Every day I bicycle across a tiny bridge between what were once two ponds, but are now completely dried out. Now, one of the fields is tilled, and until today, the other housed rickety shacks in two neat rows with a path between them. I never knew what was going on there, but they had light, and sometimes you could see people walk about. Did people live there? Did they keep things there?
I’ll never know. This morning as I bicycled to school – late again – I stopped and watched several people tear down the plastic roofs and the bricked walls. I was in high-heeled boots, a nice black coat with a nice bag slung over my shoulder, and they were clearly in working clothes. All the work was done by hand, brick by brick and junk piece after junk piece. Not one of the people working seemed particularly sad, so maybe the shacks were temporary storage areas not suitable for winter. I don’t know. And I didn’t ask today either.
I was already late for class.
The only things you’ll regret are the things you didn’t do… nowhere else is this more true than in this country, in this city.

Nico came into the class room today, all handsome and dressed up. When I asked him about the occasion, he said he wanted to look nice – because he’s leaving soon. And he’s not coming back next semester.
This one took me by surprise, and yet not. I know he doesn’t like China: doesn’t like the people, doesn’t like Beijing. It’s not like he has an incentive to learn the language either, since he’s at a level where he’s more than capable of continuing to learn through reading magazines and books by his own. He would be bored to tears next semester – I know there’s a risk I’ll be. So instead of staying another 7 months in a country he dislikes, taking completely unchallenging classes, missing his boyfriend and amassing his debt to the American government, he’s going home.
I’m going to miss him. I’m glad he told me first of all, speaking in English, in his mother tongue (one of the two, anyway), telling me honestly and seriously about his decision. I understand him and really, it’s not like he won’t get that job at the Smithsonian anyways. But I am going to miss him.
Then in class, he gave a brilliant speech about language stems and linguistics. He had the entire class practice Zulu click sounds, laughing and engaging in questions about languages and linguistics. You could tell he was in his element, looking much like the authoritative linguistics professor he’ll become years from now, writing non-stop on the blackboard, gesticulating and taking us on a dizzying ride between Indo-European, Bantu, Latin and Arabic, amongst other things. It made me smile.
If he ever comes back to Beida to hold a speech again, years from now, he’s going to arrive in one of the sleek black cars, under a red banner welcoming a linguistics professor from some fancy institution or college. There will be pictures taken. But maybe he’ll remember to visit the Russian building again, if it’s still there, and maybe he’ll remember that last speech he gave to the awesome Oral Chinese class he was in then.
Some people you’re just happy you met, no matter what happens in the future.

And good Lord, he dabbles in Georgian, Coptic, Zulu, Arabic, Turkish, Latin and Hindi as well.


I bought Chinese newspapers today. It’s a big step for me. It’s still too early to say if I can read them or not – it’s like hiking, it’s pretty fun when it’s all going well, but you never really know when you’re going to stumble badly on some hidden root that’ll spoil your entire trek.

I had DELICIOUS noodles today. I had no idea what they were called, where to get them, but through sheer luck I saw a guy ordering them as I walked passed the right food stall. Next goal: to find that DELICIOUS tofu dish that my friend had yesterday…

I can’t believe it’s December. The grounds are still dry, and there are still green leaves on the trees – if it weren’t for the dry cold and the yellow grass fields, you wouldn’t know it wasn’t Autumn any more.

And Brent Flood is really good. Thanks Hannah!