that I began feeling teary-eyed. I wanted to go back and hug them one last time.
Fortunately, I’d forgotten my small pair of scissors in my pencil case, and I had to run back and hand it to my parents (sometimes small miracles do happen), so I could indeed hug them one last time. Then my year abroad in China officially begun.
Heading towards adventure…

And last, but not least, quote from another memorable conversation with my parents:

(discussing religion and me asking whether they’ve ever been religious)
My Dad: “I do believe in one thing. Food! Food is food, food is good. I call it foodism.”