I was on Chinese News!

I have very recently downloaded a software that finally enables my computer to type in simplified Chinese through the use of pinyin. Excited and vain, I googled my Chinese name and was very surprised that the search result actually came up with a list of articles mentioning my name. I am not only vain, I am also very paranoid. Thus, my immediate reaction was one of fear. What could they have been saying about me all these years behind my back? And because the level of my Chinese-reading is very low, I could not immediately understand the lines that stared back at me. I chose a link and clicked. I gave the article a scan... Yup, it really was me because aside from my Chinese name, I recognized the characters for "Philippines," "26 years old this year," and a number of other things that made it impossible for the article to be talking about someone else. And well, my English name was also there, albeit misspelled as Jone (come on, people! Four letters!! It's just four letters!).

Irrationally worried, I looked for my bookmarked translator site and deciphered the meaning amidst the literal direct translation of the text. And I breathed a sigh of relief.

I can actually remember that day when the "interview" was conducted. Except at that time I didn't know it was an interview. I thought it was a let's-be-friendly-and-have-a-mindless-conversation small talk. Anyway, that day I think the press was invited to the training camp and watch the national team train. I was told to drop by the shooting range which I did because I was curious. Note: I was in a very ratty t-shirt. And then the small talk with the journalist, whom I had met before because she would do translation services for the team when a foreign resource speaker sometimes came and whom I didn't even know was a journalist (I thought she was a translator!) until much later. But there were cameras, yes. The cameras must have given me a clue that it was a news-worthy day.

So fastforward to a day more than two years after when I downloaded google pinyin. I can imagine now how it must have been a tad interesting to have a foreign girl with broken Chinese teaching English to the national shooting team. I found the same "news" with slight variations in a number of sites and reprinted below one of them:

请外国教练“另类备战” 中国射击队刮起英语风 Aug 13 2006

晨报讯“这是气步枪，这个叫手枪……”昨天上午，在当天的射击奥运模拟赛开赛之前，国家射击队总教练王义夫领着一个外国女孩出现在北京射击场，两个人一边参观场内的设备，一边用英语和汉语进行着交流。

    这个被王义夫戏称为“教你”的菲律宾女孩英文全名叫ＪｏｎｅＣｈａｍ，她还有一个中文名字叫詹心帆。

    今年26岁的她在菲律宾时是个语文老师。一年前，她来到中国，在辽宁铁岭的一家外语学院任教。半个月前，她看到网上关于中国射击队招聘英语老师的信息，就 把自己的简历投了过来。“我现在还在试用期。”Ｊｏｎｅ用不太流利的中文向记者介绍，“过了三个月的试用期，我才可以和他们签合同，合同期应该是一年。”

    谈到对射击队员的印象时，Ｊｏｎｅ用“很好，他们很爱学习”来形容。谈到对哪个队员印象深刻时，Ｊｏｎｅ歪着脑袋想了几秒钟，笑道：“他们的中文名字我记不清了。”这时，男子手枪选手徐坤走了过来，Ｊｏｎｅ兴奋地说，“他的英语还不错！”

        “英语老师一周大致会给我们上两节课，每次一到两个小时。平时，我们遇到不明白的地方或者与射击有关的词汇，都会问她。”一名小队员告诉记者。

    记者在射击队一名工作人员手中看到一个印着英文的小本，上面分为专用名词、常用词汇、图例等几部分，包含了很多射击方面的单词，也有日常交际用的词汇。

       “对运动员来讲，光会打枪是不行的。文化、思想道德都得抓。”王义夫告诉记者，他鼓励教练、队员平时和英语老师对话时尽量用英语，“以前我们到 国外比赛，语言不通耽误了很多事情。亚运会即将来临，奥运会前还有很多国际大赛，射击队不能再当哑巴和聋子了，把外语学好，起码在赛场上能听懂人家说什 么。”

(彭帆)

(责任编辑：海盗)

http://sports.sohu.com/20060813/n244765703.shtml

Except for minor changes in the format and adding the date, that was how it appeared exactly. I could attempt at a translation, but I'm too lazy. One little complaint though, I wasn't a "language teacher" when I was in the Philippines. I was teaching Literature! There IS a difference. Hmp.

Light Years and Love Lost in the Oleanders by Alane Rollings

Rating:	★★★★★
Category:	Other

I found an old tattered piece of paper stuck between the pages of an old journal while I was home in Valenzuela and going through forgotten things. I suddenly remembered how much I wept over these lines at a time when I was young and heartbroken. I'm posting it here for old time's sake. And because it really is such a good poem.


Light Years and Love Lost in the Oleanders
By Alane Rollings

Does my voice reach you? You are
as silent as a star and as incompanionable.
And I have done my research on these things.
I have spent many hours with the delicate turquoise amphibians
who live under sundials. They outnumbered me.
I was barely in touch with the sky, then.
I spent my days waiting for that one bit of good news
that would turn my life around.
You. Your charms, your hesitations. No one needs to tell me
how well everyone remembers you.
But have I told you about my arms, my half-healed embraces?
The disarray of my life is no longer too personal to share,
though I still can’t remember much of what I did before,
who I went out with, how much I missed.
I’m told I spent the days reading the exotica painted on cigar boxes,
and the nights over small distress messages on computer printouts.
Anyway, I’m sorry if you got the idea that I was in control.
Wasn’t I running out of the room to cry or be sick or something
when I saw you? I remember a light unwinding over my head,
and other kindnesses I’d never have done for myself.
I noticed the distance in your voice, your eyes.
You gave me gin and ginger for my stomach,
and if there was nothing to celebrate, we were
deliberate about it, like those accustomed to their own fragility.
Your astonishing stories floated in like graceful fleets,
and I did believe you had beautiful ancestors with beautiful titles.
Don’t ever tell anyone how you do it.

I think now that I understand
the things some women make their happiness of—
the water that waits in seashells, questions that silence themselves—
I no longer tell people about you
hoping to make them think more of me.
And I will not come to you anymore for sedatives,
you from whom I borrowed my life.
I will offer you green silence and solitude
and a belief in everything.
I remember a little more now. I was a long way off.
I had nightmares in dead languages and sailboats in my backyard
that ran off to sea night after night
looking for stars that had fallen light years and light years ago.
So you see why I can’t let you pass through my life.
I suppose that you, too, have escaped in every direction,
have heard the swish of nickel and iron beneath you,
and you are no more flattered by my attraction than the center of the earth is.
But I am looking for the glare that lives
in gardens deeper than mirrors. I am hoping
that you will complete my past. Give me silent embraces,
the quiet transitions that love will put us through,
and I will only wish I’d also known you
when you were young and waiting under the lime trees
for one sweet word to fall.
I'd have been the kind of girl
you'd have bothered with.

Making Progress

I have five remaining sessions in my Mandarin class. That means I have had 22 hours of the lessons, and ten more hours to go. A part of me likes to think I am making amazing progress, another part of me knows I am not even halfway near the finish line--if there is even one. I try and not think of that "finish line" because that can be too daunting a goal. While my teacher and I meet twice a week, two hours per session, I take it upon myself to have the discipline to study by myself at least two hours in a week, more if work is not toxic. I actually enjoy the auto-didactic sessions and sometimes lose myself in the exercise more than I thought possible.

During our first few sessions whenever I would mispronounce a word while reading the Chinese text aloud, I would hit my palm to my forehead and let out a frustrated growl, followed by profuse apologies, more to myself than to my laoshi. I have since tried to control the intensity of my reactions out of consideration to my laoshi. He seemed shocked at these outbursts. I do not blame him. 

Learning Chinese is probably one of the most difficult things I have subjected myself to. That, and writing a novel--still in progress, sometimes I fear will forever be in progress. In an age when most everything is designed to be easy, instant, and just a click away, learning a language--and in fact, writing a novel too--is my constant reminder that for some things, you will have to devote time and a lot of hard work. No shortcuts: not all the money in the world is going to make you better at it without that hybrid seed of desire and determination first taking root. And just as with anything that has real value, it will be worth the heartbreak and frustration. It is precisely because it is never easy that makes it all worthwhile. 

(And yes, I think we have long established my masochism in previous entries.)

Alone Time

Today I decided to have my alone time. Armed with a couple of books, a notebook, a pen and my ipod (just in case), I set out to the mall. Of course I understand a mall is hardly a place to be alone in but there is much to be said about the contrast between being around people and yet being alone and separate from the crowd. And so I decided the mall will be the site of my alone time.

As I was having lunch at Burger King, facing the glass window outside, I saw a man with his two daughters and a son queuing at a Snowstorm kiosk. Their group's sudden movement as they turned away from the kiosk caught my attention. I sensed their delight more than saw it and so unnoticed, I watched more intently as the father gave a spoonful of ice cream to the son, a daughter, himself, and finally the eldest child and I was struck by the innocence and magic of it all: a family enjoying ice cream together on a Sunday afternoon. The whole thing lasted for only a few minutes and then they walked away. I'm guessing they had at most three spoonfuls each. But could there be anything sweeter as sharing ice cream with people you love on a bright Sunday afternoon?

And then I went window shopping, always a good exercise on solitude. I was successful at prying myself loose from all the yummy leather bags and sandals latching on to me as soon as they caught sight of me. I was not, however, successful at Powerbooks where I walked away with the scholarly Harold Bloom's "How to Read and Why," and the more obscure Lily Tuck's "Limbo and Other Places I Have Lived." They were on sale! And a lot cheaper than the shoes!!

Because I remembered I still had Starbucks gift certificates, I decided to continue being alone at Starbucks instead of the cafe of choice, Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. As luck would have it, I was randomly chosen to answer an online survey and get a free tall drink on my next visit. Ha! A confirmation of how good things indeed come to good people (because I am not just holy, I am holier than thou, or so I have been told *giggles).

Of course now that I have Bloom's book, I could not help but read it first. Besides, why else would the universe let me find it today of all days when I had been after it since college? How fitting, to read a book about reading--itself a solitary act! And on a day I had especially designated to be an exercise on solitude.

I now leave with a quote from Hemingway's "The Snows of Kilimanjaro," one of the stories Bloom used as an example and one that struck me most because of how simple pain was laid out, "He had loved too much, demanded too much, and he wore it all out." That line reflects those rare times when pain is so beautiful that you cannot help but ache for more.

My First (Ob)Session of Masochistic Fun

At 7 tonight, I had the first session of my Mandarin lessons. I am, to say the least, exhausted. Two hours of mental acrobatic translations can do that to you. It's been almost two years since I last conversed in Mandarin for more than fifteen minutes and I am now all drained of whatever Chinese words that inhabited my brain.

But it was fun. Because my brain particularly enjoys getting a linguistic beating from time to time. It thrives at the sweet logic of language and the sensual sound of words as they roll off my tongue and escape my lips. It delights at each discovery of a new word, phrase, pattern... very much like a lover thrilled at the little pleasures of a new affair, so much more pleasant as they come to her in surprising little bursts... A new language, like a new lover, comes with so much promise, so rich with potential that one cannot just say no for fear of what one might miss.

Although come to think of it, Mandarin is hardly new to me; but a lover nonetheless--teasing and mysterious, revealing itself one day at a time. Just when I think I know enough, it takes off one more layer of its clothing, and then I realize again and again and yet again how there is always so much more to know. Because just as it reveals, concealed underneath is even more than I could ever fathom. For when does it end? Does it ever really end?

And oh it demands so much of me! How it demands so much of my time and energy, my patience and devotion, my passion and love. But despite it all, it refuses to be possessed. And that only makes me want more.

Thus the exhaustion.

It should be worth it. To love is to exhaust oneself for the beloved. Otherwise what's the point?

The Covers Project

I got this from good friend Trina, and as promised, I am reposting it here in the hopes that some artistic soul would read it and want to be part of it. So go, go, go!


Hey Joni!

Sending you an invitation for THE COVERS PROJECT, a collaborative art project by Filipino artists from around the world. Please check it out and let your friends know about it too! We're trying to rally 3000 Filipino artists to create one cover each for the first issue of the Art in Site magazine. It will be really cool.

Sincerely,
Trina




Where are all the amazing, brilliant Filipino artists?

The Covers Project count to date is 989 artists -- a great response given that we launched the project just 2 weeks ago. From the looks of it, Manila artists make up the list 3:1. We want ALL Filipino artists represented! Don't be shy. Create a cover for the Art in Site magazine at www.artinsitemagazine.com. You have 4 weeks to shout loud and proud from your corner of the world.

Thanks to those who have already signed up. If you know a friend (or two or three or four) holed up in their studio or in some region without internet, passionately working on their next latest and greatest -- please help us SPREAD THE WORD!

PHILIPPINES
1 Aklan
1 Albay
1 Amodeo
1 Bulacan
4 Antipolo
1 Antique
1 Aurora
1 Bacnotan
2 Bacolod
2 Bataan
7 Batangas
8 Benguet
4 Bicol
2 Bohol
17 Bulacan
24 Cavite
13 Cebu
6 Davao
3 Ilocos
13 IloIlo
1 Isabela
2 La Union
24 Laguna
2 Lanao del Norte
1 Leyte
5 Luzon
768 Manila
2 Mindoro
2 Palawan
9 Pampanga
3 Pangasinan
4 Negros
2 Nueva Viscaya
1 Sorsogon
1 Tagaytay
1 Tarlac
1 Taytay
1 Valenzuela
1 Zambales

THE REST OF THE WORLD
2 Australia
1 Belgium
1 Bosnia
1 Canada
1 Great Britain
1 Indonesia
1 Iceland
1 Japan
1 Saudi Arabia
1 Singapore
1 Thailand
1 Taiwan
32 USA
1 New Zealand

My PSA Work Area

I have been meaning to post pictures of my work area but never got to doing it. Since I've recently promised a friend I would, that gave me motivation at least.

It must be said that I nest. I can only feel comfortable in a place once I've surrounded myself with things familiar and loved. So yes, I am very comfortable in my work area.