(Learning Chinese Story continuation...)

Where was I, with the learning Chinese story? (having a quick look)
Oh the question, how did I find myself doing the one thing I was sick of and never thought I would be back doing----learning Mandarin! The reason, or actually, the events leading to it is quite complex. I'll start with graduating high school from an English speaking school in the south of China. We had Chinese classes in the morning for more or less two hours each day. That was for two years, in two different schools.

In the first school, I was put in a class with two others, an Indonesian Chinese, who already spoke Mandarin, and a French classmate who spoke Chinese quite well. We didn’t like the teacher, in fact I was the only one who felt sorry for her, not enough though to join the other two hiding from class and having the teacher look for us (childish I know, but golly fun). One class we actually spent in the principal's office. During times when we are finally forced to go in class, we take turns bringing snacks to eat during the lessons. It was during this time that I got the nickname, “cookie monster.” Somebody brought Oreos, not me but I don't remember who now. Anyway, we passed it around under the table, and I remember only eating a few, like two or a bit more but definitely not a lot, when suddenly one of them asked, “where's the cookies?”There wasn't much left by then, and the other friend answered, “I only ate a few, I didn't even eat that much," so that left me, and they started calling me “cookie monster.” I do like cookies, but I still wonder about that day, did I really finish those cookies? I think not, but whatever, being called, “cookie monster” is better than “pink princess,” eeeewwwwww…… That is so not me!

Whao, I've just told a story that didn't have a lot to do with what I was originally planning to. So back to the topic. My second year, in a different school now, but still an English speaking school in Southern China. I had Chinese language classes in the mornings with three other classmates. In one year we had about three different teachers, none of which were actually Chinese Language teachers.

I should say though, it wasn't really just the teacher's fault, a lot of times it was also the students’lack of interest and purpose that got in the way. Like for a lot of us, these classes to have us learn to speak Chinese was just for passing time, we weren't really there to LEARN Chinese, it was just a class that we had because the school had it.

What I mean is, none of us (in that class at least) were taking the lessons seriously, none of us were actually doing the homework and memorizing vocabulary words (ungrateful children that we were). By this time, at least my spoken Chinese was at a level that I could take a taxi and point out directions, and buy things, but I couldn't carry a decent conversation.

So comes graduation, and deciding for the future. Crazy as it may sound, I wanted to go study abroad to Europe; Spain to be more specific. Partly because I've always been very interested in Spanish culture and because I just have a natural instinct about living as farthest away from home as possible. My mom thought I should just stay were I was in China and improve my Mandarin, but I thought, if that were the case, I'd rather just go back home and study in my home country. My dad, two years after my graduation, had a proposal; he asked if I wanted to go abroad and study in Beijing. (to be continued...)