Home: “One Last Time”

A tune that has been going through my head for the last month is the song near the end of Act II of Hamilton:  “One Last Time.”  It’s a beautiful piece, written in the style of R&B/Gospel.   It imagines a conversation between Washington and Hamilton, when the President decides not to run for re-election, and asks Hamilton to write his final address to the American public, setting up the tradition of term limits for American Presidents. (FDR, of course, being the exception).  I introduced this song in my final lecture to the Jiaotong students to talk about America’s history of peaceful transitions between administrations.  From 1982 to 2018, the Chinese constitution had a similar stipulation.  This was changed in 2018 by President Xi.  Chinese presidents currently have no term limits.

Of course, I also did it against the backdrop of recent news about our current administration’s who, like Xi, may push the boundaries of this tradition.

The song was not just a political statement for me, though.  It also  resonated because it ends with the beautiful musings that croon:  “George Washington’s going home":  

"Everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree

And no one shall make them afraid."

They'll be safe in the nation we've made

I wanna sit under my own vine and fig tree

A moment alone in the shade

At home in this nation we've made

                                                                           One last time.

David and I, like Washington, arre also going home. 

This post will be about that journey home -- a bit of an ordeal.  It will end with a number of  poems by my students who mused about what home is to them.

 First, the Journey Home:

 When we came to China, we had a fairly straightforward trip:  San Diego (2 hour layover in San Francisco); Beijing (3 hour layover); Xi'an.  The total trip took 19 hours -- tiring, but do-able. Coming home, suffice it to say, the trip was longer.  We traveled from Xi'an to Shanghai with a 9 hour layover.  Then Shanghai to Seoul.  Although we didn't get off the plane at Seoul -- there was just a crew change-- we spent two hours on the ground there.  We then flew Seoul to San Francisco, with an overnight layover, and then finally home to San Diego.

Notice that the heading of this itinerary is "New Travel Plan.Doc" We had a total of 4 different itineraries. The first one sent us through Beijing.  With a COVID outbreak there, we were then re-routed to Shanghai.  When the battle between the US administration and China heated up, about a month ago, the number of flights between the two countries decreased dramatically.  The flight changed again... and then again.  In the end, we were glad that we had a seat.

Others were less lucky.  I only just saw this desperate plea on one of our ex-pat WeChat feeds:  

Our department was extremely helpful in helping us get our ticket.  In addition to organizing our flight, our handler suggested that we get a nucleic COVID test before we leave.  It's paperwork that is required in order to enter China.   I think he thought that it was a good idea to be safe.  Going to the Xi'an teaching hospital and getting the test seemed like a big hassle.  I googled it, and it didn't look like it was required to enter the US.  Confession:  one of our many thoughts was -- if we take it and comes up positive, what then?  So we decided not to get it.  (It was a nagging fear for the rest of the trip. Would they ask us for the paperwork?  Would we be denied entry  without it?  Cue scary music.)

 Our ride to the airport was effortless.  The school bought and paid for the air tickets (which were three times the price of what they were when we came:  $500 one way turned into $1300 for then one way trip back!) They also sent us a big van to transport a years' worth of luggage.  

We had hoped to travel with less.  However we thought the post office was opened on Saturday, the day before we left.  When we arrived at the post office in the pouring rain , we saw that it was opened every day.. Except Saturday had the dreaded words:  休息 .    The post office was closed!  I know, not the best planning.  We quickly went to Plan B:  Dave went to the local "five and dime" store and picked up a fourth suitcase.  We re-packed.   Left more things for the next occupant of our apartment and breathed a sigh of relief that the school was helping us get to the airport.  Negotiating this pile on our own would be difficult.

While this seemed like a good solution, we still faced challenges.  Just when we thought that we had packed everything, friends from school or the village came by with a new gift.  For example, we thought we were packed and done... but in the final hour, Aiping and his wife Ning came by with two large packages of surgical grade mask.We had planned on using just regular hospital masks.  We were grateful for their generosity, but finding space to pack them was still a challenge.  In the end, we invited ex-pat friends over to the apartment at the last minute to take anything that they might find useful, just to get rid of stuff.

Here is Dave and me in the car with our new masks. And then Dave at the Xi'an airport after we checked four of suitcases, leaving our four carry-on pieces to keep track of. 

The Xi'an airport was quite "normal."  Stores were open.  Although the number of people in the airport was fewer than when we arrived, it definitely felt as though it was open and ready for business.

One of the changes was the marking on the floor, showing where to stand.  One interesting difference between the US and China. China sets the markings at one meter. America sets the marking at 6 feet (a bit under twice that of China.)  I have no theories on why the difference.

Another interesting difference between American Airports and China.   When you stand in front of the monitor, it reads your face and then your flight number and gate pop up on a screen below the list of flights.   This is a bit creepy; however it becomes less efficient in the time of masks!  😊

;

The plane was packed.   We'd hoped that we would have more room to spread out.  But that was not the case on the first leg.  We were fed one meal on this short two-hour trip over to Shanghai.  Everything was packed tightly in wrapped plastic -- a change from the lunch that we had when we arrived a year earlier. 

The Shanghai International terminal felt dramatically different from Xi'an.   There was almost no one at check-in.  Stores, Currency  Exchange Booth, restaurants were all closed.  Because we were changing airlines from China Air to United, we had to find our 4 large suitcases, schlep them on airport carts to the United gate and re-check in.   We also had to download a security code: 

Even more alarming, when we went through security, the security personal took away Dave's hand sanitizer because it had a high concentration of alcohol in it.  They didn't take mine. (Same brand, same size, same alcohol content.)  I don't know why.  Perhaps he didn't see it in my cosmetics bag.

Our layover there was nine hours.  We managed to find one shop at the far end of the terminal serving Niu Rou Mien (Beef noodles) -- which were delicious.   But the experience at this point started to feel more like the Twilight Zone.  All of the workers and a number of the airline passengers were dressed in hazmat suits. 

The plane again was packed. 

 I suppose this is because there are so few flights between the two countries.   Suffice it to say, we felt lucky to have tickets and a seat on the plane!

The plane ride was long, and we had an unexpected stop in Seoul, Korea.  Why?  Again, no clue.  No one got on or off, but they did change crews.  My only thought is that maybe the crew wasn't allowed off in China. China has become quite strict about anyone coming to China.  All newcomers have to stay in quarantine for 14 days.  Perhaps that holds true for airport crew, as well. 

In San Francisco, we deplaned in a very deliberate manner.  Only 10 people were released from their seats at a time.  Several of the passengers were quite antsy. Many had close connections, and it was 10 pm, so if they missed their flight, they'd be stuck.  Our San Diego tickets were set for the next morning, so we waited patiently for our row to be called.    

When we deplaned, we were greeted by 10 stations, staffed by the CDC.  We filled out a health form.  Our temperature was taken.  Our travel history was told.  We were instructed to quarantine for 14 days and take our temperature twice daily when we got home. Happily, no one asked for the result of a COVID test. 

 Next, we again had to get our big lumpy suitcases to go through customs.  Because the United desk was closed, we couldn't check them through to San Diego, so we again schlepped them to the airport hotel, again on airport carts. Our hotel looked out over the usually busy traffic leading to SFO airport.  There weren't many cars at night, nor the next morning:

Our final leg of the trip was uneventful.  We got home,  once again got airport carts, once again loaded up our baggage.  There was only one lone taxi when we arrived.  It was taken by the person ahead of us.  It was probably too small to fit all of our luggage, so we happily took the "Cloud 9" shuttle home.  

When we arrived, we  were greeted by this warm greeting from Cindy and Brian, a clean house,  food in the pantry, a soft bed, and the relief and comfort of knowing that we'd arrived home.    

Our first task was to read through a year's worth of mail.  As I read your Christmas Cards, sent to us in December 2019, I was struck by what a different world we've come home to.  The world from which  you wrote, a scant 6 months ago, has changed utterly. Already, I miss our life in China, but feel the love and warmth from friends and family here.

"Everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree

And no one shall make them afraid."

They'll be safe in the nation we've made

I wanna sit under my own vine and fig tree

A moment alone in the shade

At home in this nation we've made

                                                                           One last time.

2. Final Poems by XJTU students about their homes

 One of the early assignments that I asked my students to do was write a poem introducing me to their home town.  When you read them, you will be transported on a journey that hopefully is much less grueling than the one Dave and I just finished.   Enjoy!

An Alley Loaded with Memory

If I could have a time machine,

Please take me back to my seventh year.

Home was what we called a mini-Arcadia –

A cobbled, straight, and tranquil alley

With low tile-roofed houses on each side.

It’s so narrow, even cars couldn’t squeeze in.

Outside noises never bothered to visit,

Neither did factories or property developers,

Leaving it with clean air,

Sweet wind, and slow pace of life.

 

Twelve families lived here,

Each with a yard. We always kept doors open.

Miss Yang owned a perfumed garden

Where she planted plenty of magnolia;

The Chens brewed vinegar,

Their house occupied with large jars;

Old grandpas kept magpies and cuckoos;

Women spent all afternoon playing mahjong.

As dinner time came, the scent of delicious meals

Beckoned playful kids to return home.

 

This alley led to an open field,

On which grew many sweet potatoes.

It’s a Wonderland for us naughty kids:

Butterflies dancing, grasshoppers jumping,

Pill bugs hiding under stones…

We used to have our Insect Scavenger Hunt here,

Until the alert landowner found us.

He shouted loudly, his big yellow dog also barked,

We fled quickly before they could recognize us,

Only with our ringing laughter left.

 

As night fell, lines of red lanterns were lit up

At each family’s front door.

The Moon shone from the inky sky,

Shedding light on our yards.

Clusters of stars blinked joyfully,

Saying Hello to their red companions.

Everything was quiet, peaceful, and relaxing,

Only a couple’ bickering could be heard nearby,

But I was too sleepy to stay awake,

So I closed my eyes and started dreaming.

                                                                        --Clove

 

 Acorn in the Island

 

River was the trace of Buddha's fall,

said the Mahjong vendors by the bridge

Car lights gliding on the ridge,

A black humorless cheekbone

That shone like drips of malt sugar:

It gently melted away.

They chanted, with me

holding and polishing a pupa,

crying far in the belly of lighthouse, swallowed by the moon, 

Waves filtered the clatter of teenagers’ bicycles

 

Tramping over the beach, I lost my fossil and my sandal.

Why I had a hole in my dress, I couldn’t tell.

The vendor gave me a plate of fried beans

What is a fossil? She made fun of me, a wild silly child

“No, it is bitter. It is an acorn.”

 

The lighthouse was very lonely, the blocks of buildings echoing

Some kitchen went bright. I cannot identify which one was mine

I sat on the stone steps, chewing bubble gum

Young people sang across the bridge. But can an acorn in the sand sprout?

I did not ask anybody. It has been a long time. I couldn't find it again

 

The silhouette of the surroundings

was blurred, in the sweltering landscape

Blurred me and my minty ice bar,

amid my dream of the falling god and the sweaty child

I lay there, sang about the falling god and the sweaty child.

                                                            -- Quency

 Spencer in a Xi’an government building:

 I spent my childhood in a very old tube-shaped apartment building, which was built in Soviet style. At that time, Xi’an was still under the system of housing allotment, the houses usually were allocated by parents' companies. For my parents’ work, I grew up in a community for bank employees, thus the neighbors were very familiar with each other. Life at that time was easy and simple.  Although we didn’t have much money, we didn’t have internet, phones, computers, we were all happy and satisfied.

Neighbors, like family, though there is no blood relationship, living together is a kind of fate; caring and greeting each other, the relationship is like a loved one.

 We didn’t have much homework, and our schoolbags were not heavy like kids nowadays. After school, a group of friends came back to our community to play tabs, rubber bands, sandbags, shuttlecocks. Usually when I smelled the scent of meals floated throughout the building, I knew it was time to go home. I can still clearly remember when mom preparing meals, she always deliberately cooked more.

  In addition to preparing meals for my home, she would also think of our neighbors. She was not the only one who did it; it's something that all families living in this tube-shaped apartment would do. In this way, each family would eat a few more dishes based on their original dishes. Usually, at dinner time the scent of meals floated throughout the building.

 When I came back home, I took the role of distributing the food to my neighbor door by door. I, with my friends, ran through the long corridor, knocking neighbor’s door, talking with each other and expecting “surprises”-- food from every neighbor. Laughter filled the entire floor. It was the happiest time of the day.

However, when I was in Grade 5, this community was announced to be demolished, for it was too old to live...

 It was a period of time, unforgettable and heart-warming, and I’m very lucky to learn the habit of caring and greeting among people, and the virtue of thinking for others. Nowadays, the children are either facing the computer or holding mobile phones, and nobody knows who is at the door.

 Life seems a little disappointing now. It seems to  lack a bit of temperature.  Kids no longer chat with their neighbors, or they don't even know any neighbors at all. They even forgot the word "neighbor". But I still tried to say hello to my neighbors, and occasionally help aunts who can't surf the Internet, or chat with old grandpas who live alone.

The Small Tranquil Town

The small town in my mind is always cozy,

Leisurely and immutable,

With the smell of ginkgo trees.

It lies on the south of a mountain,

Isolated and tranquil,

Like a little harbor of people

Who are exploring the outside world.

 

Everything here seems unaltered.

The cherry tree in front of my house

bears little carmine fruits every autumn.

The small grocery with a wooden signboard

has been in the corner of street over ten years.

In spring, willow catkins flutter in the air.

In winter, snow covers the livid mountain.

Migratory birds come and go.

 

This is the place where I grew up,

brought me many precious memories.

I used to dream about

escaping from such a monotonous life.

But when l left there,

I always recall this ordinary town

And the comfortable atmosphere I ignored before.

I miss the noisy market, the old brick buildings,

Fallen magnolia flowers in rainy days,

Chirps of sparrows in hazy cold mornings,

And familiar faces on the street.

Life in the town is a part of me,

And I am a part of that little fantastic world.

Home is where the heart perches.

                                                            --Julia