我的幸福的感觉
Happiness in China
我的幸福的感觉, pronounced wǒ de xìngfú de gǎnjué, roughly translates to “my feelings of happiness”. Every week, our professor assigns an essay topic. We reflect and write. I’ll give you one guess as to this week’s topic.
I’ve spent much of this week in an existential funk thinking about the life decisions that led me to sit on my hard-as-a-rock dormitory bed in Hangzhou, China, writing this. Many of the most important people in my life were a short time ago concentrated in one part of the world. Now, they are beginning to scatter. Part of me feels the urge to get, you know, a real job. Become a responsible adult. Buy some real estate. But a larger part of me is in no hurry.
I just lazily tried to find a solid scholarly article about experientialism vs. materialism as related to happiness. This is not a scholarly article exactly, but it’s fairly solid. Basically, does doing or having lead to greater happiness? The answer is unequivocally doing.
My China bag-o-experiences becomes ever more stuffed every day. Some (ok… most) days, a new experience is something as simple as trying a different noodle dish. This dish has seven types of peppers. Occasionally, it’s being on the receiving end of a baby panda smile or looking several thousand feet down the side of a mountain.
Gathering so many experiences, yes, I’m very happy. Here’s a touch of why…
Photography
I’m an unapologetic hobby-collector. I rarely gain true mastery over any hobby, but the newness of a hobby is always part of its appeal to me. My most recent project has been photography. I got my first “good” camera just before traveling to China, and I’ve spent this semester taking photos, learning the difference between ISO and aperture and stuff, and watching YouTube videos on how to edit photos. It’s a form of art I can wrap my head around. It’s such fun.
A Morning Brew
Loss of any lactose tolerance is a common problem facing Americans in China. That’s why I get a latte every day…. for my health.
Anyways, as I was getting my daily cuppa, I noticed a family standing next to me speaking with North American accents. Always curious, I asked what they were doing in China. They said they were originally from Michigan but had been in China for the past four years, and then asked if I liked coffee (a mostly rhetorical question given the cup in my hand). Obviously, yes, I love coffee. Too much. Turns out they moved to China to open a coffee roasting company. I probably made them uncomfortable with my excitement. But I was very very excited.
The world is small.
Bruised Purple
In addition to my required language courses, I also elected to take a basic martial arts course. This past week we graduated from punching and blocking the air to punching and blocking each other. Nobody was too comfortable hitting each other. Occasionally a whack echoed off the tile floor, but mostly, people’s stares were more powerful than their punches. Vici and I, though, we hit each other. Hard.
The evening after martial arts, her arms were swollen and mine were purple. Why am I happy, you ask? There’s something primal and just plain fun about hitting someone. I promise I haven’t started going around punching everyone I pass. Just the people who give me funny looks.
Kidding.
West Lake
After a delicious lunch a few days back, we walked out of the restaurant and discovered the sky had started to spit. It wasn’t raining exactly, but it was damp. Mary said her professor had told her that West Lake was most beautiful when it was raining because a soft mist covers the whole lake. Vici, Mary, and I walked twenty minutes to the lake. It was beautiful. So peaceful. We walked a bit longer, and then started chatting. We continue walking until 180 minutes and 7 miles later, we arrived back at the university. An afternoon that would’ve been spent in my room doing homework was replaced by a lovely walk with friends.
Pizza and a Beer
The cafeteria food here is awful. It’s made with 0% love, sometimes it tastes like there’s a bit of hatred sprinkled in it. We all tried to pretend it was good, and we lived on it for a few months, but I reached my breaking point a few days ago when my tofu didn’t even have a hint of warmth left. Frustrated and hungry, Nandra and I went to the local burger/pizza/sort-of-American-food joint and ordered pints and a meat lover’s pizza for dinner. We eavesdropped on the two American gentlemen next to us discussing the merits and flaws of the International Baccelaureate system. We watched a few minutes of the Food Network on the TV over the bar and lamented the lack of butter here. We discussed the rapidly approaching end of the semester. Mostly, we ate pizza.
