In the movie What Women Want, Mel Gibson plays a man who one evening is struck by lightning and wakes up the next morning able to hear what women are thinking. As he walks down the street on his way to work, he picks up snatches up women’s thoughts as they pass by him - “Let’s see, what do I need at the grocery store”… “I swear, if he does that one more time, I’m leaving him” … “Banana, 100 calories. Tuna salad, 270 calories” … and so on. All of a sudden, a window opened to a world he’d never glimpsed before.

Last week, I woke up one morning, a normal morning, early, dark and cold. I swathed myself in layer after layer of warm fleeciness, hopped on my bike, and braced myself for the frigid bike ride to school. But little did I know that this morning, as unremarkable as it seemed, would not be the same as all the mornings before. For during the night, unbeknownst to me, a little fairy had slipped silently into my room, sprinkled fairy dust on my head, waved her magic wand, and whispered a magic spell.

I pedaled around my apartment building, down a little alley, and onto a small lane. I was happily pondering my upcoming breakfast when all of a sudden to my left, I heard someone say clear as day, “I just need to give my friend a call.” Had I been pedaling down an American streeet, this would have been no cause for surprise. But I was definitely on a Chinese street, and the passerby had definitely spoken in Chinese, and I had definitely understood every Beijing-slang-ified word. I decided it was a fluke, and I continued on my way. But not a minute later, I passed a high school age boy and girl, who were talking about a popular Chinese pop star. And then as I whizzed by on my bike, I caught part of a sentence - “… tomorrow afternoon, what do you think?” It happened again and again as I rode to school, ate breakfast in the crowded dining hall, and zipped in and out of groups of Chinese students on their way to class. I could no longer pass it off as coincidence. I had woken up that morning a changed woman - I had been given the gift of TingLi (”listening comprehension”).

It’s not as though I had never understood any Chinese before. I have been able to easily understand my teachers for months now. But classroom Chinese and street Chinese are entirely different animals. It has been maddening for me to go from classroom, where we discuss a variety of complex topics, to the street, where I must ask the sweet potato vendor to repeat the phrase “Big or small?” four times before I understand. In these circumstances, such as when the cashier resorts to holding up fingers to let me know how much something costs, I always want to plead with them, beg of them to believe that my Chinese truly isn’t so pathetic; that not an hour earlier, I had been casually discussing with my teacher society’s attitude towards women during the Qing Dynasty.

It’s been a strange sensation, ever since last week. I’d gotten used to everything around me just being gibberish. But now, I find that there are a myriad small conversations happening around me all the time. It’s like suddenly not being deaf anymore. I don’t think I’m quite used to it yet, I still feel a little embarrassed when I understand the strangers around me, like I’m eavesdropping on their private conversations. But I also feel like I belong here more than I did before. Instead of China happening all around me, little darts of Chinese culture flying beside me and around me and through my, bouncing off and making little ping-ping sounds like pebbles hitting glass but never entering into me - instead of simply being a deaf spectator, I now can participate a little more. The ping-ping of Chinese culture bouncing off of me is being replaced by the tiny whoosh-whoosh of Chinese cultural nibblets entering into my head, swooshing and swirling around inside of me.

-Bethany Allen

Before I came to Beijing, I didn’t spend a lot of time considering some of the deeper meanings of spending my life as an expat living abroad. All I thought about was how much I wanted it, how much fun it would be, how suited I was for overseas living, etc etc. I rarely or never thought about what I would be giving up, or about the difficulties of living so far away.

One of the unexpected blessings about living here the past 3 months is that I have come to discover that I am, in fact, capable of deep love and connection. I have discovered that because, for the first time in a long long time, years and years, I am truly and deeply and daily missing my loved ones. It has been a long long time since I’ve felt this kind of emotion, this intense bittersweet longing. In the past, every once in a while I’d feel a mild pang of “Oh! I wish So-and-So was here.” But lately, I miss people on so many different levels. I guess this partly comes of maturity. I’m realizing, for the first time, what things I am giving up by following this dream of mine. And primarily what I’m giving up are a thousand and one daily moments with the people who give true meaning to my life. My parents, my brothers, my extended family, and Julie, Megan, and Jennifer. They are the sweetness and the connection and the meaning in my life. I feel that more deeply than I have ever felt it. So lately, I’ve been struggling a lot within myself. I’ve always heard, “Follow your dreams, follow your dreams!” But what I’m realizing is that every dream comes at a price.

But on the other hand, I also think to myself, “And to live at home, that also comes with a price — giving up a lifetime of dreams.” And also — what of the new relationships I am forming here? Although right now they are still new, without the depth and groundedness of my older relationships, they too are human connection. They too, in time, and if nurtured, will yield the same bountiful harvest of love and meaningfulness and depth. If I were to stay in America, I would never develop these relationships.

From where I stand, it’s hard to see down the road, and to know what is worthwhile and what is just dust in the wind. I guess that’s life though. You never know until you know.

-Bethany Allen

For so long, China has been my hope, that green yonder to which I cast my eyes in times of despair. “Someday,” I would also say to myself, “someday I will return, and once again feel that fullness, that perfect happiness I felt for the three short months I lived there.” And yet, as time passed, I grew up, and I realized that no matter how much I believed China would make me happy, in reality happiness is only an internal condition that is little affected by one’s place of residence. I’m glad I realized that before I came back here, I think it has saved me a perilous emotional plunge of disappointment and confusion.

I have known for a long while that eventually, the euphoria of living here would diminish, and in time, in time, my emotions would settle to their usual pate. I feel this happening these recent days, and I feel myself dipping into my first low in the cycle of cultural adjustment.

Living in Beijing is everything I imagined and more. Most specifically, I am beautiful and exotic here, even in this international city of cities. That is what I have longed for my entire life. And yet, days pass, day after day, and beauty begins to lose meaning. So am I beautiful. So what? What effect has it upon my existence, my ability to experience and give true love, my ability to connect with my family and friends, my ability to rise above the dailiness of life? None whatsoever. I keep expecting the next wondering look, the next admiring eye, the next pleasing comment to save me, somehow; and yet, it never does. I’m still this person, this same person I have been my whole life. I still have the same faults, the same virtues, the same history, the same talents. I hung so much hope on the beauty I would suddenly gain my coming here. But now, I find all is being slowly stripped away. Not taken away - but that which I used to cling to has lost its weight, and now I am floating, weightless and directionless, in this seemingly meaningless world. I have lost my gravity and now forward movement is not only impossible, but also meaningless.

I wonder who I am, what my talents are, if “helping humanity” can give life meaning, and if so, can it give my life meaning? But this heart, this heart of mine, which once was so soft and giving, has become so paralyzed. Will it remain that way? Or was it just soft on the surface? I don’t think it was ever genuinely philanthropic. I just wanted it to be, wished it to be, believed that it was - but truly, I have always been a selfish creature. But still, I have this desire, even though it feels so false to me. I want to help the world. I don’t want to just live a small life, doing only the normal life things, loving only my family and close friends. But I only want to want to, I don’t actually want to, and moreover I have no clue how I want to help.

That’s not true. I do know. I want to contribute to world peace, somehow. But I feel more and more incompetent, and incapable of becoming competent. Living in this foreign culture, where simple daily tasks are far far beyond my ability, does little to encourage me in my self-confidence.

But today, I heard this small voice. “You have this dream. It is a real dream. It is worth following, and you are worth following it.” Someday, my heart will be open, it will be soft and caring, I will re-learn, or learn for the first time, to think of others, to view myself as part of the whole, and to lay aside fear.

I have a new beginning, and all choices are open to me. I am engulfed in fear, and that is my one and only obstacle. All others are imagined.

-Bethany Allen