Molly

I have been living in Beijing for the last three months, studying and teaching at one of China’s most prestigious high schools during the day, exploring the city in the afternoon, and struggling to communicate with my host mother in the evening. My Chinese vocabulary and pronunciation has skyrocketed – I now feel like a total idiot for not paying attention to tones in Chinese class sophomore through senior year. Living with a host family has provided me unparalleled access to Chinese society. I have traveled throughout the country, and been teased for my “Beijing accent.” I have mastered the art of morning exercises and wear my Chinese school uniform proudly. I have eaten cocoons. In case you were wondering, you eat the crust and spit out the bug.
Never have I enjoyed day-to-day activities so much: uncovering new dumpling restaurants, chatting with the men and women at newspaper stands while recharging my cell phone, learning to navigate the bus routes, and shocking taxi driver after taxi driver when I catch and correct them – all in Chinese, of course – trying to cheat me of a few yuan by taking a longer route than necessary to the intersection outside my apartment. On the flip side, I have also never been so frustrated: sitting through class after class where not a single student raises his or her hand to ask a question, passing by the new exhibit on “China’s peaceful liberation of Tibetan serfs” where 100 Chinese are lined up to take pictures of panels preaching how Western media are not to be trusted, and being denied access to certain articles on nytimes.com.
But ups and downs like this were to be expected. Although there was no way for me to know all the specifics, for example, that eggplant would taste 20 times better in China than in America, that I would teach friends in class how to play Knock Out, that hatred for the Dalai Lama would be so immersed into Chinese culture, or that a sixth grader would introduce himself to me with the English name “Busdriver,” I knew I was signing up for the opportunity to live something new, and that’s exactly what I got.
What I didn’t realize until about a month ago, however, was that along with providing a new lens with which to examine the world, this exchange also provided me with a new family. More specifically, this exchange provided me with a new sister. It never occurred to me that my exchange experience actually began when Molly, my host sister, landed in Boston this September, rocking her emerald green travel pants plastered with a pink and yellow floral print. Looking back on the exchange, the only thing I’m going to regret is not realizing that this program had something to offer me the moment Molly and I met. My mind was so focused on all I would observe and experience in Beijing that I never stopped to think of everything Molly and I could offer each other. Over our sixty or so bus rides to and from school everyday the two of us have become closer than I ever dreamed of. I’m the only one she talks about boys with and that bizarre feeling of having butterflies in your stomach, and she calmed my nerves before I heard back from colleges.
In 20 days I will be back in Newton. I am ready to go back, but it will take some time for me to call Newton home again. Lucky for me, Molly is going to boarding school in one of Newton’s neighboring cities in September. I expect that is when it will start to feel like home again.