Smeared Type

by Jian Ping

My mother at interview with Susan

I knew I was home the moment I stepped out of the luggage area at the Changchun Airport to the welcoming arms of my brother-in-law Ming Fu and my nephew Xiao Tao. If it was not due to limited seats in the two vehicles, my sisters would have come to the airport as well.  

Witnessing our association with my family members, Susan decided to postpone dinner and go with Lisa and me straight home to catch our family greetings on film. I tried to dissuade her—it would be 9:30 P.M. by the time we got to my mother’s apartment and everyone was hungry. Susan wouldn’t hear any of that. I admired Susan’s dedication to work and called home, informing them we’d stop by to say hi first.

To avoid distraction, Susan and her daughter Alex, the two blonds, stayed in the car while Quyen, a Vietnamese American born and raised in the U.S., accompanied Lisa and me to my mother’s apartment. A household of people–my mother, my sisters Yan, Ping and Wen, and my brother-in-law Zhicheng, were all waiting for us. An uproar of cheers erupted with the opening of the door. When I eventually stood in front of my mother, I was overwhelmed with emotion. Mother, 83 this year, had diabetes and was suffering from dangerously high blood pressure, 200/110 mmHG that day. I was worried about her. But she looked strong and radiant. We gazed at each other, hugged, and looked at each other again. Despite my effort at control, I couldn’t stop the surging tears when Mother pulled me tightly into her arms again.  

From left to right: Lisa, me, my mother, Yan and Ping, looking at family photo album

After an emotional greeting of 20 minutes or so, we rushed to a nearby restaurant and barely had enough time to put in our order before the kitchen closed for the day. My nephew and two brothers-in-law waited for us in the front while we had our dinner, then drove the group to their hotel and took me home–we left Lisa there to be the group’s interpretor. In the following two days, they made themselves available to drive us around for filming.

“I like Chinese men,” Susan said. “They bend over to serve women.”

I smiled. I wanted to say that everyone in my family was bending over to help us—to ensure we finish our mission of filming in China without any problem! I knew they had their concerns about the content of the film, but despite themselves, they gave me and the entire crew their utmost support. I felt overwhelmingly lucky and blessed.

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. www.moraquest.com, www.mulberrychild.com

by Jian Ping

Before writing more about filming in China, I’d like to share a few laughs.

A warning sign at Great Wall

Here is a picture of a sign I took at Great Wall. If you pay attention, you can find numerous postings in public places, including national attractions such as Great Wall and the Forbidden City, that are laden with what we call “Chinglish.” I wonder why the authorities don’t bother with the accuracy of the translation—with so many native English speakers working in China, it requires minimum effort and time to get them right!

At one restaurant in Beijing (I’ll spare its name for the sake of courtesy) where we had our lunch after visiting the Great Wall, we were given a bilingual menu. As I was just about to relax, thinking the rest of the group could now order dishes on their own, I heard Susan burst into laughter. The English translation simply didn’t make sense. Actually, it was worse!

“Why do they call chicken ‘stupid’?” Susan asked.

Chicken was Susan’s favorite dish. The only entree with chicken on the menu was called “Stupid Chicken with Mushroom.”

“I’m not going to eat any ‘stupid’ chicken,” Susan giggled.   

I told Mr. Yao, our driver, what the laughter was about. He was amazed by the translation and told Susan the term “笨鸡”referred to free-range chicken! Couldn’t be further away from being “stupid.”

Susan continued to read the menu. As she selected more entrees to read aloud, the  laughter from the entire group became hysterical. In the end, Susan took out a piece of paper and copied the entire English menu.

“It’s hilarious,” she said. “I’ll have to take them back.” Tears were running down her cheeks.  

Upon my return to the U.S., I received an email from Ellis. Coincidently, he passed me a link titled “Chinglish”, which is posted below. Check it out. Even if you don’t read Chinese, I bet you’ll still get a good laugh.

http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2010/05/03/world/asia/20100503_CHINGLISH.html?src=me&ref=homepage

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. visit www.moraquest.com, www.mulberrychild.com

By Jian Ping

Lisa at Great Wall

We landed in Beijing at 4:20 P.M., but headed right into a traffic deadlock. A Mr. Yao, our driver, said it was created by the international auto show. He got off the airport express way and took a longer route to take us into the city. We had booked a boxing match at 7 P.M. at the National Sports Center Gymnasium, an Olympic venue. It was 7 by the time we reached our hotel! Since we didn’t stop for lunch and the rest of the crew, except me, didn’t touch any airline food, I had to have our meals ordered from a nearby restaurant and got every one into my room to have a quick bite. By the time Mr. Yao took us to the stadium, it was already after 8:30. We planned to shoot footage of audience cheering, but found half of the stadium empty. Except two large groups that appeared to be hired by two liquor companies to do promotion—they hit a big drum and chanted, raising their liquor brands signages to show their “support” for the match—the audience’s cheering was lukewarm. We stayed till the end of the match nevertheless.

“I need a drink to relax,” Susan said when we returned to our hotel before midnight.

Despite the exhaustion each of us felt, we were wired. Alex went to bed and the rest of us went to a bar across from the hotel. All that Susan wanted was vodka with grapefruit juice. She soon learned that she would not be able to have her favorite drink for the remainder of the trip.

Quyen hard at work

Beijing was windy and chilly, but when we were ready to work the next day, the sun was out and the sky was blue. We spent the morning shooting at the Great Wall and the afternoon, the Olympic venues. There were streams of people no matter where we were. At one point when Quyen was filming Lisa at the Great Wall after waiting forever for a moment without “volunteers”, a middle-aged couple from Europe walked into view. Susan jumped in front of them before I could react. “Look at the birds,” she shouted, pointing toward the hills beyond the wall. The couple stopped to look, so were a line of people behind them. We were able to finish a clean scene!   

Later that night, we went to shoot at Tiananmen Square. I was surprised the entire squared was fenced off and closed. I asked a guard on the street when it would be open and learned that the square was closed to the public at 7 P.M. each day and would open early in the morning. I had never had encountered closure of the square before except special occasions and was very disappointed. We ended up shooting the Tiananmen Gate instead.

After taking many pictures of Lisa and me at the Gate (Heavenly Peace), we walked back and forth while Quyen did the video. Uniformed guards stood on duty before the Gate at intervals of 20 yards or so and two police cars parked by the fence next to us. Quyen was nervous, but Susan, a perfectionist, insisted on getting all the footage she wanted. Right before midnight, a guard walked over to us.

“Where are you from?” he asked in Chinese. “What are you filming?”

The entire group froze.

“We are from the U.S.,” I answered, speaking as casually as I could. “I used to live in Beijing and want to get some footage of the Tiananmen Gate with my daughter who grew up in the U.S.”

Lisa and I in front of Tiananmen Gate

He looked at me in the eye for a moment and I returned his gaze. Then, he turned and walked back to his post.

Quyen and Susan exchange a look of relief. We left the square quickly.

We filmed the Forbidden City and a section of Hutong, an old Beijing neighborhood, the next day without any incident. In fact, people were very friendly. Even the security guards at the Forbidden City let us take in all our gears at the check point. Susan and Quyen were pleasantly surprised and relieved.

We rushed to the airport at 4 P.M. for our 6:10 flight to Changchun where my mother and sisters live. Now everyone in the group was checking our flight schedule despite my assurance of no more matakes. 

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. Visit www.moraquest.com, www.mulberrychild.com.

by Jian Ping

Cultural Revolution Museum in Shantou

I had traveled 2 or 3 times each year to China since 1992. Never before had I worked so hard, yet enjoyed the trip so much—more than 10 hours of shooting and traveling from April 23 through May 4 every day. Our crew included my film director Susan Morgan Cooper, cinematographer Quyen Tran, my daughter Lisa, who could only join us for a week, Alex Sophia Cooper, Susan’s daughter, and I.  I was very excited about the doc-drama film based on Mulberry Child.

Susan, Quyen and Alex had never been to China before. I told them I could take them in, but they might need Bill Clinton to get them out. Joking aside, they were quite nervous about shooting in China.  

We flew to Hong Kong on April 23—the three of them from Los Angeles and Lisa and I, from Chicago. We wanted to visit the Cultural Revolution Museum (CRM) in Shantou, Guangzhou Province. My blunder nearly messed up our schedule—I mistook our flight departure time from Shantou to Beijing on April 27 for our flight from Hong Kong to Shantou on April 26. We missed our flight, the only one of the day! Since we had such a tight schedule, I frantically searched online and re-routed our flight from Guangzhou to Shantou and booked a train from Hong Kong to Guangzhou. A two-hour flight took us an entire day. But we managed to check into our hotel in Shantou late at night, with only one meal at the Guangzhou Airport for the entire day. (Lisa reminded me later how mean I was–rushing her and not allowing her to pick up some food at the Hong Kong Station when she was starving!)  

Ba Jin's Portait at the Museum

We lost half a day of work on April 26 and went to the CRM early in the next morning. CRM is located in the Ta Shan Scenery Area, a mountain range dotted with Buddhist Temples. The style and structure of the museum looked like a temple as well. Reading the greeting letter carved on a slab of marble to Lisa, I was amazed by the open criticism of the Communist Party and Chairman Mao for starting the “chaotic”, “disastrous” and “unforgivable” Cultural Revolution (CR). Images of atrocities took place during the CR etched on the black marbles that constituted the core of display. We took many stills and footage. Tears emerged in my eyes as I examined one picture in which a helpless official was surrounded by a group of angry Red Guards. He could have been my father…. So many memories flashed through my mind!

 Many books on the CR were on display in glass cases. China’s famed author Ba Jin was credited for proposing the establishment of a CR museum, and his portrait was placed in the center of the museum. I was very impressed the idea became true. 

It was a pity that not many people were interested in witnessing this part of history. During the three hours we spent there, we only saw four other visitors. Even our cab driver, who often took customers to the Buddhist Temples nearby, had never stopped here before.

We could have spent more time there, but had to leave to catch our flight to Beijing at 1:10 P.M.  

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. Visit www.mulberrychild.com, www.moraquest.com

by Jian Ping

I gave a talk to Dr. Lucy Xing Lu’s Asian Culture and Communication class at DePaul University yesterday. The moment I stepped onto the Lincoln Park Campus, I felt the dynamics and energy unique to university—students rushing to their classes, chatting in groups, or riding their bicycles to get to their destinations. It was an atmosphere of youth and learning.

I barely made it on time to the classroom and started my talk immediately after Dr. Lu’s introduction. I knew the students had just read Confucius’ Analects and the focus of the class was on Asian philosophy, religion, and cultures. I put the emphasis of my talk on Confucian values, especially “filial piety,” using anecdotes from Mulberry Child to illustrate my points. I like the classroom setting and encouraged the students to raise questions at any time. They did—this group of 20 students was very engaging and asked many good questions. I planned to talk for 45 minutes, plus 10 or 15 minutes for questions. But we got into animated discussions and Dr. Lu graciously gave us the time to continue—letting us take over her planned readings on Taoism/Buddhism for the day. We ended up using up the entire period of class, and afterward, a few students stayed behind and continued our conversation. I was quite impressed by their interest and participation.

Of course, being a Chinese parent, I couldn’t help but finish my talk by encouraging them to excel in their studies—“the love of learning” (好学), as Confucius stated in his Analects.

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: a Memoir of China. www.mulberrychild.com, www.moraquest.com

by Jian Ping

Left to Right: Dave, Margaret, me and Jessica

Last weekend, I attended the annual Southern Kentucky Book Fest in Bowling Green. It was a large event , organized by Western Kentucky University Libraries, Barnes & Noble and Warren County Public Library.

More than a hundred authors participated in the event, including featured writers such as Lisa Scottoline, Richard Paul Evans, local favorites and emerging faces. I was a panelist on the “serious memoir,” and had the opportunity to talk with my fellow panelists Randi Davenport, Jessica Handler, Margaret Edds and David Lanphear. Each of them shared their unique personal and inspiring stories. I also met with a few dynamic young adult authors, including Michael Reisman (Simon Blloom: The Octopus Effect) and Cynthea Liu (Paris Pan Takes the Dare) and a fellow writer from China Haiwang Yuan (This is China: The First 5000 Years).

By Jian Ping

 When we started our class on Confucius’ Analects at the Asian Classics program, our instructor Alan suggested we follow three “rituals” in honor of Confucius.  

 “Number one,” he said, “we call Confucius Master Kong”. The romanization of the Chinese name Kong Zi didn’t reflect the proper respect for him. “Kong” is Confucius’ family name, and “Zi”, refers to a sage or master. We readily accepted the proposal.  

“Number two,” Alan continued, “We start our class with a formal greeting. I’ll say ‘Good morning, class’ and you’ll stand up and say ’Good morning, teacher.’” The 20 plus students discussed about it for a while and agreed to the practice.

It was the third ritual Alan proposed that threw us into dispute.

Alan taped a portrait of Master Kong on the blackboard and suggested we bow to the master at the beginning or ending of each class.

The word “bow” sounded like a bomb exploding in the classroom.

“Wait a minute,” one student said. “I have a problem with that.” He raised his voice: “We’ve been brought up questioning and challenging authorities in this country. We’d never blindly submit to a master or a government. I don’t feel comfortable bowing.”

“I can bow to knowledge, but not to a person,” another student chided in. “It’s not in our culture to bow, to be submissive.”

My friend Hong, my husband Francis and I were the only Chinese in our class. We looked at one another and were very surprised by our American classmates’ reactions.

“Bowing in this context is an indication of respect,” Hong said. “It doesn’t mean being submissive to authority.”

 “We are not talking about bowing at 90 degrees,” I added. “A lowering of the head is just like tipping your hat.”

The discussion got heated. Our American friends wouldn’t budge. Despite Alan’s explanation that the ritual only bound us for the duration of the class and served to simulate the way the Master would have taught, they objected strongly. In the end, we comprised by agreeing to stand up at the end of the class and bow to the center—to knowledge and to one another for sharing knowledge, but not to anyone in particular.

I was amazed by my American classmates. Kong Zi is a philosopher, a sage and a famed teacher, not a dictator.

Throughout the entire quarter, we practiced these rituals. We stood up to greet Alan. We slipped from time to time by referring to the sage as Confucius instead of Master Kong and corrected ourselves. Alan placed Master Kong’s portrait on the blackboard at each class, but we never bowed to him. Instead, we dutifully bowed to the center of the class from our circular seating at the end of each session and said: “Thank you.” It reminded me of our cultural differences each time we practiced the ritual.  

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. For more information, please visit www.moraquest.com or www.smearedtype.com

By Jian Ping

The docu-drama film based on my book Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China has rolled into production faster than I anticipated. Last Wednesday, film director Susan Morgan Cooper (her latest multi-award-winning documentary film is: An Unlikely Weapon: the Eddie Adams Story) flew in from Los Angeles. Since my daughter Lisa and I both live in Chicago, she wants to present a bit of our life in the city.  I took her to visit the Museum Park, Millennium Park, the Chicago Tribune and Wrigley Building… signatures of the city I love.

On Thursday, her film crew also arrived in Chicago from Los Angeles—Quyen, the cinematographer, and her two assistants Matt and Alex. On Friday, when we started shooting, two local soundmen also joined the team. I was quite conscious of the two large cameras rolling in front of me when Susan conducted her interview. One of them was less than two feet from my face!

“Look at me,” Susan said. She sat next to me on my right. “Don’t ever turn to the camera.”

Susan would not reveal a word of her questions to me beforehand and I was shocked by a thick deck of notes in her hands. Five hours later—with short breaks to cool off the large camera and a short catered-in lunch—I realized we didn’t cover even a third of her notes! We filmed until the sun stopped cooperating with us.

We started early the following day and went through the same process. Susan was a wonderful interviewer—she not only engaged me with the story I had written, but brought me back to the moment of each scene she wanted to dig into and present. I soon found myself lost in the past and forgot all about the camera.

Susan interview Lisa for hours on Sunday. Afterwards, we filmed some outdoor scenes around the city. We were lucky that Chicago had a few unbelievable warm days and despite two evenings of rain, we had plenty of sunshine during daytime.

Susan and her crew worked non-stop—they filmed interviews during the day and night scenes of the city at night. When they returned to their hotel late at night, they had to spend hours downloading all the footage taken during the day. I realized how much work filmmakers must put in their project behind the scenes!

I worked with them nearly all day on Monday. Again, they didn’t stop for lunch and worked until they had to leave for the airport to catch their 8 p.m. flight. In the middle of the day, when Susan realized how desperately Quyen needed a rest, she ordered her to lie down on the sofa for 10 minutes. “I’m okay,” Quyen said five minutes later and went back to her camera again.  

They are certainly a bunch of energy and dedication. I’m very impressed and will certainly miss them. I look forward to working with them again soon on the next set of shooting. I have learned a lot and, I must say, very much enjoyed the experience!

   Jian Ping: Author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. Visit www.moraquest.com, www.mulberrychild.com for more information.

by Jian Ping 

I’ve been taking classes at the Asian Classics program at the Graham School, University of Chicago. It’s a four-year program covering history, literature and religion in India, Middle East, China and Japan. We have about twenty people, our age ranging from the 40s to 70s and our background differing from lawyers, scientists, school teachers, retired business owners/executives, full-time mothers, and this spring semester, as we turn our studies to Buddhism, a Zen priest. It’s a wonderful group and we meet every Saturday in Hyde Park campus for two sessions, which last for three hours—truly an enlightening and fun experience.

This is our third year, focusing on China. My husband Francis and I are both in the program. Since it’s on China, we participate more in class discussions, bringing in our cultural perspective and understanding. During the winter semester when we were studying Confucius and Mencius in one session and Tang poetry in the other, Francis and I sometimes took turns to read the text in Cantonese and Mandarin respectively, to the amazement of our American classmates—the same text sounded so differently.

I grew up during the Cultural Revolution in China, therefore, never learned Confucius’ Analects. I very much enjoyed reading it. In addition to the English text, I also read the Chinese, and sometimes, compare them side by side. I have to say that it is much easier to read it in contemporary English than the classic Chinese.

This morning, I took out The Analects and thumbed through the first few pages. Once line immediately caught my attentions:

子曰：“父母在，不远游，游必有方。”

The English translation by Roger Ames goes: The Master (Confucius) said, “When your father and mother are alive, do not journey far, and when you do travel, be sure to have a specific destination.”

This is about filial piety. According to Confucius, a filial child who observes the right ritual, 礼, should stay close to his/her parents so as to take care of them and if he/she has to travel, to tell the parents specifics about the journey so the parents can be relieved of worrying.

I know I cannot qualify as a filial daughter since my mother lives in China and I am far, far away. I do call her every weekend, though. I chat with her and two of my older sisters—Yan has moved back to care for her since Father passed away in 2008, and Wen lives two flights up in the same building and spends every evening with Mother, tending to her needs. Filial children in its true sense!   

Is it because of my astray from the teaching or the next generation who grow up in the U.S. that the tradition is fading into history?

My daughter Lisa and I live in Chicago, in two apartments less than two miles away. But I seldom see her—she is either too busy with her work or her social life, or I, by the same token, too busy with my writing, reading or social activities. However, I think it’s fair to say that my longing to see her is much stronger than her desire to see me.

Last weekend, Lisa went to Florida to join a group of friends for a short vacation.

“Please drop in a line or two and let me know you are okay,” I wrote to her via email. I know she checks her BlackBerry and does texting constantly.

Four days passed, not a single word from her. I have to get on Facebook to check her postings to learn her whereabouts.  

I don’t know I should blame her or kick myself. I wonder when I can ask Lisa to read Confucius’ Analects.

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. visit www.mulberrychild.com or www.moraquest.com for more information.

By Jian Ping

This week is Columbia College’s Story Week, an annual event which has enjoyed a history of 19 years. I have attended various events at Story Week for the last three years and found them informative and inspiring. From authors, including big name keynote speakers such as Joyce Carol Oates this year, to book critics, publishers, and booksellers, the topic of writing is addressed from various perspectives.

I attended two panels yesterday. One at the Harold Washington Library Center, and the other at Columbia College’s Film Row Cinema. The first is focused on publishing, moderated by Donna Seaman of Booklist. Panelists include Michelle Brower, a literary agent, Johnny Temple, publisher, Akashic Books, Linda Budon, Women &Children First bookstore owner, and John Dale, author. It is very interesting to hear their career development—what drew them to their profession to start with and their perspective of today’s book industry, including the emerging e-books. Their embrace of e-book, despite still a small market share, is certainly quite different from the general view expressed by panelists a year or two before. As an author, I relish the opportunity to hear four different perspectives on the publishing and marketing of books in one talk. Donna Seaman, as always, did a wonderful job in drawing out critical information and opinions.

The other panel is a conversation between two novelists: Lessons from a Lifetime of Writing. Marcus Sakey (author of The Amateurs) interviews his mentor David Morrell (author of 32 books, including The Successful Novelist). Their conversation is witty, but covers the core of writing, namely, one writes, a lonely profession, because he or she is compelled to do so; and to get a book length project done, one needs the discipline and dedication to write every day. David Morrell states he commits to write five pages every day. He tells the story of once visiting Stephen King at his home for several days. “It is said Stephen King writes every day except his birthday and Christmas Day,” he says. “It’s a lie. He writes on Christmas Day, too.” Laughter erupts from the audience, but the message of consistent writing, every day, is crossed.

I walked away feeling inspired, knowing what I need to do, starting right away.

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. www.mulberrychild.com, www.moraquest.com