My daughter called me. “I got a request on Facebook asking if I knew you, if you were the person who taught English in Fuling. Do you know this person?” So I asked her to find contact information for my former colleague. I’ve left a message on her phone, but have not yet received her call.
I certainly do recall our summer in Fuling, fifteen years ago. I still wear, for special occasions, the red with gold brocade flowers jacket, traditionally styled with black trim on the mandarin collar, sleeves, and hem, and five black frog closures on the front. I remember that the tailor wished I would have a dress, but I felt the jacket would be more versatile. I wear it with a long black skirt, or black palazzo pants, or velvet slacks. The fabric is traditionally used for a wedding dress in China. It looks like silk brocade, but it might be polyester. I learned that year that to test the fabric, take a thread or two, and holding them over a sink or an ashtray, light them with a match. If they burn, they’re silk. If they melt into a hard ball, they’re polyester.
My young colleague ordered a black jacket. We could tell the tailor disapproved, but that’s what the woman wanted, and that’s what she got. There were eleven of us on that team, two men and nine women. We went with our Chinese assistants, to the downtown shop which stood at the top of about 12 wide steps. While we were all marveling at the fabrics, choosing designs, and being measured for our garments, a crowd gathered on the steps watching us. At that time, Fuling had not seen foreigners for many years, and here we were, eleven of us all in a small space, available for watching.
Later in a conversation about economic realities, I asked a student, “For example, how much does that tailor make per month?” He answered, “This month, perhaps more than usual.”
That trip, my first venture into China, was a very difficult summer. The heat was oppressive, the accommodations, less than five star, the schedule rigorous. But it was life changing for me. Both my colleagues and my students saw me as a teacher in my own right, rather than as an adjunct to my husband, important, but secondary to him and his work. It was as if the light shifted subtly and I saw a new aspect of myself.
I returned to China, another summer, another team, another city. In all, I made six trips to China, always as a teacher. When I’m asked if I miss China, I say, “I miss the person I was able to be while I was in China.” Each trip brought new friends, new colleagues, new students. Deep friendships formed that first summer remain active to this day.
Day by day, season by season, light shifts and shows us new views of ourselves, of others, of life itself. Each day is a gift to be shared with others, in love, in service, and with joy. Shared history, shared memories, give shape to our friendships. But new events, new conversations, give us new growth.
In my garden, some delphinium grew all summer without blooming, but just before first frost, they bloomed, and now, when the weather is chilly, they stand in glory with their blue flowers. I look forward to the new blooming of friendship with my former colleague.