Emotionally tired, physically sore and mentally worn. I believe that here in the middle of the Taklamakan desert, in the oasis town of Dunhuang, I have finally found the time and space needed to write an article describing the fight in which I have now become entangled.
I am currently studying in Beijing and will be here for almost five months; a similar experience to that of Dr. Davidson who wrote bi-weekly articles in the 1980’s for The Mirror while staying in India researching on a Fulbright Grant.
Describing a common afternoon in India, amidst the cacophony of sound and chaos of the streets, Dr. Davidson illustrates a fateful wrong turn that brought him face to face with the horns of a menacing bull.
In the cool afternoon light, the bull’s dripping saliva marks an unflinching anticipation and a torn pair of boxers attains an unquestionably frightening character. At this moment, a choice of fight or flight dictates his afternoon, his stay in India and potentially the rest of his life.
Sitting here in Dunhuang with my cup of coffee, this image is luminous as I stand before my own bull.
My figurative bull, China, also stands at attention awaiting my choice. It awaits my decision to either fly back and hide within familiarity, or fight the beautiful beast by adapting to its incredibly complex, often overwhelming and unquestionably foreign culture.
In an attempt to prepare for this fight, over the past year and a half, I have completed at least half of my major in Chinese Studies and concentrated upon Asian religions and belief structures.
This past summer, I spent seven weeks studying the language for ten hours a day 2,000 miles from friends and family at Monterey Institute of International Studies.
Although I dedicated a year of studies and an entire summer to China, I believe that no matter what I did I could never have fully prepared of myself for this struggle.
The paradoxically beautiful and frightening bull has dropped his horns and jerked towards me seven times thus far: delicious yet stomach turning cuisine, abominable bathrooms, a difficult language, entirely different mannerisms, chaotic traffic and an ever present smog.
My struggle, one similar to Dr. Davidson’s in India, is not one with a clear winner nor a clear set of opponents. It pits me against myself. My fortitude and character already has and will even more so be pushed to great new heights.
I realize that this is not a battle that marks a winner and loser, but only a measure of change found within me. And truthfully, I have never been more excited.
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