Lin Miaoke is my idol. With pigtails hanging down from her cute little 9 year
old head, she wowed the world during the opening ceremony of the Beijing Olympics as she flawlessly performed on stage during a version of “Ode to the Motherland.” It was a perfect, clean-cut lip-synching debut. It didn’t matter that the voice that the world was hearing wasn’t that of Lin Miaoke. She looked so damn adorable–the perfect cookie-cut-out child giving it up to the masses in China’s unzipping it’s fly to the world. The only mistake was that the world discovered and knew Lin Miaoke was lip-synching the whole time. This news became a big deal in the West…another story of another fake. Another finger we can point at the Chinese for producing a pretty copy of the real thing. But it doesn’t matter to me. Lin Miaoke is still my idol. I am Lin Miaoke.
A call from Heart’s Eye
On my way back from NingxiaW and Inner MongoliaW I received a phone call from Mrs. Zheng, the leader of the Heart’s Eye movie theater for the blind. This theater is located in the same courtyard where our office is currently located, and I’ve mentioned it in previous posts. Every Saturday morning members of Beijing’s blind community come from near and far to “watch” a movie. Someone with regular vision sits at the front of the theater with a microphone and narrates those portions of the movie that the listeners cannot see and need narration for. In addition to these movie features, the Heart’s Eye Theater (also called “Hong Dan Dan”) organizes other activities and outings for Beijing’s blind community. Hong Dan Dan has a small staff of regular employees, and Mrs. Zheng and her husband are constantly busy trying to organize and improve the activities. Besides the blind community itself, however, the other major players who take the major role in all of the activities are the volunteers who come every week to assist. I, myself, have not personally been a volunteer for the theater. Once we organized a dumpling making activity and Lu Yao, one of the blind students who used to live in the dormitory next to the theater joined us. From time to time when we host events at our center, some of the members of Hong Dan Dan join in. It’s mostly a friendly and neighborly relationship. Or so I thought it was, before I received the call from Mrs. Zheng.
Mrs. Zheng: Jeffrey, I’ve got something important to talk with you about.
(The noise of the train is so loud, I have to talk at the top of my voice, while sticking my finger in my left ear to block out the background noise).
Me: What’s up? Is something wrong?
Mrs. Zheng: Anhui TV Station is doing a program on volunteers, and they want to include Hong Dan Dan in their program.
Me (sensing that I will be asked a favor): Yeah? That’s great!
Mrs. Zheng: They need a white, western, male, who has been a volunteer for us and was born after 1980. Do you think that you could do it? I was going to ask the English girl who teaches them choir, but they specifically requested a white male.
Me: Well…I’d be fine with it. But a couple of things. I was born in 1979…December 26, 1979…almost 1980. Also, I’ve never volnteered with you guys before. This could be a problem. (I’m trying to say no, but the words won’t come out…part of me wants to see where this goes).
Mrs. Zheng: That’s not that important. We can talk about it more when you get back. I’ll go ahead and tell them it’s ok with you. Alright?
Me: Alright (I guess).
A Song of Times’ Past
Besides checking in with Mrs. Zheng about the Anhui TV station activity, I don’t worry much about the activity. We decide that maybe it would be best if I were to actually go in and volunteer at least once before the activity so that I can talk about what it is like to be a volunteer. I tell her that I don’t think I’m ready to narrate a movie, but I’ll come in and tell a story instead. I mostly busy myself with office work, etc. Then one day in the office, an unknown number calls my mobile phone and I answer.
Me: Hello? Who’s this?
Other: Hi, is this Jeffrey? I’m with Anhui TV station. Mrs. Zheng told you we would call?
Me: That’s right.
Anhui: Anyway, so maybe we can ask you some questions about the blind students you have been teaching sometime. We can find a place and time to meet.
Me: Oh, that would be fine. But I think you should know…I don’t have any blind students. I haven’t really volunteered there. I just know some of them and Mrs. Zheng. I go there often. My friends and I organize activities near there.
(Silence)
Anhui: Well. That’s alright. Can you tell me your favorite Chinese song?
Me: Uh….”Camel Bell?”
Anhui:…..any others? that one is kind of old…
Me: the “Chinese Kung-fu” song is cool, too.
Anhui:….no, no…not right. Anymore?
I think back to one of the first songs that I heard when I came to China:
I arrive in JiangxiW hearing the song over and over again. It is the theme song to a Korean soap opera, but it really has quite a sentimental melody to it. At one point there is a chorus of children in the background. The chorus of children doesn’t feel cheesy to me. It feels appropriate. When I first hear it, I have no idea what the words are saying, but I like the melody. It gives me goosebumps to think about it now. It is all around me. When I walk down the street in Yichun I can hear the theme song of the tv show blaring out from the stores that I pass by…there is a store that sells metalworks and pipes, there’s another store that sells solar water heaters, a restaurant owner sits lazily at a table with no customers. A fly swatter dangles from his fingertips as he rests his head in the crook of his right elbow. The song is a wistful first impression of culture shock and part of my introduction to my 800 students in Yichun. I hear it and think of a certain crisp autumn day in YichunW, Jiangxi Province. The sky is blue, and the rustle of the rattling of the swirling leaves on the ground fill the air. I am going to a lunch for my South African colleague’s child’s 100 days of life celebration, a watermark event in a baby’s life in China. We’ll eat plate after plate of food. Outside, the wind will continue to swirl as leaves are gently pulled off the tree branches lining the town’s streets. I see another day where I hike up Bright Moon Mountain, about a half an hour drive from Yichun. I go there with my student, Nancy. The weather is cold, the sky is blue again–always with this song, the sky is blue. Waterfalls on the mountain are either frozen or trickling. I can see Nancy’s breath as she pushes the air out. The mountain is sleeping. She puts her face close to my camera as I take a close-up. She is in Shanghai now. I’m in Beijing. I miss these days. The song is always missing, hoping.
Me: “Hope.” From that tv show.
Anhui: Good….good. That’s a good song. Can you learn that song? You may be performing it with Sister He (pronounced “Huh”) from the “Supergirls” show (China’s version of “American Idol”).
Me: I can try to learn it…but I’m not a very good singer.
Anhui: It doesn’t matter. As long as you try. Anyway, talk with you later Jeffrey.
I look up the lyrics to “Hope” in the evening when I get home. I have no idea what “performance” the guy on the other end was talking about, but I have a feeling that I will find out soon enough, in a very intimate way. In the evening, I return home and say a little prayer of hope to Lin Miaoke, knowing that her spirit of guidance is the only force able to pull me through the next chapter of this particular Chinese saga in my life’s story.
A very cute girl,Pround of China.
She’s a cute girl and I was also moved that time. Pround of China.